#I am somehow convinced Tolkien would have loved this
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cold bones (you were the warmth)
rating: g | cw: none apply | word count: 1,307
tags: eddie munson lives, steve harrington is a sweetheart, pre-relationship, fluff and hurt/comfort
for the @steddielovemonth prompt “love is asking ‘do you want a blanket?’” by @thefreakandthehair
click here to read on ao3
***
Eddie wakes up feeling cold.
He always does these days. Since he almost died in the Upside Down it’s like the coolness from that place burrowed deep inside him and even now, two weeks later, he still can’t shake it off.
It doesn’t help that he’s still stuck in this room while he recovers. There’s an iciness to this place too- this secret government hospital. It’s not just the place with its gray and empty walls, but the people who work there too. The doctors, the nurses, and the government agents who are constantly walking into his room all treat him with the same indifference and apathy, and Eddie is used to people being hateful and mean, but this treatment is far worse.
The only time he ever feels warm is when someone comes to visit him, his uncle, or one of his new friends. But even then, that warmth doesn’t last long once they leave and he goes back to being cold.
With a sigh, Eddie wraps the flimsy hospital sheet around himself and rolls over on the bed, careful not to jostle the stitches covering his sides too much.
He lets out a soft gasp when he sees someone sitting on the chair next to his bed.
“Steve?” Eddie has to ask because he’s not completely sure that he’s not dreaming. Yes, Steve Harrington somehow ended up being part of that group of new friends, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t surprise Eddie every time.
Steve looks up from the book he’s reading- The Hobbit, which does little to convince Eddie that he isn’t imagining this- and smiles.
“Hey, you’re awake.”
“Am I? Because King Steve Harrington reading Tolkien next to my bed feels like something that would only happen in my dreams,” Eddie says, cringing a little at the meaning behind his words, hoping that Steve doesn’t read too much into what he said.
If Steve does, he doesn’t show it, simply chuckling softly. “Someone left it here for you. Think it was Henderson. It was either reading this or watching you sleep, and that one felt a bit creepy.”
Eddie snorts, gesturing at the worn-out cover of the book. “What do you think?”
Steve shrugs. “It’s not bad, but there are too many names, man. It’s confusing.”
“Fair enough.”
“How are you feeling?” Steve asks, putting the book back on the bedside table.
Eddie makes a face. “Like my body is being held together by stitches and prayers,” he says. A displeased frown appears between Steve’s eyebrows. “But they’ve got me on some powerful drugs here, so I can’t complain.”
The pain isn’t really what bothers him the most anyway, it’s the cold. Always the cold.
For a moment, Eddie thinks he said that out loud because the next thing out of Steve’s mouth is, “Do you want a blanket?”
“Hm?”
Steve gestures at Eddie on the bed. “You bundled yourself up like a burrito there and you were shivering in your sleep.”
“I thought you weren’t watching sleep, Stevie,” Eddie says with a smirk.
Steve’s cheeks turn a pretty pink shade. “I might’ve glanced at you once or twice. You snore, it’s annoying.”
With an undignified squeak, Eddie says, “I don’t snore!”
Steve laughs heartily. “So, blanket? I can ask one of the nurses for one.”
“You would have better luck asking Vecna for a hug, man” Eddie snorts. “I’ve asked, they- they never bring me one, either they forget or just don’t care.”
Steve frowns. “What? But they’re supposed to be taking care of you. All that shivering could mean you have a fever or something worse!” Eddie can’t but chuckle as he slips into Mother Hen Steve mode.
“Pretty sure it’s not. It’s- I think it has to do with the Upside Down? Like, being there and almost dying there left me feeling perpetually cold or something,” Eddie tries to explain. Steve’s eyes narrow at him. “I know it doesn’t make sense-”
But Steve shakes his head. “No, it does, the kids- they told me that when Will got possessed by the Mind Slayer or whatever his name was, he felt cold all the time so maybe it’s like, an Upside Down thing.”
Eddie blinks. “So you’re saying I could be possessed by a monster?”
Steve’s eyes widen in alarm. “No! No! No. I’m sure you’re not. I’m sure it will go away eventually.”
“If you say so.”
“Speaking of that. Going away,” Steve says, looking down at his watch and wrinkling his nose. “I should go, I have a shift.”
“Are people even renting movies after half the town got destroyed?”
“You’d be surprised,” Steve says. “I’ll come back later, okay?”
Then, he reaches for Eddie’s hand, halfway concealed by the hospital sheet, and squeezes it. Warmth spreads through Eddie at lightning speed from the touch. It lingers just long enough after Steve leaves so that Eddie can fall asleep again.
***
The next time Eddie wakes up- cold again, always cold- Steve isn’t there, but he comes back a few hours later, carrying a large bag.
“Back already?” Eddie asks when Steve closes the door. “Did you miss me that much, sweetheart?”
Steve splutters, almost dropping the bag and flushing a bright red. “Shut up.” He places the bag on Eddie’s bed and he recognizes the logo on the front.
“Did you raid Melvald’s on your way here?”
Steve bites his lip. He won’t meet Eddie’s eyes, staring down at the contents of the bag instead. “I figured if they weren’t going to give you any blankets here, I’d bring you some.”
Eddie blinks. “What?”
He doesn’t reply. Instead, he starts unpacking blankets from the bag- first a yellow fuzzy blanket, then a plaid one, and finally one with some animated cartoon characters on it that Eddie doesn’t recognize. He stares at them with his lips parted in shock.
“Uh, these were all they had, they donated a bunch of them to the shelter after, you know, everything.”
“You- brought me blankets?”
“Uh, I did, yeah.”
“You’re- something else, Harrington, did you know that?” Eddie says, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Uh, something good I hope?” Steve asks, fidgeting a little.
“Yeah,” he smiles. “Definitely.” It hits Eddie then that he’s in a lot of trouble. It was one thing when Steve was just an attractive guy, but it’s another thing to realize that he’s kind and good and cares about Eddie. This is a guy that Eddie could see himself falling in love with and that’s a problem.
But it’s a problem for another day. For now, he grabs the yellow blanket and drapes it over himself. The cold doesn’t go away entirely but it recedes, and Eddie sighs happily. When he looks at Steve, he’s got a pleased little smile on his lips.
Eddie figures that he’ll leave now since he already did what he came here to do. He doesn’t want him to, but to his surprise, Steve lingers and Eddie sees his eyes land on the book on his bedside table.
He smirks. “Admit it, Harrington, you’re hooked.”
Steve’s eyes dart to him and he shakes his head. “What? No, I’m not.”
“You are,” Eddie singsongs. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Henderson. Under one condition.”
Steve narrows his eyes at him. “What?”
“Read to me?”
Steve blinks, clearly not expecting that, but then the corners of his mouth tug up slightly. “I can do that.”
He sits down on the chair after grabbing the book, and Eddie carefully rolls onto his side, facing Steve, and wrapping himself up like a burrito in his new fuzzy yellow blanket.
He feels real warmth for the first time since he went through that portal, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the blanket or the sweet voice reading to him.
Or maybe it’s just Steve.
#steddielovemonth#day 25#hello i have another prompt for you i managed to keep this one a little shorter but hopefully just as sweet#steddie#stranger things#stranger things fic#steve harrington#eddie munson#monse writes
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If this is alright could we have a dragon rider reader (got like dragon) with lindir if that's alright.
The Dragon Friend
featuring lindir x reader
fandom tolkien- the hobbit the lord of the rings
a/n idk if this is how you meant it - please enjoy ! - who else but toothless ;)
Lindir and you had been childhood friends - a friend he had grown to love and admire.
But unfortunately he had lost you during your childhood days - you had been taken and there was no source in finding you.
He sometimes remembers his young self searching and pleading with his and your kin to find you - but always there was no hope. . .
You were gone and he had to live with a broken heart. . .
He convinced himself you were dead and lived on in sorrow, reaching Rivendell.
So he was convinced he would never see you again until one surprising day he found you lying unconscious just outside the valley of Rivendell.
He was able to recognise you - many ages can pass and will always be able to recognize you.
In seeing this minstrel unlike himself and rushing to your safely - putting on else behind, he knew you were special to Lindir.
Linidr himself had insisted on carrying your unconscious body into Rivendell. It was a shock to everyone as he picked you up with care and brought you into the healing rooms.
When you gasped awake he was still right by your side - tending to your every wound.
“Lindir?”
You looked at him amazed - you would never forget those eyes of your beloved friend from childhood.
He was still the same Lindir in every way he acted and even smiled.
It was the same Linidr you always knew and it has a sense of home again after all these years.
His sudden overprotectiveness took you by surprise - and it made you blink wondering who this suddenly was.
“Lindir, I am alright. . .”
You tried to argue.
“No, Y/N, you are hurt and wounded. You need to rest! Strict rest is needed.”
Lindir insisted, a little sternness in his voice - but his touch was still with care as he gently pushed you back to rest your weak body.
But you couldn’t - he was out there lost and scared, you needed to make Lindir understand and go back to him.
Lindit kept a close eye on you - while you always knew you could trust Lindir you didn’t know how exactly he would act towards the new you. . .and your little. . .or perhaps big flying friend were the better words to use.
You sighed twisting and turning at night - aching sore in different parts of your body from the crash landing as you were suddenly ambushed by orcs.
You waited until the dead of night and stepped out the bed and tiptoed out the room. Your heart was in your throat.
You weren’t technically doing anything though. . .
With a gulp - you ran swiftly and quietly as you could across the halls - ignoring the aches and burns in your body.
Somehow you managed to get past the guards - they probably ignored you seeing you with Lindir so often and did not think you were planning on leaving. . who knows but you thanked your lucky stars and hoped yourself out of Rivendell and outside.
“Lithon?”
You gently called out into the wind.
“Lith. . .Please where are you?”
You whispered - getting a little impatient with your pet dragon.
You knew he was here - he was playing with you, hiding his ash colored body from your sights.
You stepped out further.
“Li-”
Suddenly you were cut off by his sudden appearance and quickly scooped you under his wing to hold you close.
He let out a happy sound at the sights of you - his large tail swishing back and forth happily seeing you again.
“Lithon!”
You giggled and hugged him back.
“Oh - you good boy! You stayed hidden, good boy!”
You cooed - scratching the place right under his chin exactly where you knew he liked.
“Y-Y/N?”
Suddenly a familiar voice hit your ear and you froze - Lithon turned around too. to see who was there he was being protective over you.
You gulped - seeing your childhood friend standing there in shock, the color drained from his face as he looked at the scene in front of him.
“Lindir. . I need you to stay calm. . .OK?”
You said gently - stepping away from Lithon’s wings and walking over to him.
Lindir’s heart was beating a thousand miles per hour and his breath came out quicker.
He did not reply - suddenly he grabbed your wrist pulled you away the giant beast.
“Lindir! Wait!”
You tried - but he was already sprinting holding your wrist.
You winced at Lithon growled.
Lindir’s mind was haywire - he debated whether to call out Elladan and Elrohir now, or wait until he was at the entrance. .
No no - he could ot risk the beast entering Rivendell.
“Lindir! Please, he is harmless!”
You tried - but then suddenly Lithon jumped in front blocking their way - looking predatory - and you rolled your eyes at his over dramaticness.
Lindir looked at you incredulously -then moved to shout out for the guards and twins.
Lindir wasn’t a fighter, he was a healer and protector towards you.
Quickly you covered his mouth and he looked at you with wide eyes.
“Lindir, please just listen! He is my friend. Lithon is good, please! He is trying to protect me as much as you are!”
You pleaded.
“Look. . .”
You looked unsure for a moment.
“Just watch, OK?”
You said and took a deep breath - holding your hands out in a calm motion and gestured to Lithon.
“Lithon. . .little one, it is OK. . .”
You said as he was glaring daggers at Lindir.
Then you held Linidr’s hand and your other hand reached out to Lithon
He looked between you both - then let out a sound that was something in between a scoff and a sigh.
Lindir watched in his utmost surprise as the dragon gently bowed to you and rested his head against your hand. . .trusting you.
“See? He is friendly. . .Lithon is good.”
You promised Lindir and gently brought his hand forward.
Lindir fought at first but you gave him pleading eyes and he sighed - letting his hand rest on the dragon just beside your hand.
Lithon let out a grunt before slowly relaxing.
Lindir watched in amazement and utter disbelief.
“See I told you. . .Li. .is ve…ry”
But suddenly Lindir’s ears could no longer hear you clearly - it was like he was suddenly underwater.
His vision was blurry then suddenly all was dark. . .
Lindir awakens again - his body sitting up straight in a sudden jolt.
Lithon was in front of him, lying on the sun like a cat.
He rolled his eyes and grunted at Lindir and turned away.
“Oh thank Eru, Lindir! You are awake!”
You chirped happily and hugged him tightly.
Lindir was taken back by the sudden gesture but he found himself quickly melting into his arms and his love for you returned.
You blushed seeing your close proximity - and Lindir mirrored the blush on his cheeks.
“Y/N. . .”
He whispered your name and caressed your hand - looking deep into your eyes.
You knew. . .You knew then and you know it now. . .You didn’t get the chance before and you were not about to let it slide through your fingers easily.
Neither was Lindir. . .it was known when he quickly and respectfully pecked your lips.
You rolled your eyes and pulled him to a full kiss. . .passionate and tender. . .making his eyes go wide in surprise and almost in awe.
A kiss that is warm, gentle, and full of love and affection. The love that you have inspired within one another is overflowing. . .
Lithon let out another grunt making you both laugh.
“That dragon has a personality. . .”
Lindir said in amazement, looking at Lithon.
“Lith, he is not like other dragons. . . he has a soft heart really -he saved me and has been my friend since. I would have told you, meleth. . .I would I was afraid for Lithon. .
Lindir blushed when you called him meleth.
“It is understandable, meleth nin - as always I see where the kindness in your heart lies.”
You grinned at him - your friend and lover now.
“Shall we take him for a ride?”
You asked and Lindir was confused.
“A ride?”
“Yes - a ride”
You said happily.
Lindir really did know what he was in for - but he was willing to try if it meant he could make you happy.
He held onto you for the fear of his life as Lithon took off into the skies.
You rolled your eyes realizing Lithon was doing this own purpose - to give Lindir a friendly scare. . .
“Lithon, you useless reptile. . .”
You muttered with an eyeroll trying to comfort Lindir.
Lindir felt like his life was flashing before his eyes - his heart was in throat as he was carried among the clouds and dove into the sea with great speed.
When finally landed again - Lindir’s heart was beating out of control and he felt like he needed to lay on the grass.
“Oh sweet Eru. . .”
He whispered, laying there breathing hard.
“Are you OK? Lindir?”
You asked quietly, trying to comfort him.
“That was. . .dangerous!”
He breathed and you felt rather sad.
“But amazing. . .”
He breathed and laughed.
You grinned and kissed him again, toppling him on the grass again as he was about to sit up.
Lithon gave you love birds an eye roll but smiled to himself. . .
Taglist form
tara's taglist: @wandererindreams @fizzyxcustard @ranhanabi777 @spidergirla5 @asianbutnotjapanese @floraroselaughter @mismaeve
#lindir x reader#tolkien elves#elves of imladris#lindir#eunoiawrites#answered#WE NEED SO MUCH MORE LINDIR LOVE
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Tag Game - Fandom Edition
Tagged by @somebirdortheother, thanks so much, lovely! This was fun!
Your Name: On here, Nienna or Ni, if you please. I have 4-5 names that people regularly call me outside of that (IRL nicknames) but I prefer to keep that private.
Your First Fandom: Tolkien. Before I even knew what fandom was, I was composing fanfiction in my head about being Bilbo Baggin's niece (yes, before I read LotR, I somehow knew that he would have an adopted child because he definitely wasn't marrying a woman - A+, baby Nienna). At the time, I had no concept of what fanfiction was or what a self-insert was, but here I was, doing the thing at age 8. I think it counts, lol.
Your Current Fandom: Rings of Power specifically, wider Tolkien Legendarium also. And the thing you must know about me is I have two fandoms which are special interests of mine. 1) Tolkien and 2) Star Trek. Normally, when one is dormant, the other wakes up. So we'll count Star Trek too, even though that interest is currently sleeping (shhh, she needs her rest).
How did you first get into fandom?: Um, doomed by the narrative? My dad read The Hobbit aloud to me when I was little and then proceeded to read me LotR out loud a year later. I couldn't NOT form my whole personality around that (and Trek, which he introduced when I was 10).
