#now I'm leaving Tumblr until I see Infinity War

[anonthenullifier]

Achromatic - Chapter 4

Overall summary: For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, sometimes this means you save the day, and other times it means your lover comes out of a fight a different person. After a battle leaves Vision as someone that is not-quite-Vision, Wanda and the team try to figure out what went wrong and how to get him back.Inspired by the White Vision storyline of the comics.

Chapter Title and Summary: Infinite Nightmares -- After an act of desperation, Dr. Strange attempts to reason with Wanda.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13917372/chapters/33343659

Ch. 1-3 available at the link

For @theskyismadeofpenguins and @deathofink

Hope you enjoy!

Wanda sits on the lab table, eyes closed, legs crossed, and her hands resting on her knees, palms up and fingers steepled together. Scarlet billows around her, a nebulae of raw power that contains thin tendrils weaving in intricate patterns around a hexagonal, pinkish object. It is the only fragment they could recover from Q*bert, the last potential link she has to Vision, and Wanda will be damned if she doesn’t find some way to reach through it. Experimentally she prods at the shard, channelling sparks of power into it with each tentative touch, attempting to elicit some sort of response. Nothing transmits, however, not even a faint pulse of residual life, only silence and an eerie, discomfiting absence of fury and light.

She squeezes her eyes tighter, fighting back the tears that have been continually at the edge of her vision since her confrontation with the imposter. A steadying inhale and a mostly even exhale recenter her, her mind shifting to an awareness of her own body, tracking the rhythm of her pulse, the feel of the frigid metal biting into the exposed skin between the hem of her dress and the top of her stockings , and the gentle tapping against her sternum of the vibranium wedding ring that now hangs around her neck. It’s a technique Strange encouraged as a way to ground her to reality whilst her mind reaches beyond the scope of human awareness. Another breath and she pushes her powers deeper into the shard, seeking any remnant of existence, even a single atom that is marginally active. It’s all she needs, she thinks.

When there is still nothing, Wanda tips her head back in defeat, extinguishing the scarlet cloud with a tightening of her fingers and a slow, defeated exhale. “This isn’t working.” Nothing is working, actually. No one has found a solution yet, as far as she is aware, though Wanda hasn’t been particularly social to know exactly what the team is doing to find Vision. She knows she should seek their support, lean on their combined strength but the limited contact she has allowed is exhausting, the guilt in their eyes and the baseless reassurances that everything will turn out okay stoking a gradually building rage deep in her chest. Which is why she’s in Helen’s lab, unable to stand being in her own quarters surrounded by the memories and the smells of Vision, and also unwilling to go elsewhere, the absence of his presence haunting her every move.

Even though Vision spent much of his time helping Helen in the laboratory wing, Wanda, much like the rest of the non-science based members of the team, avoided it, overwhelmed by the equipment and the jargon. What this means is that she has almost no memories of Vision here, no chance of losing her veneer of control like she did while trying to cut an onion earlier in the day (Vision, for years, has served as her sous chef for such actions since his synthetic eyes seem insusceptible to the noxious task ). It also helps that Helen, much like Vision (Wanda’s Vision, the real Vision, not whatever is residing in his place) disregards the normative apologies and reassurances, including leaving Wanda alone when she wants to be.

The only issue with frequent solitude is the tendency to ruminate, Wanda’s mind sliding easily into reliving each moment of that day, considering how she should have stopped the destruction of the cube, should have held tighter to the Mindstone or even thrown Nefaria out of the way. Perhaps she could have fought harder to keep Vision at the compound instead of holding onto the foolish hope of a successful mission and a quick transfer of Vision’s consciousness from the cube. Sometimes she even pushes her blame to the initial event, chastising herself for not helping Vision with Nefaria or for even agreeing with the team that Vision should engage the cube.  Hindsight, as always, is merciless and unforgiving. Now she is left with nothing but a lifeless shard, a husband that is not actually her husband, and no prospects beyond going back in time to stop either event, a proposition Strange has already vehemently turned down.

A shiver of despair rolls along her spine, carrying her muscles along with it into a subdued shudder and an uncontainable sob at the memory of the last time she was faced with such bleak options - standing on a half-destroyed battlefield, powers sparking haphazardly from her hands as she stared at the mad titan in front of her. There were no pathways that didn’t include destroying herself, the ground she stood on, her teammates, or the universe and for the first time in her life she didn’t feel the weight of responsibilities or guilt, only the freedom of accepting oblivion. That feeling builds at the memory, prickling at her fingertips as she stares at the lifeless shard on the table. Perhaps there is one more option.

Slowly Wanda lifts her wrists, arms separating as she pulls her hands farther apart. She closes her eyes, releases all thoughts unrelated to the task at hand and reverts her mind back to the battle, allowing her desperation and love to drive her. With a soothing dance-like movement, she pushes rods of scarlet into the ebony sea of spacetime in an attempt to parse out the invisible boundary of reality. Eventually she meets resistance, a devilish smirk drawing her lips up as her fingers mimic the prodding of her powers. It feels different this time, not as dense and fortified, almost like touching the skin of an onion, matter crinkling and crackling as she pokes at the seams. She’s uncertain what she’s looking for, still a novice at this task despite her pleading with Strange to show her how to harness this immense power.

Wanda pushes her palms gingerly into the air, an invisible crocodilian texture tickling her skin as she moves her way along the boundary of the universe, and then she stops, a pressure forming against her hands as if something is pushing back. A deep breath in collects her powers into a concentrated mass, an apple-sized orb rotating three feet in front of her, and then she swings her arms, bringing her hands back together, thumbs hooking to steady her trembling wrists as she sends the orb into the fabric of reality. An infinitesimal crack forms, a golden glow pouring into the darkness from the tear, and it is familiar and comforting like nimble fingers dancing through her hair on a sunny day.

“Wanda!”

Wanda startles, lungs spasming as her eyes snap open. Hanging in front of her is a partially reconstructed cube, one that begins deteriorating the longer she looks at it. Frantically she closes her eyes, shoving her powers in furious whips at the disappearing object but nothing remains, the space between her and reality rapidly forming a chasm she has no way of crossing.

A second, “Wanda,”  causes her to flinch, this one not as desperate or pleading, fueled by anger and harmonized by the distinctive whistle of a whirling portal.

Her attention moves towards the new body in the room, Dr. Strange’s clothing always making him seem so out of place in high tech settings, regardless of the fact she knows he has a deep understanding of everything that happens in this room. Hesitantly she slides from the table, silently whispering to her lungs and heart to please slow down, regain some control so she can respond without inducing suspicion as to her activities. “Stephen, I wasn’t expecting you.”

The transparency of her cover is apparent in the quirked eyebrow and haughty sigh that he purposefully draws out for added emphasis. “I have been very clear in establishing rules for interacting with reality.”

“I was only looking,” the words are clearly a lie, her own voice unconvincing and the disappointed shake of his head confirming her failure at being nonchalant. So she switches her strategy to the truth. “I heard him,” Wanda sucks in a trembling breath at verbally admitting it, at solidifying the knowledge of hearing the unique and lovely way Vision’s accent rounds the syllables of her name, “I felt him.” The ghostly pressure forms on her palms at the memory.

Stephen’s face is blank, the gray flecking his hair adding to the air of unimpressed authority he carries around pretty much anyone, one that sometimes gives way to irreverent humor, but the sternness in the set of his mouth means that is unlikely to happen right now. “You can’t do this.”

