#the adventures of young Indiana Jones

[totallynotagentphilcoulson]

[pedroam-bang]

Henry ‘Indiana’ Jones, Jr. as Corporal Henri Defense - The Adventures Of Young Indiana Jones (1992)

[dweemeister]

July 4, 2023

By Michael Kogge

(IndieWire) —Television archaeologists take note: you don’t need to dig deep into the medium’s origins to uncover a diamond in the rough. Treasures can be found in the recent past. And one of those treasures involves the greatest fictional archaeologist of them all, Indiana Jones.

On March 4, 1992, ABC premiered the two-hour movie pilot of “The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles” in its 8 p.m. slot to much fanfare. The show’s titular hero was a younger (and older) version of Harrison Ford’s blockbuster icon, who at 10, 17, and yes, 93, had his own set of primetime adventures. Since the series was the brainchild of filmmaker and franchise-builder George Lucas, outlets like USA Today, The Washington Post and The New York Times covered it extensively. Lucas wanted his “Chronicles” to do what movies couldn’t: tell one big story over 20 to 40 hours of programming. In today’s streaming landscape, that sounds perfectly conventional, yet in the era of 1990s’ network television, it was revolutionary.

Television archaeologists take note: you don’t need to dig deep into the medium’s origins to uncover a diamond in the rough. Treasures can be found in the recent past. And one of those treasures involves the greatest fictional archaeologist of them all, Indiana Jones.

On March 4, 1992, ABC premiered the two-hour movie pilot of “The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles” in its 8 p.m. slot to much fanfare. The show’s titular hero was a younger (and older) version of Harrison Ford’s blockbuster icon, who at 10, 17, and yes, 93, had his own set of primetime adventures. Since the series was the brainchild of filmmaker and franchise-builder George Lucas, outlets like USA Today, The Washington Post and The New York Times covered it extensively. Lucas wanted his “Chronicles” to do what movies couldn’t: tell one big story over 20 to 40 hours of programming. In today’s streaming landscape, that sounds perfectly conventional, yet in the era of 1990s’ network television, it was revolutionary.

Nonetheless, like so many highly anticipated shows, “Young Indiana Jones” failed to break into the cultural zeitgeist. ABC gave it a second season, out of goodwill to Lucas likely in hopes of future “Star Wars” material, yet the ratings couldn’t keep the show on the air. Over the years, the Chronicles occasionally surfaced on home video, but it’s never truly been given the due it’s deserved. Now that Disney+ has re-released the series along with the Indiana Jones feature films, viewers can watch Lucas’s grand vision of telling the history of the 20th century through the life of one man and make an assessment for themselves.

IndieWire recently spoke to the one actor who has spent more screentime in the role than even Harrison Ford: Sean Patrick Flanery, who played Indiana Jones during his formative years of 17 to 22 on the television series. Flanery relates how he nabbed the role, how the show continues to be one of the highlights of his career, and why it may have faded from the popular imagination.

[tomoleary]

Drew Struzan - The Adventures Of Young Indiana Jones: Treasure Of The Peacock's Eye (1996) VHS cover art

Source

[streamondemand]

'The Adventures of Young Indiana Jones' on Disney+

The Adventures of Young Indiana Jones (1992-1999) was a labor of love from producer George Lucas. Originally broadcast on ABC as The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles, each episode of hour-long weekly series took viewers on a globetrotting journey with young Indiana Jones and his parents, landing in historical hotspots and meeting legendary figures. Lucas himself wrote the stories for nearly half of…

[dazed-poltergeist]

Peggy, Kate, and Gloria when they all got up at the theatre's powder room after realizing that Indy was going out with another girl

Context: Indiana picked up three girls when he was in NYC and instead of choosing between them or dumping all three he started dating all three of them. Of course, he got caught when the girls saw each other wearing gifts they had gotten for Indy

[countesspetofi]

I had forgotten Ade Edmondson was in this, but I recognized him immediately because this character is so much like his portrayal of the Red Baron in Blackadder Goes Forth.

