hey so i'm sober now, and i have emotions again! they are as follows:

depressed and crying for a whole day

super happy and energetic for two days

depressed for four days!!!!! also crying some more

maybe a happy day

the nice doctor lady who did my assessment for therapy asked me if i thought i might have bipolar, and i told her i don't know! i feel like i don't know enough about it to say. so i went on wikipedia and guess what i think I have now.

self-diagnosis is a fool's game though so that's why i'm waiting for this therapist. they will tell me, hopefully, what is the matter and then help me fix it. what i'm doing in the meantime is asking myself "is there anything i can do about what is bothering me right now" and if the answer is yes i do the thing that will help and if the answer is no i try my best to let it be. sometimes letting it be means eating a whole pint of ice cream and you know what, that's okay.

Please please , write something. Noah and Lily, she is designer and painter, they are working together on design for new album or merch, or something like that. She is redhead, have freckles, have a lot of tattoos, like to wearing skirts and sundresses. thank you! I love your work so so much 💔💔🥲

Bb you are my first ask! So, naturally, you have my undying love and affection for eternity!

Also, this physical description is giving me such inspiration. My best friend has a very similar physical appearance, so this will be fun!! (I just finished this and OMG this got away from me. I did not intend for this to be this long...I really got into this one. I hope you enjoy!)

So let’s get into this, shall we?

Rating: Mature (for language)

Warnings: None.

Into The Ocean

What did I think would happen when I moved to New York City? That I would get here, put a few paintings in some galleries, and suddenly I’d be making millions? How fucking insane am I?

My inner monologue continued as I catatonically stirred my bowl of soggy Frosted Flakes, moping heavily.

It had been six months since I moved here on a whim and a breath of a dream, thinking that with my ‘sparkling personality’, ‘adorably good looks’, and ‘raw talent’ I’d be a success so quick. These days, however, I spent a lot of time wishing I had stayed back home in Hartford, in my Mom’s two bedroom home, with my dog and my normalcy.

No, couldn’t be me. I had to go off with delusions of grandeur, and get myself a full time job as a desk girl at a law firm (which sucked), and had virtually no time to paint like I wanted. My studio apartment in Queens was big enough for me; a bed, a small table, and my paint supplies. I had a clothes rack for my small wardrobe, and a television on the wall adjacent to my bed. My minimal belongings were strewn haphazardly around with no real method. It felt much like my life - off kilter.

Frustrated, I decided to get off the bed, still holding my bowl, and stared at the cereal floating sadly in the milk. It looked so pathetic, the same as I felt.

My eyes wandered to the floor, then the edge of the bed, and eventually to the right of it, where the seven-foot by four-foot canvas sat.

I had that particular canvas since my first day here in New York. I swore that canvas would hold my best work. The piece that would change everything for me. I promised myself I wouldn’t touch it until I was certain I knew what it would be, and was ready.

But now? Staring at it? It mocked me. Day in, day out, it reminded me that I was just another struggling artist in this God forsaken jungle of a city made of concrete and exploitation. It laughed at me. It told me I had failed.

Without realizing it, my arm shot the bowl in my hand clear across the room, the milk and flakes splattering all over my bed, and eventually spraying the canvas. It left a sickly gray hue against the stark white vastness behind it, giving me a sense of anger. A sense of rage.

Climbing up onto my bed, my feet digging into the mattress while I reached for the shelf above it, grabbing random paints from the bowl they lived in. I hastily twisted the caps off of each, my breathing becoming frantic as I felt the sudden anxiety surge through me.

Once the tubes were open, I didn’t bother with my palette, or my brushes, I just squeezed the tubes, three in each hand, until they all sprayed like firehoses over the canvas, all in varying shades of blue and black. I hadn’t even realized I only grabbed blue and black paint.

Finally, after several minutes of raging, smearing paint across the canvas with no structure, using my palms and fingers, I stepped back. The anger and fire in my chest had dulled. I took a step back, and caught a glimpse of myself in my wall-length mirror across the room, and cringed.

Navy blue paint streaked my pale yellow shorts and faded UC t-shirt. I had a large glob of black paint on my face near my hairline, turning that spot of my red waves a midnight color. I needed a shower.

Now that I had thoroughly ruined my clothes, bed, walls, and canvas, I elected to head for the bathroom to clean myself up before the process of cleaning my apartment.

However, as I turned away from the canvas, I caught a sight of it in my peripheral, and something in my brain sparked. The blues and blacks, which turned dark grey when mixed. The lines and swirls they fell in. The non-uniformity of it all.

Waves.

Ocean.

Chaos.

And like that, I was climbing back up on my bed, ready to finish my painting.

It was after 5AM, and I only had three hours before I had to be back at work before I finished. When I did, I gasped at what I saw in front of me.

It was superb.

The waves crashed everywhere as the moon hung low in the sky, storm clouds covering. Amidst the maelstrom that was the ocean, there was one large, beautiful, impossibly sad octopus, thrashing in the waves, bleeding from the eyes.

The octopus was a deep gray, blending but also naturally contrasting the color of the waves, deep crimson blood running from its desperate eyes.

It was painful. It was despondent. It was powerful.

This was it.

-

Forty-two days had passed, and I was struggling to breathe as my hands trembled where they sat in my pockets, watching the droves of people walk by me. I did my best to smooth down the skirt of my lime-green sundress and tugged at the lapels of my denim jacket. My hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, leaving my waves to cascade down my back loosely, out of my face.

The sun above provided a warmth that was needed, but I had forgotten SPF today, which meant I would likely have a fresh batch of freckles on my cheeks to add to all the others. Today had to be the day. Something in my skin told me it did.

I had been to three art fairs, two open galleries, and a fine arts convention, trying to get something, anything sold.

Three days after I finished my piece, I was told that Burgen & Black no longer needed my position, so this was all I had right now. This, and the three hundred dollars my mom loaned me when I told her I was a little short on rent.

Rent wouldn’t be an issue soon if I didn’t sell anything, as cardboard boxes are real cheap.

This open fair was in Central Park, mid-September, so it was comfortable outside. The sun was getting low, causing a golden sky to reach overhead. I had been here all day, and was beginning to feel defeated.

I hadn’t sold as much as one print. One painting.

After staring at the crowds for another twenty-minutes, I finally decided to start packing up. It was a long bus ride back to Queens, and I would be too cold after dark.