The words Wanda had been preparing to use, ones explaining exactly how she is sure it was Vision tumble away, replaced by a creeping, oppressive shroud of suspicion around her shoulders. “Why aren't you surprised?”

Strange is not one to participate in tautological avoidance, erring on the side of speaking his mind almost all the time, yet the hesitation of his mouth and the quick glance away from her gaze concerns her. But he remains true to form with his eventual admission. “I discovered him two days ago.”

“What?” Her hands are ablaze with scarlet before the word is done, feet stepping out wide as she falls into the battle stance Natasha worked for months to ingrain into her muscle memory.

The caped man doesn’t respond in kind, a disinterested sniff at her threat a strong enough shield against her ire. “I have spent every second of my time trying to find a way to bring him back,” apologetic sorrow flashes across his face, “He’s unreachable, Wanda.”

She shakes her head, defiance crawling up her arms, “I touched him.”

“And you very well could have destroyed the universe with that touch.”

Wanda considers backing down, his voice laden with a steadfast direness, whatever he has seen appears to have shaken him. “It worked before, against Thanos.”

There is no immediate response to her rebuttal, instead Strange turns away from her, one arm reaching out, his index and middle finger held together by his sling ring, and his other hand rotating in a wide circle as he creates a new portal. Once it is formed he turns towards her, “If you won’t believe me, perhaps you will believe yourself.”  A dip of his head indicates she should follow, a command she considers refusing, but intrigue at his offer begins to replace her anger, encouraging her feet to shuffle towards the portal.

As she steps through the golden portal, Wanda squints at the fluorescent lights overhead, blinking several times to slough away the floating dots from the bright assault. “Step back please,” the disorientation of portal traveling means she follows his order without thinking, her body meeting a slight resistance as she transitions into the same room only now there are faceted panels distorting the view. “We’re in the mirror realm.”

“Yeah. I figured.”* Now that her eyes have adjusted, Wanda scans the room, a sense of deja vu forming at the quiet, pristine lab, the only things marring the perfection of Helen’s organization are a mug of tea (a slight ring forming on the table underneath the ceramic cup), the small remnant of Q*bert, and Wanda sitting on a table, legs crossed and hands on her knees as scarlet billows around her. “Where are we?”

Strange joins her in scrutinizing the other Wanda, following along as she gives into despair and desperation, palms reaching out in search of Vision. “The multiverse.” It’s a word the team, primarily the science driven members, throw around, often while drunk and shooting the shit, but Vision has excitedly discussed it with her as well, the notion of an infinite number of universes where every possible outcome can play out a thrilling form of hypothetical contemplation to him. “I’ve been observing your various lives in search of answers.” Hope should attach itself to this information, yet his voice is low, almost terrified.

“What have you found?” His response is a shaky wave of his hand towards the other Wanda, her fingers wagging furiously as she pulls at the threads of reality, doing what Wanda failed to earlier, this Wanda’s connection to Vision still active. Just as a golden light comes through into the lab, as Wanda’s own heart begins pounding excitedly in her chest, there is a blinding, retina destroying, explosion of light and then utter darkness. “What…”

“She failed.” A new portal appears and Strange leads her through, allowing Wanda to watch a new version of herself again. “She fails over,” a new portal and an even brighter explosion, “and over,” attempt after attempt fly past until Strange remains long enough in one universe so Wanda can see the entirety of time implode as they stand in the safety of their spectator realm, “and over.”

“Why doesn’t it work?”

Stephen shifts into the casual, arrogant pose usually taken up by people tasked with explaining supposedly simple matters to someone who seems to not get it.  His arms are pulled behind his body so that he can grip his hands behind his back and his hip juts out just enough to be condescending. “When you altered reality to defeat Thanos, you also weakened the stability of reality itself. Cracks formed, universes collided, and in amongst this damage pocket dimensions began to proliferate at the most chaotic and unstable points.” He shifts his hips, the cloak readjusting on his body until it is comfortable. “With the increased instability, there was also, from what I’ve gathered, an increase in using these rifts for personal gain, manipulating and utilizing the raw power seeping from these dimensions.”

“The cube?” The man nods, waiting for her to form the connection he’s been hinting at. “Vision is in one of these pocket dimensions.” Another nod and Wanda’s heart rejoices at the knowledge, wholly disregarding the apocalyptic realities they just observed. .

Strange’s hands release, arms falling back to his side, “Wanda,” the threat in his gaze and the admonishment in his tone chills her joy, his words shattering it into millions of pieces, “it is too dangerous to rescue him, even for me.”

A stray memory waltzes through her mind, a moment from a conversation with Vision concerning these other universes, a tearful, hopeful inquiry as to whether it meant there was a Wanda still with a Pietro at her side. “But some Wanda’s succeed. They have to.”

His “Yes,” is reluctant, fingers tightening into fists that suggest he hoped she wouldn’t understand the full breadth of the multiverse. “But it still never works.”

Wanda chooses to ignore everything after the yes , focusing instead on the possibilities.  “How do they do it?”

The leather of his gloves squeak as the pressure of his curled fingers increases, the sound creating a slight crack in his calm demeanor. “Usually through using a relic to amplify her powers, but that is only in the small sampling of universes where it works.” Her eyes drift to the Eye of Agamotto, his own gaze following her silent question. “No, I won’t let you.”

“Why not?”

“Wanda,” the sincerity in his voice is concerning, pebbles of dread piling up in her body, starting at her feet, and holding her to the ground. “I have been through every single universe, even when you do succeed at saving him, your relationship always ends in tragedy.” Her lungs begin to fail, breath sputtering as her mind wages a war against his words, denying the notion because there is no reason her and Vision will not be happy so long as they are together.  “It is not worth risking the entirety of reality for a brief time of happiness.”

The argument is the same as what the non-Vision used on the quinjet, the many should outweigh the few, it is futile and selfish for her to save Vision, but Wanda can’t accept this without proof, hearsay a dangerous and unreliable source of decision making. “Show me.”

Strange shrugs, opening a new portal and stepping halfway through it before he turns back towards her, “Tell me once you’ve seen enough.” It is both a warning and an apology, a downpour of frigid terror seizing her muscles as she steps hesitantly through the portal. “These first ones are the most,” he pauses while staring at the back of Vision, body hunched over a desk, and a different Wanda standing in the doorway, watching her husband with concerned eyes, “normal dissolutions.”  Normal is a term that is barred from her relationship, a subjective perception that is typically hurled at them as an insult, yet she believes she gathers his meaning, biting back tears as she watches Vision ignore her pleas to talk with her, as she gives up, likely because this isn’t the first time he’s closed himself off, and it appears this Wanda is done. Strange grips Wanda’s hand as he walks her to a slightly different universe, this time she and Vision actually talk, voices deadly calm despite the anger vibrating in the air between them.  They argue about irreparable harm to their relationship, of how Vision never quite felt right after coming back, of how she is a constant reminder of this difference, of how they don’t fit anymore. It’s this Wanda that makes the suggestion to split, and it takes everything in Wanda not to break through the mirror dimension and yell at these two idiots, force them to find a way to work it out. The next eight are almost identical, only minimal changes to the words used, the exact reasons for parting ways, and the volume of their voices.