[magpieinthemountains]

so i’m watching indiana jones 3 again for shits & gigs & i can’t help but notice… young indy FULLY saw the treasure hunter’s outfit at the beginning of the movie & said i’m going to make this my personality for the rest of my life

and you know what, i absolutely get it

[indyflanery]

[juney-blues]

[sidonius5]

𝒪𝓀𝒶𝓎, ℐ'𝓂 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝑔𝑜𝓃𝓃𝒶 𝒷𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓈𝒶𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝑒𝓍𝓉 𝓂𝑜𝓋𝒾𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝒷𝓊𝓉 ℐ 𝒽𝑜𝓃𝑒��𝓉𝓁𝓎 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒. 𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐦 (1984) 𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝒻𝒶𝓋𝑜𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝓂𝑜𝓋𝒾𝑒 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑜𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝓎 𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓂𝑜𝓋𝒾𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉. 𝗗𝗿. 𝗝𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘀 𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝒶𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝑒𝑒𝒹𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓇𝒸𝒽𝑒𝑜𝓁𝑜𝑔𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓁 𝓉𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒𝓈 𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒶 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑜𝓃. 𝒯𝒶𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝐒𝐡𝐫𝐢 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐚 𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝑒𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒, 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐢 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝗜𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗮𝗻𝗮 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓃𝓉 𝒶 𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓇𝒾𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝑔𝒶𝓃𝑔 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝑜𝓈𝓈 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝒶𝓈 𝗟𝗮𝗼 𝗖𝗵𝗲. 𝗗𝗿. 𝗝𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘀 𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒸𝓊𝓉𝑒 𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓀𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝗦𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗥𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝒶𝓀𝒶 𝐊𝐞 𝐇𝐮𝐲 𝐐𝐮𝐚𝐧 𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎'𝓋𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓈𝑒𝒶𝓇𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓊𝓃𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓃𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓎 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝑔𝑜 𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓃 𝑒𝓍𝓉𝓇𝒶 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃, 𝗪𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗲 𝗦𝗰𝗼𝘁𝘁 𝓌𝒽�� 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝓁𝓊𝒷 𝓈𝒾���𝑔𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐢 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒸𝓁𝓊𝒷. ℐ 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒𝒹 𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝒶𝓈 𝗪𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗲 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝒽𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 ℐ 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒𝒹 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝒹𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒶𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓋𝒾𝑒. 𝒜𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑜𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝓎 ℐ 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝐓𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝒾𝓈 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒾𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝓈𝒸𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝒾𝓁𝓂 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝓈𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓎/𝒶𝓌𝑒𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒. 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 ℐ 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒹 𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔, ℐ 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒶𝓂𝒶𝓏𝑒𝒹. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃, 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒶𝓁 𝑒𝒻𝒻𝑒𝒸𝓉𝓈, 𝑔𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒷𝓊𝑔𝓈 (𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒽𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒹) 𝓅𝓁𝓊𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒾𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝓅𝑒𝑜𝓅𝓁𝑒. 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 ℐ 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝓇𝑜𝒹𝓊𝒸𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 ℐ𝓃𝒹𝒾𝒶𝓃 𝒸𝓊𝓁𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒, ℐ 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒶 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁 𝓇𝑒𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝒻 ℐ𝓃𝒹𝒾𝒶 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝑜𝓅𝓁𝑒 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹𝓈 𝑒𝓎𝑒, ℐ 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒾𝓉 𝒶𝓈 𝑔𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉 𝑒𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓎 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓉𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝙎𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙖𝙧𝙖 𝙎𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨. ℐ𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓎𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒢𝑜𝒹 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐚 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝗠𝗼𝗹𝗮 𝗥𝗮𝗺 (𝐀𝐦𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐢) 𝒹𝒾𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝒾𝓁𝓂, 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝓅𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓈𝒽𝑒𝒹 𝒷𝓎 𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝒻𝒾𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝒶𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝒶𝓎𝒷𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓈𝑒. 𝒮𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒶 𝒻𝓊𝓃 𝒻𝒾𝓁𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 ℐ'𝓁𝓁 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝓉𝒾𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓌𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔.

[totallynotagentphilcoulson]

Okay I get that the “The Adventures of Young Indiana Jones” cut never got an actual TV rating in the US either on the initial VHS releases and then later because of the like 90 documentaries they made for the DVD set they also didn’t bother with it but god damn Disney+ I don’t think a show with a TV-G rating in the early 90s deserves a higher age rating than the fuckin movies it’s a spin-off. Like, I think for practical purposes when History Channel had the broadcast rights in 2007-2008 to promote KotCS they slapped a TV-14 rating in for practical purposes why on earth wouldn’t you go with that Disney?