Stuffing a handful of my prints into my portfolio bag, I huffed at myself, shaking my head.

Maybe it was time to go home. Maybe being an artist just wasn’t where I fit. Maybe I did need to reconsider college. It wasn’t too late. Twenty-six was an easy age, right?

“Is this all you?”

A sharp, deep voice snapped me out of my thoughts, making me spin on my heel, to see who was standing at my booth, scanning the pieces set up on the table.

The first thing I noticed was how tall he was. He had at least a foot of height on me. I noticed next that he was covered everywhere in tattoos. The long expanse of his arms that led to the bit of his chest I could see behind his tank top was littered. It made my mouth dry.

His hair was short, hidden under a ball cap, sunglasses perched on his nose.

It took me a moment of staring before I realized he had asked me a question.

“Oh, uh,” I walked back to the table, standing directly in front of him. “yeah these are my works.”

He nodded, looking down at the table and flipping fingers through the prints.

“I like them. They’re different.”

I gave my best ‘please buy this’ smile, and nodded.

“Thank you. I just paint what I feel. It helps me deal.”

He smirked. “I get that.” His eyes came back up to my face. “Not the painting. I can’t do that. But having something to help you deal? I get that.”

That’s interesting. “Yeah? What do you use to deal?”

He flashed his teeth at me. “Music.”

Oh, brother. A musician. Any awe I was feeling was dissolving. I had yet to meet one that was worth his salt in anything, let alone carrying a tune.

“Ah, well, different animal, same results?” I tried not to sound disinterested.

“How much for the prints?”

I felt my lungs tighten. Money?!

“Ten, but it’s two for eighteen.”

He smirked. “What would a hundred get me?”

If I had not caught it quick enough, my eyes would have bugged out of my head. I stifled a cough to cover up my surprise.

“Uh,” I looked around. No one had purchased one hundred dollars of my work before. Not all at once. “Seven prints? Or four prints and a canvas or two? Depends on size.”

I pointed to the side of my table, there I had a cardboard box full of canvases. He glanced over, and turned so he could see better.

With a ‘hmph’, he squatted down and looked through them, nodding at some, disregarding others.

Eventually, he came back up and had two smaller canvases perched in his hands.

A painting I had done of ravens when I was sat in a cemetery one day for inspiration, and one of a dark room that held a single bright red wood chair. That had come to me in a dream.

“Okay, and I’ll take these four prints.” He handed me the laminated copies and gave me a sweet, polite smile.

“Sounds good, it’ll be a hundred even.”

“Can you take card?” My face fell. I couldn’t handle my rent and groceries, let alone a card reader.

He must have noticed, because he raised his eyebrows.

“Got Zelle?”

I nodded, pulling my phone out, a rush of relief washing over me. I gave him my phone number, and he pulled me up, transferring a cool one hundred dollars into my account. My stomach flipped. I was halfway to rent with my borrowed cash, and I still had two weeks before it was due.

It was the first shred of hope I had felt in a while.

“Noah!” A male voice called before a shorter man bounded up, and my eyes popped open.

Nick Folio, the drummer from Bad Omens, stood in front of my table, and I just about fell over with a stroke.

My mouth was hung open, in pure disbelief. It hadn’t even occurred to me who he had called for.

Folio held a plastic bag, having clearly grabbed something else from another table.

“There’s a guy selling homemade lures, dude. I bought six!” His teeth flashed in excitement, and my customer shook his head, smiling.

“You’re going to go broke buying those things.”

It was in that moment it dawned on me. That voice. Those tattoos. Those sinfully long fingers…

“Are you Noah Sebastian?” My words came out rushed, before I could stop them.

A sly grin fell over his lips. “Never heard of him.” He smoothly turned around, preparing to leave. “Thanks for the artwork.”

Folio gave me a small wave before following Noah. I was frozen.

I just met one half of Bad Omens. I had sold artwork to Noah Sebastian. He liked my art. I couldn’t breathe.

It took me a solid ten minutes before I could move, then packing my things and heading for the bus with my bag and box in arms, glancing around the park a few times for a familiar ball cap and forbidden fruit tattoo.

-

Nine days have passed since I unexpectedly met Noah Sebastian and Nick Folio, and it had been heavy on my mind until the stress of my rent became the reason I was laying awake at night.

With no other real resolve, my hunt for another nine-to-five not getting very far, I found myself trekking back to Central Park, ready to set up another table. I had fresh prints, and a dozen new canvasses to hopefully sell.

Now that we had crossed the threshold into October, the air was becoming more brisk. Today, I had elected to wear a floor-length forest green skirt with a white crop top, my black zip hoodie keeping my arms warm.

Today was more lively, giving me the opportunity to sell six prints and four canvasses by noon. I had made my rent, and was working on the power bill next. I had slightly raised my prices, given my circumstances, but I justified it with the need to survive.

Did I expect to run into him again? Not at all. In fact, I had convinced myself that my once in a lifetime chance to meet him had passed, and I should be excited about it. I was a Bad Omens fan, and had been since their second album. Their style of music was absolutely cathartic for me, giving me inspiration on more than one occasion while painting.

So, imagine my surprise, when I heard the same deep, smooth voice while I was reorganizing my canvasses.

“Back again?” This time, he wore a hoodie, beanie over his hair, and no sunglasses. His eyes were so big, so brown. I wanted to stare at them for hours.

I snorted. “Me? I could say the same to you?”

He leaned his hand on the table, smiling down at where I was crouched in front of my box.

“Selling a lot?”

Triumphantly grinning, I stood up, leaning my palms on the table. “Actually, yeah. It’s been weird. Central Park isn’t normally a hot spot for me, but today has been great!”

There was a flash of thirty-two stunning teeth, and I held myself upright.

“Maybe the word is spreading?”

“Maybe. Going to buy anything today?”

Raising a row, he scanned the table, tapping on one print. “This one is nice. How much?”

“Fifteen.”

His head snapped up, bewildered look on his face.

“It was ten last week?”

A sheepish blush crept over my face, and I tried to be sweet, brushing some of my loose hair behind my ear.

“Yeah, uh,” I couldn’t look right at him. “I had to raise the price a little. Living cost’s a bitch.” I shrugged.

