#〉 SERIES IX ₎ when it is dark enough you can see the stars.

[yes7erdays]

❛⠀ i thought you had to invite a demon into your home. or was that a vampire? i always get those soulless creatures mixed up, ⠀ ❜ ⠀clara says, cruel tone scalding with sarcasm. the doctor might have a soft heart; filled with nostalgia for a day gone-by, the demon sprawled on her leather couch the only vestige of his home, but she had none of his weakness. ❛⠀ he is not here. so why don't you scurry off and go play your games somewhere far, far away. ⠀ ❜ ⠀

@earthinheritd ( starter call )

#earthinheritd #earthinheritd ( missy ) #interactions. #〉 series ix ₎ when it is dark enough you can see the stars.

[not-neverland06]

How About a Nuke?

Part VII / Part VIII / Part IX

Series Masterlist

The ghoul x fem!reader A/N: PLEASE READ, this will be one of my darker chapters. I’m really sick right now, I have a bad fever, and when I’m sick I tend to write darker things. I’m not sure why, just keep that in mind while you read. Summary: You wake up alone surrounded by people with strange smiles and empty gazes. You’ve been left behind and you don’t know if you’ll be able to make it out of the compound alive.

You shift on the thin fabric of the cot and rub at your eyes. They’re crusted over with evidence that you’ve been sleeping for a lot longer than you meant to. You shoot up in the bed, panic flaring in you, and look around the room. He isn’t here, neither is his bag. The chair he’d been sitting in is still at the side of your bed, but no other evidence of him having been here. 

You throw your legs over the side of the cot and rip the IV out of your arm. You press your thumb down over the bubble of blood and walk towards the doorway of the room. The lights are out in the compound. You can tell from the window in the hall that it's night now, dim candles are lit along the hallway but there’s no other light. 

“Cooper?” You whisper, afraid to wake whoever lives on this floor. You look down each end of the hallway but you don’t see his silhouette or hear his spurs coming towards you. You can feel yourself starting to freak out the longer you stand alone in the dark hallway. 

With only a thin gown on and no weapons to protect yourself, you duck back in the room and lock the door. You’re sure there’s a reasonable explanation for where he is. He promised he would be here when you woke up. Maybe they’d just given him a different room. 

Though, you’re still frightened, you let yourself fall back onto the cot. You’re still exhausted, despite how much sleep you’ve already gotten. This is the first time in a while that you’re clean, not sleeping under the stars, and you don’t have to worry about radroaches gnawing on you. You don’t have enough adrenaline to keep you upright and find yourself slipping back into a dreamless sleep. 

The doorknob rattles and you jump out of bed. Without much thought you rip the door open, assuming Cooper would be on the other side. Instead a woman with bright red hair and an eerie smile looms over you. She’s startling tall, taller than anyone you’d encountered so far in the Wastelands. 

You stumble back as she advances, two armed men flocking her. “Where’s Cooper?” You demand, eyes darting around to try and find something you can use against her. You’re woefully unarmed in the room. Besides throwing a chair at her you can’t find anything to defend yourself with. 

“Who?” She asks, moving to take a seat in the chair he’d been occupying. You keep yourself backed in the corner of the room. Your eyes dart between her and her men but they seem completely at ease, the pistols on their hips going ignored. 

You glare at her, “You know who. The man I came here with.”

“Oh,” she laughed, the sound made your hair stand on end. There was nothing outwardly wrong with this woman, nothing you could point out anyway. Maybe it was the unusual length of her smile, or the lack of anything real behind her eyes, but you felt deeply uncomfortable around her. “The ghoul,” the word rolled off her tongue with a clear distaste. She sighed and shook her head, standing back up. 

She turned towards the door and looked back at you. “Join me.” It clearly wasn’t a question, not with the way her guards grabbed you by the arms and shoved you forward. You stumbled, bare feet tripping on the uneven tiled floors. 

She made her way down the hall, not once looking back to make sure you followed. It was clearly assumed that you would just obey. Despite how much you didn’t want to, you figured you would have a better chance of living through the next hour if you didn’t test the men with guns. 

You kept one arm around your abdomen, the raw wound aching. It wasn’t burning or itching like yesterday, but your skin was so sensitive it felt as though your stomach might fall through the stitches. “Lights,” she started, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin at the abrupt noise. Your eyes kept darting around the hallway, like someone was going to jump you any second. 

“Running water,” she continued, “agriculture. We have a steady supply of Radaway, meds, food. We are very fortunate here at the compound.”

“I’m sure,” you muttered. You passed by a room and she came to a stop. You glanced through the window of the room, little kids surrounded by pregnant women stared up at a man teaching them something on a chalkboard. You moved a little closer and frowned when you saw the diagram of a man and woman’s anatomy on the board. 

These kids were barely walking and they were already learning about the birds and bees?

You glanced up at the giant woman and shuddered, she had a predatory look on her face while she looked at the babies. What backwards hellhole did Cooper drag you into?

“We’re much luckier than other surface dwellers, our children no longer have to worry about fighting to survive.” A woman rolled past you in a rusted wheelchair, her belly practically bursting through her white gown, three men flocked her, their eyes straying towards you. You glanced from her and back to the window of the room. 

Was every woman here pregnant?

Feeling like a rat trapped in a cage you looked up at the red haired woman with trepidation. “Where’s Cooper?”

She smiled, the corners of her lips stretching too far across her cheeks to look real. “You no longer need to concern yourself with him. Your keeper has given you to the compound.” She kept talking but you couldn’t hear anything past the high pitched ringing in your ears. 

The room seemed to spin and you found yourself leaning on the wall for support. 

Cooper left you. 

A heavy hand landed on your shoulder and you flinched. You fought the burning feeling building behind your eyes and glared up at the woman. “We’ll finish the tour later. You seem to still be feeling unwell.” She looked to the men behind her and nodded, “Take her back.”

You didn’t get a chance to argue before they’d looped their arms through yours and were dragging you back down the hallway. They didn’t throw you in the room like you’d expected. If anything they seemed to be treating you gently. 

They laid you in the cot, propping you against the pillows and leaving without another word. You sat there stunned for a long time. You stared up at the cracked ceiling, surprised you weren’t freaking out more. Maybe it was shock, or whatever drugs they’d given you were keeping you numb. 

The most likely reason, though, was that deep down you’d never fully let yourself trust Cooper. That was what he had been drilling in your head this whole damn time. No one was to be trusted, not even him. 

You couldn’t be mad at him because it was your own damn fault for getting stabbed. You should have just let it get him, would have saved you a whole heap of problems. You throw the blankets off and get up. 

You’re not just gonna sit here and wallow the whole time. You got yourself stuck here, you’d get yourself out. You approach the door, fully expecting them to have locked you inside, but it pulls open without a problem. They must really not think you’re a threat. Not like you could blame them, you’d been half dead when you were dragged here. 

You creep down the hallway, going the opposite way the woman had been leading you this time. You round the corner, slamming into a little girl and and a man. You jump back, heart in your throat, but they don’t do anything except give you a smile and continue on. 

You suppose there’s nothing to suspect about you. You’re dressed like everyone here, in a gauzy white nightgown that goes to your ankles. You don’t have any weapons on you. If you act natural, you’re sure you can just blend in. 

You pass by another windowed room and risk a peek. You immediately wish you hadn’t. The woman on the wheelchair from earlier is squatting on the floor, holding onto the arms of a man. Her face is red and her hair is plastered to her head. She lets out a loud groan and another man removes his arms from under her gown, something small and wrinkly in his hands. 

He carries the baby to a table, weighing it, cleaning its face off and then hands it to her. You turn away, debating whether or not you should keep watching or just move on. This is incredibly intimate, a mother holding her newborn for the first time. But something about this whole place is off, there’s a deep feeling of instinctual fear in your gut that is leaving you on edge. 

You can make out muffled conversation from the room and peer back in. She smiles at the man holding her and he nods. She leans down and presses a long kiss to her baby’s forehead. The man who’d been observing this whole ordeal with a blank face steps up. He presses a pillow to the side of her head and then a gun. You stumble away from the window just as he pulls the trigger. 

The sound is muffled by the pillow, but the baby still cries as its mother goes limp. One of the men catches her body before she can fall, passing the baby off. One of them leaves with the kid, the other two collect her body and carry her out behind him. You make a run for it before they can spot you, the image of her blood spraying across the floor permanently burned into your brain. 

You don’t even bother trying to come up with a reasonable excuse for what you just saw. There isn’t one, there’s nothing that could explain what you just witnessed away. And Cooper had given you to these people. 

You could feel the rage building in you now. 

He stared down at the fire, the only sounds were the distant noises of bugs and the crackling of the burning logs. He felt odd, unsure of how to put it. It was quiet, despite the noises of the forest, everything seemed still to him. 

He glanced across the fire, expecting to see her there, surprised to find himself a little upset when she wasn’t. It’s not like he could be blamed for missing the company. Being on his own for over two hundred years was hard enough. Being on his own after having her around seemed worse somehow. 

Loneliness was easier when you forgot what you were missing. 

He shifted around but no matter how he moved he couldn’t get comfortable. The discomfort wasn’t something physical, it was a restless feeling brewing under his skin. Poking and prodding him until it couldn’t be ignored. 

Leaving her had felt like a smart choice. It seemed like the right thing to do. The compound should be safe enough. Then again, all he really knew about it was that it was only slightly more civilized than the rest of the Wastelands. 

He sighed and leaned back against the old wreckage he had propped himself against. He wouldn’t have shelter tonight, it was rare to find any that wasn't overrun by radroaches out in the sands anyway. With the light from the fire he couldn’t see much. But he could make out the old billboard across from him. 

It was the one she’d always hated and he loved. She was in that skimpy astronaut suit riding a rocket with a Nuka-Cola in her hand. He’s constantly bombarded by his Vault Boy posters. Seeing her shouldn’t bother him. It’s not like it’s the first time he’s ever seen one of her ads out here, anyway. 

But it hurts him in a way it hadn’t before. Now he knew that she’d never left him, that she’d been screwed by the same company that ruined his life. He sighed and ran a hand over his rough cheeks. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he shouldn’t be considering this. 

He should just leave it be, leave her be. But he can’t. Once he’s got his teeth dug into something, it’s nearly impossible to let it go. 

You should have been paying better attention to where you were running, but all you could see was that woman’s lifeless body clutching her crying baby to her chest. You stumbled through a door, racing down the stairs until you were sure you were at the bottom floor. 

You burst through the door, wincing at the bright sunlight that shone down on you. You heard the sound of laughter and children’s voices as they screamed and ran past you. You jumped out of their way, watching as they chased each other. 

You glanced around, confused and disoriented, trying to figure out where you were. It must’ve been the back of the compound, beyond the different crops and gardens you couldn’t see anything but a radiated ocean. It was the same odd blue the lake Cooper had taken you to had been. 

Men in dirtied clothes were bent over different crops and vegetables, digging around in them and pulling out ripe foods. Some older children assisted them, holding tools of their own or carrying baskets of different crops. But you didn’t see any women among them. 

“Lost?” You whirled around on the man behind you, he raised his hands up with a startled expression on his face. “Sorry, sorry, I thought you heard me walk up.”

“Who are you?”

He held out his hand, an odd smile on his face. Everyone here had the same smile, nearly genuine but lacking just enough life to be. You looked at his hand and then back at him, making no move to take it. He was undeterred and just reached forward, yanking your hand into his and crushing your palm in too firm a grip. “Ben, good to meet you, Sylvie told me to come find you.” He seems oddly familiar, but you can’t place why.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out Sylvie was the red head who’d been showing you around earlier. With one glance at the gun on his hip you figured this was another demand. You peered over your shoulder at the children again, surprised to find them already staring at you. The boys grinned but the girls didn’t even blink as Ben showed you back through the door. 

You took in a shaking breath and ascended the stairs once more, feeling your freedom slipping further away from you. Ben kept a tight grip on your wrist the whole way up. ”I’m excited to get to know you.”

You shot him a distrusting look and tried, unsuccessfully, to once more get him to release you. “Why would we be doing that?” 

He stopped and you were forced to follow. Your eyes bounced around the empty hallway, feeling incredibly on edge with the way he invaded your space. He had the eerie smile again, eyes roaming slowly up and down your form. “You are to be my breeding partner after all.”

What. The. Fuck. 

“Ben!”

You didn’t think you’d be happy to see Sylvie again, but right now you were ridiculously grateful for her interference. He backs off and it’s only then you feel like you can breathe again. You rip your wrist out of his grasp, rubbing away the bruise that bloomed under his hand. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you when you walk away and it takes everything in you not to turn around for another glance at him. 

Sylvie holds a door open for you at the end of the hall and you duck inside, trying to calm your racing heart after that interaction. “I apologize for Ben, he’s a bit overeager. He lost his partner this morning and I did promise him you,” she laughs and steps inside.

It’s only as she passes by you that the light goes on in your head. He’d been one of the men in the room with the mother. He’d been holding her. 

Your fists dig into the white fabric of your gown and you have to swallow the bile building in your throat down. Your hands are shaking horribly and your eyes go fuzzy. Lack of any real food is starting to catch up with you as your adrenaline spikes and plummets again. 

You’re not sure your heart can take much more of living in the Wastelands. 

Sylvie sits down at a long table, plates piled with food enough for ten people before her. But there are only two chairs, one for her, and you assume the other is for you. “Please,” she motions to the chair across from her, “sit.” Her tone brokers no negotiation and you find yourself walking on shaking legs to the other chair. 

You throw yourself down in it, staring blankly down at the plate. “What happened to his partner?” You whisper, unable to bring yourself to speak any louder. 

“It is the cycle of life here at our compound.” You glance up at her in astonishment but she’s not paying attention, just digging into her food. “Our goal is to repopulate the earth. Bring back society as it should be.”

“And how should it be?” You interrupt, fully disgusted by the people surrounding you now. “Because what I saw was sickening. You slaughtered her like she was an animal.”

Sylvie’s fork slams against the table and you jump in surprise. “That’s what she was, is.” She sighs and shakes her head, “It’s hard for an outsider to understand.”

“Then explain,” you order, voice sharp. You’re not going to play games with this woman. You want answers and you want them now. But more importantly you want to know why he would leave you here. How could he?

“Our mission, requires sacrifice. When they are ready, the women here are assigned a breeding partner. They give birth until they can’t and then…” That sickening grin was back and you found yourself shrinking back into your chair. “They provide for us in other ways. Organ harvesting is a very lucrative trade, did you know?” You shake your head mutely. “It’s what provides us with the medicine that saved your life last night.”

“The men? Does anything happen to them?”

She shrugs, digging into her meal once more. “They can reproduce much longer than women can. And when they can’t we find use for them in the fields. When they die, their body is used keep our agriculture thriving.” The woman you watched die this morning couldn’t have been older than thirty. 

And the man guarding Sylvie could have been the same age as your father. 

Cooper had sold you to be bred and then harvested. Like you were cattle. You glanced up at the guards but they weren’t looking at you. Why would they? Women clearly weren’t more than animals here. You could never be a threat. 

You slipped the knife off the table and into your sleeve. “And the women are okay with this?”

She looked at you like you were crazy for wondering such a thing. “Of course, they know they’re serving a higher purpose than themselves.” You scoffed in disbelief. Not only was this a human farm where you were harvested like a cow, you found yourself in the middle of some fucked up new world cult. 

“Did-” your voice cracks and you find the words difficult to get out. “Did Cooper know about this?”

“He would have had to.” She puts her fork down and digs through her pockets. She throws the dog tags he’d been carrying around at you. You catch them, noticing the back of the chain looked oddly melted. “The bounty he brought me, it was one of our old trading partners. Occasionally, we do business with the Brotherhood. One of their squires, he took a liking to one of our girls. She was sickly, too sickly to bring any more children to term. The day she was meant to be harvested he took her and they ran.”

She sighed and shook her head, a dark expression coming over her face. “I don’t take kindly to thieves. I wanted the tags as proof of his death.”

You didn’t know who the Brotherhood was, but you figured it was just another cult you didn’t want to know about. You placed the tags back on the table and stared down at your plate. “Couldn’t they have just stolen the tags and lied?”

She laughed and shook her head. “When his knight branded him, there was an accident. You couldn’t get those tags without taking his head off first.”

“And the girl?”

She looked up at you, frowning, “What about her?”

“Is she dead?” You knew Cooper was a bad man, but the thought of him shooting some defenseless girl made you sick to your stomach. Who could blame her for wanting to get out of this place?

Sylvie shrugged, “I don’t know. I’m sure without her little savior she’ll die eventually. She wasn’t made for Wasteland life.” Sylvie wiped her mouth and stood up. She rounded the table, coming to stand behind you, her rough palm circled around your nape and you whimpered at the tight grip. “See, there are things a lot worse than death waiting for you out there, little lamb. So, I suggest you learn your place here and be grateful for the few good years you’ll have left.”

She releases you with a shove and your hand shoots out to brace yourself against the edge of the table. She stalks towards the door, “You’ll join Ben tomorrow night. You have one night to make your peace with your place here.” The door slams shut and you finally feel the tears come.

He hears the coughing before he sees the shack. The smell of a rotting corpse overwhelms him and he figures the girl never bothered to move the body. How she’s lasted this long with the smell and gasses, he has no idea. But she was sick to begin with, he’s sure she won’t be lasting much longer. 

He throws the rickety wooden door open and steps over the bloated corpse of the squire he’d collected his bounty from. Sure enough, as he’d been expecting, the girl is curled up in the corner of the shed. She’s skin and bones at this point, her coughing causing her whole body to shake with painful tremors. 

She peers out from between her arms and levels him with a glare. Her eyes are bloodshot, the whites of them now yellow. “You.”

He leans against the table in the middle of the room and nods, “Me.”

“What,” she coughs again and his face screws up at the blood that dribbles from her lips. “What do you want now? Here to finish the job?”

He shakes his head, pulling out a Stimpak and some ration bars. She eyes the supplies hungrily, a rabid desperation on her frail face. She reaches for them but he places them just out of her reach, a cruel look on his face. “Need some answers.”

“About what?”

“The place your little boyfriend stole you from. My friend’s there, I need to know why exactly you left.”

She laughs, the sound cruel and costing. She wipes more blood from her mouth, a vicious grin on her lips. “Sorry, but your friend is fucked.” She pauses and the shakes her head, “Or she’s getting fucked at least. Over. And over. And over again. They certainly don’t waste any time there.”

She reaches for a bar again but he glares and pulls them back. She sighs and slumps against the wall. “What,” he snaps, “are you talking about?”