How long have you been engaging in fandom spaces?: I discovered fanfiction online when I was 14. I used to write a long time ago, but college and grad school got in the way. I lurked for years (reading a couple longfics a week) but I didn't have the energy to create much myself. Adar and Rings of Power brought me out of that shell. So I guess the answer is: it's complicated.
How often do you read fanfic?: I'm almost always reading at least one longfic, although I have slowed down significantly now that I'm writing a longfic. These days I squeeze in reading one-shots because I set too ambitious of an update schedule and I'm trying not to get burnt out.
Top three characters from your current fandom?: Adar (my love), Tar-Miriel (who I am so worried about going into the next season), and probably Galadriel. I really admire how they let her be nasty enough to be credibly accused of being Morgoth's successor, by someone who would know. That's brilliant and gives her character a lot of room to grow into the Galadriel we know in the Third Age.
Have you ever written a fic for a fandom and if so, shout it out!: I do not think any of my very old fic still exists (thank the stars). But I'll link a few Rings of Power fics here (use caution, all three works are 18+):
Scars of Silver and Gold: A Second Age romance/adventure (Adar/OC) that will eventually answer the question "what is the best case scenario for Adar and his uruks that still fits within the constraints of Tolkien's legendarium?"
Until the Stars Burn Out: Set in Cuiviénen, under the light of the stars. Eren, the one who will one day be known as Adar, shares a moment of tenderness with the partner he was made for, Erenyë. (Adar/OC). Based off of "Awake, Arise or Be For Ever Fall’n" by @dwarveslikeshinythings
Mistletoe Mischief: Christmas-themed smutty Adar/Reader fic. Modern AU.
Have you ever drawn fan art for a fandom?: I have, but I am not willing to share anything yet, because I'm just not where I want to be skill-wise.
Share a personal headcanon that you feel strongly about: Mmmm. I have many headcanons. It is hard to pick one. I'll say this: the elves that went to Valinor from the Waters of Awakening knew that some of them where kidnapped and taken but they did not see any orcs/uruks until the Noldor made it back to Middle-earth. It makes the Battle-under-Stars that much more existentially terrifying. Thinking about writing a horror one-shot about this - imagine recognizing your old friend, twisted by centuries of torture among the dead. *shivers*
You’re trying to convince a friend to get into your current fandom(s) with you. what episode, clip, or scene are you showing them?: Mmmmm. I don't think there's a clip of ROP that I can pick that doesn't have spoilers. All the parts I'm most attached to are in pretty deep.
And finally, what does fandom mean to you?: Community. Enjoying the thing you enjoy on your own is marvelous but enjoying it with other people is even better! People have such wonderful different ideas about things and that's very cool.
Tagging (no pressure, just love): @dwarveslikeshinythings, @lazymeriadoc, @bananaphanta, and anyone else to whom this looks like fun!
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hope your day improves!! 🫶🫶
if you could hang out with any lotr/trop character for the day, who would it be and what would you guys do?
if you could ask tolkien one unanswered question about the lore, what would it be? OR if you could somehow convince him to change something about the existing lore, what would it be?
if you could make any two characters from lotr or trop interact for a day, who would it be and why?
if you could change the race of a lotr/trop character, which race would you change them to? (i.e. making elrond a hobbit, sam a wizard, etc)
also, do you have any theories on what's going to happen next season of trop? :)
hi cutie!! ahh thank you for all these wonderfully distracting questions, honestly they're MUCH appreciated! 😌💖 i just put on a facemask and i'm ready to chill out a bit so here we go! 👀
ATM I would love to hang out with Merry and Pippin (a package deal oops) because I am in need of some tomfoolery and activities that require no braincells 😂 pls let me just roll down a grassy hill and laugh without a care in the world 🥺🥺🥺
I can't wait to meet JRRT in the afterlife and bombard him with questions 🤓 I would atm ask for help with my english thesis LMAO, but I would definitely make him add more cool women into his stories!!! 😤
I'd love to see (again just self-indulgent fun lksjlgkha 🤭) TROP Isildur, a certified baby and also a troublemaker, just hang out in the shire and be stupid with the hobbits, it would heal my soul🥰🥰🥰 but if we go for sth more serious, he needs to have a proper conversation with Aragorn and sort out some issues oops 👀
OMG I'd make Sam an elf for a day because he's so fascinated by them and just has massive heart eyes for everything they do!!!! it'd be so pure to see how he would act as an actual elf; also give him ultra magical plant growing powers ✨🌷💚
As of right now I have no theories (sadly) but I miss the show and look forward to seeing more 🥺 I would like to see more about the Istari because they fascinate me a lot and i want more info about the whole wizard lore!!! 😍😍😍😍
thanks again for this, i'm sending you a hundred hugs!!! ✨
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A very confused Star Wars Fan desperately tries to justify their belief that “Caravan of Courage” shows the way forward for the franchise. No, really.
Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve loved Star Wars. And I mean, all of it. The books, the games, the Lego, the spin-offs: I even enjoy the Holiday Special in a The Room so-bad-you-just-need-to-see-it sort of way. But particularly the films. But here is when we run into the big problem: I’m just the wrong age. The original trilogy launched before I was born, the prequel trilogy hit cinemas when I was already a teen and while I went and saw them and enjoyed them, I was at that age where I was self-conscious about seeing a “kids” film, and hyper-aware of how silly and cringy those films were in parts.
So my indoctrination, my inoculation with the Star Wars bug didn’t happen in the cinema, and it didn’t happen with any of the main franchise works. It happened on home video, on a skiing trip in the French Alps in the early 90’s. I’d have been about 6, and this was the first time I’d ever been abroad other than to see relatives in Ireland. And I loved it: to this day I love skiing, but more than that, I have very, very fond childhood memories of this trip. This was shortly before I lost my biological mother to cancer, she’d have received her diagnosis just after we got back from the trip. This was when my younger sister stopped being an annoying screaming thing and became and became an actual person I could talk and play and share ideas with, this was before the combination my mothers long illness and my father having just launched his own IT start up meant I didn’t see him or her any more, despite the fact they were in the same house as me. This was this wonderful, nostalgic child-hood bubble when my family was intact, and nothing could ever go wrong.
I skied all day with mum and dad, and would come back to the chalet in the evening. It was an English speaking chalet, I met my first real-life American there, and having grown up in the 90’s in the UK nothing was cooler than making friends with an actual American my own age. He had a hulk Hogan action figure with springs in the legs so if you put him on a hard surface and punched his head down, when you let go he’d jump really high in the air. We used to play with it together in the bath, back in that weird 90’s time-bubble when it was possible to convince two sets of parents that this kid you’d just met was you best friend in the world and of course shared bath time was, somehow, normal and appropriate. And fresh from bath time, tired from the day, the parents would give us some hot coco, dump us kids in front of the tv and grab the first shitty low-budget VHS they could find to keep us distracted while they went to the bar. In this particular time, in this particular place, that shitty low budget cartoon was the complete set of the 1985 Lucasfilm/ABC Ewoks cartoon, plus the two spin off movies, and to this day that cheap, kitschy, kind of bad series has a special warm and cosy place in my heart. I remember being enthralled by the world, in love with the characters, applied by the bad guys and the injustice they caused (to this day I’m still irate about that time Wicket lost his set of beads documenting his progress towards becoming a full warrior and the older Ewoks basically said, tough, you need to re-earn all those merit badges from scratch. This struck me as exactly the sort of bullshit an adult would pull, and pissed me off) and on tenterhooks about what would happen to the characters.
It was also, by a coincidence, the first ever Star Wars media I was exposed to, and the above combination of events probably explains a lot about me.
So I was surprised, the other day, when scrolling Disney+, to find they’d added Caravan of Courage AND Battle for Endor to the roster in my region. Surely Disney wouldn’t want their slick, cool brand associated with this old trash? Surely there could be no place for this in the post-Mandalorian Star Wars cannon? Surely this is a horrible mistake some intern made, right?
Unless…. What if I’ve miss-remembered? What if it’s not just rose-tinted nostalgia goggles, and it’s, in fact, secretly really, really good?
I rushed to my comfy chair, got a blanket, dimmed the lights, made some coco (with rum in it, because why the hell not?) and sat down to re-examine this lost gem.
And wow: it’s every bit as shit as you’d expect.
It has aged exactly as poorly as you’d expect a cheap, mid 80’s direct to video spin-off to age. Caravan of Courage? More like Caravan of Garbage, am I right?
And yet… I still enjoyed every moment.
And it was sitting there, in my pyjamas, watching a cheaply made direct to video cash-grab from just before I was born, seeing it again for the first time in nearly 30 years, and I realised something.
It doesn’t really matter if this film is bad, so long as I enjoy it. And if it doesn’t really mater if this is bad, then I, like many Star Wars fans, wasted a huge amount of time and emotional effort on being butthurt about stuff I didn’t like about the Rise of Skywalker and it’s ilk. Because somewhere, right now, a tired and frustrated parent is putting Disney+ on to keep their kids quiet for two hours. And they won’t think too hard about what they put on, so long as it keeps little Timmy busy for a bit. Somewhere, right now, a kid is watching Rise of Skywalker, and it’s the first Star Wars media they’ve ever seen.
And that’s okay. Because we don’t know what that kids home life is like. We don’t know if it’s good or bad. Maybe it’s great, maybe it’s about to take a dramatic plunge like mine did, and this moment here will be the cosy, warm memory they look back on in 30 years time, and that’s beautiful. They’re getting introduced to a fun, wonderful fantasy world that could be with them all their lives, through good times and bad, and as fans we should be happy about that.
Star Wars will never, die: it’s too darn profitable, Disney will never let it. And while I hope they learn from their mistakes and make sure every future Star Wars is a timeless gem of story-telling, statistically, if you keep making enough films, some of them will be bad. And while I’d like them all to be great, it’s still okay if they’re bad.
Because nothing can take away my memories of that week in that chalet. Nothing can take-away my memories of when they put the original trilogy on in cinemas for the special edition and I had my jaw hit the floor with how good it was on the big screen, not knowing or caring who shot first. Nothing can take away you memories of the Original Trilogy, the Prequels, or the Clone Wars. Nothing can tarnish the bits of the sequil trilogy that you like, and there are good bits in there.
But wait, what about continuity? What about the sacred, perfect written time-line that used to exist?
Well, what about it? Have you seen any other big, epic fantasy universe before? They’re all a mess. A work of fiction, particularly fantasy, can be extensive, or tightly written, but not both. Harry Potter is only seven books, and the last two feel, tonally, like they’re from an entirely different series. I love them, but the grim-dark kicked in so fast you’ll get whiplash. The Hobbit is a perfect written self-contained novel, and LOTR is *The* big boy high-fantasy trilogy: fast forward 50 years, and Christopher Tolkien is desperately squeezing every last drop of money out of his father’s corpse by finishing and publishing every unfinished note JRR ever wrote right down to his shopping lists. Even Dune goes of the rails with sequels. I can only think of four fantasy works that are both extensive and consistently tightly written, Song of Ice and Fire, Wheel of Time, Malazan: Book of the Fallen and Brandon Sanderson’s Cosmere universe. And even then, the prequels and spin-offs mess with the timelines: the Dunk and Egg novella’s change some character’s canonical ages and timelines, Wheel of Time was going slowly off the rails even before the Jordan died, Forge of Darkness made what was a good metaphor for the creation of it’s world into a literal war deep in the past, and Sanderson’s first Novel Elantris got a re-write to bring it more in line with the rest of the shared universe. The MCU, oft held up as the modern example of tightly planned, well thought out ongoing storytelling, is a lie: it was never as pre-planned out as Disney wants us to think; the first Iron Man, apparently, barely had a script, with Downey ad-lib-ing most of his scenes. None of the MCU films are direct sequels to each-other other than Infinity war and Endgame. There are three Iron Man films, and Three Thor films, and none continue an ongoing story line across multiple films, and the Cap films barely continue an arc, but only where Cap’s relationship with Natasha and Bucky is involved. Much like these, Star War’s cannon is a complete, nightmarish, confusing, tangled, illogical mess. And it has been since 1984, as Caravan of Courage proves. It was never consistent and well planned.
And that’s okay.
I used to care about plot holes. I used to care about which works were cannon in Star Wars lore. I’m over that now. I’m happy to imagine the books, films and games not as a blow-by-blow historical account of a galaxy far far away, but as campfire stories from within this fun, imaginative world that we’re all invited to listen to. Stories that are in-universe myth and folklore, that we can all snuggle up and listen to while drinking highly alcoholic rum and remembering better times, knowing that wherever the future throws at us, no matter how the world goes to hell around us, we’ll still have the memories, and the ability to make our own new stories in the wonderful Star Wars world we all share.
And that’s okay. No, more than that: that’s beautiful.
Also Star Wars is completely unambiguous on the fact we’re allowed to kill fascists no matter how many times they keep coming back with a new logo, so that’s timely I guess.
So, there’s my hot take two-years after everyone else stopped caring about this stuff, as per bloody usual. Tell me why I’m wrong below, and does anyone else have any truly awful spin-off shows that they kind of have a nostalgic soft spot for?
#star wars#ewoks#caravan of courage#Star wars universe#epic fantasy#MCU#tolkien#LOTR#malazan#song of ice and fire#wheel of time#brandon sanderson#Cosmere#dune#late opinions delivered badly#i'm wrong and i know it#seriously hot coco with rum#spin off#bad spin off#so bad it's good#I love the ewoks cartoon#but you don't have to thats okay too
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Can’t believe that Eomer of ALL fuckin characters is getting hate, wtf. This modern bs of blaming every problem a female character has on the men in her life or making her be this flawless, perfect, and amazing in everything creature is absolute trash and totally not feminist. Fandom has become fandumb.
Btw on a lighter note, what other Tolkien couples do you like/ship? And other fictional couples in general? Love your stories ❤️
I guess it's easier to pin the blame on the men close to her rather than look at the whole picture or others' point of view (and it’s certainly convenient for certain agendas). I myself don't see how it's useful or even truthful to use specific men of her family as scapegoats, especially when there are so many signs to the contrary. In this day and age mental health problems ought to be understood better; I'm not saying things like abuse and manipulation can't cause or contribute to mental illness, but that's hardly the case with Éowyn - except for what Gríma Wormtongue did, but he was never even mentioned in the original statement, which is surprising because he's literally right there and we have the actual text saying that he stalked her and fed his toxicity as much to her as he did to Théoden. Somehow the actual stalker is not to be blamed at all, but the people who do love her.
But it's a delicate issue, not necessarily well-handled in discourse, and often it means individual men get thrown under the bus, no matter if they deserve it or not. Which I think feminism shouldn't be about, but I digress. And like you said, making women into perfect and flawless martyrs doesn't do any good, and it's certainly not doing them any justice in the context of their stories. Neither does it do any justice to men, and it's ignoring the larger structures of society that impact both men and women in harmful and toxic ways. In Éowyn's case, if you wanted to be one-sided and biased, you could blame her for abandoning her people in a time of great need and letting down her family, but somehow that doesn't happen. It's generally recognised she deserves compassion for the state she was in and for her circumstances, and you'd think the same would apply for her family, though they are men.
Anyway, thank you for your message. I believe I won't be answering (publicly) more asks about this issue, because I don't want to drag it out more, but I'm happy to talk further in private messages!
I have always had a soft spot for Aragorn/Arwen, and Faramir and Éowyn are one of the most wholesome couples I've ever come across in literature; so much about them is mirrored in each other and answers to specific troubles they go through during the story. Tolkien writes a more convincing and rewarding romance between them in one chapter than some writers do in entire book series. Also I do love the story of Beren and Lúthien, it’s one of my favourite parts of The Silmarillion. Moreover, I am fascinated with the story of Andreth and Aegnor, although it’s among the most tragic of Tolkien’s relationships, and I wish there was more about them.
Outside of LOTR, I enjoy Lizzie Bennet and Mr. Darcy, and I have to admit, I enormously liked Mary and Matthew in Downton Abbey (poor Matthew, though!). Another well-written relationship is Agnieszka/Sarkan (from Naomi Novik's Uprooted), although I'm not sure if I could be called a shipper. One of Ye Olde Goode Ships of mine is Henry and Danielle from the film Ever After (which I really should rewatch soon!). I haven't been reading or writing anything about Tanz der Vampire (a weird European musical) lately, but I still feel for Alfred/Krolock. I generally have a weakness for the Beauty and the Beast type of situation, and the Disney film was my big favourite as a kid.