He looked absolutely amused. “I see.” He pulled his phone out, and began tapping at something I couldn’t see. Afterwards, he picked up the print he chose, and gave me a two finger salute.

“Thanks a lot, Red.”

I smirked, feeling the phone vibrate in my pocket. I ignored it for now and approached a young couple who had walked over to my table. I did, however, watch as Noah left, making his way straight out of the park, not stopping at any other tables.

Finally home, I flopped down on my bed, and let my eyes fall closed for just a moment. I had called it early, feeling exuberant and deciding I deserved an afternoon to just relax, not painting, not trying to find a job, just snacking and watching Netflix.

Slipping my phone out of my pants pocket, I sat up, seeing some missed messages and scrolling through my notifications.

When I came to the last one, I nearly dropped my phone.

Zelle Notification: Noah Davis sent you $100.

My jaw dropped. He only bought one print. Why would he give me so much? He must have done it by mistake.

I bit my lip, bothered. I felt guilty, as if I had stolen the money from him. People were generous, but no one was that generous...right?

Staring at my Zelle account, I took a deep breath, and tapped on the transaction, pulling up the details. My finger hovered over Noah's name, wondering if I'd just get his email. After counting three calculated breaths, I finally tapped it, and a phone number flashed under the name.

Oh God, I had Noah Sebastian's phone number.

It was me being a good samaritan that caused me to pull up a text thread, and begin typing a message. The voice in the back of my head screamed at me that I could just sent eighty-five dollars back, and not invade his privacy by texting him.

But...

Me: Noah?

After hitting send, I physically tossed my phone on the mattress, and pulled my knees up to my chest, breathing erratic. I sat in absolute silence, waiting. Each passing second made my soul fall. What if it wasn't his personal cell he used for Zelle? He was a somewhat celebrity, after all. Would he really just casually give his number out to a random girl in the park?

My phone chimed, and I thought my carotid was going to blow out of my neck. Shaking fingers lifted the phone.

Noah: Who is this?

No confirmation of identity, but the number worked.

I went to type a response, telling him who I was, until I realized I never gave him my name. Sure, I had signed my art, but my signature was decently illegible.

Chewing my lip, I wracked my brain for the right response.

Me: Red.

The text bubbles had turned blue, and I saw he had received and read the message, but his type signal hadn't come up yet.

I was insane, I had to be.

Noah: LOL you mean Lily?

My blood ran cold.

Me: How do you know my name?

Noah: Well, much like my own, your Zelle tells me your first and last name.

I felt like such a moron. Of course it did.

Me: Oh, LOL yeah I didn't think of that.

I typed out another message, before I forgot.

Me: You sent me too much for that print!

Noah: No I didn't.

Me: You did. You sent me $100.

Me: I can send back $85.

Noah: Don't you dare.

This made me pause, already on the Zelle screen, his message flashing as a banner on top, making my fingers halt.

Me: Noah, I can't take that from you for one print.

Noah: ...because...?

Me: Because it's way too much! I appreciate it, but I'm not comfortable with that.

He waited a few minutes, his type bubble appearing and disappearing a few times.

Noah: So I'll buy something else from you, then.

I rolled my eyes.

Me: What would you like?

Noah: You have a portfolio online?

I sighed, embarrassed. My online presence was close to nonexistent. I had an Instagram, with all of five photos on it, and they were all four months old. I didn't have a website, not having the money to create one yet.

Me: I don't, I'm sorry.

Noah: Studio I can check out?

I stared at the screen, and laughed loudly. Oh, I've got a studio alright. Just not what he's thinking of.

Me: Not exactly. I'm a very small artist. I do all of my work out of my apartment.

Noah: Which is where?

My heart sunk. No way. Not letting him in my four hundred square foot, paint covered, disarrayed apartment.

Me: Queens.

I stayed vague.

Noah: Oh yeah, I'm over in Central Park West right now.

I sighed, relieved, and slightly disappointed.

Me: I can send you some pictures of my work? I'll just need a few to take them.

Noah: Can you just FaceTime? Seems faster.

How on Earth did we get here? I was going to FaceTime with a rockstar, and show him my paintings? This couldn't be real life.

Me: Sure. Call when you're ready.

I walked over to the corner of my studio that I kept my completed works in, a sheet thrown over the large canvas in an attempt protect the paint from the sun rays. I had yet to take that one anywhere yet. I hadn't found the right venue to sell.

After about five minutes, my phone began vibrating in my hand, and I looked down to see his name flashing.

My heart was beating so frantically, I was sure it would disconnect and come out of my throat.

I swiped the call open, and held the camera at the most flattering angle I could. Once the call connected, he sat on what appeared to be a staircase, somewhere outside, same beanie on his head from earlier, and was smiling into the camera.

"Hey!"

His enthusiasm surprised me, and I waved nervously, smiling back at him.

"Hi."

"Why do you look so uneasy? Are you being held hostage or something?"

My face fell, wildly confused by his comment. "What?"

His laugh echoed through the receiver, which made this weird jittery thing happen in my stomach.

"I'm just joking. You just look uncomfortable." He pulled his beanie down more, and I swallowed dryly, trying to giggle.

"Oh, yeah. No I'm good."

He sat back, elbow resting on the step behind him. "You sure?"

I felt like we weren't getting past this point. "Can I be honest?"

He didn't respond, just gestured for me to continue.

"I'm a fan. A big fan. So, yeah, I'm a little nervous."

His smile could've illuminated a small town.

"Oh yeah?" He ran a hand over his face. "Don't be. I'm just a guy."

Feeling rebellious, I rolled my eyes. "Yeah. A guy who hundreds of thousands of girls would kill to FaceTime with."

This made him blush, so he looked down. "Ah, I don't know about that."

I decided to press my luck. "I do."

He furrowed his brow, smirking. "Oh yeah? So you're just that lucky, huh?"

This made me grin, in near disbelief. "Ah, the great Noah Sebastian. Cocky, huh?"

This made him laugh again, to which I joined.

"Nah. Like, I said, I'm just a guy. Really cool to know you're a fan, though." I nodded in response. "Ever seen us live?"

I shook my head. "Cost of living's a bitch. You think I can afford concert tickets?"

He shrugged. "Fair enough, dude."

"Anyways, you want me to show you the artwork?"