“They harvest us. The chickens are treated better than we are. They used us to make their little soldiers, until we can’t push them out anymore. And then they harvest us for parts. My little brother was five when he was taken, he was sick like me. He just didn’t hide it as well. They make sure you’re useful to them, dead or alive.” 

He doesn’t waste anymore time with her. He tosses the supplies at her and runs back out of the shed. Maybe, maybe, he’d had some suspicions about them being less than kind. But it was the Wastelands, no one here was truly good. 

He never would have thought it was going to be this bad. He never would have left her there if he thought something like this would happen. 

That’s what that woman had been talking about when she said compensation. He was fucking selling her, like a prize pig. He had wasted too much time traveling here for the confirmation. He should have just followed his gut instinct and gone back. But he was too fucking stubborn to let himself. 

He didn’t want to think that he was panicking. He had at one point considered killing her himself. Hell, he’d shot the girl. Why would it bother him so much if someone else did it?

He’d lost too much. He wasn’t entirely sure he could lose her again.

Your palm is wrapped around the handle of the knife you’d taken when the door creaks open. You tense up but otherwise remain still. The sound of muddy boots squelches across the tiles. You stay hidden under the covers. The moonlight from the window is just bright enough to cast a shadow over whoever is sneaking into your room. 

You smell him before you feel him. The smell of earth and vegetables suffocating you just as rough hands wrap around your arm. “Hey-”

You shoot up, uncurling like a viper and slamming your hand into his throat before he can even try to shout. Ben’s eyes flare wide, terror consuming them before you twist the knife and rip it out. Arterial blood sprays across your face and he slumps to the floor, limp. 

You rush to close the door and turn back to him. He’s a big man, tall and buff with muscle, you strip off his work shirt and pants, figuring they’ll just have to work for now. You take his boots and stuff his socks into the tips so they’ll fit better. You grasp the pistol off his waist and tuck it into your belt. 

You go through all the drawers and cabinets of the room. You take any supplies you can find and toss them in a pillow case before unlocking the door and slipping back into the hallway. You don’t hear the telltale sounds of guards patrolling and figure you should be able to slip out through the stairs. 

You’re almost down the steps when you stop. Something in you won’t let you go any farther. Your mind jumps to Sylvie. How casually she’d discussed the slaughter of women over her lunch. How quick she was to turn you into cattle rather than view you as something human. 

That familiar rage you used to feel builds up in you. Your entire adult life you’d fought to be viewed as a real person. As someone who deserved the same care and respect everyone else got. And she, a woman, was so quick to tear that away from you. To perpetuate further suffering as long as she got to profit off of it. 

You back out of the stairwell and head down the hallway. You blindly walk the path you’d walked earlier to her quarters. You see that mother in your head, clutching her baby as she drew her last breath. And she’d known it was coming. Every girl here knew what was coming.

Little boys got to smile and laugh and play and the girls grew up knowing what their fate was going to be. And they were content with it. 

Two guards are stationed outside of Sylvie’s door. You shoot them both. You know the sounds will alert others. You don’t have much time left. You burst through the door of her room. Her lamp is on and she’s already waiting for you. Her gun is on her lap, and she’s smiling at you as you walk in. “You can still turn around-”

“I know my place,” you interrupt and she frowns. “I’m not letting pricks like you, who think they get a gun and rule the world, make decisions for me anymore.” She reaches for the revolver on her lap but you’re pulling the trigger faster. The bullet tears through her throat and she lurches forward. Her hands claw desperately at her neck, blood pouring between her fingers. 

You run forward, pulling the revolver from her lap and tuck it into the waistband of your pants. You make your way out the door and towards the stairs again. You can hear booted footsteps rushing towards you, nearly at the doorway just as you slam it closed. 

You manage to fly down one flight of stairs before the door’s crashing open and slamming into the wall. Shouts echo through the stairwell. Orders to shoot you are issued but you’re barreling through the gate of the compound before they can grab you. 

You look behind you, watching as all the guards search the grounds for you and you laugh. You nearly can’t believe it. That you made it out, that you finally stood up for yourself. For a moment in there you’d almost considered giving in and just letting it happen. 

Living in the Wastelands was hard, giving in would be so easy. Letting someone just make the decisions for you would be easy. But the base instinct of survival is a tough opponent to beat. You couldn’t let yourself give up and give in to another person who thought humans were just another form of compensation. 

You only have one last stop to make. 

He’d had to camp for the night before he could make it back to the compound. He hadn’t wanted to stop but he figured they’d paid him so well that they weren’t planning on just getting rid of her the first night. He’d go by tomorrow and take her back. How well that went was up to them. 

He stared into the fire and sighed. He felt like a fucking fool leaving her there. He should know better. But he’d been so desperate to just get rid of her it was easy to ignore all the signs telling him not to. He couldn’t handle her anymore. Couldn’t handle all the old emotions she drudged up around him. 

He couldn’t be what she wanted, what she needed. Deep down, maybe, the old Cooper was still in there. But he wasn’t willing to bring him back. Not for her, not for anybody. That didn’t mean he was just going to let her die, though.

He was squatted by the dying fire, eating some jerky, when he heard someone approaching. He didn’t get a chance to turn around before a shot was going off and his hat was flying off his head. It lands in the sand behind him and he turns, almost surprised to find her. 

She’s got a revolver in her hand, dried specks of blood on her cheeks. “You better pray you didn’t just put a hole in my hat, sweetheart.” She narrows her eyes at him and lowers the gun.

“You sold me.”

He stands up and raises his hands in a placating motion. She’s trigger happy, but he knows she isn’t gonna shoot him. If she was, she would have done it a long time ago. “In my defense, darling, I didn’t know they were a bunch of sickos.”

She scoffs, eyes wide with disbelief. “Really? So they didn’t pay you for me?”

He sucks on his teeth and frowns, “Well-”

“Just shut up!” She stares at him in astonishment, shaking her head and muttering something to herself. His eyes stay on the revolver in her hands as she waves it around wildly, trying to figure out the best way to get her to put it down. 

“I was on my way back for you, darling.”

She whirls around, the gun up and pointing at him again. “Yeah, like I’ll believe anything you’ll say to me right now.” She backs away from him and her fists clench around something dangling from her left hand. He finally notices the tags she’s holding now. The same one’s he’d given Sylvie. 

Just what the hell had she done to get out of there? He’s almost impressed by her sheer stubbornness to stay alive. 

“The girl, the one who was with your bounty, what happened to her?”

He shook his head, “Nothing. I left her where she was.” Her thumbs pulls the hammer of the revolver back and he laughs. He can’t stop himself from antagonizing her, taking a sick sort of satisfaction from the fact that he could push her as much as he wanted and she still wouldn’t pull the trigger. 

“She reminded me of you. Battered and bruised, used up and left behind. She couldn’t protect herself, couldn’t even drag her boyfriend’s corpse out of their little hut.”

Her eyes get glossy and he takes in the sight with a grin. She always had been pretty when she cried. “You are a bad person. And I knew that and still tried to find something good in you. But you are rotten to your core, there is nothing human left in you.”

His mouth settles into a firm line and he finds himself a little pissed off. “Now, darling-”

He doesn’t see it coming. Doesn’t even realize what’s happened until he’s flying back and hitting the ground. He doesn’t feel any pain, his adrenaline pumping so much all he can feel is the vibrations. The impact of the bullet carving it’s way through his chest as he lay there on the ground. 

She walks over to him, eyes empty as she stands over him and watches the blood pool out. “We’re done, Cooper.”

She leaves him on the ground, not looking back as he presses his hand to his wound in shock. He didn’t think she had it in her. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the game/show Fallout, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #fallout x reader #fallout tv series #how about a nuke? #cooper howard #the ghoul

[darkpurpledawn]

For @racketghost 's 13 Days of Halloween, prompt "witches"

It was darker than any place Aziraphale had seen on earth, darker than the caves inside mountains, than the sky without stars. Perhaps it was even darker than Hell, although someone who knew had once told Aziraphale there was nothing darker than Hell, that Hell was so impossibly dark that its very absence of light was transmuted into a kind of malevolent presence.

The same someone had also complained to Aziraphale that such deep darkness made Hell clash rather horribly with his entire wardrobe.

Aziraphale did not mind the dark, he was brightness enough for wherever he happened to find himself. But he was unnerved by the skittering of unseen creatures, the faint smell of death, and a distant ululation that could have been ecstasy or terror.

A flicker of light and the world returned in shapes and shadows. Up ahead a twisted tree reached from the ground like an arthritic hand. Something was glowing, something that looked awfully like the bubbling contents of a cauldron. Aziraphale could see the reflective eyes of a cat.

“What walks there, Grimalkin, who is’t approaches?” 

The voice was raspy and slurred, and it would have been utterly impossible to discern any words but for Aziraphale’s centuries of practice interpreting drunken hissing.

He allowed his wings to break forth and increased his own luminosity as he prepared for the standard angelic introduction. All things considered, he decided ‘be not afraid’ was probably not the phrase for this occasion. He wouldn’t want the witches to get the impression he was reassuring himself.

“Ahem. I’m terribly sorry to disturb what looks like quite a pleasant meal of soup, but I need to inform whoever resides here that you have once again been cited for reckless prophesying in the second degree.”

There was a noise that sounded like the unhappy marriage of growl and shriek. The cat winked one eye, then the other. Aziraphale fluttered his wings and tried to sound less nervous.

“Again, I’m frightfully sorry to be a bother, and I’ve only got a tiny bit of paperwork, just a single scroll to sign, and then you can get back to supper.”

Three shadows came forward and became the ugliest women Aziraphale had ever seen. It was not the ordinary sort of ugliness--though he was far more appreciative of earthly beauty than an angel ought to be, Aziraphale’s heart was as full of love for humble creatures as it was for striking ones. The faces of the three women were repellant in a true and terrifying sense, as though their ugliness was revenge for being seen at all.

“Erm, may I come in?” Aziraphale asked. 

“There’s room yet at the fire for thee.”

“By the stooped and stretching tree.”

“Wilt thou sit down? We’ve brewed the tea.”

They answered one after the other like singers in a round. Aziraphale brightened. He felt himself on firmer footing when there was tea involved.

“Fillet of a fenny snake?” a witch offered, holding a small plate with something shiny and scaled. “‘Tis freshly baked, ‘twas not an hour ago it slithered in the gloam.”

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said. “Erm, none for me, thank you. I’ve always found snake feels a bit odd down the throat.” 

For some reason his face felt hot. The witches paid him no mind.

One of them handed him a cup with a hand that was green and mottled. Tiny mushrooms grew from each fingernail.

“Oh thank you dear, how very kind,” Aziraphale said, taking the proffered cup. He’d expected rough stone or heavy, dented metal, but it was porcelain as fine as his own personal teapot.

He sipped politely at something that was like tea if tea were a viscous sludge.

“Speak, angel, but do not stay us from prophecy,” the tallest witch said, as spiders raced in and out of her hairline.

“We will not be commanded,” the second said, in a voice like the crackle of thunder.

“Thou knowest not which stars may fall,” said the third witch, ladling herself a warm cup of tea.

“Good ladies,” Aziraphale said, setting his cup in its saucer and assuming a stern expression. “I assure you I take no pleasure in these administrative niceties, but I’m afraid you have repeatedly contravened several divine statutes, and Heaven can only turn its other cheek so many times before the entire host is facing the same way we started.”

There was a soft mewling sound as the knobbly tabby cat leapt into the lap of the tall witch. No one spoke, but something that looked very much like fresh blood began dripping over the rim of the cauldron.

“Look here, I am not the sort of angel that can be frightened off by a bit of occult oddity,” Aziraphale said, indignant. “Why, I dined with a creature of Hell not a fortnight ago!”

The witches all turned their horrible heads and looked at each other. Aziraphale felt a tremor of faint panic. Perhaps he ought not to have said that. He was glad he had not mentioned how afterwards he’d split a bottle or two or three with the demon, how he’d glanced sidelong at those yellow eyes and wondered why they reminded him of starlight instead of sulfur.

“Speak plainly, spirit, what is thy request?” the witches said in unison.

Aziraphale sighed and pulled out a small sheet of parchment. 

“I need you to acknowledge receipt of this cease and desist letter. There have been multiple complaints that your prophecies have incited murder, usurpation, and the wanderings of unregistered ghosts, which is a violation of the Divination Decree, Section IX, Article V.” He paused and fiddled with the hem of his cloak. “Eventually there are fines for this sort of thing, you know.”

There must be, somewhere, after a nearly-infinite stretch of notes that grew gradually ruder.

The witches emitted what sounded like a vaguely-mirthful wet cough. One flicked a mushroom-tipped finger, and a series of sigils appeared on the paper in Aziraphale’s hand.

“Thy office done, thou mayst depart this place,” the witch with the cat on her lap said. 

Aziraphale stood up and set the cup and saucer on a flat stone.

“Thank you, much obliged.”

“But we have yet an augury for thee,” said the witch stirring the congealing tea.

Aziraphale stared at her hideous face, wanting and not wanting to know.

“We see how thy most secret heart inclines,” said another.

“Fair with foul, and foul with fair--”

“Heart of serpent, wing of crow, these fell desires thou wouldst know--”

“I think we’re done here,” Aziraphale said firmly. “Thank you very much for the tea.”

The witches laughed again, then the cat meowed three times, and they were gone.

#good omens #good omens fic #good omens ficlet #racket's 13 days of halloween #witches #flaming sword burn and cold cocoa bubble etc

[fabianocolucci]

Can we have one lighthearted and optimistic show or movie for once?

Hello, I am writing this post because I have read that the CW is making a TV show about the PowerPuff Girls, except they’re going to be depicted as “20-somethings who are disillusioned after having spent their childhood fighting crime”.

Reading that angered me, I have to admit it, because this is just the latest of a never ending series of shows and movies that try to take something that is supposed to be lighthearted, funny and optimistic and turn it into something dark and edgy about how much life sucks, trying to highlight that “we live in a society” and so on.

Riverdale is the example many people come up with most of the time, and I can see why: its shared universe (which includes The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina) is a textbook example of how Hollywood keeps handling these things. However, what many people fail to realize is that this trend has been going on since long before the CW took Archie Andrews and the others and tried to be as dark and edgy as they can.

When Batman Begins proved to be a huge hit, and it was followed by an even greater hit (The Dark Knight), Hollywood apparently thought that the reason of its success was that it tried to be darker and edgier. However, those things worked only because Christopher Nolan wanted to take a popular superhero and tried to depict him in a more realistic tone (after all, their movies may be even darker than what Batman is supposed to be, unless you take in consideration any Batman comic written by Frank Miller).

Since then, we’ve seen countless movies, games and shows that tried to be so dark they’ve become bleak and, honestly, even a bit bland.

On the superhero side, we’ve seen multiple depictions where, for instance, Superman has become evil and is now a force that needs to be stopped (they even made a movie about this being a possibility, as if it’s inevitable), while we’ve seen at least four live-action depictions of Batman being a killer hero who has lost his vision and hope (to the point where Batwoman casually mentioning how Batman has a no killing code was enough to make that world’s Batman a lighter version than what is the current trend). The Netflix shows about Marvel superheroes even made it look like the Avengers’ arrival caused nothing but problems for New York (admittedly, they kind of have to depict New York this way, otherwise it would feel weird how there’s so many superheroes in that city and yet crime is still a thing).

On the fantasy side, because of Game of Thrones’ success, now every fantasy TV show wants to emulate it, and as such we have bleak, humorless worlds where there’s a lot of darkness, with constant “mature” content like swearing and sex (The Witcher is a great show, but they could have toned it down a bit, in that context). It’s like even a genre whose name is literally “fantasy” can’t escape in trying to depict a more gritty and real world where everything always has to be dark.

On the science fiction side, well, we’ve seen the new Star Wars movie, which took the ending of Episode VI, which was full of optimism and hope, and basically said “nope, everything now is so dark and lonely”. I guess one of the reasons why you could pretend the sequel trilogy never happened is that, well, they end with a more positive note than whatever happened after episode IX.

On the TV side, there isn’t just Riverdale or the upcoming PowerPuff Girls show. The Winx Saga has taken away all the color of the cartoon (no, seriously: everything is so grey and soulless looking in the TV show that someone may have to tell you they’re supposed to be The Winx Club in live action). The Nancy Drew show now is a dark mystery more in line with Riverdale actually. Netflix is making an Avatar show and apparently they want to age up the characters “so that they can have sex” (which somewhat implies that there’s someone who looked at 12 year old Aang or 14 year old Katara and thought “I want to see them have sex”, which is so creepy and disturbing that I even regret pointing it out).

This would not be such a big deal if there wasn’t the fact that we’re talking about the vast majority of big movies and shows! Even something funny like Lost in Space has been turned into a dark remake.

Why is it so hard to find something in Hollywood that doesn’t try to be dark and depressing? Well, I think there are multiple reasons, which I’m going to point out:

·       There is this idea among writers that drama is the only thing that keeps the plot interesting. Characters need to have tragedies thrown at them all the time, they constantly have to fight and (usually) heavens forbid if they even try to lighten up a bit. This is, of course, wrong, as shown by how many fanfiction writers take characters who have a life made of day-by-day drama and depict them in quiet scenes like them making a meal for their beloved or just going to a vacation where they can relax. Just because depicting nothing but quiet and peaceful moments can become boring on the long run, doesn’t mean it can never happen;

·       Because we live in dark times, then everything has to be dark. It’s as if people can’t experience any sort of hopeful escapism when out there it seems like nothing but tragedies and negativity occurs outside of their windows. Illnesses, war, deaths, recessions and so on happen 24/7, so how can you showcase even a bit of positivity? Well, I have one question: what kind of escapism would constantly remind you of the very thing you are trying to temporarily escape from? If I want to forget about the World’s problems for an hour, then why on Earth are you making me think about them? Who decided that the best way of forgetting that life sucks is to have your story say “life sucks” all the time? I don’t understand;

·       Writers are probably influenced by the “loser culture” on the internet. I mean, wherever you go on social media, people seem to have a race to see who has the most miserable life. Many comic artist have their characters experience all sorts of problems and negativity, there’s a lot of memes about negative stuff (how many times have you seen a wholesome post with a reblog or a retweet adding something negative? For example, I don’t know, someone tweets “I asked my mom a puppy, she brought me five of them” and someone says “if I asked it to my mom, she’d bring five slaps to my butt”). Of course, if I, a writer, see that people can’t stop talking about how much their life suck, I would think “well, maybe that’s all they want to hear about” and make characters with miserable lives;

However, I have always noticed how there’s a medium who seems to not be easily affected by all this stuff: animation.

You want a fantasy show where everything is colorful and bright? There’s lots of cartoons for that.

You want to see superheroes doing their best to fight for the good of the World? There’s plenty of them in animation.

