#i need to draw parallels where there are none

[girltomripley]

Real Women Have Curves (2002) Dir. Patricia Cardoso // My mother & I - Lucy Dacus // Cerdita (2022) Dir. Carlota Pereda

TERFS DO NOT FUCKING INTERACT

[astroboots]

Every You Every Me | Issue #7

COLLABORATED WITH @thirstworldproblemss

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You finally get some answers out of Miguel about who you are to him.

Word count: 5,700 words.

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist

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"So let's take it from the top," you tell him, as you sit down and put down the Trenta-sized caramel flavored hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and chocolate syrup in front of the man named Miguel O'Hara.

The two of you are sitting across from each other at a small booth at the nearest Starbucks you were able to find, seeing as you're homeless now, and there's nowhere else you could think of to go.

He's dressed in a large fitted hoodie that drapes down to his thighs. Where he's managed to find something that is oversized in length on him, you don't know because he's not exactly short.

"I'm from a dimension known as Earth-928," Miguel says.

Before he can continue, you raise one hand, and you can see his right eyebrow twitch unhappily at the interruption. 

"Yes?"

"Just to clarify, so we don't have another ‘coffee cake’ misunderstanding. When you say Earth-928, do you mean a different version of the Earth we’re on now? Or is this a habitable planet in another galaxy that happens to be partially named Earth?"

"It's a parallel universe characterized by distinct physical parameters and initial conditions, accounting for the diverse manifestations of our observable universe. So still Earth," he says, sweeping his gaze across the café, nose wrinkling the way one does when there's something off-putting in their vicinity. "Just a little bit less primitive."

Of course he would say that, wouldn't be able to resist the jab would he.

You peer up at him across the table. He is very technical and thorough with his explanations. But as grateful as you are for him finally being willing to answer your questions, you hadn't expected those answers to be quite so information dense. You need to pick your questions more carefully or you are going to have to go down the street to buy yourself a notebook in order to keep up.

"How did you end up on this Earth?" you ask.

"Where I'm from, I'm a scientist, a researcher. One of the things I studied was the theory of physical cosmology and the existence of the multiverse. My work was concentrated on the theoretical ability to navigate between distinct universes within a hypothetical multiverse–”

Ah shit, you should've been more narrow in your question. Should have asked him to simplify it a bit more for you. Because now you're sitting here blinking up at him, pretending you understand half of what he's saying. 

It makes sense that he’s STEM. He speaks like the type. Smart as hell with none of the social skills to gauge whether the other person is following the conversation. 

Listening to him reminds you of that time in college, when you'd walked into the wrong lecture hall, wound up in advanced chemistry instead of your math class, felt too awkward to leave and just sat there drawing doodles with an attentive expression until the class was over. 

And he’s still at it, “– employing advanced mechanisms that manipulate or transcend conventional spacetime frameworks, enabling exploration–"

"Okay, wait, hold on a sec," you interrupt, once it becomes obvious he’s not going to stop any time soon on his own. "Can you... simplify, please?"

He stops mid-sentence, taking a deep breath as he looks up at the ceiling and considers your request, with a serious expression as if he's thinking really hard on it. "I’m a scientist. I study the multiverse. I built a parallel universe traversal device, it allows me to visit different dimensions." Your brain feels insulted that it clearly took more mental effort for him to dumb it down for you than to just give the supergenius version.

“So… a machine that allows you to jump between alternative universes?” 

“Yes.” 

There’s a pause between you as you run through the questions in your mental list you want to tick off now that he’s turned cooperative and talkative. But with everything that’s happened in the last handful of hours, a lot of the questions you previously had seemed outdated. The one question, the most important one, you’ve wanted to ask from the start though remains. 

"Who am I to you?"

Miguel takes the large sized drink in his even larger hands and somehow this big paper cup still manages to look tiny in his grip. "You and I were... involved," he says.

You frown. ‘Involved’ is such a vague term. It belongs in the trash with other useless terms to describe relationships: “situationship”, “complicated”, you hate them all. 

"So I was your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, something like that," he concede, fidgeting with the thin gold chain looped around his neck, his eyes not quite meeting yours, like he's embarrassed to use the term.

‘Something like that,’ you chew on his answer unhappily, sympathizing with your other dimensional self and how the other you seemed to have snagged a commitment phobe. 

Other-you, who isn’t here in this dimension with Miguel. You wonder why that is. 

"What happened to me?" you ask.

His eyes are glued to the table,  not looking up at you as he answers you in a voice so quiet you can barely hear it. "She died."

"Oh."

The revelation shouldn’t take you by surprise. 

Every time Miguel’s brought up your other self, it’s been tinted with earth-shattering sadness. It's not hard to put one and one together and come to the conclusion that whatever happened to you in this other dimension didn't end happily.

Still it's an odd feeling to know that out there, somewhere, a version of you has died. A version of you that was clearly very important to the man in front of you.

"I'm sorry," you tell him.

It feels silly to say. It's bizarre to give your condolences over your own parallel death, but Miguel looks so heartbroken. He’s slumped in his seat, large shoulders rounded until his frame looks so much smaller than you're used to, and you don't know what else to do.

"So what is happening to me now," you start, not sure how to word what the phenomena that you're going through is, "these continuous near-death experiences, is that how she died?"

"Yeah."

"And do you know why that... kept happening to her? Why is it happening to me?"

"I don't, and I don't know how to stop it. Believe me I tried."

He cradles the paper cup in his hands, the grip a little bit tighter now until he's creasing the paper and the caramel liquid oozes and leaks from the top.

"What I do know is that the universe isn’t going to stop trying to kill you, no matter what you do. And with every near death incident you manage to survive, these incidents will escalate in nature, until..." he stops, eyes flickering away from the cup to meet yours, but it's like he loses courage and doesn't want to say the last part.

"Until, what?" you prompt.

"Until your dimension collapses."

The blood freezes in your veins. "Wait, collapses!? What do you mean?"

"I can't guarantee it will happen again. But that's what happened last time. When the other you kept cheating death, the universe eventually started to collapse in on itself."

You slump back in your chair, trying to process what you've just been told. What does that mean? That even if you managed to defy all odds to survive, doing so would doom the rest of this universe as you know it?

"When will that happen?" you ask, and you're surprised you manage to get the words out because there is a hard lump in your throat that makes it hurt to even swallow.

"Judging from the trajectory and escalation of events, you have about three months give or take."

The two of you sit in heavy silence, for the moment you're not sure what else to ask him. Because it feels like you are trapped in a building looking for an exit sign, but all that’s tacked onto the brick wall is your death certificate, waiting to be signed and formalized.

There’s no way out. Nowhere to go.

"Give me your hand," he says, breaking the silence. 

You give it to him without hesitation, watching, puzzled, as he takes off his watch and secures it around your wrists.

"Why are you giving me your watch?"

"It's not a watch," he says, then he presses something on the face of it, and an image of a young woman flickers into existence in the space above your wrist, vaguely see-through. A hologram!

"This is Lyla," he introduces.

Wait, wait? Lyla? As in your mom Lyla? You watch the tiny woman floating above your wrist. Short bob-cut, and flashy heart-shaped sunglasses, with a twinkle in her eye. 

The hologram looks nothing like your mom. You part your mouth, about to ask about the name but you're interrupted by the energetic buzz of a female voice greeting you.

"Boss-girl! Long time no see. Want me to catch you up on the latest multiversal gossip? I compiled an edit of highlights set to Despacito."

"Lyla," Miguel warns, tersely. "Not now."

"Ruuuuude! You're the one who woke me up you know."

"Lyla, go back to sleep."

The female avatar grumbles, but then her image flickers away and the watch turns back into, as far as you can tell, just an ordinary watch.

"Why did you name the watch Lyla?"

"It's not a– " He cuts himself off, sighing with exasperation. "Lyla is an advanced A.I. she's going to be with you at all times. She's an added layer of security, built to protect you."

He didn't answer your question. Completely sidestepped it as if the two of you are having two different conversations.

Built to protect you, he'd said. Does that mean he still intends to do that?

"So you're not going to leave?" you ask him.

He leans back in his seat, eyes drifting towards the table. "No."

You look up at him, stumped. Not sure you're understanding what he's saying. Because not even a few hours ago, when the two of you were in your apartment, this man was adamant there was nothing to be done to save you. That he was going to leave and you were never going to see him again.

Right now though, his actions seem to be contradictory to that. You can't make heads or tails of him. Hot and cold doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

"Why not?" you ask, "I mean, not that I’m not grateful, but you seemed pretty set on the whole ‘I can’t save you’ thing. What changed your mind?"

“You did.” His eyes narrow as he looks down at you, crossing his arms ever his chest, "You told me you wanted to live. Have you changed your mind already?"

“Wha– NO! I just want to know why you changed yours.”

“I–” He hesitates, another wave of sadness passing over his face. “I’m a superhero. I save people… or try to. It’s what I do. I’m not gonna just leave you to die after you tell me you want to live.”

It’s a good answer, even if you don’t buy that it’s the whole truth. 

You look down at your wrist, and the shiny chrome of the not-watch he's just gifted you winks back up at you. "Do you think I have a chance of surviving all this?"

"It's pretty hopeless," he says, and there’s no break in his expression as he continues. "Your chances of making it out alive are pretty much mathematically impossible."

It's odd though. Even though he's outlining the futility of your situation, basically telling you to raise the white flag and surrender, there's something contradictory in the tone of his voice. 

"What do you want to do?" he asks you.

It’s a challenge, you realize. An encouragement. He has faith in you. It's all of these things rolled into one. As if he's telling you to prove the universe wrong.

"I want to live," you answer. "If the universe collapses in three months, then please stay with me. Give me time to solve this and find a way to stay alive."

His mouth curls into a hint of a smile. The very first you've seen from him since you've met. It's bright and boyish, erasing the harsh lines of his stern expression until it gives way for something much softer underneath that makes your heart leap in your chest with triumph.

You grin, a strange elation of happiness buzzing in you as you stretch out your hand to him, in an invitation for a handshake to seal the deal.

"Deal?"

Miguel leans over the table, clasping your hand in his much larger one as he squeezes it back gently.

"Deal." That small smile from before is still there. "So what's next?" he asks.

The thing you never realized, being an ordinary person bereft of super genes or other superhuman powers is just how convenient commuting can be if you have them. 

No longer do you have to brave the Lynchian nightmare that is the NYC subway system. Half-naked manic street preachers giving sermons as you’re held hostage, with nowhere else to go in the carriage. Being chased down by a drunk trumpeting Mariachi band. Instead, all you need to do to get from point A to point B (A: being the Chrysler building and B: the building formerly known as your home) is to hold on tight to Miguel as he swings you both above the city gridlock.

You imagine that this is what paragliding must feel like, except it's so much better because here you don't have to do the safety training beforehand or pay $3,000 for the privilege.

The city skyline is a dark evening blue, dotted with the sparkling lights of office buildings, cab roof lights and street lamps, as the wind ruffles through the fabric of your clothes.

It's such a different sight when you're flying above instead of walking on the streets below, that you don't even clock that you're in your neighborhood, until you see a building with a collapsed wall that's been blocked off, looking like a crash site. Only then do you realize... you're home.

Miguel carefully sets you down on your feet on a small patch of concrete that is clear of the rubble and destruction.

"Why did you want to come back here again?" he asks. 

It’s a good question. Now that you're here, standing in the middle of charred debris and cracked bricks, you're not sure either. You had some vague plans of seeing what you could salvage, hoping for some clothes, maybe your electric toothbrush, or really just any of your stuff. Something that’s yours, no matter how small, to hold on to after the events of today have ripped away life as you know it.

But there’s nothing left. The furniture, all your books and knick knacks, and even your dirty laundry piles have been demolished. Your home as you know it is gone. There's only piles and piles of rubble and traces of white fire extinguisher foam on the ground. The fire has been out for hours, but the pungent smell of smoke and sulfur still pervades the air. 

"You okay?" Miguel asks.

He's still standing at the outer edges of the apartment, close to where your window would have been if a helicopter hadn't crashed through it.

"Yeah... I guess the silver lining is that I didn't have anything expensive. Though it'd been nice if I could've saved my mom's Le Creuset set or at least the nanny-cam so I could return it and get a refund," you joke glibly. 

You nudge aside some concrete rubble with the cap of your shoes. There's nothing under there, no treasured memorabilia that's still miraculously intact. Just more burnt concrete and rubble.

"Why did you have a nanny cam?"

You turn around at his question, to see him hovering close to you, one eyebrow raised with an unhappy set to his jaw. 

From the displeased expression on his face, he's probably misunderstanding something here. Probably thinks you're operating a very unlucrative Onlyfans business, when what you've really been doing is spy on him and his nightly visits. You don't know which is worse to confess to, so you don't confess to anything.

"No reason," you say, ignoring the way his already raised eyebrow twitches with irritation at your lack of an answer.

"Come on, let's go," he says, and he waves towards you in a come hither motion like he's commanding a dog.

"Go?" you ask him. "It's past midnight. My place, as you can see, is wrecked. Go where exactly?"

Miguel shoots you a strange look. "A hotel," he says, like it's the most obvious thing, and– okay, he's not completely wrong in that assumption.

Problem is, you didn't have time to pick up your wallet or phone before your impromptu interdimensional visit. They’ve been incinerated along with all the rest of your worldly possessions, which means you don't have any way to pay for a hotel.

Plus Manhattan hotel prices average $400 a night. Even if you still had access to your debit cards, your budget’s pretty tight right now after all the capital you invested in your unhinged quest to trap the superhero before you. 

"In the city? I don't have that kind of money and it will take months for any insurance payouts to come in."

You should know. As an insurance claims adjuster, you know you’ll be lucky if your claim is processed before the end of the year. And, ugh, just the thought of the paperwork you’ll have to fill out is enough to give you an anxiety migraine.

"I’ll cover the room," Miguel says casually before holding out a hand to you, "Come on, let’s go."

When Miguel said he’d cover it, you expected a reasonably-priced room at one of the Days Inn across the river or the like. Hopefully a place with no rats or bed bugs, and maybe clean bedding over a somewhat comfortable mattress for you to pass out on if you were lucky.

You didn't expect this.

Standing in front of the Midtown Four Seasons, you find yourself on sleek marble so polished you can see your own reflection. You haven't even stepped a foot inside yet and there are two old fashioned doormen, wearing immaculately fitted suits, with an even more impressive posture opening the majestic double-set doors for you as you approach.

It's swanky as hell, and you can’t help gawking like a tourist, eyes glued to the decadent carved ceilings that must be at least 30 feet tall, soaring above you. Honey-colored limestone that looks like it’s been looted from Ancient Rome.

You feel more than a little bit out of place. This is way outside of your budget. You could probably work your job for a lifetime, and not have enough disposable income to stay the night at a place like this.

"Uhm, Miguel... this place is way too–" you start, turning towards him.

But as you were busy lamenting the state of the housing market, he's already walked away from you (for such a bulky guy, he moves swiftly and silently) and as you whip your head around to find him, he's already standing in front of the receptionist.

Damned antelope legged man, would it kill him to wait up for you once in a while? You run up after him and have to tip-toe in order to see over his shoulder because the giant mammoth is blocking the check-in counter.

And wow, even the receptionist here is of a different caliber than the ones you'd find at Holiday Inn. A fashionable bob-cut with razor sharp edges, looking like a model cut out from a Vogue cover.

"Do you have a reservation, Sir?"

You half-expect him to say no, and that the two of you would have to tuck your tail between your legs and walk out of here to the backdrop of a sad trombone playing.

To your astonishment he says your name. The receptionist tip-taps away at her keyboard and then she nods and smiles gracefully at you both. 

"Yes of course. After reviewing your reservation details, I am pleased to inform you that all necessary arrangements have already been made, including advance payment and verification of your identification. Your room is ready for you, we trust you will enjoy your stay."

She flashes you a pearly white smile so shiny it's almost blinding and hands you a hotel key card. 

When you turn around, to your confusion Miguel is no longer next to you. How does he keep disappearing like this? 

"Cielito," Miguel’s voice calls. The nickname doesn’t register at first. It doesn't even occur to you that he’s referring to you, until he barks it out a second time. 

Your head darts up to see him standing by the elevator, tapping his feet impatiently as he waits for you to make it over to him.

"How did you do that?" you whisper loudly to him as you step into the elevator. "Where did you get my ID? How did you make a reservation? How did you--"

He takes your hand, mid-sentence, turning your wrist upwards and taps the watch.

"The computer systems in this universe are child's play for Lyla to manipulate. Reservations, money, ID, she can take care of all of that easily," he explains.

"She can do that?" you ask, and Miguel merely nods at you as the elevator closes behind the two of you.

You tip your head down to inspect your gifted watch. In awe of this technical marvel that would make Siri look like it’s from the stone-ages. You wonder if she can boost your credit scores. She could probably hack any wi-fi password so you'd never have to worry about data throttling again. She could get you table reservations for Libertine! The possibilities are endless!

You turn to Miguel. "Can Lyla get me Beyoncé tickets?" you ask. 

He just shakes his head at you with what almost qualifies as an amused smile.

The room upstairs is massive. 

It’s easily three times the size of your little studio apartment, and the ceilings are twice as tall, with a hanging glass chandelier that’s sparkling bright enough to blind you. It looks like one of those places featured in Architectural Digest. 

Everything is in an art deco style, with expensive looking furniture and even more expensive art hanging on the one spare wall that isn’t covered in floor to ceiling windows. There are large shelves and a sleek looking kitchen, complete with an opulent looking velvet lounge chair of emerald green that looks like something a Roman emperor would be fed grapes on. 

In this colossal space of a room, there is only one bed. One colossal, plush-mattress-topped, goose down duvet and probably 1,000,000,000 thread count sheet covered bed.

You tense up, not sure what the arrangements Miguel had in mind. Did he want the two of you to sleep in the same bed?