He agreed, and I flipped the camera around, scanning through the various pieces I had out in the corner. At his request, I would get closer to a piece, or pull it up to the camera. I watched as his eyes would get close to the phone, analyzing each canvas.

"I really like the desert painting." He was referring to a painting I had done that was slightly more abstract of a desert with random melted items such as longhorn skulls, cacti, and pieces of driftwood. They melted into the sand below.

"Okay. That would bring your total with the print earlier to fifty, since this one is bigger."

He nodded. "Do you have anything for fifty even?"

Biting my lip, I scanned my eyes, landing on a painting I had of a black cat, perched on the edge of a pond, cleaning it's paw, a skeletal hand reaching out of the water for it. The painting was done in nearly all neon colors, which was different for me.

"This one." I held it up in the camera.

"Oh dude, that's fucking sick." He pulled back from the camera. "I'll take it."

I chuckled. "Okay, do you want me to ship them?"

I flipped the camera back around, and he raised an eyebrow at me. "To Central Park West?"

I shrugged. "I could."

"Nah. I can get them from you. I don't live in New York and I leave back home for LA this weekend."

This made my chest sink only a little. "Right, I can ship them there if you want?"

He shook his head. "Let's meet up and I can get them?" I hesitated to respond, and I swear I saw a flash of concern on his face. "Unless you've got plans or something."

This made me smirk. "We didn't even say when? How would I know if I had plans?"

He huffed out a laugh, grabbing his beanie off of his head and smiling. "Sorry, you're right."

"When do you want to meet?"

"Tonight? I'm busy most of the week, but I'd really like to get my stuff soon."

Pondering this, I sat down on my bed, back to my art corner. "Where?"

"There's an Italian restaurant near my hotel. We can get dinner?"

I'm going to dinner with Noah fucking Sebastian?!

"Sure. Just text me the address?" He nodded in response. "What time?"

"Whatever time works best for you, Red."

I rolled my eyes. "You know my name, Noah."

A small wink, and he smiled. "I know, Lily. I just like your hair."

My face turned a deep shade of crimson, and I felt the urge to pull at my long red waves.

"Well, if that's the plan, I'm going to get ready. I have to leave a while before you to catch the subway."

I stood off the bed and went to turn, but he spoke and stopped me.

"Hey, what's that behind you?"

I turned, scanning. "What?"

"Under the sheet."

It occurred to me what he was referring to, and I waved it off.

"Just another piece."

"Can I see it?"

I shook my head. "Nah, I haven't shown anyone yet."

"So? I can be the first!" He seemed so excited, which made me giggle.

"It's an emotion piece. Not like the others."

He raised a brow. "Still not hearing why I can't see it."

Biting the inside of my cheek, I shrugged. "Alright, but don't get too excited. It's not as clean and precise as my other work."

He just shrugged, and I reached over, pulling the sheet off the canvas, and flipped the camera.

I watched his eyes, scanning the screen over and over. He looked so enamored, I was confused. Was the connection bad?

"Noah? You okay?"

He leaned back, blinking. "Lily, that's fucking amazing!"

I laughed, stepping closer to the painting. "It's okay. It's a rage painting. Something I started in a fit, and kind of worked into what it is now."

"I can tell. You can feel the pain in the image. The colors are unbelievable."

"Oh, I don't know. It's okay."

"Okay? Red, that painting is unreal. How much do you want for it?"

His question caught me by surprise, nearly knocking me down. "What?"

"How much? I want it." He was so matter of fact, that the air rushed out of me.

"I haven't priced it. It's a big piece, bigger than anything else I've ever done."

"Okay, well tell me what you think, because I'll pay a lot for it."

My heart began stammering, words not forming on my lips. "Y-You really want it?"

"I don't just want it; I want to use it."

I was confused. "What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you at dinner. Just do me a favor? Think about a price? I really want that painting."

-

We agreed to meet at 7PM, but I was late. The subway had been packed, and I missed the first one. I didn't come jogging up to the front of the restaurant until fifteen after, seeing Noah stood outside, same outfit on as earlier today. I had to calm my insides at the sight.

I waved when he caught a glimpse of me, earning a smile in my direction.

"Hey, Red!"

I rolled my eyes. He wasn't letting that go.

"Hi, Noah."

When I approached, he put an arm out, and wrapped it around my shoulders casually. I had to take several deep breaths to remind myself that, like he said, he's just a guy.

An attractive guy. With tattoos. And the voice of an angel.

And this wasn't a date...right? This was a transaction...right?!

Trying to shake off the thoughts, I handed him the bag on my arm.

"Your goodies."

He smiled and took the bag, looking inside. "Nice. Thank you."

I followed him into the restaurant, which didn't look too terribly fancy. We were dressed casually, as were most people here. We were sat at a small table, a little dish with butter and rolls already in the middle.

We sat down, and began scanning the menus. The prices jumped out at me as relatively expensive, and I knew I would be taking my work out again tomorrow to make back the money I would be spending tonight.

Noah ordered a beer. I ordered water.

Noah ordered a steak with linguine on the side. I ordered a salad.

This caught his attention. "You don't want more than a salad and water?"

I hid behind my glass, shrugging. "Not the most hungry."

"Hm," He sat back and eyed me. "okay. For now."

The fuck does that mean?

"So have you given any more thought to how much you want for that painting?" He spoke before I could respond.

"I haven't. I really don't know, Noah." I shook my head, thinking. "Three hundred?"

His eyes widened. "No way, man. It's worth way more."

I was dumbstruck. "Are you asking me to charge you more?"

"Fuck yeah I am. That painting is worth ten grand, at the very least."

As badly as I wanted not to, and prayed I hadn't, I spit my water out onto the table, spraying my salad. My face immediately turned bright red, matching my hair.

"Excuse me?!"

He seemed very unfazed. "What?"

"Did you say ten grand? As in ten thousand?" He nodded. "Dollars?!"

He rolled his eyes. "No. Marshmallows."

Without thought, I picked up a cherry tomato and tossed it at him, bouncing it off of his hand on his plate. He glanced up at me, mouth open, amused.

"Did you just throw a tomato at me?"

I pressed my lips together in a very small, devious grin. "Maybe."

He picked up the tomato between two long fingers, considered it for a moment, and popped it in his mouth.

"I've never had that happen. And I'm a singer."

This made me laugh. "Oh God."