Also, this is probably going to sound weird considering what I normally post: I loved InuYasha as a teenager, and used to read the occasional fanfic years ago when I came across this brilliant story with Kagome/Sesshoumaru (titled Tales from the House of the Moon) - lo and behold, I've been a grudging shipper ever since. I don't really read InuYasha fanfiction anymore and I certainly don't participate in the fandom, but that one story I still return to now and then.
Thanks for the ask!
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Where Babies Come From
“Dad? I have a question.”
Our eyes meet over the top of Henry’s head, where he sits propped up by pillows between us on the bed. You bite your lip to hide your smile. My plan to bore my son to sleep has been a failure, it seems, since you are the only one who appears to be even slightly drowsy. As always, Henry’s thirst for knowledge - and wish to delay bedtime for as long as possible - has overruled all else.
I fight the urge to vent my frustration with a sigh. For all that his constant need to bombard me with questions can be rather tiresome, any negative feeling is vastly overruled by the gratitude I feel that we are all here together. “Yes, Henry?”
On this occasion, his question is actually related to the topic at hand. “Where’s Legolas? They’re in Mirkwood, right? So Legolas should be there. Where was the part where he chases after them and jumps on all the barrels? That was so awesome!”
This time, I allow myself a small sigh of displeasure. “Henry, what have I told you?”
“The book and the movies are very different,” he parrots, obediently.
“And?” I prompt, not quite as gently as I could, because he has somehow managed to omit the main point.
Henry scrunches up his face, trying to remember. “The book is better?” he offers, with more reluctance than I would like.
“The book is much better,” I affirm, with a satisfied nod. “And certainly didn’t necessitate three feature-length movies.”
“I just think Legolas is really cool …” he mutters under his breath, always keen to have the last word. Today I will allow it. He is young, and doesn’t know any better.
From the other side of the bed, I hear a small cough. You are undoubtedly concealing a laugh, because you do not understand how important this is. I honestly cannot comprehend how you, whose entire career is focused around literature, have somehow managed to never read a single word of Tolkien up until this point. But we are remedying this sad state of affairs week by week, as I introduce you and Henry - and Little b as well, if they are listening - to the prequel of one of my favorite series of books.
I set the book down on the bookshelf beside the bed, and ruffle Henry’s hair. “Time to go to sleep, honey.”
Now, another popular stalling tactic comes into play. Henry clutches at his throat like he is about to go into anaphylactic shock. “I’m so thirsty,” he croaks. “May I have a glass of water, please?”
“I’ll get it,” you offer, before I can query if he is actually as parched as he states. You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand up, almost immediately grabbing onto the top of the wooden headboard, and squeezing your eyes shut as you do so.
I spring to my feet immediately. “Are you all right, my love?”
After a few seconds, you open your eyes, and offer a bright smile that is probably more for Henry’s benefit than mine, since he is also staring at you in concern. “I’m fine. I just stood up a little too quickly, that’s all.”
As soon as you leave the room, Henry turns to me, his brow furrowed with worry. “Is Britt okay, Dad?”
“Of course,” I assure him, injecting a level of cheer and confidence into my voice that I do not particularly feel. You probably are fine, but … what if you are not? I very much feel that I should have offered to go in your stead, but given that you have refused my help multiple times this week on the grounds that I am fussing over you too much, I thought that perhaps it was best not to push the issue again. Especially not in front of Henry, who has seen quite enough of the adults in his life bickering with each other ...
Henry doesn’t look convinced. “Are you sure?”
“Britt is fine, honey. Being pregnant is extremely hard work, so she has been experiencing a few unpleasant side-effects. But she is absolutely fine, I promise.”
Henry nods thoughtfully, lapsing into silence for a rare few seconds to fidget with his dinosaur-bedecked duvet cover. Then, as usual, there is something else. “I actually had a question about that,” he says ominously.
Over the course of the day, he has already queried what size Little b is at the present time, when we will know if they are a boy or a girl, and if I think they will like dinosaurs as much as he does. I do not know what else there is to ask. “Go on …”
“Well, I bought a book about babies on Amazon, and -”
I can’t help but interrupt him, to question him on this point. “Do you mean your mother bought you a book?” That would be a pleasant development indeed, though it seems unlikely, since she has barely said two words to me since our dinner at Sandra’s house.
Henry stares at me like I am being very dense. “Mom left one-touch ordering on. I can buy whatever I want. But anyway, I bought a book about babies. It’s called “Where Babies Come From” and it cost ten dollars, and I’ve read it three times, but Dad … the title is a lie! The book doesn’t actually tell you where babies come from-”
Mercifully, this alarming thread of conversation is interrupted by you returning with Henry’s water. You pass the glass to him, and he takes the tiniest sip imaginable before handing it back to you to place it on the nightstand for him. “Thanks, Britt,” he says. “I’m sorry you’re having unpleasant side-effects because of the pregnancy.”
You give me a slightly strange look, but smile fondly at Henry. “That’s very sweet of you.”
It is time, I think, for us to make a quick exit, while he is distracted ...
“Well, goodnight,” I say, beginning to stand up.
Unfortunately, as is often the case, luck is not on my side. Henry grabs my arm, preventing me from making my escape.
“I’m not done asking my question, Dad. I think there might be pages missing from the book. On page five, it says that the man and the woman have a very special cuddle. And then on the next page, it says that the sperm fertilizes the egg. But that doesn’t make sense. Isn’t the egg inside the woman? How does the sperm get in there?”
Oh lord ...
On the one hand, I am greatly impressed by my son’s curiosity and attention to detail. On the other hand, I want to crawl under the bed and hide.
Looking around the room for inspiration or assistance, my gaze falls on you. But it seems there will be no help to be found there. You are fighting so hard not to laugh that there are tears in your eyes. “Excuse me,” you splutter. “I’m going to go get a glass of water for myself. I’m having some side-effects, you know.”
I glare at your retreating back. How dare you abandon me so callously in my time of need? From the doorway, you turn and glance over your shoulder, giving me a small smile, before disappearing from sight. I will remember this, I think.
“Did you ask your mother?” I suggest, after a long pause in which Henry stares at me without blinking, waiting for me to impart my wisdom on this topic. If only I had some ... but my mind has gone alarmingly blank!
He nods vigorously. “Yeah. She said she couldn’t remember because “it happened so fast”. Then she said that you’re the one with the sperm, so I should ask you.”
Well, that is simply marvelous. It seems I have been thrown under the bus by my current wife, and my treacherous ex. Of course, I knew this question would come eventually, since Henry has been so interested in the topic. But I was not anticipating it for quite some time, and certainly not out of the blue like this. What am I supposed to tell him? What on earth is appropriate knowledge for an eight year-old? I try to mine my own childhood learning for inspiration, but save for Biology lessons in high school in which everyone sniggered at the diagrams in the textbook, I do not remember much of anything being said about reproduction during my time in the education system. Certainly not in elementary school.
“Dad?”
This is ridiculous. I am being ridiculous. I will simply do what I have always done, and tell him the facts as best I can.
“There are no pages missing from your book, Henry” I assure him. “It is quite correct that the man and woman have ‘a special cuddle.’” The wording of that euphemistic phrase is so vile that I almost gag on the words. “And at the end of that cuddle, the man ... puts his sperm inside the woman.”
My little scholar is unsatisfied by my very slight elaboration on what this cursed book has taught him. “Yes, but how? I don’t understand …”
God have mercy on me ...
“Well, he puts a part of himself inside the woman for the duration of the, ah, ‘cuddle’.”
As Henry opens his mouth once more to ask for clarification, I think I actually feel a part of my soul leave my body. “What part? One time I saw a kissing scene in a movie Mom told me not to watch, and the boy put his tongue in the girl’s mouth. Is that what you mean?”
Making a mental note to question Nicole on how closely she is supervising our son, I take a deep breath and answer his question, trying to ignore how ridiculously warm my face feels. “Not quite. Actually, the man puts his penis in the woman’s vagina.”
It was much less embarrassing to say it out loud than I had imagined it would be. I feel a sense of relief - then amusement - wash over me as I take in Henry’s reaction to my words. His eyes have gone as wide as saucers, and both of his hands are now covering his mouth. “Oh my god!” he mumbles, through his fingers. “That’s so gross!”
“I can assure you it isn’t gross at all,” I tell him. That I am quite confident about, at least.
Henry peels his hands away from his face, not looking convinced at all, in spite of my certainty on the matter. “I am never putting my penis in a vagina,” he declares. I will undoubtedly remind him of this when he is older. “I think I’m ready to go to sleep now,” he tells me, avoiding my gaze, and burrowing right under the lightweight duvet.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I run through the rest of his familiar bedtime routine. The most important point is that I must check under the bed for monsters. As usual, I find none, though there is rather a lot of Lego which he will be required to clean up in the morning. The pillows are arranged just right for him, the covers are pulled down slightly so that he can breathe, and I kiss his forehead and stroke his hair just as I used to when he was a baby.
I bid him goodnight, and close his bedroom door gently behind me. Although he still has a tendency to wander in and join us in the night, I have a strong suspicion that he will stay put tonight. I can only hope that he will be feeling a little less awkward in the morning.
When I turn around, I find you standing right behind me, grinning from ear to ear. “I enjoyed that better than the book,” you inform me. It seems you have been standing here listening the entire time ...
“Do you think I’ve traumatized him?” I ask. It is an extreme question, but a genuine one. “What if he never has a relationship with another human being because of the dreadful way in which I handled that conversation?”
You grab my hand and squeeze it, still smiling. “You did very well,” you reassure me. “I’m sure he’s fine. If he’s still interested, perhaps you could ask him to bring the book with him next week, and we can read it together?”
I cannot think of anything worse than reading the book together, but as always, you have managed to placate me with ease. I raise your hand to my lips, and kiss the back of it in a silent thank you. “This isn’t just a ploy to get out of reading the next chapter of The Hobbit, is it?” I ask, already quite sure of the answer.
When I glance up at your face, your eyes are sparkling with mischief. “It’s getting late,” you say, the corners of your lips twitching as you evade my question entirely. “Why don’t we go to bed? I was hoping you could teach me all about those ‘special cuddles’ you seem to be such an expert on.”
I glare at you for your teasing, then snake one of my arms around your waist, pulling you towards me. My hand settles on the swell of your stomach, the exact source of your unpleasant side-effects, and all of Henry’s awkward questions. “Hmm. It seems I already have.”
But I will be more than happy to remind you. As many times as you require it.
I am an expert on the subject, after all.
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But seriously, why do I never hear about Irene Iddesleigh around the Internet? It’s practically The Room of late Victorian literature! I have to tell y'all about this book. See here:
Got published because Amanda McKittrick Ros’s (the author’s) doting husband paid for it, but not for the “I want to have more control over publication/don’t need the traditional system” reasons—no, she simply thought her writing was too amazing for that
Mark Twain called it “one of the greatest unintentionally humorous novels of our time”
C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien would deadass have reading parties where whoever could go the longest without laughing won
“Hope is like a shimmering oaken ship on the turbulent seas of discord, fear, and impertinence, cast by the hollow winds of despair. The sun’s rays of goodness and victory tumble down from the heavens, but lo! The clouds of uncertainty beat them back as though"—ALMOST EVERY PARAGRAPH IS LIKE THIS. Metaphors and similes and alliterations and melodrama is the entire book.
a humorist from that era named Barry Pain (lmao) called it the book of the century. At first he found it funny, but then apparently he “shrank before it in tears and terror”
When Ros read what Pain said, she called him a “clay crab of corruption” and then claimed he did it because he was secretly in love with her (my gosh. her mind)
And for all that, it’s not even just the outrageously
🌌 purple prose 🌌
that’s the whole issue here. The plot is basically just
Act I: I’m going to willingly marry a man I hate, and I hate him because he isn’t my secret lover >:(
Act II: I hate him even more each day but we have a kid, oh and I’m having an emotional affair with my secret lover
Act III: husband discovers affair and locked me in a “cursed” room for a year (Charlotte Brontë is literally shaking) but I escape to America with my lover. Huh? I have a child? Never heard of him
Act IV: I somehow legally marry my lover in America and will live there the next fifteen years, but whoops! Suddenly he’s super bad with money and also a drunk and abuser and hits me and then dies by suicide
Act V: I go back to England. Nobody recognizes me even though I’m, like, 35, but they all hate my guts and love my dead husband. My son got the whole story from his dad and hates me the most. I’m sad. I walk to a cottage my lover used to use and literally drop dead. The end
So if you’re looking for something ridiculous to read and be entertained by, I can heartily recommend Irene Iddesleigh. It’s about 100 pages, so it isn’t a slog (somehow)—I read it in an afternoon. You can read it storybook style here or find it over at Project Gutenberg. It’s what Tolkien and Lewis would want.
In case you aren’t convinced yet, though, allow me to show you.
Until now he was inclined to be prejudiced against the snares and allurements of women, but he strongly resolved to try gradually and abandon every unkind thought harboured in his mind against them, fearing lest all his conjured imaginations were both unjust and selfish; and determined to drown them for ever in the clashing gulf of fate, felt a prouder and happier mortal than before.
But time would solve the problem and heal the wound which penetrated so deeply his bosom. Yea, a short time he hoped would bring his creeping fever of endearment under the binding stay of appointed authority, and heal its weakening effects with the sacred salve of truth.
Aka “my long-worn misogyny has just been reversed by a pretty woman”
Great
Chapter IV: When on the eve of glory, whilst brooding over the prospects of a bright and happy future, whilst meditating upon the risky right of justice, there we remain, wanderers on the cloudy surface of mental woe, disappointment and danger, inhabitants of the grim sphere of anticipated imagery, partakers of the poisonous dregs of concocted injustice. Yet such is life.
Chapter VIII: A word of warning tends to great advantage when issued reverently from the lips of the estimable. It serves to allay the danger pending on reticence, and substantiates in a measure the confidence which has hitherto existed between the parties concerned. Again, a judicious advice, extended to the stubborn and self-willed, proves futile, and incurs the further malice and fiery indignation of the regardless, the reckless, and the uncharitable.
Chapter XIII: It is astounding to view the smallest article through a magnifying glass; how large and lustrous an atom of silver appears; how fat and fair the withered finger seems; how monstrously mighty an orange; how immeasurably great the football of youth; but these are as nought when the naked eye beholds the boulder of barred strength—a mountain of mystery.
Every chapter has a paragraph like this. I won’t spoil them for you.
Such is life.
“My dearest and much beloved, I assure you your remarks have astounded me not a little! Your words sting like a wasp, though, I am quite convinced, unintentionally. You are well aware that within a short period I will be marked out publicly as mistress of Dunfern mansion—an honour revered in every respect by me; an honour to which I at one time dare never aspire; an honour coveted by many much more worthy than I, whose parentage is as yet bathed in the ocean of oblivious ostentation, until some future day, when I trust it shall stand out boldly upon the brink of disclosure to dry its saturated form and watery wear with the heat of equality. You are about to place me in a position which cannot fail to wring from jealousy and covetousness their flaming torch of abuse. Yes, Sir John, on me you have not ceased to lavish every available treasure and token of your unbounded love. You have been to me not only a loyal admirer, but a thoroughly upright and estimable example of life’s purest treasures. You have resolved to place me by your side as your equal, whilst wealth in boundless store is thirsting for your touch. You have elevated my unknown position to such a pitch as to defy taunt or jeer, and at any time if I may have, seemingly, ignored your advances, it was purely want of thought, and not through any underhand motive or scheme whatever.
“I assure you your allusion to my verbal answer last night is very pronounced, and may be overlooked on the ground of pure disappointment. Our time of singleness is now short, and begging your forgiveness for my seeming neglect or indifference, I hope the tide, which until now has flown so gently, may not be stayed on the eve of entering the harbour of harmony, peace, and love.”
At the commencement of Irene’s answer of lavishing praises and flimsy apologies, her affianced moved to the opposite corner of the rustic building to scan the features of her he wholly worshipped and reluctantly doubted. Every sentence the able and beautiful girl uttered caused Sir John to shift his apparently uncomfortable person nearer and nearer, watching at the same time minutely the divine picture of innocence, until at last, when her reply was ended, he found himself, altogether unconsciously, clasping her to his bosom, whilst the ruby rims which so recently proclaimed accusations and innocence met with unearthly sweetness, chasing every fault over the hills of doubt, until hidden in the hollow of immediate hate.