Miguel did pay for the room, so you’re not going to start voicing objections. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time in the short time span that you two have known each other to do that. This bed is also a lot wider than your tiny double bed, so it wouldn’t be the cramped disaster it was last night. You’d just have to make sure to use the bathroom before bed this time so he doesn’t jab your full bladder in the morning again. 

Without saying anything, Miguel strides across the length of the room with impatient and determined steps. His hand reaches for the balcony doors and slides them open. 

"Wait wait, where are you going?" you ask him as you run up to the middle of the room. 

“I’m sleeping outside,” he says over his shoulder, and your mind boggles with that. 

“Why? Isn’t it better for you to stay here?”

"This is the 62nd floor. That’s about as safe as you’re going to get. I’ll keep a lookout to make sure no more helicopters come crashing in.” 

You’re not sure if he means the last part as a joke or not, but as you watch his broad back retreating as he walks away from you, a sickening sort of the deja vu twists through your chest. 

I can’t save you, he’d said back in your apartment, Nothing can. 

The feeling clawing at your chest feels alarmingly like panic. It screams that he’s leaving you. That he’s never coming back. That you’ll never see him again. 

You’re being irrational, and you know it. You remind yourself that he wouldn’t have done this much for you only to bail in the middle of the night, but that doesn’t stop the fear that’s festering, sharp and urgent, under your skin, or the way your heart races, your whole body flashing hot and cold at the same time. 

You want him to stay. 

“Miguel,” you call out, and he immediately stops and turns to look back at you, one eyebrow raised in a skeptical question. 

Please stay. 

You open your mouth, but the words won’t come out. You can’t ask this man—this big, sarcastic, rude hulk of a man—to have a sleepover with you because you’re scared to be alone in the dark. He would laugh you out of the hotel room.

“Uhm… thank you,” you say instead, but it’s no less sincere, “For everything.”

His eyes soften, the sharp narrowness of them easing up. “It’s fine,” he mumbles, and despite the cold chill of the evening, you think you can see a faint flush blooming in his cheeks, before he quickly ducks his face from you. “I’ll be right outside if something happens.” 

He turns back around and walks out, closing the patio doors with a gentle click behind him, leaving you by yourself. 

It’s quiet. 

You survey the empty room you’re in. Without Miguel’s large frame taking up space, it seems even bigger than it did before. 

It’s a beautiful room. Something that you’re pretty sure you’ve seen in a movie set. You don’t know why you’re not as excited as you were before. This is you living your Pretty Woman moment. You should be filling up the big jacuzzi tub you saw with bubbles. Heck, maybe ask Lyla to order you a bottle of champagne from room service. 

Instead, your eyes linger on the glass patio doors leading to the balcony terrace. You walk over to the bed, perching yourself down on the edge of the mattress, then flop down. 

Might as well try to sleep, you think to yourself as you climb under the covers and switch off the light. The best thing you can do right now is catch yourself some rest so you’ll be alert while trying to figure out your next steps tomorrow.

3 months… That’s what Miguel told you.

That’s all the time you have left. 

That means you don’t have time to waste, but you also have no idea where to start. The local library doesn’t exactly carry any resources on how to stop the universe from trying to kill you. 

The Universe. 

An infinite cosmos, grander than any human being can possibly comprehend. This vast space containing all the galaxies with its billions of stars and planets, where an individual being does not even register as a speck, and it wants you dead. How can you possibly fight against those odds? 

You lie wide-eyed and awake staring into the dark of the room, and the feeling of dread gnaws into you. 

You don’t want to be alone right now. Turning in the bed, your eyes find their way back to the blank slate of the pitched night outside the balcony doors. 

You really wished he had stayed with you. 

Sitting upright in the bed, you consider your options. You can lie back down. Suffer insomnia and the existential horror of knowing the universe is trying to murder you. Or you can man up, swallow down whatever tiny morsel of your pride you have left and ask Miguel to come back inside and stay with you. 

Flinging the duvet from your body, you get up to walk over to the balcony. You hesitate for a moment before tapping the window pane the way you might knock on a door, giving a polite head's up before you slide the balcony patio open. But when you poke your head out, turning your head left and right, Miguel's nowhere to be found. 

Okay, that’s weird. He said he’d be right outside if you needed him. You walk up to the ledge of the balcony terrace, leaning over the rail and peer down to see him dangling upside down, from the ledge of your balcony. The sight nearly makes you scream. 

"Miguel!” 

At you calling his name, he pulls himself up, one clawed hand gripping at the concrete wall as he climbs his way up and over to you. He makes it look easy, as if gravity does not exist for him, and it’s only a moment until he’s perched on the ledge of the balcony, facing you. 

“What’s wrong?” he demands, eyes concerned, and you’re suddenly aware of how very close he is. His face mere inches from yours, your noses nearly touching.

“What’s wrong? You’re hanging upside down from the 62nd floor! What are you, a bat?!"

“Why did you come out here?” he clarifies, and his words give you pause. You try to gather your thoughts after the bizarre sight you just walked into and remember what you came out here for. 

He’s still looking at you with his full and intense concentration that makes your skin prickle with warmth.

God, it’s embarrassing to ask. You feel like you’re five years old, asking your parents to turn the nightlight on, even though you know you’re a big girl now and aren’t supposed to be afraid of monsters hiding under your bed any more. 

You look down on your hands, where you’re wringing them together, then back up at him, and make yourself spit it out, "Could you… maybe… stay with me tonight?" 

His eyes widen at your question, but he doesn’t actually answer you and gives you no physical indication one way or the other. 

"I feel safer when you're with me,” you admit. 

“I am with you out here,” he counters, because of course he can’t make this easy for you.  

“I can’t see you out here.”

The line of his shoulder eases, and he ducks his head down with a resigned sigh. "Fine. Get back inside, Cielito. You're going to catch a cold like this."

You shuffle back inside to your bed, watching out of the corner of your eye as  he follows you inside and settles himself on the lounge sofa. He’s so tall that his feet are sticking out over the armrests, like a long-legged stork. 

Hiding a smile, you climb back into bed, wrapping the bedding all around yourself.

“Good night,” you call out, and he makes a grumpy noise of acknowledgment. 

Your head drops back onto the soft pillow, and you close your eyes, ready to sleep. It’s such a nice bed. The sheets are cool and soft against your skin and smell of fresh eucalyptus. The mattress is the most comfortable you ever remember resting on, firm but somehow soft at the same time. You feel like you’re sleeping on a cloud. 

Moments go by, and you revel in the sumptuous bed, waiting for the best sleep of your life to claim you. 

Except it doesn’t. 

Somehow… you still can’t fall asleep. Is it… too soft maybe? You turn in the bed, twisting your torso to get into a position you can comfortably sink into, but something doesn’t feel right. There’s no lumpiness like at home, but that should be a good thing. 

Except… despite the decadent softness of the bed. Despite the fact that the sheets probably have a thread count with more zeros than your checking and savings accounts combined. Despite all of the luxury that surrounds you, you still find yourself tossing and turning and wide fucking awake.

The bed is too big. You don’t know what to do with all this space. Your body is not accustomed to this sort of decadence. What if you suffocate sinking into this soft fluffy pillow in your sleep? What if you toss and turn until you fall off this massive bed and break your neck? Maybe that’s how out of all of the universe’s attempts to kill you, you end up dying? 

Fuck! 

You can’t sleep. 

You turn to your side and stare into the velvet lounge chaise on the opposite side of your room, where Miguel is. 

Quietly, you pad up to his still form until you’re standing in front of him and hunch over, trying to decide how rude it would be to wake him up again when there's nothing he can do about your stupid insomnia anyway.

In the dim light, you spot something glinting at you. Looking closer, you notice that the thin chain looped around his neck has escaped his shirt to pool on the fabric of the sofa cushion under him. You gently drag the loose end of the necklace toward you, and find a smooth golden band threaded onto it.

Picking it up cautiously, you flip it in your hand and find that there's something engraved on the inside.  It's hard to see in the darkness, but when you lean closer and squint your eyes, you can just make out what it says.

'MO'—undeniably the initials of one Miguel O'Hara.

Twisting the ring slightly, you find a tiny plus sign followed by your own initials, and your heart drops into the pit of your stomach.

Oh.

The memory of sitting across Miguel at Starbucks returns to you, when you had asked him who you were to him. You think of the avoidant gaze and how he couldn't look you in the eye.

‘Something like that,’ huh?

Guess the other you wasn't just his girlfriend after all, you think, chest drawn so tight it’s painful.

Holding the wedding band in the palm of your hand, you slide down to sit down on the floor with your back pressed against the chaise lounge.

Your heart aches for the man in front of you and everything he's lost.  You really, really hope you're not going to end up as just another regret on his list.

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: As always to my best friend @thirstworldproblemss I am half asleep and running on fumes. I'm wording things poorly but I just want you to know that I am very happy I have you. Thank you for being my friend and for the time we get to spend together. I have the most fun when I'm with you.

Also to @guruan who is my muse, my source of inspiration. This chapter is dedicated to her because have you seen this beautiful piece of artwork she did for EYEM?!

[simplydnp]

WAD: Cover Art

dan is still working on selling the distribution rights for We're All Doomed! so i decided to make some DVD/Blu-ray disc jacket art!

this is my attempt at a traditional jacket design! none of the images used are mine, but i did create the concept and design:

as i was making the first one for myself, i was struck by the fact that 'well, it's for me, so it doesn't have to look like a stereotypical jacket cover' which led me to be more artsy in my approach for the next one:

i was really enjoying the creativity and space to explore, so i went looking for more inspiration for a third design. this led me to dan's favourite Muse album: Origin of Symmetry, which i paid homage to:

after the first Muse album, i looked at their catalogue to see if there was more inspiration there. i was just thankful dan's favourite was easy stylistically to mimic, unlike say, 2009's The Resistance...

thank you @danielhowell for the inspiration!

nerdy stuff & reference pics below the cut!

General notes

i don't know how to use photoshop! i entirely brute-forced my way through the whole project, and the only tutorial i looked up was for the gradient text in the 4th cover

this wasn't even the original project i was working on! you'll eventually get to see that though

and this one also inspired art for the disc itself so stay tuned 👀

i will do anything for authenticity so these are Full of intentional details

matching fonts is a nightmare

the traditional cover

took the longest, as it was the first.

the barcode numbers are the date of the first video he uploaded on dinof, and the last tour show date (in m/d/y)

i changed 'iceland' to 'poland' on the front cover, as he never actually went to iceland, and poland wasn't ever on the list even though he did go there

the orange may look a little off-center in the front, but these designs need to include space for a spine between the front and back cover, i promise it's right 😂

the black and white cover

inspired by the 'i want to believe' aliens poster

the cover art comes from his metal band merch shirt design

i had to manually shrink the text, line by line, and ensure it all lined up on the back!

i even made the logos on the back greyscale

the Muse: Origin of Symmetry cover

a shockingly perfect style for a WAD cover. i'm so glad i used the cubes, even if they couldn't be orange.

there's some versions of the art online where the sky is even more orange and it baffles me how i haven't seen any parallels like this before

the Muse: The Resistance cover

this cover was never supposed to see the light of day! i meant it when i said i was grateful i didn't have to try to adapt this complex design... and yet, i tried anyway.

i did all the grid lines by hand, including the jagged/broken edge parts, shading each section, and then drawing every star.

the hardest part was getting the gradient on the back text to cooperate. photoshop's gradient settings are surprisingly limited

gotta shout out @amazingphil for being the reason i knew what this cover looked like--it's the only muse album i knew the art of before embarking on this quest!

obligatory sob story:

i've been extremely and suddenly ill for 6 months. it is difficult to function moment to moment, but especially in doing little things just for me. this is the first and only art project i've been able to feel inspired to not only work on, but to finish, and despite the pain and long hours, i enjoyed every minute of it. thank you, dan, for creating this space for me to explore, and thank you, everyone here, for being wonderful support during this time 💞

[writing-for-life]

Dream and How He Experiences Love

(Or: When the Unreal is at War with the Real, and Finally Understanding Unconditional Love Tightens the Noose Around Your Neck That Has Been There All Along)

And as always: Send me asks about everything Sandman-related!

Let me start this one with a few adjectives from the horse’s mouth (aka: Neil Gaiman said so 🤣) as to what Dream is actually like:

from: Vertigo Chase Card Set

So in short: This is probably the most accurate way to describe Dream in a nutshell, from the author himself, fully knowing that Murphy doesn’t lend himself well to be described in a nutshell.

And of course it’s absolutely fine if we want to head-canon him just being 5 out of those 50 (or none of them at all)—our stories are our own. At the end of the day, we went through a whole year of Tumblrfication (I might have made up that word), and getting back to the series will be tough. So is trying to align what the current prevalent perception of Dream is like in parts of the fandom, and what he is like in both comics and series (show and comics really aren’t that different where it matters, and I’ll die on that hill). I already worry about the fallout if I look at what happened with GO or OFMD, but that just as an aside.

Anyway, Dream in fandom spaces is often portrayed as either a pathetic wet cat who can’t get to grips with anything and constantly needs rescued in one way or another, or as a completely unfeeling arsehole incapable of relating to the human experience and being horrible all around. There are very few shades of grey in how some fans perceive him, when just the list of above adjectives shows us how complex he is as a character.

One thing that obviously comes up regularly are his relationships, be they romantic or platonic. So I just wanted to draw attention to the adjectives that relate strongly to the relational element in him (although they all apply in one way or another):

touchy, sentimental, cold, loving, [elusive], gentle, hurt, deep, intense, solitary, romantic, shy, intangible, lonely

Dream is the unreal. His way of loving relates very deeply to what stereotypical romantic love is: Romance and reality are a contradiction in terms—romanticism is dreaming because it is, at its very core, an idealised view. The intangible dream that comes back to bite us in the arse once reality sets in. And his flavour of love is the prototype of idealised and intangible (=romantic) and can never be anything else by his very nature.

And I’ve often thought that the way he experiences love is also a large part of why his existence is so difficult for him, and why he ultimately makes the choices he makes. Yes, he detests his function, but if he weren't so lonely (and weren't doomed to be so by his very purpose), he might find it easier to bear.

Let me look at, and draw parallels to, the 7 types of love as the Ancient Greeks perceived them [quick note about the image references: I would have loved to give more, but there is a limit. Also: Apologies I have no alt text for the comic panels at this point, I might add them at a later stage if I find the time]…

Eros

That’s both sexual and romantic love (to varying degrees), and it can be fleeting (like a dream) if not anchored in a less idealised view. So there’s your first cue—he totally experiences that kind of love.

The Ancient Greeks also thought it was a dangerous type of love, one that clouds our judgment and one that won’t last if not combined with some of the other types. And Dream himself knows this and probably relates (he detests his sibling Desire for “meddling”, after all). And yet, he is the intangible, the ungrounded, the unreal.

It’s all over every single one of his relationships we witness:

Killalla—“gifted” by Desire. We never get any cue as to what exactly they were up to, but it can be assumed desire, for whatever, played a large part in their relationship. Killalla makes no secret about it either (and is at the same time uncertain whether she truly loves him while being confused Dream might actually love her after what seems a very short time, at least in cosmic terms). Suffice it to say, he has a very idealised view of her and their relationship. Romantic idiocy at its best: He has literal stars in his eyes and is so grateful for Desire’s help he is basically kissing their boots in gratitude.

Alianora—again one of Desire’s gifts. And Dream tried, and I definitely think he was at least romantically (and physically) attracted to her (the art is very hard to interpret otherwise, neither is the context--she was gifted by Desire, after all). But this relationship is generally a tricky one because there is gratefulness and guilt n the mix, and that is sometimes a very unfortunate combination. He also couldn’t fully trust her because of his deep mistrust of D/desire. And lo and behold, of course the relationship soured when romantic and (potentially physical) attraction waned.

Nada—pursuing each other on and off, broadcasting sexy time all over the Dreaming because he's just so head over heels and literally bursting at the seams—need I say more? Yes, he does say to her that her body does not matter to him, which I 100% believe is true. He also says that he will love her as no mortal man can. But everything that transpires is still deeply informed by romantic attraction, because quite frankly: You don't feel love yet after you've barely met someone. It's again a deeply idealised view and that is something inherently romantic in tandem (in this case) with physical desire. Again, because D/desire was involved.

As to the particulars of Nada’s banishment to hell, and why Dream acted so out of character compared to his other failed relationships: You can find all of it here.

Calliope—read her speech at the Wake is all I’ll say. That is someone making romantic love so integral to their whole existence, I don’t even know where to start. He puts the world at her feet and makes sure she always comes first (quite literally) while they are still loved up…

Thessaly—he's the romantic idiot (affectionately) in the rain with his coat billowing in the wind, and referring to her “weighing him dispassionately and finding him wanting”. It was only a handful of months--you don't feel true, stable love at that point. Again, it has the idealised view of romance (and potentially sexual desire) written all over it. He would have given her the world, just like he would have given the world to Nada and Calliope. That is the trope of every freaking romance novel, and that is exactly how he perceives love.

Titania—who knows, she keeps her mouth shut.

Ludus

I think he has a hard time to be flirtatious and playful (at least, we don't really see it. We never really see him during the courting stage, and what went down with Thessaly was hardly "flirtatious". `Then again, bickering like they did in A Game of You is electrifying to some, so who knows. She also said at his wake he was cautious and nervous). And if he comes across as flirtatious (there is a charming on that list of adjectives after all), it’s just because he is so deliberate in everything he does that he might just push someone’s (right) buttons, so to speak. But that’s not the same as “no strings attached”-love, because I honestly believe he’s incapable of experiencing love that way. There is no “casual” with him. He always stays attached to the people/women he once loved, even if the relationship sours. He still loves each and every single one of them, he never stops. But he also doesn’t in a way that’s sustainable, and it’s an unsolvable conflict due to what/who he is.