He wiped his mouth on his napkin. "Seriously, though, Red. You need to price your stuff fairly. Don't accept less than what you're worth."

I leaned back in my chair, considering this. "So, you want to pay me ten thousand for my painting?"

He shook his head. "I don't." My heart sunk for a second. "My label will, though."

My eyebrows shot up. "Pardon? The label?"

He was chewing some steak, and waited to swallow before he responded. I found myself staring at the apple on his throat bobbing.

"I want that painting to be our next album cover."

I felt my jaw physically hit the floor, break through the table and all. I was hallucinating.

"You...what?"

"I've been looking for months. I had been looking at photography until very recently, because I just wasn't finding anything that worked. I started scouting art fairs and galleries almost a year ago."

My eyes were blinking at an alarming rate.

"So, that's why you came to Central Park twice, then."

He smirked, lifting the beer bottle to his lips. "That's why I came to your table twice, yes."

I was pushing my salad around on the plate, not looking at him. "Ah, and here I was thinking you came back to see me." I looked up and gave him the cheekiest smile I could, joking.

Snorting, he flashed his teeth again. "Well, that too."

My stomach stuttered, and I set my fork down. I folded my arms on the table, looking straight at him.

"You're serious? You really want my painting for the album?"

He put his hands in his sweater pockets and leaned forward, so his face was hovering over the table.

"I'm dead serious." His tongue slipped over his bottom lip, catching my attention. "There's more to it than just buying it. We'd have to purchase rights from you, so you can't sell copies."

I raised a brow, now intrigued. "Oh?"

He leaned back again. "I don't want anyone else having our original piece that you did. We would, of course, credit you on the album, and maybe even ask you to do some additional work for the rest of the art?"

There was a lump in my throat I couldn't swallow. "Rest of the art?"

"Yeah. The back of the album. The vinyl casing and variants. Merch, maybe?"

I couldn't breathe. It was so hot all of a sudden.

Noah could sense my panic. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to overwhelm you."

I gulped down half of my water at once. "No, I just..." I trailed off, staring at the tablecloth. "I've never had anyone want my artwork that bad."

He smiled. "Isn't the point to sell it? Success?"

"Well sure, but to go from selling prints and small canvasses in the parks to doing artwork for a huge band like Bad Omens? That's a bit of a step." I stared at him, trying to mask my anxiety, and failing horribly.

"I don't know if I'd call us huge." His smirk was coy, and I rolled my eyes.

"Wow. Cocky." I echoed my earlier statement, and this made him giggle like a child.

"Listen, think about it? In the meantime, can I ask a favor?" I didn't respond. "Don't sell any copies of that? Once you do, I can't use it."

I shrugged, and nodded, agreeing.

-

Two weeks had gone by, and I had not seen Noah since the night at the restaurant. I had re-covered the canvas, but the question replayed in my mind over and over.

Noah had decided to buy more pieces off of me, bringing my profits up to six hundred, which had my utilities paid this month and a small batch of groceries in the refrigerator. I agreed to ship them as soon as I could, but he kept telling me to take my time.

I knew what he really wanted to ask, but he held back.

I had thought about it over and over, trying hard to not let my bias toward Noah, or the bad, sway me.

This was a big step. Not owning my own art? Being pressured to make more that met a standard? Being under a contract? That wasn't what I got into this for. This wasn't why I became an artist and moved here. One of the best parts about creating something that you love, is that you get to do it freely. Once you have to do it, or do it a certain way, it becomes all too tedious. It's work now. I wasn't sure I'd be happy with it.

But on the flipside, there was a strange thrill at the idea. Someone wants my painting bad enough that they are willing to give me so much leeway financially, I can paint whenever I want. I'll get exposure. This could be what does it.

This painting could change everything.

And that was the point, right? I bought the canvas telling myself that this was the piece that changed it all. This was my ticket to success. And here it was, in front of me...

Ripping the sheet off of the canvas, I stared at it. The waves crashed over one another. The moon, bright, but somehow so ominous, shone through, bouncing off of the water in a way that made them look almost silver. The octopus, tentacles scattered amongst the waves, stared at me, bleeding eyes seeing through my soul.

"Is this what I'm supposed to do?" I asked the creature. I was met with silence. Loud, deafening, overwhelming silence.

"Fuck it."

I picked up my phone from the bed, bringing up my recent text thread with Noah, smiling at the meme he had sent earlier in the day.

I typed out a quick message, and sighed when I saw he read it quickly, and responded even quicker.

Me: I'm in.

Noah: Oh FUCK yeah!

-

Six months ago, I met Noah Sebastian for the first time, and he bought some of my art for a hundred dollars. Five and a half weeks ago, he bought more of my art for a hundred more dollars.

Five months ago exactly, his record label offered me twelve thousand dollars for my painting, and the rights to it, and offered me a contract to complete and provide artwork for all pieces surrounding their upcoming album, with an overall gross value of eighty-two thousand dollars to be paid up front, with the understanding that I would provide the artwork within one year of the contract signing.

Naturally, I was a mess.

Still living in my studio apartment, I had rented a painting studio six blocks from my apartment, and spent near all of my time there. I had completed the entire album artwork, maintaining the theme of the original piece, but adding in major twists in each installment.

So far, the label, the band, and mostly Noah, were pleased.

But today, I was stressed. There was one insert in the vinyl copy of the album that needed artwork. It needed a standalone piece, and I was drawing a vivid blank. I had been staring at the 3 foot by 2 foot canvas for two hours, paintbrush twirling between my paint-stained fingers. My old, ratted jeans were blotched with deep blue paint from my last attempt, which had been scrapped.

I was getting nowhere way too fast, and needed a break. I stood from my stool, and pulled my t-shirt off, standing in only my dark red sports bra to fight against the heat. I kept it warm in the studio to keep the paint from hardening in the palette.

Pacing back and forth, music pumping through my Bluetooth speaker, I sighed. I needed emotion. I needed something to throw at this damn thing, like before.

My phone quieted the music for a moment, and I snatched it to check.

Noah: In town this weekend. Want to get lunch?

As badly as I wanted to, I just couldn't.

Me: I can't. Trying to get this piece done.

Noah: Want me to bring you food? Can't paint on an empty stomach.

Considering this, I pursed my lips. He wasn't wrong.

I responded with the address to the studio.

