#its like a slow dawning horror story

[santaresistencia]

i'm going back rn and backtagging all of my spn posts (for like archival posterity reasons, shut up) and i've finally reached the date of nov 5th 2020 and holy cow we really did collectively lose our minds huh

[jjkamochoso]

The Perfect Fit

Story Overview: Levi Ackerman begrudgingly finds himself falling in love with the Survey Corps’ seamstress. Will they be able to own up to their feelings for each other? Or is their love doomed to fail before they discover the truths of each other’s hearts? This slow burn reader insert story will be filled with angst, yearning, and a bit of mystery as we slowly unravel the truths behind Y/N’s past… and explore her and Levi’s future!

Chapter 2

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1 linked here

Chapter 3 linked here

Levi Ackerman x female reader

Warnings: cussing, mentions of blood and pus (not graphic)

You decided it was in your best interest to listen to Levi’s advice and go see the medic to get your fingers treated. You knew they couldn’t do much for blisters but getting bandaged up, at the very least, would prevent infection and further damage. Even with the aid of your new sewing machine, you couldn’t risk your hands being out of commission since you had no other means of making money. So, before the sun rose too high in the sky, you walked to your small stable, ready to unleash your horse from her confines to take you back to the Scouts. However, when you greeted her, she didn’t look too good.

“Aww my poor thing, are you feeling alright?” you asked, petting her snout and coaxing her to eat a sugar cube, but she refused it.

She probably worked too hard yesterday dragging that cart in the heat, you thought to yourself, a frown forming on your face. You became increasingly worried when she began to cough and you knew that was a bad sign pointing to illness. Trying to stay as calm as possible, you made sure she had plenty of food and water for the time you’d be gone and after you gave her snuggles, you started the trek into the forest on foot.

As you got deeper and deeper into the woods, you realized the risk you were taking. Titan sightings had been on the rise everywhere and here you were without a horse. You couldn’t imagine them infiltrating Wall Rose, but anything was possible. If you were unlucky enough to run into one of the giant beasts, you’d be their dinner in no time. Thankfully, your place was only a 10 minute walk to the former Survey Corps HQ, but today, it felt like a lifetime. You picked up the pace, breaking into a light jog. You were so on edge the entire trip that you couldn’t appreciate the birds chirping and flying away, too fearful that it could signify something was headed your way to gobble you up. Your anxiety didn’t cease until you spotted the castle. The slightly crumbling walls never looked so beautiful to you than in that moment. Catching your breath, you straightened out your disheveled outfit. As you approached the gate to enter, you were questioned by two young soldiers who were on the lookout tower.

“Who goes there? State your name and business” one said, clearly deepening his voice in an attempt to seem older and more intimidating. His comrade, unamused, elbowed him in the stomach. They began to quarrel and any other day you would’ve found their antics endearing, but you were in a hurry.

“My name is y/n L/n, Captain Levi told me to see the medic here.” You held his note in your outstretched hand. The boys stopped bickering as the taller one came down the tower, leaving the one with the buzz cut above. The gate was opened barely enough for you to squeeze through as the boy read over your letter. Satisfied with its contents, he nodded and handed it back to you.

“Here you go, miss, the medic is-” The boy suddenly stopped, a look of realization dawning on his face. “Wait, y/n L/n? The seamstress?”

When you nodded yes, he broke out in a huge smile.

“No way! You’re a legend around here!” He yelled up to the boy on the tower. “Connie! She’s the seamstress!”

Connie smiled eagerly as he waved and shouted, “Thank you for all your work, Ms. L/n!”

You felt your heart pang with sadness. These kids were so sweet, yet you knew they had to face so many horrors in their short lifespan. You were just glad to bring them a bit of joy in an otherwise bleak existence.

“No problem, Connie!” you yelled back, giving him a wave. “Thanks for all the hard work that you do!” You let out a laugh when you saw him clutch his chest and pretend to faint. Your attention was turned back to the boy who was still next to you.

“So, you need the medic? You know where to go or can I escort you?” he asked.

“I have zero clue where to go, but is it alright that you leave your post? I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“Connie’s got it,” he sputtered out, but quickly returned to a more poised version of himself. “Besides, I wouldn’t want a pretty lady like you to get lost around here. Name’s Jean.”

You tried your hardest not to giggle as he led you to your destination. These kids were truly something else! You were glad they hadn’t lost their teenage “charm” to the cruelty of the life around them, but if Jean kept flirting with you, it’d be a bit awkward.

“What do you guys do for fun around here?” you asked, keeping the mood light.

“Fun? I mostly train while the other soldiers slack off. I could show you a few of my moves if you’re around after my shift at the tower is over,” Jean said, not-so-subtlety flexing his muscles. You sighed. You had to put an end to this, now.

“Hey Jean? How old do you think I am?”

He took a moment, obviously thinking hard. “You don’t look a day over 20.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” you replied, “but I’m definitely older than that. Think Captain Levi’s age.”

“Wow, that’s old!” he exclaimed, a surprised look on his face. “You’re only a few years younger than my mom.”

You weren’t sure what his response would be, but you certainly weren’t expecting that. You weren’t in the mood for conversation anymore. Luckily for the both of you, you had arrived to the infirmary and Jean begrudgingly took his leave (he wasn’t sure if you’d be able to find your way out but you finally convinced him that yes, you’d remember to make a left at the end of the hallway and walk in a straight line back to the gate you entered). Getting your fingers bandaged up felt really nice and you wondered why you didn’t do it earlier. Right, you couldn’t afford gauze. Thanking the medic for being gentle yet speedy, you hurried back toward the gate. Little did you know, a certain raven haired man was watching you like a hawk.

As you approached Jean and Connie once more, you heard a familiar voice.

“Oi! Brat!”

The three of you whipped your heads around to see Levi walking your way.

“The woman brat, not you two. Back to work,” he barked, and the boys saluted quickly, not wanting to get on his bad side.

“Where’s your horse?” he questioned you, arms crossed and scowling. Was he always so serious?

“She’s at home.” You wanted to explain yourself further but he spoke too fast.

“You mean to tell me, you what? Walked here? Tch, you’re stupider than I thought. I’m taking you home.”

You understood how he rose up the ranks to captain because he was very good at bossing people around.

“Captain!” you hurried to catch up to him since he was already almost to his horse at the stables. His legs were short but he was lightning fast!

“Captain! Please, it’s alright. I got here fine, I’ll get home okay. I don’t want to cause you any more trouble.”

“You’d cause me more trouble as potential titan food or robbery victim. Quit your whining and get on the damn horse.”

It was no use arguing with him and you needed to get home fast anyway since your client appointments were coming up soon. When you found yourself with your chest pressed against his back, legs touching, you felt your heart begin to race but you couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. Levi’s horse bucked forward a bit and you struggled to keep yourself upright, having nothing to hold onto.

“You can wrap your arms around me, you know. I don’t bite.”

“Somehow I doubt that’s true,” you muttered, hesitantly resting your arms on his apparently sculpted abdomen. Little did you know your comment coupled with your closeness caused Levi’s lips to quirk up in the smallest manner.

The horse ride to your place was quiet, neither of you in the mood for idle chitchat. It was nice to see the world from the view as a passenger on a horse for once. Usually you had to pay close attention to where you were going, but today, you felt a sort of freedom for the first time in a long time. You were the safest as you’d ever be, riding with humanity’s strongest soldier, in a quiet forest. Was this was heaven felt like? Being in the presence of nobody but the trees, a handsome man and a galloping horse?

Wait.

Did you just call Levi handsome and envision your dream life with him?

You shook your head, trying to shake those thoughts from your mind as fast as possible. You just met the man a day ago, for crying out loud, and the only reason you were catching feelings was because you were touch starved. Definitely not because he was extremely cute, was super helpful to you for no reason in the past day you’ve known him, and was eyeing you from his turned around position on the horse, wondering what the hell was wrong with you, why are you daydreaming like an idiot—

Oh yeah. You must be home.

You blinked a few times, hoping it would be enough to wipe away the sin of dreaming about a man you could never have.

“Huh? Oh yeah, sorry. This is me.” You let go of his waist and he dismounted, waiting for you to do so as well, and he tied his horse to the pole you had in front of your house. You were confused by his action, thinking he was going to leave after dropping you off, but you didn’t mind his company so you invited him in. As you entered your house, you hoped the captain wouldn’t notice all the structural damage and rot your residence had. You didn’t think you had it in you to take any more of his criticism. You thought that too soon, however, because Levi immediately got to examining your workshop like some sort of crazed policeman scouring a crime scene for the last clue needed to solve a murder.

“Thanks for the gift, by the way. It’ll be very useful,” you said, breaking the silence and nodding to the sewing machine.

Levi rolled his eyes, temporarily pausing his inspection. “I got it for you because I didn’t want your nasty blood and pus filled blister fingers all over everyone’s clothes. And so there’s no more favoritism in whose uniform gets the best treatment, especially if that person was Hange.”

“Does that statement stand if I decide to make you the person to receive special treatment?” you teased, while Levi shot you a glare. You busied yourself with arranging the measuring tapes and other equipment needed for your clients who were bound to be there at any moment. You noticed Levi was still stalking around your workshop and he answered your unspoken question of what he was thinking about.

“This house is a mess, inside and out! It’s one titan fart away from getting blown over. How can you work in such a shithole?”

Ah, so he had noticed. You averted your gaze, not wanting to irritate him further. “Commander Erwin found this place for me and without it, I’d have nowhere to live. The Scouts are my main source of income but I take on civilian jobs for supplemental income. I’ve been saving my money to rent a house in one of the local villages or fix this place up but I… my horse is sick and she needs to see a veterinarian. I’d gladly live in this shack or worse as long as she gets the help she needs.”

“How do you determine the fee for your work?” Levi suddenly asked, “Is it by item or size of the tear?”

You tried to gauge what Levi was thinking but he wore his trademark unreadable expression.

“Both, but mostly how big the tear is. For example, a cheaper fix would be an undershirt with a small hole and something pretty expensive would be a cape with a giant hole. I usually-”

You were interrupted by Levi unclasping his cape, grasping it firmly in his hands, and ripping the fabric in one fell swoop. You stood there, dumbfounded, as he placed the mangled textile on the table next to you.

“I would like this back by tomorrow or the next day, if that’s alright.”

The captain turned to leave while you were left struggling to find your voice.

“Tomorrow evening works,” you managed to squeak. “Drop off or pick up?”

“Pick up is fine. See you around closing.” He shut the door behind him and you were left wondering—

What the hell just happened?

Chapter 3

[powdermelonkeg]

I’ve noticed that a lot of people have some problems with the Totk narrative and was wondering what you thought about it! I’m personally pretty neutral but I can see why people don’t like it. Have a wonderful day!

Okay so controversial opinion here from me:

TotK > BotW

WITH A CAVEAT

I enjoy games IMMENSELY more when I'm not spoiled on them. Skyrim mesmerized me because I flat out was not expecting an actual execution in the first five minutes. I love exploring things for myself.

I went into TotK with ZERO proper spoilers, on purpose. All I had was my own speculation from my trailer breakdowns, and the barest glimpse of Sonia from a leak. The world fascinated me. The physics engine was insanely fun to play with. I got super excited with the return of caves and dozens of collectables. I loved discovering new recipes. I LIVED in the Depths. And the slow horror of figuring out what exactly Zelda did to herself—I saw Tear 3, felt a sinking feeling of dread, rushed into the Depths of the castle to break down that last mural, then panicked as I raced around Hyrule trying to get the rest of the memories. I got the final memory, and I stood on top of Zelda's head for half an hour in shock.

BotW, on the other hand, I spoiled myself on, and was let down by in terms of what I expected out of it. I think the story would have captivated me had I stayed off of Youtube and actually bought the game (was broke at the time, didn't get it until 2019) and experienced it as intended. But I KNEW all the cutscenes, so I didn't have a drive to chase them. Which left the mechanics of the game on their own for me to get used to; I liked cooking, I loved getting a house. I hated how few enemy types there were, I missed my pieces of heart and secret caves and collectables. It's a secret to everybody? Wrong. 85000 shrines.

I started Zelda with Twilight Princess. That's been the bar for me since the beginning. If lighting two unlit torches doesn't give me a secret chest, or beating a challenging minigame doesn't give me a better quiver, it doesn't feel like Zelda to me.

Everything in BotW felt samey because I'd taken the narrative out of its natural habitat and experienced it as a movie rather than as a game, and the most variation enemies really had was a color or elemental difference. No Redeads in the desert, no Toadpoli in the lake, no Freezards in the ice. Also the bosses had no individuality.

Now, I 100% understand why people who love BotW don't love TotK. A lot of what was set up in BotW was undercut in favor of telling the story of Ocarina of Time again. There's no moving past the cycle like BotW implied there would be, and the refusal of the devs to so much as show the ruins of the last game's pivotal pieces feels like they didn't want to commit to anything. It's like if Four Swords and Four Swords Adventures were said to be direct sequels; they've got the same flavor, the same mechanics, but why does NOTHING have continuity?

