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warsamongthestars · 1 year

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A LOVE LETTER

I think after a certain point, one must search their feelings (You know this to be true), look deep inside themselves, face their Shadow (I AM THE SHADOW THE TRUE SELF), and come to one’s personal understanding of themselves and their limits.

And when the limit has been reached.

So let’s talk Bad Batch. I’m going to be mean to this show. And I guarantee, this is going to feel like whiplash. So get yer big gulps and your happy meals, we’re in for a ride.

I will not lie. Watching the Bad Bach is exhausting to me. It is painful to go through each episode, and this feeling of painful exhaustion and impatience didn’t go away.

Well if its so painful, why are you still watching?

Because I love the boys. The Bad Batch was the first set of characters I saw across the room, and by the rules of narrative causality, it was love at first sight.

Hunter, the cool and calmed headed leader with the unique abilities.

Wrecker, loud and emotionally honest, a joy in bombastics (literally) who’s first reaction is to always defend his brothers.

Tech, precise professional and intelligent, always on the curve to learn and understand, and then be able to perform afterwards.

Crosshair, perceptive, witty and sharp tongued, who hits the heart of the situation whether anyone wants it or not.

And finally, Echo, oh, Echo, who was with us since the beginning, brought back from the brink to continue the journey. Clever, and snarky Echo, strongest soul of them all.

The idea that they were getting a series was amazing, because we would have adventures with the Bad Batch, and we’d get to experience and learn and see so much.

By all accounts, it shouldn’t hurt.

But isn’t that exactly what we got?

Not... really.

When I said The Bad Batch, I meant, all of them. What did Episode 1 do? Remove Crosshair from the equation and make him a bad guy.

Broken Promise 1: Adventures with the Whole Team.

But he was a Jerk, so it was obvious he’d be the evil guy. Didn’t you hear what he said about Echo?

Uh huh. Its by this point of this metaphorical questioning that I point out that I’m a Homestuck fan, I read the whole thing (and or had it read to me--thank you Let’s Reads--its a huge fucking webcomic, what do we expect?)

Homestuck is explicitly a deconstruction and reconstruction of Characters and Environments and Stories and Plots and everything in between. Its the Good Spice.

With that as the example, you honestly think I haven’t heard worse from more beloved characters? Frankly if you’re put off by that, you would have never survived Karkat Vantas, the most beloved and harmless character in the whole of Homestuck.

Let’s get back on topic.

But we still got the Adventures of the Bad Batch!

We got Johnny Quest in Star Wars, pal.

I ain’t saying that’s a bad thing, Johnny Quest was a very remembered show (parodied in many series, with the the Venture Bros being outright and explicit about it--that’s how loved it was)

But Kid Sidekick who’s super special awesome being protecc’d by the quote “good” members of the super special awesome team, is basically how you jump the shark in most series.

Now Omega isn’t that bad, she’s better written that most (for one thing, she’s an actual kid that brings in trouble actual kids would bring in combat and survival situations like hers). But the role she fills is not a new role, its in fact a role that historically been hated since Television started. She’s not the new Robin to Batman here.

Because there is no Batman.

What does Batman have to do with the Bad Batch?

He doesn’t, but the story archetype highlights some problems with the BBs. First and foremost, in order to have Robin, you have to Establish Batman.

And the Bad Batch, are not established.

Lemme explain why.

Batman’s main motivation is that his parents were murdered in an alleyway in front of him as a child, and he grew up with the conviction that no other child should experience that again. You see his aesthetic, you see his home, how he grows, and then you get Robin.

Its a basic premise that boarders on cliche now, by every show, book, and most DnD sessions.

But it does its job, it establishes a character with history and motivations, and leaves room for how that character reached the point where they could do something for their goals, and what they do whilst accomplishing their goal. Their goal may never be fullfilled, but that’s the point, it makes stories and we might just learn something about the reality along the way, or at worse, we get entertained, or at better, we get inspired to make our stories and maybe we nail the lessons the originals didn’t, or we simply inspire or entertain others.

Now then...

Showing up for a pinpoint mission on a nowhere planet to save someone who’s survival was contrived at best because main character said so, is not an introduction to a character. Its the introduction to a series, like how every 70s-80s shows used to do in shows that were popular.

So its understandable that the Clone Wars show doesn’t do that, because TCWs is not about the Bad Batch.

... But the Bad Batch series stills fails.

But it doesn’t have to be perfect.

The act of not being perfect is exactly what we want, actually.

Perfection means universal, for example, we as living things all require subsistence, that is a universal thing. Just as death is inevitable, thus universal. This is the state of “perfection”, because they are infallible and unchangeable aspects and they are free of flaw and defect in their function.

Perfection is already achieved. Now we’re simply finding ways to be interestingly and fallibly imperfect that impacts us enough to find our own “perfection”. (For individuals know their fallibility, and finding where our foundation (the center of perfection in all things--that is, the soul) lies is our journey--that is the act of achieving perfection, and it will always be individual and as individual beings, it will incomprehensible to anyone else, this is the act of synchronicity).