Is it because of the Mata Hari episode? I bet it’s because of the Mata Hari episode.

[pedroam-bang]

Henry ‘Indiana’ Jones, Jr. as Captain Henri Defense - The Adventures Of Young Indiana Jones: Attack Of The Hawkmen (1995)

[guillotineman]

Steven Spielberg, River Phoenix, Harrison Ford and George Lucas on the set of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989).

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

Character: Indiana Jones

Warnings/Important info: Fem reader, implied English or at least has been to Oxford University. Angsty, miscommunication.

Notes: I watched Indiana Jones the other day and obviously my first crush never leaves because young Harrison Ford as an archaeologist adventurer is just *chefs kisses*

It's bizarre really, potentially concerning, worrying to a degree, that after 5 years you know the back of his head from a glance. Suffice to say you try not to draw attention to yourself when you recognise who stands mere meters away from you talking to two of his students about antiquarianism.

Maybe you should have expected it, after all Henry Jones seemed to have a way of haunting you. Maybe you should have been prepared to see him, despite assuming that the United States was so vast that your move from the University of Oxford to Marshall College as a newly qualified Doctor of History would certainly not guarantee seeing him. Perhaps, it was the Moirai, the fates, trying to test your resolve or simply coincidence.

But, after five years without a single letter, a single telephone call or telegram, you certainly weren't keen to stick around and have a conversation with the man. Besides, you had lectures to teach, students to help, papers to grade (okay, maybe not the last one considering it was in fact the very first day of the academic year).

It is with a sharp back peddle that has you careering into a pair of students behind you with a clipped apology that you make your daring escape and it is a surprised call of your given name that has you freezing, turning about face and responding with a strangled "It's actually Dr. Y/L/N now."

"What? I'm not allowed to call you by your name anymore? Guess you've already recinded the right to call you Honey Bee too." There are students stopping to watch, what feels like the entire student body eager to watch the new History professor and the most loved Archaeology professor at each other's throats. A mystery arising from their familiarity and a curiosity at what history lay between the two. You certainly weren't eager to put on a show.

With a flick of the wrist you smooth down your skirt, turning on your heels and walk away calling out to him, "It was a pleasure to see you again, Dr Jones." It leaves Indiana gaping in the centre of the quad, watching the sway of your hips and the click of your shoes on the pavement as you leave him behind.

You choose to ignore the bubble of anxiety it puts in the pit of your stomach all day. Your lectures help to distract you at least somewhat from the reality that your former...you're not even sure what to call him...something, is present and working at the same university as you and you briefly wonder if it isn't too late to go back to your job at Oxford. You're sure Professor Haylett would let you come back, you might need to grovel a bit but...perhaps that was preferable to the potential mess that was being in close proximity to Henry again.

The last time you'd see each other, he'd been a 27 year old Archaeology professor. Young, dashing, charming, with every student at the University of London eager to please him and hoping the American would give them extra attention. You had been a 23 year old History PhD student, one of the few women allowed to do so, after much hard graft and determination. You had refused to let anything or anyone distract you from your studies, from your goal...and then you'd been told that he could help you with your PhD, that he had some specific knowledge on the Battle of Syracuse that you could use and...you'd found yourself suitably distracted. You would be being bitter and unfair if you didn't admit that in the year you'd known him he'd helped you with your thesis immensely...but he'd also put your reptuation at risk, broken your heart and made promises that he never would fulfil. Your mother was right...romance was certainly a tricky business.

You're so frazzled at the end of the day that you don't even recognise that your office has the lights on, if you had, you would have stopped before entering, instead you bulldozer your way in and stumble at the sight of him sat in a chair waiting paitently as if he wasn't phased one bit by your reappearance in his life.

"So, Honey Bee, you gonna tell me why I get such a frosty reception?"

"Yo-The absolute...I cannot...ugh!" You find yourself unable to stutter out a complete sentence as you slam the door shut, it reverberating on its hinges. "You have some nerve, Henry Jones! As if you don't bloody know!" You storm around him, putting the hard wood desk between the two of you and shuffling papers to keep from looking at him knowing he'd melt your anger in a second just with a smile.