(I've kind of microdosed on this frustration myself in regards to the timeline; all that effort to say BotW was at the end of all three timelines and do away with the mess they released in Hyrule Historia, and they add Zonai tech in on top of the Sheikah tech with no continuity??? Rauru and Sonia vs Skyward Zel??? Rito existed at the dawn of time. What)

As a continuation of BotW's narrative, it fails. Not egregiously enough for fans to be able to disconnect them and call them their own stories, but badly enough that the overall story feels like it was meant to be two, not one. That's a frustrating point to be in; too much is intertwined between them to break them off and create for them separately, but it's also not intertwined enough that you can't see that it's fraying at the edges.

Anyways...

I liked it. A lot. I think the whole dragon plotline and worldbuilding is fascinating. I have my gripes with dialogue, as one always does with Nintendo games, but you know.

[toms-cherry-trees]

I Trust You || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Nothing screams romance like a little bit of fear

Word count: 2592

Warnings: description of injuries

Author’s note: This is just to get the creativity flowing aftera 3 month long dry spell. I don’t really liked this one but others may appreciate it.

The wait. The never ending, nerve wrecking wait. Tommy never told you when business was happening, but his usual excuse of “something urgent in London” had grown old and unconvincing a long time ago. Especially since he, Arthur and John all had “urgent matters” at the same place, the same time, every time. Honestly, you should have knocked him over the head a few times already for believing you so dim witted. But the relief of seeing him come home alive and well at the end of the night overpowered any other feeling.

That night, as you paced the foyer, feeling you’d wear out the carpet with your steps, you reminisced all the times you had been in situations like that before. How many times you had been left behind waiting. Waiting for life to happen, waiting for everything to end, waiting for him to come home. Ever since the Great War ended, you had never stopped waiting. Waiting for the day he’d stop climbing and settle where he stood. The day he finally realised he could never reach the limit, for the limit never stopped rising. 

Hoping that Thomas Shelby could clench his ambition was like hoping the world would stop spinning. But some things were simply not meant to happen, so you sat back and waited, doing the same route over and over again over the Turkish rug, tracing a line with your slippers, pulling your robe closer to your body as temperatures dropped and the embers died out in the fireplaces. 

The hours ticked away dreadfully, every chime of the grandfather clock reverberating inside your heart like a mocking laughter. Could minutes last shorter than usual? The hands seemed to move three times faster, further and further into dawn every time you looked up. The servants would be up by 6, the scullery maids and hall boys lightning the fires and heating the stove for breakfast. At 8 the children would run to your bedroom, chased by their nanny as they demanded cuddles and breakfast. How would you explain Tommy’s absence? Lying had never been your forte, especially with fear and worry pulling the strings at your heart.  

A quarter past five, when all hope had been lost and you resorted to getting into bed, hopefully sneaking in a couple hours of sleep to be able to face the day, you heard wheels pull into the driveway. Your heart missed a beat and you stopped dead in your tracks, perking up your ears for any other noises. You could never be 100% sure that it was your husband behind the steering wheel, not until you saw him cross the threshold. After all, those guns in the hidden cupboard by the entrance were not just for show. 

You heard footsteps and the crackling of gravel. It sounded as if whoever it was, it had a limp; one foot sounding steady and firm and the other wobbly and tender. A raspy cough cracked the silence of the early dawn. Something metallic scattered on the entrance, rolling down the steps and surely getting lost in the bushes. Your hands gripped the staircase’s railing, ready to dash out of view and take the children if necessary.

Eerily slow, like in horror stories, the door opened, creaking on its hinges. Gelid air swept in, ruffling the hem of your clothes and scattering loose petals from the flower vase in the entrance. You waited with a bated breath, feeling like the damsel in distress from one of your Victorian novels. A dark figure dragged itself inside, clinging onto the door frame for support. When it, /he/, looked up, your heart sank.

Tommy had never looked worse in his life. Not even during the war, when he had been sent home to recuperate after a tunnel collapse in the front. The underside of his jaw had swelled up, the usually sharp edge obscured by a developing bruise. Dried blood smeared his face, as if he had been splashed from a very close distance...and you didn’t wish to know to whom that blood belonged. 

When he came closer, you noticed he dragged his left leg a bit, and he clutched onto his right side tightly. It looked as if stubbornness was the only thing keeping him upright at the moment. You still appreciated his vague attempts to walk in silently, as if the dragging of his feet and his pained grunts weren’t capable of waking up the dead. You could tell he had not noticed your presence, because when he came face to face with you, he cussed out a few times and dropped his head, like a small schoolboy who had been caught in mischief. If you weren’t so worried you’d have found the scene adorable.

Both of you sized up each other for a moment, trying to decide what to say, or if it was worth it saying anything at all. You could see in his eyes that side of him only you had ever witnessed; the softer, most vulnerable, hidden part of him. The only side of him that seemed human at all, where he allowed himself to feel pain, to suffer; to grieve. A side that had been kept perpetually under lock and key, and buried far away so no one would ever bring it out without his permission. 

You gently cupped his cheek, feeling the bumps of hidden wounds underneath the smooth skin. In the space where your gazes met, you two silently reached an agreement. You wouldn’t ask and he wouldn’t tell. Sliding your arm around his back, you allowed him to lean on your side as you helped him up the stairs and towards the bedroom, acting as his walking cane. 

As soon as you closed the double doors behind you, his strength faltered, and Tommy nearly collapsed over you. Even under the dim glow coming from the hearth you could see the ashness of his skin, cold sweat beads rolling down his temples and dampening his clothes. His jaw trembled with the strength in which his teeth were clenched; he seemed to be using every last bit of willpower in him to just breathe.

Carefully as possible you left him on the bed and rushed to prepare a warm bath, closing the bathroom shutters and lighting up the small fireplace. Despite your perfectly collected demeanour, your fingers trembled as you fumbled over things. Old fears just couldn’t stay buried very long, not when he kept bringing them up with each one of his actions.

Only after everything seemed perfect, you went back to Tommy. He had slumped on the side of the bed, his body bent forward with his head cradled between his knees. You knew if left unbothered, he could fall sleep just like that and pretend everything was fine the next day. Carry on stubbornly, pretending he didn’t have bruises for a lifetime and a few broken bones. Taking care of the world and every single individual being in it, while neglecting himself. But somebody had to take care of him, and that somebody was you.

Slowly straightening him up, you discarded his coat and vest aside, tossing them in a pile in your sewing basket. You would have to check for any tears or holes, sew them up and give the clothes to charity. Tommy refused to reuse a single piece of clothing that had been patched up. His clothes had to be pristine perfect, otherwise they belonged in the trash. You had lost count of how many buttons, ripped seams and loose hems you had fixed and then passed the clothes to him as brand new. 

When you reached to undo the buttons of his shirt, he swiftly grabbed your hands, holding them still as his eyes met yours. You swore you saw a glimpse of shame in his gaze. Perhaps ashamed of his wife seeing he had been on the losing end this time. Or just wishing not to worry any more than you already were. You pulled the conjoined hands up to your lips, gently brushing a kiss on his busted and bloody knuckles.

“Let me. Please”

Somehow, that seemed to be enough for him to drop his battle. The tenderness in your voice and the worry in your eyes was all he needed to surrender himself to you. Tommy sat still like a good boy while you got rid of his clothes. Forget charity, most of them were so torn and stained, they were only good for the trash now. You did your best to not stare at the mass of black, red and purple his chest had become, and ignore the multiple gashes on his biceps and forearms. His left ankle had swelled up and taken a nasty colour too. Running your hands along his sides, you felt him wince under your feathery touch when you reached the sore spots in his flank and his ribcage. The worry about more serious injuries grew by the second.

“Should I call a -”

“No”

That tone again. That dry, curt tone left no space for negotiation. One should wonder how could you marry such a stubborn man, let alone have children with him.

Deciding to just drop the subject for now, you hoisted him up again, albeit with much more difficulty. Somehow he seemed to have tripled his weight, as if his bones had been swapped with lead rods. Tommy just didn’t have energy left in himself to keep his body upright, so you had to drag him to the bathroom and inside the bathtub. With the help of a folded towel, you propped his head on the side and picked up the washing cloth. You couldn’t remember the last time he had allowed you to see him like this. You weren’t sure if there had been a time at all. So intimate and raw in a strange way. It wasn’t exactly the domestic bliss you pictured for your life when you tied the knot, but it definitely had something peaceful after all the fears. 

You did your best to clean him without hurting him, but the small winces and hisses of pain were unavoidable in his current condition. Once the blood and grime had been wiped away, you could assess him more properly. A black eye, a bruised jaw, and a cut in his chin which would surely leave yet another scar. He seemed to have all his teeth at least. Multiple knife wounds, but no bullets. A cracked rib, or maybe two. More bruises than you cared to count. A sprained ankle. His side was tender, perhaps something internal. Yes, a doctor visit was in order. But he didn’t need to know that yet. Or he’d try to call Curly and drink horse medicine again.

You knew from a simple view, that it hadn’t been a fair fight. Whoever it was, whatever they had done, if it had been an honourable combat, they wouldn’t have gotten to him like that. But the fact that he had made it back home, mostly in one piece, meant that the Peaky Blinders had pulled an ace from under the sleeve. You smiled at the thought, your hands instinctively coming up to caress his cheekbone.

“You look like shit, you know?” 

He let out a dry, pained laugh, his eyes fluttering open

“You should see the other guys”

“Good” You brushed your thumb alongside his jaw tenderly

Silence lingered in the air for a few moments 

“What about-?”

“John and Arthur are fine”

You let out a sigh of relief and smiled. But your lips trembled, and the smile soon became a grimace as tears slid silently down your cheeks. A frown creased your husband’s face, and he tried to sit up to get a better look at you.

“Hey, hey”  He didn’t need to ask what was wrong. It was far too obvious “Some things didn’t go as planned, but everything turned out well.” His dripping hand attempted to dry off your tears, but it had quite the opposite effect, and his words also failed to reassure you.

“But what will happen next? Someday things won’t go as planned, and you won’t be able to gain the upper hand. Then what? I get called to the mortuary to identify a body? Or do I wait for them to dump you on the doorstep? What if I receive an envelope with your ring finger inside?”

“A finger? Honestly love, you are reading far too many novels these days”

The mixture between a laugh and a sob that escaped your lips was by no means pleasant, yet it relieved some of your built up tension

“Don’t make me laugh when I’m upset” You wiped your tears with the back of your hand “I’m serious”

“And so am I” He sounded so confident in his own words, it was really hard not to believe him “That’s not going to happen” Somewhere in him he found the strength to sit straight, taking your hands in his and cradling them into his chest “Soon it will all be over. We have to endure a little bit more. And then we can rest” 

“Rest? You said there’s no rest for you in this life” Once more your lips trembled, and tears pooled in the corners of your eyes “And why does it have to be you? You said the Shelbys were generals and battles were for soldiers. Yet it is always you. Why does it have to always be you?”  

“Because I can’t trust anyone with this. If you want things done correctly, sometimes you have to do them yourself” Gingerly he lowered himself back in the waters, seeking the relief of not having to support his own body weight “I don’t trust anyone but myself. And you. I trust you with my life, and I hope you can trust me back, just this time”

Just this time. It wasn’t much of a promise, but enough to keep you going. A mantra to withstand the late nights, the long absences and the aftermaths. Just this time. Just this time and it all will be over. Just this time and then Tommy would rest, and so would you and your heart, and no more living your life in perpetual shock. A little bit more and it would just be you, him, the kids and the dogs you convinced him somehow to have. 

You both stayed there, with your hands on his grasp, until the water went cold and sun rays peeked in through the curtains. Careful with his injuries, you helped Tommy out of the water, wrapping his body in a warm bathrobe which you had hung in front of the fire. Together you made it to the bed, where you helped him under the sheets; tucked him in and propped a pillow under his sprained ankle. You sat next to him, and Tommy leaned into your lap while you dried off his hair with a soft towel. Before long, he was snoring into your body, his arm wrapped around your hips and using your thighs as a pillow. Smiling to yourself, you leaned back into, careful not to disturb his much needed slumber; the all nighter finally catching up to you. You fell asleep with one hand tangled in his hair, the other laid on top of his. None of you awoke when Frances came in to bring you breakfast, quickly retreating and ushering away the children when she saw your resting figures, both with peaceful smiles on your faces.

[homie-one-kenobi]

Fine Line

For @diviluscorner​ 💕                                                                   AO3 Link

2023′s @cloneficgiftexchange​

Pairing: Wolffe x Reader

Prompts: I’m pretty sure your general hates me // It’s the price we pay to feel // Me hogging the bed is FALSE information (slightly altered) 

Warnings: war is hell // typical clone wars violence // injury // angst // swearing // Order 66 :)

Words: too many (6.1k)

NOTES: I am an angst & graphic war writer, so this took me a LOT longer than usual, because I had to change the plot like 5x so it didn’t end up sad or too gory 😂I ended up combining all of my original plots into a series of points in “your” life. I also didn’t underline the prompts in the story because I felt it took away from the experience.