But now that I’ve broken existence, let’s get back to Star Wars before reality crashes and I have to go back to another save point. (Damn it Todd Howard).

And I love the characters. I’m going to be mean.

How the hell does the Bad Batch series fail?

Its their series and it should be about them, and its not.

Of course its about them!

Being the center piece of the show does not mean the show is about you. Just as being the Player Character of the Video Game doesn’t mean the game is about you at all, its often about the characters you encounter or the missions you go on.

What makes them tick and talk, what’s their history, why do they do things?

None of this is established. The closest we got is “We’re soldiers this is what we do” and “Because we’re better” or “Because we’re different”

And those are not motivations. Those are excuses.

All that this has established is that the Bad Batch started their history the moment they were introduced to the Clone Wars BB Arc.

And that means that this is Plot-Driven, and it was never about the characters, we just have center pieces with a few quirks but ultimately anyone could’ve filled in their shoes.

We could replace them with the Millennium Falcon, and have the Original Trilogy Crew perform these feats, and frankly that’d be more interesting and considerably less painful. We could even replace Crosshair’s role with a Stormtrooper (The one super special awesome show-writer OC that becomes the Main Characters’ best friend and companion and gets lots of screen time), and that would be more interesting and less painful.

... And that hypothetical gives pretty concrete evidence that the Bad Batch Series is not about the Bad Batch. Character-center episodes can be too easily replaced or character moments are too rushed through or insignificant.

Its With the Bad Batch, not About the Bad Batch.

Broken Promise 2: Its about the Bad Batch.

The Bad Batch Characters are all cliche action hero tropes anyway.

You’re not wrong. And the thing about not being wrong here, is that we know what the good shit looks like.

Hunter is the worst one here, and the best example. He’s basically every 80s action hero in one, and y’know, not being very original is fine.

There’s only three things in human history that can truly fall under the definition of Original, and that’s “Space-Travel, Nuclear Power, and the Internet”, and that’s because these things are less than century old in comparison to Humanity’s thousands of years.

So Hunter being a collection of cliches is not a bad thing. You can spin that really well, actually. The problem is, they don’t. He’s “The Leader” who “looks like a Biker” and “Does things because the Plot is actually about his Kid”.

If I wanted that specifically, I’d play Silent Hill again, because Harry Mason has all those traits, and he’s a lot more interesting.

The Environment and Circumstance and the Challenges he faces, show’s Harry’s character.

Its already long established what Hunter is, what Hunter is is not in question.

But Omega is the main character in comparison to Hunter.

Hunter is meant to be an Action Hero, but he has none of the pitfalls the 80s action hero does. He’s not challenged about being a Soldier, he’s not challenged (On-Screen) about how he leads the Batch, he is simply vaguely challenged when encountering Omega.

Hunter is challenged for his Role in the Plot, as the Leader who Looks like a Biker and Does Things Because the Plot is Actually About his Kid. He’s not challenged on screen enough for that character to make a significant difference to what is presented.

I think I talked about having stuff on screen before.

I can name two characters that do exactly what Hunter does, to show that you can, in fact, write a character who is a series of cliches anyway into a memorable character inspite of that.

Solid Snake, from the Metal Gear Solid series.

And

Geralt of Rivia, from the Witcher Series.

Or the ultimate example...

The Boss, from Metal Gear Solid 3.

They go through similar or the same challenges, they have an connection with parenthood and with being a solider; two have been main characters, while one is a mentor figure, and they roughly follow the same ideas found in Star Wars (because Star Wars, by this point, has highly influenced all media across many cultures).

Can you fucking imagine what it would’ve been like if we got Solid Fucking Snake in Star Wars? With all of Metal Gear Solid’s philosophy stuffs? Imagine having a philosophical soldier that deconstructs and reconstructs the ideas of the Jedi, the greater galaxy and the Force.

While we obviously can’t just copy-paste characters here (even though that’s exactly what they did, given that Hunter is Billy from Predator, and the leader from the A-Team) The interpretation of the character by a writer makes a new character, because our interpretation will always differ from the personal interpretation of the original creator.

I don’t think Hunter was intended to mimic these characters at all, but repeated patterns say that he’s following their footsteps... but unlike the examples above, he’s not quite making the same impact. Or any.

... This isn’t broken promise level though. There wasn’t anything that established that Hunter should be Solid Fucking Snake of Rivia in Star Wars.

But the inspirations could’ve spiced him up a bit. He is like a sugar sandwich, cmissing a lot of ingredients.

You just pointed out that there are better things out there, why not go to them instead?

I am alive and I will make it everybody’s problem.

And I am doing this because I love the characters.

Because when you love something, you go those extra miles. Hell, you make the whole damn road yours.

I’m very confused.

So I’ll sum up what I got so far, given that this is very long already. The series is not about the Bad Batch, its a Star Wars series that’s With the Bad Batch bits attached.

There’s already one flat character, and he’s the leader (not really a good thing in a Five Man Band situation).

The series has already broken two promises to its name. Its not about the Bad Batch, and we’re not going on adventures with the Full Bad Batch.

But it is the Bad Batch series, and we’re clearly following their adventures. Its about the Bad Batch.