Philia

Most closely translated as friendship and affection. Platonic love, if you will. It is also a love between equals. He has a hard time with it and only slowly learns what it means through his relationship with Hob. Needless to say: The Ancient Greeks valued platonic love as one of the highest forms of love. Hence, I’m personally reluctant to turn it into something else/slant it towards romance, because that’s exactly what this part of the story is about: His relationship to Hob is important and grows/lasts because it is not romantic in the comics.

Storge

Unconditional love for family, especially children. Based on complete acceptance and potentially sacrifice. Doesn’t need to be reciprocated. You feel it, no matter what, and you act accordingly. And for Dream and Orpheus, that didn’t work until it did. Or, let’s rather say: I don’t want to assume he didn’t feel it. But he pushed it down in his hurt and pride (as did his son in his grief). No further comment, because that one hurts.

Agape

Altruistic, universal, all-encompassing. And that’s so deeply at the core of his being, and so central to his whole conflict that I don’t even know where to start. From not wanting to kill the first vortex (or Rose, for that matter), to telling John Dee he’s hurting the dreamers, and that being his main concern while he himself was writhing on the floor in agony, to “humanity I love you”, to a million other things. He cares so deeply, there is such a deep concern for sentient beings in their entirety that it’s quite literally impossible to call it anything other than love. And it’s also what plays a large part in his demise.

Pragma

Oh, here we go. I honestly believe he likes the idea of committed and long-lasting. And he’s trying. So very hard. Calliope is the best example. Alianora was another one, because it’s not like they broke up swiftly (hard to tell how long they lasted, but since she had stayed in the Dreaming too long to go anywhere else, it wouldn’t surprise me if we’re actually talking a very, very long time. He called it “a goodly while”, and considering how old he is, I doubt that equals only months, or even just a few years, especially since he is fully aware how short his relationship to Thessaly was). And he wanted to stay true to his promise. But he is who/what he is: the unreal. And as the personification of that, love both feels real for him but will also forever stay intangible. It’s heartbreaking really. Again, it has written the contradiction between romantic love (the ideal) and pragmatic love (the thing that is grounded in reality) written all over it.

Philautia

And that’s the most heartbreaking one. He is incapable of self-love and full of self-loathing instead. The Ancient Greeks used to say that you can’t give what you don’t have. And it’s hard to feel compassion for the flaws we perceive in others if we don’t have that self-compassion for the exact same flaw in ourselves. And that one hurts in so many ways, from his not being able to forgive himself (which is mirrored in his relationship to Nada, who also couldn’t forgive herself—she didn’t need his forgiveness, she needed her own) to Orpheus being so much like him apart from one major difference: he’s mortal in spirit, and even immortality doesn’t change that. And Dream struggles with the part of his child that is so like him for a million reasons that would burst this meta at the seams, but again: it’s hard to love in others what we detest in ourselves, knowingly or unknowingly.

So in short: The particular flavours of love Dream feels (Eros, Agape, Philia growing slowly over time) and the ones he doesn’t (Ludus, Pragma, Philautia) are also at the very root of how the story goes.

And when he finally truly understands what Storge/unconditional love is--both in the way he reassesses his relationship to Nada but especially in how he finally submits to his love for Orpheus (with all that entails)--and when he allows it to become real, it’s what tightens the noose around his neck. But that noose has been around his neck loosely all along…

[jackoshadows]

It's annoying how proactive female protagonists in Asoiaf are often labelled and seen as 'impulsive' by fandom in general. That's never a thing with the male characters. Female characters who get things done, who have agency and want to help people are very often characterized by fandom as wrongly and emotionally reacting to seeing injustice or even when they are engaged in policy making.

Arya is seen as impulsive for stepping in to help Mycah from a sadistic bully. Dany is labelled impulsive for not taking an economics course and reading Karl Marx’s Critique of Political Economy before freeing slaves. One popular post framed Arya and Catelyn as being similar because they apparently run around biting people.

Recall that Catelyn was one of Robb's most important campaign advisers, conducted the diplomatic negotiations for him, wanted less war and more of a peaceful resolution to the conflict and wanted to exchange hostages. And yet this fandom constantly frames the Arya/Cat parallels as them being impulsive and violent.

By the way, Arya does have parallels to Catelyn in terms of their proactiveness in maneuvering in a chauvinistic man's world, their loyalty to family and duty and doing what needs to be done. Fandom, however, always approach the Arya/Cat parallels negatively - as a form of critique of both female characters.

Do these characters have moments where they impulsively react in emotional situations? Yes, like pretty much ALL the characters do in the series. And yet these labels are singularly applied only to the female protagonists.

Arya for example is often careful, analytical and intelligent in her actions. When she escapes KL she carefully considers each step - where to go, where the guards would be, how the guards look, where the guards would search etc. - before planning her move. That's how she was able to outwit the adults like Cersei sending Lannister guards in disguise to catch Arya in enemy territory.

The same is true when Arya escapes Harenhall, where she strategizes, draws up a plan, identifies what she needs and where it is, collects everything and then gives the older boys - Gendry and Hot Pie - instructions on what to do

And then there is the way Arya and Dany are often characterized as violent in a way the male characters never are, when Planetos is a violent, medieval, feudal, grim dark fantasy setting.

To proactively get things done in a violent, patriarchal, chauvinistic world, one often has to engage in violence. Ned, Robert, Stannis, Jon, Robb, Tyrion, Jaime, Theon, Northern lords, NW brothers, KG have all killed people. Arya has to kill a guard to escape her captivity where the most horrible atrocities - including rape and torture - are especially committed on the female prisoners. No one is going to help her, she has to do it herself. And yet because of her gender, she gets condemned as 'violent', 'psychopathic', 'forever damaged', 'should feel guilty and bad about what she did' etc.

As ruler, Daenerys engages in the same medieval, feudal practices that other rules do - we are first introduced to the series' presumable hero Ned Stark, with him chopping off a man's head for desertion. And yet she is seen as violent and tyrannical in a way none of the male rulers are.

I still come across these jokes about Jon Snow counting beets ignoring his chosen one destiny when Daenerys also has an administrative arc in ADwD! Where are all the comments/jokes about Dany's problems with food, trying to grow food, trying to trade for food when she has encountered chosen one prophecy and yet stays behind in Essos doing the same thing Jon Snow is, except ten times harder because Meereen is a city state.

Especially jarring when all of GRRM's comments about ruling focuses on administration and specifically mentions Daenerys story in ADwD again and again. Like this for ex:

“I guess there is an element of fantasy readers that don’t want to see that. I find that fascinating. Seeing someone like Dany actually trying to deal with the vestments of being a queen and getting factions and guilds and [managing the] economy. They burnt all the fields [in Meereen]. They’ve got nothing to import any more. They’re not getting any money. I find this stuff interesting. And fortunately, enough of my readers who love the books do as well.” - GRRM

Dany, Tyrion and Jon's leadership arcs (In ADwD and ACoK) have parallels in that they are mostly of an administrative nature, dealing with money and food, making marriage alliances and unpopular decisions, with characters secretly undermining them. Jon's arc ends with mutineers assassinating him, Dany's arc ends with slavers trying to assassinate her and her fleeing on Drogon and Tyrion's arc ends with the Battle of Blackwater, Tywin coming back and Tyrion losing his power and position. No matter how well they did or didn't do as leaders, there was always someone in the shadows plotting against them, taking them down.

To single out the lead female characters alone as being impulsive and violent for being proactive and doing what needs to be done in order to survive in a violent, patriarchal world is misogyny at it's finest.

[zenkindoflove]

Elain Archeron and Sansa Stark: A Comparison

I’ve been wanting to make this post for a while because I have seen a lot of similarities between Elain’s character and Sansa Stark (ASOIAF/GOT), not only in their mannerisms and narrative but the way that the fandom unfairly undermines and outright despises them. So, this post is going to be a bit of an exploration of both of their characters, speaking mostly to the ACOTAR fandom, to try and give some predictions I have about Elain’s narrative journey and lessons learned from Sansa’s narrative.

Elain and Sansa fit a very similar female character archetype in fantasy (and other fiction genres), which is that they are more traditionally feminine characters that conform to their roles as women in their patriarchal societies as compared to their counterparts who buck gender norms often by learning to fight. In particular, Elain and Sansa are often directly compared to their sisters who fit the more beloved sword-fighting, sassy, smart-mouthed heroines. What is important to this post, is that these characters are almost always heavily maligned and criticized by fandoms at large with critiques that are often rooted in misogyny, which fundamentally undervalues expressions of femininity and feminine roles. 

Both characters also have a lot of other similarities when it comes to their personalities, characteristics, and narratives. Both Elain and Sansa are obedient daughters who are described as sociable and make friends easily. They both are well-skilled in navigating courtly politics, and they begin their journeys as deep romantics, dreaming and wishing to fall in love. They’re both betrothed to men for political gain, and both undergo tragic and heartbreaking violations to their bodily autonomy. They are also both frequently undermined by characters’ in their stories, often underestimated in their strengths and abilities, and in both stories, those assumptions are proven wrong.

Now, we do not know where Elain’s journey is going, but we do Sansa’s, at least from the show. Sansa eventually finds her independence and her strength, taking back her ancestral home and being declared Queen in the North. She did not do this by becoming a warrior or a great battle commander. No, she did this by leaning into her political skills, inspiring nobles and armies to fight for her because of her name and what it represents. And when she had some power, leading her people and putting their care first, a narrative journey I hope to see for Elain coming into her own leadership position one day. 

One of the ways I wanted to outline drawing some of these parallels, is to break down some of the criticisms that Elain faces now that Sansa Stark also faced by fans. And if you are reading this and these criticisms are ones you have expressed, hopefully you reconsider your assumptions about Elain and where her story is going. 

Elain is boring. 

This accusation is often ascribed to Elain based on her interests and hobbies and refusal to participate in more traditionally masculine roles in the narrative (fighting, swordplay). Elain is often described as gardening, baking, helping with domestic duties, and purposely kept away from the political and adventurous parts of the narrative. And yet, this does not mean that in order for Elain to be interesting, she suddenly needs to be thrust into her own version of a training montage to start learning to use swords and daggers. Elain is a powerful Made Fae. She has one of the rarest abilities, being a Seer. She is deeply connected with the Koschei plot, as she was the one to see a vision of him, Vassa, and the other cursed women, which brought about Lucien’s journey to the continent and connecting that overall plot to what is happening in Prythian. It’s very likely her story will focus on her exploring her magic more, likely with Lucien, to figure out how to break Vassa’s curse and destroy Koschei once and for all - none of which requires her to actually become a warrior. 

Elain will become evil. 

Sansa too was often criticized as being boring by fans. They saw her struggles, being passed from cruel husband to cruel husband, as signs she was weak. Sansa was often directly compared to her sister Arya who was learning to fight with a sword and training as an assassin. But Sansa was undergoing a very different sort of training. We see her shed her sheltered POV of the world, and instead, became deeply involved in the politics of the game of thrones. She learns from several characters how to play the game and play it right, as she is one of the few characters to survive until the end, having a true hero’s journey of ascension. We see that she uses people’s assumptions that she is stupid and naive to their disadvantage, allowing their underestimation of her abilities to make them turn away from how she outsmarts them in the end. Elain is also hinted at being deeply intelligent, in ways that even her sisters seem to ignore. She is also described several times in ACOSF as being sneaky, foreshadowing that she will surprise her family based on their assumptions of her. Ultimately, I foresee Elain leaning into her courtly knowledge and social skills, much like Sansa, to push forward her own journey.

Elain and Sansa are also both very inward characters. When they are struggling, they are more quiet and unassuming, to disarm others and draw attention away from them. As we know from Sansa's POV chapters, she was constantly strategizing her pretty words to save her skin. And I think Elain similarly shows the world one side of her, but hides a rich and complex inner world that we won't see until we get her POV.

This critique - which is also not always presented as a critique but sometimes as a wish for Elain to become a villain so she might be more interesting to those who find her boring - is one that I really dislike. And one of the biggest reasons I dislike it is because I saw the exact same predictions thrown at Sansa crash and burn. Often fans would revel in the idea that “finally, Sansa can become interesting” if she were to turn into the next Cersei or Littlefinger. But we did not see that happen. Instead, we saw that Sansa clung to her compassion, empathy, and her Stark morality, while shedding the blind trust that put her father and brothers into so much danger. She took lessons from Cersei and Littlefinger, but rather than becoming them, she bested them. Especially Littlefinger, where she outsmarted him when he tried to turn her and her sister against each other, and ultimately is the one who passed his execution sentence, achieving justice for all the crimes he committed against her family and Westeros. Sansa did not let the brutalization of her body and spirit turn her against her family. She never betrayed them, even when she was wed to their worst enemies. Instead, she made it her priority to serve and represent the North and its interest in all things, including standing up to Dany, because she understood to hold the North, she must not bend to other rulers and respect all that the North had sacrificed for the Starks. 

Similarly, I do not see Elain betraying her family. There are several times she asserts her loyalty and insists that she wants to help them and their interests. I think her story will be more about being underestimated by her family and overlooked for leadership roles and her insight (as was Sansa) and this will push her to branch out on her own to discover who she is outside of her family and the expectations they have of her. But I do not think she will become the antagonist to them. Instead, I see her using her own strength to “save” them too in ways they would have never imagined that Elain can do. Sansa was not an outright antagonist to Jon, for example, though she often challenged him (which upset many fans, more on that later) because she believed her perspective was valuable. I see Elain's difference in how she sees the world and what she values being in similar disagreement with the Night Court, and her having to "prove" herself to them that she needs to be taken seriously.

Elain and Sansa are also very similar in that they both are described as abhorring violence. Sansa, in the end, does sometimes use violence as a means to an end, and even is shown enjoying Ramsey’s brutal execution by being eaten by his own dogs. Yet, Sansa is never shown to enjoy moments like these again (and of course this moment is most understandable given all the torture Ramsey put her and others through). Sansa does not lead with anger or brutality like Cersei. Rather, she shifts from a bright, sunny girl to an authoritative woman who ices out her enemies and shows kindness and warmth to her friends and subjects. To me, in keeping with character archetypes, I do not see Elain straying from this core feature of herself as well. I don’t see her desiring to follow in the footsteps of others who use torture and violence to extract information or to hurt others who have hurt her. I do think should Elain come into a position of political leadership, that like Sansa, she will care for the people (as she is already shown to do in Velaris and was known to do in the human lands) and when needed, show her steely, authoritative voice that is unbending (much like the infamous quote from Sansa in the books “my skin has turned from porcelain, to ivory, to steel”). 

Basically, female characters do not have to be either warriors or evil villains to be interesting. Sometimes, female characters who are kind, compassionate, intelligent, and full of hope can still have badass stories and stand as heroines in their own right while maintaining all of those characteristics. 

Elain is two-faced/bitchy/spoiled/selfish. 

Of course, the classic, when the feminine character does anything SLIGHTLY unsettling to the reader, she is hated and tons of stereotypically misogynistic insults are thrown at her. 

I will first off start by saying that when people say this about Elain, it is when she is essentially displaying behaviors that counter their first argument - that Elain is boring. When Elain is being compliant and nice to the other characters, she is called boring. When she very briefly, pushes back on them at all, these insults are hurled at her. I don’t even want to waste time breaking down why these are just comically unfair. Because the fact of the matter is is that every character in the book displays moments of being two-faced/bitchy/spoiled/selfish. And yet, it is Elain who is given these monikers as if they are core features of who she is. Other female characters in ACOTAR are also called these names. However, Elain faces the unique situation of only ever being boring or bitchy to those who dislike her. She can't win either way.

Sansa, of course, had all these insults hurled at her too. She was a traitor and two-faced for having a girlish crush on Joffrey when she was 13 (11 in the books) and literally betrothed, by her father, to a prince. When Sansa at all stands up to characters like Jon or Dany and disagrees with them or argues with their logic about how to handle different choices, she is bitchy, even though Sansa is often proved to be correct in her logic, hesitancy, and how she thinks politically. And of course, in line with the previous point about becoming evil, it was assumed that Sansa would be two-faced with her family. And yet, we saw, time and time again, Sansa was loyal to House Stark. Even the ultimate “sin” of Cersei guilting her to write to Robb about their Father being a “traitor” to the crown - Sansa did it because she thought it was one way she could save her father’s life. Basically, Sansa’s crime was being a girl who didn’t win the audience over by being spunky like her sister. Sansa’s crime was her naivete early on - when she was only a child, and it haunted her throughout the entire series and how fans saw her. Even though, out of every character in the books/show, Sansa at her core, is the one who represents the audience the most. She is the most removed from the magical storylines. The way she lives her life is closer to our own modern way of living than any of the warriors or magical characters in their world. Sansa represents who we would be if we were suddenly thrust into a fantasy story - defenseless and easily abused. But most readers and watchers want to see who they are not, rather than follow a story of who they actually could be and what strength might follow. 

What I want to see from Elain’s story:

Following the lessons of staying true to my girl, Sansa, I hope that Elain, like Sansa, finds her own way in the empathy, kindness, and social skills that she has - along with exploring her powers. Now, as Elain is in a romance, and not a dystopian fantasy like Sansa is, her ending will have a HEA with her love interest. Sansa became Queen in the North, it’s true. But she has no love interest. Her family is all scattered. And there is a bit of a coldness to her now. Many suspect that she will play more of a Queen Elizabeth I role in her rule and never marry, as to keep House Stark as House Stark. But if she were to marry, it will likely be a political alliance, though, my hope is she will find love in it. Because while Sansa might have had her dreams dashed at an early age, I truly hope for the sake of that little romantic girl, she can find love after all the hurt she had to experience. 