He always had the most ridiculous ability to placate you and you wanted to feel angry today, not soothed like a skittish horse or malcontent cat.

"Sweetheart, if I knew I wouldn't have asked!" It's the silky smoothness giving away to frustration that causes you to look up, your bottom lip shuddering under the weight of the sadness that sits in your chest, old feelings that you thought you'd processed and put to bed coming to the surface.

"You promised..." He's silent, confusion deepening as you take a deep breath and begin to pace back and forth behind your desk, agitation growing with each movement. "You promised to write me, to call or send a telegram and you never did. I...I waited to hear from you and I heard nothing. So I am dreadfully sorry, Henry, if I do not feel particularly like pleasentries or intimiate nicknames in front of an entire cohort of students! I have had to earn my place and I am still fighting for respect and no man, one who doesn't even honor his promises, is going to ruin this for me!"

You are breathing heavily, body warm, shoulders rising and falling with every agitated movement of your lungs as he looks down at his lap. Silence falls between you for so long that you turn to look out the window of your office, at the street lamps with their warm glow, the last few students wandering across campus as evening sets in.

"I did...I wrote you." His voice is low, quiet, the sort of quiet that Henry Jones never was, so quiet in fact that you turn to check he actually spoke.

"I wrote every day for three months...half of it was stupid, five lines about my day or a single sentence to say hello. I wrote for three months, sweetheart."

"Three months?"

"Three."

"But, I never...how...if you wrote for three months then how on earth did I not receive a single one!" You're unsure if you believe him, at the same time you never knew Henry to be a liar and it...it boggles your mind. There's an impending sense of your world teetering on it's axis, emotional whiplash as you feel a soaring sense of hope, yet a feeling of disbelief, fear, all rolled into one.

"I don't know, honey, but I wrote for three months to 21 Hanover Street and you never wrote me back so I assumed...I assumed you'd moved on, found yourself a nice, sensible husband and gotten married!" There's an anger that you'd never noticed til now, a sense that he'd been hurt to, that he'd felt like you'd abandoned him. So far removed from the debonair, rakish persona he so often displayed.

"21 Hanover Street? You wrote to 21 Hanover Street?"

"Yes, goddamn it!"

"Henry...I lived at 12 Hanover Street."

"What?"

"I lived at number 12, one two, not two one. 12!" It is so absolutely absurd that you can't help but start laugh rather hysterically. That you felt abanonded all these years, angry, resentful, heartbroken and he'd simply gotten the wrong house number, a stupid, ridiculous mistake that had broken your heart into pieces, only to reforge it again.

"You're telling me that for three months I was writing to the wrong address...?" Henry is out of his chair, rounding the table and closing the distance between you so fast that it makes your head spin...or perhaps that is the effect of the emotional journey you're currently experiencing.

"I'm afraid so..."

"Goddamn it...well, shit, honey..." There's a pregnant pause as your eyes scan his profile, the frustrated set of his brow, the clench of his jaw, the familiar bend of his nose. He's not changed, not really. He's older, more lines around his eyes than last you remember, and a few more grey hairs, but then you're older too. Your first grey hairs finally settling in, the soft baby fat of your face having melted away somewhat over the years. But, he's still Henry and you're still the busy Honey Bee he used to chase around the library to the chagrin of the librarian. Things haven't really changed, you realise. With the removal of the one point of hurt between you, you can acknowledge that you still love him without the weight of anger or heartbreak pushing it down.

"Henry?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"Kiss me." It makes you laugh against his mouth how quickly he follows your request, the scrape of his stubble against your skin an old, familiar sensation that you'd all but forgot. It was like coming home, so familiar that it sent a sharp stabbing sense of yearning into your chest even as his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you to him.

The woodsy smell of his cologne surrounds you, the familiar tweed of his suit jacket scratches your arms, the soft strands of his hair through your fingers, the press of his nose against your cheek. It's like there hasn't been five years since you last kissed, like you hadn't been so angry with him up until five minutes ago that it hurt.