A series about a character follows a simple idea of breaking that character down to the audience. It doesn’t have to literally break the character to do this, though it can.

What does that involve? It involves History, it involves Communication on Screen, Aesthetics and Personality.

It has Personality and Aesthetics. Most of the Bad Batch have very strong, distinct personalities and aesthetics, and imply a lot of history, and that’s what catches attention. That’s good.

The flaw is the failure of the rest.

So you might wonder, what the ever loving fuck am I talking about?

Well I’ve already gone on a thing about communication-on-screen. Its not enough to hold a series about characters by implication alone. This is not an ARG to be solved, this is a story being honestly told.

There is no Communication-on-Screen to tell the audience that shit is going down on any deep level. The BBs do not talk to each other.

That leads to the next flaw.

Their lack of history.

The sum of Star Wars lore regarding the clones is that they were commissioned after a genetic plate (the prime) to be created en mass to serve as a disposable Army for the Republic in 10 years. They are genetically modified to withstand the baseline requirements for space and planetary war, and those who exceed that baseline become Commanders and Commandos. Those that met certain criteria fill ranks such as Medics, Divers, Engineers, Hackers, ecctra.

This is already a good base of history here. You can do a lot with this.

The Bad Batch differ in that they were purposely mutated away from being the genetic baseline, what was modified is shone in the skillset or abilities of each Batchmember.

Which is fine, that’s how you get the Audience thinking.

But the show goes no further.

Do they honestly have to?

If you want a series about them, yes.

Some topics involved with the above, yes, you don’t want to get into, or you simply want to leave it in the air to be pieced together in environments that can handle those topics.

For example, there’s no good way to bring up that Clones are meant to be the “Disposable Generations”. Its there, Star Wars doesn’t ignore it, but it doesn’t talk about it. Because the Clone Wars series and the Bad Batch are meant to be Kid Shows, and topics of disregarding vast majority of people through discrimination to the point where people lose their lives to the whims the small-mindedly powerful, is a heavy topic. Worse if you’re literally creating / breeding humans to be disregarded and disposed of, speaks of a horrific mentality of eugenics.

And that’s heavy, and its horror, and its moral insanity. And If it wasn’t Star Wars, that right there would take up the entire series, and it sure as hell wouldn't be for kids.

Because its the kind of thing that you don’t sit down and accept.

But this is Star Wars, and the only way to accept it, is to not talk about it.

So what can we talk about? The characters who lived in those conditions, and how.

Back to the Bad Batch.

So, the Bad Batch has no History?

If they did, then every argument with Crosshair about his chip would’ve worked.

And this was even seen in Star Wars proper too.

In the final episode, the Finale, of The Clone Wars. Ahsoka Tano is attacked by those who know she left the Jedi Order, and that she isn’t a “Jedi”, and that Order 66 should only be about Jedi.

But that’s either not true, which would involve the clones hunting everybody done and that’s no good, or its based on perception.

It alters Perception based on the individual’s point of view.

Just because Ahsoka isn’t a Jedi, doesn’t mean the Clones stopped viewing her as a Jedi. They respect her as a Jedi, and that’s why they hunt her, even knowing that she isn’t technically affiliated with the Jedi anymore and is probably just GAR command now.

If the Bad Batch had history, there would’ve been more. They’re the outsiders who have banded together and work flawlessly together. You don’t get that without having some deep history, understanding, and loyalty to each other.

It would, by all established accounts, been simple to argue Crosshair back into the Batch, because clearly his chip didn’t work as intended. (Its not like Wrecker’s, which just blocked Wrecker out entirely. When Cross was with his Batch, his personality was clear, it was only when he is removed that he loses to the chip).

But they had no history. The implications of them being that team, failed entirely. This is where the flaws set in as gorged holes in their character and their series.

And in a series about them, character history would’ve been the simplest, easiest focus. In fact, that’s often the core component in a series about a specific person or set of persons. You don’t make a show, for example, about Abraham Lincoln being a Vampire Hunter, without making it very much about Abraham Lincoln’s history.

And that’s the bit. No real communication outside of dramatics, or the kid being the main plot figure. No history to rely on when stones fall. The characters were dressed up, implied a whole lot of stuff, and when push came to shove, it faltered, and it fails.

Echo has history!

Echo does, yes.

And they never touch it.

We never see him get confronted with his PTSD. They did once, in episode 1, then never again.

We never see closure between him and the memory of Fives, or confront his past about Domino Squad. Or the Techno Union.

The one time he’s finally with Rex, and not a single thing is talked about that isn’t the Plot at hand.

Echo is one of our Audience surrogates, specifically for Clones. He’s gone through so much, he has every right and need to talk about it for both himself as a character, and for the Audience...

... And then he doesn’t.

And the limit is reached.

You’ve gone on this tangent regarding finding a some personal limit, but this hasn’t had any limits at all!

I should probably get to the point about that, huh?

My limit?

Is that they killed Tech.

Limit broke.

What, but you’ve already made posts and comments about how he’s not dead!

I have, and I’d like to think so for all the historic evidence entailed, he isn’t dead.

... But I have to face the reality of the situation.