You want hope and positivity? Tune in on any station that airs cartoons and you will find it.

However, the problem is that this goes hand to hand with the old stigma that, well, “cartoons are for kids”, so it feels like movies and TV shows are saying “positivity and happiness are for children. Grow the hell up and see how dark and hopeless the World truly is!”.

Why is trying to be positive and optimistic something that can’t happen if you’re a mature person? Why is it so wrong to just want to see a bit of peace in these media?

I don’t know what else to say or to add, so it’s best if I finish my post right here. So, here’s my opinion:

Even though it is okay for you to tell me a story where nothing matters, where “we live in a society” and where you can’t have good things, it should be balanced with something. Have you ever seen the Yin Yang symbol? Why do you think it depicts darkness with a little bit of light? Because nothing can be completely dark. So, just try to add some good energy in your story. It won’t be an issue for anybody to just have one moment where everyone smiles.

#darker and edgier #dark and gritty #dark TV shows #edgy #positivity #why is everything so dark #optimism #Riverdale #PowerPuff Girls #PPG CW #CW #Game of Thrones #superheroes #happiness #hope

[callmeelle22]

Blue Dream IX

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Allen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 6, 258

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Say Yes

Chapter VII: Brave

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

Chapter IX: He Loves Me; Because she looks like a woman drowning in bliss, a woman draped in desire, the look of it hugging like a second skin. She looks like the way women might be described in romance novels, so satisfied she can’t think of anything other than being wrapped up in the man giving her the satisfaction. She looks like the woman in some fantasy or dream, ascending the clouds, spread out and open in an expanse of blue. She sings it in her head, you school me, give me things to think about; invite me, you ignite me, co-write me, you love me, you like me; incite me to chorus, at the same time that she sings out loud, “god, Bear, baby yes,” her eyes fluttering closed at only the very last minute. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter.)

He Loves Me

You love me especially different every time

You keep me on my feet happily excited

By your cologne, your hands, your smile, your intelligence

You woo me, you court me, you tease me, you please me

You school me, give me some things to think about

Ignite me, you invite me, you co-write me, you love me, you like me

You incite me to chorus, ooh

Oh

She tells him she loves him on a Friday night.

A week later, and it's the first night in a long while that she doesn’t get to stay at home because Barry has asked if he can have her time tonight. He doesn’t give her any details, only tells her to come over to his place around 8 and to be prepared to stay over. He seems particularly animated, when he asks, and it makes Iris wonder why, if he’s got something planned or if it’s just that he’s happy he gets to spend the time with her, even if they’ve been around each other more than usual this week.

So, the entire day, she’s dizzy with excitement.

Her taping of Good Morning, Central City is mid-morning. The segment tapes live at 9:30, which gives her some time to down a cup of coffee or two to settle her nerves, and then carefully apply her makeup. She dresses in one of her favorite dresses, a long sleeved wrap dress in black with soft, pretty flowers printed on it and a pair of shoes that boost her confidence, tall black pumps with a gold heel and gold double chains around the ankle. The neck of the dress dips and the delicate material flirts with her lower thighs; she feels pretty in it, in a lighter, brighter way than she’s found herself feeling before. Her makeup is subtle, except for the dark maroon lip, and she’s had her hair blown out and it hangs in soft fingered out curls just past her shoulders. A small black bag is all she takes to keep her keys and cards and then she’s out the door.

WCCTV, the station that houses the studio, is a short drive away, tucked into a neighborhood that Iris doesn’t frequent. She isn’t sure what she was expecting of the station, but it’s a squat little building in an unimaginative cream and brick scheme that would look like any other commercial building if not for WCCTV printed in large blue letters on the building and the satellite dishes spaced intentionally around it.

A news producer meets her at the door, a thin young woman with thick red hair piled into a high ponytail who introduces herself as Katherine.

“We’re all excited to have you here,” the woman says, smiling as she leads Iris through a number of desk cubicles towards a back room. She recognizes a couple of the anchors from the station, who all look either intensely focused on their work or bored out of their minds.

“Thanks,” Iris says politely. “It is a little overwhelming here, though.”

Iris doesn’t love speaking in front of people, which is why she's firmly on the invisible side of her work, but she isn’t as nervous and she figures she could be. There’s that feeling in her belly she connects with nerves, but it’s slight; instead, she’s ready. This can change the trajectory of her blog, invite more viewers and more paying ads. It could invite more stories, people who see her and trust that she wants to do right by them and their lives. She’s practically giddy with the idea.

Katherine’s response is an easy grin. “I know it seems that way, but you’ll be fine. You look fabulous so that’s one concern out of the way. Plus, Alexa and James are phenomenal at getting people to open up at the same time that they project a sort of calmness. It's fascinating to watch and I can tell you’ll be great.”

“Thanks, Katherine. I really appreciate that.”

Iris is led back to a small room where the two anchors for Good Morning, Central City are standing with four other local internet stars. Alexa May is tall and blonde and exactly like what one thinks about when they think of a news anchor: pretty and personable on a killer black skirt suit, though Iris is a little surprised at the naturally kind gleam in her eyes. James Broderick is even taller, his dark hair styled to look windswept, his ice blue eyes looking constantly around the room, as if he’s always wondering where a new story might be.

Iris steps in to greet the other four guests. They include a short Somalian woman in a beautiful bright purple hijab who cooks and shares recipes on YouTube; a stocky white guy known for his skits on TikTok; a dark-skinned Black Instagram beauty guru; and a non-binary Mexican person who discusses true crimes on Snapchat ala Buzzfeed Unsolved. It’s an eclectic collection of people and Iris feels honored to be a part of this group. She’s watched all of their videos in some fashion, though she’s more partial to Aya, the home chef, and Nadine, the beauty grammer. Still, they each have large followings and to be included gives Iris such a sense of pride, that she’s a little drunk with the force of it.

“You guys ready?” Alexa’s strong voice pulls all of their attention immediately, and Iris passes one more look through the crew of them before locking eyes with Alexa and James.

She nods her assent.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At 8, Iris pulls into Barry’s two-car driveway right next to his Jeep backed up into the drive as usual. The garage is open, though, and she takes that as an invitation to walk into the house, finding the kitchen door unlocked. She steps in and presses the button that closes the garage, locks the kitchen door behind her.

Her giddy mood has stuck with her.

The segment had been a quick fire round of questions and answers, with the hosts wanting to know how they all got started, what motivates them to do what they do, and the ups and downs of being in spaces of both influence and criticism. It’d been fascinating to hear the stories of the others, and afterward, they’d all exchanged contact information with the idea of collaborating on future projects.

After, she’d gone to lunch with her dad and Wally, who’d all but hinted at a watch party planned for the following night. She'd merely shaken her head at her family’s love of partying.

Now, she’s at Barry’s and she recognizes that tonight is going to be different. Because she knows that she’s going to say it. After the last part of her interview, where she’d all but explained to Alexa and James that she’d fallen in love with someone, she understands that there is no way that she can announce it on television and not tell the man himself.

It’s fairly dark in the house; there is a small light on above the stove. She continues through the quiet living room, a single table lamp lighting her path down his hallway. She pauses to pull her jacket off, tossing it over the arm of the sofa as she treks towards his room. That’s where she finds Barry, sitting in the large overstuffed chair in the corner near the window.

She takes a moment to look at him, in a pair of soft looking pajama pants and a simple white t-shirt, tattooed arm hooked behind his head as he sits wide-legged in the chair. His dark hair is only the slightest bit messy. Iris likes the look of the breadth of his shoulders, the bulge of his biceps, the print of his sex visible through the thin cotton of his pants. He’s not overtly sexy in the way that other men she’s dated have been, but there’s something about Barry, his eyes and his mouth and his length, that really gets to Iris.

She drags her eyes away from him and that’s when she suddenly notices the two gift-wrapped boxes sitting in the middle of his bed, the large bottle of wine and two glasses on his bedside table, a couple of pre-rolled joints sitting beside them too.

Iris steps further into the room, her heels heavy on his hardwood floors; the movement is enough to catch his attention and his head pops up, those sea-foam eyes glittering behind the wire frames of his glasses as he smiles up at her.

(And, Iris will realize later, her entire body floods with her affection for him, the feeling familiar in that the thought comes so much easier now, comes to her so smoothly that she doesn’t know how it’d once felt so difficult to get the words across.)

“Hey, beautiful,” he greets as he stands, unfolding his long frame from the chair. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s okay,” she smiles at him as he comes to a stop in front of her. She naturally reaches out to wrap her arms around him, tightening them around his waist. His touch is automatic too, his big hands landing on her neck, thumbs trailing softly across the skin on her cheeks. She falls against him, his firmness and his warmth and the soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He leans down and kisses her, a peck and then another, and then a longer one, his tongue easing out to coax her open. He pulls back first, though slowly, and Iris chases after him. He obliges with another kiss, this one longer, wetter, Iris squeezing him to her.

“Hi,” she speaks, voice a little faint.

“Hey, beautiful” he repeats. He thumbs at her bottom lip, the tip of his finger tracing gently over the line of her mouth.

“What’s all this?” she asks, when she pulls away from him this time. She gazes around the room again, at how the only lights on are the bedside lamps and at the weed and wine waiting on one of those tables and the gifts sitting neatly on the bed.

“It’s a celebration,” he says with a wide smile. “Well, it’s your Friday night routine, just here. I got the wine and the weed, and Thai ordered out here for a bit later.” His smile dims a little, becomes unsure. “And I thought we could talk about your segment today; maybe actually watch it. I recorded it.”

“Really?” Iris’s eyes widen in slight surprise. “I know my dad and Wally did because we’re gonna have a watch party at dad’s place tomorrow. And probably Linda, but...”

“Of course I recorded it, baby.” Barry gives her an indulgent look. “I tried to watch some of it at work, but we got called out on a case before you came on. Then I thought it’d be better to wait to watch it with you.”

Iris doesn’t have a response other than to bite at her lip, eyes trained on him, the reality of his kindness rendering her momentarily speechless. Barry doesn’t acknowledge her silence; instead, he plants another firm kiss to her mouth and steps away from her, nodding at his bed.

“Is this all okay, though? Maybe you can open your gifts and then we can pour the wine and turn on your interview?”

Her smile is big. “Yeah, Barry, of course.”

She looks over at the sleekly wrapped presents before going to sit on the edge of his bed. She makes quick work of unclasping the buckle around her ankle, leaving her shoes strewn on the floor, and then she hops up into the middle of the bed, pulling the two boxes in front of her, her dress riding up to the top of her thighs.

One of the boxes is bigger than the other, though it’s lighter than the heavier one. They’re wrapped in shiny gold paper with dark blue bows sitting in the corner of each. She picks up the bigger present first, tearing through the paper. She recognizes the garment box and thumbs open the top. Nestled in white tissue paper is a pile of red silk, the material so soft and delicate it looks like waves on the cardboard.

“Bear?” she questions, picking up the folded clothing. It’s a nightgown and matching robe. The gown is almost like a dress she’d wear out, with thin straps and a split up the right side, except the fabric of it is so light, one can tell it’s only made to be seen by a lover. The feel of it in her hands is so nice and Iris knows that this isn’t like the inexpensive dresses she buys for herself.

“I thought that you could have one to keep over here sometimes,” he says when she catches his gaze. He looks a little bashful, cheeks slightly tinged pink. “I know that Friday night is largely your thing, but maybe every so often you can spend it with me.”

“And wear this?” Iris asks, her grin widening slowly.

Barry nods.

“I think that this is really a gift for you,” she says and he barks out a laugh.

“It is my favorite color.” He grins. “And I admit that when I saw it, the first thing I wondered was how it would look as I took it off of you.”

Iris rolls her eyes in jest. “Pervert.” She fingers the material again. “So you picked it out yourself? In a store?”

“You have no idea how embarrassing it is buying women’s lingerie. The sales lady kept making these innuendos and I thought I was gonna pass out, I was blushing so hard.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Iris laughs as she reaches over and pinches his cheek. “You did good though. It’s so soft.”

Barry beams at her. “Can I get a kiss as a thanks?”

Iris shakes her head. “Not until I open this other one. I could hate it and then that would overshadow how much I like this nightgown.”

He snorts. “Even if you do hate it, I’ll still get to see you in the nightgown and, honestly, that’ll make my night.”

“Like I said: pervert.”

He just chuckles as she picks up the heavier box and claws at the paper on it. It looks like some sort of leather book, and once Iris pulls all of the paper off, it takes everything in her not to just start bawling right then and there. It’s the journal she’d seen at the fall festival, except in a pretty royal purple instead of the coral she’d picked up there; this one’s definitely a better choice. It has the rose gold edging that the other had and her name is stitched in that same color at the bottom right corner of the journal. She flips through it, fingering the heavy cream paper. Handwriting catches her attention and she turns to where Barry has written a message on the first page in small, scrawling script.

Iris,

I think I knew that I was falling for you during fall fest, when I saw you staring down at the notebook with such a look of reverence on your face. I could see in that moment how much you loved your craft. It made me curious about you, about someone who’s goal in life is to be the voice for those who can’t or simply won’t. And when I started to read your work, I saw your heart in everything you wrote, in every line that scrolled across my computer screen. I wanted to know that heart.

Now that I do, now that I’ve seen it firsthand: in the way that you touch me, in the way that you smile at me, in the way that you make me feel like every day is new story to experience, I want to be able to experience it for as long as you’ll let me. Because you are a lightning bolt, Iris, brilliant and electric. You are beautiful and tenacious and the single most fascinating person I’ve ever met.

So keep putting your heart into your stories, and I’ve no doubt that everyone who reads it will love it as much as I do.

Barry

“Barry,” she says, breathes really. She looks up at him, his expression nervous, his eyes tracking her. She feels the moisture pricking at the corners of hers and she blinks, letting the tears fall.

“Iris.” His voice is a little raw as she gazes up at him. “I’m sorry. Please don’t cry. I can…” he cuts himself off as he reaches for the journal. Iris swats at his hand and brings the notebook closer to her. “Iris?”

Another tear, and then another and then more, roll down over her cheeks and Barry stares at her, hand outstretched, mouth agape.

“Iris,” he tries again. Wordlessly, she places the journal back down in the box and then she crawls over to him, planting herself in his lap. She wraps herself around him, legs locking around his waist, arms crossing behind his neck. He closes his mouth, but his features are still twisted in turmoil. “Baby, please tell me why you’re crying.”

He asks this as he reaches up to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Everything in Iris seems like it’s settling now, even as the tears fall. Even clearer than before, she can read the story of them, like the book is in front of her, words bold and in technicolor. She can see the dream she’s living in, the vision of them laughing with each other and making love to each other, for days on end, one that plays out like a movie in front of her.

She tightens around him, trying to get as close as she can without crawling inside of him—she really wishes she could right now—and she sniffs, looking down at Barry through her wet lashes. She takes a deep breath. And then she tells him.

“I’m crying because I love you.”

Much like the last time they’d had this conversation, Barry’s body stiffens beneath her. He asks carefully, “And loving me makes you cry?”

She nods and Barry looks stricken. It’s what she needs to bring a modicum of levity to the moment and she huffs out a small laugh. “These aren’t sad tears, Barry.”

Iris can physically see him exhale, letting out a shaky breath. His shoulders lose their tension and he gives her a tentative smile. She returns it.

“For someone who always seems to know what I’m thinking, you completely missed the mark here.”

Barry shakes his head as Iris notes the flush climbing up his neck. “The tears threw me off.” He wipes at her face. “Please never do that again.”

She laughs. “I’ll do my best.”

Barry runs a hand down her back, over the fabric of the dress she’s wearing, and he grips her chin with his other thumb and forefinger, bringing her down so he can stare into her eyes.

“So you love me?” he wonders. His voice dips, lower like midnight walks on a beach in the fall or like early morning talks before coffee and reality ease in. He pulls the glasses from his face, folds them on the table beside them, and gives her all of his attention. She likes being surrounded by him like this, by the look of him and the smell of him and the feel of him. She stays wrapped around him like a koala and Barry holds on to her too, gripping her chin and pressing her to him with a wide palm to the small of her back.

“I do,” Iris nods. “Very much.”

Iris can see the joy brimming in his gaze. “Can you tell me?”

“Tell you?”

“What you love about me.”

Barry shifts so that he’s sitting more comfortably on the bed and she’s perched even closer in his lap, the crotch of her panties almost pressing against his belly. He pushed the boxes and wrapping better towards the edge of the bed.

“For example,” he says, and he lets go of her chin to touch his palm to her chest. His hand is warm through the fabric of her dress. “You know that I love this heart, how gracious and compassionate it is.” He reaches down and picks up on her hands, rubbing a thumb along her knuckles, along the rings that adorn her fingers. He brings it up to his mouth and presses a few tiny kisses along the pads of her fingertips. “I love these fingers, because it’s through your writing, your typing, that you show yourself, even when you can’t always physically or verbally.” He goes back to her face, his thumb caressing the middle of her bottom lip. “I love this mouth: the way that it smiles and laughs, the way that it purses when you’re annoyed, the way that it feels on my own.”

Iris can’t help it when she licks her lips, tongue swiping at Barry’s thumb. He makes a soft grunting sound.

“Tell me, Iris.”

She thinks back to the second night they’d been together, when he’d been hard inside of her and he’d asked her to tell him how he felt fucking into her. She decides that this is even harder, not because she doesn’t know, but because when she speaks it, it’s officially there, written out in the sky, heaven coming to collect on its bet.

“I love your tattoos,” she starts, tentatively. She unhooks one of her arms from around his neck and touches at the skin on his arm, tracing the outline of a white daisy. “I love that you did it as a way to remember your mother; I love that you were brave enough to put the iris on your heart, even when I wasn’t sure how to receive that.” She reaches up to trail her fingers along his brows. “I love your eyes. I love the look of them, the fact that I can’t actually name what color they are; I love the way you look at me, how you can tell my feelings by just watching me, how it seems like I’m the only one you see whenever we’re out together.” She lets a nail trace the outline of his mouth, dropping her hand to rest on the back of his neck. “I love your mouth too; the way you always say things that make me feel beautiful or smart or loved.” She licks her lips again. “Or make me blush, like when you’re saying those dirty things when you’re…”

Barry gives her a deep smirk, those eyes flashing in a way that makes Iris’s body clench. Her thighs close around him.

“Like me saying those dirty things when I’m…?”

She rocks her hips. “You know.”

“I do,” he nods, “but I want to hear you say it.” He grinds up into her. “When I’m what, baby?”

“When,” she licks her lips again, slower this time, buoyed by the way his eyes darken, “you fuck me.”

“Mmmm,” Barry groans and then his grin changes to something a little indecent, darker and dirtier. “You know what else I love?”