Alright, good luck. 

───  ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

I’m going to die here, you realize as you stand on your first battleground, watching as artillery fire blocks out the first dawning rays of light. Through the trees comes the first wave of the Separatist army, the sun reflecting off the vast metal in front of you. They’re going to slaughter us all. 

“Commander, look out!”

Wolffe shoves you hard and you stumble into a bush, just as a blaster bolt embeds itself in the tree where your head had just been. The enemy fires again, but this time you block it with a lightsaber, the impact sending adrenaline coursing through you. 

You frantically rush the offending battle droid, ducking under its outstretched arm and jamming your lightsaber up through the groove between its chin, the metal plating melting into its head. The droid jerks slightly before falling towards you. It falls in pieces at your feet, and you gag in horror at the sight. Another enemy falls near you, showering you with splatters of oil and bits of smoldering gears. 

You remain frozen on the battlefield, lightsaber limp at your side, staring at the droid at your feet.

Wolffe roughly grabs you by the front of your robes. “Wake up, Commander!” He shakes you desperately.

A bead of sweat trickles down your temple and you furiously blink it away. The deep breaths you're taking do very little to calm your racing heart as the battle wages on around the both of you. Blaster bolts whiz by your heads and explosions rock the ground, throwing you both off balance. 

Wolffe snatches the lightsaber from your limp grasp and holsters it back onto your belt; he grabs your elbow and starts running perpendicular to the company line, skimming the outskirts of the forest and dragging you along with him.

The Separatists start pounding the Republic troops with more massive shells, their aim getting more accurate. You both keep running, but there are so many soldiers in the way.

Another blaster bolt whizzes past your shoulder, but you’re too terrified to consider the consequences of if it had hit you. The place behind you is obliterated from the artillery fire; the bombardment wreaks hell on the Republic line. Barely ten yards in front of you another shell hits, and the impact sprays dust and debris in your face. Momentarily blinded, you trip and stumble into the crater; you cough up dirt and grass as you try to orient yourself, the lightsaber on your belt digging into your ribs.

Wolffe yanks you up and you keep running. The second Republic company line attacks at the sound of the chant “For the Republic!”, the clones pouring from the trees around you. A clone runs into you and you both fall; the clone rolls before scrambling back up and running back into the fray. Wolffe pulls you up again. 

There are too many soldiers. You’re knocked down again, and you tumble out of Wolffe’s reach; you scramble back up and continue on alone, fearful that wiping the dirt from your eyes would slow you down. There is a battle droid who gives chase, firing every time it gets a lock on you. It gets closer and you zig-zag to avoid the target lock, fumbling for your lightsaber, but drop it. You leave the lightsaber in the grass and escape as a few clones stop to attack the battle droid.

Wolffe finds you again, and he grabs your hand. You hold on with all that you have. 

"Don't let me go," you hear yourself screaming.

"Never," he answers, shouting over the sounds of battle, but all you can hear is your heavy breathing and the battle cries of the soldiers and the artillery and the gunships and the screaming.

───  ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

“History is a lesson in humility.”

You blink, pausing your petting of a curious manka cat and calmly turn back to face Master Plo Koon. A mild gust of wind rustles through the airy Jedi Temple and wraps around you fondly like an invisible embrace. Your pale linen robes flutter to the rhythm of the breeze, amplifying the faint chill that crawls up your arm in pleasant goosebumps. Towering pine trees dress the horizon alongside blooming flowers of various shades. The stone of the temple is warm from the sun shining through the trees.

“In the last century alone, the Republic has fought seven wars. And we did not win all of them, even during our Age of Great Peace,” he says. He waves his hand, and the manka cat snarls before slinking back into the tall grass to hunt for its next meal. 

“How upbeat,” you mutter, turning to completely face him. 

If he had heard you, he does not acknowledge it. “The Republic used to span into the Outer Rim. The High Republic was the birthplace of modern civilization, and Coruscant the center of the galaxy. The planetary delegates have brought their culture and methods of good governance to the Republic, thus strengthening us.” 

You tilt your head. “Why did relations sour between the cartels like the Trade Federation and the Republic? What happened? What did they want from us?”

“With all of these cultures, not all relations were peaceful,” Master Koon explains. “The Trade Federation is ambitious and has always wanted more, even if it was nominal.”

He draws his lightsaber. “Show me Form V, Djem Sho variation.”

You comply, unhooking your new lightsaber and holding it with both hands above your head, angling it back at a forty-five degree angle. At his nod, you lunge forward with the signature avalanche attack, slamming your lightsaber down with as much force as you can muster, and Koon turns to block it. As he does, you bring your leg up to round-house his unprotected head, stopping inches before contact. You pause, and Plo nods in acknowledgment.

“Continue.” he instructs, parrying a swipe at his side. You track his movements, deflecting blows before they fall. He launches himself up and over you, narrowly avoiding the swing of your lightsaber. He lands lightly on his feet, ready to continue.

“Shein Form.”

You adjust quickly, holding your lightsaber with two hands near your head, like a baseball bat, your dominant leg held back to allow powerful step-through strikes. 

You stab and slash, trying to find an opening in Plo's defenses. But every time you reach for his heart, your blade is driven out of line. He effortlessly deflects a rain of streaking cuts, forcing you to give ground. He leans into a thrust at your gut, which you deflect, stopping his attack and bringing you both to a stand-still. “You will have to do better than that.”

“Sorry,” you say, struggling to get through his defense. You feint an attack for his face before dropping to sweep his legs out from under him. Plo Koon leaps over you again and you roll away.

You barely get your lightsaber up in time to stop Koon from slicing you in half. You do your best to ground yourself and dispel the energy of the blow evenly across your body and into the ancient tile. The tile cracks under the force, but the Jedi isn’t done. He shifts his lightsaber, pointing his blade towards your hilt and jabs, causing you to drop your lightsaber to protect your hands from being cut off. You do a back-spring to get some distance between you.

When you touch down, he’s already there. You leap back further, adopting a defensive stance, but Plo spins, slashing at your leg. You manage to evade the blow, but his lightsaber is already swinging at you as you right yourself. Frantically, you call on the Force and stop the attack mid-swing. You breathe a sigh of relief, only to realize he had your lightsaber as well, which was currently pointed at your neck.

“Why did you lose?” He asks, keeping your lightsaber aimed at you.

“I was distracted.”

“Yes, but not what I was looking for. How did I know how to beat you?”

You wrack your brain, struggling to find an answer. “Well, you’re taller than me, and–”

“Then Master Yoda would not be the Grand Master, now would he?”

You suppress a growl. Master Koon was frustratingly vague and deliberately obtuse. He would dance around answers, and liked to make you circle around the answer like a pterathki vulture before giving you a morsel of understanding. 

Your brows furrow. “You had asked me to change forms mid-fight.”

Pleased, he continues. “Tell me about the Shien variant.”

In the course of your research that Master Koon had assigned you, you had discovered that Form V was created from Form III, and Shien was the first variant to be developed, devised as an anti-blaster form, allowing the user to deflect blaster bolts right back to their attacker. 

“It’s built for defense, but unlike Form III, this form attempts to create an opportunity to attack, and relies on counterattacks to gain the advantage. It also requires an enormous amount of physical demands.”

“So, why did you lose?”

“It requires both speed and strength, but I–”

“It is not you I am critiquing, I am critiquing the Form itself.” He says. After a moment, he elaborates. “How many people can you defend against with Form V?”

“Theoretically, a multitude.” At his nod, you continue. “So I lost because I’m using a form made for multiple opponents, not one. And because the form requires speed and physical strength, I no longer have the agility–”

“To fight one opponent. Very good,” he praises. He hands your lightsaber back to you, and you clasp the cool metal in your palms. 

Master Koon steps into Form V Shien, and you follow suit. He nods.

You lunge.

He parries, blocking an overhead attack and directing it into the temple floors. You spin and whirl around each other, like dancers at a ball. He feints to the left and then spins to the right, trying to catch you off-guard. You are not fooled, however, and effortlessly dodge his attack. You remain in a low stance, your body poised and ready to strike.

“You are doing well,” he says after a moment. “Let us put Form V’s real use to the test.”

You’re not sure what he means as Koon swings his blade at your legs, but you jump back into the air and somersault over his head, landing in a crouch. You strike at his legs, but Plo leaps high and spins, bringing his blade down. 

The force of the blow sends you stumbling backwards, and he takes advantage of the opening to deliver a barrage of wild attacks, driving you backwards. You desperately try to defend yourself, but Plo is relentless, driving his blade towards your chest. Just before the blade can make contact, you twist to the side and break Form V. Plo tries to disarm you again, pointing his blade towards your hilt again and jabs. 

You drop the lightsaber with one hand, duck under his attack, and catch your lightsaber with the other hand. You swing upwards, nicking the hood of his robes before leaping backwards. A noise behind you makes you glance backwards, just in time to see a stun bolt heading your way.

“You’re resisting the Force. Let it flow through you.”

You’re almost positive Master Koon hates you.

But it is not Master Koon that you see when you wake up, but Wolffe kneeling over you, his softened brown eyes searching your face. “Are you hurt, Commander?” he asks.

“You must learn to let go,” Master Plo continues, “if you’re only focused on the enemy’s weapon, you’ll always be on the defensive. Look past the weapon.”

Wolffe grabs your chin, turning your head left and right to check for injuries as he soothingly runs a hand through your hair before cupping your cheek. Without meaning to, you lean into his caress. 

He minutely strokes your cheek with a thumb before freezing. He shakes his head quickly, as if clearing his thoughts, and continues to search your body for injuries… shoulders, wrists, arms… you halt his frantic hands, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “Wolffe, I’m okay.”

He stands and offers you a hand, before clearing his throat. “Be careful next time, Commander. I don’t have time to pull you out of every battle; for the Republic to win, we need well-trained soldiers, and we need the best.”

Seemingly oblivious, Master Koon continues his lesson. “Precisely. In the confusion of a fight, your mind must be still and as steady as a rock. You must be grounded in your center, able to see and control everything around you…” 

───  ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

His thighs are struggling to keep him upright, the loss of blood from his thigh wound finally getting to him; his pistols are shaking in his hands. A sea of droids remain. The rocks dig into his knee guards as he collapses, and the droids surround him. There were 10 of them, blasters crackling with plasma discharge, all of them aimed at his heart. Wolffe closes his eyes.

There is the sound of someone landing hard next to him before blasterfire surrounds him, but none of the bolts hit their target. He hears a blaster bolt hit flesh, a yelp of pain, just before the zinging sound of a lightsaber and the roar of a rancor surround him.

You crouch above him, snarling at the droids as you block their shots. Your lower back is smoldering, the skin around the wound blackened from the plasma bolt. The linen of your robes is still sizzling out. 

He watches your form twirl above him, your lightsaber reflecting so many bullets that the two of you seem to be surrounded by a barrier of light. You move with a grace that belies your wild appearance, dodging and deflecting blaster bolts, seemingly untouchable. 

There is an otherworldly presence about you, as though time itself had slowed down for Wolffe to fully appreciate you. In his periphery he sees the jungle rancor that you’ve commanded grab droids and crush them into the dirt. He feels his breath catch in his throat as he watches a bead of sweat trail down the side of your face, past your eyes, and down your gleaming neck.

With a final cry, you twirl on one foot and bring your lightsaber down in a powerful slam, cracking the ground below you and sending the remaining droids flying backwards. The clay dirt kicks up around you both. The air is silent except for the echoes of artillery fire in the distance. Your lightsaber encircles you as you call the rancor back to you, chest heaving as you wildly scan the area for any additional attackers. Your eyes are feral, your teeth bared. Seeing none, you quickly deactivate your lightsaber and holster it, dropping to your knees in front of him.

Then there seems to be two of you with him. Wolffe blinks. Now there’s three. And now one. Wolffe blinks again and you push his hair back to check his head. He may or may not lean into it. Then you notice the gushing wound on his thigh and you pale. At least he thinks you do, he can’t quite see straight. 

You return to the rancor and seem to speak to it. It must understand you, because it disappears back into the jungle from which it came, and you approach him again. 

“This is going to hurt,” you say. 

You’re pretty, he thinks, before blinding pain is all he knows as you lift him into a fireman’s carry, his entire body slung across your shoulders as you march your way across the active battlefield. Despite the blasterfire around you, nothing seems to come close to him. His mind is hazy, but he swears there was a plasma bolt coming right for you, but somehow it swerves just out of line so it misses both of you. You might be a wizard or something, he swears. So pretty and cool.

You chuckle. “You’re pretty and cool too, Wolffe.”

Of course I am, he thinks. You laugh again.

───  ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

“You could have died, Commander.”