The reality is, is that the Bad Batch is a 3-Season series that’s not likely to be renewed, though if the characters survive, they are likely to make an appearance in other shows or media (and probably die in them instead).

That season 3 isn’t until next year, and since no evidence was shown that Tech is explicitably alive, then we have to keep the assumption that Tech’s Death means he actually died.

Just like with Echo, in Season 3 of Clone Wars. And Echo was dead for Years, before Season 7 came out. And Season 7 came out after a renewal, after three years. By all intents and purposes, Echo was dead. He was dead for Years.

Just because there’s the potential to write in why a character survived impossibility, doesn’t mean they’ll do it or that they’ll do it right. And while we can have hope, life is going to occur between now and Season 3.

Fives didn’t survive, but Rex and Hunter did, and I don’t like those odds.

And we were already working on a broken-promise situation;

Crosshair missing and regulated to be a bad guy with a redemption arc for a situation that wasn’t his fault to start with, with a trust far too easily broken than what is established.

To Hunter who is underdeveloped, underutilized, and even his own comparisons live up better than he does, and who now only revolves around the rest of the Batch.

To Echo who is unexplored inpsite of everything.

To Wrecker, who is often disregarded.

And now they’ve killed Tech.

When it comes to Limits, its the build of many things, and then there’s the moment that breaks the back of the packmule.

Its not the first strike that breaks the boulder, but the 99 strikes before it.

I love these characters. I hate what was done to them. It was painful trying to go through each episode in order to know them, when they’re not all there.

And that’s the ultimate problem in this, isn’t it?

They’re not all there.

... And they may never will be.

I still keep up with the Bad Batch, and I’ll still love Star Wars inspite of its problems. KOTOR and the Original Trilogy are in my heart and always will be. Clone Wars brought life back to me in a difficult time, and I fell hard and fast for the Bad Batch boys.

And the fanfic, and the small niches of fandom, are brilliant, Absolutely brilliant. Even from day one, folks were already making elements that showed what potential could be explored with the Bad Batch and the Clones, and that is beautiful. Wonderful and lovely. I encourage those to keep going.

But those who have made their Bad Batches, those are ultimately their Bad Batches, and not mine. For they are not my interpretations.

And I’m tired, and my experiences and expectations make things a weight on my back, and my back broke. That’s what happens when you’re presented with something you love, and those who presented it ultimately hold the fate of things that you love in their hands, and then you get the letter about how your love isn’t coming home from the war.

This canon is the Bad Batch’s legacy. What we have, is what we got, and my nightmare and fears of my loves being left with less have been fulfilled by canon.

I can’t say it let me down, because my expectations are my own, and no one is beholden to fulfill those expectations (especially since I myself don’t always know my own stuff).

I love these characters. I even identify heavily with a few (but to get into that would be diving too deep into my personal history, and I don’t talk about that, if I can help it).

I am of the audience, but I am not the intended audience, unfortunately. The series through its writing and actions so far, doesn’t really like me back, no matter how much I can say I love the characters.

This... is a love letter to love loss. I love the characters, but its a doomed promise.

This is mine, its not intended to be the reader’s perspective persay, that’s the awkward notion of love letters. They tend to personal. But I may as well lay my grief out plain. Who knows? Maybe someone might get it, maybe not.

But it might just make the difference, for a future untold.

I could be wrong. Maybe the future is brighter. Never know.

#a love letter #star wars #the bad batch #star wars hunter #star wars crosshair #star wars wrecker #star wars tech #clone trooper echo #critical and personal analysis #heavy emphasis on personal expectations

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peasunflower · 1 year

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This is a love letter. A love letter to all the love that is stored in patience. A love letter to waiting back for someone. To all the inside-joke-eye-contacts. A love letter to remembering tiny details about people. A love letter to noticing people trying to speak in a loud group. A love letter to teary laughs and to happy heartwarming soul-bewitching precious precious memories.

A love letter to love.

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randompoemsfrommybrain · 7 months

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Seeing you in love

shows me how I’ve changed

I am not older

or wiser

but merely further down the path

watching as you take the first

step

and sharing your joy

as you see

everything

again for the first time

as you describe the person

you want to call home

#poetic #original poem #poem #poetry #spilled poetry #writeblr #words #writing #spilled thoughts #a love letter #love poem #love poetry #life is a blessing #life is a journey #friends

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writinginthesecrettrees · 10 months

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I love this cursed hellsite.

I love how people I follow morph into new people who have new names and I can’t remember who they were when I followed them, I just know that suddenly I’m seeing posts about a fandom I don’t care about and a ship I know nothing about.

I love that I can randomly stumble across neilfuckingaiman just… hanging out and interacting with people and being awesome.

I love that I can disappear for months and come back to a completely changed but oddly familiar landscape.

I love the random fucking ads that make it clear this site has no idea who I am or what I spend my money on.

I love the artists and the writers and the shitposters and the way a post from years ago will suddenly zombie up onto my dash.

I don’t love the bots, but they are part of why this is a hellsite and I accept that. I love that I can say that and still bitch and moan about the damn bots.