Iris shakes her head, though she thinks she does.

“I love the way you respond to me, when I’m saying those dirty things to you when I’m fucking you.”

Iris rocks her hips again and she knows that it’s an involuntary moment. Because, like always, she responds to him easily, fluidly, like they’ve become extensions of the other.

Barry fingers at the hem of her dress sitting around her thighs. “Take this off,” he demands. “I want to show you how you look.”

Even with her brows furrowed in confusion, she does what he says, pulling the dress up and over her head. She reveals to him her bra and panty set, a dark green that even she thinks makes her skin glow. He fingers the lace at the top of the cups of her bra, at the same piping along her hips.

“As pretty as this is,” he murmurs, “I want it gone too.”

She unhooks the bra first, staring back at him. She tosses the bra on the bed beside them, her breasts sitting heavy on her chest, nipples already pointing out at him, seeking him, his fingers or his tongue or the nip of his teeth.

He helps her off of him so that she can take her panties off. Then, instead of letting her climb back on top of him, however, he positions himself so that he’s facing the side of the bed. He pulls her to him and sits her so she is sitting between his open knees, her back to his chest.

This brings a different part of the room into focus. Iris has always paid more attention to the wall length window on the other side of the room, the one that Barry will open when they’re together sometimes, taunting her with the eyes she’s sure she’s seen peeking through their blinds and his. The bed sits on a platform facing front, a television mounted on the wall above a stand that holds his game consoles and a few other knick knacks. But on the other side, there’s a bookshelf, above which hangs a mirror. Of course Iris has known it was there, has looked into it as she’s done her makeup or straightened one of Barry’s stolen shirts on her. But it looks almost dangerous now, only in that she can only imagine what Barry has planned for it. In the mirror, she can see all of her. It’s not an extremely large mirror, but it spans the length of the bookshelf and it’s just high enough that, on the bed, Iris can see both of their bodies.

“Barry?” she questions as she looks over her shoulder at him.

“I know you like it when other people watch,” he says, and she almost rolls her eyes at the smug, laughing look on his face. “But I want you to watch you right now. To see yourself the way I do; to see why I felt so compelled to come to you that first night.”

Iris’s lips quirk up slightly. “I didn’t look like this the first night you saw me.”

“I’ve got a great imagination,” Barry winks.

Ignoring his statement,

(but not the way her heart fills with love for him, the kind that sits heavy in her chest, bold and open; the kind that stays strong in her belly, flipping and fluttering and always present; the kind that dips low in her sex, warm and wet and wanting)

Iris turns back to the mirror and catalogs what she sees: her naked body cocooned in his fully clothed one; her brown eyes bright with anticipation, his darkened with barely disguised lust. There are still traces of her lipstick on her full mouth, and some of it is on Barry too, a look that shouldn’t be as arousing as it is. The fabric of his clothes are so soft on her bare skin, and the warmth of the heat through the room only serves to heighten her desire. Barry moves her hands, throws them over either side of his thighs, and uses his to open her legs; the move puts her even more on display, the gold necklace she’s been wearing all day nestled in between her breasts, her belly taut, the pinkish brown lips of her pussy already slick.

Barry circles a hand gently around her throat at the same time that he palms the inside of one of her thighs, holding her open, rubbing gently at her skin.

“I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as you,” Barry says to her, whispers it, his voice soft in her ear. “I admit I was drunk that first night, but I saw you and it was like, like the entire world came into focus. I think my body knew I would love you before the rest of me could even deny it. And, by some miracle, I got you to take me home with you.”

He touches her lightly on her neck and then moves down, the tips of his fingers feeling on her breasts until he circles a nipple. She gasps, the sound more like a low moan, and Barry smiles at it.

“You were so responsive,” he explains. “I’ve never seen anything like the way you respond to me; it’s so electrifying, baby.”

He circles one nipple with the rough pad of his fingers, pinches at it until it fully hardens, the action almost painful in that she needs more. He moves to the other nipple, does the same thing, and Iris grinds her hips, hoping to move the hand still gliding on her thigh closer to where she always wants him.

“It can be the slightest touch,” he continues, running his nails down the space between her breasts. She proves his point, whimpering a little as he glides down to her belly, and then up again, adding a finger as he goes down once more, and then up. It should not feel like this, such an innocuous move. But he’s right; she’s so responsive to him. This ghost of a touch, just the barest hint of his fingers on her, and she’s heated, her thighs quaking, her sex fluttering.

“Barry,” she sighs, catching her gaze through the mirror. He licks those pink lips, eyes honed in on her, and in that moment, she sees that it is mutual. However true it is that she so easily reacts to him, he is not unaffected. He is, just as much as she is, the truth of it right there in his wrecked countenance: the burning gray of his eyes, the pink flush of his cheeks, the colorful bunch of the tattoos on his arm as he holds her tight.

“I’m in love with this pussy, too,” he mumbles into her neck, his pale hands moving to grip her thighs. The sight of it is a touch obscene, his lightly tanned skin on the umber of hers, his long fingers pressing into her flesh. He doesn’t touch her sex, not right away. Instead, he squeezes her thighs before repeating his pattern of running his fingers up and down, up and down again.

“Look at it,” Barry groans, and she watches his gaze go down to her before she looks at herself. She knows her own body, but Iris has never looked at herself like this, has never spread her legs in front of a mirror when her lips were wet like this, flushed red like this, puckered open as if begging for the stretch of his cock.

“Look at how pretty you are, baby.” His voice sounds like music to her. “Look at how slick you get for me; how open you get for me.”

“Bear,” Iris moans.

He chuckles. “I know. I wanna fuck you right now too.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Because I’m not finished playing.”

Iris gripes at that, throwing her head back on his shoulder and canting her hips toward his hand.

“No, be a good girl for me, Iris.” Those nimble fingers inch toward the middle of her. “Be a good girl and keep looking while I finish playing.”

He waits until she looks back at the mirror and then he starts. That first touch to her sends electricity coursing through her. He swipes a finger straight up the middle of her slit and she jerks, followed quickly by a limb-loosening moan when Barry sucks the digit in his mouth.

“I love the taste of it,” Barry says.

He reaches back down again, uses his index and ring fingers to hold her open and then dips his middle finger into her. He fucks that finger into her slowly, rubbing against her walls as if he’s trying to memorize the feel of her, gathering the slick of her on that finger.

“I love the feel of it.”

He shifts to use all three of those fingers, dipping them in her wet and rubbing them over her. This is where he finds his rhythm. Iris catches, and this time holds, the sight of them in the glass. Her hair is a curly mess, the strands hanging loose and tangled around her head. Her lips are swollen from how often she keeps tugging the bottom one between her teeth, her chest heaving as she prays for release. In all of that, Iris swears she’s glowing, eyes darkened and alight, her entire body lit with pleasure, bringing out the honeyed undertones in her skin. She looks raw. She looks fucked. She looks like a woman who sings out whenever she can, you woo me, you court me, you tease me, you please me.

And Barry holds on to her, fingers moving a little erratically, going between fucking his fingers into her and massaging her swollen clit with his wet fingers. All of it is, a lot, the way his fingers look slicker and slicker until she’s dripping down onto his wrists, the way that their different skin colors seem to matter right now only in how erotic the contrast looks right now.

“Come, baby,” Barry says. “And watch yourself.”

She does, watches herself as she comes, watches Barry watch her as she does. And it’s as beautiful as he says. Because she looks like a woman drowning in bliss, a woman draped in desire, the look of it hugging like a second skin. She looks like the way women might be described in romance novels, so satisfied she can’t think of anything other than being wrapped up in the man giving her the satisfaction. She looks like the woman in some fantasy or dream, ascending the clouds, spread out and open in an expanse of blue. She sings it in her head, you school me, give me things to think about; invite me, you ignite me, co-write me, you love me, you like me; incite me to chorus, at the same time that she sings out loud, “god, Bear, baby yes,” her eyes fluttering closed at only the very last minute.

“I love you,” Barry tells her, after, as she blinks through the haze of her orgasm.

With low, shaky limbs, she turns around, crawling on top of him and pulling him out of his sweatpants only enough that she can slide down the length of his dick. He stretches her, even as wet as she is, her cream coating him. Then he wraps his arms around her, pulling her down to him, all the way until there is only the ocean blue shade of his eyes filling her gaze, so different from the molten whiskey of hers, though nothing in Iris doubts that the same expression shines in both of them: that of a craving for this to last until the last breath shudders from their bodies, that of the love that she hopes makes that dream come true.

“I love you too, Barry.”

And this time, they only watch each other, reading each other, their climax hurtling toward them with the sort of rugged elegance that has always accompanied her idea of love. It’s bliss, la, la, la; da, da, da; do, do, do.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So Iris, tell me,” Alexa May starts. Iris inclines her head as she awaits Alexa’s question, the other woman’s gaze kind and curious. “Are any of the stories on your blog particularly personal to you?” James Broderick nods his head at the question.

“Well, they’re all personal to me,” Iris tells her with a side grin. “But I assume you’re asking if one of the stories I’ve written is particular to my life?”

“Exactly,” Alexa gives her her own smirk.

Iris shakes her head, pauses for a minute as she decides how much she wants to say on a widespread television

“None of them are,” she says, carefully. “But I’m working on one.”

Both Alexa and James’s blue eyes light with interest.

“Oh really?” James questions.

Alexa leans toward her, crossing her slim legs and settling her elbows on her thighs. “Is it a love story?”

“It is,” Iris laughs softly. “It’s a story still being written, so I don’t want to give too much away. But I can tell you that it’s about two people who’ve found something neither had been particularly expecting. It’s about two people who’ve struggled to find acceptance in different ways, to fight through the pain they’ve experienced. It’s about two people who feel into each other’s lives in one of the easiest ways possible, like puzzle pieces clicking or locks being secured or some other metaphor for two people who just… fall into place.” There’s a round of sweet chuckles from Alexa and some of the other guests. “Most importantly, though, it’s about two people who’ve stumbled right into something out of a storybook, something that can only be described as love.”

There is a pause. And then Alexa sighs. “God, that’s beautiful.”

Iris presses a hand to her heart, trying to keep in the surge of emotion that floods through her in that moment.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “So are we.”

“And there you have it, viewers,” James says, pulling the attention away. “Keep a lookout for that love story on What a Life You’ve Lived. Thank you all so much for watching. We’ll be right back.”

You're different and special

You're different and special in every way imaginable

You love me from my hair follicles to my toenails

You got me feeling like the breeze, easy and free and lovely and new

Oh when you touch me I just can't control it

When you touch me, I just can't hold it

The emotion inside of me, I can feel it

#westallen fanfiction #strangers to lovers #iris west #barry x iris #barry allen

[infinites-chaser]

//.reverie // mlqc // lucien

print(hello world)

im knee deep in a writing slump bUT i plugged a paragraph of writing into this funky little neural network and kept generating 500 words with it for. an aBSURD amount of time (while also telling it to focus on including the words ‘memory’ ‘dreams’ and ‘color’) and what it spit out was the cOOLEST. and i tried to kinda parse through it to find the most interesting bits and make it slightly more coherent and it ended up being a little like how i’d imagine a series of dreams Lucien might’ve had post ch.18 so i hope someone? enjoys?

warning for non-explicit drug use, general fragmentATion and lack of narrative plot or coherence, the bizarre nature of dreams, spoiler-adjacent content for ch.13 and hinting at stuff from ch.18 onwards

The paragraph the neural network consumed (from watch the universe expand):

"You know, sometimes I think the stars must be lonely," she says, and though he doesn't dare look at her, he hears her both in real life and through the phone speaker cradled close to his ear. He feels rather than sees her move closer to his side of the balcony, closing the distance, coming to the edge.

"They're thousands of light years away from each other," she continues. "Maybe they wonder if they're all alone, sometimes, if they're the only light for miles in an empty, endless dark sea."

"It makes me sad, to think about it. We spend our lives looking up at the stars and casting lines, drawing constellations between them, but in reality, they're just as lonely as we are. Maybe even more."

prelude.

In his dreams, he has color for days, but that's because his memories are always colored with color. He remembers the colors of all the colors, he knows it, because colors fade in real life, colors can be rearranged. They stay the same in dreams. He remembers colors and faces in dreams, with absolute certainty.

He stands up and steps away from the glass, out onto the balcony. As the darkness reaches all the way to the bottom of the floor, he sees shadows in his mind. He recognizes the colors, the colors of dreams, as colors of real life. He can tell his memory is broken in his dreams, with such clarity that he could read an entire newspaper front page through color and dreams.

(He takes a step closer to the blue sky.)

i.

He remembers when he had first been able to see the constellations in the night sky, just a few short years ago, when his eyesight still had the capability to take in so much. They'd wanted to go to a star party, together, where he could be amazed by a whole world of constellations, but he'd turned it down.

"You were scared of strangers," she says. "It's not a strangers-only thing."

"That's true," he says.

"You're still shy," she says.

"I never was shy,” he says.

I never really grew up, he thinks.

ii.

He feels her warm breath. The scent of her.

"Do you think they look down at us and feel the loneliness of millions of years alone?"

"The stars? I've always imagined they might."

“Do you think they wonder about us, too? Or feel sorry for us?”

He scoffs.

“What’s there to wonder about?”

She shrugs. Her eyes look as distant as the stars. As cold.

"The sadness of losing one's entire species and the companionship of someone who sees and understands the beauty of the stars because of what we lost. Or the loneliness of knowing our species won't survive the disaster we caused."

“What do you mean,” he starts. Her lips curve up into a mockery of a smile.

“You know what,” she breathes. “Ares.”

(He wakes. Calls the dampness on his cheeks a nightmare’s cold sweat and not tears.)

iii.

He shrugs.

“We forget, don’t we? The world moves on. We move on.”

"That's not the way it is,” she says. “The best love in life comes from time spent with another person, the love that never fades or leaves you in darkness, like memories do. Sometimes, it's not the love we give each other but the love we receive from each other. I don't know, I guess the answer would depend on the person."

"Maybe the stars never forget their dreams,” she says. “Or the people they knew, or their color. Maybe they never lose the ability to recognize and remember what they're drawn to. Or maybe they can never forget the color of your eyes."

iii, ii.

“We forget, don’t we? The world moves on. We move on.”

(Do we? He thinks. Thinks they’ve been here, standing atop this balcony before. Thinks he's seen her eyes turn cold. Thinks he's seen her cry.)

He shrugs.

"No," she says quietly, but softly, still looking at the stars, still thinking about the comfort she gave him. (It's never enough, always, to fill the emptiness, the longing, the memories that must remain buried inside him.)

"I don't believe that. I know that the stars up there are as lonely as us, because they're like us, they love each other, they care for each other, they care for us, and love keeps us warm in the cold. Love is the one thing that can save us."

"You're right," he says. (Holds her close. Wishes he could do the same while awake.)

"Love really can save us. I have faith in that. No matter what happens, no matter what we do, we have to find ways to love each other and hold on to each other."

v.

"Do you remember the dreams you've had about the colors, or the faces of the people in the colors?"

She laughs softly. "I can never forget you, or your color, or the color of that sky in your memories, now. But that picture might look a little different in the morning light. Right now, I can't see it very well. You know, sometimes it's hard to remember what color the sky looks like in your memory when it's bright outside. It doesn't really feel like a real memory. You've said that yourself, at least."

"No, I haven't," he says. "It's just a memory."

"A memory?" she asks.

"A memory?" she repeats. “It’s always memories with you.”

He can't tell if she's laughing or not, or if she's teasing him or not.

“What do you mean?”

"It’s a secret,” she says. “You could always just ask me in real life.”

(I can’t, he thinks, but can’t say. Can't remember why.

He wakes.)

vi.

"Color?" she repeats. "Color?"

"Yes," he says. "You're color. You're always ... different, in my memories."

She laughs. "Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe we remember our lives as they were, not what we wish they were. Maybe that means we can forgive ourselves a little more.”

"For what?"

(She's frozen.

She fades.

For what? He thinks, then wakes.)

vii.

"I think I have colors for months in my memory," she says. "See here?"

"What?"

"Colors. In the moon, or this tree, or maybe the sky?"

"You mean right now?"

"No. All of them, at one time or another."

"What color is the sky?"

She laughs, and her voice is beautiful. She tells him that the sky looks the color of memories and dreams.

But then he asks another question. "When you dreamed last night, what did you dream about?”

"I can't remember all of them," she says. “My dreams. They fade.”

"But you do remember that you were dreaming, back there?"

"I was dreaming. About you."

"Why?"

"I don't know. All I know is that the dream felt like a good one."

"It must have been, if you remember it. Did you have the same dreams when you were growing up?"

"Yes," she whispers. "Sometimes."

(“Sometimes I think we must’ve met in one.”

“What?”

“A dream."

"That'd be nice, wouldn't it?")

viii.

“The stars,” she murmurs. “Do you think they dream? Do you think they can escape?"

"Perhaps they can, to some extent," se says. "I'm not sure it works for everyone."

She asks him to step into the blue sky with her. To escape. To return.

"Can you go back? I haven't asked anyone to go back yet, but maybe you can."

He takes a step, closing his eyes. He remembers the color of this blue sky, and he remembers dreaming and dreaming. He remembers colors, and colors are real, so they must be real in real life. So he steps forward into the blue sky.

His skin stretches and stretches and stretches, the colors in his skin growing more vivid as he steps further, he gets closer to the sky. The colors disappear in his memory, which can still contain dreams, so that his skin looks almost white, at first. His body elongates until he looks like he's wearing a strange version of a spacesuit, like the one his friends wore when they had to wear oxygen masks on the surface of planets and robots to stay alive.

He hears his echo. It’s saying that he looks lonely. Pale blue dot— he'll drift through space, he'll miss her in the dark, or he won't but he'll be too late, anyway.

It's hard to figure out which colors in the blue sky he's really seeing. He thinks the color of his skin looks like the sky he remembered, but maybe it isn't really the sky he remembers. He sees colors of the people he knew and the colors of the colors of the sky, but he sees colors that are impossible to connect with other colors.

(He surfaces to darkness, insides twisting, writhing, turned snakes by the venom he's made of his blood. He staggers to the sink, spits up poison. Thinks about forgetting. Thinks about taking more.)

ix.

His color is yellow, the color of a sick leaf, and the first of the colors of his dreams.

"Tell me again what color I look like in your memory," she says.

He tries to focus on that part of her, of her memory, where he actually sees her. He thinks about how good her skin looks, how smooth and pale and slightly glowing. He can't remember her color.

"Do I look just like you remember?" he asks.

"Your color is the color of yellow of the leaves, right?"

"Yes," he whispers.

“You’re sick,” she says, and places a hand on his cold cheek, lets it warm.