God, and to think, you'd nearly gone your entire life thinking he'd never cared. All because he'd mixed up two simple numbers.

[inknopewetrust]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 [𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮] [𝒔𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒌]

summary: the colors of life change with time, but the music that narrates it lives on forever in one, standstill moment of the 1990s where success and passion came tumbling down. Years later, the story is declassified.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: minors dni (18+), this is based off of fleetwood mac/daisy jones and the six so imagine mid-80s and 90s rock scene, language, lil bit a spice, a whole lotta angst, enemies to lovers to enemies to…

In a world where words meant so much, it was difficult to find them at a time where they were needed.

The cool wire weaved against your skin. Its path crawling like a snake of retrospection from the bottom of your chair to your chest. There was a pebble of sweat threatening to spill from the top of your hairline in the hot California sun which made you think:

"Why the fuck did I ever move out of Indiana?"

But if you closed your eyes, you could recall why. A sickening, thunderous roar of the crowd–you could still hear it now. Somewhere, thumping in the back of your mind as their chants filled a space that breathed a new life within you as the another was dying.

An echo chamber of the taste of metal against lips; the white knuckle grip that still threatened to slip from your grasp.

The woman who sat across from you had a plastic smile on her lips. For her, it was nothing more than a job. An exploitive adventure where you'd be sticking headlines and messages across platforms for weeks to come because of this tell-all documentary.

"When did you know?"

Against cynicism the inevitable hardness of the culture you had immersed yourself in at one time had risen again and the attitude that rose promised a truthful reflection of your experience.

On the floor beside the mics battery pack, a half smoked carton of cigarettes met a glazed palm and the woman watched as a perfectly rolled stick land between two mauve lips. As the flame sparked, your eyes darted to hers.

"Know what?" you muttered between the smoke.

“When it was finally over?”

You could feel the breath being sucked out of your soul. The shudder radiating like a shutter letting rain inside of the home in the canyon; kissing the very center of a heartbeat that stopped at the sight of a pair of eyes, shoes peaking through a doorway.

The cigarette burned between your fingers. Ticking away like a bomb with scorching red embers fighting its casing.

“The Album was the best and worst thing to ever happen to any of us… that sounds ridiculous,” you scoffed, shaking your head and the woman quirked her head.

“It sounds ridiculous that something so magical, something so brilliant, can make those who built it feel small. It put us in a fishbowl and it took every last drop from our cup before it dried up and cracked under the heat… that's when I knew it was over."

She shifted in her seat, readjusting the papers to organize her thoughts. You imagined there was no sounder way of stating it. It was the truth, frank, and to the point but something the rest of them negated to realize or speak into words.

But she shook her head. “Yes, the band… but what of the relationships?”

“None of us had known about Steve and Nancy, Robin and Vickie had barely interacted until their writing began and by the end… well you can read plenty of articles about the end of it all.”

You drew from the cigarette again. Smoke filling the air around you like a mist; the woman kept digging.

“And Eddie and yourself?”

“Well…”

That heart-skipping beat never left. Laurel Canyon was so far away, the studio was a memory, and the stage was a phantom piece of your imagination yet the simple mention of a name so far removed was enough to make time stand still.

Somewhere, a young woman frozen and left wondering the "what if" of a life not shrouded by fanatics and the thrumming of a guitar. Somewhere, lost in the violence of a summer and the shattered glass of a heart left on a stoop, that girl remained inside.

“It was always complicated.”

“So,” she shrugged at you as if the conversation was nothing more than such. It wasn’t as though she was here to get all the details of every part of a life that had already played out in public if people had only been paying attention.

It wasn’t as though she was cracking open a mountain full of jeweled memories that had crystalized themselves in the past.

“When did it all go wrong?”

Feeling the sting of the camera focus on your face, there were two responses to this question that many had already answered before you:

"When did it all go wrong?" You lamented to yourself.

When did you know it was over? When did it all go wrong?

The woman's eyes glistened in excitement. Her story was unraveling before her. You took a drag again.

Fuck. You thought to yourself.

And the film began to play.

A/n: I'm excited to get back in the writing game - especially with Eddie. Let me know your early thoughts! Yay, nay, slay?