You and Wolffe stand together in the soft glow of the explosion's fire, which paints a mysterious and unearthly orange and gray across the night sky. The glow of the flames wrap around you both, bathing you in warmth as the flickering light dances between you. Everything is illuminated, making Wolffe's armor look like a sunset.

You glare at him. “Look, we needed those cannons destroyed, and we didn’t have time to wait for permission! I can take care of myself!”

Wolffe tears his helmet off and pins you with furious eyes, his cybernetic implant glowing orange in the light. “I don’t care what you can do – I almost had to watch you get taken down by farking cannon fodder!” His hand has found your gauntlet to keep you rooted in front of him, and his grip tightens as you angrily try to free yourself. He notices his fellow vod approaching and acts quickly by dragging you behind some crates.

You try to shake free from his grasp. “Let me go, Wolffe,” you demand.

Wolffe drops his helmet into the dirt and pulls you into a crushing embrace, clawing at your robes. He buries his face into your hair and takes a deep breath, the sound washing over you like a wave. Your fingers instinctively curl around the straps of his heavy chest plate as his gloved hand follows the curve of your waist before pressing flat against the small of your back, the other coming up to caress your cheek. 

Each exhaled breath entangles you. He rests his forehead against yours, watching your lips. Your breaths intermingle, and he’s so close, he’s so close. When he speaks, his voice is raw from an unleashed wave of emotions. “I can’t let you go. I–I can’t…”

The air between you feels like lead with every breath dragging you to the core of the planet. You feel like if this moment were to last any longer it would be enough for an eternity. As he inches closer, seconds turn into unworldly minutes; heartbeats speak more than simple words ever could. Your voice is hoarse as you answer. “It’s…”

Your lips graze his slightly. He shudders against you, his breathing ragged. His lips brush yours. They linger a little longer this time.

You try again. “It’s the price we pay…”

To feel.

───  ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

It was him or the galaxy, you realize. 

Wolffe was teetering off the edge of the bridge in the datacenter with only you to hold on to, death's arms opened wide below. 

The Separatist ultimate weapon, stored in a cartridge on this ship, was threatening to be unleashed unless you could retrieve its plans in time. 

You hold onto his hand with all of your strength. You feel a wave of terror wash over you as the ship you’re on begins plummeting towards the planet below. As you desperately hold onto Wolffe, a dozen node cartridges fly from the vault's datatree behind you. The one you need starts to tip and slide out of its node. You and Wolffe are running out of time. 

Everything seems to move in slow motion, except for your pounding heart that thunders against your rib cage. 

The cartridge falls onto the bridge and begins sliding towards the edge, and you frantically reach towards it. It’s too far away and it falls just out of reach. It tips over the edge, and you call on the Force, stopping its movement at the last second.

Wolffe is too heavy and is pulling you down with him, the bridge support is digging into your already-bruising skin. Your grip is weakening. The seconds seem to pass by slowly before you gain the courage to look at him. His eyes are dull with sadness, but his voice is resolute when he speaks: "You need to let me go, Commander."

A memory flashes in your mind with crystal clarity; his strong arms wrapped around you, the smell of his aftershave, and his snarl that forms when defending you. You shake your head vehemently, not trusting your voice to not break. 

"The Republic is at stake! It’s either me or the galaxy– please, let me go." 

Tears spring to your eyes as those words strike a chord deep within you. Struggling against an onslaught of emotions, you can barely contain one last plea: "Don't say that– don't you dare say that! I can save you both!"

You can feel the pain from the bridge support radiating heavily into your skin, and you try to readjust, but it causes you to slip, and the plans fall further. Wolffe gently pries your fingers from his hand as you scream at him.

“You were a good friend, Commander. I will miss you.”

Friend. Friend.

Another memory: hands intertwined, caressed cheeks, and stolen kisses. An “I love you”. 

This isn’t real. 

This isn’t real.

You open your eyes, blinking into the light of the Council room. The sunlight pours in from the grand windows, creating a contrasting warm yet solemn atmosphere. Master Plo Koon kneels across from you, hands resting in his lap as the rest of the Council looks on. 

The only sound to be heard is Master Yoda's cane tapping gently against the soft carpet beneath him as he approaches you, the sound echoing through the chamber and carrying a finality that is almost tangible. His face is grim– they've seen everything. Master Plo bows his head as he contemplates this new knowledge, while you remain silent and still before them. 

You have failed the Jedi Trials. This is the price you pay to feel.

───  ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

“I miss you. I miss having you near me.”

Wolffe’s holo flickers on the dusty holocom. The tooka-cat that was sleeping in your lap stretches before covering its face with a paw, and you stroke its fuzzy violet pelt as it goes back to sleep. “I miss you, too.”

He sighs loud enough for the mic to pick it up. “I know the war is almost over, it’s just…” He quickly turns towards a noise behind him that you can’t hear, and then you see a hologram of his back. You hear a muffled “No, sir” and something about reports before a few seconds of silence. Then his face returns, disgruntled from the encounter. 

“That was the General.”

You send him a rueful smile. “How is he?”

“I think he still looks for you, even after the Council told him to leave it be.” 

“Do you think he suspects you?”

He sighs again, wiping a gloved hand over his face. "Most likely– given our history. But he hasn't said anything yet, and I think he wants you to stay hidden until–"

Your perimeter alarm sounds and you whip around to the radar. A large spot blinks on the edge of the map and skirts along the perimeter. It’s moving too fast for it to be a stray animal. 

“What’s happening?” Wolffe says, panic lacing into his voice.

“Perimeter breach.” You stand, dumping the cat onto the ground, and grab your blaster rifle from its mount on the wall, slinging it over your shoulder. “I’m just going to check.”

“Okay, but…” He fumbles for words, his shoulders already showing his telltale signs of stress. “Take the pistols, too.”

You chuckle, sending him a lazy salute. “Yes, sir.” You sling your holster around your waist and cinch it tight, glancing up at him. “Don’t worry, I’ll be safe. I can handle myself.”

“I know you can.” His eyes caress your face, memorizing every detail, and you do the same. “Just… come back to me.”

“Always.” You glance back at the map. The red spot on the radar is starting to move closer into the perimeter. “I’ve got to go. I love you.”

“I’ll see you soon, cyare.”

You shut off the holocom and wrap your hair and cover your nose and mouth in a scarf to protect from the dust. You take a deep breath and exit the farmhouse, stepping out into the sunshine of rural Naboo, your adrenaline fueling your determination. 

You climb up the rickety ladder onto the roof of your home as the wind kicks up dust around you. You crawl on your belly towards the ledge and take out a pair of monoculars and pull the rifle off of your back. 

The sprawling grassy plain stretches on for miles around you, and another gust of wind stirs up more dust and sways the tall grass like an ocean current. The air smells sweet with earthy aromas. The only sound is that brought from nearby birds soaring over the golden, dusty expanses.

The monoculars finally pick up movement to your left, and you zoom in. Eleven speeder bikes fly over the grass towards your farm, the Devaronian pirate at the front continually barking orders to the other men. 

You watch as they draw closer, and you put down the monoculars and close your eyes. You draw on the Force, feeling every grain of sand that touches your face, every gust of wind that caresses each blade of grass. Your mind touches the wildlife surrounding your farm, their presence like a living heartbeat, and you urge them to help you. They all answer the call: the bogwings soar overhead in flight, the herd of gualaars gallop across the land towards you, while the long-legged ikopis stand ready for battle. A narglatch appears below you, and you drop onto its back and grab onto its blue spiky mane, feeling its fan-like tail swish back and forth as it anticipates your command, its claws digging into the dirt. 

Suddenly, you hear the cries of the pirates and explosions as the bogwings attack the raiders, snatching a few from their speeders and flying high into the sky. With a cry, you urge the narglatch into battle, and it takes off, each stride bringing you closer. 

The herd of gualaars arrives, knocking the lackeys off their speeders and trampling them into the dirt. Quickening your pace, blasterfire lights up the horizon and your sight blurs with all the commotion around you– fire, raiders, claws scraping against speeders… with the ferocious movements of the other wildlife and a cacophony of howling noises surrounding you, the narglatch launches itself at one of the speeders. You leap off its back in midair and take steady aim at the Devaronian. With one clean shot of the rifle, you bring down the raiding party's leader. 

Not even thirty seconds pass after you send the all-clear signal to Wolffe before he calls you. His chest plate is soiled with clay dirt, and a new blaster burn glows across his right pauldron. Past his helmeted face you can see stray plasma bolts and his brothers rushing into battle.

“You’re okay,” he simply states. His voice crackles over the comm. Around him, screams and shouts fill the air.

“Wolffe, are you in the middle of a battlefield?!” You ask incredulously. 

“I had to see you to–” His voice is drowned out by an explosion nearby. Heavy clay dirt rains down on his armor, yet he remains looking at you through the comm. 

“Yes, I’m okay, but please get down–”

"Marry me."

Your words squeak to a stop, your mouth hanging open as you stare at this holographic image. Against the backdrop of blood and sweat that surrounded him, the words felt so surreal; but the intensity in his voice was clear, an unspoken tenderness hidden beneath the force of war. 

A clone behind him falls into view before scrambling back up and into the fight. Wolffe continues, his pace quickening as he rushes to push out his sentence. "It won't be anything official since us clones aren't citizens of the Republic, but I can get us rings, and–"

"Yes."

"Yes," he echoes. "Yes," he repeats, and you know he’s smiling underneath his helmet.  

"Yes," you answer again, beaming at him.

───  ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

His call brings a smile to your face, but when his face appears on the holocom, your smile dissolves.

“Wolffe, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“We’ve found General Grievous.” 

You sit up straight, your eyes wide. “Oh my– that’s it, isn’t it? It’s really–”

“The 212th is going to apprehend him. It’s over,” he breathes. “It’s over.”

He looks away and his comm retreats behind his back. There is a moment of silence before you hear a “right away”, and it’s another moment before you see his face again. 

“I’ve got to go. We’re taking back Cato Neimoidia once and for all.” He stops, his face falling slightly.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, brows furrowing.

“I’m not sure…” he trails off. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do after this… I’ve– We’ve– been bred for war. What do we do when there’s no next battle?” 

His words hang heavily in the air between you, as if a pall of smoke settles on both of your shoulders. You search for words that make sense as his soft brown eyes look to you for guidance. Both of you had been so young when it started— too young— sent into war before you had a chance to understand what it all meant.

“We’ll just have to figure that out together.”

He nods, and he forcefully expels a deep breath that he had been holding onto in anticipation. You hear a muffled shout in the background and Wolffe nods at the voice. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you soon, cyar’ika.”

He holds his hand up and you follow suit, intertwining your hands with his holographic ones. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

───  ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

The emergency beacon flashes on your communicator, filling you with a frenzied joy. The Republic did it. Wolffe is free. You answer, your congratulations forming on your lips.

Wolffe is a picture of stress, his figure huddled in on itself; his eyes were sunken with worry, his shoulders stiff and tight with exhaustion. It takes him a moment to process who you are before launching into frantic instructions, his voice heavy with fear. "Pack your bags and leave Naboo immediately." 

“w–What–”

“You get onto the nearest shuttle, buy a ticket under a fake name, and–”

“Wolffe, slow down. What's going on?”

“Something's wrong. My brothers…” he trails off, his eyes searching for something before returning to you. “They killed him.”

Your blood runs cold, but you prod him anyways. “They killed…”

“They killed General Koon… and I’ve overheard them. They’re–” He snarls. “They’re looking for you. You need to get out of there– leave no trace, do you hear me?”

You sputter, incredulous. “Me? What about you? You’re on board with them!” You frantically reach for him, your hand passing through his digitized form. “What’s going on– what did I do? Why do they want to kill me–” 

“They won’t,” he says with a finality that makes you want to believe him, his voice sending an undeniable chill through you. He quickly glances over his shoulder. “I’ve got to go. I’ve sent you coordinates. Meet me there. I won’t be able to contact you from this holocom again.”

He searches your face desperately, memorizing every detail. “If I don’t–”

“Don’t,” you interject, your voice quivering as your Jedi trials flash in your mind. “Don’t you start.”

“I want to get married to you, and do mundane things like garden and laundry with you.” His lashes glint in the fluorescence of the Triumphant. “I will make it back to you.”

You choke on a sob, nodding incoherently. “Okay… okay. I’ll wait for you.”

“That’s my girl. I’ll see you soon, cyare. I love you so much.”

───  ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

The dry heat was oppressive, radiating off the salt flats and saturating the air with parching temperatures as you nail another board into place. A bead of salty sweat trickles down your forehead only to evaporate at once; in this arid landscape there is no reprieve from the blistering sun above. 

Surrounding you are endless stretches of dry salt flats, the searing heat of the sun reflecting off their white surface, leaving it to glitter in the sunlight. According to the local exiles, in the next few weeks these fields will partially flood with water as the wet season begins, transforming this region into something new altogether. The only wildlife that resides here are joopa worms, creatures the size of leviathans, that roam the region and prey upon settlers. 

Seelos was barren and dangerous, but you stayed. And you waited. 