Ros is so close to being self-aware at the start of the last paragraph here, but then it’s lost in the same circular language found throughout. Ah, well.
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4, 8, 10! You can chose the character you'd prefer for each number, but it they have to be from Tolkien's universe.
oh thank you so much that's perfect!! 💌🌿🍵
4. shopping for formal wear with
fingon hands down!! okay i'm leaning very heavily on fanon here but he's FUN and he's got STYLE and i feel like we'd have a really good time and would end up choosing pretty quickly and then try a bunch of completely ridiculous clothes on too just for the hell of it and then go on to look at jewelry to go with what we bought and he would probably be super sweet and supportive and would motivate me to keep going when i inevitably lost my patience which is bound to happen sooner or later because generally i am not the biggest fan of clothes shopping
fingolfin i think? he'd probably be a lot more chill but i'm convinced he has a good sense of fashion too and i imagine him being very patient and helpful but also more practical and efficient which suits me just fine?
aragorn specifically post-coronation aragorn because i have a feeling his ranger look would get us kicked out of any shop that keeps formal wear, but otherwise he's patient, he's rational, he's good company. i don't think he knows or cares much about fashion but i don't doubt he actually has good taste and i just know he'd wait around for me to try on fifty different pretty suits and dresses
aredhel because i imagine her as both pretty chill and serious enough to get things done but also someone i'd genuinely enjoy hanging out with and although apart from when it comes to sundresses for the summer i rarely go for full white, my style for formal wear is definitely on the more reserved side too so we'd probably agree easily enough on which stores to go to and find clothes for each other that'd actually fit perfectly?
boromir if i was going specifically for a suit, i feel like we'd have a very good sort of brotherly time, he has expensive but practical taste and we'd probably have a laugh and maybe get a little competitive over who finds a good suit jacket first and always swap to see who it fits better and it'd be very chill but i also don't think he's particularly patient so i'd only commit to that if i had a specific shop or style in mind and knew i could choose easily because i think he'd probably want to get going soon once he found something good to wear and he'd be kind enough not to say so but i wouldn't want to be a burden
8. wake up handcuffed to
finrod solely because i love him with my entire heart and i'd trust him and i wouldn't mind hanging out with him even if we were in a bit of a tight spot because i know he'd get us out of whatever mess we're in the moment we found a way out, i just hope it'd have a happier ending than that time with beren did but assuming the circumstances weren't absolutely unbearable i think we'd find a way to actually enjoy it and pass the time discussing philosophy!
i'm actually surprising myself with this one too but maybe bilbo??? he turned out to be a pretty good burgler so i don't doubt he'd somehow manage to steal the keys to the handcuffs and we'd just sneak away
i'm of half a mind to say annatar because he's crafty and can shapeshift but unless he still needed me for some plot he's been manipulating me to help him see through he'd probably just shapeshift out of his handcuffs and leave me there to rot or would be the one who put me in handcuffs to begin with so probably not ideal??
maedhros because he's strong, smart, and strategic so he could probably get us out and he's patient enough, i don't think i'd want to get stuck anywhere with the rest of the fëanorians barring maglor, no matter how much i love them, and we all saw what happened at thangorodrim so even if he can't get us out i trust that fingon would come looking for him sooner or later
aragorn again i think? i'm sorry i'm biased he's been my favourite character since i was 10 but i genuinely think he'd be perfect for this too, again he's a very good problem solver and also good company to just hang out with and would probably keep me from worrying too much about the situation we're in!!
10. to cut and style my hair
ooh okay so the thing is i don't really style my hair like . at all, it's just sort of short and a mess and i like it that way but since i already have a sort of hobbit like haircut, my hair's just not quite as curly i'd definitely trust frodo or sam to cut it for me again and it doesn't even have to be neat or perfect?
but i suppose i'm also not entirely opposed to doing something more fancy with it for a change so i'd love a haircut and some more simple but elegant and pretty braiding by galadriel as well as an opportunity to have a chat with her also about philosophy
it's probably not his primary skill but i think faramir would do a decent job too since my haircut really isn't a big deal and he'd definitely be neat and attentive enough! also again he'd be amazing company.
going for a more fancy look here but i would love to see what melian would make of my hair? 👀 iii don't imagine maiar actually have to cut their hair but she's a good mum and surely knows how to do some really nice braiding so i think she'd do a great job and would probably make it look really shiny and pretty and put a bunch of flowers in it!
can i go with fingon again? i still stand by him having great style and he'd probably put jewelry in it and do all sorts of fancy braids aaand try out all kinds of different hair styles and we'd have an amazing time all around!
give me 5 characters to rank in a situation
#this is insanely long i'm sorry i got a little carried away but i had SO much fun thinking about this thank you again!!!!!#asks#sapphirecastles#long post
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favourite male fictional characters
Thank you @vishcount for tagging me, this was a lot of fun! 💞
I originally planned to follow your example and put ten characters here but suddenly it became a lot more oops. also i hope you forgive me for following your format, it’s neat
I am tagging @isabellaofparma , @the-cloud-whisperer and @sassyassassy!
I chose the characters that impacted me deeply on a personal level throughout my life (often shown by how long my love lasts over the years and if i was inspired to write for them).
In no specific order under the cut:
Legolas
The Lord of The Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien.
I think it’s only fitting I start off with this magnificent guy. Maybe I gotta admit, i’ve just had a crush on him ever since I was like, nine years old? He’s the character I will fight tooth and claw for (though I guess he doesn’t need me to do that). I love Orlando Bloom’s portrayal of him, eventhough he is vastly different from the books. Book Legolas is such a delight as well, he feels so whimsical and playful and his banter with Gimli is just gold. I was sad when The Hobbit trilogy came out and I was so disappointed by how they butchered his character, it just did not feel authentic anymore (maybe I am also just bitter about the forced hetero storyline for him. makes no cents, this elf is GayTM your honour. and he will meet his soulmate Gimli in a few decades).
Either way, Legolas is the love of my life, thanks for coming to my tedtalk,
Peter Pan
Peter Pan, J. M. Barrie
Another childhood crush of mine. The gif I chose if from the 2005 movie because we always used to watch it and it is to this day one of my favourite movies. It’s so dreamy, so magical, yet also incredibly sad and sweet.
I have this very strange fascination with Peter Pan. There is something incredibly unsettling about him, especially in the book. He represents something every child wants - who doesn’t want to escape their bedroom and fly away to experience magical adventured far from the adult world? And yet he also represents the impossibility of it, the curse he carries around with himself because he will forever stay alone, no matter how many lost boys he gathers around himself. And Wendy - it’s a love that was never meant to grow and mature, it’s a fleeting dream for the both of them.
I have seen many different adaptations of Peter Pan and I have my favourites, though I want to give a special mention to the book Peter Darling by Austin Chant. It’s a retelling of the story how we know it, in which Peter returns to Neverland after having finally grown up BUT the main points I want to highlight is trans Peter? Heck yes. Gripping and compelling gay love story with our favourite original lost boy Captain Hook? YES.
Snufkin
Moomins, Tove Jansson.
I have discovered Snufkin for myself only last year, and yet I know he will stay with me forever. In short - I vibe with him, he vibes with me. His anxieties about being with people and longing for solitude? His fear of being loved and being important to someone to a point he doesn’t know what to do with himself? This man just wants to roam freely with his own mind and yet he always returns for something that captures him. Mum, I love him because I have rarely felt this seen before. Also, Snufkin said ACAB.
Prince Jing - Xiao Jingyan
Nirvana in Fire (2015)
This too is a darling I have only discovered recently. I watched Nirvana in Fire this year and let me tell you, it’s the best show I have seen in a long while. It’s absolutely amazing and it also ripped my heart out. All the characters are absolutely amazing and I am still not over it.
To be honest, I contemplated between Xiao JIngyan and Mei Changsu, because character-wise I think the latter is a lot more interesting and compelling. He makes for a fantastic heartbreaking and flawed protagonist.
However I have to admit - it was love at first sight with Prince Jing for me and I’m still lowkey mad abt it rip. Seems like I am not immune to Pretty Prince Propaganda. But apart from that, I adore him for his genuine
goodness,
his almost naive drive to be better and seek justice. He lost everything, and for the longest time did not have anything to fight for. So alone and lost and bitter, it makes me sad how much it hardened him. He is heartbreak and clumsy kindness hidden under a skin of scars that was inflicted by his father and many others. I see his sad cat-eyes and I cry, that’s just how it is.
Edmund Pevensie
The Chronicles of Narnia, C. S. Lewis
I grew up with these books and movies - they have always been part of my life and it will probably always stay that way (only last night I rewatched the first movie and sobbed).
Imagine my surprised when I finally watched the last movie about five years ago and was incredibly impressed by how they adapted the book; also imagine my brain suddenly going CASMUND in bold letters at Skandar Keynes’ and Ben Barnes’ performance in that movie.
From there, I rediscovered this story completely anew for myself. My favourite Pevensie sibling has always been Lucy (and still is, because I identify with her so much and she feels like home to me); however this new discovery of Edmund’s character was overwhelming. It’s interesting to see characters you’ve grown up with from a more grown up point of view. I don’t want to lay out all my thoughts here, just know I am so heartbroken for him, and so so proud as well. His character arc is amazing and maybe that’s how the last movie makes me even more emotional. Seeing Edmund and Lucy still holding on to Narnia but knowing that that door was closing for them? Not to mention what happens in the later books (we don’t talk about that).
Also did I mention Casmund. Here, have my incredibly emo and depressing take on Edmund’s character that I started writing four years ago and which will forever stay a WIP.
Nie Huaisang
The Untamed (2019)
My son. My soul. My bane of existence. The tragic thing about him is, that he does not really exist in canon as I have created him for myself. He’s a secondary character in the show, always so relatable yet still brings the ultimate twist of the story, yet he still remains this incomplete shadow. The movie
Fatal Journey
gave him a lot more and I cried tears of joy and devastation. I don’t know why I latched on to him so much, but apparently he is the one that I project on, the one that feels like he sits somewhere inside my chest. I don’t know what else to say - this year he has been everything to me. I spend a lot of time in his head while writing, and maybe that’s how he’s there forever now. Nie Huaisang saw my brain and went it’s free real estate. All my love for you, you dramatic art hoe.
Sherlock Holmes
Sherlock Holmes, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Ah, another lifelong companion. There are many adapations that I adore - starting from the origin of it all, the books and stories which I have all devoured; the 80s adaptation with Jeremy Brett which was incredibly wonderful; to BBC Sherlock which shaped and traumatised me (I still like the first three seaons but I am too hurt to think about it); to the numerous movies - but by far my most favourite performance is Basil Rathbone as Sherlock Holmes. Somehow he manages to capture the Holmes I see in my head when I read the books, the sharp yet polite eccentric detective, who loves his companion so much and who has desire to help others.
Sherlock Holmes will always stay special to me, in so many different ways. He shaped my youth and I know he will stay with me. (also what would you say when I told you he helped me discover that I can, in fact, be queer AND ace at the same time? thanks pal).
What else is there to say? Sherlock Holmes is a universe that you can dive into and find many amazing treasures.
Isak Valtersen
SKAM (2015)
There he is, the boy that changed my life. SKAM changed my life. All of the characters did. However, Isak is special for many, as I imagine. I remember winter 2016, when tumblr was flooded by these norwegian white boys kissing in a pool and cuddling and I was like ‘nah’, this doesn’t look convincing.
I don’t know what changed my mind but I remember sitting down at last and watching all that was released of season three and it was only downhill from there. I remember starting to follow the real life updates religiously while watching the other previous seasons in between. The one clip that completely wrecked me was when Isak went to the school nurse about his struggles with sleep - it felt like for the first time I saw someone on screen that could understand me on so many different levels. The entierty of seaons three is so personal, I would tell you to go watch it if you don’t know what I mean. The entire show in fact. It’s a masterpiece and it feels so real. This show impacted my life in a way that no show has managed to do before. I miss it so much. I miss Isak too sigh.
Shang Xirui
Winter Begonia (2020)
Technically, for me personally, Shang Xirui is the nonbinary, gay and ace representation I need in my life (or at least that’s my own personal take on him), but since that is not official, he’s still here on this list. Of course he is because wow, it’s been a long while since I’ve seen such a compelling character on screen. I went from disliking him to being absolutely heartbroken over him. I don’t think any other character in this show captured me as much as he did. There are so many layers to him and discovering all of his sides is a wonderful, heartbreaking, painful and also beautiful journey. I’m not sure I understand all of him yet, but I am willing to try and dig and just ponder his existence. This too, is a perfect example for a flawed yet authentic protagonist. Also he is the most beautiful thing on this planet, or at least that’s how I have been feeling ever since I watched this. I wish to write more of him in the future.
Aang
Avatar: The Last Airbender (2005)
I grew up watching ATLA and my favourite characters have always been Toph, Zuko and Uncle Iroh. In recent years however, I completely fell in love with Aang all anew.
I think especially in the past, I had these prejudices against main characters and found them all the most boring personalities ever. In recent years this changed a lot and especially Aang is a prime example for that. Watching him from the perspective of older me, I find so much wisdom in this young boy. Somehow he represents all I wish to be in my life but at the same time he shows his flaws, he carries this sadness with him that will accompany him all his life. This inner battle and chaos that he has to face day to day and in the end - he is just a young boy. So much has been taken from him and yet he learns how to not let it overtake him, that anger and hurt. He tries his hardest to be better than the day before, even if sometimes the world crashes down on him and he gets overwhelmed. He is a child recruited by adults to manage their mistakes and play into the hands of predestined fate and in this essay I will -
Harry Potter
Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling
I am surprised myself. I thought I would put Fred and George here, or Remus and Sirius, however I realised that none of them quite capture this feeling of lifelong change, of personal, deep impact that Harry had on me.
As with Aang above, I used to think Harry was the most boring protagonist, yet my opinion took a 180° turn in the past years. Many of the things I wrote for Aang apply to him too - the fact that he was a child, that lost so much, and was always faced with challenges that a child should never have needed to face. Something I want to address is how my favourite book, The Order of the Phoenix, lays all of this out. Harry is just as flawed, just as vulnerable and angry as anyone else. I know some people did not like his ‘emo behaviour’ in the fifth book but for me it just showed how human he is, how he was just a teen like myself at that time. As for many, this boy shaped my entire life, shaped a generation, and I will forever be grateful. I’m sad and angry at how J*R behaves, and how she puts us in the position of doubting our love for these stories. I know I will always love them, but I will not turn a blind eye on all the problematic shit is carries with itself and what the author piles upon us.
Lan Wangji & Wei Wuxian
The Untamed (2019)
I will try and keep this short, because if you want to read my thoughts about Wangxian just go to my ao3 and find the over 70k i wrote for them.
I decided to put them here together because I can’t seperate them and I can’t choose between them. Each of them carries something I recognise in myself, and each of them is the opposite of me. They each own my heart and soul and I know there will never be a fictional couple like this for me ever again. They’ve snuck their way into my heart and have never left. They deserve to be here, together, because my love for them is indescribable. Bless them.
+ Bonus:
The Doctor
Doctor Who (1963/2005)
Technically, the Doctor doesn’t count as a “male” character, but since he has been presenting as male up until recently, I needed to include him. I chose the Tenth Doctor because he is the one that broke my heart the most. I adored Nine but he was there too short, and I do love Eleven and Twelve a lot, and Thirteen absolutely owns my heart, Ten has just always been the one that made me cry the most. I loved this era of Doctor Who, I loved how sad and hopeful he was, how heartbroken and yet determined to help wherever it was needed. Doctor Who is always that show, when I return to it, I am reminded that maybe, humanity and the universe isn’t all that bad.
phew, this took ages damn. but i had so much fun! i decided to leave out honorable mentiones because we would be sitting here until tomorrow lol.
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On Fanworks as Commodities
I've been thinking lately about commodification and how it applies to fandom.
At the risk of giving an unhelpful circular explanation, commodification just means treating something like a commodity when it really isn't. And by commodity, I mean the kind of good or service that it's the kind of thing we can "reduce" to market terms. A loaf of bread is a commodity. So is a house or the services of an accountant- you're not losing anything or "debasing" anyone when you suggest these things can be bought and sold.