Forty-five minutes later, and Noah was pushing his way into the small studio, bags of Chinese in his hands. I was sat on the stool, still staring at the blank canvas, twirling my brush, and didn't even look at him.

"Hey!" He set the bags down on the table on the far side of the room. "You haven't started yet?"

A hard, deep growl came out of me, and I chucked my brush at the ground, hearing it clatter. I stood, fingers gripping my hair at the root.

He threw his hands up. "Woah, it's okay! I wasn't trying to say anything to upset you."

I took a deep breath, letting go of my mop of hair. "You didn't. I'm just drawing such a fucking blank! I can't figure out what to paint for this insert!"

He tightened his lips, putting his hands in his jean pockets.

"What usually helps?"

"Anger! And I've got plenty! But I've still got fucking nothing!" My foot kicked the stool, sliding it several feel away.

He took a step forward, toward me, hands coming out in front of him.

"Okay, so anger isn't working. Any other emotions we can use?"

I raised an eyebrow, halting my pacing. "What do you mean?" My words were sharp, and he cracked an amused smile.

"You're a real fireball, clearly, Red. But, do you have other emotions we can channel?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Of course I have other emotions."

"Like?"

Suddenly feeling cornered, I squeezed my eyes closed, breathing deeply.

"I don't know." I looked up at him. "Sadness? Depression?"

He snickered. "Why all negative emotions?"

"What?"

"Why not joy? Enthusiasm? Excitement?" He looked so genuine, it almost hurt my heart, because I was so angry and it wasn't his fault.

I paced over to the stool, coming down with a screech against the floor. "Sorry." I confessed. "This is just hard to do under pressure, you know?"

He nodded, standing next to me, a soft hand coming down on my mid-back, rubbing slow circles on my bare skin.

"I get it. More than most, I think." I looked up at him. "But if what you're used to isn't working, then we have to do something different."

I scrubbed a hand over my face, and smiled weakly. "How?"

He pursed his lips, and his hand came under my arm, pulling me up from the stool. "Grab your brush."

Opting for a fresh one, I held it in front of me, and waited for further instruction.

He smiled, and put both hands on my shoulders, pulling me toward the easel and canvas. I followed absently, trying not to focus on my skin tingling where he was touching me.

"Okay," He moved behind me, pushing me closer to the canvas. "pick a color."

I chuckled, and leaned over to the palette to my right, picking up a deep navy on my brush.

Satisfied, he squeezed my biceps for a second before letting his hands fall away.

"Now, close your eyes."

I turned my head to look at him skeptically, but his eyes pleaded with me, so I obeyed, holding my loaded brush and letting my lids fall closed.

The room fell impossibly quiet, and I could feel his presence heavy behind me. The sensation brought goosebumps to my warm skin.

I was nearly startled when I felt his fingers brush my thick hair over my shoulder, and his breath came across my ear.

"Now," His voice was baritone, so raspy and so close to me. "I want you to picture what you're feeling at this very moment."

Feeling? What is feeling? Who am I ?

"Picture your emotions. Picture them as colors. Objects. Lights." He let out a deep exhale that washed over my neck, making me shiver.

"What if I can't?" My voice was small.

A large, strong hand grasped my right hip, pulling me to lean slightly backward, pressing against the front of his body.

"You can. I know you can."

The fingers of his other and were trailing up my hip, tracing patters over the tattoos on my ribcage.

"You know how to do this, Lily. Just see what you feel."

I wanted to push this. I wanted to see how far I could take it.

Eyes still closed, I let my lips turn up ever so slightly. "What if I can't feel enough, yet?"

His chest, pressed against my back, trembled with quiet laughter, "No? You need more stimulation?"

Jesus this guy's is going to murder me.

"Maybe." I smiled slyly.

His lips ghosted over the side of my neck just under my ear, his hand on my hip slipping around the front of my waist and pulling me even closer.

"What if I," His lips trailed up my skin, grazing the flesh so gently. "give you," Up to my chin. My breath was shaking. "something to feel?"

His lips were testing mine, tip of his nose bumping my own.

The lowest, most whispered moan escaped my lips before he dipped even lower, gently pressing his lips against mine. I molded to him, body encased by his arms, lips slotting into place against his, eyes rolling back behind my lids.

The feeling exploded out of me, pouring into his mouth, hands reaching up to grip his hair.

We stood there, mouths fighting for dominance, before I pulled away, pushing his hands off of me frantically, and nearly jumped toward the canvas.

I heard him breathing heavily behind me, a low chuckle erupting from him.

"I guess it worked?"

I stopped my brush strokes, turning my head and letting my hair flip over my shoulder.

"For now. Might need more stimulation later."

HI BAE IM BACK FROM THE DARKNESS I SAW YOUR PROMPT THING AND MAYBEMAYBE IM THINKING LOKI OR PETER PARKER WITH NUMBERS 11 WHICH IS THE 'You left me and you didn’t even think twice about it.' AND THEN 14 WHICH IS THE SEPARATED AND THEN REUNITED???? ANGST AND FLUFF?? LOKI/PETER BEING THE ONE WHO LEFT MAYBE?? IDK UP TO YOU

Babe you always come up with such smart shit. I hope this lives up to your dreams, buddy. This is kind of canon, kind of not lol. I love you lol

His lips part as he steps into the palace, his stride slowing as he looks between me and Freya, the kind woman rubbing my back slowly as Loki approaches us, gulping.

I'm angry- no, more than just angry- I'm somewhere between livid and seething, my blood boiling in my veins as I fight the tears that rise to my eyes, my lashes damp with tears still from hours ago. I was abandoned, he traded me for delusions of grandeur, trusting in a tyrannical god that wanted nothing but to use him and leave him for dead.

He looks embarrassed, his eyes skirting along the floor with every slow step he takes until he's in front of us. His shoulders jump as Freya clears her throat, stepping towards her son and places a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"You have one chance to fix this. Hear what she has to say and take whatever she offers to you." She whispers lowly before stepping away from us, her heals clicking in the echoed room, my eyes following her until the grand doors shut behind her.

When Loki goes to speak, I hold my hand up to him, silencing him as he nods, swallowing violently once more as I take a deep breath in, trying my best to compose myself before I speak.