Days turn into nights, and the wet season is almost upon you, the aroma almost palpable in the air. You meditate underneath the cloudy night sky, bathing in the cosmic glow. A gentle breeze blows through the silent flats, the coolness seeping into your bones and reemerging in the form of a quiet tranquility. 

The perimeter alarm sounds nearby, and you stand and climb down from the roof of your home and into the garage. The red dot blinks lazily as the signature on the screen slowly makes its way towards you. Your brow furrows. 

You snatch your monoculars from its hook as you sprint out the door and into the darkness. Your hands shake as you mash buttons on the monoculars, smacking it a little as it boots up too slow. You need to–you must– have to see. You grip them tightly, your knuckles turning white as you hold them up and peer through the lens.

You can hear the radar light blipping frantically as you take in the figure slowly approaching. White armor glints in the partial light of the moon, and you can make out familiar markings on the chestplate and gauntlets. You drop the monoculars and start running, adrenaline rushing through your body like a freight train, anticipation building with every step towards him. 

The cool breeze whips your face as the clouds break above, rain droplets falling onto the salt flats and hitting you. The figure starts running too as the rain begins to pour. You can feel the droplets on your skin and taste the salt in the air. You're so close and you give a cry of joy as you rush into Wolffe’s arms. Then he's holding onto you tightly, his shoulders trembling as he cries into your hair. You reverently kiss his shoulder, his chest, and his hands. You rain kisses on his face as the rainstorm drenches you both. 

His warm breath is on your face and he grabs your face with both hands and kisses you with all he has, not caring that your noses bump and teeth clash, each kiss communicating an ocean's worth of love more than words ever could.

───  ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

The metal from his wedding band catches in the lamplight and you huff a laugh. “Still wearing the ring to bed, I see.”

“Always.” He curls up behind you, burying his face in your hair. “I like the reminder that you’re mine.”

You hum softly, enjoying the warmth he radiates. “And that you’re mine.” You glance over your shoulder at him. “But most people still take their rings off when it’s bedtime.”

“I’ll take off the ring at night when you don’t hog the bed.”

“I do not!” You playfully try to shimmy away from Wolffe’s embrace, but he holds you against him. “Hogging the bed would mean I’m selfish, and that’s not the Jedi way.” 

“You’re not a Jedi, so there goes your entire argument.”

You decide not to dignify that with a response.

He lets out a sleepy chuckle and kisses your shoulder. “Your silence is as good of an answer as words.”

You bite your lip, trying to think of a comeback. “Remember our wedding night?”

Wolffe groans, throwing his head back for dramatic effect. “Don’t remind me. It was so embarrassing.”

You hide your chuckle. “I thought your ‘moves’ were… endearing.”

“I drew hearts on my boxers with a red pen.”

“And it was,” you involuntarily let out a snort of laughter, “unique, and–”

“Alright, alright– you win. Cheater.” He settles on his back and you turn to rest your head on his chest. 

The room is silent for a moment before he speaks again, his gentle words filling the silence. “After all we’ve been through, I am… eternally grateful that this is how it ended up.”

You close your eyes to revel in the moment. You open them as he lifts your chin towards him and kisses you delicately. You sigh contentedly as you pull away, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Promise you won’t let me go.”

He lightly brushes his thumb across your knuckles. “Never.”

[ape-apocalypse]

Road To The Kingdom - Rise Of The Planet Of The Apes Film

I remember seeing the trailers for Rise of the Planet of the Apes, shaking my head at yet another remake of a long-ago franchise. In 2011, we were hearing rumors of a new Spider-Man coming to replace Tobey Maguire and now I was looking at Harry, son of the Green Goblin, becoming a scientist and creating a drug to make apes smarter. On the other hand, Andy Serkis was getting a main role, more screen time than Gollum in Lord of the Rings, where I adored him and was eager to see him again. I was going in with some hesitation but decided to just turn my brain off for a summer action movie. 

I was surprised with how much I enjoyed Rise. Many fans seem to put this as their least favorite of the reboot trilogy. I can understand why; it doesn't have nearly as much action as Dawn or War and runs at a slower pace. But what it did have was fantastic character building in Caesar, which is needed in this trilogy. I would not be as engaged with these movies if I didn't love Caesar. Seeing him start as a little baby with his human family living a carefree youth, and then grow into a mature ape questioning his place in the world really filled out his character. He could have easily just been a random lab chimp who got smarter but I think the slow-build really fleshes him out. You empathize with him when he protects James Franco's father to the point of biting a neighbor. The human world completely turns on him and Caesar is forced to realize his true nature as an ape. 

Andy Serkis is truly allowed to shine in this role. Gollum was fun and had the two different sides to play with but there is such a powerful subtlety to this performance. Though Caesar can sign, it's mostly not translated into subtitles; only in two conversations with Maurice does the audience get a translation. The majority of the film and Caesar's story is carried out entirely through his expressions, gestures, and body language. Look at the tall confident walk he has when directing Rocket to give cookies to the other apes. The heartbreak I felt as Caesar's expression falls when his human family says he can't go home. The wordless fury when Buck the gorilla sacrifices himself on the bridge to bring down the helicopter and save the escaping apes. Even when the story can get bogged down a bit in the constant science explanations, I immediately perk up when the focus switches back to Caesar and can soak in the incredible performance of Andy Serkis.

Rise is much less action filled than its sequel films because it has to cover a lot as set up for the apocalypse to come. That set up is good, but again the science is a lot and can be a bore. However I think the pay off works. The horror of a simple graphic of the Earth, where one line splits and becomes many more, spreading across the planet, was very effective for me. I've heard people who didn't like that the apocalypse that destroys the human race is done in the credits, that it feels more like an afterthought. But for me, I think it was a powerful hook. Halfway through watching the film for the first time, I'd forgotten that this was Rise of the PLANET of the Apes. So I was excited for Caesar and his apes to escape, just happy that they'd gotten their freedom. Then the sick pilot and the spreading sickness animation hit me like a ton of bricks like "Oh shit, I forgot the humans have to die for the ape world to happen!" This probably didn't happen for everyone, especially those familiar with the original movies, but I liked the ending, undercutting the triumph of the apes with the doom of humanity.

Other than Will and his father Charles, the rest of the human cast is mostly forgettable, servicing the story where needed. Tom Felton of Harry Potter fame is a bit fun in his over-the-top hatred of the apes. When he gets to say the iconic "get your stinking paws off me, you damn dirty ape", my movie theater laughed at how forced the line felt, which I'm sure was not the intention. The weirdness of the line was swallowed up by the excitement of Caesar speaking for the first time and leading the apes out of the shelter, but I still remember the laughter of the audience when rewatching this movie. 

Overall, I think it's a great start to the series. Not the most exciting of the films, definitely dragged down by a lot of science exposition and unremarkable human characters, but a good intro to the world, setting up the apocalypse and making you root for a bunch of apes over the humans. You probably could jump directly into Dawn and War if you wanted, just knowing that humanity was wiped out by an illness that made apes smarter and Caesar is the leader, but I think getting to know Caesar makes it worth a watch before the more exciting films.

(Note that this is the only movie in this trilogy that does not have a novelization, likely because it was the first film and they didn't know how well the trilogy would do. It's a shame because I would have loved to read the thoughts of Caesar finding his place among both humans and apes.)

Intro / Next

[resident-mercie]

Carlos Oliveira Fic - Halcyon Days (NSFW). (Chapter 1).

notes: fem!reader, NSFW mentions, slow-burn, canon violence depictions.

➵ A slow-burning love story with Carlos Oliveira that transcends the apocalypse.

1998. The Raccoon City incident. Yet also, the day I met him.

I remember it quite vividly, as you can imagine. One day you’re living your monotonous life in the suburbs, next, your life is in tatters, to say the least. I was young and dumb then, in my twenties. No amount of preparation beforehand could’ve prepared me for Raccoon City. It started off mysteriously enough, remembering how myself and my coworkers would chat about the news reports we heard on the radio during our daily commutes. Bizarre murders in the outskirts of the town, yet the corpses had part of their remains almost bitten off. We just chalked it down to some wild dogs or coyotes taking an opportunity to get a little free food. Yet the reality was so much darker. There I was one evening, preparing for bed, and that’s when the apocalyptic uproar began. Screams, then sirens, then the sound of them. In my rush to see the ever growing commotion, my world turned upside down. The cinema, that I’d visit every weekend as a kid, was alight, the posters of new premieres reduced to nothing but ash. The donut store, that was usually full of workers making a slight detour from their commute home, was eerily silent amidst the cacophony of apocalypse.

It was entrancing, like my own little world. A world so vastly different from the monotony of my own, that it was painfully jarring. So jarring, that I didn’t notice the creature lumbering towards me—

A sharp whistle shook me out of the trance I was trapped in, as I stared at the beast that fell at my side, its crimson liquid splattering across the debris-ridden sidewalk. The reality dawned on me, as the creature squelched beside me, a slight wail emanating from its jaws.

It’s an apocalypse. A fucking apocalypse.

It was like watching a horror flick cliche in front of me. This creature is a zombie. A zombie, in my hometown.

“D’you wanna get eaten? Don’t just stand there!”

A hand grabbed mine, and I was back to reality, grounded at last. It was adorned in a fingerless glove, yet the fingers were quite coarse. Unlike the creature at my feet, the hand of my rescuer was warm, one of the few glimpses of humanity I would experience for a long while.

The hand pulled me away from the scene, as the monster by my feet began to reanimate itself slowly. Half aware of the situation I was in, I let myself be pulled away, witnessing the danger unfold in front of my eyes. Panic. Running. Screaming.

Everyone was going the opposite way to us, a realisation I made as my trance began to end, and the real world dawned on me.

"Why are they going—"

It was if he read my mind.

"I'm taking you somewhere safe. We've been converting the subway station into a safe spot. You're safe now, but you have to trust me."

You have to trust me.

For the first time since my rescuer grabbed ahold of my hand, I finally looked at him. He was adorned in military gear, underneath being a tight-fitting black t-shirt, a slight hole made in its sleeve. His forearms were muscular, one being used to guard myself from any incoming threat, while the other had an assault rifle of sorts hoisted upon his shoulder for easy access. His skin was a tanned olive shade, his forehead beading with sweat. There was a caring, yet determined, look that was plastered across his face.

I could trust him. I will trust him.

We kept running – it was the only thing we could do. Glass kept shattering. The screams were growing quieter now, a feeling that made me sick to the very core of my stomach. It could only mean one thing, really – that many of the people that we had ran past just moments before were about to meet a fate worse than death.

"Through here. Quickly." His voice was one that was firm, yet also one with concern.

“What the hell is this place?”

“It’s the subway. Me and uh, my gang, have been converting the train carriages into a safe place of sorts. You’re okay now.”

I nodded, the whole situation being a bitter pill to have to swallow. I could hardly get my words out of my mouth, unable to fully comprehend the extent of the horrors I bore witness to today.

“Why did you save me?”

“Because—“ He began, but his speech faltered, as if he struggled to put his thoughts into words. “Ah, I mean, it’s my duty. Do you mind if you come on down to the first aid carriage? Need to check you over for cuts and the like. Can’t be bringing an infected into the safe place, y’know?’

I nodded, before the words fell out of my mouth, unable to control my racing thoughts any longer.

“I need to know your name. You risked your life for me, and I don’t even know who you are.”

His gaze softened a little, turning to face me with a smile of reassurance.

“Oliveira. Carlos Oliveira. Now, shall we get going? I can’t have you turning on me.”

There was even something reassuring in his laughter, in his humour, and in his smile. I gave a smile back, albeit an exhausted one, before following him into the sanctum of the subway.

“Okay, I just need you to stay put here for a while. Any unusual symptoms? Wanting to eat me because I look delicious? Anything like that?” Carlos smiled, producing a half full first aid kit from an area of the carriage.

I shook my head. “No, nothing like that.”

“Boo. All the ladies usually want a piece of Carlos, zombie or not.” He rolled his eyes jokingly, taking an ear thermometer from the kit. “Do you mind if I take your temperature at all? Standard procedure, of course.”

“Of course.” I leant forward, cringing slightly as the thermometer entered my ear.

Carlos leant forward, his sweet breath hitting my cheeks. “I’m sorry if this hurts.” His voice was lowered, raspy. Being so close to the man who just saved my life was a little infatuating, to say the least.

“No, no. It’s okay.” My breathing grew unsteady, unable to cope with the closeness of his presence.

Surely I wasn’t in love with a guy I met fifteen minutes prior?

“Your temperature is fine.” Carlos frowned, removing the disposable cap from the thermometer and placing it back in the dishevelled first aid kit. "Are you sure you’re alright, though? You seem a little on edge. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Anything.

Every cell in my body screamed, pleading with me to ask for something. Anything. I was completely and utterly infatuated with Carlos Oliveira. I wanted to kiss him, feel my body melt into his, have him rail the ever living shit out of me in this godforsaken carriage—

“Could, you, uh, give me a hug?”