Elain will end up with a romance at the end of her story. And I think harkening to her character archetype and who suits her narrative best, it will of course be with her mate, Lucien, who mirrors her characteristics, values, and morals the most. I imagine for them a story where they act as courtiers, helping piece back together Spring, working on alliances with the human lands, and eventually, once Lucien learns of his heritage, finding another home in the Day Court (though I do imagine them to be life-long travelers, making many friends and allies across Prythian and the continent together - as Elain always wanted to travel). Similar to how Sansa used her political intelligence and compassion for her people, I see Elain and Lucien as well using their courtier/emissary skills and knowledge and devotion to serving the people of the courts, putting diplomacy first, to heal a broken and divided world. I think especially the alliance with humans will be so important for Elain’s journey. Where Elain has struggled the most with no longer being human, Lucien has been immersing himself in human culture and political interests. And once they are ready to start their journey, I think both putting their heads together will be invaluable in representing both the interests of the Fae and the humans. I also think Lucien has more invested interest, as her mate, to push her to explore her powers rather than dismiss her ever exploring them like those in the Night Court do. Lucien’s connections through the world can also help her find ways to find the information she needs to learn more about being a Seer and whatever else is going on with her. He also has his own personal experience with exploring and learning of his multitude of powers as well, including what it means to suppress and hide them, as I suspect Elain has been doing. Where Sansa had to prove herself to every character in the story to take her seriously and respect her, I think the one person who has always and will always believe in Elain is the person who has a soul-to-soul connection with her. Who puts her and her needs before his own, and will serve as her devoted sworn shield (cries in Sansan) to fight for her if need be. 

Also maybe I wish and hope for the unlikely Lucien and Elain as High King and High Queen narrative which would fit so perfectly to Sansa’s own rise, but I suspect SJM won’t go in that direction.

Anyways, if you made it to the end, thanks for reading my desperate need to get all these parallels out of my head. I have adored Sansa since I first watched the show in 2011 and fell even more in love with her when I read the books in 2013. I have been defending her to nasty people ever since, and when I joined the ACOTAR fandom, the way people criticized Elain felt SO familiar. Which of course it did. These kinds of criticisms do not stop with Sansa and Elain. Most characters like them are disliked for being soft women with big hearts who are vulnerable to cruel people in their worlds.  

[anyoldfandom]

I am actually. I am so emotional over the Salazar parents and I need to share this to tumblr too.

A lot of stories where the MC is adopted I feel. Either dismiss the biological parents and the impact they have on the kid's life, or makes them evil and abusive, framing the loss of the bio parents as a good thing, or at least something we shouldn't think about just look at this new family.

But Genrex doesn't do that. From the start, Rex wanted to find out more about his parents - it's one of his primary character motivations, next to helping people. He loves them, even though he doesn't know them.

And the more he finds out about them, the more he realizes they loved him. Rylander is consumed by guilt but as Rex's first connection to his pre-Event life, the first thing he does is hug him. And when he tells Rex about his parents, the two things Rex knows is that 1) they were scientists, and 2) that when he was in danger, they were desperate enough to use their secret, experimental technology to save him. Technology built from their desire to help the world, to save countless lives and end countless suffering.

And then. When he finds out that they were dead, he doesn't stop caring. It'd be so easy, too, to tie it up there - his parents were good people, he got his answer about them, the end. But they don't. He doesn't. Because the show is saying once again that they are his parents. He still calls them mom and dad, even as the show makes it clear Holiday and Six adopted Rex as their son. Even as the show even parallels Six and One with Rex and Six (and I will talk about that more later if I don't forget, trust me), to really drive home how much they're family. Rex even says he considers the two of them family, and later that he considers Noah, Claire and Annie family.

He has new family, the show tells us, but his old family still matters to him. He's upset that he never has the chance to meet his parents, that everything he hears about them, about his time with them, is secondhand knowledge. It tells us clearly that not only does Rex still love them, but that he still wants to know them. And everything we find out about them reinforces the love that they had for each other.

We see Abuela and the family in Mexico, who connect him to his birth family and tell him that he was so loved back then, and still is now. We see their office in Abysus through Rex's eyes. The picture of him and his dad on his desk. The drawing Rex drew, proudly pinned to the wall.

We see it in the familiarity of the drawing. That that robot, that build, was what Rex created when he was lost and scared and alone - that it was made to keep him safe. That it first appeared in his mind in a place he felt safe.

The show says, tenderly and softly, that the love is still there. That the fact these people died was nothing but a tragedy, that their love is a big part of what made Rex who he is today - that every molecule in his body is filled with their final gift to him. That every time he cures someone, every time he uses a build, every time he makes a machine - we see the love that they had for him.

And the way he quietly absorbs his father's face. The way he freezes and whispers "Mamá?" when he finds out Zag-Rs has their mother's voice. The fact that she even has her voice as a testament to Caesar's love, too - that it was meant to bring comfort and safety. The way Rex yells at Caesar when he finds out they have a family property, a connection to their past, the way he fights to protect it.

And, none of this takes away still from Six and Holiday being Rex's family too. None of this removes the work either set of parents did for him, the love either set has - the show says that it was unfair that the Salazar parents were lost. That Six and Holiday are not replacements, that they still love him as parents but play different roles in his life. They can not, and have no desire to, replace the Salazars. But Rex needs parents, he needs protectors, and so they will do what they can for him - at first out of necessity, to keep this kid they barely know safe, but then out of love. They aren't replacing what was lost, but are doing their best to do what Rex's bio parents would do. And they do mess up in it - they mess up in ways Rex's bio parents might not have. Six is clearly bad with showing affection, affection we saw the Salazars give Rex so easily, and Holiday is overworked and stressed constantly, sometimes breaking under the pressure and snapping at Rex and Six, things we never saw the Salazars do.

It's just. It's about how sometimes things will not be the same. They will be different. That doesn't mean the people you lost aren't still with you.

[moodymisty]

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: @commodoreprocrastinator this is your fault, now deal with the repercussions of your actions. Part 1 of 2. I hope it's romantic enough even though it's the cardboard cutout primarch and only my second time writing him. ¯\_( ❛︠ ⍙ ︡❛)_/¯

Summary: Your knight returns after what has felt like ages apart, and decides to take part in a secret moment alone.

Relationship: Lion'el Jonson/Gn!Reader (no pronouns are used in this, but it does have a very princess/knight vibe so fair warning)

Warnings: None that I can think of

Word Count: 1305

Lion El'Jonson strides down the halls of the Invincible Reason with purpose.

The ceramite boots of his armor hit the ground louder than that of an astartes, and any one he passes by stops their task and gives a respectful bow of their head. He doesn’t demand them to bow and kiss the floor, but he expects a level of decorum from his legion. They are expected to as sons of The First; As Dark Angels.

As he walks, rain pattering down against any surface exposed to it, Lion'el sighs.

Belath had proven more than timely with his updates as to the legion’s current effectiveness, which the Primarch appreciated. He will always find one of the astarte's finer qualities to be his lack of verbose speech- his ability to get to the point. But even in it's simplicity, it had still proven irritating when he had something else on the mind.

Travel to the Fortress Monastery had proven both as unexciting and lackluster as his drawing and discussion of strategic plans had been.

He arrived during the night, the moonlight spilling through the massive glass windows and mullions forming patterns along the stone floors. The Lion breaks their design as he walks through them, a hand resting on the pommel of his shortsword. His greatsword rests on his back, overtop of the dark emerald green cape that flows behind him just brushing against the floor.

He goes higher, traveling up flights of stairs made of solid stone. Some have runners of ornate, hand woven cloth, the design in a dark emerald green embellished with golden thread. All of it- every tapestry and mural, bears the symbol or at least the color scheme of his Legion.

Higher again, until he’s far beyond where most astartes and serfs typically tread. The rug that runs down the hall is much more worn, having taken an unknown number of years worth the footfall without being replaced. There aren’t many souls who come up here, for there isn't much reason for them to. The Lion's personal quarters reside in these halls, and unless he calls them they have no need to ever step foot here.

He turns one corner, and at the end of the hall lies his destination. 

He can see two Astartes guarding the door, as he had placed them. He had placed trust in the elder of them to choose another marine to serve as his parallel in guard along with two others to rotate with. A young astartes is beside him, clear by the different regalia and symbolism he wears that gives it away to only one familiar to their legion.

Lion stands between them, his hand adjusting once more on the pommel of his sword.

“Take your leave.”

He speaks plainly to both, and they nod their ceramite helms before walking past. Once the Lion can no longer hear their heavy power armor trudging down stairs that even made of full stone complain as men so heavy walk on them, he places a hand on the door’s handle.

He pulls it open; Winged helm in his opposite hand. Not moments later does he hear a voice call his name sounding both surprised and excited.

“Lion?”

At the call of his name he looks forward, seeing you leaning away from the window. Your hands had been leaning against the sill, watching whatever had been of interest below. More than likely the sea of Dark Angels all returning, a sea of dark green. You've always had this odd sort of of fascination with it all. He steps closer, and you turn to fully watch him come to stand right in front of you. 

After a moment’s waiting, the massive Primarch slowly lowers to a knee. He sighs as he does so, as if irritated by a request you hadn’t even made. You take the invitation to come closer, as you gently press a chaste kiss against his lips. You feel his beard brush against your skin, the top half of his blonde hair pulled back. He doesn't sigh in discontent that time.

“I missed you. Are you ok?” 

The Lion finds your overt concern pointless, but somewhat endearing. He’s never had someone so overt in caring about his wellbeing. Though even if it’s pointless, he can’t expect you to shed the emotions you’ve shown for so long. He can and has as a Primarch, to a mortal they are interwoven into your very being.

“Yes.” 

He glances over to a massive table filled with stacks of books. They’re scattered about, some open and some stacked in piles of an unknown organizational system. He’s not surprised you took interest in the massive collection. 

Your hands have stayed hovering in front of your chest most of this time, though now they move forward and hesitantly reach for him. He allows you to touch his jawline as you come closer. The rough scruff of his beard tickles your palms, and you'd laugh if you didn't think he'd be almost childishly insulted by it.

“How long are you going to stay this time?” 

Lion knows that you aren’t expecting any actual answer; He cannot give you one, nor will he. The moment an uncontacted world is discovered, he will leave. It is his duty and his purpose. No matter even if he has other thoughts on his mind, thoughts of you, they cannot impede his goal. 

“Long enough for the legion to rest.” He pauses. “What do you want?” 

He always asks this, only able to show how he feels about you in these silent gestures. You don’t say anything nor blame him, as despite him being far older than yourself, you can clearly tell this sort of thing is entirely uncharted.

It's been a bit odd; He's many years your senior, but it often feels like you're the one showing him things.

You can't avoid smiling this time, though it's abit more guilty that perhaps Lion was expecting.

“I would love to watch your men spar again, but they've only just stepped foot on Caliban." Lion gives you an unimpressed look.

"You would ask something of my Legion instead of myself?" Your hands are still on his chest armor, and your fingers brush across the giant aquilla in a slightly flustered gesture.

"But, you’ve said your men aren't strong enough for you to duel them.”

He remains one of if not the best duelist that the Imperium has ever seen, and despite how diligently and strictly he has trained his Dark Angels, none of them have the natural prowess he has to be a true fight. It's simply in his nature as a Primarch.

Lion, in an extremely rare moment, softens his face with a hint of amusement. He raises and armored hand to gently hold your jaw, and brush a small bit of a hair away from your face. His massive hand overtakes much of you, but he's surprising gentle despite it. He uses a small bit of his strength however to pull you just close enough to give you a gentle kiss to the forehead.

“When we arrive to Terra, perhaps I can proposition one of my brothers for a duel then. I am sure at least one of them will be eager to accept.” 

A fight between Primarchs? You had never considered yourself bloodthirsty or violent, but something about it makes your heart race- eager to watch. Perhaps it’s what his men feel shortly before a battle, or when they begin their training each and every day.

You smile at him, and grasp at his gauntlet. It's the closest you can get to any sort of intimate gesture, with his armor still on. He looks at you with the most relaxed face you've seen on him in awhile, as you speak.

"I would love to see that."

[chipthekeeper]

After many months of sporadically yelling my thoughts in various posts.........it is time.

*turns out there's like, so much competition for being the worst dad in this galaxy **a biased account from someone with their own very mid dad

Read on for an unnecessarily lengthy argument and just make sure to picture me like this the whole time

The Evidence:

Similarities/parallels between them

Shapeshifting -- They both transform so fully and easily from rebel mode to fancy rich asshole and back again throughout the show. Others do as well, but not nearly as often as they do and not nearly as sharp contrast from one thing to another

Quick tempers -- Evident from the way they snap at each other and the people they work with

Familiar framing -- There’s nothing accidental in this show. I believe the below photos draw a very deliberate, if subtle, parallel between them. We don’t see any of the other rebels using a stick like that, and Luthen's doesn't seem to actually have a function besides making youtubers believe he's a Jedi (I have a whole spin-off conspiracy theory on that we can get into some other day if you ask me)

Blonde -- Obviously. Though it seems Vel's hair is changing for season two. Perhaps a hint that she is trying to distance herself from her father's influence? (okay this part is mostly a joke but then I talked myself into something)

Also, this brand new page from the Dawn of Rebellion visual guide book that made me go !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! because, you know, proximity is everything. It would have made much more sense for Kleya to be on this page and Vel to be beside Cinta on the next page, right? Nope, not if there's a deeper connection here!

Their first interaction

Even before we meet Vel, Luthen predicts to Cassian exactly how she will react to them being there

He first tries to greet her with a big fake grin. Big time dad behavior to act like none of the past shit between you has ever gone down. But Vel remembers, doesn’t buy the act

Basically their interaction is just very familiar and informal, then breaks down quickly because of their attitudes toward each other

Vel is being very childish for most of it, pacing around, not keeping eye contact, then fully acting like a kid who doesn’t want to pick up their toys (see above picture)

Which then brings the Big Dad Energy from Luthen - "LOOK AT ME!!" he yells. The dadest dad behavior to ever dad. I can so easily picture this from my dad. "Look at me when I'm talking to you! Do what I say!" You have no choice but to shut up and obey unless you want to lose your allowance heist mission

Maybe he does actually care?

The night before the heist, Luthen is acting very strange, so much so that Kleya calls him out for being nervous. This is understandable given the stakes. BUT!

“They’re either going to be okay out there or they’re not” from Kleya is interesting. Be okay, rather than do okay. Like she knows he’s particularly worried about their safety, about one person’s safety especially?

And Vel’s mentioned in the very next line, reminding us of their connection again: "Vel's the only one who traces back" -- could be because she’s the only one who’s seen him, but who would actually be able to “trace” that??

Vel's need for approval

Veeerrryyyyy familiar to every eldest daughter constantly ignored by dad, seen most prominently in her interactions with Kleya

First right after the heist -- "Where is he?" ... "He read your message." "I really thought he'd be here?" Oh? Why's that? Why would he be there unless it was personal? Unless there was some sort of expectation of praise for the job well done, or comfort after losing so much of the team?

Later, before Ferrix, Vel won't give Kleya the information about Maarva's death until she secures the "I'll make sure he knows where it came from" promise from her

Rebellion is a family affair

"But Chip, Vel can't be related to Mon and Luthen!" Why not? There's nothing really that says Luthen isn't/can't be Mon's uncle

In fact, it might even make it easier to understand how a prominent Senator who's outwardly so centrist and careful could get Luthen's attention -- they always knew each other!

Anyway, a visual aid made months ago by @jedi-valjean, outlining the possible family tree, along with what seems to be the typical Chandrilan matriarchal naming conventions:

Vel Sartha, nepo baby

Vel absolutely does not have the experience or the stomach to be leading a mission like Aldhani. Why did he let her? That's right, nepotism

Hints to this in both her interactions with Kleya -- first "this is what revolution looks like" and then "You're off the rails. You're lucky he's not here"

She's clearly not ready and messing things up, but she's not facing any consequences for it because of her proximity to Luthen

Their second interaction

The convo on Ferrix is less loaded but still interesting

Vel looking at him and greeting him with a hint of "oh so you do acknowledge that I exist....but only because I have the information you need"

Again, the way they talk to each other is oddly informal for a boss and subordinate. Plus at the end he gives her tasks like a dad handing out chores

(also seems to like saying Cinta's name to her. supportive of his daughter's girlfriend, that gets him some good dad points)

Luthen's talk with Lonni

pound for pound, this is the most important part outside of their first interaction

As Lonni comes down in the elevator, Luthen congratulates him on becoming a father to a "healthy, beautiful" daughter. Tells him he must be pleased

Lonni thinks he's being threatened, asks "Do you ever think how it might feel from my side?" And Luthen tells him "I think about you constantly."

This. Shit. Makes. Me. CRAZY.

Because Luthen *was* Lonni. Just a guy with a daughter, trying to fight for something better

Also he sacrifices Kreegyr and all his men just to keep Lonni’s cover from being blown. Obviously that’s selfish on one hand, he gets to keep his spy, but also….Lonni’s daughter gets to keep her dad. I don’t think Luthen's just saying that to appease him. “You love your daughter," he says. The whole thing hits home for him and he thinks about it constantly

Basically the whole scene is a conversation between Luthen as he is now and Luthen as he could have been -- “Your investment in the rebellion is epic. A double life. Every day a performance.” He’s TALKING TO HIMSELF

And what does Luthen sacrifice? "...Kinship....Love" -- the love of his family? His kin? He may have his daughter in his life but they're hardly more than coworkers because of what they have to do. They're both sacrificing a real relationship with each other

"I burn my decency for someone else's future" -- he's sacrificed being a good father to fight and make a better future for his daughter!!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The shoutout to his ego not having a "mirror" calls us back to Vel and Cinta's conversation, another probably deliberate thread supposed to connect them in our minds

"You'll stay with me, Lonni" can mean both that he's not letting Lonni out of this and, again, that he's always thinking of him (always thinking of that other version of his life)

The Conclusions

Putting together all the evidence and the fact that no one in the show seems to know about the connection between them, I can basically come to two possible conclusions:

Vel didn't find out this man was her father until she was already an adult

She knew him as a child but then he began making his calculations and left her and her mother

Either way, they would have gone years without interacting and thus it would be easy to hide their true connection once they've been reunited. And either way, their relationship would be as strained as it appears. Vel would want to have his attention and approval in a way she never did before, and Luthen would feel guilty enough to give her a job she hasn't really earned.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[whoopssteddiefeels]

Birds of a Feather

In which Robin tries to buy weed for Steve, and finds more than she bargained for in one Eddie Munson.