I love how hard it is to monetize us as a user base. That was a *brilliant* feature.

I love this blessed hellsite.

#hellsite #a love letter #<3

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amedleyofthoughts · 5 months

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Our Mirrors

We view ourselves, through these mirrors.

It was once so easy to see, Through the clear glass at ourselves. We dreamed of the fullness of time, of what was to come. When we gazed upon the hourglass with impatience. Yet it is that which has changed us, mind, body, and soul. The grains of sand, scratched and carved at us, these mirrors. Our mirrors have gained new cracks, new scratches, new marks. Through these blemishes, I hope you see her reflection. So precious and bright, demure and soft. Yet so strong and resilient, who let me see her true image. It is easy to be absorbed, in our own musing. To see only flaws, we wish others never see. It is us too, who can crack the glass, with the strike of our own judgement. This is how I know, she does not see all her beauty. Yet I would spend an eternity, polishing that mirror. If only so that she could see, how I see her, beyond the glass. Beyond the mirror.

(written by me, last revised on 07/31/21)

Written in dedication to my person. My one true confidant and my one true friend. To call her only my best friend would feel like an insult. The one person who I trust explicitly with my heart, mind and soul. I've only been able to express my deepest insecurities and true thoughts in her presence. My family, friends, and acquaintances could never compare. We fit together like pieces from a puzzle, cut from the same material for the sole purpose to simply be placed together.

I don't pride myself as a writer. I often feel that my words are lackluster, missing emphasis, and overall bland in description. In comparison to her eloquence when it comes to the written word, I feel that I could never truly describe what I'm trying to achieve. The magic of language and how it transforms to be anything within imagination, I the novice apprentice to her mastery. I can only humbly sew these sentences together to mean something, to shyly present these stitches to her. The equivalent of a small child presenting a handmade gift, this blanket of missed and messy stitches, but colorful and thick in hopes of keeping her warm.

I can only hope that a sliver of my true sentiment makes it through to her and I hope it spells it out clearly, crisply, and no mistaking the meaning. I want her to read these words, and see, "I love you". To hear me say, "I love you". To feel my intention, "I love you".

If this is the closest I can ever come to a love letter for her I would hope it wouldn't disappoint. Though I would know it could never compare to another's. I would try regardless, if only to continue to reaffirm my dedication to expressing what I cannot say in person.

"I love you."

#original poem #is this poetry?#my writing #a love letter #best friends

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sfsolstice · 1 month

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i love you, not that i am in love with you (that, i can learn to do with time), but i love you

for the things that you are: the years put behind you, the way you learned to speak and write, the kindness you treat others with;

and for the things you make me feel (selfish, i know, but)—

i used to believe that the only love worth giving and experiencing was unconditional, or rather— inexplicable, compulsive... and, easy...

if i had to work for it, it was not meant to be, and for the longest time— i didn't try, never opened myself to the opportunity, too scared to let anyone close (even you) for fear that difficulty or tension meant the end, or something not meant to be; but

i am, unfortunately, learning a lesson through you:

that there is, arguably, more love, and more of ourselves, to be found in intention than uncondition— a love more honest and more worthy lies in places where we would gladly defy predestiny,

and it is there i have found more of myself and more of her wishes. she would feel herself in more regret should she, instead, here and now, bow to destiny's will,

than if she fought angels head on and lost.

my heart still asks for your name, and i don't know what to tell her. what could i tell her, when everyone and everything seems to be against her?

i could only watch as she donned armor, readying herself for a war against the divine.

she is your vassal, now and, maybe, forever, waging war for the sake of her chosen love.

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sugarand-everythingnice · 1 year

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#a love letter #specifically for Sugar #you deserve the break #and I hope that when you find this tomorrow #you realize how strong you really are #art #jackie #doodles #jackie x sugar #system #sysblr #alters #headmates #system protector #system host #system lore

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ginnsbaker · 19 days

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hi there! can i just say i’m a big fan of your “if i bleed (you’ll be the last to know)” work!! i just want to take a long minute to gush about all the little details i hyperfixated on.

okok first i have!!! to talk about this title… my god… it.. hurts so good??? (assuming it was from cruel summer by taylor) i love this song so much and have read countless of fics with this same title but none hit the nail on the head quite like yours.. and now i’m listening to the song all over again and my thoughts are filled with how perfect this song and this fic fit together. before i realized you were quoting this song i had just imagined sometime late into spring but now i’m imagining summer and it somehow makes all the smaller moments more intimate to me…