"Why did you even bother coming home?" I ask, clasping my hands in front of me to keep them from shaking as his jaw slacks, surprised at my cold, stern voice. He doesn't speak, his shoulders just deflate and his eyes avoid mine as I continue. "If the so called 'glorious purpose' that you claimed to be burdened with does not involve me, then you should have told me before leading me along." My voice wobbles as I swallow, flattening my sweaty palms on the front of my gown, watching him intently as he nods, sniffling quietly.

"I realize that my actions- my departure- seemed nothing if not sudden. But I promise you it was something I believed to be my purpose, a job bestowed only upon my shoulders." He smiles sadly at the recount of his actions on earth, my head immediately shaking at his brainwashed speaking.

"You only care for yourself, Loki-"

"Do not say that." He cuts me off, his voice rising in volume as he steps towards me, immediately reaching out to take my hands but I brush him off. "You do not believe that." His eyes plead with mine silently, red hot tears in his eyes that mirror mine. "You can not believe that." I sniffle, reaching up to bat away the stray tears on my cheeks as my jaw grits.

"You left me and you didn’t even think twice about it." My voice is low as he gasps, his chest rising and falling in nervous breaths, the anxiety and heaviness of my words making him stiff. "You do not deserve me." There's no use in stopping my tears, the weight on my shoulders finally crashing down on me as I say the words I've been itching to say since I found out about his escapades on earth.

"I do not. I have never deserved you or done anything to gain your trust." He confesses, taking me off guard as my brows pull together.

The last thing I expected was for him to own up to his transgressions but to deny and manipulate. But nothing about his expression- the desperation and the neediness- conveys that he's cocky or proud.

"I have done nothing to deserve your beauty or grace- your patience." He whispers, fingers brushing against mine, testing the waters as I allow him to take my hands in his. He lets out a small sigh of relief at the touch, taking another step closer to me as he peers down at me, love and adoration filling his eyes. "I was manipulated and exploited against people that could not be defeated. I was too arrogant and too stupid." His face twists up in anger as he blows out a breath of air, pressing a lingering kiss against my forehead. "I'm am so terribly sorry, my love." My lip wobbles at his apology, it only being the second heartfelt apology I've ever managed to get out of him in all the years that I've known him.

My heart breaks in my chest as my heart and mind argue, wanting nothing more than to give into him, to tell him how much I've missed him. To never let him go.

"You do not get to come back here and apologize and expect my love and forgiveness-"

"I do not expect that." He reassures, his forehead pressing against mine as I laugh tearily, nodding my head. "Never forgive me for this, I do not deserve it. But please, let me fix this." My lip tucks between my teeth as I nod once more, watching as he relaxes, eyes fluttering shut as his lips press simply against mine before taking me into his arms.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane28282 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin @abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi @crunchytoenailsyum @glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the-heart @vampviolets @haylee-e @popehaywardssecretgf @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife @smoke-and-fire @officiallyunofficialperson @heyaitsklaudia @rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @smoke-and-fire386 @chiyongberry @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy

Villain ask meme : Bowser, Frollo and Pitch Black :p

Wow, on it!! Thank you! =D

Evil and fucking love it | A Whinny psycho | Really Dumb motive | Cool motive still murder | I don’t know enough to rate them | They have a point but they are a dick about it | Road to hell paved with good intentions | They are in the right here | Look if it were me I’d have been So MUCH worse | How are they not the hero? | Yea, I’m rooting for the villain

It's so hard to pick for Bowser, it depends on which game! I don't think Bowser is the most evil villain in the Mario franchise, but he's still the main one and we shouldn't forget it, which is why I was so pleasantly surprised in the Mario & Luigi: Dream Team (this time, he was the manipulating one!) I have a soft spot for the games where we get to team up with him though 😂 When it comes to his motive, it goes from kind of dumb to quite classical but efficient villain motive. Whiny psycho (affectionate).

I guess you wanted the Disney version? 😉

Evil and fucking love it | A Whinny psycho | Really Dumb motive | Cool motive still murder | I don’t know enough to rate them | They have a point but they are a dick about it | Road to hell paved with good intentions | They are in the right here | Look if it were me I’d have been So MUCH worse | How are they not the hero? | Yea, I’m rooting for the villain

While Frollo doesn't love being evil, since he is sure that he's in the right, he does enjoy his job. I picked "Road to hell" mainly because he is so keen on keeping the city safe (and being a good Christian), sadly he thinks he's above everyone else and is blinded by his prejudices.

I don't have much to add, only maybe that I kinda wish we had seen a "softer" side of him when he's with Quasimodo and not just him being manipulative/abusive. I like seeing villains being affectionate once in a while 😆 . And yes, I know that it wouldn't make him a good/better person. When you see how he treats the people he despises, you know what kind of man you're dealing with.

Evil and fucking love it | A Whinny psycho | Really Dumb motive | Cool motive still murder | I don’t know enough to rate them | They have a point but they are a dick about it | Road to hell paved with good intentions | They are in the right here | Look if it were me I’d have been So MUCH worse | How are they not the hero? | Yea, I’m routing for the villain

I really like this nightmare man 🖤 Pitch is in a difficult situation and is a very good foil to Jack, as the movie shows us how hard it is for beings like them to not be believed in and seen. And Pitch is the Boogeyman, so scaring children is kinda his job, it's hard to blame him for doing it and enjoying it. However, he has delusions of Grandeurs, takes sadistic pleasure when he hurts people and didn't need to go that far to remind kids that, hey, he exists too!

While a part of me wished the Guardians would reach out to him in the end, I understand that it's either too soon to do so (after what they went through because of him), or that they don't have to forgive his dirty tricks after all.

the thing is is just self-dx is valid unless i do it yk? iiiiiiiii just wish i could get dx's but i am fucking childer and i swear to fuck doctors already purposefully fuck me over cuz im trans and open abt it and i think being a teen is also not helping cuz they think 'oh its teen being teen' when its like AUUUUUUUUUGHBKSISNNAKWJ FUCK

unfortunately that is a very common mindset with a lot of things, and again, it takes time. which isn’t fun to hear since usually if something is wrong, you want a solution immediately, which time isn’t able to do.

being a minor does make things a lot harder, adults tend to dismiss minors a lot, and sometimes just treat them as property sadly. same goes with doctors, they often refuse to take marginalised people seriously in general.

also your ppd is ppd-ing again :,] (not mean/not making fun of you, just an observation that made me chuckle bc i’m the same). i have the same delusions/paranoid thoughts that people are doing shit to me on purpose. most recent one i made a post about but basically people fucking with me in the grocery store by being in the way on purpose. when you also do the good ol’ double bookkeeping it’s a bit funny because rationally i know that’s not true but at the same time it is true to me. i also get this way with the npd delusions of grandeur lmao.

but yeah i completely understand how it feels, i’ve been there. and i also understand wanting a diagnosis, been there too. idk what your goal is with getting a diagnosis is but for many people it is to feel valid, which a diagnosis isn’t necessary to have to be valid, you probably already know that, but just a reminder. and again, sometimes it’s good to have a diagnosis so you can get treatment.