“I mean, so long as you don’t turn. But being eaten by a cutie would be a good way to go, I suppose.”

[denimbex1986]

'*****

No sonic screwdriver. No TARDIS. No city-razing destruction, nor stupefyingly cute alien critters. As Doctor Who episodes go, ‘Wild Blue Yonder’ couldn’t be more different from the show’s blockbuster comeback, ‘The Star Beast’, if it tried. Last week’s adventure was Who at the peak of its silly, sugar-rush sci-fi powers: a spectacular kick-off to the show’s 60th anniversary celebrations, precision-tooled to dazzle newbies (Whobies?) and dyed-in-the-wool Whovians alike. This week’s, however — essentially a two-hander — is an insular Gothic chamber piece that goes toe-to-toe with Alien in the spaceship-as-haunted-house stakes. Invoking everything from NuWho favourites ‘Midnight’ and ‘Listen’ to sci-fi horror classics Event Horizon and The Thing, Russell T Davies strips everything back here to remind viewers at home that there ain’t no bottle episode like a Doctor Who bottle episode.

Arriving under a shroud of sworn secrecy (even press didn’t see this one until it aired), speculation had been rife about exactly what ‘Wild Blue Yonder’ would be. Rumours of a multi-Doctor story — Peter Capaldi, Matt Smith, Jodie Whittaker: you name ’em and someone had an in-depth Twitter/X thread red-stringing together a theory — abounded. But while technically this is a multi-Doctor story (and a multi-Donna one at that), it’s not one in the way anybody would have expected. And honestly, amid a landscape of disposable cameos and inconsequential fan-service, that the secrecy is in aid of storytelling rather than stunt casting is a blessed relief.

A comical cold open sees the Doctor (David Tennant) and a newly memory-restored Donna (Catherine Tate) flung back to England, circa 1666. There, the duo catalyse Sir Isaac Newton’s (It’s A Sin’s Nathaniel Curtis) discovery of ‘mavity’ (a communicational mishap) and the Doctor’s discovery of bisexuality (“He was hot, wasn’t he?”). But a classic ‘Doctor-meets-historical-figure-and-hijinks-ensue’ caper this is not. And before long, the Doctor and Donna find themselves stranded aboard a seemingly abandoned spaceship harbouring a threat so terrifying that even the TARDIS has done a runner.

The eerie, empty (save for glacially slow Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy-homaging Chekhov’s robot Jimbo), seemingly endless spacecraft corridors and wheezing hydraulic pistons of ‘Wild Blue Yonder’ represent a stark counterpoint to the crashy, bangy, flashy Meepiness of ‘The Star Beast’. A sublime combination of pneumatic practical effects, soundstages, and nifty CGI made possible by that sweet new Disney dollar, the distinctly Nostromo-esque sense of isolation about the ship aptly evokes the abyss of the episode’s edge-of-the-universe setting. It’s a spatial oddity that serves the plot and augments the tone of the piece perfectly, centralising our focus on the Doctor, Donna, and their unique bond as the uncanny threat they face is slowly revealed. That threat? Why themselves, of course. Sort of.

Revealed in a properly creepy sequence that starts with the slow-dawning realisation that something isn’t quite right and climaxes with an injection of out-and-out Cronenbergian body horror, the ‘Not-Things’ are Weeping Angel-level nightmare fuel. Cosmic shapeshifters bent on universal destruction, the demonic doppelgängers — brought to life with palpable, dead-eyed menace by a multi-roling Tennant and Tate — are able to mimic the Doctor and Donna’s form, manner, and even memories.

This set-up leads to a succession of intricately written “I know I’m me but how do I know you’re you?”-type exchanges — including one particularly fiendish bait-and-switch — that really allow Tate and Tennant to flex their acting chops, underlining their inimitable chemistry in the process. It’s also an opportunity for Davies to really hammer home that this is the Fourteenth Doctor, not the Tenth — and Donna Temple-Noble with a family waiting for her at home, not Donna from Chiswick gadding about with a two-hearted spaceman.

One particular exchange, in which canon-reshaping events of the Chris Chibnall era of the show come to the fore, allows Tennant to really click through the gears as he embodies elements of the Doctors who’ve been and gone since last time around: Smith’s wistful longing, Capaldi’s bone-deep grief, Whittaker’s emotional vulnerability. In about 30 seconds, several years of head-spinning exposition is simply, beautifully reframed. The Doctor doesn't really know who they are anymore, running from reckoning with the weight of all that they’ve seen and done, hoping against hope for somebody else out there to understand — if even just for a little while. No matter whether you’re a hardcore Whovian or don’t so much as carry a provisional TARDIS licence, if you’re looking for a distillation of the show’s essential nature, you’d struggle to find one better than this.

‘Wild Blue Yonder’ is a brutally simple, slickly executed high concept that we’ve seen iterative versions of before in OG Tennant/Tate-era fan favourites ‘Midnight’ and ‘Waters Of Mars’. But, especially when considered in the context of Who’s recent turbulent history, its use here — in a conversation-heavy hour of TV that digs deep into the past 15 years of the show both on and off screen — feels utterly singular. Giving folks the Doctor, with their plucky companion and techno-babble and eccentric wardrobe is easy, Davies seems to be saying: anyone can do it. But without genuine emotion — without heart — all you’ve really got is a pale imitation of something truly great, iconography and nothing more. Lucky for us, then, that by the time the credits roll there can be no doubt. This bold new Whoniverse is the real deal, and nothing is wrong… nothing in the whole wide world. *Sniffle*.

Taut, tense, and frequently terrifying, this spaceship-in-a-bottle episode isn’t just an instant Who classic — it’s one of 2023’s finest hours of TV to boot.'

[oddygaul]

Scavengers Reign

Holy shit, good western animation that’s not comedy and actually has a focus on aesthetics, setting and craft??

Seriously, I still can’t believe something like Scavengers Reign got made. This feels like a student thesis film you’d see on Vimeo, not a full 12-episode series with a healthy production schedule.

I loved this show. The artstyle is a clear rip of Moebius, but that’s… fucking sick? I mean, given how little that style has been successfully adapted for animation, I’m all for it, especially when it’s done with this much care and skill. Seriously, some of the longer environments shots could genuinely pass for later Moebius illustrations. The colors are also gorgeous throughout, managing to make each biome feel distinct (and thus sell how far our characters have traveled) while maintaining a consistent, muted vibe over the course of the story.

The star of the show, obviously, is the ecology and creature design. Even with no added context, the designs are all very cool, from the little rolling polyps we see everywhere to the stampeding ungulates. But the thing that sets this show apart is the clear ecological niche we’re shown for each species. Nearly every creature we see, we learn something about: their source of food, their natural predators, the unique behavior they’ve adapted to thrive in their environment. And the comparison to nature documentaries doesn’t just stop there - they even directly ape the style, editing and content of documentaries, like when the show focuses on territorial disputes between members of the same species, or highlights a predator taking advantage of its prey’s weakest moments to strike.

Some of my particular favorite ideas: 1. All of the various white-coated creatures near Azi’s desert encampment that blend seamlessly into the spires for camouflage 2. The seafaring creatures sucking up their young for protection during the lightning storm, and the parasites that come in to gorge themselves while they’re defenseless 3. The fact that the little Grey-looking gecko-apes (Hollow’s species), given their intelligence and powerful telekinesis, could clearly become apex predators and take on prey many times their size… but instead use their hypnosis to force other species to get food for them, because it takes way less energy expenditure. That’s nature, baby!

The show definitely drags a bit around the halfway point. The start of the story is explosive, as we follow the viewpoints of 3 different groups of survivors and their drastically different situations. The character dynamics are great in the beginning - Ursula and Sam’s early mastery of the wildlife during their expeditions, Azi’s reticence contrasted with Levi’s developing personality, and the slow horror that unfolds as Kamen is taken in by Hollow. For the first few episodes, we have no idea where things will end up, and it’s exciting watching things play out.

By the midpoint, we’ve basically lost Kamen’s point of view, as his arc is put on ice until the end of the show, so we’re just bouncing back and forth between Sam & Ursula’s perspective, and the group Azi finds herself falling in with. Sam & Ursula’s narrative feels like it gets stuck in a rut here, as Sam gets infected with two different parasites back to back; I really feel like they should’ve committed to one (preferably the plot thread about the previous survivor) rather than trying to land the same emotional beat twice in a row. On Azi’s side, while I understand what they were going for with Kris and the other newcomers, their story never really got compelling for me. Scavengers’ strength is the planet and its bizarre alien life. Levi, with their dawning sentience and growing connection to the natural world, really fits into those themes; replacing that with a ‘Humans were the real monsters scavengers all along!’ subplot is a tough sell, especially when the characters driving it are about as charismatic as a puddle and have some of the most awkward acting / writing in the show.

There’s even some form issues in the middle section. In classic anime fashion, the visuals take a bit of a hit; there’s less standout background work in the 2nd act, and the character animation suffers at times. I also found the editing distracting in this section; with only two points of view to go between, the constant cutting between the A and B plot started to feel artificial and distracting. Also, since we more or less have an idea of how the stories are going to come together by this point, there’s a sense of inevitability to the proceedings.

Fortunately, things come back together in the end; Ursula leaving Sam behind is every bit as bittersweet as it should be, Levi’s resurrection by the planet-flowers is fascinating, and the sequence where Hollow is returned to its natural self, courtesy of a Levi-supplied Total Perspective Vortex, is just goddamn gorgeous. Seriously, if anything can become iconic anymore in the constantly shifting hell that is today’s media landscape, it’s this breathtaking animated montage of life germinating and evolving on Vesta. Well, that and the buckwild life-to-death flower pollination sequence in episode 3. Fully expecting to see those posted as captures on random forums one, five, ten years from now.

Here’s hoping for season two, or anything more from this creative team! They can’t leave us hanging with the fuckin Imperium of Man showing up at the end like that, can they?

[batbeato]

I feel like I just started coming on tumblr and dropping Serious Shit with a tinge of meta because it's often discussing fandom perceptions so

my Umineko episode ranking, entirely subjective, so that I have something normal on here. I'm pretty sure over the years it is still the least normal ranking ever but at least the structure/idea counts as normal I think

1: Dawn of the Golden Witch

Dawn has literally everything in it. Beabato. Shannon and Kanon focus (the duel). Erika being the most ever. Also the POV change as Battler shifts from a reader to an author and us needing to rely on other characters is hot. And the wedding scene. The wedding. EriBeato fighting...

2: Twilight of the Golden Witch

...Sometimes I question why Twilight is still so high up considering how badly it handles Erika's character and how clumsily over the top it is. Then I remember Ange's everything, boat scene, and Battler being the best big brother ever. And Yukari. And Tohya. Yeah.

3: End of the Golden Witch

Beatrice and Battler (meta) have such a good dynamic here as he so tenderly tries to understand her. It breaks my heart every time. Also Erika gets to be at her most 'detective' in End (in Dawn she acts much more like a witch and pulls dirty tricks) on top of Dlanor getting to show off a lot here. End also has the most explicit Dante references~ I think my main gripe with End is the gameboard. It's perfect for what it is - a game written without love by Lambda - but how piece Beato acts and how she acts towards Natsuhi is incredibly uncomfortable.

4: Turn of the Golden Witch

Both Sayo message bottles have a lot more horror-mystery with fantasy themes than the rest of the story, so they both hold a special place in my heart. Beatrice and Battler's back and forth dynamic is honestly at its best in Turn, where Battler respects her as an opponent and genuinely seems to enjoy some of the banter he has with her. And then Beatrice completely crushes him. The sexuality of it is So Much. I think what keeps Turn from top 3 for me is just the beginning pacing being slow - all of the top 3 are Chiru, which all have much faster paces in general than Question episodes.

5: Alliance of the Golden Witch

This episode has a lot of incredible moments - Ange's everything, Battler's sin, the entirety of the ending sequence - but a lot of the gameboard and meta ring a bit... hm. Hollow? In part this is because Beatrice has changed her tactics and given up on engaging meaningfully with Battler in their usual back and forth format, but Ange's entry into their dynamic also weakens things. Some of the moments with Kinzo are good, but in general there's such a focus on fantasy that the usual mystery is lost, and the lack of engaging Beatrice-Battler meta debate doesn't help.

6: Legend of the Golden Witch

Another Sayo message bottle with slow pacing. It's a feature, not a bug, and there's a lot packed into everything - Sayo is a very dense writer, I feel - but it can feel slow at times. Beatrice haunting the narrative is both a strength and a weakness: we don't get to see her at all, but it is an incredible way to begin the story. I also appreciate how Sayo goes out of her way to torment Natsuhi. I wonder if it is meant to parallel how Lambda writes it in EP5 - the indirect witch taunting Natsuhi in EP1 vs. the human culprit, the dead Lion, in EP5?