second, i haven’t watched sorry for your loss yet… i’ve been meaning to!! …but i just really don’t do well with grief related shows even though i know it might help me to grow and move past it to learn and see how others cope… but anyway! i’ve gone into this blind pretty much, only knowing that yeah, leigh’s husband passes and there’s something she didn’t know… and i’m not a fan of cheaters and such but something about reading how… selfish.. these characters can be… flawed characters. it just makes it sweeter to read somehow. — especially that little part in part 6(?) where jules mentions how… difficult leigh can be at times since the whole thing.. like gahhhh my brain is like… gnawing and chewing on how… just real you make these characters!!! the emotions you portray through leigh as well!!! like…ahhh!!! i really don’t know what to say it just makes me tug on my hair in a good way… speechless is what you’ve made me! or! or!! oh my god!!! when the reader doesn’t want leigh to hurt any more than she already is and leigh just.. takes the pain and walks with it??? because she’s… stronger than this? because she’s bitter? feels like she has to get back at matt?? and ugh… idkidk really! (i got all that from the anger and the line “i can handle pain just fine.”) like… i’m just. i’m chewing on this like a piece of gum that i don’t wanna spit out. oh!!! and… when she’s mad at… the things that matter… the little things like. how intimate it is for matt to just be there… after that first date… also! i’m a hater!! i’m a lover of the haters (jules!!!) and a hater of the lovers!! meaning, danny!!! i love that you’ve made me hate his character. after seeing how selfish he really is with leigh and.. how much of a tough spot the reader is in…

ok this is getting too long, i apologize. i jus really loved the pacing of the story, the characterizations and everything else… i just love it a lot and i can’t stop thinking about it after every update… because of all the cliffhangers!! anyway. i hope you know your words are loved, author. thank you!!

(ps. my friend saw me typing these paragraphs out and called it a love letter… and this is exactly what it is. a love letter to you, dear author and to your lovely fic. thank you again for writing such a piece and i am absolutely sat waiting for the next part!!!)

Oh my gosh, reading your feedback got me all:

first of all, i want to thank you for this long and adorable message. it's always such an overwhelming and it reminds me one of the reasons why i love writing so much. thank you thank you!

re:title- yes it's from Cruel Summer :)

re: watching Sorry for your loss - honestly, it's not required for you to have seen the show, just that you know the gist of it (Leigh being a young widow). Nothing really goes on--it just paints the process of grief in ordinary life. So you really don't have to see it. Besides, I don't even follow its timeline and relationships to a T.

re: your thoughts on the story- i find myself nodding along the stuff you picked out from the last 6 chapters. Also, I am a hater too (lol), I'm just not very vocal about the things I hate because one of lizzie's character once said: "You think it's cool to hate things. And it's not. It's boring. Talk about what you love and keep quiet about what you don't." But I'm a huge hater. I think we all secretly are. I think hating Danny is easy in this fic, but I keep trying to find something in him that's relatable, something that just doesn't make him an antagonist. I think it's fair to think that he's also being used by Leigh, being treated unfairly by Leigh. I don't think I really hate Danny here as much as you guys do. I have done awful things when I was younger out of the selfishness of satisfying my own desires. But I'll talk about that some other time and if anyone will ask :P

thank you for your love letter, it means so much and I'm going to keep this in my blog and tag it for what it is. I hope you'll enjoy the rest of the series :)

#if i bleed asks #anon #a love letter

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i-did-not-mean-to · 2 years

Text

Night like this

Okay @sorisooyaa, it's your turn.

Special thanks to @medusas-hairband for the reading and the support ❤️ This would not be out there, for better or for worse, without your love.

Here goes my big leap; this is a love letter to the authors having seen my name pop up in their notifs in the last few weeks, a love letter to their imagination and to the beauty of their words.

It's also a humble offering to the people who have been kind and gentle to me in the SWG and the TRSB server. Thank you for your patience and for building a poor wretch like me up...

Words: 2 230

Warnings: It's a slightly incestuous pairing! There will be innuendo (and not just a little) but no explicit stuff...It's also a wild blend of tropes and HCs I've fallen in love with as a reader

Pairing: Maedhros/Fingon, Maglor/Finrod (?) (all of them? Read it as you want)

Summary: A dance in full sight of the assembled high society of Tirion and a lot of unanswered questions

“I need you! Now!”

Maitimo tried to shake off his brother’s insistent hand – long fingers closing like vices around his shoulder – as he gave his uncle an apologetic shrug.

“I mean it, come on!”

“Good evening to you too Kanafinwë,” Ñolofinwë greeted, eyebrow cocked in indulgent interrogation, “whatever is so urgent? Is one of my nephews on fire?”

“Not this time!” His half-brother’s son smirked mischievously before brandishing a harp as if it was a sword, and suddenly, he understood what ailed the young artist so.

With a mellow wave of his elegant hand, he dismissed Fëanáro’s eldest son and – as soon as they had left – a much put-upon Maitimo being all but dragged across the room by his insistent younger brother, his own slid up next to him.

“Dear Fëanáro has overindulged those boys,” Arafinwë whispered, but his voice was gentle and devoid of the acid that – at times – simmered in his mouth like poison.

“Do you truly believe ours to be exempt? If Maitimo has been abducted, I will bet my best robe on Findekáno already having stormed out to pre-empt them.” Ñolofinwë chuckled under his breath at the thought; their progeny was hardy and brave, but discretion was yet amongst the skills they would had to hone, in long hours, at court meetings.

“I cannot see my son,” Arafinwë grunted after a second of intent scanning the room and its occupants, “and that is a bad sign when Kanafinwë is in one of his moods.”

“Did I hear my son’s name?” Fëanáro popped out of nowhere like the snake in the grass he was, “What has he done now?”