It’s as they walk through the next portal that Wanda hears a difference, a surprising lullaby floating in the air wrapped up in the smooth tones of Vison’s voice. Stephen is about to pull her through another portal but Wanda places a hand on his arm to stop him, her body turning towards the world Strange deemed unimportant . She watches as Vision sways in the middle of a darkened room, faint outlines forming around him the more her eyes adjust to the low lighting, and Wanda begins to make out what appears to be a crib, a dresser, and a changing table. A sharp, high pitched cry solidifies her perceptions as she watches Vision run a soothing hand down the face of the baby in his arms. “We…” her and Vision had only recently tiptoed into discussions of the future, the flurry of excited ideas of buying a house and raising children decimated by three conclusive tests in Helen’s lab of Vision’s inability to procreate, and yet clearly some version of themselves figured it out, “had children?”

Strange’s arm tenses under her grip, “Wanda, we shouldn’t stay here.”

This universe’s Wanda comes in seconds later, another baby in her arms and Wanda finds her mouth lifting into a painfully ecstatic grin, not just one baby, twins. “I want to see this.”

“Wanda,” a tug of his arm rotates her face towards him where she can take in the hunted, petrified glean of his eyes and it momentarily stops her heart, “these universes are the most horrific.”

She ignores the warning, tossing a glare at him before turning back to watch the bedtime routine.

Once the babies are asleep, laid gently in the crib with a cloud of scarlet, Wanda and Vision leave the room. His hand still on the doorknob, this universe’s Vision quietly, in a placating tone, broaches a topic of conversation that has clearly come up before, “Wanda, I am still concerned about what Agatha told us.”

The unamused frown residing on her face is one Wanda has sent to Vision numerous times, it is meant to silence the ridiculous logical reasoning he is attempting to use, particularly on things they have already been discussed and left behind. “Our children are fine, Vizh.” The sharp emphasis of the zh is also a common tactic to silence unwanted dissent, one Vision rarely ever actually entertains, and this instance is no different.

“Wanda, our children might not be real.”

Wanda feels herself denying it right along with the one speaking to Vision, “How can they not be real, I carried them for almost nine months, I gave birth, we hold them, Vision, how can they not be real?”

The man wilts at the words, shoulders curving forward as his body shrinks, “Agatha says she has proof.”

She watches the other version of herself throw her hands into the air, a deep, annoyed sigh punctuating the anger forming in red sparks along her arms. “No she doesn’t.”

“Wanda,” Vision’s voice shakes as he proceeds, “no good can come of denying this.”

The next words cause Wanda to step closer to Strange, curl her fingers around his arm indicating she’s ready to be done with this universe, because even if it is in anger, she is horrified at her doppelganger’s response. The woman balls one hand into a fist and uses the other to point right at Vision’s chest, “And what the hell do you know about being real, you damn toaster.”

“Stephen, please,” her urgency is understood, a whirring portal opening that Wanda quickly steps through, glancing back long enough to see the mortification and betrayal settling on Vision’s face.

Unfortunately that’s not the worst universe, the next one forces her to relive the moment on the quinjet, only this time transported to a hallway, their children several years older, and Vision is completely white. His voice is even more flat and otherworldly as he informs them all they are no longer his family, that he is no longer their father. No matter how fast Wanda pushes Strange through the portals, however, the universes careen them along a trajectory beyond the scope of Wanda’s own imagination, each one more appalling than the last. It feels like being trapped in a horror movie, one with a cliched scene of stepping into a funhouse room filled with mirrors. Wanda finds herself standing at just the right angle to see infinite versions of herself, yet unlike the movies, it’s not just one reflection that diverges from her behavior, but all of them, some in subtle ways —just a blink or a flexing of fingers— and others are so unlike her she has to stare hard to ascertain if it is in fact her.  

There’s the Wanda who, due the grief of their children not being real, erases a portion of the world with a whispered “No more.” There’s the Wanda who gifts her brainwaves to Vision as a parting gift in the relationship, who then proceeds to create his own family, which, unsurprisingly, does not go well. There are several where she is with other lovers, sometimes it’s Steve, sometimes Clint, sometimes people she doesn’t recognize from her own universe, yet, at least. Vision dies in several of these universes, sometimes because of her, sometimes not, occasionally he is rebuilt, never the same though, and sometimes they leave his body in a box, as if he is no more than scraps to maybe be refurbished at a later date.  Wanda wants to deny the veracity of these universes, and yet they exist, the realness of them harrowing both in the consequences and the sheer breadth of possibilities, such as the strangest one where Vision even had a one night stand (she’d laugh at the thought if she had any energy left for derision) with an alien AI that resulted in hundreds of children.

All of these worlds, these actions amalgamate around her and she can’t breath, overwhelmed by the unmistakably bleak path of their fate. Wanda can barely muster the strength to speak, but manages a quiet, supplicating, “Please stop.”

Strange pauses, hands still lifted in his signature portal conjuring stance, and stares at her. “Have you seen enough?”

The tears running down her cheeks should be informative, yet she first tasted the salt of her sorrow at least twenty universes ago, so it is not an absolute sign of being done. Wanda wipes away the stains from her cheeks, which only makes way for more tears, and nods. “I’d like to go back to my room.”  

Wanda wraps her arms around her waist, head bent down so that she only sees her her boots, the frayed ends of the laces a focal point to draw her attention away from the worlds around her. It’s only when she smells the faint lavender incense from before and hears the soft chiming of the metal strands looping along her bookshelf, that she inhales in relief and looks up. “That was,” Wanda’s thoughts move quickly, the images discombobulating as they buzz around her mind, so she keeps it brief, “Informative.”

A curt nod and a needlessly dramatic readjustment of his cloak (which could just be the cloak) goes along with the grim satisfaction of his, “I am glad it was informative, I hope you realize the correct path now.”

Wanda doesn’t watch him leave, can’t seem to muster any response, her heart bending in half, threatening to split in two, as the gravity of the various realities sink in. The process of grief had already started for her husband, a half-hearted pessimism of not saving him that was alleviated somewhat by long days in the lab with Helen, striving tirelessly to find a solution. Yet the truth was always tickling the back of her mind, urging her to consider the scope of what a destroyed cube meant. It’s impossible to hold back the barrage of sorrow now, when Wanda has not only her own grief but the grieving of infinite Wandas, each one offering a unique quality to the mourning of Vision, and it’s overwhelming, her limbs can barely move, lungs are functioning at the bare minimum capacity. The only part of her that is hyperactive are her lachrymose glands, churning out tear after tear for the finality of her loss, of all the Wandas’ losses.

With a great deal of effort, Wanda slides into the bed, scarlet whispering around her head as she cocoons herself in the duvet, blocking out the last of the lamplight that threatens to keep her in a world where she can look around and see the signs of Vision, ones that force her brain to recall his voice and his touch, the way he laughed when she hung up the painting of the monocle wearing dog on the wall (a gag gift from a team white elephant exchange, but Vision adores it far more than she thought imaginable). She breathes in and for a moment it is a mistake, to breathe, because she catches a waft of vibranium that somehow is still clinging to the pillowcase, her senses igniting so strongly that Wanda finds her eyes closing in a likely futile attempt to relive a moment with him, to summon him back to her, briefly chase away the specters of the multiverse, and pretend to have some level of futile hope of his return.