“Sick,” he echoes, closes his eyes against her touch. Lets himself fade. Lets himself rest. “Perhaps.”

x.

"I don't remember it," he admits. "Your color."

"But you don't want me to, do you?"

She sighs, and for a moment, it seems she's crying. "No," she whispers. "No, not all."

"You didn't want me to know, did you?"

"Yes, I did. I do."

She bites her lip. Looks down. Looks away.

"I want you to remember. Just— not like this. Never like this."

"Why?"

"Because you'd see the way I laugh and the way I'm breathing, and if you just heard it for yourself, you'd know the way I loved your hair when you woke up from the dream that you shared with me. The way you looked when you talked about your life, when you stared up at the sky, seeing the dreams in your eyes."

(He had forgotten them already, because they were beautiful, those memories, and he knew them without remembering their color. Without remembering her name. Without remembering the truth.

The sky, he thinks, is even more vivid than memories.)

xi.

"I don't know," he says. "Why don't I remember? What am I forgetting?"

"I don't know either," she says. "I think...I must've forgotten, too."

"But maybe it doesn't matter— we do remember colors, don't we? As colors really are. Because we can remember them. You know, that's why color blindness must be one of the most terrible things that's ever been born. For a color-blind person, they see the colors of people and things by the color of their eyes, and they can't tell when the color is off. Just like colors are difficult to remember, and colors are difficult to see."

He smiles at her.

"There's one more way, isn't there?"

“To see color?”

“To remember,” he whispers, and lowers his lips to hers. She flinches under him, he steadies her, then she’s limp, his hands tight around her neck and he—

(He wakes.)

xii.

"Why are you here again?" she asks.

He shakes his head.

“I don’t know.”

"We might be in the middle of remembering," she says. "We're both always in the middle of remembering things in the middle of moments."

"Oh, you're an astrologist, then," he mutters, trying to remember the word. It doesn’t sound right. Nothing does.

"Astronomer?" He asks. She shakes her head. She's smiling, but her eyes are dark. Dark and blue.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," she says. "We should probably stop."

"Stop?"

She smiles again, her eyes bluer still.

No, he realizes. Not blue. Sad.

"It's time to wake up," she murmurs. He reaches for her, but it's too late. She fades, and he's left alone drifting under the stretching stars.

(Astronaut, he thinks, between planets and stardust. He remembers.)

...

fin.

"Are you saying I'm color-blind?"

She laughs again.

"Oh, no," she says. "Not color-blind at all. Your color blindness is just a side effect of your memory. You remember some colors well, and it doesn't matter what color the sky or a flower is, you can recognize it. So, yes. Your color blindness is your memory of colors."

"How is it my memory?" he asks, and though he could never be color-blind, he can still remember colors well enough to recognize the colors of the rainbow on the horizon as clouds drift by the sky.

"Maybe your color blindness is what happens when you spend so much time remembering color and color and color," she suggests, and somehow some part of him knows what she means is remembering me. Remembering my smile.

"Oh," he says. He considers it.

They are silent, for a time, until a sound cuts through the night air, crying through his whole body with a low swish of noise. He thinks he hears a whistling, and then it's back again. Then it's different, maybe growing louder, and he wonders if it's a ringing, but the sound gets fainter, so faint that he begins to think he imagined it.

"Is that the whistle?" she asks, and he can hear the alarm in her voice.

"Did it start again? Is this world going to end?" She whispers it, the sound again, and the sound grows closer, an elongated screech. The whistle never ceases.

The whistling sounds in every direction, like a swarm of insects.

And the smell is the worst, the most awful smell, like bad meat, or a stagnant ditch full of mud and dirt and rotten meat. He can barely breathe, and can barely see through the curtain of fog. He stands, reaching toward her, trying to hear her, but everything around him is changing.

"What is it?" she asks, and her voice is lost, lost in the darkness. She is lost. She is gone.

The smell, a putrid odor like rotten meat, begins to affect his mind, and he cannot remember her words.

There's something blue (sad) behind his eyelids. He tries to look and discovers that he can't.

"What's that?" he asks. He's in the clearing, still dressed in the dark color of morning (mourning), and everything is out of place, though he can't see it.

"It's my color. It's blue." He stares at it.

"My favorite color. Blue. And there's something pink around it. Couldn't see that before. It's pink."

The colors, he thinks. Those are colors. The whistling sound, I must have heard that noise before.

(The whistling doesn't sound like whistling at all. It sounds like heartbreak. It sounds like a scream.)

That's why I can't remember her. I remember colors, and it's like there's a wall in my mind, because I remember color, color and nothing else, color and her smile, the beginning, the middle, and not ever the end.

"I remember colors," he says. "Now let me remember her."

And he remembers pink, he remembers the smell. The whistle (the scream).

(Remembers she died. Remembers he wasn't there to save her.)

There's something red on the sand. It's a bouquet of roses he's picked. Pink and red. Roses. The smell, his nose draws in is the scent of roses.

(He knows they smell like her, but the moment's passed. Once again, he can't remember her.

He thinks, he must not have been hers. She must have not been in love.)

epilogue.

It is dawn when he wants to close his eyes and remember. But he tries not to think about it. He closes his eyes slowly, praying silently to the skies, barely able to imagine that the next time he opens his eyes, maybe they'll be different.

"... like his dreams," he whispers under his breath.

"... and her dreams."

"... like everything here." His steps seem slow today. Steady. Better than any other morning. Fresh.

"Just like his memories. Rest easy, Lucien."

(When the apartment door opens, it’s Ares who emerges.)

this is where im legally obligated to tell u I'm slowly being converted to a comp neuro nerd so i went and read the github of the language learning model inferkit uses, megatron-11b, and it'S hella cool but basically if anyone is worried. no it is not trained on the words u provide it-- the sentence structure/word information that the model 'learns' from is scripts made by the dev. so uh. basically, it's 'learned' all it will about language based on these provided scripts of vocab and sentence structure so when you give it a paragraph of writing, all it's doing is 'reacting' to your words by using its memory of these writing rules to predict (and auto-generate) what words it thinks will come next (the algorithm runs a tON of probability computations and this is the 'thinking' and predicting.)

#mlqc #mlqc lucien #val writes #or rather #ai writes val interpreTS #ghosts. in the MACHINE hnhkfdljgfdk #u didn't hear it here but i am in love with machine learning and the idea of. humans training machines in their image. and learning more ab #out themselves (or their research) through what the machine gives back. we are just. searching for those echoes of consciousness in what th #programs reflect back to uS! the singularity! one day. wE will find it. #kisses to everyone who didn't understand dark night fireworks this is the Vibe i was going for #even i don't understand this <3

[obsessively-obsessed-fangirl]

The Rise of Skywalker was the downfall of Star Wars (MAJOR spoilers)

Oh, J.J. Abrams, I had high expectations for you. I trusted you with one of my most important things...And you absolutely destroyed it. After seeing both your contributions to Star Trek and Star Wars, all I can really say is that you may know how to start a story...but you sir, do not know how to finish it and it is my own fault in believing that you could.

Yes dear reader, I have just come back from watching the final installment of the series of Star Wars movies. I have just come home feeling out of sorts because The Rise of Skywalker wasn’t necessarily the worst movie I’ve ever seen, yet it wasn’t that great nor what I expected the final installment of a Star Wars movie to be. In fact, the only way I can describe it, is just OK, and as we know from my favorite TV commercial, just OK, is not OK.

Why were Finn and Poe even in this movie?

From what I hear, the actors who play Finn and Poe tried hard to play the characters as if they were in a romantic relationship, despite Disney’s specific instructions. I would have loved this! These two characters have amazing chemistry when they are around each other, but that’s not how the story played out, and that’s not exactly why I’m so upset with them. I’m upset because despite being part of the main trio of the current installment, Finn and Poe had no growth in this final movie, and at the end of the day, I can’t really say they had TONS of character development in the series. At least within the first two movies, Finn and Poe were given their individual “tasks” and started to grow towards their final selves ...yet in the final movie, they were constantly being sidelined and overshadowed by Rey and Ben. 

One example of this is the idea that Finn is force sensitive. Now we don’t know “for sure” if this is true or not because of a scene within TROS where Finn tries to tell Rey something but never gets the chance to. Now some, especially those who remember how Finn flirted with Rey in episode VII might believe that he was planning to say that he loved her, but according to the actor who plays Finn, John Boyega, he says that Finn was planning to tell her he was force sensitive. This would have been a great plot point for Rey and Finn’s friendship, yet we never saw ANY sign of this within TROS or the other installments of the current trilogy. In fact, J.J. Abrams instead chose to continually portray Finn as almost overly concerned about Rey in TROS, like he was leaving the option open for those who ship Finn and Rey. Along with this, we were also lead to believe there could be a possible romance between him and Rose, one of the characters introduced in Episode VIII. Now I love Rose on her own, I think she is absolutely fantastic. Yet in TROS we barely saw her and she said maybe 3 lines to Finn. Why create a budding friendship/relationship between Rose and Finn, to completely sideline it in the final movie?

Now, to be quite honest, I wasn’t a huge fan of Poe within this trilogy. He is definitely one of those “know-it-all” characters who needs to be taken down a few pegs (which Leia 100% does in episode VIII). But, I don’t think it’s totally fair to Poe or the actor who plays him, to give him the beginnings of a backstory in the final movie. At some point during the film, we learn that Poe used to work on a planet and royally angered a girl. OK, great, glad to hear he is more than just a resistance pilot, but this adds nothing to the story being told in TROS, and I’ll be quite honest, I don’t remember the name of his “girl who is a friend” or even what planet they were on. All of this seemingly important character information would have served the audience a lot better if had been introduced A LOT earlier, like in the second movie when we were actually learning about his headstrong and destructive character.

Rey is a Palpatine?

So I guess the question of who is Rey’s family finally gets answered. Yet, it makes absolutely no sense and was a huge plot point that was not set up well at all. Yeah, so we find out that Rey is the granddaughter of Emperor Palpatine and everyone pretty much knew about it except for her. Also, Palpatine somehow survived and is really been the one controlling Rey and Ben, not Snoke, who was killed by Rey and Ben in Episode VIII. Now I do not know if this was J.J. Abrams plan all along, or he felt that the story needed to change after the events in Episode VIII and Rian Johnson’s vision, but bringing back Palpatine and making him the big “villain” of TROS was so underwhelming and underdeveloped. 

TROS should have focused on Rey walling herself off from Kylo Ren after the events of episode VIII. As we saw during the film, her powers and the bond between Kylo and Rey were getting stronger to the point where they could manipulate items between each other and fight with lightsabers as if they were together. This should have been a huge problem for Rey as she battles with the idea of her going to the dark side, yet instead it just became a thing between them that they could do, where they just had the same conversation over and over again. 

Rey should have just been the daughter of nobodies. They should have left her as someone who had a calling, not the granddaughter of someone who had no purpose being in this movie. TROS should have focused on Rey resisting the pull of the dark side while Kylo Ren wrecks havoc as the new supreme leader. It should have been about the Rey battling Ben and pulling him away from Kylo Ren and back to the light. Not about her defeating someone who wasn’t part of her story until now.

Ben was finally redeemed and it was done poorly:

 Like with Rey, Palpatine served no purpose in Kylo Ren’s story. The whole point of episode VIII and of killing Snoke, was to show how Kylo Ren is no longer a puppet to anyone else. He is now his own master and in charge of his own choices (that of going to the dark side). Yes, he was conditioned by Snoke to listen to his darkness, but at the end of Episode VIII, it was about him CHOOSING the dark side, and TROS should have focused on this instead of making him a puppet to someone else.

While there were some good moments for Kylo/Ben within TROS, like when he is confronted by the memory of Han Solo, it wasn’t nearly enough. Ben had no interaction with Luke and only 0.1 seconds with Leia which really hurt to watch. While her death was absolutely pointless and really made no sense, it hurts even more to see how much it impacted Ben. We saw nothing of a relationship between him and his mother in any of the episodes. They were shown to be so far away from each other, that it really made no sense to see how much her death impacted him. If you were going to do this, give her a death that matters, and at least give to us after you show some development between Ben and Leia.

I was also extremely upset at how Ben was treated after he chooses the light side. When Ben chose to throw his lightsaber into the water, that should have been his welcome home in the eyes of the Jedi who came before him. They should have been there for Ben like they were for Rey during her battle with Palpatine. Along with this. Ben should have been there helping Rey to defeat him. Showing her she wasn’t alone, not on some rocks down below forced to wait until the battle was over. When he climbed back up to Rey after the battle, the force ghosts should have been there with him, helping him to bring Rey back to life. 

As some fans have noticed, Rey and Ben’s final moments together were shot very...off. As in, it looks like the events of Ben’s death were really shot in reverse and he wasn’t supposed to die. I’ve also seen that Daisy Ridley, Rey, was recently talking about the last scene of the movie. From certain reports, it seemed as if Ben was supposed to be there with her in the final shot. According to Ridley, the ending was supposed to be emotional and “tear worthy.” Yet, the ending wasn’t even close. Which once again leads me to believe that what we saw in the theater was not the original ending and instead was some last minute change that shows how much J.J. Abrams doesn’t care for Ben or his other characters.

Final thoughts on trash:

I could go on...and on…..and on about what bothered me in this movie because there is a lot that does (LANDO’S POINTLESS PRESENCE). But, in the end it really doesn’t matter. I know deep down that whatever happened with J.J. Abrams and the team behind TROS, that it wasn’t meant to be this way. Maybe it was Disney’s fault, maybe it was J.J. Abram’s fault ...I don’t know. All I do know, is that every character and every actor that was part of  Star Wars deserved far better things from Episode IX than they got. I’m so sad this is where we ended up and I’m so sad at how we got here. And all I can do now is hopefully move on and up.

#Star Wars #The Rise of Skywalker #Episode XI #Spoilers #J.J. Abrams #TRASH #Reylo #Kylo Ren #Rey Skywalker #Palpatine #Finn x Poe #poe dameron #ben solo #ben skywalker #luke skywalker #leia organa

[themattress]

Holy Shit!

https://imgur.com/gallery/WKkli

https://imgur.com/gallery/j9OQylb

Beyond the proof that the guy who uploaded this is involved with Bad Robot that he provided at the end of his second post, these definitely seem legit because the first post was in 2018, before The Rise of Skywalker came out, yet the treatment contains some blatant concepts that ended up finding there way into that movie that I have a hard time believing anyone but J.J himself could have come up with (plus, the rest of the plot is very J.J-like, as I’ll get into.)

So these definitely seem to be the discarded Episode VIII and IX treatments. Thoughts?

- Luke’s reasons for coming to Ahch-To definitely seem more in line with TFA than in TLJ, seeing as if he wanted to just “go there to die” he wouldn’t have left a freaking map to the place behind, plus it seemed off that someone disillusioned with the Jedi ways would go to the site of the first Jedi Temple to begin with. His portrayal also matches what we saw at the end of TFA (seeming to be in mourning for Han), and fits the “kind but sad” description from the script. And far from cutting himself off from the Force, Luke has been influencing it from afar as part of his grand plan, explaining Rey’s vision when she touched his lightsaber.

- Luke has a wife and kids! Sadly for EU fans, the wife is not Mara Jade.

- It was Luke’s influence via the Force that explained the things Rey could do that fans deemed her a Mary Sue for, plus some other things that weren’t so routinely noted such as the remarkable coincidence that she and Finn just happened to run into Han and Chewie right after obtaining the Millennium Falcon. Not sure how well this would have gone down...

- Saccrum, Snoke’s home planet, is literally Exogol. Secret ancient Sith planet that is nigh impenetrable to all non-Sith, site of the final battle and (as we’ll soon learn) where Snoke is repeatedly cloned and where Palpatine is resurrected by Sith alchemists...it’s fucking Exogol.

- I recall concept art for Kylo Ren’s partly metallic face floating around.

- Dathan Naut seems cool, but she never really amounts to much.

- So it seems J.J Abrams and Lawrence Kasdan’s vision for the Sequel Trilogy always seemed to boil down to “All the generations of Jedi vs. all the generations of Sith reaching a climactic battle, with Skywalker vs. Palpatine at the heart of it, and the Palpatine who becomes a Skywalker as the key to victory.” That idea was always where they were going.

- Jedi/Sith Holocrons were always gonna be a thing, which is why Rebels worked them in.

- Live-action Ahsoka was also always an objective, it seems, and I bet the way they wrote her out in Rebels’ “Twilight of the Apprentice” was to potentially serve as a lead-in for her appearance in the Sequel Trilogy. But because that never came to pass, they brought her back toward the end of the series and set her on the new trajectory that she’s currently on. Honestly, I think that’s for the better, Ahsoka wouldn’t have really fit in the main film series.

- Not big on this Cfi-Xi character, she mainly seems to be here to “no homo” C-3PO. And her main role relating to the Sith Planet ended up played just fine by C-3PO in TROS anyway.

- BB-8 had the kind of fake-out death they ended up giving to Chewie.

- Wow, so Hux was supposed to die in Episode VIII and Phasma in Episode IX originally. Funny how that got totally flipped backward in the versions we actually ended up getting.

- OK, this “family time” that Rey’s getting is precious. It’s sad we didn’t get to see this.

- Hoo boy, “this is the bad ass Luke Skywalker we’ve been waiting for!” Really? Et tu, J.J and Kasdan? In light of the recent showing by Luke in The Mandalorian, I again question why this portrayal of the character is so widely beloved by fans when it has little to no basis in the OT.

- Rey vs. Kylo Ren in a raging ocean backdrop; here in Episode VIII rather than IX. Similarly, it’s a duel that Kylo clearly has in the bag, but a fluke in the Force allows Rey to survive, although I much prefer the fluke we got to the one this treatment proposes because....

- Goddamn it, J.J. You’re doing the time travel / time paradox shit again? Were Lost, Fringe and Star Trek not enough for you to explore that concept in? This is the biggest part of these treatment drafts that rubs me the wrong way, it’s just so needlessly convoluted and cliche.

- Also, yet another Mystery Box in Luke’s severed hand on Saccrum.

- No Jedi Leia in that flashback? Yeah, I can see why Kathleen Kennedy rejected this.

- Btw, Rian Johnson wasn’t the only one who was going to turn Luke into an asshole failure, it seems. Making this highly risky plan with Ben and not letting his parents know about it? Dick! 

- Snoke is the one who destroys Luke’s academy, not Kylo Ren. And he does so as he is dying; another clue-in that there’s more to Snoke than it seems given that he’s still around.

- Lando would have been in Episode IX anyway, albeit still running Cloud City.