“He’s abducted everyone,” Arafinwë replied, clenching his jaw when he heard how pathetic that sounded, an impression only reinforced by the sidelong glance his brothers shot at him.

“Ah!” Fëanáro looked startled and that – in and of itself – was a pleasant surprise, and lightly unamused, which, on the contrary, was nothing new.

“Well,” Ñolofinwë sighed, “then the good people of Tirion will have to content themselves with Finwë’s own scandalous sons, robbed of their first-borns by whatever fancy has taken them tonight. Cheer up, brother, and give them one of those smiles they once have all been so enamoured with.”

“That was a long time ago,” the other replied glumly, “and we’ve long been overshadowed by the shockingly disloyal rogues we’ve sired.”

“Brother mine, this better be good,” Maitimo hissed as he threw himself against Makalaurë at the last moment to avoid the swinging doors, leading out onto a secluded terrace, that would otherwise have hit him in the head rather forcefully.

“Dance for me, oh well-shaped one,” Makalaurë grinned provocatively, “I have a new composition and I need to see someone move to it to feel it.”

“And you could not have found a better dancer?”

“No, it had to be you.” The grin softened into something deep and seductive; since their earliest childhood, he had practised and perfected the expression of pleading innocence that now washed over his handsome face like a patina of pure light, putting even the trees’ glory to shame.

“That’s what he told me,” Findekáno laughed good-humouredly as he stepped out from behind a column, throwing a pensive glance at the huge windows that separated them from the rest of the party.

He was not entirely sure that it was appropriate to have their own private gathering – out of earshot but well within view of their parents and relatives – when they were expected to make the rounds and dole out pleasantries and sweet smiles.

“Oh, I am to make a fool of myself with my cousin to amuse the gallery? Are you so eager to usurp my place?” Maitimo stared down his insolent sibling and the wicked gleam in those storm-coloured eyes told him that something devious was afoot indeed.

“I am not going to indulge you if your goal is to embarrass or humiliate him,” their cousin agreed, his voice ringing like a bell of righteous indignation; he was loyal to a fault and fearless in his determination to stand up for what he believed to be right. Would that unselfish bravery make him dance?

Shaking his head, Makalaurë pretended to be mortally wounded by their lack of faith in him, effectively getting them to move closer to one another in devoted resignation.

Those two, he knew, he could always count upon to rise to the occasion, and he was almost sorry that – at least tonight – his plan was not to make them monkey around.

“Take Finno’s hand and get ready,” he instructed his brother – tall and straight as the trees Yavanna had coaxed from seed to blossom – and bit down on his smile as he saw the deepening of colour on his cousin’s cheeks and the dusting of pink creep up Maitimo’s throat.

They were so predictable; they were so precious.

“Good evening, cousin Findekáno,” Maitimo whispered, struggling not to inadvertently crush the other’s hand in his eagerness to feel that warm, smooth palm melt into his own.

“Good evening to you too, most adored of kinsmen!” The reply was barely above a breath infused with meaning, but it fell like hail – battering and bruising – onto their skin and sunk into their veins to whip their blood into a frenzy.

If they had expected a jig or even a bawdy, lewd tavern song, they were sorely disappointed though for the melody conjured up by Makalaurë’s incomparable skill and borne into the still night sky on the wings of his enchanting voice was slow and sweet at first.

Maitimo’s head jerked around, his pupils blown wide with shock and longing.

This was a love song, twisting and wringing the torturous yearning of forbidden affection into something hard and enduring enough to build a ladder from it.

Every note was a rung, every word a step.

Sensual and writhing now, it wound invisible bonds around their limbs to pull them ever closer into an embrace that would have been shocking even without them being in full view of the high and mighty elite of the city.

Suddenly, Maitimo realised how foolish they must have looked, standing there – chest to chest, hand in hand – completely motionless while the heart-breaking melody was drowned out by the raucous brouhaha of the festivities for whoever might happen to look out from inside the ballroom.

“I was promised this dance,” Findekáno reminded him in that melting, warm voice that drove shivers down Maitimo’s spine every time he used it.

Despite their better knowledge and painful awareness of the potential consequences, they started moving, rotating slowly – much too slowly – in the silver light turning them into a painting too full of unspoken emotion to be static.

Makalaurë smiled to himself, his words dripping with honey and venom now, as he watched them forget about the world.

His brother’s hand had dropped indecently low on his cousin’s back and was still slipping until it rested – up to the middle finger – on the curve of Findekáno’s ass and it seemed that the space between them grew ever smaller, but he could not say if it was their whole bodies or only parts of them that strained to espouse the other.

Time stood still and accelerated simultaneously, contracting and expanding with every shivering breath shared between those two he loved so deeply that it tore at his skin from the inside.

From where he sat, he could appreciate the shadows chasing their own tails over Maitimo’s noble face as he inclined his head just a fraction while his half-cousin’s hand disappeared under his flaming hair, no doubt caressing the soft skin nobody ever got to see let alone touch; he seemed frozen mid-movement, a single breath away from pressing that stern, often forbidding mouth to the silken skin – perfumed by the ghost of the flowers Findekáno had been standing under – just outside of his reach.