Robin was hovering by the tree line outside the school, trying to work up the courage to buy some weed. Her internal monologue was amped up with anxiety, spinning around in a way that had her muttering out loud to herself.  "Come on Buckley, you fought Russian soldiers, a high school drug dealer should not be a problem."

Starcourt had happened fast though, and never felt like a choice. This was deliberate and felt much more real somehow. Fighting a Russian conspiracy under the mall that involved people with superpowers? Insane. Buying weed off Eddie "The Freak" Munson? Plausible. Illegal. Suspension or expulsion potential.

But then she thought of Steve. Mostly healed, but still sensitive to light with occasional crippling headaches. His refusal to see a doctor (How am I going to answer when they ask exactly how I was injured, Rob?). The way the dark circles under his eyes never really left, the permanent exhaustion that let her know he definitely wasn't sleeping. Weed was supposed to be good for sleep, right? And maybe Eddie had something for pain too. She wouldn't be able to afford that, but Steve might, so long as it didn't have any dissociative components. No need to trigger truth serum flashbacks. Ugh, she was going to have to ask questions, and give reasons, because she didn't know exactly what she was doing, or what she wanted. This was going to be unbelievably uncomfortable.

She clutched the strap of her backpack and began stomping through the woods towards the infamous picnic table, fall leaves crunching underfoot. It came into view through the trees quickly, the "woods" by the school being more of a small cluster of trees no one had bothered to cut down than anything approaching an intentional wooded area. The sky overhead was a slate grey, but it was still very light out, leaving the whole scene appearing two-dimensional for lack of shadows.

A metal lunchbox sat ominously on what appeared to be an abandoned, slowly rotting picnic bench. Telltale signs of teenage delinquency were littered around, beer cans, cigarette butts, broken glass and bits of paper. The picnic table wasn't abandoned though, as she stomped closer, she noticed the long legs sprawled parallel to the far bench, straddling it. One ringed hand was dangling in a similar position, just off the ground, and a small tell-tale plume of smoke was rising from where she assumed his head was laid on the bench. "You sound like a damn elephant, you know that?" a voice drawled, but Eddie lost none of his relaxed posture. At least, not until she spoke.

"You're not exactly Mr. Twinkle-toes yourself, I'm shocked the lunch tables don't break under your feet."

The boy slowly sat up with the faint jingle of chains, eyebrows scrunched in confusion, leaves clinging to the bottom of his curls where they had brushed the ground. She was clearly not who he had expected. He pulled the cigarette that had been dangling from his lips away with two fingers and simultaneously flicked the ashes off the end and exhaled another cloud of smoke.

Why wasn't he saying anything?

"I uh... I mean... when you do your whole, rant thing, y'know? With the..." Robin gesticulated wildly, trying to encompass Eddie's usual theatricality. Smooth, Buckley. She dropped her hands back to her bag’s shoulder strap, wringing it nervously. "I uh... heard you sell. Drugs, I mean. Is that weird to say?"

The confused brow wrinkle was quickly replaced with a soft smile and a chuckle, a very different look from the manic grin she had seen in the cafeteria. To be fair, she was usually trying to not make eye contact with anyone drawing attention to themselves like that. "Not weird to say, since it's true. What can I do for you...?" he paused and gestured at her with the hand still holding the cigarette, clearly inviting an introduction.

"Robin... Buckley. I, uh, play trumpet?" she mimed her instrument of choice, then winced and tried not to kick herself for that idiotic move.

Eddie just continued to smile softly at her, large eyes a little too wide, shoulders a little hunched in on himself. "Eddie Munson." he offered "I play guitar," and he mimed a tiny air guitar solo.

"Right. So...." she clambered onto the bench opposite Eddie, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the smell of smoke that wafted up from the still lit cigarette in his hand and off his hair and clothes. She wasn't successful, obviously, if him putting it out a second later was any indication. Then again, it could just be a coincidence since his next move was to the drag the lunchbox between them.

"So." he agreed, clasping his hands together and resting his chin on top. So far this was not what she had expected. Munson always seemed... loud, off kilter. Manic to the point of being a little scary. She supposed those descriptions might also apply to her, but where she tried to control it, he always seemed to lean in. Embraced being weird in a way she might envy if it didn't give her severe secondhand embarrassment to witness. Here, he seemed quiet and relaxed. Soft, with big eyes and a small smile contrasting with the angry zombie on his t-shirt under the denim and leather. There was something familiar in his mannerisms. Something she couldn't quite place.

"Here's the thing, and I'm sure you hear this all the time, but I’m not lying, it's not actually for me. Like really, it's not. I feel like I might be unbearable high, actually, like- anyway. Yeah, so this friend of mine has had... well, multiple knocks to the head.  And the trauma is... not... all physical? Like we worked together at Starcourt, and the fire was... something. So, I guess what I'm asking is what would you take for light sensitivity, and also intense headaches, but also inability to sleep because of nightmares and ALSO isn't dissociative because... yeah. Just nothing dissociative."

Eddie blinked at her, face unchanged other than slightly wider eyes and slight furrow between his eyebrows. He seemed to be waiting for her to take a breath before responding, so she did. "That's a lot of “alsos.”"

"Yeah."

He sighed, but then leaned back and popped open the lip of the lunchbox in an obviously practiced motion. Eyes darting back and forth, biting his lower lip lightly in what she hoped was thought.

"Not to talk myself out of a sale here, but it honestly sounds like he needs a doctor. Possibly several."

"Yeah, I've told him that, but he refuses to go and I'm tired of watching him be in pain and tell me it's fine," she threw air quotes up around the last word. Steve's martyr complex was something else, honestly.

"Well as long as you give your boyfriend that disclaimer..." Eddie was rooting around in the lunchbox, but his eyes flicked up to her face and his slight frown morphed into a wide grin that lit up his whole face at her expression. "Okay, not boyfriend?"

She probably should be more subtle, but Robin couldn't help the disgusted face she was making. Why did everyone assume she and Steve were dating? It was gross. "Emphatically not."

Eddie's eyes darted up and down a few times, running over her face and outfit, rapidly. He seemed suddenly nervous, and she had a terrible sinking feeling in her gut that he was about to ask her out. She was trying to work out the nicest complete refusal that would still let her purchase some weed when he went back to staring into the lunchbox, one hand tapping a rhythm on the table while the other extracted a plastic bag with plant matter in it. He seemed to come to a decision, and she braced, when he said "Hey, I wouldn't be able to resist Harrington in that sailor outfit."

She was gaping. She should definitely close her mouth. It did not need to be open for her to do the rapid mental math. There were rumors that Munson was gay, but there were also rumors he kept repeating his senior year on purpose to find vulnerable freshmen to sacrifice to Satan. She had barely been sure that he actually dealt, people said so many wild things.

Also how did he know she was talking about Steve? Though… in retrospect the two of them were pretty inseparable these days. He drove her to school daily, and she had mentioned she worked with the person in question. Ok maybe it was obvious she had been talking about Steve.

Eddie was looking up at her through his bangs, clearly nervous, and she suddenly thought of the bathroom floor and a prolonged silence on the other side of the wall. "Hang on, I'm just judging your taste in outfits, not men. We both looked ridiculous. Absolutely embarrassing."

"You say that like it wasn't part of the attraction." The wide grin had returned, though he quickly hid it behind a lock of hair pulled across his face. Cute. Why had she thought he was scary?

She scrunched her nose up at him anyway. "Gross. That's gross. Men are gross."

"Yeah, I got that opinion from your boots." He waved the small plastic bag at her. "Anyway, sounds like his majesty has a lot going on, but he can certainly start with weed. His old friend Tommy used to buy off me, so I know he's smoked before. Should at least help with sleep and doesn't really have any side effects so it shouldn't fuck up his head any more than it already is."

"How much?" she asked, down to business, rummaging in her backpack for cash.

"For you? $10, but that's the Friends of Dorothy discount. If Harrington asks, it's $20."            

"That's an insane upsell."

"Beggars can't be choosers, and I’m really the only game in town. Plus, that's not including the jock hazard rate, since if he's friends with you and those freshmen in my club, he can't be that bad."

"He's a dingus, but he's kind of my dingus at this point."

Eddie blinked once, exchanging the bag for her cash. "He definitely knows you're not dating, right?"

"Steve? Oh, he knows about me. There was a whole-" she paused, trying to figure out what part of that story was actually relatable according to the novel-length NDA, and came up blank, "...thing. Platonic with a capital P."

He gave her a little half smile. "Maybe Dustin is less naive than I thought then. He practically waxes poetic about the dude. He’s his hero." Eddie clasped his hands together, her cash between them, fluttering his eyelids dramatically at the sky. There was the Eddie she was more familiar with.

Shoving the baggie into her backpack, she moved to get up. "That kid is too smart for his own good most of the time. And... also a little naive. Just not about Steve."

He nodded, agreeing easily, and then looked like he’d suddenly remembered something important. "Remind me to introduce you to Tiffany sometime, by the way."

She immediately tripped over the bench, catching herself before she went sprawling, but had to scoop her backpack and its new illegal contents off the ground. Had he waited for her to be off balance on purpose? She slowly backed away, doing a fair impression of a goldfish. That was... out of left field. Tiffany? Did she know a Tiffany? Did he? "That's.... yeah. Definitely. Sure. Yes. How do you know... I mean I've never seen any girls in your club."

"She's not in Hellfire, but she's around. Birds of a feather, Buckley." He winked cheekily, performative grin back in place.

"Sure, sure. Makes sense." It did not make sense. If Eddie was implying what she thought he was, there were in fact other lesbians at Hawkins High, and he knew them just because he was also gay. Of course there were other lesbians, statistically there would be, but how did he know? How. Why. Was there some sort of memo, and why hadn't she gotten one?

"If you need anything else, or I guess if King Steve wants to call on the local jester, you know where to find me." He saluted and flopped back onto the bench, like she had never been there.

Eddie Munson. She wasn't sure how she felt about that interaction, retreating through the woods, but it wasn’t bad. It was nice, actually. Something in her chest glowed warmly with the knowledge that she wasn't the only queer person she knew anymore. She'd have to take better notice of him this year, it was his third senior year, he could probably use all the friends he could get. Plus, she might be able to spot this “Tiffany.”

She jogged down the hill to the waiting BMW, trying to decide what exactly, if anything, to tell Steve.

[girltomripley]

And I've been meaning to tell you, I think your house is haunted...

Seven - Taylor Swift x Eleanor Vance, The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

[starseneyes]

Chenford - Lucy Chen / Tim Bradford - The Rookie - Season 5 - Ep 22

"Under Siege" AKA "Who in the Writer's Room Likes Horror?"

It's a bizarre day. If you love Chenford, then you need to know what's going on with the WGA - Writers Guild of America. They are striking for a fair wage and basic protections.

WGA members craft this ship and show we love so much, so please show solidarity for them as they fight for not only their future, but for future generations of writers.

SPOILER ALERT: If you want to remain spoiler free, I have no bloody clue why you're here. I can only assume a friend told you to check this out as a cruel joke. First off, dump that friend. Second, buckle up. It's about to get spoilery!

All good? Great! I can't wait to dive in.

Arrest Me... but make it SCARY

A bit of a different vibe for our opening tonight. No, this isn't Chenford-direct. But, it's important to know the vibe of this episode going in.

If any of you are Avengers: Infinity War fans, you might recall the Wanda / Vision relationship, and their whole sequence where they were ambushed. Originally, it was a lot longer, and had more of a horror movie vibe.

I loved that they went outside the box on that to play with genre throughout the movie.

I feel like The Rookie is playing with that a bit. It's been a while since my heart pounded during an episode.

In all honesty, it was probably Day of Death that last had me on the edge of my seat... and I watched that after I started Season 5 with near-canon Chenford.

Yes, I'm spoiled. Yes, I think OG Chenford fans deserve medals for their patience.

Speaking of which, your patience with me is likely wearing thin... let's get to the Chenford.

"Hey I heard it was Thornson."

Tim and Lucy show up together, and I'm having flashbacks to the two of them bailing out her UC buddy in the dead of night. These two know how to get moving when it matters.

Tim and Lucy immediately separate on their separate missions. That didn't work out too well for Celina and Aaron, but it looks like Chenford survive the night.

Look, I have a lot of ship trauma. "Leaf on the wind" anyone? Yeah, I've got ship trauma.

"A blood drive has been set up at the hospital. If you can do so, please volunteer at the end of shift."

I'm reminded of the fact that Tim Bradford regularly gives blood, so I'm heart-warmed that he's the one who gets to deliver the news to the team.

"Those are not store-bought Halloween masks."

It struck me immediately that Lucy is sitting front row like a Rookie.

Yes, I know that they are packed in there, so somebody has to sit up front... but it's Lucy, so it feels symbolic. As though she is sitting in the Rookie spot in Celina's honor.

"Hey. We heard the good news about Aaron. Unfortunately, none of our CIs have heard anything about a gang targeting the cops."

I know it's a little detail, but I love Tim and Lucy showing up together everywhere.

Of course, someone on Twitter called out the 4x01 parallel to them showing up at Wesley's together after I initially watched the episode. And they're so right. It's another parallel among many in this episode tonight!

"I hate to say it, but this is not gonna break tonight."

This one I spotted immediately the first time through—it's another night where he's sending everyone home because there's nothing more to be done... just like when they lost Jackson.

And I have to wonder if the intentionality of these parallels is to confirm or subvert expectation.

Like, are we supposed to see this similar sequence of events as an omen of doom? Or are we drawing these parallels with the intent of intensifying the torture before the cathartic release of Aaron's survival?

I guess we'll find out together in Season 6.

"I can't lose another."

Oh, Grey. Poor Grey. I guess I wasn't the only one having flashbacks.

Tim and Lucy Embrace

Tim knows Lucy is having that same flashback. There are too many similarities, too many things tying them all back to Jackson and the loss they all endured.

Angela about to give birth. Someone targeting them. An ambush and a shooting.

Yes, Aaron has a chance at making it. But the weight of this moment is not lost on this team who has suffered too much loss before.

Lucy and Tim step into the apartment, and they barely make it past the door before they're in one another's arms.

It's wordless. Tim motions to Lucy, and it reminds me of the hand motions when he offered to carry the War Bags after their last ride together.

Tim and Lucy no longer need a shorthand... they don't even need words.

He knows what she needs without her asking, and she knows what he's offering without a word spoken.

Back in Season 4 Episode 1, Tim asked what she needed. She asked for the hug. Now he knows what she needs in this moment as easily as he knows his own—some semblance of comfort in the horror of history repeating.

QUICK EDIT: Upon rewatch, I find I didn't imagine his "Come here" the first time (another call back), so technically he did use words... but they weren't needed.

Tim holds Lucy in his arms—so similar to their positioning in 4x01—but that's where the similarities end. Because Tim and Lucy of Season 4 no longer exist.

Everything has deepened between them since then. And while, yes, the hanky panky is fun... the trust is what they both need here.

They can't trust that everything will be okay. But they trust that with one another they are truly safe. And right now, they both need that comfort.

"It's okay," he whispers as he holds her, wishing it were true.

Tim kisses Lucy's forehead as he holds her, rubs her arms, and tries to offer some comfort as she leans against him, sobs overtaking her... like the first time he held her in Day of Death.

I know that we're going for the 4x01 parallels with how this is shot and staged, but I see the DOD ones, too. This is where they are safe when nowhere else feels safe.

Tim's hand cradles her head as he holds her. And much as this hurts like hell, this moment is important.

Tim and Lucy are one another's safe place. With each other, there are no pretenses or pretending, anymore. They no longer hide from one another or themselves.

They've embraced the beauty of who they are together, and while there will be many moments of joy... the sorrow is a part of the journey.

Tim and Lucy have had their share of it, true. But this is the first time they've traversed it as boyfriend and girlfriend. And the impact of enduring possibly losing another officer and friend to an ambush is too much.

Does being together make it easier? Hell, no. Is there a slight comfort in knowing you're not enduring it alone? Oh, yes.

"No we know. We ran your prints ... you don't get out of bed for less than 20K a day. Who hired you?"

Tim and Lucy are very good at what they do, and I love how they are supporting one another and building upon each other.

I miss them riding together, but we see what makes them great—they both think on their feet and they are sensational at the "yes, and".

I love getting to see the professional side still fires so beautifully between them. It's a feat I feared fumbled, but I'm freakin' psyched it fared fine.

Oh my goodness, that's way too much alliteration. But, I'm leaving it. It's ridiculous and it makes me smile!

The Trip Wire

Another commonality with Season 4 Episode 1. Gee wiz, we're going for lots of references with this one, and that leaves me curious about the intention... and whether there's a common thread that we're somehow missing that leads all the way back.

Or, I'm reading too much into it because I'm weird. I can roll with that, too.

Tim joins up with Lucy outside the house where she asks him for clarity that none of them have. What the hell is going on!?

"We should move on." "What? No."

Love that Lucy still stands up to Tim at work.

Look, even when he was her TO and then her supervisor, Lucy never shied away from speaking her mind. In this case, she sees something they're missing. And she's not going to let them miss out on an important piece of the puzzle.

"You think it's personal?" "I mean, look, if I was gonna go to the extreme of targeting police officers, why not take out some of my enemies along the way?"

And with that, Lucy BadAss Chen cracks the case. No, I don't know if that's her legal middle name. But it should be.

My brain immediately goes back to Tim accusing her of a social media obsession that happened to crack a case back during one of the Documentary episodes.