- The idea for this Episode IX is that the Skywalkers are a Jedi dynasty that long predated Anakin (Shmi being a descendant of it), and the Palpatines were their Sith enemies. Sheev Palpatine also would have died his first death generations ago and was being constantly resurrected via clone bodies made on Saccrum ever since, so the one that Anakin killed wasn’t the original; Palpatine can’t be stopped unless Saccrum is destroyed. While not as convoluted as the time paradox shit, I appreciate the simpler route they ended up taking.

- J.J and Kasdan always wanted Rey’s father to be a defective Palpatine clone.

- There was never a planned origin for Snoke in these treatments; wherever he came from the bottom line was that Palpatine brought him onto his side by promising to share his key to immortality (constant cloned bodies made on Sacccrum) with him. Again, this ended up being simplified into Snoke just being a whole-sale creation of Palpatine’s from the very beginning.

- Since these are treatments, the “love” part of the dynamic between Rey and Kylo Ren is highly underdeveloped and would likely have been fleshed out in screenwriting. The end result, with the deprogramming vision of Rey and Darth Vader, sounds pretty effective though, but I think I much prefer the Leia death / vision of Han version that we ended up with.

- LOL, the “droid way of making love”. I want to see this idea repurposed someday.

- That’s an interesting twist on Alderaan, although it really doesn’t amount to anything given that the planet Leia grew up on and called home still got destroyed by the Death Star.

- “Magic blood”, another J.J-ism. Again, I much prefer the simpler version TROS gave us.

- The climax’s structure is basically the same as in TROS, with Rey (and others) heading to the Sith planet from Ahch-To and then Leia’s Resistance forces going there from their base, with Rey and Ben facing Palpatine. The biggest differences is that we also have Luke vs. Snoke and Finn vs. Phasma battles going on, in addition to a Jedi vs. Sith ground battle.

- Yeah, I don’t really care for how Phasma’s death is handled: making her hideously scarred and treating her sympathetically don’t sit right with me. Rian Johnson did it better, IMO.

- No red stormtroopers here, but there are red Tie Fighters.

- Ben still gives his life to save Rey, albeit in a less literal manner.

- Palpatine still wants Rey to ascend to the Sith throne and rule by his side. Also: “he loves the smell of burning hair, it reminds him of home”!? Wow, that’s dark in what it’s implying...

- OK, so while not a Jedi, Leia is the Big Damn Hero in the end. That makes sense.

- WTF? Rey straight-up kills Palpatine with Sith lightning!? Yeah, that definitely wasn’t ever gong to fly with Lucasfilm, since it totally contradicts ROTJ’s message! It was inevitable that we’d end up with the more correct “Rey deflects Palpatine’s own Sith lightning back at him”.

- “Rey Skywalker” is the end point for the story here as well, but it ending on Tatooine is so much more emotional than ending it on Alderaan Prime, a place that only just now exists.

My final impression is that we probably could have had the best version of the Sequel Trilogy possible IF the right corrections were made when adapting these treatments into real screenplays, such as axing the more convoluted and pointlessly fanservice-y elements and making different choices for a few of the characters (Rey, Kylo Ren, C-3PO, Phasma, etc...also something more substantial for Poe since they clearly had no idea what to do with him). However, it was also an impossibility for it to ever happen due to many different factors, the biggest of which being Carrie Fisher’s passing in 2016. So as it stands, I am still satisfied with the version we got and am especially happy that J.J returned for TROS to provide the end of the Skywalker Saga with some of his original (mercifully fine-tuned and simplified) ideas.

#Star Wars #J.J Abrams #What Could Have Been #Opinion #Analysis

[sailorbellewrites]

Fools Rush In... VIII

characters — yoongi x reader (ft. members of bts and other original characters)

summary — min yoongi, music executive and perpetual bachelor, marries a las vegas stripper he’s only known for six months. chaos ensues.

inspiration —  fools rush in (1997 rom-com starring salma hayek and matthew perry)

information — a drabble series loosely based on the 1997 movie fools rush in. drabbles not posted in any linear order and written as a creative writing outlet. 

warnings — mentions of sex work; age-difference; light sugar daddy themes; smut; light angst (specifically in parts V & VI).

I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII - IX - X - XI

VIII — latte (ft. various original characters)

You fucked up.

Or at least, you had made a very big mistake in coming to Kim Hana’s Sunday brunch. It was your first time at her biweekly event and you already wanted to go home. All of the women there were older, faces tight with botox and fillers as they ooh-ed and ahh-ed at one woman’s jewelry and another’s purse. They made surface level comments about politics and fashion and so-and-so’s son who was seen walking around Apgujeong with you-know-who’s daughter. It was mind numbing, but Hana ate it up in a way you didn’t fully understand. Yet, you couldn’t let yourself text Yoongi, couldn’t bear to see the disappointment on his face at you wanting to ditch. He had been doing so much for you recently, so adamant that he had to be sure he didn’t make a mistake in convincing you to marry him. There was nothing you could say to make him believe that you would follow him into an active volcano if he wanted. So you had to at least try.

Still, it’s hard to keep up the facade of a dutiful wife when Kim Hana yells out, “Oh, you’re finally here! I was thinking you’d never arrive! Please, come over. I have someone I want you to meet,” into your ear. The woman who just walked into the private area, lithe and pale with long dark hair, freezes briefly, seemingly unaccustomed to being spoken to so directly. She recovers quickly though, throwing on a blinding white smile as she saunters over to where you and Hana sit at the head of the table.

“Hello, Kim Hana. It’s nice to see you again,” the woman offers, bowing deeply to Hana as though they were worlds apart in the hierarchy that was this brunch.

“A pleasure to see you too. Choi Mina, might I introduce you to our friend Min Yoongi’s new wife? She’s such a doll,” Hana says, tone light despite the suggestiveness of her words. She would have been a great stripper in another life, with her ability to placate people even as she was readying for attack. 

“Oh,” Mina responds quietly, eyes trained on your seated form in a way that you were more than used to. Every woman Hana introduced to you had looked at you in the same exact way. She was sizing you up. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” you say, bowing your head to her slightly.

“I know this can be a bit strange, seeing as you two have been with the same man. But I actually think you guys have a lot in common and would be great friends,” Hana explains, eyes bright with an excitement that you suspect is rooted in her innate desire to make everyone else feel inferior. You end up glaring at Hana due to her words—of course, she’d find a way to bring you around one of Yoongi’s exes. With this new information, the weight of Mina’s stare increases. You hate it. “Ah, you should sit near us. There is so much to discuss.”

As it turns out, there isn’t much to discuss. You didn’t have a lot in common with Yoongi’s ex outside of you both being “dancers”. In fact, it’s hard to see what he would have seen in a professional ballerina who spent half of the year performing in Europe. She speaks in a soft voice, laughter ringing out like windchimes at every joke that was not so secretly told at your expense and she moves so gracefully that even the act of her chewing makes you feel like a slob. She has the type of polish Yoongi often said made him uncomfortable. But, as the conversation progresses, you find it hard to see what Yoongi has seen in you. It is made all too clear that women like Choi Mina and Kim Hana were the expectation for men with money and influence. You weren’t even good enough to qualify as an exception to the rule.

Your resolve weakens. You text Yoongi. Right as you put your phone down, Mina asks, “Your marriage to our Yoongi must have been recent right? I wasn’t even aware that he was dating someone.” A few women murmur in agreement at her observation.

You roll your eyes when she refers to him as “our Yoongi” and shrug. Hana answers for you, “He wasn’t dating someone last year! They rushed right to the altar. It’s incredible. They didn’t even have a wedding here. They got married in America!”

“Oh?” Mina says, a perfect act of curiosity. “Well, how long did you two date?”

Your phone lets out a long vibration as Yoongi’s picture flashes across the screen. Hana again answers for you, excitedly saying, “Only six months! Can you believe it? Namjoon and I didn’t even know he was dating anyone. He must have felt like he had something to hide, though I don’t know why.”

You pick up the phone, only to be greeted by his exasperated tone asking, “Which ex is there exactly?” 

The women continue talking about your relationship as though you aren’t there, but Kim Hana’s continued glances towards you lets you know that she is listening. Instead of answering his question outright, you say, “Hi honey,” in a voice far too sweet to be subtle. 

Yoongi sighs on the end of the line.“Is it the politician's daughter?” 

“Oh no, I’m having a great time! You don’t have to worry,” you respond, hoping he picks up on what you’re trying to say. You can hear a womea say how happy she is that Yoongi is finally sharing you with the world the way he used to in his other relationships.

“Okay… or is the ballerina?”

“Yes, that’s alright,” you answer, patience wearing thin.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he responds, sounding sad. You feel sad too. You fucked up again.

The ten minutes pass by slowly and in that time, you learn several things. Yoongi and Choi Mina had been considering marriage before they broke up. They dated on and off for three years. It had been a rough breakup. Jimin did not like her. Namjoon did. Mina is now engaged to a professor in Nice. She will always have love Yoongi and hopes that he is happy with you. That last part sounds like a lie. 

The ‘I’m outside’ text you receive feels like someone just handed you a tank of oxygen. You take a deep breath, keeping calm as you explain to the women that your husband had to pick you up early due to another appointment. The excuse seems to appease most of them, though Mina insists that she walk you outside so she can say hello to her “dear old Yoongi.”

Your husband sits behind the wheel of his car, paying no attention to his surroundings as he taps away on his cell phone. You feel tension melt from your shoulders as you open the passenger door, sliding inside even though he doesn’t acknowledge your presence. Mina helps you close your door, sticking her face in the open window to say, “Hello Min Yoongi!”

“Hi Choi Mina,” he murmurs, not looking up from his phone. 

She is undeterred. “It’s been quite a while since we have seen each other.”

“It has,” he answers, before cussing softly under his breath and angrily throwing the phone in the empty cup. Mina’s eyes widen at his actions, making you giggle. You knew Yoongi wasn’t really angry, just irritated—nothing that would cause the concern the ballerina was showing.

“I just wanted to tell you that your wife is lovely. Truly, we all couldn’t take our eyes off her. You really picked a winner,” she states diplomatically, playing her part well. 

Yoongi finally looks up at her, eyes bored as he moves to rest a hand on your thigh. “You really think so? I think she’s kind of awful,” he says darkly, though the pads of his fingers rub small circles onto the skin of your thigh. You try to scoff at his words, but it transforms into a quiet laugh. “She’s cute enough I guess, but I wouldn’t call her lovely. I mean she’s not a ballet dancer or anything. Just a stripper. And she spends all my money, too. I don’t even think we would be together if I was broke.” The ballerina’s mouth drops open in shock at his words and you press your lips together hard to stop from laughing. After three years of dating and so much supposed love between them, she should have been able to tell when Yoongi was joking; but it was clear she had no idea. 

“Min Yoongi, that’s no way to talk about the woman you married! If you are having a bad day, you do not take it out on others,” she chides, turning her head to you finally. “I’m so sorry he is being this way with you. I hope his actions don’t stop you from coming to the next brunch and that he cleans up this act!” Mina bows her head to you slightly before turning swiftly and heading back inside the restaurant.

You let out a deep sigh and Yoongi squeezes your thigh gently. “Thanks for playing along,” he tells you sincerely. You shrug, but he continues, “Not just with Mina, you know. I mean with this whole… thing.”

“It was just brunch. No need to thank me.”

“It was a brunch with my ex present. That’s just… not right.”

“Yoongi, it’s okay. You wanted me to go, so I went. I’m just sorry that I made you pick me up early.” 

He clicks his tongue at you in disbelief, removing his hand from your thigh to put the car in drive and pull away from the curb. He is silent for a few minutes, leading you to believe that he has accepted your lies until he says, “I didn’t want you to go. Namjoon suggested it. I knew you wouldn’t have a good time, but he insisted that you might make some friends.” 

You hum quietly at his words, wondering if that’s who he was texting when you first got in the car. “So you’re not mad that I left early?”

He shakes his head. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask to leave earlier. I was waiting for you to call for hours.”

Your heart swells at his admission. He knows you well. “Yoongi?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.” He nods in acknowledgement of your words, but says nothing. You try again. “You make me happy.” He reaches a hand over the center console to grab your own, a small smirk resting on his lips as he continues to stare ahead. “I’m happy I’m here with you.” 

“I love you, too,” he finally responds. You know he believes you. 

#yoongi scenarios #min yoongi scenarios #yoongi drabbles #min yoongi drabbles #suga scenarios #suga drabbles #bts scenarios #bts drabbles #au: fools rush in #suga fluff #yoongi fluff #min yoongi fluff #bts fluff #sailor belle writes

[ariainstars]

Reylo is Canon... It Isn’t the Plot

All right, before some of you will want to kill me: I have no doubts that Ben and Rey are meant to be together.

But I am also positive that Episode IX will not be a romantic love story.

I cannot say it often enough: despite the parallels, Star Wars is not Pride and Prejudice. Kylo Ren will not prostrate himself at Rey’s feet saying how sorry he is and asking her to tell him what he is supposed to do now and how she wants him to be.

The title says it: Pride and Prejudice is about a couple. His fault is the pride, hers is the prejudice. Elizabeth had judged Darcy quickly, believing everything George Wickham told her although she hardly knew him. Darcy had to tell her his own version of Wickham’s account in writing before she understood that there was more to it than she thought, and she felt ashamed immediately.

 “How despicably have I acted!” she cried. “I, who have prided myself on my discernment! I, who have valued myself on my abilities! Who have often disdained the generous candour of my sister, and gratified my vanity, in useless or blameable distrust. How humiliating is this discovery! - Yet, how just a humiliation! Had I been in love, I could not have been more wretchedly blind. But vanity, not love, has been my folly. - Pleased with the preference of one, and offended by the neglect of the other, on the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted prepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away, where either were concerned. Till this moment I never knew myself.” (Chapter 36.)

This is a major plot point; Pride and Prejudice is not a Cinderella story where a guy wants a girl who is socially below him, but first must overcome his arrogance to realize that she’s the right one for him. Elizabeth, in her own way, is as flawed as Darcy is.

Please read Jane Austen’s novel again if you don’t believe me. I love the book but it hurts me to see it so often misunderstood. The author’s intentions are clear: man and woman both need to grow and mature one through the other. As for me personally, I see nothing romantic in a guy crawling before a girl asking her to permit him to become her sugar daddy, pardon my blunt words.

So, even if we would assume Ben and Rey are like Darcy and Elizabeth, we would have no situation where the woman is morally high above the guy. Man and woman are equally right and wrong in both stories.

I agree with many fans that Ben and Rey need to finish what Padmé and Anakin had started. However, “Reverse Anidala” does not quite hit the nail on the head. One couple was doomed from the start, whereas the other two will have a future; but Rey cannot save Ben from himself. Padmé tried to do the same with Anakin and it ended in disaster - not through any fault of her own but because it is not a woman’s task to redeem a guy. Anakin obsessed about her to the point that it drove him to madness and ultimately caused his descent to hell. No woman ever ought to be loved to the point that a guy will do anything out of fear of losing her. Apart from that, Padmé did not know Anakin’s intentions, and if she had, she never would have wanted what he did.

What was Padmés and Anakin’s tragedy? They knew and loved one another since childhood, they had a romance, they got married and wanted to have children; they loved one another beyond death.

But:

1) Padmé did not have the Force; thus, she never understood the conflict in her husband’s heart, but it also never tempted her to do evil. Rey and Ben have a telepathic bond through the Force, both know well how each other’s minds work. But Rey needs to know the temptation of the Force in order to understand that she judged Ben although she never was in his shoes.

2) We hardly see Padmés own parents (so I assume they play no major role in her life), and Anakin loses his mother at age nine: both of them ardently wish for a family. Padmé had relinquished her mandate as queen of Naboo because she wanted to get married and have children of her own. Anakin declared the happiest day of his life when his wife told him she was pregnant. Their tragedy was that their children were born, but that they could not be parents, never actually have the family they desired.

The Skywalker family was meant to bring balance to the Force, and there can only be balance once the family wounds are finally healed. The last scion of the Skywalkers needs a family of his own, a happy and united one.

Ben needs to be redeemed; Anakin had cursed himself killing the Jedi padawans, and the last person we saw in Episode VIII was a Force-sensitive child. That is why I am positive that they are his redemption, not Rey.

Rey’s role is not to be Ben’s savior but to be the mother to these children who, like her, were abandoned. That is what’s important about her provenience, not that she might be a Skywalker or Kenobi or whatever else.

Ben is not meant to become Rey’s pet on a leash but the Good Father opposite to Darth Vader, the Dark, the evil Father. Ben is the last scion of the Skywalkers and the protagonist always becomes the central figure, finally choosing his own fate, only in the third installment of each trilogy. Essentially this is his story, not Rey’s. Adam Driver has Vader’s stature but his features are the opposite of Vader’s creepy mask. If you watch a few other movies with him, you quickly realize that he very often deals with children, and that he does it well. And there has never been a Star Wars film or series without a father figure until now. Who else is it supposed to be? I hope not Palpatine. 😉

Conclusion: we are not following a romantic couple here but a future mother and father. If Ben and Rey “only” declare undying love for one another, not much will be won. There is a lot more at stake here than romance. The strong chemistry between the protagonists is not leading to some passionate scenes with the lovers saving the galaxy through their devotion for one another; honestly, I am not even sure that Rey is requiting Ben’s feelings yet. They are almost strangers and politically arch-enemies, the exact opposite of Padmé and Anakin. Two actors with an intense sensual aura were necessary to make the bond between them palpable, although in the story’s context it stems from the Force.

I know I am speculating. But the saga’s themes are clear, and I have studied them for almost two years now. I would be very surprised if things went differently after everything that has happened in the saga before. You don’t need leaks to see where things are going, all you have to do is listen.

I am 99 % sure that Ben and Rey will be together and happy in the end. But I am also quite sure that they will have much more than that - a purpose, most probably taking care of children who were trapped and alone the way they were, each in his own way.

Remember how The Last Jedi gave Reylo’s so much more than they hoped for? The Rise of Skywalker will do the same.

In any case, I have my fingers crossed. 😉

P.S. I had already written about this at length some time ago, in case somebody is interested in more details: Homecoming of the Children

#star wars #pride and prejudice #jane austen #episode IX #bendemption #save ben solo #kylo ren #ben solo #darth vader #anakin skywalker #padme amidala #anidala #rey #reylo #elizabeth bennet #mr darcy #read more

[yes7erdays]

❛⠀ i've been thinking... ⠀ ❜ ⠀ soft-spoken words blur into the soft hum of the tardis. inside the time machine, days blur together. there is no routine, no sunlight to nudge her into doing something productive. a year ago, she would hurry out as quickly as possible, sensing without understanding an unwelcome tension in the ship's consciousness. but things have changed. the doctor has changed, and with him, so did the tardis. the melody in her ears softened, bookmark on her novels stopped changing from one night to another, and there was always a kettle on. ❛⠀ we never do long trips, ❜ clara pauses, resting her head on the back of the couch and nudging him on her leg with her foot to grab his attention.⠀ ⠀ ❛⠀ been ages. come on, you know you love a breakfast buffet. ⠀ ❜

@crazypaving ( starter call )

#crazypaving #crazypaving ( 12 ) #interactions. #〉 series ix ₎ when it is dark enough you can see the stars.