Her consciousness seamlessly transitions from reality to memory and for a time Wanda cannot parse out the differences, allowing herself to be consumed by recollection, of a night when she laid curled against Vision, her skin slightly slick with sweat, creating a pleasant sensation of oneness as her body adhered to him. If she moves her head just a bit, she can almost feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath her, pushing her towards one heaven and then pulling her back towards another, over and over in a steady rhythm as his fingers play with the tips of her hair.

“Have I told you about the multiverse?”  His voice is clear, playful, but contemplative, his pillow talk always an unpredictable but delightful endeavor.

Wanda rubs her face into the pillow, just as she did that night into his chest, “No.”

When she doesn’t feel his hand in her hair, Wanda sends a strand of scarlet out to mimic his behavior as she recalls his response. “It is a theoretical idea that there are infinite universes where an infinite number of possible outcomes can occur.”

“So there are multiple versions of us?” The words hurt her now, back then she grinned up at him, curiosity coursing through her, feeding her desire to watch his eyes light up as he talks about theoretical things, of possibilities that are only allowable at night, Vision the type of person that relishes the security of a dark room to share his deepest or sometimes most ridiculous thoughts.

“Infinite versions.”

Wanda knows these versions now, could answer her next question without Vision’s input, but she doesn’t stop the memory. “Give me an example.”

He smiled at her, a boyish, self-conscious half-arc that always does funny things to her stomach. His other hand lifted to caress her cheek, irises spinning counterclockwise as he contemplated, then he leaned in closer. “Some may not have this moment.”

“I feel bad for them.”

This elicited a short, delighted almost-but-not-quite snort, “As do I. For those who have this moment,” his hand traced down along her face, dipping beneath her jaw as he followed her neck, “one Vision may do this,” his hand continued to run along her body, skating along her shoulder before snaking down her arm. “Another might instead opt for another action, such as,” his hand rose to her head, fingertips burying deep within her hair to massage her scalp, and Wanda can feel the phantom touch, sighs at the pressure of his sure hands. “Yet another might decide to do something else,” the cool touch of his palm was pleasant but surprising, a gasp falling unrestrained from her mouth (both then and now) as he bent down and pressed his lips to hers. “Infinite possibilities.”

“I’m lucky then,” words she doesn’t regret, refuses to regret no matter how much they hurt, “to be in this universe where you do all of them.”

Wanda freezes, dispelling the memory before he can respond and bolts upright in bed, heart racing at the amorphous implication hanging in her mind. There are infinite possibilities, theoretically, which means that there has to be a universe for every single possibility. She scurries on her hands and knees across the mattress, yanking open her desk drawer to pull out her communicator. It takes five achingly long rings for Strange’s concerned and confused face to fill the screen. “Wanda?”

“You said they all failed, right?”

“Yes…”

“Every single one of them?”

Hesitation forms on his face, his goatee exaggerating his discomfort, eyes bouncing as he attempts to identify where she is going so he can counteract it before it gets too far. Yet he fails, simply responding with what he’s already told her, “Every last one of them.”

A thread of victory attaches itself to her lips, pulling her mouth up into, based on the color leaving his face, a devious smirk. “There are infinite universes, Stephen.”

“There are…”

Wanda stands from the bed, the hand not holding the phone scrunching in renewed purpose as her sympathetic system activates, selecting her fight response (Vision jokingly has informed her he doesn’t believe she has a flight response). “If every single one of them failed, that means this universe might be the one where I succeed.”

“Wanda that is dang-” the communicator goes silent as she ends the call, turning off the device so he can’t contact her immediately. The phone drops to the bed as she stands taller, prouder, and with reinvigorated purpose, an odd gratitude overtaking her body at the notion that because all the other Wandas endured endless tragedy, it means that maybe, just maybe, she won’t have to do the same.

[itsclydebitches]

Hi! I was just watching good omens and I came up with some questions, but I didn't know whom to ask, so I was digging around for go analysis blogs and found you. *takes a breath* So, I was wondering if you had any thoughts on why Heaven's camera angles are the way they are. I noticed that, in heaven, the camera tends to focus on the characters' heads specifically, so they fill most of the screen. Either it's a meta reason or a reference to something (like Newt with the Office) that I'm not getting. That's the main thing, but I've also wondered why exactly Aziraphale uses the verb "fraternize" in the 19th century. It seemed an odd pivot from caring about Crowley's safety to Heaven's rules. Thanks so much!

Hello! Omg yes, let's talk Good Omens cinematography.

First, the obligatory Analysis Disclaimer: I doubt there's a specific interpretation that you're just not getting, some singular, "correct" reading of the scene(s). Two years past release, I'm positive the fandom as a whole has come up with plenty of ideas (I mostly hang on the periphery. I'm far from up to date with GO meta), but any and all of it will, by nature, be subjective. Thus, all I can offer is my own, personal interpretation.

So for me? It's about intimacy.

Not intimacy in the sense of friendship, but rather the broad idea of closeness. Confidentiality. Emotion. Knowledge. Understanding by means of literally getting into the thick of these conversations. I love the camerawork in Heaven (and elsewhere) because the camera itself acts like a person — an additional party to these interactions. And, since we're the ones watching this show via the camera, it makes it feel as if we're peeking into scenes that are otherwise private. Obviously all cinematography does this to a certain extent, the camera is always watching someone or something without acknowledging that we're doing the watching (outside of documentary-esque filmmaking), but GO uses angles and closeups to mimic another person observing these scenes, someone other than the characters involved.

The easiest example I can give here is when Michael makes their call to Ligur. Here, the camera is positioned up on the next landing of the staircase, as if we're sneaking a look down at this otherwise secret call. There's even a moment when the camera pans to the right to look at them through the gap in the railing, briefly obscuring Michael from our view.

Here, a standard expectation of any scene — keep your character in focus — is done away with to instead mimic the movements of someone actually hiding in the stairwell, listening in on the conversation. It creates that feeling of intimacy, as if we're really there with Michael, not just watching Michael through a screen. The camerawork acts like a person overhearing an illicit conversation prior to falling back on mid/closeup shots. We're spying on them.

To give a non-Heaven example, the camera helps us connect with Aziraphale during Gabriel's jogging scene. It's hard to show through screenshots, but if you re-watch you'll see that the camera initially keeps them both in the frame with full body shots, allowing us to compare things like Gabriel's unadorned gray workout clothes with Aziraphale's more stylish outfit; one's good jogging form and the other's awkward shuffle. However, this distance also creates the sense that we're jogging with them, we're keeping pace.

That is, until Aziraphale begins to lag. Then the camera lags too, giving them both the chance to catch up, so to speak.

Until, finally, Aziraphale has to stop completely and the camera, of course, stops with him. We're emotionally attuned to Aziraphale, not Gabriel, and the camerawork reflects that. Even more-so when we cut to a low shot of Gabriel's annoyed huff at having to stop at all, making him appear larger and more imposing. Because to Aziraphale, he is.

This work carries over into Heaven's other scenes. The closeups are pretty much a given since, whether it's Gabriel realizing Aziraphale has been "fraternizing" with Crowley (more on that below!), or Aziraphale choosing to go back to Earth, the scenes in Heaven are incredibly important to the narrative. Closeups allow the viewer to get a good read on each character's emotional state — focusing on minute facial changes as opposed to overall body language — and that fly-on-the-wall feeling is increased as we literally get an up close and personal look at these pivotal moments.