They had always been like this, too close for comfort or decency, yet eternally a hand apart, and – in the name of familial affection and morbid curiosity – Makalaurë had decided to make them breach that seal of well-meant restraint to drink deep from the well of fulfilment.

If his mouth had not been as dry as the sun-warmed cliffs, Findaráto might have produced a flute or joined his cousin in song, but, as it was, he stayed where he was.

Pressed against the corner of the wall, he watched that siren sing about illicit longing and a yearning so violent it tossed a soul around like a vessel lost at sea; he understood every word, not only because the thick panes muffled the insufferable noise droning from inside the stifling banquet, but also because he had felt like that before. If he had been forced to be honest – and nights like this one were made for the truth – he would have confessed that the exact sensations wrapped in such delicate beauty were sinking their voracious fangs into his tender flesh in this very moment as he gazed upon the powerful, enchantingly beautiful throat of his cousin as it stretched appealingly to give birth to spells unparalleled.

Kanafinwë – loved by his parents and spoiled by Maitimo – was a creature so dangerously deceiving in the charm he put into his every word and action; when it came down to it, his wrath was no less dangerous than any of his brothers’ and he’d stab you while granting you the most gracious and enthralling of smiles.

Findaráto had witnessed many a time how he could command an assembly by the pristine perfection of his voice, and he didn’t doubt the inherent, destructive power, whistling like an arrow in flight, of this musical talent for a single second.

This was different though, he concluded as the expected effect – soothing or adrenalizing – failed to hit his blood; instead of uttering pretty, flawless notes effortlessly, Makalaurë whipped his blood into a frothing tempest now with the breathy, slightly scratchy, and definitely throaty quality of his singing.

Neither a calming lullaby nor an invigorating battle-cry, this new opus of his seemed to be made up of sighs and moans that conjured up images of his delightfully skilled mouth agape in inarticulate extasy.

Disgusted by his own weakness, Findaráto averted his gaze to the dancers to regain some measure of composed self-control while his fingers trembled, thrumming too high on his own thighs against his quivering flesh to even pretend that he was unaffected by the wings this situation had given to his overzealous imagination.

This new focus did nothing to ease his suffering though for there was of course Maitimo himself, who surpassed everyone in beauty, strength, and discipline; he was as hard on the surface as cousin Finno was seemingly soft, but – spying on them now – it was impossible for the wretchedly miserable cousin of theirs to ignore the fire of bravery and love they shared.

He himself was easy, easy to approach, easy to befriend, and easy to leave behind.

Where the others had been given hypnotising intensity, faith-inducing honesty, or captivating charm, he had been granted a pleasant smile and a truly frightening capacity for love.

He admired them so, he had never been given a choice; Maitimo intimidated people into joining him by his calm and convincing confidence, Findekáno’s warm but cutting smile let you know that it was as safe to be on his side as it was lethal not to be, and Makalaurë had yet to meet a person inured to the overwhelming intensity of his charm. Each one of them had been granted gifts that cut through someone like him as a hot blade slid through butter, and he had stopped struggling against his need to belong – to them or anyone else – many a cycle of the trees ago.

The music broke off suddenly and then someone spoke his name.

“Join us, Ingo,” Makalaurë called, laughter weaving golden threads into his tone like the ones adorning righteous, valiant Findekáno’s hair.

“The night is young yet,” he went on when Findaráto balked, cursing his hair for giving him away in the ambient gloom, “and our fathers look distraught; we may have to take this elsewhere.”

“Go and interrupt our sons,” Ñolofinwë griped, “this is indecent.”

He had been watching his oldest child cling to the broad shoulder and shapely hand of his half-brother’s son for what felt like ages, and he was both embarrassed and intrigued by the intensity shimmering so shamelessly in his upturned face.

“You go,” Fëanáro retorted; he had refused to spare the undignified scene so much as a single glance. As they could not hear the music – and knowing that this was Kanafinwë’s doing, there was no doubt about there being a secret melody – they could but look on helplessly as the two potential crown-princes swayed gently, holding each other’s gaze in what looked more like passion than challenge.

“I won’t go either,” Arafinwë interjected, “I don’t care for finding my own son crumpled up around whatever secrets he hides behind a smile.”

Huffing as they realised that they had manoeuvred themselves – once more – into one of the inevitable stalemates of stubborn intransigeance that had made their youth a living hell, the three fathers glared at each other, praying that their sons would realise soon how inappropriate their behaviour really was.

None of them were holding their breath though.

I am - humbly - begging you not to be cruel to me!

It was a try, it was born out of love and good intentions; I did not seek to offend or hurt anyone!

Lots of love from me...

@eunoiaastralwings you're the only person other than Shalini and Medusas-hairband I can think of who'd read this...maybe...🙈

Ah, @mismaeve maybe?

Song that inspired this ludicrous piece of writing:

#silmarillion #silm #fanfiction #russingon #maedhris #fingon #maglor #finrod #romantic?#romantic!#dancing #night scene #longing #pining #Finwë's sons are dumb #a blend of things I've read #and loved #a love letter #Spotify

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