7: Banquet of the Golden Witch

I love Banquet. I also hate how Battler acts towards Beatrice a lot of the time, how they had to retcon things from Episode 2 or make us invent explanations for it (why Battler is fine with EP2 magic but freaks out in EP3), and how they had to handhold the reader using Virgilia. A lot of how I see Banquet is "local man takes issue with trauma survivor acting traumatized" and while Battler is relatable on a first read, when you know magic is often meant to represent personal fantasies/daydreams, how EP4 handles it is a million times more compassionate than how EP3 handles it. Beato is very cute this episode, though, which makes up for some of the horrors it makes me experience.

8: Requiem of the Golden Witch

I love Will and Lion but 90% of this episode is a terrible slog to read through on a reread, despite being the shortest episode (and yet somehow it has the longest manga). I do like some of the information it reveals (Shannon playing/growing up with the cousins, getting to see some baby Sayo) but it's like... The Umineko answer sheet. There isn't much to unpack in it. It's an answer sheet with a relatively thin veil of fantasy over it.

[glitchpalantir]

**Exploring the Narrative Depth of *Phantasmagoria* (1995): A Journey into Horror and Innovation**

**Introduction: Revisiting the Horrific Masterpiece of 1995**

In 1995, *Phantasmagoria* captivated players with its bold storytelling, immersive atmosphere, and pioneering use of live-action actors in a video game. Created by Sierra On-Line and designed by Roberta Williams, *Phantasmagoria* stood out as one of the most memorable and controversial point-and-click horror games of its time. For game and narrative designers today, revisiting this title offers rich lessons in immersive storytelling, pacing, and player engagement. In this blog post, we’ll dive into the game’s narrative structure, its use of FMV (full motion video), and how its eerie atmosphere was crafted to unsettle players.

**1. A Groundbreaking Narrative for Its Time**

*Phantasmagoria* was ambitious in its storytelling. It blended psychological horror with supernatural elements, taking inspiration from gothic literature and classic horror films. The story follows Adrienne Delaney, a writer who moves into a mansion with her husband, only to uncover a dark history of murder, possession, and madness. As the game progresses, Adrienne experiences increasingly terrifying events, with the narrative slowly unraveling the sinister history of the mansion's previous owners.

For narrative designers, *Phantasmagoria* serves as an early example of integrating real-world psychological horror with a supernatural plot. The game’s slow build of tension, use of foreshadowing, and shocking twists (such as Don’s transformation into a villain) demonstrate how effective pacing and character development can immerse players in a game’s world.

*Key Narrative Design Insights:*

- **Pacing and Foreshadowing:** The gradual escalation of horror keeps players invested. Narrative designers can take note of how subtle environmental cues and dialogue hint at the mansion's dark past before the horror fully reveals itself.

- **Character Transformation:** The transformation of Don, Adrienne's husband, into a menacing force showcases the power of gradual character development, creating emotional tension as players see a loved one turned into a villain.

- **Blending Genres:** The fusion of psychological horror with supernatural horror allows for a multi-layered narrative, giving players more depth to explore. Narrative designers today can experiment with similar genre fusions to add complexity to their stories.

**2. FMV and the Immersive Power of Live-Action Performance**

One of *Phantasmagoria’s* most notable features was its use of FMV to bring the game to life. Full-motion video was a cutting-edge technology in the mid-'90s, and *Phantasmagoria* took advantage of it by filming live actors in real sets to blend with pre-rendered backgrounds. While FMV has been criticized for looking dated in modern times, the technique added a unique cinematic quality to the game, making players feel as though they were interacting with a horror film.

*Key Game Design Insights:*

- **Cinematic Presentation:** The use of FMV helped heighten the game’s horror elements by making the performances of the actors more visceral. Modern developers can draw on this by using cinematic techniques—whether through motion capture or realistic animations—to deliver emotional, immersive narratives.

- **Interactive Cinema:** *Phantasmagoria* allowed players to feel like they were in control of a horror movie. Designers can use this sense of player agency within a cinematic framework to deepen immersion, a technique seen in modern games like *Until Dawn* or *The Dark Pictures Anthology*.

**3. Atmosphere and Art Direction: A Visual Feast of Horror**

The game's art direction heavily relied on creating a gothic, atmospheric setting. The mansion, with its decaying grandeur and unsettling details (e.g., bloodstains, occult symbols), sets the tone for the horror that unfolds. The environmental storytelling is key here, as the game's visual design subtly informs the player about the mansion’s dark history.

*Key Visual and Art Design Insights:*

- **Environmental Storytelling:** Much of *Phantasmagoria’s* story is told through the environment. The design of the mansion itself—its eerie rooms, grotesque statues, and hidden chambers—plays a crucial role in building suspense. Modern designers can focus on how the art direction of a game can convey narrative details without relying on explicit dialogue.

- **Use of Color and Lighting:** The game’s heavy use of shadows, muted colors, and flickering lights created a sense of dread and unease. Designers today can explore how color palettes and lighting can evoke emotions in players, deepening their connection to the narrative.

- **Macabre Symbolism:** From occult books to mysterious artifacts, the game’s art direction incorporates symbolic elements that hint at the mansion’s cursed history. Using visual symbolism to foreshadow story elements is a powerful narrative tool that designers can incorporate into their games.

**4. Lessons for Modern Designers: Embracing Narrative Risk**

Despite its success, *Phantasmagoria* was not without controversy. Its graphic depictions of violence and sexual assault shocked many players and critics at the time. However, its willingness to take narrative risks is something game designers today can still learn from. While not every risk pays off, bold storytelling can set a game apart from its competitors. Designers must carefully balance pushing boundaries with sensitivity to the player’s experience.

*Key Lessons in Narrative Risk:*

- **Pushing Boundaries:** Games like *Phantasmagoria* challenge conventions and take risks that can provoke strong reactions, but these risks can also lead to innovative storytelling.

- **Ethical Considerations:** While taking risks, it’s essential to be mindful of the player’s emotional experience. Narrative designers should carefully consider the impact of difficult themes and how they’re presented.

**Conclusion: The Legacy of *Phantasmagoria* and Its Lessons for Today’s Designers**

For narrative and game designers, *Phantasmagoria* remains a significant case study in interactive storytelling. Its blend of psychological and supernatural horror, its pioneering use of FMV, and its haunting atmosphere make it a game that continues to inspire. By studying its successes—and its risks—modern designers can learn how to craft immersive, emotionally charged narratives that captivate players long after the game is over.

[mediamixs]

Dawn of the Dead (2004) Review: a classic horror movie to watch again

Adapted by James Gunn (Scooby Doo) from the original 1978 George A. Romero screenplay, Dawn of the Dead opens by allowing us to get briefly acquainted with the movies central protagonist, a pretty young nurse named Ana (Sarah Polley). But her safe suburban lifestyle is short lived, and a mysterious epidemic ensures that Ana is fleeing from ravenous zombies before the movie even hits the ten minute mark. She soon meets Kenneth (Ving Rhames), a tough-as-nails cop, and moments later they come across Michael (Jake Weber), a soft-spoken but natural leader, Andre (Mekhi Phifer), a man with a questionable past, and Luda (Inna Korobkina), Andres pregnant girlfriend.

They take refuge in a sprawling shopping mall, but quickly run afoul of the less-than-hospitable security guards C.J. (Michael Kelly), Bart (Michael Barry), and Terry (Kevin Zegers). More characters are added later, notably Steve (Ty Burrell), a smart-ass yuppie, and Andy (Bruce Bohne), the owner of a nearby gun shop. As the horrible infection spreads across the globe, and the situation becomes increasingly desperate, the characters come to realize that no help is coming from the outside. If they are to survive, they must take matters into their own hands. Luckily for us, that involves chainsaws, armor-reinforced parking shuttles, and propane tanks rigged into makeshift bombs.

The action comes fast and furious throughout, and director Zack Snyder (helming his first feature film) does a nice job of pacing and getting us right into the thick of things. He does tend to overuse the slow-motion effect whenever theres an explosion or cartridge ejected from a gun, but this can be forgiven because (a) its his freshman effort, and (b) it doesnt really take away from this particular story. Were also treated to some solid camera work, editing which maintains a fast pace but doesnt confuse the viewer, and excellent special effects with plenty of brains and blood to go around.

The soundtrack also plays a pivotal part in the film, adding an extra dimension to several key scenes. From Johnny Cashs When the Man Comes Around during the opening credits sequence (which, by the way, is better than many full-length zombie movies), to People Who Died by The Jim Carroll Band and a lounge version of Down With the Sickness by Richard Cheese and Lounge Against the Machine, its beyond me why the studio chose not to release this soundtrack.

The acting is very strong for a film of this genre, and Jake Weber and Sarah Polley are particularly impressive in the roles of Michael and Ana. They both manage to bring a quiet sincerity to their roles, something not easily accomplished in a movie dominated by flesh-hungry ghouls and belching shotguns. The cast is much larger than the original, but each character is given a few moments to shine and let the audience identify with them. True, nobody is fleshed out to the extent of, say, George C. Scotts Patton or Denzels Malcolm X, but what do you expect from a horror movie? This isnt Biography, folks.

Fans of the original Dawn will be happy to see cameos by Ken Foree, Scott Reiniger, and Sex Machine Tom Savini. There are several other nods to the original movie scattered throughout, and one gets the sense that the filmmakers had a great affection for their predecessor. But make no mistake, this movie stands on its own with a different cast of characters, different climax, and completely different ending. Comparisons between the two are inevitable, but ultimately unfair to both pictures. Its like comparing the original Atari to the Xbox. Both are a blast, but one is simply hopelessly outdated when held up to modern standards.

It should also be noted that the movie continues through the end credits, so dont run off as soon as the lights start to come up. If you do, youll probably leave the theater with a much different idea of what happened than those who stayed behind.

Dawn of the Dead updates a classic and improves upon it along the way. The action is faster, the zombies are faster, and the overall product just looks better. Its a zombie movie for the modern generation and well worth the price of admission.

[mama-qwerty]

Meeting Shadow

So this is kinda/sorta the start of my Shadow story. I was playing around with how Maria would first meet Shadow, and this is what came out.