Compare a shot like this one of Gabriel to the line of angels ready for battle. We don't get closeups on any of their faces because their emotions aren't important. Yes, that's in part because they're background characters, not main characters, but a lack of emotion — their willingness to enter this war without question — is also the point of their presence in this scene. So they remain a semi-identical, nearly faceless mass that runs off into infinity down that hallway, not any individual whose inner life we get a peek at via a closeup.

I particularly like Aziraphale's conversation with the angel... general? Idk what to call this guy. He's just gonna be Mustache Angel. But, getting back on track, his scene has a lot of over the shoulder shots which, admittedly, are pretty common. From a practical perspective they're used to help the audience situate both characters in the scene — you're here, you're there, this is how you're spaced during this conversation — but it can also help emphasize that closeness between them. Keeping both characters in the shot connects them and though Aziraphale and Mustache Angel definitely aren't on the same page here, those shots help cue us in to the unwanted intimacy of this moment. They're both angels... even though Aziraphale no longer aligns himself with them. They're both soldiers in a war... but Aziraphale will not fight. This angel has a list of Aziraphale's secrets, including that he once had a flaming sword and lost it... but Aziraphale doesn't want to admit those circumstances to him. This angel wouldn't understand, even if he did. Intimacy here, connection and closeness, is something discomforting because Aziraphale can no longer embrace those similarities. They put him (and us) out of sorts, so when we get them both in frame, that connection creates tension, not relief.

And many of those over the shoulder shots are given sharp angels, or the camera is placed too close to the "off screen" party. Compare a shot like Luke and Rey to Aziraphale and Mustache Angel. Here, Luke is a clean, solid line on the left side of the screen, just enough there to cue us in to where he is in relationship to Ray, In contrast, Mustache Angel's mustache is Too Close and proves rather distracting. Rey and Luke are connecting here over being Jedi with responsibilities to uphold (or at least, Luke will acknowledge that connection later lol); Mustache Angel is forcing a connection with Aziraphale that makes everyone uncomfortable.

We are too close to him here. He feels too close to Aziraphale too. This whole conversation is upsetting and discomforting, pushing Aziraphale to finally choose which side he's on (his own with Crowley). The shots aren't meant to subtly keep the audience from getting lost and then otherwise be unobtrusive, we're supposed to be Very Aware of this angel's body and how close he's getting to the character we've come to identify with — both literally (he's leaning in) and in terms of forcing Aziraphale to finally make his choice.

When Mustache Angel marches forward and gets all up in Aziraphale's face, the camera positions itself behind Aziraphale in a way that makes it feel like we're hiding behind him, with Aziraphale taking up far more of the screen than Luke does. Like the scene with Michael or running with Gabriel, the camera often likes to mimic a "realistic" response to these events. This angry, shouty angel is getting closer, best take a step back and stay out of sight behind Aziraphale, holding his ground.

These closeups also serve as a nice contrast to the wide and longshots we get of Heaven. It's an imposing place with skyscrapers in the distance, lots of steel, immaculate floors, and endless white. It's overwhelming and it's cold. But then we cut to those mid-shots of Gabriel and Michael, telling us that they're in control of it all.

Aziraphale? Aziraphale is not in control. Not now, anyway. When he appears in Heaven we get a longshot to show off this endless void and he's just another, tiny speck in it. If he weren't flailing around — an acting move that likewise helps sell how out of his depth he is — it's unlikely you'd even notice him. Aziraphale's clothing and hair blends in perfectly with the background. He's forgettable. Easily overlooked. Someone to underestimate. And when he moves, he has to come to the camera. We don't cut to Aziraphale to establish control like we do with Gabriel. He's left to awkwardly shuffle up to Mustache Angel until he's finally come into view.

Yet when Aziraphale makes his decision, he aligns himself with the brightest, most colorful, most interesting thing in the room: Earth. Earth, with all its messy individuality, is the antithesis to Heaven's controlled uniformity and a bright blue orb hanging in the midst of all this white helps remind us of that. Aziraphale rejects becoming one of the identical soldiers and instead literally reaches out for the one thing in Heaven that doesn't fit in.

When he leaves, we get an extreme closeup for the first time. Mustache Angel is pissed and as such we not only get a good look at his face in the aftermath of Aziraphale's choice, but that extreme closeup on his mouth as he's shouting too. It's like he's shouting directly at us, the viewer who is currently cheering on Aziraphale's decision. There's a war, dammit... but we don't care. Not in the way he cares, anyway.

So there's a lot! And I could probably go on, but apparently I'm only allowed to add 10 images per post now (tumblr what the actual fuck if anyone knows a way around this please share!) and I've already had to merge a bunch of images like an animal. So let's awkwardly finish up with the duck pond scene.

...without a GIF because they apparently count as images too 🙃

Simply put, I don't think Aziraphale bringing up fraternizing is a pivot from one to the other — from caring about Crowley to caring about Heaven's rules. I mean yes, Aziraphale is lagging behind Crowley in terms of rebellion and a part of him is, at this point, absolutely concerned with how he'll come across to the higherups, but that worry doesn't stem solely from a (now very shaky) desire to obey for the sake of obeying. The thing is, Aziraphale's disobedience is, by default, also Crowley's disobedience. If they're friends and they're ever found out, they'll both get in trouble. Which, we know from the end of Season One, basically means being wiped from existence. That's horrifying! And it's a horror that threatens them both. I don't think Aziraphale cares about rules for the sake of rules; after all, he started off by giving away his sword, lying to God, is currently meeting with Crowley anyway... this angel has always ignored/bent the rules — established and implied — that don't suit him. Rather, he cares about the rules if he thinks they have a chance of being enforced. If there will be consequences for breaking and bending them. This is still about caring for Crowley (as well as saving his own, angelic skin). If they're found out, Crowley dies. And, as we the viewer learn, Heaven was indeed observing them that whole time. There was always legitimate risk attached to this relationship. Aziraphale's fear, hesitance, and at times forceful pleas to stop this stem as much from Aziraphale worrying about Crowley's safety as they do a learned instinct to obey the rules without question. He pushes to end the relationship because the relationship threatens the only thing Aziraphale cares about more than that: Crowley himself.

As for the term "fraternizing," that's a loaded one! I won't go into a whole history lesson here, but suffice to say it has military roots: to sympathize as brothers with an opponent. That is literally what Crowley and Aziraphale are doing. They are an angel and a demon, supposedly innate enemies, supposedly poised for an inevitable war... yet they've formed an incredibly strong kinship. They've both learned to love their enemy, the thing every army fears because, well, then your army won't fight (just as Aziraphale won't). However, beyond the enemy implications, "to fraternize" eventually took on a sexual meaning: to not merely love as a brother, but to lay with the enemy too, usually women from enemy countries (because, you know, heteronormativity). Nowadays, "to fraternize" often implies a sexual component. I've been rewatching The Good Wife lately and in one subplot, the State's Attorney cracks down on fraternization in his office. He doesn't mean his employees are forming bonds with assumed enemies, he means his employees are having sex on his office couch. So Aziraphale's phrasing here carries a LOT of weight. He's both reminding Crowley of their stations in the world — you are a demon, I am an angel, us meeting like this can have formal, irrevocable consequences for us both — as well as, given the fact that this is a love story, drawing attention to the depth of this relationship. They love one another, as more than just friends. Though whether Crowley's scathing "Fraternizing?" is a response to Aziraphale falling back on the technicalities of their positions, or acknowledging a love he's yet to overtly admit and commit to — or both! — is definitely up for debate.