[spicy-ryls]

Ranty TROS stuff below. I wrote this on and off days so it might sound disconnected but yeah. Sorry it’s kinda long and my spelling and grammar might not be the best but I just wanted to let my feelings out.

I’m still trying to accept this movie. I watched it on the night of 19 December, the premier date for Malaysia, and I still remember my visceral feeling towards this movie. I remember feeling so empty, baffled, sad and shocked, almost like I just lost a relative or one of my cats, and I’ve experienced that multiple times in my life and it sucks.

Sometimes I think, how could I be so attached to this trilogy? I’ve literally spent so much energy defending TLJ and the ST from the backlash in the local fandom to the point where I couldn’t stand it anymore and I removed myself from the local fanbase as much as I could. But I’ve never felt so betrayed and almost embarassed that I was so invested into it.

I never grew up with Star Wars. Instead, I started watching TFA while I was in that age period between 19-20. I was a little shit and I was still adjsuting to adulthood, so it pretty much was almost like in the process of being born again as an adult. At the time I was making a series of webcomics under the title ‘Gods Among Men’ and I was pretty much drawing almost exclusively Hades/Persephone stuff and I was drawing Hades as this typical tall, dark & handsome guy. At some point, my friends and I just joked at how much I loved that trope that’s it’s like my type in fictional guys, and yes I still love it.

So my friends just said to me “hey, watch the new Star Wars, you’ll love it!”

And I was HOOKED.

I got so into it. I watched all of the other movies, even the Christmas Special. And I loved the character of Kylo Ren so much. Initially I wasn’t instantly into Reylo. But after some fanart or fanfic or two I fell down the rabbit hole of this ship that I loved so much and the two characters of Rey and Kylo/Ben whom I had such a strong connection to.

Q4 of 2017 was the best year for me as a fan of this franchise. I was so excited for TLJ. I was super involved in a lot of local Star Wars related stuff and at that point people just knew me as “That Rey (cosplayer) who liked Reylo and Kylo Ren a lot”. I had made many friends and acquaintances over the year. And then TLJ came.

And the community was divided.

A lot of male fans I knew were so enraged by the movie. “TLJ ruined my childhood!!” they shouted on their facebook wall. “RJ and KK ruined Star Wars” they yelled. It just cemented the Star Wars Fanboy trope so badly that it was laughable that grown men 3 times my age with family AND KIDS were yelling about it for TWO WHOLE YEARS and because I was the one publicly championing the ST, all they talked about to me was about how much they hated it, and it’s still brought on in passing conversation to this day. I hated having to meet these people at events because my encounters are always unpleasant.

Time passed. The Reylo community was prosperous and it really was a golden age of content. We were excited to see how the ending of a saga was going to be, with a definitive Ben Solo redemption and Reylo being canon. And then came the announcement of JJ returning to direct Episode IX. I instantly had a gut feeling that it was not gonna be good, but I will hold my trust to him since he directed TFA. BOY I WAS WRONG.

The TROS panel at SWCC ended in a somewhat hopeful note. Later in the year, interviews were being published, and in the beginning it was all fine and dandy. I can’t remember when the news of reshoots started popping out, but even then I gave them the benefit of the doubt that because this movie was going to tie in all of the other 8 movies and surely they had to do something right about it. Then came in a lot of red flags in merchandising, marketing, cast interviews, etc. Daisy’s and John’s infamous interview felt so OOC for me that I couldn’t believe what I was reading. And at this point, my hopes were very low. I felt something was very off in everything and I was almost inactive of soc med or any TROS news because I wanted to watch the movie with no outside influences. I didn’t even read any leaks and only heard about it in passing.

Then came the week of the premier. I was putting my expectations super low. I just thought of all the bad things that could happen like Rey Palpatine or Kylo/Ben dying and I went into it with that thought. Before the movie, I had to sort of minggle with the crowd of a private screening event as Rey. But I just had so much anxiety before I could even get in costume to the point where I did cry. And it didn’t help that some of the other cosplayers and minders had already seen the movie the previous day and were having borderline spoilery conversations, which did upset me further. Eventually I calmed down enough, but I was still feeling a little down. It sort of helped that the attendees who are usually normal people are usually the kind to take pictures with the more masked or sith-looking guys or my friend who was masked Kylo so I could usually be left alone.

And finally, it was time to watch the movie and I can still remember how dumb I was for thinking this movie was going to be smart. There was just too much going on and I was so in shock of how poorly written, edited and directed it was. There was hardly any cheer or gasps in my cinema throughout the whole thing, although there were one or two who tried to whoop at the Lucasfilm logo but they kept quiet for the rest of it too. It was such a different experience from the one I had of my first TLJ screening. 80% of the time I just had a blank expression on my face and the only time I sort of got excited for were the Rey and Kylo/Ben scenes, except that ending. I really did not like this movie. I did not feel hopeful at all and the ending the just felt so off. I was relieved to see that I was not the only one who thought of it that way.

This movie effected me so much that I had trouble sleeping, loss of apetite, loss of focus and random bouts of crying in my car for how hollow I felt for about a week+. There was a huge convention on the same weekend and everyone who knew me pretty much came up to me and ask how I was and what I thought about the movie, and a simple glance and head shake was enough to convey how much I felt, and I just did not want to talk about it on a busy con day. But after a busy con weekend, I went in full force on venting it out on Twitter and finding myself in discord support groups and I’m glad I was not alone.

Now it’s been 11 days since I’ve watched TROS and I’ve sort of clamed down from being mad about it. But I don’t think I could accept an ending to a saga for how botched it was which stemmed from fan pandering and corporate greed. But I have never been so proud to be in the Reylo community, who are tirelessly finding concrete evidence on how badly edited it was and just how messy things were behind the scenes. I’m glad to have met all of you and even befriend some thanks to this ship and our love for Rey and Ben Solo and every character in the saga. I am very saddened at how badly treated every character was from Rey to Leia and everyone in between, but it’s not going to stop us from creating good fan content and what we’ve had so far is incredible.

Stay strong and save what we love. ❤

#rant #tros

[duhragonball]

Potpourri

I’ve been thinking about various storytelling things, not really Dragon Ball related, but I figured I could write them all down here and make something out of it.    Yeah, like an old school Livejournal post, except I can’t write a sassy message in the read-more cut.

Okay, first, I’ve been watching a lot of AEW Dark episodes on YouTube, because AEW puts out a new one every Tuesday and it’s easy to fall behind on them.   So it’s like reliving wrestling angles that I watched on AEW Dynamite back in June and July.    One of these angles was a world title match between champion Jon Moxley, and “The Machine” Brian Cage, who debuted by winning a ladder match in dramatic fashion, along with his new manager, Taz.

Taz does a lot of the color commentary for these episodes of Dark, and Cage debuted around the release of Episode 35, so after that, Taz started using his announcing job to promote the upcoming title match and gloat about how his guy Cage was going to destroy Jon Moxley and win the title.   Taz’s main argument was that Cage is absolutely jacked, which made him a success before, but now he’s got Taz coaching him in all the cool stuff Taz used to do in ECW: suplexes, submission holds, etc.    Taz sells you Brian Cage’s world title victory like a lawyer presenting a case to a jury.   At the center of Taz’s argument was his claim that Cage was simply too big, too strong, and too prepared for Jon Moxley’s finishing move, the Paradigm Shift.    Taz predicted that Mox wouldn’t be able to apply the Paradigm Shift properly, and even if he could hit it, it wouldn’t be enough to stop Cage. 

The plot twist came from real life, when Moxley had to stay home because his wife contracted COVID-19.   There was a lot of speculation that he might get sick, and even if he didn’t, that he wouldn’t be able to appear for the title match.   Fortunately, it didn’t come to that, and the match was simply postponed an extra week.    During that time, Taz accused Moxley of ducking Brian Cage, which I wasn’t crazy about, since I didn’t like coronavirus being used in a wrestling angle.   On the other hand, it did give Taz a couple of weeks to run down the champion unopposed.   At one point he reintroduced his old FTW title belt and gave it to Cage because the world title match had been postponed.    Good stuff.  

So finally, Moxley comes back, and he did one promo before the title match, and this was his chance to respond to all the shittalking Taz had been doing.   It was brilliant, because for weeks, Taz had been declaring victory, and he shut it all down in one quick segment.    He brought up Taz’s claim that the Paradigm Shift wouldn’t work on Cage, and Moxley just said “well maybe I won’t try to use my finisher on him.   No, instead, I’m going to target his left bicep, which was surgically repaired last year, putting Cage out of action for several months.”

And just like that, the tone of the show changed, where suddenly it looked like Cage might be in trouble, because his camp only seemed to have a perfect game plan, and here was the champion announcing his own counter-strategy in advance.   “You talked shit about my wife being sick, so I will reinjure your arm.” 

And it was awesome.    At one point Moxley went for a pin, and Cage kicked out, only for Moxley to reverse the pin into a submission move on the arm.    There were points where it seemed like he couldn’t decide which arm to target, and eventually I realized he was going after both of them, switching from one to the other as needed.   It’s smart, because if you go after the good arm, he’s gotta use the vulnerable one to fight you off, and by doing that Cage basically handed it to Mox for his next hold.  

Finally, Moxley had Cage trapped in an arm hold, and the whole time he was looking Taz in the eye, basically waiting for a submission or a ref stoppage, and Taz had no choice but to throw in the towel to save Brian Cage’s career.    It was a beautiful finish because it sewed up the whole story.   Cage never tapped out, so he still looks like a relentless badass, but Taz had to let discretion be the better part of valor.   He mocked Moxley for playing it safe when his wife got sick, so Moxley forced Taz to make the same choice.    Great stuff.   

Second.   I’ve been reading Darth Vader comics since Marvel started publishing new Star Wars stuff again.    Disney bought Marvel and Star Wars, so it was only a matter of time before the comics began to reflect this.   The smart thing they did was to give Vader his own title, which I like because I’m not that into the adventures of Luke and Han.   

The first Vader series was twenty-odd issues featuring his fall from grace after the Death Star’s destruction, and his rise to command of the Imperial Fleet.     Basically it charts Vader’s career between Episodes IV and V, though there’s plenty of room for other side-stories.   

The second series flashed back to the final scenes of Revenge of the Sith, and tracks Vader’s actions before A New Hope.   It doesn’t cover the entire period, but it hits a lot of the important notes.   How he got his red lightsaber, how he trained the Inquisitors and hunted down the surviving Jedi, and how he built the castle on Mustafar seen in Rogue One.   So it handles everything important Vader was known to have done between Episodes III and IV. 

The third series, currently ongoing, starts right after Vader’s final scene in Empire Strikes Back, and I would assume it’s going to lead him right up to his arrival at Death Star II in Return of the Jedi.   I’m really into this, because I feel like this is an especially overlooked stage of Vader’s career.    Starting out, it seems to be mostly about Vader investigating how his son survived Padme’s death, as he seeks revenge against anyone who hid the boy from him.    Of course, nearly everyone involved in that cover-up is already dead, so I’m not sure where this is going to lead.   

All three volumes of the Vader title focus on the utter futility of Vader’s quests for power and revenge.    His hunts for Jedi survivors was just something for him to do in his spare time, since the Jedi were no longer a threat to him.    His castle on Mustafar was designed to give him special knowledge of the Force, but it only revealed truths that he already knew, or had long since rejected.    His plot to regain the Emperor’s favor after Yavin was very satisfying to watch, but also pointless: The Emperor needed him too badly to dispose of him, and Vader’s still a patsy whether he’s the #2 guy in the Empire or the #5 guy in the Empire.    And now this new series sees him chasing ghosts, trying to make sense of Luke’s refusal to join him.     He wants some sort of answer to his dilemma, but the only answer he’s ever going to find is the one in ROTJ, where he sacrifices himself to kill the Emperor, the one thing he cannot bring himself to contemplate until the time comes.

What saddens me, a little, is the realization that there doesn’t seem to be anywhere else for Marvel to go with the guy.   We’ve got an arc of Vader between Episodes III and IV, an arc between IV and V, and now V and VI, and that’s it.    The only way to do another Darth Vader series after this would be to go back and cover one of those three periods of his career.   And I’d be up for that, but the three series Marvel has done seem a little too decisive for this.  Like they purposely planned these comics because they weren’t going to revisit the character again for a while.   At least, not as the star of his own feature.   

I guess I could deal with that.    Maybe Marvel could finally get around to exploring the Sith career of Count Dooku between Episodes I and II, or work out some loose ends with the Emperor between Episodes VI and IX.    The main thing that’s been on my mind about Vader, though, is this idea that the character could just be done, and laid aside.  

This is something I’ve often observed about Cell and Frieza in DBZ.   I still think it’s dumb how they brought back Frieza after Trunks killed him, because there really wasn’t anything left to do with the character after he got turned into a cyborg and instakilled.   There’s nowhere to go after that.    His character arc was to start as the Final Boss of the entire Universe and then to get reduced to a pathetic, minor threat.    You can bring him back, but your only choice, dramatically speaking, is to reset the character, which means putting him back on the same track he’s already covered.     There’s no way to bring back Frieza and not have it be a retread of stuff he’s already done once before.

Cell might have some interesting applications beyond his original story, but he’s too much of a slave to his purpose.    His job was to carry on Dr. Gero’s revenge scheme, and that all ended when the saga ended, so he just seems out of place whenever he appears after that.   This is why I’m glad Toei and Toriyama haven’t brought Cell back, although at this rate it feels like it’s only a matter of time.   The thing is, if they brought him back, what else could they do with him?

With Darth Vader, all of his most important moments have already been covered in the movies, so all that’s left is to produce some side-story content.    The old Expanded Universe tended to steer clear of Darth Vader, probably out of respect for George Lucas’ prequel plans.    Later, the Clone Wars projects gave us more Anakin Skywalker than anyone knew what to do with, which is basically Darth Vader content, but not quite.   That’s why I dig these Marvel books so much, because there’s never been such a sustained effort to tell a Darth Vader story like this.   But once it’s run its course, the only way to keep using the character would basically be to start over.     I have a hard time seeing Marvel do that.  They’d have to get a new writer to retell those years like the first set of comics didn’t happen.    That could be very entertaining, but it doesn’t sound likely to happen.  

I’m not terribly worried about getting my Darth Vader fix in the future.   They’ll keep making stories about him long after I’m dead.   It’s just that I’ve been thinking about the limits of what you can do with one character.    I’ve long thought that you can always find gaps in the narrative that can be filled in with new stories, but maybe that isn’t true.    Maybe at some point, for some characters, there’s a finite amount of things to do with them.    You look at all of the Anakin Skywalker Clone Wars stories, and I’m sure someone could write a few hundred more, but would it really accomplish anything that hasn’t already been covered?   Is it possible to “use up” a character?   I probably won’t know for sure anytime soon.  

[missmudpie]

Name Ten Films That Have, For Whatever Reason, Stuck With You

@millennialfangirl tagged me, and this was harder than I thought and I might have gone over the ten.  Also, tumblr is being tumblr and not cooperating with gifs, so only the first film has one.  Here they are, in chronological order:

Casablanca, 1942

Look, Casablanca is the best film ever made.  Is it my favorite?  No, but it’s the best, much better than Citizen Kane, which is often heralded as the pinnacle of cinema but is about a rich old white guy who loves his sled.

Here’s looking at you, kid.  Of all the Gin joints.  Round up the usual suspects!  I’m shocked - shocked!- to find that gambling is going on in here (Your winnings, sir.). This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.  As Time Goes By.  Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman and a supporting cast to die for.  Renault throwing away the bottle of Vichy water.

I could go on, but here’s why Casablanca has stuck with me: It’s one of my Dad’s favorite movies, too.  When I think of Casablanca, I think of him.  One Christmas (I can’t remember if I was in high school or college), the old timey theater in town played Casablanca.  I got us tickets as his Christmas present.  It is one of my favorite movie-going experiences (more on that below).

Star Wars, 1977

When I was little, we used to go to my maternal grandparents’ house every Tuesday, and I would watch Star Wars.  I was probably waaaaay too young - there’s audio of me playing out Star Wars with my My Little Ponies and I was like, three.  On my college essay, I wrote about how Return of the Jedi was my first movie (true story, I was six months old and slept through the whole thing, because apparently taking your sleeping infant to the movies is something parents did in the ‘80s).

Star Wars is where I learned about the Hero’s Journey.  About princesses and rebellions and wizards and flying spaceships.  I devoured the Timothy Zahn books and Young Jedi Knights series.  And yes, I’m a little down on it all after Episode IX - but I still love it.  It has impacted me in so many ways.  I know my life would be the poorer for not having seen it.

Raiders of the Lost Ark, 1981

If Princess Leia was the first damsel I saw who get herself out of distress, Marian Ravenwood was the one who solidified the idea that women were perfectly capable of getting into and out of trouble themselves, thank you very much.  Then there’s Harrison Ford in being Peak Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones - Intelligent, clever, brave-bordering-on-reckless.  Who wouldn’t want to go on far-flung adventures to find hidden treasure, and maybe punch some Nazis while you’re at it?

The Goonies, 1985

Speaking of far-flung adventures, how about going on one in your hometown?  Booby-traps, pirates, Italian gangsters, Sloth, hidden treasure - it’s every kid’s playtime fantasy come magically to life.  I still want to go down those tunnel slides and shoot out into a hidden lagoon.  They just don’t make movies like this any more - fun, family movies that don’t dumb down the action or characterization for kids, that’s a ride for both kids and parents alike.  This was the first movie I showed my kids during quarantine.

The Princess Bride, 1987

Inconceivable.  The Six Fingered Man.  Death cannot stop truly love.  Only mostly dead.  Have fun storming the castle!  Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya.  You killed my father.  Prepare to die.  ROUSes.

This is a perfect movie.  It is.  It is lightning in a bottle and it should never, ever be remade (those were just rumors, right?).  This is romance and humor and suspense and two of the best swordfights in cinematic history (fight me on this.  No, really, fight me.  I took fencing in college because of this movie), all wrapped up in the sweetest Happily Ever After.  I love it so much.