There's no skirting around this one—it was all Chen.

"I'll take Moran." "You're not going by yourself." "I'll go with her."

Alright, Fierce Protector. You do you.

"You should be out kicking doors with Metro." "I'm good." "I don't need you protecting me."

Well, damn, I thought it was just me! I thought I was gonna be the only one in this Meta calling out Tim in the Protector role, but I guess my on-screen bestie had to chime in, too.

Also, bringing back "Good" in this scene, which truly feels like their word, and I love it.

Tim will always have Lucy's back. He knows that she is capable and strong, but he's also her boyfriend and spent a lot of time as her TO and then Supervisor. Worrying about her was a part of his job, and now it's an ingrained part of his life.

He's not trying to undermine her independence or capability. He simply wants to be close because then he knows she is safe and doesn't have to hold his breath wondering.

"So, clearly what you're saying is you need me protecting you." "Clearly. You know me so well."

It was pinging my brain, and I couldn't figure out why until someone pulled out the DOD GIF on Twitter and I started slow-clapping like a sports movie.

Yes, of course! When Lucy woke up in the hospital to find Tim by her side... as he is, now.

I kept seeing DOD parallels in this episode, and I'm strangely comforted that others did, too.

Plus, a return of "Clearly", which has been another of Tim and Lucy's words. "Clearly, Ashley's gotta go." "Clearly this isn't working out."

"I'm happy it's you at my six." "Back at you."

Major "We protect each other" vibes, and I bloody approve. Look, we know that Tim is a Fierce Protector. But he also knows that his girlfriend is a kick-ass bad-ass.

Now, we enter into a fight scene that is a bloody masterpiece.

Yes, I wondered why they emptied their clips at the Riot Shields, but I'm not a cop, so I don't know if there's some logic behind it I don't possess. Other than that... this fucking rocked.

Like, literally. I couldn't have been the only Xennial rocking out when Janes Addiction started playing! Someone go hug the Music Supervisor, Music Coordinator, Screenwriter, Director, or whoever threw that track out there, because it's bloody brilliant.

Tim and Lucy are working together, talking it out as they go. And we see all that time they've put into building their communication is really on display, even in a bloody battle.

"We stand a chance, but only together."

Hell, yeah, Lucy! I've been saying that all season. No, not in terms of having the high ground (rest in pieces, Anikan Skywalker's limbs), but in terms of getting through this thing called life.

Tim and Lucy stand a chance of surviving as Chenford through end of show only if they work together.

And on-the-screen in this particular moment, the same holds true.

"Pull not push, copy that."

Love. Them. Look at Tim taking the word of his capable wife and putting it into practice.

Tim and Lucy are literally fighting for their lives, here, and they are fighting together. When one's on the brink of being overwhelmed, the other is there.

Lucy delivers a strike to free up Tim. He takes on several at once, and she goes for the shield. I was screaming, "Hell, yeah, baby girl!" like the big sister I am to my on-screen bestie because she was crushing.

Tim is the master of pepper spray, I swear. He's used it in many creative ways, but super smart to go straight for the eye-holes on the masks to try to penetrate.

Lucy's close to losing consciousness when Tim rips the guy off of her, repaying the earlier favor of her freeing him up. It's a literal give-and-take... in a fight for their lives. This is bloody brilliant.

Nolan finally makes it up there, and Tim helps Lucy through the door to the stairwell, literally shielding her with his body.

Once inside, Tim has his hand on one of his favorite places—Lucy's leg. But this isn't a sexy-time touch. This is the, "Thank God you're alive" touch. If they hadn't worked together, that could have ended very differently.

"I have Bradford and Chen secured upstairs."

Chen and Bradford, sir. It's Chenford. Not Braden.

"You should be on your way to the hospital." "We'll go after."

At least Tim is saying he'll go. Like, seriously, this guy is the king of avoiding medical attention. And too often when he's gone in, he did so knowing nobody was waiting for him on the other side.

Now, not only is he willingly going to go in with his girlfriend, he knows that they'll leave together. Look how far our boy has come.

A Glance

Our last moment of Tim and Lucy is just a glance... a subtle glance between the two of them where that wordless communication comes in.

They've always have this layer to their relationship—communicating without a word. But it's so much deeper, now.

And as we reflect on the end of a season, I have to say it's been incredible to witness their growth alongside y'all in real-time.

This season has been an absolute roller coaster, and my first with all y'all! I started with 5x01, had to catch up, and have loved this whole journey.

Thank you all for being so welcoming to a late-comer like me. And thank you for reading!

Remember, love one another. Give yourself grace. Don't worry about "perfect" because it doesn't bloody exist. Go after your dreams. Fuck Fear. And believe in yourself, always.

And if you're not ready to believe in yourself... know that I believe in you. And I'm always rooting for good things to come your way. You've got this.

[jjsmaybank20]

Stargazing

Wanda Maximoff x fem!Odinson!Reader

Summary: the six times you embarrass yourself in front of Wanda Maximoff, and the one time you impress her.

Warnings: None! all fluff

Word Count: 8.6k

navigation  marvel masterlist

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Terra, Midgard, Earth. All are among the names of the small planet that apparently, you’ve been called too. You know of both your brothers’ fascination with the place and its inhabitants. Humans, you believe they’re called.

Personally you’ve never had any interaction with the terrene, but the stories brought back by Thor of his travels there and the amusing nature of humans happened to peak your interest.

Unfortunately you’ve never had the time or warrant to go, your brother’s might providing sufficient power to defend the tiny planet. Today though, luck just happens to be in your favor when you’re informed of his new quest: chasing knowledge of the infinity stones across the galaxy.

It’s a beautiful day on Asgard, as it always is, the sun shining happily upon your home and its people. A gentle breeze swishes the golden cape you adorn back and forth as you make your way towards the Bifrost where Heimdall is expecting you. The light glints pleasantly off of the light silver of your armor, the darker blues that accent it contrasting nicely.

There’s some mission waiting for you on some allied planet of Asgard. Negotiations, politics, diplomatic relations, etc. are all part of keeping the Nine Realms in order, and you’re Odin’s chosen one to handle it all. As the god of light, joy, and purity you radiate a natural beauty and charm that gives you the ability to, say, persuade any rivals of your father’s into benefiting the king.

In other words you’re his little errand girl tasked with mopping up any of the All-Father’s messes, of which there are plenty. He’s most definitely not well known for his graciousness or patience. It’s not ideal, show ponying around in order to maintain peace, but your job is necessary for the preservation of Asgard. Your work of amity and harmony has gained you a reputation as the golden girl of Asgard, a figurehead for beauty and allure, a juxtaposition to your brother Loki, and a parallel to Thor.

Might you occasionally take advantage of this draw? Perhaps, but where would be the fun of possessing this power of magnetism if you couldn’t use it to attract some attention? In this way you are also known as a bit of a player, as you would come to know it on Earth. This label doesn’t bother you much, in fact it only seems to increase your larger than life prestige, somehow making people even more enamored by you.

Case in point, as you stride into the domed Bifrost a guard comes crashing into you from around the corner, causing you both to fall to the ground. You’re quicker on your feet than the other lady, who, as you offer your hand to help her up, is quite beautiful. She has black hair that looks impossibly soft on top of her head and round brown eyes that stare up at you in surprise. You flash her a disarming grin as you help her up, one that works to fluster her as she looks down to brush imaginary dirt from her clothes.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going,” she apologizes quickly, her face reddening from a mix of embarrassment and bashfulness.

“It’s quite alright,” you assure, nodding your head and offering a flirtatious smirk upon noticing how easily the woman blushes. “Just be more careful next time, I wouldn’t want anything to happen to that pretty face of yours.” A wink this time for good measure, sending her off after her friend down the bridge. You make a mental note to find the name of that guard later, and to pay her a visit when you do.

“When you’re done trying to seduce another guardswoman will you get over here,” a deep voice calls out from the center of the room.

“I’m just having a moment of fun before I go off to talk politics for the next few days. It’s boring, Heimdall. And I need something to look forward to when I get back.” A shrug accompanies your words as you cross the space toward him, the pair of daggers along your belt jostling as you move.

“Actually, you’re going to Midgard. Thor has requested your assistance with keeping watch over the people there. He’s departing soon and wants you to take over for him.”

At that you cock an eyebrow, this could prove to be at least mildly interesting. While the planet is far behind the majority of the galaxy technologically speaking, and its inhabitants are rather tiny, there has to be a reason for your brother’s fondness of the place; a hidden charm that you want to seek. “What are we waiting for then? I’ve got a planet to defend.”

He shakes his head at you as he opens the Bifrost, “Oh, and did I mention I’m dropping you into the middle of a fight?”

“What!?” You turn to him with an incredulous look on your face, barely glimpsing the devious smirk on his before you’re hurtling through the portal.

One

Unprepared for the landing, you crash into the ground in a flash of burning light, which thankfully clears some of the space around you as you fall onto your face. “Not cool Heimdall,” you mutter, shaking your head and getting on your feet.

You look around to see exactly where you are and what you’re dealing with. You’re in a city, one that looks terribly worse for wear as people run about, tripping over debris from the ruined buildings around you. A child stops and stares at you, and you realize how out of place you must look, standing alone in the middle of the war torn street, your shiny armor glaring harshly amidst the dust and smoke. Ash covers the sky, pulling a gray blanket over the atmosphere and you instantly miss the clear day back on Asgard.

Your little staring contest with the girl is broken when you spot something moving behind her, aiming to shoot her where she stands. “Watch out!” You yell as you lift your arm and allow a beam of white light to blast from your palm, melting a neat hole through the robot’s head.

“Are you okay?” You ask as you run up to the kid, putting your hands up to show you’re not going to hurt her. When all you receive is a blank look in return, you realize that wherever you are they don’t speak English, giving you no way to verbally communicate with her. “Um, just. Here.” You hold your hand out for her to take and together you run through the town, with you shooting down robots as you go.

There seems to be an endless amount of the droids, and you constantly have to maneuver the child behind you and out of harm’s way as you race down the street. It’s quieter over here though compared to where you’re headed, following the sound of gunfire as you’re eager to find your brother and figure out what is going on. Surely once you do he can explain everything and you can deposit this small human into someone else’s custody.

Eventually you spot a red cape, similar to the one you wear through the chaos. “Brother!” You shout and wave your hand. He’s fighting off a horde of the androids, throwing his hammer around and leaving nothing but broken parts in his wake. Fighting next to him is a group of humans, all wearing colorful costumes and suits. You spot a man with a huge circular shield, one flying around in a metal suit, and even a giant green monster. At your call they all stop for a second and look at you as you rush toward them, child still in tow.

“Ah, I see Heimdall got my message and sent you here. Good to see you sister,” Thor greets, grasping your forearm in acknowledgment.

“Thor, who is this?” The blonde beside him asks, chest heaving from the fight.

“Well this is my sister, Y/N Odinson.”

At the mention of your relation to your brother the man stills, eyeing you with wariness. You’re confused until you remember Loki’s attack on Midgard a few years ago. This must be one of Earth’s champions who had fought him off.

“I’m here to help,” you insist, pointing to the frightened child you’ve collected on the way. “Look, I've brought you one of your younglings.” A beaming smile overtakes your face as you transfer the girl over to the soldier’s care.

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?” A synthetic voice rings from the air above you, and you finally notice the giant robot hovering over the group. “I was kind of in the middle of my big villain speech,” he snarks, arms held out in annoyance.

Puzzling out that that’s what you’re here to stop, you turn to him, overconfidence flowing from your posture as you yell, “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met, I’m Y/N!” As you so kindly introduce yourself you launch white hot light from your hand, searing the metal of his chest.

“You Odinsons are bothering me,” he spits, flying toward you. You unleash two beams as he nears, starting to melt his body. But he’s too fast and you’ve barely begun to make a dent before he seizes your shoulders and throws you across the street.

The Avengers all watch in shock as you go flying through the air, crashing into a building a hundred yards away.

Among them is a brunette witch with magic of a scarlet shade.

Thor’s words mark the resuming of the battle. “She’ll be fine.”

And that was your first impression on Wanda Maximoff.

Two

After a couple weeks of living and training with the Avengers you quickly realize that somehow you’ve managed to find the one person impervious to your magical charm. And unfortunately for you, it’s also the one person here that you have any interest in pursuing.

It’s not like she dislikes you persay, just more like she only speaks to you only enough to be polite. It’s a ‘hello’ in the hallway or a passing nod when you happen to be in the same room. She pays you no mind and it confuses you, hell you’d have more luck with her brother.

The two of you get along scarily well, your flirtatious and carefree nature lining up perfectly. And because of the time you spend together, and his twin intuition with his sister, it doesn’t take him long to figure out your little crush on the witch.

He notices how your eyes linger on her in ways they don’t on anyone else and how you’re constantly trying to strike up a conversation with her. And he finds it absolutely hilarious that she’s able to brush off each of your attempts at gaining her attention like it’s nothing. Equally amusing is your confusion each time she walks off oblivious to your advances.

You have good reason to be confused though. In all of your encounters with well, anyone, you’d never met someone who wasn’t swayed by your beauty. You’d normally walk into a room and effortlessly capture the attention of everyone there, your charisma and ability to radiate joy making you supernaturally desirable.

Her own magic must be working to block yours out. And you did not find that anywhere near as amusing as the speedster beside you.

You’re both in the gym, you serve as a moving punching bag for him as he rushes at you with inhuman speed and tries to land blow after blow on you. The goal is to get you to the ground. A task that you know to be near impossible for the boy circling you. Your own ‘super’ Asgardian strength and speed combined with your invulnerability to all of his jabs makes you a pillar of stone, and him, a fly.

It’s rather amusing for you and a good exercise for him though as he rushes at you in an attempt to tackle you, but you sidestep the blur, causing him to smack into the wall. “Too slow, Maximoff,” you tease, playfully shaking your head at him as you mock chastise him.

As he gears up for another run at you, someone walking into the room catches your attention. It’s Wanda, and she looks as stunning as ever with her hair pulled back and workout clothes on. She notices you watching her and turns her enchanting green eyes on you, offering a small smile as she does.

Completely caught up in the girl’s gaze you don’t notice your training partner barreling directly into you. His momentum gained from his running start from across the room is enough to send you both flying across the room, tumbling over each other as you slide to a halt.

“Ha ha! I told you I’d get you! The mighty Asgardian has fallen,” he dramatically yells as he prances around your bewildered figure on the floor. That is until he notices his sister by the entrance of the gym. A devious smirk finds its way onto his face now as he looks between you and her, connecting the dots. “Ohhh.” And you can practically see his mind coming up with a new plan to expose your crush on the girl.

You’ve never been quicker to get up and rush over to the speedster, clapping a hand over his mouth right as it opens again. His hair is blown to the side from the force of the wind generated from your speeding by him.

“Pietro, I swear. Think very carefully about your next words,” you warn, desperation in your eyes as you stare him down.

He nods, miming zipping his lips as best he can with your hand in the way and you slowly remove it, trusting him to stay quiet.

You move to leave the room, and just as you’re  about to make your exit you hear him call from the other side of the room.

“Sestra! Y/N wants to ask you out!”

You whip around, mouth agape in astonishment. No he did not. She turns to you, a question in her eyes and your face heats up in embarrassment, a red color creeping up your neck all the way to your cheeks. You see the boy who was supposed to be your friend laughing out of the corner of your vision as you stand there completely caught off guard.

Having no idea what to do, you run out of the room, you’d deal with this later.

You’d left in such a hurry you hadn’t even noticed the girl watching you with an adoring look on her face. She’d never noticed how cute you were before.

Three

Another thing that greatly confuses you about Earth is its technology. It isn’t very advanced, but way overly complicated in your opinion. Especially when you just want to get something to eat. You find yourself in the cooking room, you can’t remember the name they have for it, and you’re rummaging through all of the drawers and cabinets, looking for something to fill your growling stomach.

You also have no idea what any of these foods are or how they’re meant to be prepared or what they taste like. Oh no. You finally open a cabinet and find a box labeled Pop-Tarts. Pietro had introduced you to these a few days ago and you found them delightfully sugary. The perfect snack.

You open them up and start to eat one, and it’s good, but it feels like something is missing. Oh that’s right, he had made them warm when he gave one to you before, but you can’t remember how he had done so. You glance around the room, eyes finding a number of strange machines that could possibly be the one he had used.

There’s two box-like ones inserted into the wall, one smaller than the other, and both with doors on them. You open both of them, completely unaware of the brunette watching you from across the room as you continue on your quest to heat your snack.

She stifles a laugh as you press all of the buttons on the microwave and the oven, accomplishing nothing with a half eaten Pop-Tart placed in between your teeth.

After Pietro’s little stunt, interactions between you and her had become both more awkward and more frequent. She wants to get to know you more now, but everytime she talks to you you freeze up and end up leaving the room.

You aren’t sure what’s wrong with you, and it frustrates you that your lifetime of flirting and charming half the galaxy seems to disappear whenever she’s near. Normally, you’d be able to enchant whoever you desire with ease, many people, men and women alike back on Asgard being able to testify to such. But whenever you’re confronted with talking to her, you find yourself stuck, all your usual tricks evaporating into the tense air around you. Then your opportunity passes and you curse your brain for stalling out on you again.

Wanda finds it endearing, your big dog attitude dissolving at the sight of her. She thinks it’s cute whenever your eyes go wide and you blush, clumsily leaving the room before she can properly speak to you. Those feelings only grow as she watches you fumble your way around the kitchen, inspecting each appliance before using it wrong, and then moving onto the next one. You remind her of a lost puppy, trying to navigate a new world.

She also can’t help but notice the tight shirt you’re wearing, and the way it hugs your back and shoulders nicely, showing off your lean, but muscled frame. You must be taking fashion advice from Steve.

It’s when you stick your fingers inside the toaster after plugging it in that she steps in. She knows it’s not likely you’d be able to get hurt, but she’d like to prevent you from getting electrocuted today. “Hey do you need some help?”