[allofthefeelings]

Hi. I forgot that sad endings exist, and now, I'm scared stupid after your last BW movie post. She's dead already! I want something close to happy! (Oh god, I hope the fanfics come through 😭😭😭)

(Before I begin, I would also like you to know that, while this is over 4000 words long, I did cut a several-paragraphs-long digression comparing the BW movie to Beauty and the Beast: The Enchanted Christmas. You’re welcome.)

I know I’m once again outing myself as an optimist here, and I’m sure I’ll also end up getting smug asks in four months when much of my speculation is wrong, but what the hell. If I was on this tumblr to be right I would have made a LOT of different decisions.

So.

I really, truly don’t think we’re going to get a sad ending.

But the question is, how does it achieve a not-sad ending? Or, to completely re-frame and re-structure: for a character like Natasha, what exactly is a happy ending?

Buckle in, because this gets long.

I think we can all agree that, by definition, we’re starting the movie from a point of melancholy at best, just because we know that in 2023 Natasha will be dead. She doesn’t get to ride into the sunset in any way, shape, or form. Every other solo movie- even the ones with tragic endings, like Thor Ragnarok’s destruction of Asgard and a large portion of its people- have given characters a path forward and the odds that even if this won’t give them a happy ending, it gives them a way towards one. It ends with hope. There isn’t room for that here, for obvious reasons. But what there is room for- and this is, ironically, achievable because of one of the major flaws of IW- is the idea that she did achieve growth, and then had six years to live the life she wanted.

Or, not the life she WANTED, which probably would not have been one part on the run/five parts half of society obliterated by Thanos. Let’s say she had the chance to live a terrible life self-actualized.

IW’s complete and utter lack of meaningful characterization for 90% of the cast means that we don’t really have a sense of where Natasha was in that movie. That gives a lot of room to play with, to put Natasha at the end of the BW movie in a place that she wants to be in. In other words, they can retroactively argue that the reason Natasha isn’t given room to grow in IW is that she had achieved her growth in between CW and IW.

Which, look. Doylistically this is beyond bullshit. Doylistically this is actually offensive, and if they’re looking to retroactively placate us about how Natasha’s arc went, it really doesn’t work. I’m not talking about what was intended, or what was achieved; I don’t think this is either of those. I’m talking about what we can choose to read into it.

And, frankly, as a Natasha fan, that’s pretty much all we do anyway. I can argue (and clearly have argued) her arc for ages, but that’s all the work I’ve done, and you (collective, Natasha fans) have done- not the work the text has done.

None of this is remotely answering the question. But I think it’s necessary groundwork to begin to answer the question.

Because what the BW movie can give us is that growth arc that takes place in the negative spaces of canon.

Well, first of all, the BW movie gives us the fact that things happen at all in the negative spaces of canon. I know I’ve discussed this already, but it’s worth mentioning again: the way audiences are supposed to read texts is that everything pertinent happens on screen. Even supplemental texts that are considered canonical (cut scenes, novelizations, official tie-in comics, movie scripts) are deemed inherently less valuable because they aren’t on the screen. This movie affirms that important events are happening off-screen, to everyone- or at least everyone who isn’t front and center.

This is, again, infuriating, and I feel like when I say this I’m inadveretently contributing to justification. That is not my intention. Natasha’s growth should have been on screen and should have been seen as important. I hate that it’s reduced to a single movie after ten years and the character’s death. I don’t think this justifies it. AT THE SAME TIME, I think this opens space for us to look at lots of characters who haven’t gotten the screen time they deserved.

(Like, they may never give Rhodey the movie he deserves, but at least no one can tell us that if he did something worth seeing it would have been on screen. This movie’s existence is a rebuttal of that. This is a digression but one I’m gonna keep making until everyone starts casually referring to awesome shit Rhodey did off-screen because WHY THE FUCK NOT, YOU CAN’T PROVE IT DIDN’T HAPPEN, “IT DIDN’T HAPPEN ON SCREEN” IS NO LONGER PROOF OF ANYTHING EXCEPT THEY HAVEN’T DONE THE SET-IN-THE-PAST MOVIE YET. Y E T.)

But we also get the possibility of growth, and to analyze what growth means for Natasha’s character.

So here is an issue: I can tell you, with a frankly absurd amount of confidence, what I read Natasha’s arc as. I can lay it out from film to film, I can point to key growth moments, I can read a lot into every scrap that made it into the final cut and I can tell you exactly why, and I feel like if you dig into my history you’re going to find a lot of me citing specific scenes to make my point so I’m not going to go too in-depth on an already-long post that is getting exponentially longer. I think that Natasha’s key arc is in figuring out who she is and what she needs, and how to be a person rather than a reflection of what is asked of her. I think that the mirror imagery in the trailer and in the SDCC/D23 BW footage lends credence to this being a key theme of the movie.

But I have absolutely no idea if I’m right, because the MCU has never considered Natasha to be important enough to be the focus, and as a result I read her arc mostly through the ways she mirrors other characters’ stories, usually to show their strengths by comparison. I do my best to make arguments that are textually supported, but at the same time, it’s like describing the sun entirely from the way that its light reflects off the moon.

So I can say that for the BW movie to be satisfying, it needs to offer completion to her arc, which is then capped in IW/Endgame but would have reached its climax in the BW movie. But since I cannot confidently tell you what her arc has been so far, I can’t figure out exactly how that arc could be satisfactorily completed. Which means, after SEEING the movie, I will have to retroactively figure out how they saw her arc, and then figure out if this was a satisfactory way to end it.

But an argument done in hindsight is colored by what I’ve already seen, and that’s a cheat. So let’s start over.

Here is what we know:

Natasha was taken from her family very young (Endgame: didn’t know her father’s name). As a child, she was abused and manipulated by the Red Room (Agent Carter; Age of Ultron). She was trained to be a Black Widow, did terrible shit for them for a while, defected, became a mercenary, did terrible shit for the highest bidder (Avengers). Clint was sent to kill her but made a different call and brought her in to SHIELD (Avengers). Natasha quickly rose in the ranks and became one half of a STRIKE team watched over by Fury’s right-hand man, Coulson (Avengers). Natasha also became very close with Nick Fury, the head of SHIELD (IM2, Cap2). At some point in there she was shot by the Winter Soldier (Cap2). She was one of the people behind putting together the Avengers Initiative, identifying Tony Stark as not qualified (IM2), and recruited into the team herself (Avengers). She did not leave the Avengers teams for the next 11 years; she was on the first iteration (lasting through Age of Ultron), the second (Age of Ultron through Civil War), and then the Secret Avengers (which we can now assume starts post-BW through Infinity War) and Avengers 3.0 (five-year gap team), as well as the Quantum Realm Team-Up Team right up til she got yeeted off Vormir.

We’ll set Secret Avengers and Team 3.0 aside for the moment, as they’re things that will exist post-BW movie canon.

Natasha’s narrative role has often been to be so amazing that when she’s bested, we know the other person is really good. The best way for me to pull this together into a coherent throughline is that Natasha tends to be bested by people with passion and emotional stakes. When Natasha is just doing her job, but Pepper cares about Tony or the Dora Milaje care about T’Challa, she is outmatched. In Cap2, when Natasha cares deeply about SHIELD and who she’s loyal to, she is able to outmatch everyone she faces, but since she’s a secondary character and her act isn’t as highly visible on screen, her heroism isn’t as spotlighted.