Remember, in my headcanon, Maria is a private brought in by Gerald to act as Shadow's "handler" since he's still hanging on by a thread at this stage. In reality, the Prof wants the boy to have an actual human caretaker, not just live his life in a tube. (Calling her Shadow's handler satisfies the military's question as to why she's there.) He hand picked her--he knows Maria is his granddaughter, but she doesn't.

~~~~~

The door opened to what looked like an emergency room. Medical monitors flashed vital signs, and machines beeped and blinked all around what looked like a preemie incubator in the center. Wires and cables stretched from the various monitors and computers to the inside of that incubator. Judging from the erratic beeps from the heart monitor, whatever was in there wasn’t doing well.

The young private gave the room a questioning look, before turning that look to General Tower behind her.

“Sir? I don’t understand. What is this assignment, exactly?”

The man lifted his lip in a scowl. Whatever it was, the general had a distaste for it. “The good doctor has spent a lot of taxpayer money to create the . . . thing inside that box. Your assignment, Private, is to do what you can to keep it alive.”

Her eyes widened. “Sir, I have no experience with babies. I’ve only babysat three times in my life, and that was for my ten-year-old neighbor.”

General Tower lifted his lip, this time in a sneery type of smile. “Then I wish you luck,” he said, before pulling the door closed behind him.

She stared at the door for a few seconds longer, before slowly turning toward the incubator. The term the general had used when referring to the occupant of that bit of equipment rang in her ears. Thing. He called it a thing. What exactly was she supposed to be caring for?

The imposing pile of paperwork she’d had to sign before coming to this hidden facility suddenly made sense. With words like ‘highly classified’, ‘non-disclosure’, and ‘under penalty of imprisonment or death’ sprinkled throughout it’s massive stack, this wasn’t some run-of-the-mill secret base. This was a super-secret, I’d-tell-you-but-then-I’d-have-to-kill-you secret base, housing what was slowly dawning on her must have been some pretty damn freaky secrets.

The question was, why was she chosen to join this selective club? She was just a private, fresh out of boot camp. Surely there were more experienced people? Ones better suited for such a task?

Every creature feature horror movie she’d ever seen suddenly flashed through her brain. Secret facilities like this usually housed a captured alien or genetically altered experiment. The scientists or big military brass would want to know how that creature functioned, so they’d send a poor, unsuspecting red shirt in to be the guinea pig. Usually a low-ranking private, who gets eaten or torn to shreds in the first few minutes of the film.

She swallowed hard. Right now her love of alien/creature feature horror movies didn’t seem so harmless.

Okay. Focus. There was no cage, and no two-way mirror for the scientists to study her impending messy death through. There was a little incubator and lots of monitoring equipment. Whatever was in here, it was obviously small.

Which brought to mind every movie she’d seen in which a tiny terrible creature either forced its way into the victim’s ear, nose, or mouth. Or other orifices.

She closed her eyes tightly. Creature features would be off the movie list for a while.

One of the monitors gave a rapid beep for a few seconds, before slowing down to the previous tempo. This was enough to pull her out of her thoughts, and she slowly made her way to the little plastic box with round holes on one side. Wires snaked inside, attached to . . . well, something.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t a small black and red furry ball about the size of an orange.

“What the . . .” she breathed, brows furrowed. “Did . . . did they make a Tribble?”

The wires leading to the incubator seemed to go inside that little furry ball which confused her for a second, until the thing trembled slightly before uncurling and rolling onto its belly. Now she gaped at it, her jaw hanging slack.

It wasn’t a ball. It was a . . . well, she wasn’t entirely sure. An animal of some sort. But . . . not.

It had six spikes on the back of its head, tiny triangular ears, and a peach colored muzzle with a pointy black nose. Its little hands—and that’s what they were, not paws—were quite human, in that they had four fingers and a distinct thumb. Tiny claws tipped those digits, and it curled them into a teeny fist as she watched.

Her previous fears and movie-inspired paranoia forgotten, she moved closer to hunker down and peer in through the access holes in the side of the box. “What are you?” Its closer ear twitched at the sound of her voice, and one eye opened slightly to reveal a red iris. It seemed to see her, as it stared for a few seconds before closing its eye and heaving a small sigh.

She stood, flicking her head to bring her long blonde braid in front of her shoulder to fiddle with the end. A nervous habit she’d developed since letting it grow. “Holy crap,” she muttered, moving around the room. She took care to avoid the wires, and kept shooting little glances toward the incubator. “This is nuts. What am I supposed to do with that? I don’t even know what it is. How am I supposed to take care of something I have no clue about?”

As if the universe deemed it necessary to test her, another monitor gave a long tone. She spun, her eyes floating over all the screens to try and determine which one was crying out. She finally narrowed it down to the one devoted to the creature’s breathing.

And right now, it wasn’t.

“Crap,” she whispered, hurrying over to the incubator. The little thing still lay on its belly, eyes closed and back horrifyingly still. “Oh, no. Nonononono.” She tapped on the plastic lid, directly over the creature. “Hey.” Tap tap. “C’mon, take a breath.” Tap tap tap.

Nothing. As if politely asking the little thing to breathe would have worked anyway.

She moved back to where she had looked in at it a minute before. “Hey,” she called, hoping to see the little ear twitch. It didn’t. “You gotta breathe, little guy.” She wasn’t sure why she called it that, it just seemed to fit. Still no response.

Feeling a bit freaked out, she did the only thing one does when faced with an unknown thing in an unknown situation—she reached in and touched it.

“C’mon, little guy,” she said, and stroked its tiny muzzle with her finger. “C’mon. Breathe for me. Please.”

She continued stroking the soft muzzle, and finally, after an eternity of seconds, it gasped in a breath. The eye opened again, and it looked at her, the closer ear turning her way. She smiled, relieved.

“There you go. Good job. Just keep doing that, okay? In and out.”

It watched her for a few more seconds, and the little fist relaxed. A tiny finger twitched. The monitor stopped its continuous tone and returned to a more even beep. She continued stroking the little muzzle with her finger.

Suddenly the door burst open, and an older man in a lab coat hurried in. She pulled her hand from the incubator, and stood quickly. Out of breath, the man simply looked between her and the little plastic box.

“The alarm went off in my lab,” he said, straightening his glasses as he went to peer in at the little creature. “What happened?”

“It stopped breathing,” she said, standing back to let him examine the various readouts on the machines. “But I . . . it started again.”

He looked up at her over his glasses. “What did you do?”

Her face burned as a blush flared. “I . . . uh . . . touched it.” God, that sounded so stupid.

“Touched him?”

She nodded, the blush spreading down her neck. “I kinda stroked its cheek with my finger.”

“And that’s all it took?”

She shrugged. It was entirely possible it would have started breathing again without her being there. But he asked.

He furrowed his brow for a few seconds, before a smile curled the ends of his lips. They disappeared beneath his bushy mustache. “Well done, my dear, well done!”

“Thanks,” she muttered, and honestly wanted nothing more than to run screaming into the night. This entire scene was surreal and insane.

“This little one has been very, hm, shall we say, delicate. I do believe he’s got a stubborn streak a mile wide as well!” The doctor was making notes on a clipboard she hadn’t noticed from the top of one of the machines. “But he’s the best specimen we’ve ever had. At least the one who survived the longest. I believe if we can get him past this infant stage, we may actually have a chance at full maturation!”

She fiddled with her braid. She understood everything he said, but none of it made any sense.

He turned to her, and must have read the look on her face. He smiled, hugging the clipboard to his chest. “Apologies, my dear. All this must seem quite strange to you. I fear the general has thrown you into the deep end without so much as a pool floaty.” She smiled at that and he continued. “Even though you no doubt signed a stack of paperwork the size of Alaska, I’m afraid I cannot go into much detail regarding what we’re doing here. But suffice it to say, if we can keep this little guy with us, it could be a great benefit to the medical world.”

“Looking for that elusive cure for cancer, huh?”

His smile faltered a tad. “The cure for everything,” he said, his voice soft. “This little guy is the ultimate lifeform. We just need to keep him alive until his system normalizes.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Ultimate lifeform? Isn’t that a lot of pressure to put on a . . .”

“I can’t divulge how he came to be, but I can say that a lot of his DNA matches the common Earth hedgehog.”

“’Earth’ hedgehog?”

He smiled again, this time guiltily. “Secrets.” He pulled an imaginary zipper across his lips.

She nodded. At least she had a gender and species. “Does he have a name?”

“We’ve been calling him ‘Project Shadow’.”

She glanced down at the little black and red baby. Shadow seemed a good name. “Shadow.”

“Shadow.” The man smiled, then his eyebrows shot up. “Oh, I just realized you haven’t the first clue who I am!” She shook her head. He smiled, holding his hand out. “Professor Gerald Robotnik. I’m the lead scientist here.”

“Private Maria Robinson,” she said, taking his hand. His eyebrow twitched slightly, and she raised her own in a question. “Something wrong?”

The man pulled his hand back, uttering an embarrassed chuckle. “No, no. You’ll have to pardon me. You . . .” He cast her a sideways glance. “You just remind me of someone.”

~~~

Like this? Check out my other snippets. Reblogs are appreciated!

[monster-noises]

Not to... Do the thing i always do where i talk about way too much of my mental and social health on the internet...

But i'm gunna talk way too much about my mental and social health on the internet.

Either that or my brain explodes so!

I encounter a lot of social struggles in my life that I am... Slow to realizing many come from both and exterior and Interior sources... I was never like.. Blaming Others for things I mean but like

I have largely viewed my feelings of having holes in my social network where i feel unfullfilled through the lense of an Exterior Lack. A failure to find People and Spaces I can share different parts with, that current relationships don't fulfill..

But it's just kind of dawning on me, despite the fact that i have been Totally Aware This Was An Issue The Whole Time Good Grief, that like.. I am also hesistant to Share with people I already have??? Like both are true at the same time but Still..

To give the example that kinda.. got the ball rolling I was thinking about how no one really knows about how much i love one of the books i bought at TCAF (Spa by erik svetoft if anyone's interested; it's a right nasty peice of non/semi-narrative surreal horror and i adore it ) and how its rooted itself in my head and how, because of the content of the book in relation to my friends, i don't really Have anyone to talk to about it but....

That's. Empirically untrue???????

I have at Least two people who would either be interested in that As A Subject or Just Cause They're Interested In Things That Male Me Happy but I???? Refuse to initiate these conversations because i approach Everything from the perspective of like..... "No one wants to hear this from me"

And maybe i'm kinda right and there Are reasons those conversations wouldn't be Exactly the conversation i'd love to have (but they could also be a suprising delight who knows!!!) but it would be better than.. living a life where no one really knows a lick of a thing about what i have going on Really because i refuse to talk about it? And instead persistently moan about the holes in my life (which are still something worth acknowledging and having feelings about but aren't the Whole story) and live just.. quietly inside myself at all times.

Except when i come online and talk about it on the internet gjskfjvkkkdkc

Idk i think there's still more to it than that, they're issues that weave in and out of eachother and i can't untangle that knot as it stands i don't think..

[writtenjewels]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💗

5. Ritual Children (Fatal Frame 2) Fatal Frame 2 was my first exposure to the series and I absolutely fell in love with it. I loved the mixture of tragedy and horror and all the world-building of this village and its rituals. This fic focused on the Kiryu twins (Akane and Azami) and follows from their birth to death. It's years old now but I'm still proud of my first real dip into the horror/tragedy genre. I debated between this and "Vita e Morte" as number 5, but I like this one a bit more since I got to experiment with horror and really flesh out the tragedy of the story.

4. The View from Here (The Greatest Showman) From the first time I saw The Greatest Showman in theaters, I loved it. It's a very tough call between this and West Side Story on which is my favorite movie musical. The music, the choreography, the story, and the celebration of dreamers really touched me. This fic focused on the relationship between Philip Carlyle and Anne Wheeler, going a little beyond the story in the musical. I put this at #4 because I really enjoyed converting the musical numbers into written dialogue. Plus I got to develop Anne and Philip's relationship beyond what we see in the movie.

3. Inside Eternity (Heroes) Heroes was one of the first fandoms I remember really getting into when the internet became commonly used for such things. I love superhero stories so this one about more ordinary people gaining powers was cool. This fic focused on Peter Petrelli and Gabriel "Sylar" Gray while they were trapped in Sylar's mindscape in season four. Even at the time, I saw that episode as fan-service (Pylar was a VERY popular ship in the fandom) so of course i took advantage. This is a unique one since I didn't really have a plan for where the story was going at first, but as people commented on the chapters I took their suggestions as inspiration. It was a really fun collaboration between me and my readers.

2. Someone (Mass Effect) I was a little late to learning about Mass Effect, only playing it once all three games were out. Now it's one of my favorite video game series. Who doesn't love a space adventure story that takes inspiration from so many other space adventures? This fic is focused on Kaidan Alenko and John Shepard (Paragade Earthborn War Hero) as their relationship develops over the trilogy. I'm ranking this so high because it's my go-to romance whenever I play. Kaidan is my favorite character and I love his relationship with Shepard. I also like it because I got to write a slow-burn that really developed their friends-to-lovers dynamic

Living with Ghosts (House of Ashes) Like most people, I got into the DPA because I enjoyed Until Dawn and wanted to see more from the developers. Little Hope is my favorite but House of Ashes captured my imagination with its well-written characters. This fic follows the aftermath of Jason being infected by the dead alien he inhales. This is my #1 because without even meaning to, I put a lot of myself and my own processing into it. It has personal, special meaning to me because of that.

So those are my top 5 favorite fics I've written. Sorry I don't know who to pass this on to, but if you are a content creator (writer, artist, etc) feel free to list your top five favorite pieces anyway. We are our own worst critics so it's important for us to acknowledge the things we're proud of.

[adamwatchesmovies]

Body Snatchers (1993)

I meant to watch every film adaptation of Jack Finney's The Body Snatchers in release order but I messed up and saw 1993's Body Snatchers second. I made a mistake but don't feel too bad about it. In many ways, this film surpasses the original thanks to its spectacular special effects, atmosphere and chilling imagery.

Environmental Protection Agency agent Steve Malone (Terry Kinney) is moving to an Alabama military base with his family to test the effects of the military's actions on the surroundings. There, his daughter Marti (Gabrielle Anwar) notices abnormal behavior from several people. When her little brother says their mom (Meg Tilly) is a doppelganger, she believes him... but who else will?

Body Snatchers suffers from the fact that its title gives away too much, though not as much as the previous films. If you don’t know what the deal is, stop reading and go see this movie.

Barring one scene where a composite shot is rough around the edges, it all looks very convincing and boy does that make for a creepy experience. The characters are warned not to go to sleep. Once you see why, you won’t be able to close your eyes anymore. It’s a perfect example of gore used correctly. It grosses you out but mostly, it unsettles. It makes your skin crawl and makes you sweat.

Like the original picture, Body Snatchers can be a bit slow at points. You know where the plot is headed so you may grow a bit restless, at least at first. There is a turning point where Marti realizes what is happening. It sends a chill down your spine. You’re filled with the kind of panic that only comes from the absolute certainty of imminent, unavoidable defeat. Just when you think there’s a crack for our heroes to slip through, the film takes advantage of your lowered guard and comes at you full force. It pours the terror and despair down your throat. While the special effects are extremely effective, it’s the little moments that have the biggest impact. The emotional bits between Marti and the man she’s starting to fall for, Timm (Billy Wirth), make you think everything's going to be ok. It makes the scene where our heroes realize they've been led into a trap that much more devastating.

Body Snatchers doesn’t include just one shot where the true horror of the story dawns on you. There are at least 7. That’s a rarity even in the best chillers. The pacing issues may not even be there if you have not seen the previous versions (or any number of the derivatives which have come over the years) and I get the feeling that I'll like this one even more next time. (Full-screen version on DVD, July 13, 2018)