But what about surrogacy pregnancy? This is the question Elizabeth Anderson asked in her philosophy paper, "Is Women's Labor a Commodity?" (This is where I first encountered the concept.) She asks what exactly is being sold when we pay a woman to go through a pregnancy and then give up the resulting child to someone else. Anderson said if it's the child that's being sold that seems obviously inappropriate- we rightly consider a human person as the kind of thing you can't just buy and sell- but she also argued even if the woman is just selling the use of her body for a period of time (say, implantation and surrogacy pregnancy of a fetus conceived through in vitro fertilization of the adults who will become the legal parents), there's still something lost. The argument is, pregnancy naturally (at least usually) forms a loving bond between mother and child, which a surrogate woman would wisely try to avoid; otherwise giving up the baby would be that much harder. In effect, it encourages her to alienate herself from the products of her pregnancy. It degrades the commercial surrogate, turns her into an emotionless, contextless factory. And it degrades women who might lovingly serve as surrogates (say, for a sister or friend) because it turns their gift into something indistinguishable from a market transaction.
That's the argument, anyway. Once I found it convincing but these days, I have my doubts. For instance, I don't see any problem saying commercial surrogacy is a different kind of process than surrogacy offered as a gift to someone you know. Even if the result is the same, they seem like very different beasts. I'm also uncomfortable with this idea that certain kinds of work just can't be ethically paid for. Because this usually comes up with "caring" work, which is most often done by women even these days, it becomes too easy to not help bear the costs of that work. We can expect, say, a nurse to care about her patient even though she's paid a salary; is it so wrong if a child who quits her job to care for a sick parent to also be paid for her sacrifice?
That's more a criticism of how the concept is applied, though. I think it's applied too quickly, and in ways that turn it into an either/or, where this doesn't need to be the case. I still think the basic idea has a lot going for it. We do give the market too much power to answer questions it really isn't well suited for. Healthcare, for instance; it needs to be paid for, but not in a way that keeps people from accessing it who need it, or even lets those who can pay get to it more quickly. And maybe market pressures can make it more efficient, to a point, but we really shouldn't reduce it to something that can be bought and sold and understand entirely on those terms.
So, what does all this have to do with fandom? Well, I'm of a different fannish generation than a lot of you young whippersnappers- I first got involved in fannish circles with the Lord of the Rings movies back in the original 2000s. This was pre-AO3 and pre-Tumblr, and only a few years after Anne Rice got ff.net to disallow all fanfic based on her novels. We posted our disclaimers about not owning the characters for a reason and professed our poverty because we believed (or feared at least) we could be sued by the canon's authors. I was mostly in the Tolkien fandom, and it was well known that the estate was never going to authorize fanfic, commercial or otherwise. They state as much on their website, though I can't remember how long that Q&A has existed in its current format.
That gave us a lovely little commercial-free zone. If you couldn't sell your own work commercially, then you could give up all pretenses of success along the normal capitalistic lines and delve into areas that just would never have been very marketable in traditional publishing. Tolkien fandom itself was pretty conservative but I know other fandoms went much further in this regard, exploring genres that just would never be marketable especially before the niche and self-financed publishing the internet opened up for a lot of authors. If the law wouldn't let you do what you wanted to do anyway, why not become utterly ungovernable? So, fanfic became (for me at least) art about art rather than filthy lucre. We were doing what we did because we loved it, and as gifts for our friends, and as a way to be something that wasn't quite allowed in the "normal" culture for whatever reason- even just because we were women daring to make time for our weird little hobbies. It was glorious. And we worked hard enough in other areas of our life that we had the $$$ to indulge in this. We didn't need to be paid, and even if you offered to pay us for our works, we'd likely get a bit insulted and insist that wasn't what this was about at all.
I was told more than once by family that I was good enough to be a "real writer" and didn't I want to do my own thing. So yes, I did get a bit miffed and lean in to my identity of fanfic-writing as hobby not intended as a career.
And I'll be honest: when I see people advertising for commissions or celebrating fan-authors going "professional" as if this is necessarily a step up from unpaid fannish work, I often have this old framework in the back of my head. And it's not really fair. For one thing, I was in college in the early 2000's and so even when we didn't have a lot of cash, we expected to soon get day jobs where we could afford to live comfortably and still afford our hobbies. The housing market crash and the Great Recession changed all of that, as did work opportunities like Instacart and Uber. For a lot of people even a few years younger than me, everything became a side-hustle and there just wasn't this expectation a hobby could be a hobby. I get that there's a lot of privilege entering into that.
On top of which, there's all kinds of gender issues: professional artists, predominantly men, have been painting and selling drawings of comic book characters for years. Star Trek and Star Wars affiliated novels, and Sherlock Holmes pastiches (as opposed to fanfic), again written primarily by men, are also very much a thing. Hell, so are Renaissance artists and the patron system that was built off of. And of course, just because you sometimes produce fanworks just to sell and still do the less commercial work just for yourself if you ever want to. There's no real conflict in that. And it's not like producing art to sell is at all wrong. But to me it does feel like that kind of art is different than what I fancy I do, back when I occasionally wrote. :-) And I probably am more aware of this than I should be, because my backdrop is different from a lot of fans younger than myself, and really do try not to let my situation turn into a blind spot.
Even so, I worry and struggle to find the balance between letting art turn a profit and be reduced to a strictly commercial venture. It's never been anything I've been even remotely drawn to do, and human nature being what it is, I probably do think more highly of the kind of thing I'd choose to do. But I don't want to be unfair, and I don't want to think just because art is paid for and written/drawn to order, it's some sort of assembly-line output with no heart put into it by the writer and artist. Just like an artisan shoemaker might take great pride in his art and work his hardest on each shoe he crafts, even if he must sell it to make ends meet. Somehow, I suspect thinking about this in terms of commodification, the dangers of evaluating artistry using market standards and the ways in which it can still have a value beyond commodity even if it’s bought and sold, might help. But I've not quit worked out what insight that kind of thought would provide, if any.
Do you think there's a special value in fandom or art generally that's not made to be bought and sold? Or am I perhaps making too big a deal over nothing and revealing myself to be an old fuddy-duddy in the process. (It's always a possibility!) I'd be very interested to hear your thoughts if you have any to share.
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Movie Review/Why This Movie Affected Me: The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (2005)
Genre: Children, Family/Action, Adventure/Fantasy
Rating: 10/10
Movie Review/Why this movie affected me:
Oh, Narnia. A magical world that I had often dreamt of traveling to as a child. Even now into adulthood, I wish I could be whisked away through a magical wardrobe that left into a land that I could only imagine in my mind.
When this movie first came out in theaters, I was about the same age as Lucy (the actress and I are the same age anyway!), and I am so glad that I got to experience this movie when magic was still filling so much of my imagination. Not that it isn’t now, but it was more intense back then.
Just recently, I had watched this movie again. It is one that I can watch over and over, and never get tired of. It is one that has captured so much of my life that I don’t think I could ever shake it. It was one that stuck with me at age nine, and it’s still fully grasping my heart after so long.
I don’t think anyone will understand why this movie had been so apart of my soul. I don’t remember if anything specific convinced me to go see this movie or if my mom just took me, but I do remember how I felt afterward. I felt like I was empowered, like I had been brought to life. I was obsessed with this movie—and I mean OBSESSED. I talked about it so much in elementary school that other kids were constantly telling me to shut up. I wanted to learn archery because of this movie (my grandpa did teach me!), I had become enchanted with sword fights and armor from this movie, and I fell in love with every single character. I remember crying in the theater when the White Witch killed Aslan, and even more so when he came back to life (let’s be honest, I still cry now), and the absolute wonder of this world of Narnia. As I’ve grown up, I’ve come to realize how much I loved stories of kids traveling into other worlds as a kid. More so than magical things existing in our world (though, I did love Spiderwick Chronicles around this same time frame). I had wanted to fall down a rabbit hole or walk through a wardrobe so much that I had ached as a child.
Growing up, I remember always wanting to be Susan. I dreamt of being so beautiful and wonderful like her (and actually, I am a bit like her when I think about it—I am a bit too serious, I see some things in black and white, and I would probably be hesitant about going into battle), and she was like an idol to me in this movie. But the more I age, the more I realize, especially at the time of seeing this movie, I was more like Lucy. I was a little girl who had believed in what would be considered too many magical things, and I was a bit of a loner. I had dreamt of magic places and characters, and I would be off playing by myself whenever I got the chance. I was teased by other kids, I was made fun of, I was called a freak to my face and whispered about when I was nearby. So, when Lucy is telling the other kids about her experience in Narnia, and they don’t believe her, and Edmund makes fun of her, I know exactly how that feels. One hundred percent. So those moments always get to me. But also like Lucy, I still chose to believe what I believed in, and didn’t take crap from anyone. And I think, in the end, here so many years later, it was for the best. It was what made me who I am.
A few examples to show how much I love this movie, at that age and now—one of them is, when I was a kid and got this movie on DVD, I watched it over and over until I memorized every line, until I could quote the whole movie if I wanted to. And even to this day, when I probably don’t watch the movie for quite some time in between, I can STILL quote every line in the movie. I can say them along the characters, even when I’m not looking directly at the screen. It’s just one of those movies for me.
The other example was a few years ago. My family and I had gone to Seattle to visit, and we went into their big Pop Culture museum they have up there (I forgot what it’s called, I apologize), and I was touring through the Fantasy area, where they had props and costumes of so many fantasy movies. I had turned the corner, and just right there, I saw it instantly. It was Susan’s bow and arrows, and her horn. I remember whispering, “Narnia,” and I rushed over there and started crying. Then, just nearby, was the White Witch’s dress and staff. My mom had to come find me blubbering in the corner (I was luckily all by myself) and pull me away because I kept staring at them. I had felt like a kid again, so excited and amazed that I was looking right at these props of a movie that had changed my whole life.
If it isn’t easy to figure out, I love everything about this movie, even as an adult. It gives me the same feelings a child, though I can look at it from the adult perspective. Like I think it’s pretty incredible that all these children could go into a war and come out alive (though, yes, I do know that most of them are older than they are in the books—I did read all the books after I saw this movie!). It’s pretty amazing. But I do agree that they were strong characters in the first place, with a strong sense of right and wrong.
The cast, I think, are the most important part of this film. All four of the kids were absolutely perfect, and for their ages, fantastic actors in my opinion. William Moseley and Anna Popplewell slip so well into their characters that to me it felt so seamless. Skandar Keynes and Georgie Henley were younger, so their portrayals were a little rougher, but honestly, they were still so good, considering their ages. Everyone else was just as wonderful—Tilda Swinton as the evil White Witch was horrifying, James McAvoy as Mr. Tumnus is just so sweet (and I somehow got Tumnus in a personality test?!!?), and the ultimate Liam Neeson as Aslan was the best casting.
Let’s talk about Aslan for a moment. I do know very well about the connections of these stories with Christian allegories that may or may not have been purposeful by C. S. Lewis (though, we can also discuss how Lewis was raised Christian, then became an atheist, then Pagan, then Christian again at the convincing of his friends—I’m looking at you Tolkien—so I think a lot of his work is influenced by it all), but can I just say: if Aslan is God, I’m one hundred percent okay with that. I think Aslan as a view of God is exactly what Christians should believe in for their God. I myself am not religious at all, but I know a lot of Christians and I have read the large chunks of Bible for Literature Studies, so I think I get the grasp of some of their beliefs. And most of the Christians I know, or people (like my family) that had been raised in churches and religion, believe in a God that is kind and watchful and just lets people live their lives (yes, I know, not everyone believes in this version of God, I’m just speaking on experience from talking to people that I know that believe in God). And I think Aslan reflects that well. He is “not a tame lion” as Mr. Tumnus puts it, which I think reflects on the idea that Aslan/God could be cruel and destructive if he wants (think about what he did the White Witch), but mostly, he is kind and gentle and all knowing. Aslan isn’t always there, and he doesn’t step into every single thing in the world of Narnia, he steps away and leaves the Narnians to experience the world themselves. And I see the connection between the idea that the Narnians are hopeless and left behind when Jadis the White Witch rules over Narnia and Aslan hadn’t come to save them. But, according to the prophecy of the four children, he wasn’t meant to save them all himself. He still keeps to the sidelines to let the Pevensie children save the world themselves, and he steps in toward the end. (And yes, with the same allegory, he returns and the Narnians faith does as well). But I have always loved Aslan, as a child and even as an adult that has an entirely different set up beliefs than most people I know. I love the allegory of him as a type of God. Because if there had to be a God, I would want it to be Aslan the Lion. I would believe in him completely. Though, I did notice the line that he said to Peter, where there was something even higher than him that controlled their destines and that makes me wonder—if that is a direct quote from Lewis (I’ll have to research that), or just a line from the movie, what does that mean?? Are they talking about the powers of the universe? Are they saying that Aslan isn’t the only higher power in this world? Which to me, makes him even more complicated and interesting, to have him mention something like that. And my god, he sacrificed himself for Edmund, do we realize that? I hated that scene in theaters and I still hate it now, watching the humiliation he’s put through, the absolute fear in his eyes, even if he knew what would happen. It makes him feel less like God, and almost human. Because though he knows he’ll come back—he’s scared. He doesn’t want to die at all, he doesn’t want to experience that. And to me, that was when I had loved him even more. Because he has feelings, he responds to fear and danger, but he still has the belief that everything will be okay. I could easily write a whole essay about Aslan, but I’ll leave it at that for now. I just love Aslan so much.
Everything about this movie feeds me joy into my soul. The story itself, the magic, the love of the siblings, the battles, the comfort of knowing that something like Aslan can protect a whole world. The movie had created a whole world for all of us to see, and I thought it was beautiful then and I think it’s still just as magnificent now. It’s a movie that taught me something as a child and as an adult and keeps hope and belief and magic in my heart. Can’t you tell at this point? I could gush and talk about this movie for hours, maybe even days, so I can’t go into every single detail—but maybe I’ll mention some things I’ll reference on my blog in the future.
But I can say, this film opened my whole world. I can remember that whole time frame after I saw it, how much I loved it, how it made me feel so strong and magical myself. I even have a jewelry box that is an exact replica (though small) of the wardrobe, and some other cool prop stuff. I cried when I watched the Disney+ episode of props from their movies and it was William, Anna and Georgie seeing their costumes and props (I’m not kidding, I sobbed like a child). I still look into wardrobes just in case whenever I stay somewhere. It showed me that though I was considered a freak at my school, I didn’t care. I still believed in myself and the magic. I think this movie (along with Alice in Wonderland, to be honest, since I loved that one before this, so it was influential there too), is the reason I don’t care what people think of me, for the most part. I just do my own thing, I can be alone, I believe my own stuff. Of course, things get to me and everyone cares about what people think of them, but for the most part, I’m comfortable with who I am and I always will be myself. And I can thank this movie for that.
Whenever I watch this movie, I feel like I’m home.
#the chronicles of narnia#the lion the witch and the wardrobe#narnia movie#Movie Reviews#movies that changed my life
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I think Tumblr ate my last ask, but which characters in the Tolkien legendarium do you either like/love or dislike/hate and why? And is there anything that you either like or dislike about any of the characters. I think it’s something that you haven’t touched on, and would be really interesting to discuss.
It might have, but honestly girl my asks are so messed up right now that it could be literally anywhere. They seem to randomly switch order sometimes?? Like they all play musical chairs everytime I use my spotify app.
You’re right, I don’t think I’ve ever really discussed any of that beyond my love for the Silvan elves and the dislike for other elves unless it's framed from their perspective and not really my own opinions. I’ve thought about posting some stuff before, but then usually decide to ‘stay in my own lane’ or forest, as the case me be. But here we go!
Characters I love that I don’t really ever mention (there are honestly a lot so i will try to stick to my top 3 or 4):
Maedhors.
I just have such a deep sympathy for him because (other than the kinslayings) he consistently tries to fix things, make things better, make things work. Like he wasn’t back from his 50 odd years of imprisonment and tortue before he rolled up to Thingols door to discuss how they were going to break up the Beleriend to accommodate all of the Noldor??? He gave his fathers crown away to his cousin to better unite the people?? I understand the repercussions and implications that come with Kinslaying, but even those actions I see as actions to try and help. Help his brothers, because if they don’t get the jewels back then they all get sent to the void. None of them come back from the halls. He is the oldest out of the seven brothers and just must feel such a crushing weight on him to do better and be better….. And it just …. Never really works out for him. In fact, most times it backfires horrible.