You startle, yanking your fingers out of the new metal box you’d found on the counter and turning to look at who had spoken. When you find an all too familiar face looking at you in amusement, her hair falling in long waves across her shoulders you grimace. Of course it had to be her giving witness to you stumbling around the cooking room like an idiot.

“No.” You try to play it cool, like you hadn’t just been wandering from device to device, playing with switches and pressing buttons at random. And you still haven’t figured out how to fix the box of pastries sitting on the counter.

She fixes you with a look that says “really” and you relent, sighing in defeat. “Your people’s food machines are being difficult.”

She laughs at your blaming the appliances and you can’t help but think that it’s the most wonderful sound you’ve ever heard; and you’re instantly addicted. You want to hear her laugh, to see her smile all the time, and you want to be the reason behind her joy.

“Here. Just take one and put it in the slot,” she explains, grabbing a Pop-Tart and slipping it into the toaster. “Set it to a low number,” she puts it on two, “and push this down.” You watch as the food drops down into the machine and the insides start to glow orange.

“Thank you,” you laugh nervously, slightly embarrassed that she had to help you with such a simple task.

“Anytime,” she replies, looking into your eyes and you think you’ve found what you’ve been searching for right there as you gaze into her soul.

And then the moment ends, your snack popping up from the toaster and breaking the silence around you.

Four

You’d heard about the infamous Tony Stark despite not having seen him since the battle against the giant robot named Ultron. From what the team told you he was kind of like one of the leaders of the team, funding the entire compound you live in and designing everyone’s suits and weapons. Kind of a big deal.

So that’s why you’re eager to impress him when he comes to visit the Compound one day.

Everyone is excited to see their teammate, who had stepped away from the superhero life for a while to take a much needed break. They’re also pleasantly surprised when he’s joined by Pepper, maybe he’d behave a little better with her to keep him in line.

You’re all waiting in the lounge area when the couple walks in, the billionaire asking with his usual arrogance, “Did you miss me? Of course you did.”

The team starts up the usual conversation, Tony asking how things are going without him and the others wanting to know civilian life is. Well as civilian as things can be with Iron Man that is.

Feeling a little out of place within the group who’d worked together for years, you hang out in the corner, not wanting to step away in fear of being rude. The tall redhead notices your quiet form standing awkwardly away from the conversation and moves to introduce herself. “Hi, I’m Pepper. I don’t believe we’ve met before,” she says with a smile, reaching out to shake your hand.

You take it, a grateful grin on your face as you tell her your name. Upon hearing your surname she lights up in recognition, “You’re Thor’s sister?”

“Yep, I’m an Odinson through and through,” you say, happy to talk about your family and your home. Although you hadn’t quite processed how much you miss your brother and how homesick you’ve become. You like Midgard, you do, but sometimes you want nothing more than to travel home for a few days. To be back among your own people.

The woman notices your distant look and asks, “Are you alright?”

“Yes, of course Lady Pepper,” you snap back to reality, hoping that you hadn’t offended her by spacing out. Worried that you had done something wrong you hurriedly add, “Let me just tell you that you are a babe.”

At your words the entire room goes silent, everyone turning to you in shock. The woman you had been talking to just stares at you, wide-eyed and confused, had you meant what you just said? Wanda looks at you too, a different expression painted onto her face. She knows you’re a flirt and have somewhat of an ego sometimes, but hitting on Pepper Potts? Surely you had to know how out of pocket that was. A third person stifles a snicker from his seat across the room. He may have taught you that word, but without the correct context, and you had just played right into his prank. As you take in the array of disbelief and incredulity on everyone’s faces you begin to think that maybe you had messed up.

“I’m sorry, what did you just call her?” Tony asks, clearly insulted by what you had just said. You back up into the wall as he advances on you, an accusing finger pointing at your face.

“Um,” you stutter, at a loss for words as you can feel the anger radiating from the man in front of you. “A babe?”

“Yea, no. That’s not going to fly mini Thor.”

“I’m sorry Son of Stark, but I was told that was what you call beautiful women here,” you explain. “I'm starting to get the feeling that that’s not correct,” you grimace, letting him know it was an accident, whatever you had just called her.

He shakes his head now in exasperation and turns toward the group watching the exchange, allowing you to relax against the wall. “Alright, who was teaching Luke Skywalker incorrect slang?” You’d earned the nickname after he noticed your powers affect things much like a lightsaber, and you just kind of gave off those vibes.

He studies the crowd of faces around the room, picking out the one that looks more amused by the interaction than anything else. “Wilson. It was you wasn’t it?”

At being found out he doesn’t bother to hide his grin anymore, admitting to teaching you that calling someone ‘babe’ was just an innocent way to compliment a woman’s appearance. “Yea, but you can’t tell me that that wasn’t funny. Come on!”

Tony does not seem entertained, although it’s exactly the kind of joke he’d pull on someone else without blinking twice. He’s just not happy that he’s the one being played this time.

You look down in embarrassment, Wanda’s sympathetic eyes on you the entire time.

Five

Apparently, the time has been long overdue for a famous Stark party and the man himself has invited all of you to what has now been reverted back to Stark tower for a ‘small get-together’.

As you walk in, the endless chatter from the huge crowd of people, the clink of dozens of glasses, and the music being boomed from speakers along the walls slaps you in the face.

Small get-together my ass.

It doesn’t matter much either way to you though, the parties back on Asgard could easily reach volumes double this, and you’d been navigating the social world for centuries.

Your original plans have to do with Wanda by your side as you converse with the many humans who had been eagerly waiting for the arrival of the famed Avengers, but those are dashed when you see her brother sidle up protectively against her, and steer her away from the bulk of the crowd. That alone wasn’t going to stop you from still joining them, but as you turn to follow after the pair, a different arm seizes yours and begins to drag you into the sea of people.

You pivot to see who was responsible for your abrupt change in direction, your eyes settling on the man of the hour. The faint scent of alcohol and overwhelming stench of expensive cologne hits your nose as he looks at you. “Did you really think I’d just let you slink off into the corner and hide the entire night? No, no. I promised a bunch of lovely people they would be able to meet our newest recruit tonight, and I do not intend to let them down. Maybe if you’re lucky you can leave here tonight with one, or two I don’t discriminate.” He sends you a wink with that last comment and based on his animated attitude and wild gesturing you take it he’s already had a fair amount to drink.

Your dress shoes clap along the floor as you’re pulled into the throng, immediately being swarmed by a mob of overeager mortals. You scowl at the host of the party as he slips away, mouthing ‘good luck’ as he disappears.

“Is it true that you’re Thor’s younger sister?”

“What kind of powers do you have?”

“Tell us about Asgard! Is everyone there ultra good looking, or does it just run in the family?”

You quickly tire of the incessant line of questions, it seemed a lot of these people are reporters, or just fans, or maybe both. All of them are talking at you more than talking to you though, and it bothers you greatly, so you run off, telling them you have to go to the restroom.

You head there anyhow, finding a moment of peace as you stand back away from the roar of the party. Your head settles in your hand as you close your eyes and methodically massage your temples. You’re supposed to be impervious to headaches, but your mind feels seconds away from exploding.

Footsteps alert you to someone nearing your makeshift sanctuary and you hurriedly spin around to face the sinks and roll up your sleeves, pumping your hand full of soap right as the door opens. You don’t bother to see who it is as you wash your hands, mentally preparing for going back out there and facing the crowd.

You make your way over to the bar where a certain redhead is mixing drinks, dodging everyone who tries to grab your attention on the way. You let out a huff as you sit down, and noticing your exasperated state she clears the counter of any other stragglers.

“Leave it to Stark to throw a party tumultuous enough to tire a mighty Asgardian.” She gestures out to the huge area packed with people and you shake your head, the mere thought of going back out there stressing you out.

“I wish I could get drunk, but I’m afraid your alcohol is nowhere near strong enough to affect me.” You throw a wistful glance toward the rows of bottles behind Natasha as a knowing smirk spreads across her face.

“Well Odinson, you just might be in luck.” You watch her, wondering why she has to be so damn mysterious all the time as she ducks under the counter, searching for something. She reappears, a flask in hand. It looks completely unassuming, its contents probably nothing you couldn’t find in one of the many bottles in Stark’s collection. She pushes it toward you now and you take it, unscrewing the cap and taking a cautious whiff. “You’re welcome by the way. I had to hide that so the guys wouldn’t kill themselves trying to drink it.”

You smile when you realize what it is. Asgardian ale. Your brother must have brought some over last time he was here, and now you’re going to be stealing the leftovers. “Thank you Natasha. You have just saved my night,” you tell her as you take a big swig from the bottle.

“No problem, kid.” She leans back, taking a sip from her colorful drink as well, apparently you aren’t the only one who needs a little help tolerating the evening.

“I’m older than you, you know,” you insist, a small frown warping your features as you raise your flask in her direction.

“You look and act like a college student,” she deadpans, which only serves to deepen your frown.

Instead of arguing back your eyes sweep the room, on the lookout for someone in particular. “Hey, have you seen Wanda?”

Cracking a slight smile at your antics, which only prove her previous point, she shrugs, nonchalantly moving over to the other side of the bar where Maria Hill waits.

“Hold on, hold on.” You get up from the barstool, staring after her, unnecessarily mysterious, you swear.

“Come on Natasha, don’t leave the poor girl hanging,” the well-dressed SHIELD agent remarks upon seeing your pleading face and the sly smirk on her girlfriend’s.

Finally relenting, she gestures to a door up on the second level of the space. “I think I saw your crush head out to the balcony a few minutes ago.”

“I’m not a kid,” you mutter as you start to leave the bar, snatching the flask from the counter on the way. You’re halfway to the staircase when the redhead’s words dawn on you. “And she’s not my crush!”

You catch the pair laughing to each other before jogging up the stairs, eager to see your friend.

You push the door open, relieved to see that she really is out here, and that the former spy hadn’t tricked you for her own amusement.

She looks gorgeous, the pale moonlight highlighting her face as she stares up at the sky, a beer bottle clutched in one hand.

“You’re late.”

“Yea I know, believe it or not I’ve been trying to get to you all night, but Stark, he is smooth.” The cool breeze hits your face, and until now you hadn’t realized how warm it had been inside the tower. The night air is a welcome relief after being surrounded by way too many people for the last two hours.

“Well I hope you don’t mean he’s been flirting with you.” She raises a skeptical eyebrow at your choice of an excuse.

“No! No. Of course not. He just kept pushing me to talk to person after person, and I couldn’t catch a break.”

“Well I wouldn’t blame him, you look very dashing tonight Stargirl, purple is definitely your color.” A blush rises along your cheeks so you take another gulp from your drink, hiding your face behind the container. You'd been receiving compliments all night long, yet somehow hers is the first one that feels real, that makes you want to give her a million in return.

“Thank you, Wanda. I love your dress. The color, it compliments your eyes quite well.” You’ve moved to mirror her position now, arms resting against the railing as you both peer down at the busy city below, a view neither of you are used to.

“You know when I was little, I used to dream of a life in America. And now I’m here, and it still doesn’t feel real.” She doesn’t know where the admittance comes from, just that it’s a feeling she needed to get off of her chest, and that you’re easy to talk to, she feels comfortable here with you.

You nod your head, eyes still scanning the view before you; the cars racing down the street, couples strolling past block after block, the twinkle of lights from a thousand windows. “Do you miss your home?”

She sighs, but it lacks any heaviness or malice, it’s simply an exaggerated exhale as she thinks about her answer. “Sokovia… it wasn’t a place without troubles. In fact, it probably had more trouble than most places, especially when I was growing up.”

You watch her face as she speaks, how it grows sadder as she thinks more about her old home. You want to hug her, as if that would shield her from the forlorn memories, but you feel as if that gesture would be inappropriate now, so you settle for just being here for her. To listen as she explores her complicated feelings.

“But I do miss it, my parents mostly. How we managed to make the best of our situation, and how much love they had for me and Pietro.” Tears shine against her eyes now, threatening to create a stream down her face. As soon as the first one falls, she quickly wipes it away, shaking her head as if to clear the grief from her mind and taking a sip from her beer. “Enough about my home. Do you miss yours?”

The question takes you aback, even when it shouldn’t. You’d been talking about her home, it only makes sense that she’d ask you about yours. You’d just been so focused on how Wanda felt that you’d neglected your own feelings.

“Yea I miss it. I do.” When confronted with the task of articulating those feelings however, your mind drew a blank. You heave a sigh, realizing there’s a lot you have to unpack about Asgard, your family, your path in life. “It’s complicated.” With another swig from your flask you notice the slight buzz from the alcohol starting to kick in.

“I get it. I’m here to listen whenever you figure it out though.” Of course she’d be understanding about this. Your mind tracks back to hugging her again as her green gaze settles on you. Scratch that, you want to kiss her.

The door banging open startles the two of you and you turn to see the Falcon grinning at you from the entryway. “Come on lovebirds, we need you for a round of pool.”

“We’ll be right in, Sam.” The girl answers for the both of you while you silently curse him for interrupting your moment. She saunters over to the door, looking back at you over her shoulder as she heads inside. “Come on, it'll be fun.”

You make your way over to where the Avengers are crowded around a green table with brightly colored balls laid out neatly in a triangle at one end. You’re pleased to note that the rest of Stark’s guests have cleared out by this hour, only leaving your small group.

“I heard we have been invited to play this game of pool,” you spread your arms out wide as you finish trotting up the stairs, tripping over the last one. You’d forgotten how strong that ale was, too long spent away from drinking with your brother. You recover before face planting though, striding up to the table with a bolstered confidence.

You’re handed a long stick and are told to use it to hit the white ball into the huddle of colorful ones. Easy, you think, going over to line up a shot. Wanda follows behind you, taking up a spot standing next to you as she watches you concentrate on aiming the ball.

Just as you’re about to strike the stick into the ball, she drapes an arm around your waist. The mindless act of affection startles you, the contact sending a giddy jolt through your body, causing you to overshoot your hit.

Overshoot might be a bit of an understatement, as you watch the white ball crash into the rest, sending all of them flying off the table in different directions. You have no idea how this game works, but you’re pretty sure that was not the goal.

The laughter flowing from the girl next to you confirms this, embarrassment flooding your senses as you realize the slip up had come from her closeness to you. The others seem to recognize this as well, joining in on making fun of your reaction to being held by the girl you obviously have feelings for.

The only one who seems oblivious as to what had caused your mistake is the person responsible for it.

“Oops.”

Six

A number of weeks go by as you and Wanda continue to skirt the line between friendship and something more. Locked gazes are held just a little too long, she falls asleep on your chest as you watch an unhealthy amount of old sitcoms, both of you glance at each other’s lips when you think the other isn’t not looking.

Eventually you’re fed up with dancing around the question, of avoiding taking the next step out of fear of rejection. You’re going to ask her out, formally, and you know just how to do it.

You take a motorcycle out to the city, plans of visiting Wanda’s favorite coffee shop and grabbing her a drink and a pastry at the front of your mind.

The weather is dull, heavy clouds crowding out the sun and threatening to open up and give way to a nasty storm. You refuse to let the weather interfere with your day though, and besides, what could be better than some comfort food on a day like this.

You smile up at the sky as it starts to sprinkle, imagining that it’s just your brother encouraging you on your mission to romance the girl you think you just might be in love with.

You pull up to the quaint store and cut the engine, swinging your leg up and over as you dismount your bike.

A bell rings as you enter, the strong scent of coffee hitting your nose. You inhale deeply, letting the aroma envelop your senses as you look around the calmly lit room.

You stride up to the counter, the noise of idle chatter backing you up as you recall the name of the coffee order Wanda is most fond of. Too lost in your search of the menu above you you don’t notice the barista that moves to greet you and take your order. Whenever you stop by while she’s working she makes it her mission to incessantly flirt with you, despite your obvious disinterest and outright discomfort in her doing so.

You finally find what sounds like the right name of the brew the witch likes and you look across the woman poised to not only make your coffee, but also to try her hand again at asking you out.

“Hey Y/N!” She chirps. yeah, she knows your name.

“Hi, can I get two grande mochas please? Oh and two chocolate chip cookies?” You try to keep your voice as professional as possible and leave her no room to start an uncomfortable conversation with you.

“Of course, anything for you.” You nod your head and only offer a tight smile in acknowledgment, turning to go wait a ways back when you hear her call you over. “Hey, can you come back over here? I just need you to sign the receipt.”

You trudge back over, taking a hand out of your pocket and setting it mindlessly on the counter, waiting for her to hand you a pen and the little slip of paper. Instead of giving you a receipt, she grabs your hand harshly, not at all like when Wanda takes it, you note, and the abruptness of her actions startles you. You stare at her, about to ask what’s going on when you notice she’s writing something on your palm. “Hey!” You yank your arm back, but not before she’s finished scribbling down a series of numbers in pen.

“My number,” she beams at you, a hint of crazy in her eyes as she clarifies. “Call me, pretty girl.”

All of a sudden a clap of thunder booms from outside, causing you to look out the window to see rain falling in heavy sheets now, just as you had predicted before. Maybe taking the motorcycle wasn’t such a great idea. Something else catches your eyes though when a flash of lightning streaks through the sky, a figure stomping angrily away.

It couldn’t be. No. It was most definitely the girl you had been planning to ask out tonight, and she had obviously just seen your entire incriminating interaction with the barista.

Shit. You have to explain to her that it wasn’t what it looked like from her position outside the shop.

You race outside, your clothes becoming soaked through in seconds as you shout. “Wanda, wait!”

She pauses for the slightest of seconds before continuing on towards the car she had taken, hurt and embarrassment flooding her heart. You catch up to her before she can get in, imploring her to look at you through the water dripping from her face, you’re not sure if it’s from the rain or her tears.

She glares at you, not giving you a chance to defend yourself before she jumps on you. “What’s going on? Tell me you weren’t just in there letting that girl give you her number, flirting with her!”