(That said, make no mistake, WE WILL BE COMING BACK TO HER HEROIC MOVE IN THIS MOVIE.)

Her role has also been, as I mentioned earlier, to be a mirror to the white male heroes. She mirrors Tony in IM2, Clint in Avengers, Steve in Cap2, and Bruce in Ultron. I can make a strong argument, that I feel is supported by each text, that each of these mirrors is about moderation, and both the white man of choice and Natasha finding that the ideal is somewhere between both points: the space between how and why Tony and Natasha handle secrecy; between how Clint and Natasha handle guilt; between how Steve and Natasha handle trust; between how Bruce and Natasha handle self-hatred. That the writers and directors often disagree with my read of this does not, in any way, dissuade me from believing it, but it does mean that this may not be the arc we’re looking at in the movie.

By the arcs that I’ve traced, though, they have a fair amount of leeway to give a satisfying conclusion no matter what the plot is. By having other characters mirroring Natasha, she is centered in a way she never had been, and simply being the protagonist of her own story is part of Natasha’s journey we haven’t seen. We know that this is going to in some way revisit the Red Room, and that means that we’ll get to see a story where Natasha is passionate about and personally connected to what she’s fighting. We also know that whatever the story is, it will not be Natasha mediating someone else’s approach to the world, but Natasha’s approach to the world with someone else (I’m guessing Yelena?) mediating her worldview, in a way that gives Natasha growth but does not undercut her as someone who had so much to learn from the REAL hero.

All plot to the side, simply because Natasha is the protagonist, there is an element of satisfaction inherent, both textually and metatextually, because Natasha’s role of being sidelined is both within the text and within the media landscape a struggle she’s finally able to overcome. There is also a metatextual satisfaction just in cleaning up the bits and pieces of canon that we’ve gotten that were left hanging. For example, in her heroic climax in Winter Soldier, Natasha- who was so focused on being able to transform into whatever was necessary- released a fuck-ton of national security information on the internet, including her own history, that made her both immutable and knowable. (Do you ever think about how this means that people living within the MCU know more about Natasha’s background than we, the audience, does? Because I do, c o n s t a n t l y.) Natasha went from working undercover and in the shadows to being an Avenger and releasing not just her own and not just SHIELD’s but also the Red Room’s dirty laundry in public, and that has never had narrative consequences; this is a great opportunity to use that, closing a loop that most people probably forgot even existed.

Speaking of closure.

I think this movie HAD to be designed with that specifically in mind. I don’t think they necessarily expected the backlash they got from Natasha’s death (I’m going to be honest here; I didn’t expect it from anyone but Natasha fans), but at least they had to know that people who had been promised Natasha would get her due in canon would be frustrated and want some sign that the complexity of the character that had been talked up for a decade was actually part of the story they put on film. Marvel wants to placate fans, yes, but they wouldn’t waste millions upon millions of dollars on a movie to get us to shut up; their job is to bring in money, and it’s not like they haven’t gotten ten years’ worth from us. They’re also savvy enough to know that for a character who’s no longer alive in canon, they need to do things that make their story relevant even without them having future appearances- and I think we’ll see that in Yelena and Taskmaster- but also to make this story have stakes.

Yeah, we never spend a Marvel movie saying “Oh geez, what if the hero dies?” (well, aside from Civil War, because comics oontext), but right now we’re going in knowing (or, bare minimum, thinking we know) exactly what happens to Natasha. Where she’ll end up just under two years from when the story starts is set in stone (NO PUN INTENDED). So we need another way to give the story stakes. Natasha’s life and her future aren’t up in the air. Her past is, I guess, but they’ve been clear this movie isn’t about her past. And where that leaves us is the emotional journey. I outlined above what I think that is, but it doesn’t have to be that to be satisfying- it just has to be some way to leave Natasha changed in a way that surprises us as audience.

And, sure, that could be loss- that could be betrayal from everyone in this movie, leaving her alone and with no one to turn to but the Avengers- but I don’t think that is. I think that’s looking at Natasha’s story like she’s still a secondary character, rather than the protagonist. The basic structure of a superhero movie (and specifically a Marvel movie) is that the protagonist suffers defeat but ultimately triumphs, internally if not externally, having learned something that takes them farther on their emotional journey. Since (as far as we )know this is the only movie Nat’s getting- she’s not getting a trilogy or a Dis+ show- this needs to take her farther than most single-protagonist movies have.

In terms of another kind of closure: If the movie doesn’t offer at least a hint of a way Nat could come back (and I’m still hoping for that no matter how unlikely it is, and if it doesn’t happen I’m hoping for it in the Dr Strange sequel, and after that I’m sure I’ll find another path), I think there’s an excellent chance the post-credits scene will be a funeral for her. Given that they have SebStan and Mackie and Emily Van Camp shooting together right now, it would be very easy to at the VERY least get us a scene of them mourning her. It’s not the same as Tony’s giant lakehouse memorial, but it’s about half the characters who were close to her when she was alive (the others being Clint, Maria, and Fury, and I’m pretty sure they could have put an hour of time on the FFH set to the latter two having five seconds of looking solemn). I think that, given the backlash to Endgame, they need something like this: we need to see, on screen, conclusive proof that Natasha’s life mattered, not just for the audience, but for the world she lived in.

My dream would be for the entire movie to use a frame story OF her funeral- people talking about her, different memories and different understandings, that combine in different ways to collectively show a whole. Fucking Rashomon that shit. But we all know they’re not going to do that.

I recognize I am still talking satisfying and not happy.

But what exactly is happy? What exactly is the happy ending Natasha might want?

She’s not a character who wants to retire or settle down somewhere. As much as we in the audience talk about wanting her to get a break, we’ve never seen that from her, and we also don’t see a world that could really offer that to her; especially post-Cap2, Natasha does not have the luxury of escaping her past even if she did want to.

We don’t know her goals. We don’t know what she wanted outside of making amends for her past. We’ve gotten that from almost every other character- say what you want about Steve’s Endgame ending (god knows I have), or about Bruce being a public figure that kids love, but at least there was groundwork laid for it.

i think the best argument we have for what makes Natasha happy is in Civil War, when it’s taken away. Natasha is willing to give up things that are important to her (her autonomy) in favor of not losing her team; being together is the priority for her. By the end of Civil War, she’s lost even that; she’s seen to have betrayed her entire team and has no one. By IW we know that she re-finds her group, that she and Steve and Sam and Wanda are a tightly-knit unit, but we have to piece it together ourselves, and we have no way to know that it’s by choice rather than necessity. (The BW trailer is really the first time we get evidence that Natasha has more resources than just the Avengers or SHIELD; even fic has tended to just posit she has empty safehouses, not living people she can go to.) The BW movie could give her that team, and retroactively make her appearance in IW a reward for her- having found the team she wanted- rather than just the natural place for her to end up.

But I can’t see how that would even work without at least some of Chris Evans, Anthony Mackie, and Elizabeth Olsen appearing in this movie and showing on screen that Natasha has her people. We haven’t seen evidence they aren’t, but at least I haven’t heard any rumors they are, the way we’ve heard rumors about RDJ.

And there’s something awful, to me, in Natasha constantly being supporting in other people’s movies, which exist to seem self-contained even if they’re not, but then in her movie her emotional fulfillment relying on things that happen elsewhere- the implication that her emotional arc can’t even support a single movie.