Maglor:
Pretty similar reasons to his brother tbh but also additionally I have such a soft spot for him with little Erond and Elros. The decisions the sons of Feanor made when the took the oath was rash and admittedly a bit… extreme.. But some of them really do seem to make attempts of righting their wrongs outside of their business with the oath. And honestly, I have huge respect for anybody who can know that people's opinions of them will never change but still try their best anyways.
Eomer:
I LOVE THIS MAN SO MUCH OKAY omg. He’s just. He’s just SO extra, but also so soft and caring and the relationship between him and Eowyn melts my heart. That scene when he finds her in the Return of the King will always put me into cardiac arrest for at least one entire minute. He is SO loyal to his uncle and his country, and he is a really brave and honest man. Plus, that moment in the books when both he and Araogrn casually lean on their swords LITERALLY in the middle of a battle (I wanna say helms deep??) and have a pleasant little chit chat amongst each other. Like how can you NOT love this man??? Impossible.
While on the topic of underappreciated siblings, can we talk about FARAMIR
Faramir:
Ugh my beautiful little idiot. Homeboy speaks Sindarin but yet could not translate Cirith Ungol (which is Sindarian) to warn Sam and Frodo what might be in the tunnels Gollum wants to take them through. When Cirith Ungol literally means “Path of the Spider.” LIKE??? Eowyn confesses her love for him, and THIS MANS just fucking nods along, sitll holding her hand and goes: “Yeah, honestlly, who wouldnt be in love with Aragorn?” A masterpiece. Anyways, he’s also just like an all around good person who just has some pretty aggressive daddy issues. But his rangers LOVE him, and its obvious his people do too. I just wish he could have had more sympathy over the loss of his brother (aka best frined)
50/50 person
Denethor:
Alright, I will be the first to admit that the movie Denethor deserves what he got, I hate that bitch. But I will also admit that this man was done wrong in the films, and was aggressively villainized him far past what he actually was. Was he the best person in the world? No. The best father? No. But did he do his best with what he could when suddenly an enemy long thought dead as FUUUCCKKK suddenly appears right behind you? Yes. He absolutely did. I don really think that he gets enough credit for keeping Gondor running and functioning as it slipped further and fathern into darkness. They ended up living in a similar situation as Thranduil did, maybe for not as long but still. So like, if it weren’t for the movie I don’t really think I would have a strong opinion about him in any manner, so there you go.
People I hate, and why:
Eol: He’s just …. Creepy as fuck. He’s weird and possessive and controlling and BLAH. Who decided to kill their own son just because they themselves are insisting to do something that is forbidden? Eol. What did he do instead? Kill his wife. Good fucking job.
Maeglin: Eol’s son. Also cringy and creepy. His uncle took him in even after his father murdered his mother right in front of them both, treated him like a son and did everything he could for him. But that wasn’t enough for Maeglin, and he couldn't take “uhm, not thank you. You are my cousin and being around you makes me uncomfortable” as an answer, and so betrays his city and gets everybody killed instead. Cool. Sick move.
Okay, so I don’t hate the character but the story overall annoys me. Beren & Luthien:
Like, I get it. Its dramatic and romantic and heroic and all of that. I’m not arguing. I also think that Luthien is basically the coolest woman to ever exist in any world at any point. But how their love story is presented overall? Eh. There are cool scenes and stuff that happens BECAUSE OF the love story, like Finrod biting a werewolf to death, Luthien talking to Carcharoth like he’s a grumpy little puppy, her defeating Morgoth and also somehow convincing Mandos to let Beren out??? All scenes are sick as fuck. But I just, still don't really understand where such deep and dramatic emotions of love for one another come from to DO all of those things. Ya know??? Idk. It’s still cute and sweet don’t get me wrong, its just really really annoys me that its framed as this “end all be all” idea of what perfect love looks like. I think what I am trying to say is that the story of Beren and Luthien seems to be blown out of proportion to me, and the bigger it grows the more it irks me.
#answered asks#haleigh speaks#maglor#Maedhros#Faramir#eomer of rohan#eomer#faramir#denethor#tolkien analysis
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Until the Stars Are All Alight–Chapter 7: The Mending of the Broken Kingdom
Hello, and welcome to my entry for the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2019! This au combines two story ideas I’ve wanted to explore for a while. 1. What if CS existed in a Tolkien-esque, LOTR world? 2. What would have happened if it was Killian rather than Neal that Emma ran into when she was stealing the bug? Huge thank you to my beta, @blackwidownat2814, to @clockadile for the amazing story and chapter art, to @kmomof4 and @cssns for putting this event together, and to the ladies in the CSSNS chat who have helped me think through this story. If all goes well, I should be posting every Tuesday, and the story will have approximately 20 chapters plus the prologue and epilogue.
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Summary: CS Lord of the Rings au: When Emma Swan steals a yellow Volkswagen Beetle, she has no idea it will lead her toward an adventure filled with danger and intrigue, sacrifice and a love stronger than anything she could imagine. Tasked with bringing the Savior home, the elf, Killian Jones of Misthaven travels to the Land Without Magic. Can he convince Emma to fulfill her destiny before the Dark One regains power and takes over all of the Enchanted Forest?
Rating: T
Word Count: 6781
Other Chapters: (prologue) (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (epilogue)
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The Enchanted Forest, many years ago
They buried Ruth Nolan beside the giant oak that sat near the river. The place was beautiful and peaceful, and David thought his mother would have whiled away many afternoons here had she been able to live in the safe house as planned.
Snow White took her husband’s hand, threading their fingers and trying in whatever way she could to give him strength as his mother’s body was laid to rest as the last rays of the evening sun began to disappear over the riverbank. She saw him wipe away tears as Lancelot said a few words over the grave and then shoveled the earth over her make-shift casket.
His heart was broken, she knew, she could feel it, but he also seemed to be strangely at peace. For his sake she was glad.
When the last shovel of dirt had been replaced and the afternoon gave way to twilight, it was time to decide on their next course of action.
“I am most heartily sorry for your loss,” Lancelot said in a low voice as he put a supportive hand on David’s shoulder. “I wish I’d arrived in time to save her.”
David wiped away another tear. “There was nothing you could have done; nothing any of us could have done. Given the state we found her in, I suspect the brigands timed their attack on my mother to coincide with their attack on myself. Thank you all the same for the offer of your help.”
“You are most welcome,” Lancelot said with a bow.
David took a deep breath and let it out slowly, looking down at his mother’s final resting place before nodding and looking back at Lancelot, determination in his eyes. “We made a deal, and I intend to fulfill my part of it. Shall we begin our journey to Camelot? Gods willing, we’ll be more successful in our quest there.”
“Indeed,” Lancelot said. “Any outcome save the categorical defeat of Neal Baelfire and the salvation of my kingdom is unthinkable to me. That being said, it is a little more than a day’s journey to the castle of Camelot, and we’ll not do my people any favors by arriving exhausted. If we can secure shelter, I propose we rest for the night and start fresh for our journey in the morning. It is, after all, your wedding night. You needn’t spend it trudging through the forest with a knight.”
Snow felt her cheeks redden at the mention of her wedding night, and her nerves flared to life. As the princess of Misthaven, she’d lived a rather sheltered life. While she’d entertained a few chaste kisses from suitors, she’d never shared a bed with a man, and the thought that she’d do so tonight with her husband, her true love, was somehow exciting, intoxicating and terrifying all at once.
She felt David squeeze her hand, and she looked up to see a look of pure love and gentleness on his face. She knew what he was thinking, could feel it in his gaze.
We’ve no need to proceed any further than you’re comfortable tonight. I’m content to wait until you’re ready.
Her heart turned over at his chivalry and care for her. His reassurances calmed the last shreds of her apprehensions. She loved this man and she wanted, ached, to be with him in every way a wife was with her husband.
Lancelot gently cleared his throat, and Snow started, realizing she’d yet to reply to his previous statement.
“Of course,” she said, voice slightly breathless. “My family’s summer castle is little more than a mile from here. We keep but a bare bones staff at the castle when we’re not there, but they will be sufficient to prepare us a repast and bed us down for the night.”
They took their time walking to the summer palace, Snow and David ahead, while Lancelot walked several paces behind to allow the newlyweds a bit of privacy.
They’d only just walked across the drawbridge and entered the inner bailey, when Snow was greeted by a most welcome surprise--her lady’s maid Johanna stood smiling before her. Gently extracting herself from her husband’s hand, Snow rushed forward, enveloping the matronly woman in a hug.
“How are you here?” Snow asked, laughing. “How did you know to come to me?”
“Merlin,” Johanna said simply. “He arrived at the castle this afternoon, spouting vague warnings about the dagger and the Dark One, and other such nonsense, and then he sent me here, saying you might have need of me tonight.”
“We could have managed if need be,” Snow said, “but I’m glad you’re here with us!”
The events of the afternoon and the events that led to Lancelot joining their company were explained over a light dinner, and before Snow knew it, Johanna was whisking her away to prepare her for bed.
“The wedding night is quite a pivotal moment for a young bride,” Johanna said with a knowing grin. “I expect you’ve some nerves about tonight?”
Snow’s heart pounded at the reminder of what was about to occur. “Yes, nerves, but anticipation as well.”
Johanna nodded. “Do you have any questions about what to expect?”
Snow felt her face flame again. “No. Mother explained it all to me.”
Johanna gave her a quick hug. “Don’t you worry, my lamb. Your Charming is a good man, and I’ve never seen such love in someone’s eyes as I saw in his when he looked at you. I’ve no doubt you will have many blissfully happy years together. Enjoy this time with him, put all cares aside and simply delight in each other.”
There was a quick tap at the door, and then David was there looking a bit unsure of himself. At the sight of him, all her nerves fled, and she was left with nothing but her love and desire for him. She opened her arms, and he rushed to her as Johanna quietly left the chamber, closing the door behind her.
Taking her face in his hands, David kissed her, his lips on hers both gentle and passionate. Leading her to the chaise before the fire, they shared several more long, drugging kisses, before pulling back for air.
“You have no idea what it’s meant to have you with me today Snow,” he said, voice soft and tender. “This day has been filled with so many emotions, so many life-changing moments, and through it all, having you beside me has kept me grounded.”
Snow leaned forward and kissed him gently before looking into his eyes. “I have loved you from the moment I clapped eyes on you.”
“And I will love you to my last breath,” David said, returning her kiss with another long, slow one of his own.
“Could we perhaps delay that last breath for several more years?” Snow asked with a laugh. “I’ve rather had enough of you dying or almost dying to last me several decades.”
David laughed with her, caressing her face. “Now that I have you as my wife,” he murmured, “I have no intention of going into the light anytime soon.”
Snow pulled him into a hug. “I’m so sorry about your mother, Charming. If there was anything I could have done--”
“I know,” he reassured, “but it was her time. Snow, I’ve seen what awaits us on the other side, and it’s beautiful. I’ve come to realize that death isn’t something to fear. Instead it’s merely the next step into a new life. I know my mother’s at peace, and that’s all I can ask.”
“Even so, her absence will weigh heavy on your heart.”
A single tear tracked its way down his cheek, and Snow leaned forward and kissed it away. “You’re right,” he said, his voice somewhat choked, “but I have faith that I will see her again one day.”
They were silent for a moment, holding each other close, taking comfort from each other. Finally, David got to his feet and offered her his hand. She took it, letting him lead her over to the massive four-poster bed in the center of the room.
“But it is our wedding night. I think it’s time we put aside topics of sadness and death. I have far more important things to discuss with you.”
She grinned up at him, feeling her anticipation rise at the look in his eyes. “You wish to talk about it, Charming? That sounds rather...unfulfilling.”
He surged forward, kissing her passionately, letting the momentum propel them forward until they lay together on the bed, him resting on his elbows on either side of her head as he kissed his way down the column of her neck. “Who said the conversation had to be verbal?” he asked between kisses.
She giggled, taking his face in her hands and pulling him down for another long kiss as she worked at the buttons on his shirt. “Who indeed?”
And then there were no more words exchanged until long into the night.
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Lancelot paced the stone corridor before David and Snow’s bedroom the next morning just as the first rays of the sun were starting to paint the sky. He didn’t wish to disturb the newlyweds but he was antsy at the thought of any further delay. It had been more than a week since he’d been banished from court, and he shuddered to think what Baelfire might have done to his kingdom in that time.
What he might have done to Guinevere...well that was something Lancelot refused to even consider, lest the fear drive him mad. He needed his wits about him if he was to come to her rescue.
Outside a nearby window, a zealous whippoorwill saluted the morning, and it startled Lancelot into action. He didn’t wish to disturb Snow and David, but he could not wait another moment. He knocked firmly on the door and waited as patiently as he could as he heard rustling sounds.
David opened the door, his clothing of the night before hastily thrown on. “Is something wrong? Have the attackers returned?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” Lancelot hastened to reassure. “I apologize for my intrusion, but I find myself filled with anxiety about the state of my kingdom this morning. I’d hoped to start our journey as early as possible.”
“Of course,” David said. “Give us a quarter of an hour to prepare ourselves for the day, and we’ll meet you in the great hall for a quick breakfast, and then we’ll be on our way.”
True to their word, within fifteen minutes, David and Snow walked hand in hand into the hall and sat side by side before the light meal of bread and cheese and fruit a servant set before them. Lancelot smiled at the joy and love that radiated from the two of them in the afterglow of their wedding night.
The thought brought him a slight pang as well, though. He knew he’d never experience a similar state of bliss. The woman he loved was not his for the taking.
No matter. So long as he could save her from the very real danger that beset her, as long as he could be near her and guard her from other future danger, he would be content.
Breakfast was a quick affair, and then the three of them were off, laden with Lammas bread for the journey, before the sunrise was complete.
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As they made their way toward the castle the next morning, the three of them tossed around various ideas about how they should approach their less-than-ideal situation, but no plan they came up with seemed sufficient to the challenges ahead. The uncomfortable reality was that they were sadly outmanned.
One thing was for sure; they’d fail before they even began if they attempted to enter outright with Lancelot in tow. Their only hope was to maintain the element of surprise. To that end, they decided to split up.
Quietly so as to attract as little attention as possible, Lancelot made his way to the back entrance of the outer bailey. He knew it was Sir Galahad’s post in the early mornings, and Galahad was one of the handful of knights he knew with absolute certainty was still loyal to the king as he should be and to Camelot.
It was apparent almost immediately, however, that something was off. When he approached the door, the first thing Lancelot noticed was a strange shimmering in the air like nothing he’d ever seen. The second was the fact that Sir Percival was looking at him with wide, almost vacant eyes.
“Who goes there?” Sir Percival barked out when he saw motion on his periphery.
“Lancelot,” he called out, stepping into the light and making himself known. “Please! I must enter with all haste!”
Sir Percival turned his disconcertingly vacant stare Lancelot’s way. “You have been banished,” he said in a voice entirely devoid of emotion. “You are no longer welcome here. Leave these premises immediately or you will be executed.”
Lancelot narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong? Why are you acting in this way?”
Sir Percival merely repeated himself, all in the same dispassionate, emotion-less tone.
Something was very, very wrong here, but it was clear their plan as it stood would need to be altered. If Neal had gotten even to Sir Percival, the most valiant knight of the Round Table, there would be no sneaking in for Lancelot.
He’d just rounded the castle and started back to where Snow and Charming waited in the woods when one of the most welcome sights he’d ever seen met his eyes. Merlin himself strode toward them, staff in hand.
Look for me on the third day.
Finally, things were beginning to look up.
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Merlin walked determinedly toward the newlyweds and the disgraced knight in the woods. After leaving the small band three days hence, he’d gone to Misthaven straight away. He’d first determined that Excalibur was indeed safely tucked away under a glamour spell where he’d left it. That alone made him breathe easier. Whatever it was the Dark One was planning with his son, it could be dealt with as long as the sword was still secure.
Afterwards, Merlin retrieved his staff and then made his way to the Dark One’s prison to ensure their mortal enemy himself was still safely locked away. When he was satisfied all was secure, he made his way to Camelot.
Merlin looked down at his staff as he walked the remaining steps toward his companions. To one who knew no better, it looked like nothing extraordinary. It was an old, gnarled stick with nothing to recommend it.