Jurassic Park, 1993

I’ve told this story before, but here it is again.  In the summer of 1993, I was 10 and my sisters were 8 and just turned 6, and we convinced our parents that we were for sure old enough to see Jurassic Park - a book my mother had read and thus knew what level of horror to expect.  It did not go well.  I ended up burying my head in my dad’s chest; my youngest sister was in my mom’s lap; and my middle sister, with no where left to go, ended up under the seat in front of her.

Now, it’s the movie we quote (Hold on to your butts).  When my youngest had jello recently, I told him to hold it up and look scared, then texted the picture around.  We all knew immediately what I meant.  The DVDs are given as gifts and then immediately stolen.  My youngest sister can recite the entire movie.  I can’t wait to scare my sons with it.

The Shawshank Redemption, 1994

I don’t remember this movie when it came out; I remember it was this movie I hadn’t really heard of at the Oscars, where it won none.  Not until I was much older did I realize what a travesty that was.  I first watched this on a pep band bus trip in college - not the time or place to truly appreciate it.  Months later, I rented it (remember renting movies?) and fell in love with it.

This is a beautiful movie about friendship and hope and finding light in the darkness.  It’s always on TV, and I will always stop and watch at least a few minutes of it.  The ending - the last half hour, really - is pure cinematic poetry, but noting beats Red’s monologue as he travels to find Andy on that Mexican beach.

That Thing You Do!, 1996

This movie is Capital-D-Delightful.  Just thinking about it makes me smile.  This is the movie that tipped me from Tom Hanks Fan to I Love Tom Hanks and Need Him to Be My Best Friend.  He WROTE and DIRECTED this gem of a movie.  The talent.  The song is legitimately catchy, the characters are Wonder-ful (see what I did there?), and it’s all in Day-Glo ‘60s color.  I love this movie and make no apologies.

Toy Story 2, 1999

Speaking of Tom Hanks, this is my favorite Toy Story.  Look, the first is a technological marvel, but Woody is an ass throughout most of the film.  The fourth is it’s own thing, and the third is really, really good and I ugly sob at the end, but it’s also got a lot going on there.  But the second - oh the second is beautiful in its simplicity.  In addition to all of Andy’s toys, we get Jesse and Bullseye and even Stinky Pete.  It’s an ode to friendship and love and the realization that life, for toys and people, eventually ends, and we have to appreciate every moment we have now.  It is my favorite Toy Story.

Finding Nemo, 2003

I don’t know if it’s my favorite Pixar film, though.  It depends on the day, but most of the time that distinction goes to Finding Nemo.  I first saw it when I was twenty, a decade before my first kid was born, but it has greatly influenced how I parent.  The conversation between Dory and Marlin in the whale, the idea that keeping anything from happening to your kid cuts both ways, the leap of faith, the mantra of “just keep swimming,” the notion that your kids don’t just want, but need to have independence - it’s all there, in Pixar’s stunning ocean animation.  I get choked up just thinking about it.  “Now go have an adventure!”

Honorable Mentions:

Forrest Gump, 1994

I loved this movie.  I love Tom Hanks in this movie.  I would watch it in snippets during college, while I ate dinner or lunch or just needed a quick study break.  But it’s been years since I last saw it, and I wonder if it still holds up.  It’s a Boomer movie made when the Boomers were - basically, just a little older than we old Millennials are now.  It’s American history in the last half of the twentieth century, but the big events - Vietnam, Civil Rights, even AIDS - are filtered through the lens of a straight white man who kinda wanders into history but doesn’t really get why the moments are historic.  I feel like it’s a film I appreciated at a certain time, but wouldn’t love as much now.

Avengers: Endgame, 2019

There just hasn’t been enough time for this movie to make the list.  Ask about it again in ten years.  Although, to be honest, I haven’t seen the whole thing since I saw it in theaters, and I fear it won’t live up.  It was the best movie-going experience I’ve ever had.  The crowd was so into it, and the last battle had everyone, me included, screaming at the screen.  Part of what makes Endgame so special to me is that, among the three big franchises that ended last year (Avengers, Star Wars, Game of Thrones), this one actually stuck the landing.  And yes, I could argue that Steve Rogers’ end doesn’t actual make any sense and deprives Peggy Carter of her agency - but in the emotional moment of the film, it worked.  That portal scene is the culmination of twenty-plus films, and I still can’t believe it works as well as it does.

Thanks again for this! I second tagging @lerayon for this.  I feel like I’m kinda cold-calling mutuals from our Arrow days, so no pressure.  But I’d love to hear what @machawicket @dust2dust34 @dettiot @theshipsfirstmate​ have on their lists.

#Miss Mudpie watches too many movies #Fandom Friends

[the-resurrection-3d]

why i gotta build something beautiful just to go set it on fire

Warnings: Brief character death, SUF spoilers

Rating: G

Genres: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Words: 1113

Alt links: Ao3

Once upon a time, a boy became a hero became a monster. | Nine “what-ifs” based on the original series, the movie, and Future’s finale.

i.

Once upon a time, a boy who fancied himself a man sang his heart out, and there was no one there to clap. No one but a woman, tall and wonderful and cloaked in shadow, but she did not linger for him to sell her a t-shirt, or a CD, or learn her name. He tried to follow her, calling out, “Hey, Miss! Miss, you dropped your – uh – keys!” But she knew she did not have any keys or slippers to leave behind, and she was much too fast.

ii.

Once upon a time, the evil queen pulled out a young boy’s heart, looking for her lost daughter.

A boy cannot live without his heart, can he? And a heart cannot live without a body. They crawled towards each other, but by the time their fingers brushed it was already too late.

iii.

Once upon a time, a prince was given his late mother’s colony to rule over. He was also given all of her servants, her secrets, and her garden. When he noticed a drawing of the garden in his mother’s hidden room, he alone went to investigate, and found a broken doll waiting there exactly where she had left it.

He stayed with the doll for a little while, hoping to get her to play, but all she did was cry. “You’re boring me,” the prince said eventually. “Is that all you can do?”

The doll’s tear-stained face contorted; the black rivulets under her eyes looked as gashes as she screamed and went to attack him.

He grabbed her heart and crushed it in his hand and went back to the palace.

iv.

Once upon a time, a boy was nearly killed by a giant monster. His father took him and shoved all of their belongings in the back of his van and they moved far, far away, where there were no monsters or magic to be found.

v.

Once upon a time, a boy whimpered I shattered you I shattered you I shattered you over and over into the chest of his most obedient soldier, and she smoothed his hair down too roughly with her huge, untrained hands. She said, Thank you so much, my diamond.

And when he grew shiny pink horns like her own, she thought this forgotten, sunken feeling swirling in her chest might just be love.

vi.

Once upon a time, a boy became a hero became a monster. The people who loved him cried, they called to him to calm down, they held him down in the sea so he could only hurt himself. One of them, the remorseful high queen, attempted to help by telling the boy-monster he could speak through her while he struggled to break free. She stood, black lips smiling so sweetly, and asked to peek into his mind.

And then she fell back into the ocean, aghast. The other queens rushed to catch her. For the first time in eons, they felt their sister diamond tremble.

“That’s not Steven anymore!” she cried, for his mind was but a waterfall of hatred and venom and pink so dark it looked like blood, and the monster that was now Steven laughed. Spittle landed on her face and crashed like meteors along the shoreline as his choked, joyless laughter echoed.

It was utterly inhuman; it sounded a lot like, How would you know?

vii.

Once upon a time,  the boy who became a hero became a murderer, too, and thinking himself undeserving of redemption, ran off to hide in his mother’s old garden. Only a few other people in the whole universe knew of this place, and none would think to look there, he reasoned. Or maybe, deep in his heart, he knew that that was untrue, and was simply waiting.

He wanted to be alone forever; the thought of being alone made him want to shrivel up and die.

He was alone for a while, but eventually an old new friend came back to the garden where she had once played for hours, where she had stood for centuries in heartbroken silence.

“You’re so happy, now, Spinel,” the boy said without looking at her. “How did you do it? Don’t even answer that – I know how, I told you how, but … how?”

“I found you,” she said, reaching a hand out, wondering if she should touch him. “You just need to find someone, remember?”

“But who?”

“Maybe…” Here she paused, bit her lip, and finally sat down next to him, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “You have to find yourself.” He was too tired to fight against her touch, so she continued. She said, “You have to listen and trust the part of yourself that wants to be found.”

viii.

Once upon a time, a boy goes to take a picture of himself and his mother. She rests her chin atop his head and gives the camera her best smile.

ix.

Once upon a time, a boy becomes a hero becomes broken, and when he sees his new self, all claws and teeth and rose petal scales, he lefts out a scream loud enough to rip the world to shreds. No one can hear him.

Without you, this wouldn't have happened, none of this would have! His voice shatters the inside walls of his mind, but still he does not stop. Come on out, Mom, and face the music, see how well I’ve taken care of them!

And his other half, his pink mirror, takes his hand gently, its skin cold as stone. It says, She isn’t here anymore.

Then why am I acting like her? The boy snaps. Why am I repeating all of her mistakes? I let everyone think I'm an angel just like she did, but really I’m even worse! None of this could have happened if I didn't have this horrible gem! Why can’t I just be rid of you?

Because you would die, his other half replies.

And why shouldn't I die, for everything that I've done?

Because I need you. The cold grip returns, tightens.

Why? The boy tries to break free again, but the grip is too strong, and his vision is too blurry with tears to properly see. All you do is make me hurt my friends, and all I do is hold you back.  His voice nearly fails him. Outside, people are shouting, begging for him to come back, but the boy does not know if he can. What could you possibly need me for?  

And suddenly the other half is a child again, diamonds in his eyes where stars should be. Because all I’ve ever wanted was to protect you.

#steven universe #steven universe future #su jasper #su spinel #steven diamond universe #su spoilers #2d nonsense

[weasley-gal]

Cindy’s Top Ten Movies of 2019!

Ahhh...2019. In the interest of building suspense, I could be all cagey about this countdown, but let's face it: For me, 2019 was the Year of Rocketman. As lousy as the real-world year was, it was salvaged by Rocketman. Someone suggested in jest (maybe?) that Rocketman should be numbers one through ten on my year-end list, and that would be fair enough; HOWEVER...I did like some other movies this year, so I'm gonna give you--yes YOU, dear reader(s)--ten of my favorites. Just know in your hearts that the other nine fall way behind number one. Way, WAY behind.

The usual disclaimers:

A movie's position on my year-end list does not necessarily reflect its original Weasley score. Some films age well, bear up, and even improve under repeat viewings. Some...well...some do not. Also, I live in a rinky-dink town, so great movies like JoJo Rabbit and 1917--pictures that almost certainly would have found spots here or gotten very close--have not made themselves available to me yet. This is disappointing, but unsurprising. I'd hung my entire holiday break on the prospect of seeing 1917, only to discover on Christmas Day that its Christmas opening was limited release, and I have to wait until January 10th. Humbug. Finally, I think three or four of these movies already made Variety's "worst of" list for 2019, so kindly do not be too shocked when I diverge from The Serious Critics (TM).  

Without further ado, presenting my top ten films of 2019:

TEN

"The most important qualification for any leader is not wanting to be leader."

THE TWO POPES

2019 threw me a nice surprise on its way out the celestial door, with the Netflix original The Two Popes. It's a deliberate, thoughtful, and timely film carried by a pair of the year's most exquisite performances: Jonathan Pryce as Pope Francis and Anthony Hopkins as Pope Benedict XVI. While the subject matter is weighty, this movie is an absolute delight.

NINE

"I'm glad I'm a revelation and not a disappointment."

DOWNTON ABBEY

This big-screen adaptation of the popular television series Downton Abbey, is, in fact, something of a revelation. A totally new story in the familiar and much-loved setting, with just the right amount of fan service, it is a joyful exercise that hits nearly every note perfectly. Making its case for the big screen are breathtaking costumes and production design...and Mr. Barrow finally seeing a bit of happiness doesn't hurt, either.

EIGHT

"We're gonna bury Ferrari at Le Mans."

FORD V FERRARI

At a glance, Ford v Ferrari might seem like a film appealing exclusively to car enthusiasts; however, that assumption does a great disservice to both the film and the viewer. Ford v Ferrari is an inspiring story about people. It's a nail-biter from start to finish, it has heart to spare, and it's fronted by great turns from Matt Damon and Christian Bale. Beautifully filmed race action makes this one to see on the biggest screen you can find.

SEVEN

"It always fits...eventually."

SPIDER-MAN: INTO THE SPIDER-VERSE

Technically, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse is a last-year movie, but for me it's a this-year movie, and--despite its being the very first film I saw way back in January, 2019--it's far too great to leave off my best-of list. A Marvel property in the hands of Sony, Spider-Verse is smart, funny, touching, and better than the entire Avengers catalog combined.  

SIX

"This is a twisted web, and we are not finished untangling it, not yet."

KNIVES OUT

Knives Out is a great piece of original cinema crafted from artful twists, clever humor, and terrific performances, layered with a gorgeous Gothic setting and an ominous score. Written and directed by Rian Johnson, this perfect murder mystery is a huge creative and financial win for the cinema, and I recommend it without hesitation or qualification.

FIVE

"This is the worst...and best...and most terrible...excellent thing that's ever happened to me!"

THE KID WHO WOULD BE KING

Hands up if you missed the Kid Who Would Be King at your local cinema? Yeah, I see you, ALL of you. The good news is that one of the year's most wonderful pictures is now available for streaming and download, and you shouldn't make the same mistake twice. The Kid Who Would Be King is a charming movie, great fun for people of all ages. Truly one of the year's best.

FOUR

"Si vis pacem, para bellum."

JOHN WICK: CHAPTER 3 — PARABELLUM

The John Wick franchise has become quite the phenomenon, and deservedly so. Continually upping the action ante in Fast-and-Furious-like fashion, these movies are so much more than just your garden-variety shoot 'em ups and beat 'em ups. John Wick is the role Keanu Reeves was born to play, and Parabellum raises the stakes for Wick while doubling down on masterful fight choreography and stunning cinematography. Here's to many more adventures for John Wick!

THREE

"Bruce is the direct line to all that's true in this world!"

BLINDED BY THE LIGHT

Blinded by the Light is another terrific picture that didn't exactly set the box office on fire. Inspired by the true story of one Springsteen superfan, and built on the Boss's epic catalog, it's a hopeful tale about overcoming prejudice and the limitations set for us by ourselves and by others, one of the year's most inspiring movies.

TWO

"Tell the truth to everyone, whenever you can."

YESTERDAY

Yesterday is yet another of 2019's under-appreciated gems, a beautiful, unique movie fashioned around the timeless music of the Beatles. Himesh Patel is a delight in the lead, and--while the premise requires suspension of disbelief--Yesterday is a charming picture that captivates with its "what ifs?" as well as its iconic soundtrack and enchanting cast.

ONE

"You were never ordinary."

ROCKETMAN

My number one movie of the year, and of the decade, was set on May 31st, when I saw Rocketman for the first time. I saw the movie at least twice a week as long as it was at my local cinema. I've watched at least part of it every day since it became available for home viewing. Outside of a week or so around each of the wonderful concerts I saw this summer, I've listened to nothing but the Rocketman soundtrack since the end of May. My phone and all my desktops have Rocketman wallpapers. I've joked (hmm?) that I only speak Rocketman now. The truth is, I'm not interested in speaking anything else. Pre-Rocketman, it had been a decade since a new movie made its way into my all-time top ten. Then there was Rocketman. Pre-Rocketman, my favorite acting performance hadn't changed since 1993. Then there was Taron Egerton's astonishing turn as Elton John. Pre-Rocketman, I was finding reasons to stay away from the movies. Then there was Dexter Fletcher showing us the beauty of real imagination. Rocketman is more than just a well-crafted film that reflects on an iconic artist's inspiring life. It is a film that uses Elton John's art to tell his story in fantastic, creative fashion. It is a film that uses exquisite detail in its styling and costumes to further its vision. It is a film that draws something sparkling and new out of a classic discography. It is a film that is not bound by dull, linear timelines or small minds. It is a film that surrounds a performance for the ages with others that bear it up. It is a film that shows, however dark the times, you will find the light. In doing all these things, it is a film that is saving lives. Rocketman is a film that is, in every way, magnificent. Thank you, Dexter Fletcher and company, for giving us this beautiful movie. Whatever the critics say and whoever wins the prizes as Awards Season bears down upon us, nobody has done anything more valuable this cinema year.

A few Honorable (and Dis-Honorable) Mentions:

While Taron Egerton deserves all the awards, all the time, for his work in Rocketman, there were some other performances this year that also gave me life:

Jamie Bell (Rocketman): Without Bell's Bernie Taupin as his stalwart cornerstone, Egerton's Elton could not have flown. It's a lovely, understated performance that has been grossly underappreciated.

Tom Holland (Marvel Cinematic Universe): Holland is a real gem, a standout who consistently steals the show from bigger names who get weightier work in the MCU. No matter how good, bad, or painfully bloated the movie, Holland is an absolute delight.

Renee Zellweger (Judy): Who knew it was even possible for me to stop hating Renee Zellweger? Well played, 2019.

Rebecca Ferguson (The Kid Who Would Be King/Doctor Sleep): There was little I enjoyed more this year than watching Ferguson chew her way through this pair of pictures. Oh, and if I start walking around wearing a hat, don't ask, m-kay?

Chris Evans (Knives Out): God, I love seeing Chris Evans do *anything* besides Captain America. Bonus points if he gets to be funny. He's really funny, despite his obscenely gorgeous mug.

John Boyega/Oscar Isaac (Star Wars: Episode IX — The Rise of Skywalker): These two, individually and together, draw joy out of what's otherwise a fairly mundane exercise. If Finn and Poe somehow jumped to another saga in the Star Wars universe, I wouldn't complain.

The Cast of Jumanji: The Next Level: Top to bottom, a perfectly cast film, and a lesson in how the right actors can elevate any property.

As a matter of interest, if you watch the Irishman and Once Upon a Time in Hollywood back to back, you can effectively calculate how many hours you'll wish you had back when you're on your deathbed.

I would like a word with Gary Oldman's and Sebastian Stan's agents, please.

Cats: Make. It. Stop. Please, just...make it stop.

As this most challenging year winds to a close, I wanted to offer a sincere thank you to everyone who takes the time to read my reviews, and especially those who engage on any of our various platforms. Special thanks to Daniel for allowing me to be a part of his great page, and for tolerating my unceasing randomness. (Hotel Transylvania 4 in 2021, my friend!) I take no one's support for granted, and I’m ever grateful for you all. I wish our readers many blessings as this festive season comes to a close and we roll into 2020. See you at the movies!

#movies #top ten #rocketman #yesterday #blinded by the light #john wick #the kid who would be king #knives out #spider-man #into the spider-verse #ford v ferrari #downton abbey #the two popes