In terms of what we’ve seen achieved, Natasha seems happiest when she’s solving a problem, when she’s fighting and winning and being the hero she doesn’t quite believe she is. But that’s not something that can be an end to an arc, of a decade or even of two hours. No matter how great that is, it’s a momentary thing, and it’s fleeting. That’s happiness but not narratively satisfying

This remains not an answer to the original questions.

I think part of the issue is, it’s not necessarily that we need Natasha to be happy, for her to have a happy ending. It’s that we, the audience, wants to be happy- and frankly, I don’t think that’s unreasonable; we’re not going to blockbusters to have our hearts torn out (and I think that after Endgame especially, Natasha fans are not ready or willing to do that again). And so we’re looking less at how Natasha can be happy, but how we can be happy. Selfishly, I’d even add: how we can be happy without doing the work. How we can be happy without conspiracy-theorizing our way to a satisfying narrative, but rather, a narrative that’s already on the screen, that we can just roll around in and enjoy.

I realize how bizarre this is to say after 3000+ words, but: I want the opportunity to be a lazy viewer. I want the chance to take things in without having to take responsibility for making them into something I want to see. I don’t want to have to reverse-engineer her story; I want to dig into the minutiae that is maybe actually intended.

On some level, that’s going to be the happy ending for me. Just having a whole text to dive into is a gift. (I am probably monkey-pawing myself just by saying this, which is the same kind of bullshit I argued for Age of Ultron- but then, I still can rewatch Ultron and find a lot that I like.) And Natasha getting a narrative win- which, as protagonist, she kind of has to- will be a happy ending for me.

But I’m a Natasha fan. This is expected.

What I think is the real question under all of this- what I’ve been struggling to tease out from my own feelings, and maybe now I’m finally getting to it- is a different question entirely: how can Marvel craft a story that sticks with their formula of giving a protagonist a win and something like a happy ending, while telling a story about a character who has been sidelined for ten years until they killed her off? Setting aside those of us who are overly invested in Natasha’s arc, what is the path to telling a story that the majority of the audience- most of whom haven’t traced her history, many of whom are casual fans, some of whom probably didn’t even see Endgame- finds fulfilling and happy?

The hero has to win, obviously. The hero has to triumph. Natasha has to come away having saved the world (stopping a villain from destruction), her world (protecting those close to her), and her internal world (some kind of emotional progress/catharsis). There will be moments intended for the audience to cheer. That’s a formula that you can find in nearly every superhero movie, and with good reason; I can’t think of why it wouldn’t apply here.

So looping back around, the question about the sad ending really is just for those of us who are deeply engaged. It’s not “will Natasha triumph?” because yes, she will- of course she will. We are going to get a movie where the world will be saved by Natasha (which has happened before) and the text will acknowledge that (which it really has not). The real question at hand is “will Natasha’s triumph be enough to mitigate the substantial losses she’s had in the other movies, or will it be bittersweet, her success here just underscoring the way that her biggest narrative win was to kill herself for no recognition?”

Which, of course, on some level, will vary from audience member to audience member. But I think that, with the awareness of how Endgame worked, and the knowledge of exactly when this movie is coming out, they have to at least try to give her- and us- this.

It’s now 5:15 AM and this is over 4000 words long and if you’ve read all this you deserve a medal. I’m happy to clarify or expand on anything in a few hours when I get up; I know that I circled a few points rather than clearly making them, but I’m no longer even completely sure what is common knowledge and what is me projecting. Hopefully this can at least start a conversation?

ETA: And anon, I am sure no matter what happens, fanfic will have our backs.

[helshades]

I'm about 79% sure Natasha will be back. I was sure they would kill her back before Endgame (when we were all doing our death pool), so Marvel could market her movie as "an homage", "the origins of the great Black Widow" or something like that. Now i'm actually convinced they will market it that way, only to reveal at the end that she has been resurrected all along. Either that, or she will be brought back and everybody will believe it, only until they find out she really was Veranke the Skrull.

What little we know of that film is this: it has just commenced production, as previously announced; Cate Shortland is directing it; Rachel Weisz and David Harbour have been cast in unconfirmed roles; Florence Pugh is playing the second lead, ‘a spy on the same skill level as Natasha Romanoff, but she won’t share her moral compass’ (in other words, she is playing Yelena Belova); O-T Fagbenle has been hired to play the villain, as production were looking for ‘a Black British actor to play the bad guy’; the working title in production is ‘Blue Bayou’; the film will not be rated R; and a few weeks ago, Sebastian Stan, in true Marvel marketing tradition, ‘let it slip’ that it will take place between the events of Civil War and Infinity War, back when Natasha was a world fugitive after blowing raspberries at the Sokovia Accords to follow Cap and go rogue.

Well. The main plot, at least. Very interestingly, Cate Shortland got famous and got awards for directing two excellent films about the Holocaust: 2012 Lore and 2017 Berlin Syndrome. The former follows the children of a high-ranking Nazi official who in the immediate aftermath of the war flee their home in Southern Germany to take refuge at their grandmother’s house in the Black Forest, meeting many different characters along the road and gradually learning to defy unjust authority. Black Syndrome, on the other hand, is a psychological thriller dealing with sequestration and survival as a young woman is taken hostage by her lover—the young woman is Australian, the young man is German, it takes place in Germany and one of the themes of the film is of course the Berlin Wall, as his own mother during the Cold War defected to the West.

Let’s say that Cate Shortland’s filmography does ring a few bells.

Sincerely, what Marvel seems to have in store, if executed at least correctly, does sound a little more promising than ‘Black Widow who had been a Skrull all that time appears to be alive in 2023 as if nothing happened and Tumblr can rejoice’. The fact remains that Natalia Ivanovna Romanova is a cipher and, more than a mere homage, the public of the M.C.U. may appreciate an exploration of her past that depict the way she became, not the Black Widow per se, but a veritable heroin…

Of course, that doesn’t exactly prevent Marvel from devising way to bring a Black Widow back to the present, if not our own, regretted Natasha; they could, for instance, pull an alternative version of the character from a different reality, say, from the reality where Steve Rogers has spent several decades after leaving Earth-616. Note that I am not saying they will, only that anything in possible in comics and comicbook movies, and that they could if they so would. That actually sounds more in tune with what they have been doing with the original Avengers who survived Phase Three, which is that they let the characters shed old hides and transform.

Phase Four, whether we are meant to call that way or not, will be heavy on the cosmic, it would seem, while the Earthly bits will be led by a growing Peter Parker. I assume, when the time comes to introduce the Fantastic Four, that Tony Stark’s place as mad, genius inventor will be taken by Reed Richards, although that is not happening anytime soon as Marvel’s film slate is already quite full with the upcomingBlack Widow, Black Panther 2, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3, Doctor Strange 2,Shang-Chi andThe Eternals. In which order, I don’t think we know, and we can only suppose more films are to come that may be inserted in-between these titles, and we have to surmise that at some point we will get at least a Fantastic Four movie if not a Doctor Doom one, and the mutants have yet to be introduced even as a concept to the M.C.U., not to mention I am painstakingly holding out for my Namor movie… Yeah. Black Widow and Spider-Man: Far From Home alike are Phase Three films. We’ll see, as always, but I really don’t think there will be a Black Widow 2.