But Merlin knew better, for this staff had been fashioned of the wood of the very tree where he’d been imprisoned for hundreds of years before breaking free at Arthur’s coronation. This tree had not only imprisoned him, it had absorbed his magic through all the lonely years of his captivity. As such, it was perfectly suited as a lightning rod of sorts, a way to focus his magic and strengthen its effects. He didn’t know what he would find at Camelot, but he knew their success here was of such great importance he could leave nothing to chance.
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Neal smiled to himself as he sat upon a throne to the king’s left. His father would reward him handsomely. He’d been more successful than he could have possibly dreamed going into this venture. Not only had he subdued the king and all his remaining knights, but thanks to a bit of quick thinking on his part, Camelot itself was officially his for the taking.
Neal patted the small pouch attached to his waist, grateful for his foresight in gathering it’s contents before he’d approached Camelot. It was working it’s magic better than he could have possibly imagined.
Glancing over at the woman seated to Arthur’s right, Neal nearly rubbed his hands together in glee. It had worked its magic on Guinevere as well. She looked on him with empty, vacant eyes, all resistance effectively drained from her. All things considered, he’d prefer her to look on him with the kind of love and devotion she’d bestowed on Lancelot, but he’d take what he could get. At least this way, she’d no longer resist him.
With her will to rebuff his advances taken away, he would finally, finally get everything he wanted. Tonight would be the night. Tonight he’d go to her chambers and make her his.
The porter interrupted his lurid musings by opening the great hall door.
“Your highness,” the man said, addressing Arthur, “Princess Snow White of Misthaven, her Prince Consort David Nolan, and the sorcerer Merlin to see you.”
Neal frowned. He had no idea what these people were doing here, but he was absolutely certain it could bode nothing good for him or his plan.
“They are not welcome here,” Neal said, leaning over to speak quietly into Arthur’s ear. “Merlin is but a herald of woe.”
The king nodded before turning back to the guests. “You are not welcome here.”
Merlin, who led the small group, frowned, looking with suspicious eyes from one member of the royal assembly to another. “Oh Arthur, how you’ve disappointed me.”
“You are not welcome here,” Arthur merely repeated.
Merlin narrowed his eyes further, sending a contemptuous glare at Neal. “The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Arthur, king.”
“Why should I welcome you, Merlin of Misthaven?”
“A just question, my liege,” Neal said, nodding sycophantically, watching Arthur carefully.
The king still looked fully compliant, but now was not the time to take chances. Neal surreptitiously took a pinch of the sand in his bag and tossed it toward Arthur. He knew he’d made a mistake as soon as he saw Merlin’s eyes widen in understanding. He must take control of this situation now, before Merlin was able to gain a foothold.
“Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear,” Neal said, stepping toward the newcomers. “Ill news is an ill guest.”
“Be silent!” Merlin growled. “Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth! I have not come to this hall to bandy crooked words with a witless worm.”
Neal stepped back in horror as Merlin opened his cloak and pulled forth his staff.
“His staff!” he said to the knights guarding the hall. “I told you to take his staff if he should ever appear!”
Chaos broke out around the hall. Arthur’s knights stepping up to apprehend the newcomers, and Snow and David pulling out their weapons to defend against the attack. Neal watched in consternation as Sir Percival attacked Snow, and David plunged his sword through the knight’s heart.
Through it all, Merlin advanced, unperturbed by the chaos around him. “Arthur, son of Uther, too long have you sat in the shadows. I release you from this spell.”
At the sound of Merlin’s words, the fighting around the hall stopped, and all seemed to watch with baited breath as Merlin raised his staff, closed his eyes, and pointed it toward Arthur.
“No!” Neal screamed as slowly but surely long tendrils of the Sands of Avalon that he’d been using to control the kingdom seeped from the king, from Queen Guinevere, indeed from everyone around the hall.
Neal leaped forward to stop Merlin...somehow, he wasn’t entirely sure how...but before he had the chance, his momentum was stopped with Sir Lancelot’s fist making solid contact with his face. When had Lancelot arrived?! Neal groaned as he fell to the ground and then felt Lancelot’s boot on his chest. “I would stay down if I were you.”
Merlin continued until the last grain of the sands had been sucked from Camelot. Neal watched in horror as everyone shook their heads, coming out of their stupefaction.
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For a moment the hall was silent as royals and knights and servants alike tried to make sense of what had happened to them.
Arthur shook his head and then glared at Neal. “Seize him!”
The shout was enough to break the hall free of their stupor and Lancelot watched as everything seemed to happen at once--Guinevere getting to her feet and looking around, as though for a weapon, his fellow knights dragging Neal Baelfire to his feet, Neal himself breaking free, Arthur advancing on him, the others in the hall rushing toward the drama with howls of rage.
“Silence!” Merlin bellowed, striking his staff against the floor, producing an energy field that seemed to stop everyone in their tracks.
Merlin pointed toward Neal with his staff. “Neal Baelfire, son of Rumplestiltskin, your reign of terror is at an end.”
Neal leaned back against the wall smirking up at the wizard. “Yeah? Your threats don’t frighten me, Merlin. As a hero, I can be assured you won’t kill me.”
Merlin’s face barely changed, but a shiver went down Lancelot’s spine at the intensity of his loathing as he looked upon the Dark One’s son. It was as though Merlin looked upon a disgusting insect that it was beneath him even to crush under his boot.
Slowly, Merlin raised his staff toward Neal, and the Dark One’s son went suddenly rigid as invisible bands wrapped themselves around his body from shoulder to toe.
“You are correct,” Merlin said in a soft, cold voice. “I won’t kill you this day, but within the hour I suspect you’ll wish I had.”
The first tendrils of fear reached Neal’s eyes. “Wh-what are you going to do to me?”
“Only what you deserve,” Merlin said, advancing on him. “You will be reunited with your father in his impregnable cell, and there you will remain.”
At that, all color drained from Neal’s face.
“I suspect the Dark One will be most displeased when he hears of your failure, and you’ll have the rest of your miserable life to feel the effects of that displeasure.”
“No!” Neal shrieked, fighting uselessly against the magical bands that held him as Merlin pouffed them away in a cloud of purple smoke, all that remained, Neal’s bloody poinard as it clattered to the stone floor.
Neal’s bloody poinard? Why was it covered in blood?!
The hall had fallen silent once more as Merlin transported Neal to his justly deserved punishment, but suddenly Arthur slunk to the floor, and Lancelot looked on in horror as a crimson stain spread in an ever expanding circle from his chest. Lancelot leaped forward to catch his king and friend, but Guinevere reached him first, cradling his body to her chest.
“I….was not….good,” Arthur said haltingly, looking up at his wife.
“Don’t try to speak,” she replied as tears started in her eyes and began pouring down her face.
Arthur looked from Guinevere to Lancelot and then back again. “Weak…” he continued. “Not...ruler Camelot...deserved.”
“Your majesty,” Lancelot said, “there is still time…”
“No,” Arthur said forcefully. “Feel life...draining...not much time.”
Guinevere held him more tightly to her, rocking him slightly.
“Not...husband you...deserved, but...loved you...to last breath,” Arthur said, weakly raising his hand. Guinevere took it in hers, bringing it to her lips.
“I love you too, Arthur,” she said in a voice thick with tears. “I always have.”
Arthur smiled weakly, and then turned to look at Lancelot. “Take care of her.”
Lancelot looked up at the woman he loved more than his own life and then back at his dying king. “You have my word, your majesty. No harm will come to her while there is yet breath in my body.”
Arthur nodded and then glanced at both of them. “Rule...together. Mend...broken kingdom. Better than I.”
Arthur closed his eyes and breathed his last.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Land Without Magic, present day
Killian pushed aside the curtain and peered out the window of his apartment for the fifth time in as many minutes. His heart plummeted as yet again he saw nothing but an empty street, conspicuously free of Swan’s (well...his, if one was to split hairs) yellow bug.
He began pacing as scenarios began playing themselves out in his mind, each one more horrible and unimaginable as the next. He knew she could take care of herself; he knew she could, and he trusted her to do so, but she’d hardly been thinking clearly when she left the apartment tonight, and if the bastard did anything to her in a moment of inattention….
The possibility was unimaginable.
Killian turned on the television and mindlessly flipped through channels looking for something, anything, to take his mind off of how late his roommate was in returning from her “date”.
Two weeks ago, Emma had returned to the apartment, smile wider than he’d ever seen her don and he’d smiled back at her; couldn’t have helped it if he wanted to. Her joy was infectious, and it was one of the most beautiful sights he’d ever seen.
“Tell me, Swan,” he said, patting the seat on the couch next to him, “what has you looking like the cat that caught the canary?”
She plopped down next to him, bouncing a bit in her exuberance. “Killian, I got a job!”
He reached over and gave her a quick one-armed hug. “Well then, congratulations are in order! How exactly did this come about?”
She’d gone on to explain (animatedly) about her encounter with Smee, her search for his missing beanie, Tiny’s tip, and her very successful meeting with Cleo.
“So…” he said carefully, “you’ll be a bounty hunter?”
“Bail bondsman--woman--whatever, but same basic idea,” she said. “Cleo bails people out, and when they don’t pay their bail, well that’s when I step in, hunt them down, and drag their sorry asses back to jail.”
“It sounds...dangerous,” he said, striving to make his voice neutral. He knew she was a tough lass. He knew she was fully capable of handling herself in whatever situation she might find herself in, but the profession was bound to come with injuries and threats. He hated to think of her suffering them.
She narrowed her eyes. He must have been less successful as he’d hoped at covering his trepidation.
“Killian, I can take care of myself,” she said, leaning away from him and crossing her arms over her chest.
“Oh aye,” he agreed readily, nodding. “I know you can love. I’ve yet to see you fail at anything you’ve set your mind to.”
That clearly mollified her, if the way her eyes softened was any indication. “If you believe in me, then why did you sound like you’d rather I did anything else as a profession.”
He took a deep breath and let it out. “I do believe in you, Emma, and the miscreants of this fair burg don’t stand a chance against you. I suppose I just care about you and would hate to see you get hurt.”
She softened even further at that and even reached over to take his hand. “Don’t worry, Killian, I’m not going to take any chances or do anything stupid. I’ll practice all the safety precautions and keep pepper spray with me and all of that.”
With an effort of will, he cleared the worry from his face, even if he couldn’t completely banish it from his mind. With her enthusiasm and excitement so great, how could he possibly do anything but support her?
“Well, never mind that now,” he said, getting to his feet and offering her his hand to help her do the same. “As I said, congratulations are in order. I have a bottle of rum perfect for the occasion.”
Emma had thrown herself into her work after that, enjoying the chase, enjoying working out the mystery of where the bail jumper might have gone and how best to apprehend him. She’d only just begun, relatively speaking, but already she was building a name for herself
He was proud of her. She was truly one of the most incredible people he’d ever met in his long, long life.
And if there’d ever been any question before, now it was gone. He was totally, completely and irreversibly in love with Emma Swan. What that meant for his mission, for the welfare of his home and people, he didn’t know. He was no less committed to bringing her home to fulfill her destiny, but he’d be by her side every step of the way.
By all accounts, Emma was incredible at her new job. She was tough, she was smart, and she had excellent instincts. She could also read people better than just about anyone he’d ever met.
“I’m pretty good at telling when someone is lying to me,” she’d told him one day. She’d called it her “superpower”.
To say he didn’t feel any anxiety when she was out chasing the worst of the worst miscreants in the city would have been a lie, but his faith in her abilities mitigated that anxiety to a large extent.
At least it had until tonight.
He’d returned from work to see her sitting ramrod straight before her laptop, brows furrowed and a fierce scowl on her face.
“Having trouble locating your skp, Swan?” he’d asked as he walked into the kitchen for a bottle of water.
She looked over at him, and her eyes blazed with barely concealed fury. “Not at all,” she said. “This absolute son of a bitch was almost too easy to track down.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
She stood up and started pacing. “This total douche has a wife and family he just walked out on--but not before racking up some major gambling debt and a handful of domestic abuse charges.”
Killian winced.
“I met with his family earlier, and it killed me, Killian,” she said, and for a brief moment her fury morphed into sadness. “The wife bailed him out, and then he ran again. The kids just want their daddy home. You have no idea how much I look forward to kicking his ass.”
“Swan,” he said slowly, feeling a sliver of dread burrow into his chest, “I understand the sentiment, believe me I do. A man who would mistreat and abandon his family in such a way must necessarily hit close to home for you…”
She stopped before him, crossing her arms and glaring. “This isn’t about me, Killian! This is about his family.”
“Aye,” he said, placing his hands on her upper arms, “it is about the arse you’re chasing, but clearly it’s bringing up a lot of emotions in you as well.”
She shook herself free of his touch and started pacing again. “What if it is? Am I not allowed to have emotions?”
Killian blew out his breath in frustration. “Of course you are, but you’ll do no one any good going off half cocked! If you let your anger rule you, you’ll make mistakes, and those mistakes could get you hurt or killed!”
“Let’s get one thing straight, Killian Jones,” she said, getting in his face. “This is my life, my career, and I decide how to live it!”
“I know that!” he said, his voice raising in spite of himself. “I’m not asking you to stop living your life, I’m asking you to be smart about it!”
She looked like she wanted to say more, but after a moment she brushed past him. “Whatever. I have to go get ready for my date with the asshole.”
“Your...date?”
“Yeah, she said from the bathroom where she’d opened her makeup back and started rummaging around inside. “Cleo’s been suggesting I start trying out a honey trap. You know, get douches to take me on dates, then nail them. And not in the fun way.”
This was a bad idea; Killian knew it was, but what could he do? As she said it was her life, and she had every right to live it as she chose.
His unease increased all the more when she walked out of her room half an hour later in one of the sexiest red dresses he’d ever seen, her hair hair curled, her make up flawless, and her stiletto heels the stuff of men’s fevered dreams.
“I’d ask you how I look,” she smirked, “but judging by the way your eyes are about to pop out of your head, I’d say I achieved the affect I was going for.”
He cleared his throat, trying valiantly to keep from salivating at the look of her. “Aye, no man in his right might would be able to take his eyes off of you in that little number, Swan.”
“That’s the idea,” she said, grabbing her purse and checking to make sure her pepper spray was in place. “Well, gotta go if I’m going to meet him on time.”
Killian tried one more time. “Perhaps you should take someone with you, Swan,” he said hesitantly. “If not me, perhaps Smee or that Tiny fellow you mentioned. Just for safety.”
Her anger blazed again as she rounded on him. “Yeah, because nothing says hot date like bringing along your roommate or one of his friends.”
“I’m just saying…”
“I know what you’re saying,” she said, yanking the apartment door open and stepping out, “but I can take care of myself. The only one who saves me is me.”
“Just….be careful,” he said, letting a little of his fear creep into his voice.
The fear seemed to be what did it. She turned back to him, her face softer. “I will, Killian. I promise.”
And then she was gone.
That was five hours ago. Her “date” should have been long over, her skip safely behind bars (likely with quite the shiner), and her at home decompressing with him over a drink or two.
Perhaps she’d decided to stop at the Rabbit Hole for that drink to cool down after collaring the skip?
Perhaps, but his gut was telling him that wasn’t the case. His gut was telling him the same thing it had been telling him since she got home tonight. Her emotions put her in a vulnerable state and something went terribly wrong.
He was just on the point of throwing on his leather jacket and going out to look for her when he finally, finally heard the key in the lock. He felt the relief wash over him. She was okay; she was…
His relief lasted only until he caught sight of her. She looked, for lack of a better description, like hell. She held her shoes in her hand, one of which was missing it’s stiletto heel. Her dress was torn and covered with flecks of mud. She had a split lip and her blackening eye was rapidly swelling shut.
When Killian noticed her holding onto her side and limping as she made her way over the threshold, he sprang into action. He leaped forward, putting her arm around his shoulders and taking her weight as he eased her over to the sofa.
“Swan, what happened?”
She looked chagrined. “Well, cliff’s notes, things didn’t go exactly as planned, but I did end up collaring my skip. Emma Swan always gets her man.”
“Did he...did he do this to you?” Killian felt the anger bubbling up. He could kill this man with his bare hands.
She looked down, playing with the frayed end of the rip in her dress. “You were right Killian. I should have listened to you,” she said. “His situation, well it brought up a lot of my old crap, and I went in hot. Maybe if I’d stopped to calm down a little, I’d have seen the signs before he ran; maybe I would have been more prepared for it when he attacked me.”