She looks so small and sad standing there, drenched to the bone, shivering from the cold, and you take a step toward her, instinctively wanting to wrap her in your arms and keep her warm. She steps back in retaliation as you do, so instead you open your mouth to speak, but she cuts you off, continuing her verbal assault. “I knew you were a princess back on Asgard. That you probably had people throwing themselves at you left and right.” She’s moved toward you now, close enough to give you a shove with her next words.

“I can’t believe I fell for your stupid little girl next door act, Y/N!” You stumble back in surprise as she pushes your chest, shoes slipping on the slick pavement beneath your feet. “Did you get bored playing with just one person? Was I not enough? I bet you missed all of the attention, so you snuck out here to reclaim that high.”

She finally finishes unleashing her piece, frustration lacing her bout of yelling, the rumble of the storm providing a dramatic undercurrent. Water droplets roll down the back of your exposed neck, sending shivers down your spine as you shake out your hair, sending an extra spray of water into the fray.

“Wanda, no,” you catch her hand as she turns away from you, stopping your speech until she looks back at you. “I tried to leave the Compound without you noticing because I wanted to surprise you. I know how much you like this place.” A flash of lightning illuminates both of your faces, revealing the desperation on yours and the distraught expression she wears.

“Then that girl in there… she messed it all up.” A defeated sigh escapes your lips as you shove your hands in your jacket pockets, and looking down, you discover your white t-shirt has totally soaked through, making it see through. Something that would certainly work to undermine your next point. “The truth is I haven’t missed who I was back on Asgard. I think I was hiding behind my powers, using the easy pleasure to distract myself from reality.” The confession works to stun the girl in front of you, and it even takes you aback.

“I could never tell when anyone was being honest with me, if they liked me because of me or because my powers were always subconsciously drawing them in. It was exhausting so I stopped trying to find something real.” You have tears in your eyes now too as you meet Wanda’s somber ones. You stop your anxious pacing for a second as you step closer to her, needing her to hear what you have to say next. “I didn’t think I’d ever find something real… until I met you. Wanda I want you, not that stupid barista, not anyone else in the entire universe. Because you’re beautiful and amazing and you terrify me but in the best way and-.”

She cuts off your nervous rambling and wild gesturing as she grabs the collar of your leather jacket and pulls you close, smashing your lips together. She tastes even sweeter than you had imagined, and you tangle your fingers in her hair as they come to rest on the sides of her face. You both savor in the tenderness of the kiss, even if it was rushed and filled with a million unsaid emotions.

Eventually you pull back for air, cheeks flushed and chest heaving as you stare at each other, breathless. The rain continues to patter down on your unguarded silhouettes as she gently takes your hand and rests her forehead against your own.

“I want you too.”

One

You race about the Compound, grabbing various items here and there, making sure that everything is set up to perfection.

Wanda is due back from her busy day in the city (thank you Pietro) any minute now, you’ve planned the perfect first date night.

You hear the door to the main entrance of the Compound open and you sprint downstairs, making it just in time to greet the returning siblings.

“Y/N!” The girl you’ve been waiting for almost trips over her own feet in her haste to get to you. “This fool has been running me around town all day. I am exhausted. And now you’re going to watch sitcoms with me.” She takes your hand and starts to drag you upstairs, and you let her. As you round the corner, you see Pietro send you a wink before you’re whisked away.

“Wanda this way.” You tug on her arm, pulling her past your room that she’s practically made hers as well with all the time she spends with you.

“Wait.” She slips her wrist from your grasp, standing stubbornly by the door. “We’re going to lay down and watch Dick Van Dyke and then you’re going to get me dinner.” Her arms are crossed and she looks at you defiantly, motioning toward the room.

You have other plans though, and a mischievous grin spreads across your face as you slowly walk backwards towards the end of the hall. “Trust me, I’ve got something much better planned.” You gesture with your arm in a signal for her to follow you and turn your back to her, silently telling her you’re leaving either way.

Intrigued by the eager look in your eyes and the energy that has you almost bouncing off the walls, she abandons her original plan in favor of following you. You open the door to the stairwell, sparing one sneaky glance back just to make sure she’s coming. When you note her figure making her way down the hall, you climb the steps, not stopping until you reach the roof.

Before you head outside you wait for her to catch up, accidentally getting way ahead of her in your haste to lead her up here.

“What are you doing?” Her voice echoes around the stairwell as curiosity shines through her expression.

Choosing to ignore her question, you send one back her way. “Are you ready for the most romantic night of your life, Wanda Maximoff?” A knowing smile and a pair of raised eyebrows crosses your face as you lean against the door, your hand on the handle in anticipation.

Without giving her the chance to answer, you fling it open, revealing your little setup. A picnic blanket lays flat on the ground, enough food to feed much more than two people lined meticulously around its edges. It’s almost completely dark out, the sun having conveniently set thirty minutes before, the only light coming from the soft glow of the lanterns that line the perimeter of the roof.

Beyond the Compound lies absolutely nothing except the surrounding nature. That’s one giant perk of being stationed in the middle of nowhere, any light or excess noise from the city fails to reach you, always leaving you with peace and quiet whenever you need a moment. The night sky is free to shine out here, the sea of stars stretching out farther than the eye can see uncontested by the touch of humanity. That’s why you picked this spot, the beauty of the landscape reminding you of the girl before you, and the secluded space would allow you to truly enjoy your night without interruption.

You step aside so she can take it in, watching her eyes go wide at your gesture. The silence is stifling, insecurity warping your mind as a hint of a smile appears on her lips. “Do you like it? I wasn’t sure how people here usually court others, but I saw this on TV once and I thought it was cute and then I remembered how you told me that one time about how you used to love studying the stars when you were younger and, well I thought this could be a nice way to spend the night.”

She waits patiently for you to finish your long-winded speech, unable to stifle the small laugh that bubbles up from her chest.

“What?” Dumbfounded, you cock your head, wondering what she found so funny.

“Nothing, you’re just cute when you’re nervous,” she casually remarks as she brushes past you and further onto the roof.

You stumble after her, smoothing out your shirt and fixing your hair as you do. “What? Me? I’m not nervous. No, not at all.”

You eye her carefully as she takes in your little setup. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Odinson.” She sends a coy smile your way and you reach out to take her hands in yours, a dopey grin lighting up your face.

“You really think so?”

“I know so.”

And with that she kisses you right there under the moonlit sky, the stars the only witnesses to the small display of affection. The kiss is gentle and filled with passion, the beginning of a new journey you’re about to embark on with the girl you’d give everything to.

The airiness of her perfume mixes perfectly with yours as you break apart, staring with a sickening amount of love and admiration into each other’s eyes.

Yeah, you could get used to life on Earth.

---

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[vidavalor]

Ok, your meta where you talk about what Dagon's saying about Satan and Crowley and the appetizers has gutted me like a fish (that pun feels wrong 😁) Do you see other scenes that are about this in the show? I think you're right about it and I'm just wanting to pick your brain on the topic because I think it makes the story even better if it is talking about stuff like SA.

Hi! Thanks for reading. 💕I really appreciated the pun actually lol as it's a tough topic and good to have a laugh in there. I wrote a post about parallels between Crowley and Satan and Nina and Lindsay that I'll link below but I do see it in other scenes that I haven't mentioned yet as well, including a scene with Mrs. Sandwich and the Discorporated!Aziraphale scene...

TW: discussion of SA under the cut.

One scene I see it in is this actually this one:

As they're getting ready to go face the demons-- led by devout Satanist Shax-- Crowley asks Mrs. Sandwich if she "has her hat pin." Crowley isn't under the 19th century spell that everyone else has been at times during The Ball but he's referencing the one thing from that era that Mrs. Sandwich will get, likely whether she is still under the magical influence or not. Hatpins were banned in England during the suffragette movement in that era as they were the most common thing a woman could carry on her person that she could use as a weapon to fend off sexual assault-- and many women were doing just that. The men who held the government positions and the power sought to outlaw them to "protect themselves" from women by doing this and led to women carrying weapons more surreptitiously-- like hiding a knife in their stockings, etc..

Mrs. Sandwich owns a bordello and is a sex worker and the odds of her not being a sexual assault survivor herself are slim to none. Crowley accurately determines that she's the person in the room best qualified to back him up and he wants her close so he can make sure she doesn't get hurt because he cares about her. Mrs. Sandwich is wearing a hat that is pinned into her hair so she is carrying a literal hat pin but Crowley's question is really asking her if she's otherwise armed-- and ready for this-- to which Mrs. Sandwich replies that she's "got more than that, love." She's got Crowley's back. Who is best equipped to fight The Devil? The ones who already have won a few rounds, like Crowley and Mrs. Sandwich.

There's also this bit from S1 about Crowley and Lucifer/Satan, especially if you take into account how euphemistically food is used in the show:

Yes, Crowley is drunk but it's been the case across a few scenes that there's often a lot of truth in what he's saying when he's off his head. "The food hadn't been that good lately..." He's basically saying he was bored and lonely and depressed and so was vulnerable to Lucifer's initial attentions and what Crowley thought was some sex and some new friends wound up an abusive boyfriend and eternal damnation.

The rest of this scene is Discorporated!Aziraphale appearing to Crowley and it helps illustrate why the first part of it begins with Crowley talking about Satan-- it's to continue to draw a very deliberate contrast between Satan and Aziraphale. Aziraphale shows up and the topic becomes how Aziraphale needs to possess someone to get a body temporarily and get to Tadfield. The prior time in the series at this point that we saw someone possessed was when Satan attacked Crowley. Crowley and Aziraphale are the exact opposite of that in this scene, which is, ultimately, about consent. Aziraphale won't possess Crowley and is, instead, searching diligently for a receptive body-- a person willing to let him possess them. Aziraphale's jokes are sexual innuendo relating to his own lack of a body rather than an actual request to possess him. Lucifer is literally possessive, while Aziraphale is not, and would not break Crowley's trust by violating him.

[teddypickerry]

Could you write something angsty for Alex?

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐋 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄.

pairing! alex turner x fem reader

summary! in which alex’s lack of songs leads to him writing something he shouldn’t

word count! 1k

warnings! none

a/n! this fucking sucks. i don’t know why i hate this so much. one of my friends read it and loved it but i cannot get into it. BUT I LOVE ALEX SO I AM POSTING IT. probs cause it’s 4am and i’m tired (never). also i left the the ending kinda up to you. if you want him to apologize then you can imagine that or if you want her to dump his sorry ass then slay!

PARALLEL UNIVERSE. the exact words your boyfriend had jotted down on a notepad left in the sitting room. you'd got home from work, noticing a mess of things on the coffee table and chair where you could assume your boyfriend alex had sat all afternoon. he was currently in between tours and albums meaning, he was drawing inspiration from everything. for some reason he was in dire need of lyrics as if he didn't just release an album a year ago.

alex's process, that he'd explained to you the evening prior, consisted of needing lyrics by the end of the next year after the album. which made no sense to you but apparently to him it was all worked out in his brain. so he'd spent the past few months jotting down every word that interested him. sure it got frustrating, he left dinner with your sister the other day because he had a writing epiphany. only to have you come home two hours later to a rather pissed off version of him. him going on about messing up the beat and locking himself in his office for the rest of the evening.

alex was irritable and frustrated with his lack of inspiration and you honestly party blamed yourself. with his exes, he'd had several love songs that could have been mistaken for poems lined up. the thoughts of you possibly being at fault for this version of your boyfriend woke you up during the early hours of the morning. there was a part of you that worried you weren't enough for the romantic man. and your biggest fears seemed to shine the moment your eyes crossed over the notepad. the title scribbled 'parallel universe' in alex's sloppy handwriting. below were crossed out messy lines of writing. all hurting you more than the next.

'in some parallel universe, i know you

held me tighter. i tried harder. you spoke,

"look my love, i will look for you in every

lifetime." i didn't have you in this one so,

i'll have to wait for the next'

that was enough to have your heart beating out of your chest. there was more written at the bottom, but you couldn't bother. you'd felt betrayed. it didn't matter who it was about but he did at least owe you that. not that you ever wanted to hear it. hear who he was thinking about this way, dreaming about being in the arms of while actually in yours. the feeling was indescribable.

the hum of the tv was the only thing beside your heavy breaths that you'd heard. not acknowledging the sound of footsteps down the hallway into the living room, where you stood. your back towards him as he stopped in the doorway. "thought that was you. thought i heard the door. look- i think i finally have something figured out so maybe we can go out to that place you like in a bit. the one with the blue drink that you always get and have a proper night out. it's been awhile..." his warm voice trailed off at your silence, and lack of acknowledgment of him.

you let out a deep breath before turning your head, noticing the man with a white towel wrapped around his waist. his hair was dripping wet besides one strand over his eyes. he looked so fucking good, and that fucking hurt.

the expression on your face told him something not that it was correct in anyway. "we don't have to go there, i mean.." he licked his lips. "we could always stay here tonight, order in... stay in bed."

you didn't know why you let him ramble on. maybe because there was a part of you that hoped the paper in your hand was a lyric nick wrote, or maybe jamie, or probably matt... married matt. "alex?"

"hm?" he hummed uncomfortably as he stepped closer to you, securing the towel in the process. his eyes finally caught the prize. the notepad still in your hand visible for all to see. he could have sworn he shit himself. "y/n-"

"why-" you huffed as you stepped back from him. "i'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume this is miles' words, not yours." the silence on the other end answered your question as you felt something sharp in your soul. like you were being cut in half, your heart at least. "alex," you whined as pure pain took over. p

"angel," alex called out as you only shook your head. he tried to step closer once more as you backed up, now against the wall. he sighed and stepped back assuring his defeat. "it's just words. just some lyrics, i needed something to write so-"

"so you decided to declare your love for your ex? dream about her holding onto you?" you scoffed as his body stiffened and he turned his head slightly. "no-"

"then what the fuck is this then?" you held up the paper as your eyes began to sting. alex gulped at the sight of your pain. "angel, i had nothing okay? so i tapped into a place i haven't been in forever- years, haven't felt that in years. but i needed something dramatic and devotional."

"then write about your goddamn girlfriend! or make something up, what the hell, alex?" your voice threatened a yell as he sighed and attempted to step closer to you. "this is my job, baby. this is what i do for a living. i don't-"

"just," you started before biting your lip and crossing your arms. "i can't do this right now. i can't be with you right now," you mumbled as you grabbed your purse and jacket. all sat on the chair where you'd left them not even five minutes ago. alex's breathing got heavier as he watched you slip on your jacket. he tried to stop you. he tried to tell you that his words meant nothing. but maybe you'd listen, maybe in a parallel universe.

[kyos-entertainment]

SKZ flix theory

I have no where to post this, so i’m posting it here

so lets begin

My personal theory on what actually happened

Skz in the parallel universe is actually trying to save a multitude of different worlds and preserving their specific timeline

For once, Felix was sent on a solo mission, to save this specific world that did not have him in it and I personally believe that he has the power to blend in and imprint on his surroundings so people do not see him as an anomaly. None of the other members could have done so because they all had their own timelines there. In that way, they only need to save a specific person, which I am assuming is Lee Know. Lee know who is an aspiring actor might have been on the verge of giving up on his dreams, which would result in the ‘reality’ that the original stray kids that are travelling the universes are trying to avoid. This can be seen through the injuries in Lee Knows face, in which he assumably got into a fight or was perhaps bullied since he is seen skipping class, but still hopeful with his dreams because of yongboks support.

Eventually Jisung and Seungmin find Lee know and Yongbok, with the main focus on Lee Know after Yongbok suggests they go on a walk, leading him specifically to that spot in which Jisung and Seungmin would take an interest in him as the main actor, seeing his potential which Yongbok was already well aware of. After all this, everything slowly comes together, assumably with Yongboks help since even the film festival is multiverse related. I am just assuming yongbok has the power to alternate time and space however he wishes, planting this whole thing as an idea. To those who think yongbok is invisible to everyone but lee know, he isn’t. He actually offered Jeongin a sandwich which jeongin accepted and eventually it ended up getting stolen by Hyunjin during filming.

However, yongbok has specifically allocated himself a side character sort of role within the film despite him being one of the actors, something that is not important and the film could still go on smoothly even without this character. In this way, Yongbok can easily be removed from the movie as a whole after people ‘forget’ him, which is also him bending the reality. This is seen through that one shot where Changbin had to do special effects. Yongbok was there the entire time but in the final cut, he isn’t even seen.

Eventually this leads to the scene at the bus, which everyone is asleep and Yongbok, without knowing, thinking they are still filming, says ‘I have to go back now’. (i got the order a bit wrong, but it still relates) Everyone being asleep is probably the sign of the ‘universe saving’ stray kids, saying that your mission here is almost finished and to wrap up quickly. It is only after this that yongbok got cut from the scene where changbin did the special effect (this is the part i got the order wrong) which is my assumption that he has started bending reality back to the way it is supposed to be.

Afterwards, in the theater, while watching the final result, it is seen that no one remembers yongbok as a result of the bending of reality, leaving only lee know, who was supposed to remember him since he needed to bring lee know back on track to his dreams, and lee know acting in this was the first step. Lee know then runs back to the spot where he was seen skipping class at the start of the film, showing a parallel when yongbok skips ‘their first screening’. And it all comes together when you remember that at the start, Yongbok said something about the teacher wanting them to draw someone, yongbok said he drew jinyong, but i am assuming he lied and drew lee know as a form of premonition in what he was going to do. He was going to paint the perfect scenario for them to live out their dreams together as seven people, jinyoung being part of got7, another premonition on what felix’s final result was supposed to be.

Finally, it shows the alternative of reality where Lee know was originally supposed to be, not at the movie, with cuts on his face, lying down on the wooden platform, yongbok/felix taking his place in that world to maintain order before returning to the stray kids he was originally from.

then again this is my personal theory!