Killian took a deep breath, willing his own anger down. He could deal with it later. For now, his priority was, must be, taking care of Emma. “Swan,” he started. Her eyes stayed trained on her dress. “Swan, look at me.”
After a moment, she complied, and the look in her eyes broke Killian’s heart. She looked like a lost little girl, but what was worse, she looked guilty.
“Emma, this was not your fault,” he said gently but firmly. “I don’t know how things progressed tonight, but you are not to blame for that absolute piece of human excrement’s attack on you. No one deserves that; least of all you.”
The tears welled in her eyes, and after a moment she gave him a tentative smile.
And then promptly grimaced, hand going to her split lip, which was beginning to bleed again. Killian frowned. “We can talk all about what happened if you like, but first, let’s get you taken care of, yeah?”
She tried to wave him off. “It’s okay, Killian,” she said. “I’ve had worse. I can take care of it.”
“Nonsense, love,” he said, propping her swelling ankle on a pillow on the coffee table, and then moving toward his first aid kit under the kitchen sink. “What are roommates, what are friends for?”
She smiled again, more carefully this time to avoid aggravating her injuries. Killian gathered all the medical supplies he could find, filled an ice bag for her ankle, and then filled a small basin with warm water. He felt so helpless. Back home, he could have healed her wounds in a second with his elven magic, but here, here in the land without magic he was relegated to salves and creams and bandages.
Killian gently laid the ice pack against her rapidly purpling ankle and then handed her a couple aspirin and a water bottle. As he gently began to dab at her split lip, he asked if she’d like to talk about what happened.
She blew out a deep breath. “So our ‘date’ was going well until I told him what I was really doing there. He flipped the table. Spilled my wine all over my dress, by the way. Anyway, I followed him back to his car, which I’d already had a boot put on. That should have been the end of it, but when I got to his car he started saying all this stuff about how I wouldn’t know anything about family anyway and no one cared about me and all of that.”
Killian felt his heart break for her.
“And,” she shrugged, “I don’t know. I guess it just made me feel not good enough all of the sudden. Suddenly, I was that little girl in the foster system that no family wanted. It was just enough to break my attention, and he got out of the car and punched me and then started running. I followed, of course, and I caught him, but when I tackled him to the ground, my heel broke and my ankle turned, and then he was hitting me again and kicking me in the side. Hope none of my ribs are broken.”
“Swan…” he said, not even sure what he wanted to say, just needing to comfort. He cupped her head in his hand, letting the silky strands of blonde hair slip through his fingers. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes for a moment, before continuing.
“Eventually I was able to land a few good punches myself and then kind of stab him with the broken stiletto, and it distracted him enough that I was able to slap cuffs on him and call the cops.”
“And the police simply let you go home in this state?” Killian asked. “They didn’t take you to the hospital? Swan, you need care!”
“They offered,” she said, “but I waved them off. It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”
Killian put a bandage on a small cut against her temple. “Perhaps, but you shouldn’t have to! Swan, you must promise me to be more careful!”
She furrowed her brow, at least as much as she could with her various contusions. “Why does it even matter to you, Killian? I’m just your roommate. Why do you care?”
“Why do I care?” he gritted out, “because I lo--” he stopped himself abruptly, closing his eyes, willing himself to get a hold of his emotions. “Because you’re bloody brilliant, amazing, Emma Swan. Because it’s all become so much. Because if anything were to happen to you, I’d--”
He stopped again. She waited a beat, and then leaned forward, one finger beneath his chin, raising his face until he met her eyes. “You’d what, Killian?”
“I’d be lost,” he nearly whispered. “You may not be used to mattering to anyone, love, but you matter to me.”
For the space of several heartbeats they remained still, merely looking at each other, and then she leaned forward, gently, tentatively taking his lips with her own.
NEXT CHAPTER -->
#cssns#cs supernatural summer#cs fanfic#cs lotr crossover#my fanfiction#until the stars are all alight
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My Brother’s Keeper: Chapter 10
Negan x Reader
Featuring: Alden
Summary: Your brother runs away from the Sanctuary and you pay the price.
Warnings: Mourning, Alcohol Consumption, Hurt/Comfort, Thoughts of Suicide
Word Count: 1641
Notes: This chapter is best when accompanied by Sir Elton John’s “Someone Saved My Life Tonight”
Read the rest of the story HERE!
Hours of somber silence in the backseat of Negan’s car made you more exhausted than you‘d anticipated. The Oxycontin from your orgasm lingered, mixing in with the fear, adrenaline and grief of the night’s events as it left you sick with attraction you couldn’t quite stifle. You wanted to hate him, to wish he was dead and never to see him again, but you couldn’t quite convince yourself to think any of those things.
You wanted to ask him a dozen questions that rattled around in your brain. Why did he kill Alex instead of giving him the Iron? Did something set him off or change his mind? Was it you? Was it Ezekiel? What would happen to the rest of your family now that Alex was gone? Was this all your fault? Did you do enough? Did you do too much? Above all else, you wanted to know if he still wanted you, and you hated yourself for wondering that.
The reality of their deaths hadn’t quite hit you yet, the numbness of grief still keeping you quiet as you walked down the hall, half expecting to see either of them waiting for you. It wasn’t until you finally arrived at your family’s quarters to deliver the news that your father screamed out a trail of expletives, throwing a lamp across the room before shoving into you with the brunt of his shoulder. He stormed out in a puffed-up silence, ignoring your intense need for compassion.
Your sister merely shook her head as tears fell silently down her face, embracing your sister in law as they both collapsed onto the floor. You stood there like a vacant vessel, a messenger they didn’t shoot as they embraced each other, wailing together like banshees as your body barely stood still. You were surrounded by family, yet all alone despite what you’d done to prevent that from happening. You needed some air, a drink, a cigarette or a shower, but you’d settle for just one of those right now.
You grabbed the bottle of whiskey your dad always kept in the cabinet for special occasions. It was half empty already, the label with the dancing devil on it almost completely peeled off as your fingerprints smudged the opaque glass container. You unscrewed the cap and took a swig, the red hot cinnamon burning into the cracks of your chapped lips as you made your way down the hall and out the front door. You didn’t drink very often, and you knew it would only take a few more sips before you started losing your senses. You didn’t want to mourn in front of the other Saviors, and you certainly didn’t want Negan finding out you’d taken to the bottle just yet.
Instead you found yourself climbing the outdoor staircase, one sip for each flight that you reached; a personal achievement if you took into account the high heels you were still sporting. The whiskey heated you up from the inside now, fiery alcohol seeping from your pores as you sweated your way up to the last flight of stairs. The wind was cool at the top of the building, blowing you this way and that as it made the pressure in your ears a thousand times worse.
You hadn’t realized that you’d been crying this entire time, mascara-stained tears dripping onto your neck and chest as you reached the final platform. You did your best to wipe them off, sniffing your swollen sinuses as you walked over to the concrete ledge of the building. Your head was pounding, the fluid in your head not coming out your eyes fast enough before the bottle of whiskey fell from your hands. You watched as it fell seven stories down, shattering into a thousand pieces in a silent glittering picture.
“Hey,” Alden’s voice rang in your ears, seeming so loud yet so far away as he slowly approached you. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
You winced as his words swam through the fluid in your head, bouncing off the walls of your sinuses before increasing the already painful pressure your tears had created. How did he get there? Did he climb up the ladder on the other side of the building and walk all this way? Did he run up all those flights of stairs in the middle of the Sanctuary to… it didn’t matter. Nothing did. Not anymore. You just wanted some peace and quiet, and you couldn’t even get that all the way up here.
“I think we’ve been through enough, don’t you?” His boots displaced the gravel as he walked toward you, their deafening crunch forcing your eyes closed in an attempt to shut out any excess stimulation. Enough, enough, enough! You’d seen and heard enough!
Alden leaned forward and inched his fingertips over your knuckles, squeezing your palm with trembling determination. In your heart of hearts you knew he was trying to help, that he was just as upset as you were, and hell, maybe he came up here for the same reason you did. But you wanted to be alone, to be as physically alone as you felt, and he wasn’t helping any.
“I don’t want to talk to anyone right now,” you admitted.
“I know you don’t,” he acknowledged your pain with a shaky lilt, “But maybe that’s why you should.” His voice was sweet like the summer air, its timbre a warm honey in the black tea of the Southern twilight. His eyes were just like yours as you turned to meet him, wet with tears as the moonlight masked his reddened sclera. He was more alone than you could ever be, yet here he was trying to help.
“I ruined everything.” Another tear fell from your cheek, landing on his hand as you finally squeezed it back.
“No, you didn’t,” Alden started, guiding you toward him with a flick of his wrist. “What happened tonight was terrible, but I can’t stand to lose anyone else, especially not you.” The corner of his mouth curled into a nervous smile as he forced a laugh.
“Why would it matter if you lost me? We’re not even that good of friends.” You wanted to distance yourself from him, to piss him off and make him leave.
“Sure we are.” He held your hand steadily, ignoring your poor attempt to push him away. “Remember that time when neither of us could sleep this winter? It was so cold, we both found ourselves huddling over the gas lantern in the middle of the library and we…” He licked his lips and laughed as he recalled the memory. “We read each other passages from Tolkien to keep each other awake?” He wrapped his arm around your waist. “Or that time when I had a sore throat and could barely speak, so you made Simon go out and find me a dry erase board while you gave me medicine to make me feel better?”
“Yeah,” you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, letting him pick you up off the ledge like a dance scene from an old black and white movie.
“Or that time when you saved that little girl by amputating her arm instead of just letting her go like Doctor Carson wanted?” The tears in his eyes seemed to dwindle down, the caramel in them shining through as he helped you stand up. “People need you here, whether you can see that now or not.”
“I guess.” You looked down at your feet, the high heels Negan gave you covered in dirt as you made your way across the roof. “My dad won’t even talk to me after I told him what happened. He probably thinks it’s all my fault, that I didn’t put out enough, or that Natalie would have...”
“Hey,” Alden whispered, placing both hands on your shoulders. “People grieve in different ways; they go through the stages in different orders.” He rubbed his thumb along the fine hair of your bicep, sending a warm and comforting shiver down your spine. “He loves you more than anything. Believe me, I know, he won’t shut up about his favorite daughter.”
“His favorite daughter?” Your brow furrowed. How could you be his favorite if he treated you the way he did?
“He just needs some time,” he reassured you. “We all do.”
“I thought Alex had time, I thought my mom did…” you blinked a tear away and looked up at the moon. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“Yeah, I know the feeling.” Alden dropped his head, shaking a few tears loose. “We just have to keep a part ourselves in all of this, no matter how hard it is. We have to keep going and hopefully someday we can be those people again.”
“What if I’m not that good person you think I am? What if I actually liked being with him, even though I knew… I knew what he would do?” You confessed.
“Well, then you’re safer than I thought.” He forced a wink and playfully nudged your shoulder, biting his bottom lip to hold back any more tears. “Look,” He took in a deep breath, glancing at you with that beautifully disarming face. “Negan doesn’t have to define you, just like the Saviors don’t have to define me.”
“Maybe not.” You sniffed and looked up at him.
“Just keep that person alive in there, no matter how bad it gets.” Alden let go of your shoulders and ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair, letting out the heaviest of sighs. “Simon said they’re assigning me to one of the outposts tomorrow, so, I won’t see you again after this.”
“Alden, they can’t…”
“They can, and they did,” he sighed, “Just survive for me somehow, alright?” He leaned in and kissed your cheek. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
-------------------
Tags: @annablack1102 @genevievedarcygranger @letsby @negans-network @negansdirtygirl22 @rasa1945 @chamberofsloths @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @namelesslosers @mblaqgi @collette04 @bishsposts @haleyea @ptite-shit @jamiekingofmen @ibelongtonegan @chloejanedecker1, @divadinag @dxloverpunk @tylersblurrylittleface
#alden twd#the walking dead fan fiction#callan mcauliffe#negan#negan twd#negan's thirst squad#negan fan fiction#alden fan fiction#the walking dead
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I mentioned it before in my "There can be no happy ending" rant, but I believe that one theme of this story is about the danger of great power, and how the titan power, like the One Ring, cannot be used without corruption.
An act of evil reverberates like ripples in a pond. A person does something, and it echoes outwards, destroying and warping as it goes. It's why so many problems in the real world are so difficult to solve--one wrong thing is done, so another wrong (with good intentions) is undertaken to fix it, which causes another, unrelated problem, so then any solution might fix one problem while exacerbating another, so more fixes are required, and before you know it you are mired in problems without really knowing what the original, core wrong is, or how to right it without blowing everything else up.
We don't know if Ymir Fritz's original act of accepting the titan power was evil in and of itself (my guess is that it was unwise at best) but since then, that choice has resulted in nothing but death and misery for all involved, as the people of the world fight over the power of the titans. And while the background plot is how this unfolded on the global scale, the true tragedy we see over and over again are the individuals who are destroyed in their attempts to grasp and hold onto that power.
Eren Kruger thought he was doing a service for the Elidans, no matter how many he tortured and sent to their doom, by keeping the Attack Titan secret then passing it along to Grisha, who then used it to kill a bunch of children and take the Founding Titan and pass them both to his unwitting son (who has now killed a bunch more children). Zeke believed that he needed the power of a titan to succeed in the restorationist cause, so he sacrificed his parents to get it. Eren has been fought over and used over and over again--how many have died to hold onto his power?
And then there's the serum bowl. Berthold was nothing but an object at that point, a means to gaining an impressive power and save one life out of hundreds. The only survivors of a terrible battle came to blows over each one's desire to use that power the way they wanted. The causes were noble, sure: both sides had excellent arguments, and both men were loved and important to the cause. But that fight on the roof had an element of madness, as if the power of the titans had destroyed their reason.
I think Levi sort of grasped it, if not fully, or in a way he would ever be able to articulate. Kenny caused a lot of damage and killed a lot of people to try and gain that power (even willing to sacrifice his sister's son, who he had trained himself and called his "pride and joy"), even as it destroyed everyone around him, starting with the one person he might consider a friend, then his squad, and finally himself. In the end, he realizes it, and relinquishes the serum to Levi, warning him then that, "Everyone is drunk on something." Everyone wants something, he means, and will use what they must to get it, hold onto it, protect it. He lets it go, and in turn, Levi is able to let it go as well.
Just another reason to call him humanity's strongest.
So now we are at the end-game, where the mindless titans are less a threat, but the titan shifters are still seen as the means to...something. What? Freedom? Power over the world? Security? I'm not sure anyone on Paradis actually knows what they want for an end result. Or everyone wants something different. But they are unwilling to relinquish that power, believing that its continued use is the key to that illusive goal. Eren has the power of three (and a half, with that Braun serum?) titans now, and basically told Hange that there is nothing anyone can do to stop him from using it.
And meanwhile, it appears that they are so terrified that they might lose the coordinate that they somehow convinced Historia that it is necessary to have a baby to carry on the bloodline.
(I'm reserving judgment for just how bad this is until we know more. People have children for all sorts of reasons, and no one is restricted to only one relationship in the course of their lives. But the best case scenario--one where she is one hundred percent okay with this plan and cares about the father--is still devastatingly tragic.)
Tragic, but not surprising in the least. Kruger chopped off thousands of fingers. Grisha stomped children. Mikasa very nearly slit the throat of her superior officer. Eren has been yanked back and forth in a military and political tug-of-war until he doesn't trust those who care about him the most. And I haven't even mentioned the Warriors and their heirs. Historia bearing a child who is fated to have a short, sad, burdened life is just another ripple in the pond.
Where is the resolution in this cruel but beautiful world? In the rumbling? In all out war with the world? In shady deals with those who care more about the rocks beneath Paradis than the people living there? I keep relating the titans to Tolkien's One Ring. In that story, it was not war and battle that saved the day, it was the refusal to use the "gift" of the ring to storm Mordor and destroy Sauron, only to raise something even more terrible in his place. It was in the relinquishing of that gift, in placing one's hope in beauty and love and accepting the loss that comes with that surrender, that ended the threat to the world.
Attack on Titan ain't Lord of the Rings, I know that. But I am a gal who loves a good parallel. And my point is that I can still see no happy ending unless and until a way is found to refuse that power and end the curse of Ymir for once and for all. There might be loss, and sadness, but there would also be no rumbling.
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