But what if he came with to watch? Or someone else watched him for just a night?

"I trust... no one to take watch of the prince. And the arena is far too dangerous, not for me, but while i am fighting someone might have a delusion of grandeur and try something."

"You paint a picture i wish i could live in, sadly it is just not possible"

"the anon who broke M style through PR.. is it the fashion anon plant had?"

(Meghan's TedTalk anon here) No, sadly, I am not Plant or her old fashion anon. I'm just one of those old-timers who's been lurking around since the beginning. I learned a lot about PR from Plant, though, especially how Hollywood PR works and how much Meghan lives in PR. It wasn't until recently that I realized how much Meghan believes her own PR that she's the BRF's main character and once I had that lightbulb moment, it all clicked into place. (I always knew Meghan believed in her own PR. You don't cringe through the Megxit manifesto's "The Queen doesn't own service" without understanding that. I think I just underestimated how much Meghan truly believes in these delusions of grandeur.)

The thing about Meghan and her PR cycles is that she uses them to create these fantasy versions of herself that she controls through her clothes. But these PR storylines are set up to fail from the very start because Meghan can't maintain the illusion when she doesn't get the attention she wants. When she doesn't get what she wants, the illusion slips. When the illusion and her control slips, her mess begins to show and she's built such a house of cards out of these PR storylines to cover her secrets and lies that it can be easily blown down. So to protect this house of cards from blowing away, she relaunches herself with new PR and a new style as only a main character would. It's basically using shiny objects to distract from danger.

This is why Tom, Sam, Kate, and the UK press are so dangerous to Meghan: they contradict her reality and make her acknowledge she isn't the main character. (Tom can prove Meghan's childhood was better than she told everyone. Sam can prove Meghan isn't the kind and compassionate person she claims to be. Kate can prove Meghan is a nobody. The UK press can back all of them up.)

Now Kate also dresses/styles for PR storylines but she's much more subtle and organic about it that it sometimes takes years and her "restyles" are linked to natural life milestones. Kate is only on her fourth PR restyle in 20 years of being with William. By contrast, Meghan is on her eighth PR restyling in 5 years of being with Harry. She first mapped her "restyles" to milestones to obscure all the schemes but she couldn't maintain the illusions because of her threats (Tom and the press particularly), hence her "smash and grab" hustling.

[In case anyone asks, here's my breakdown of Kate's PR restyling:

Girlfriend: 2002 - 2007 (from St. Andrews to the breakup)

Newlywed: 2008 - 2012 (Anglesey years) (yes technically Anglesey was 2010 - 2013 but PR-wise, Kate knew she was marrying William when she took him back after the breakup and it was reflected in her outfits)

Part-time royal: 2012 - 2017 (Norfolk years)

Duchess: 2018 - present (London years)

Based on Kate's history, her next PR restyle will be when she becomes the Princess of Wales. One could argue that that transition is already underway, which began with that portrait from Philip's funeral, but I think it's too soon to tell.]

Whew...I thought I lost this!

I learned a ton through Plant myself. I was so naïve about PR until Plant.

Remember in her Mexgit manifesto about how they will continue working alongside TQ and other senior royals? Someone pointed out that, NO ONE works alongside TQ but FOR TQ. This really showed me that they, Meghan, felt she was on equal, if not higher standing than TQ herself.

Remember her PR about what her jewelry meant? All of those gold rings she wore and how each one, plus the placement of each one meant something? I also remember when Meghan’s style started to slip, the wedding dress. I was flabbergasted that is what she went with. It didn’t match any of her PR style to date and it was so loose on her.

I never have really thought about Kate and her PR style because she does recycle clothing and tends to wear the same looks, but you have brought up a good point. I do think she is slowly transitioning into her PoW looks. The funeral and the 007 premiere gold dress.

Love having you stop by and providing your wonderful insight! Sorry it took a while to get back to you. I wanted to write more but you are so thorough that I don't have anything to add!

The Death Eaters as a Cult - Part 1

This is a very lightly edited old Reddit post, that I'll publish in parts because the whole thing is like 7000 words. Analyzing Voldemort, the DE and their dynamics, Dumbledore and Harry in comparison, and individual Death Eaters. Hope you like it!

Some say Voldemort is a cartoon villain, or wizard Hitler. I think he is very realistic, and that the focus on his political aspirations ignores interesting aspects of him. I cannot prove that JKR had cults in mind when she wrote Voldemort and his followers, but this is how I read them. It’s nearly impossible to define a cult, so, for the purpose hereof, I’m going with “a group dedicated to the worship of a person”. Many cult leaders in real life present themselves merely as “god’s voice” or “the messiah”, but Voldemort specifically didn’t bother to hide behind a power higher than himself.

Tom Riddle comes from humble beginnings, like many cult leaders - he’s raised in an orphanage. He already has delusions of grandeur, only in this case they’re not delusions, because he really is magic, which makes it all the more dangerous. Look how he reacted to discovering he was a wizard, and how Harry did.

Immediately following the revelation that Lily and James did not die in a car crash, and that Harry is famous, and that he survived an attempt at his life by the worst wizard in history:

Hagrid looked at Harry with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes, but Harry, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had been a horrible mistake. A wizard? Him? How could he possibly be? He’d spent his life being clouted by Dudley, and bullied by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon; if he was really a wizard, why hadn’t they been turned into warty toads every time they’d tried to lock him in his cupboard? If he’d once defeated the greatest sorcerer in the world, how come Dudley had always been able to kick him around like a football?

“Hagrid,” he said quietly, “I think you must have made a mistake. I don’t think I can be a wizard.”

Heart-breaking. Harry doesn’t believe he can be special, he blames himself for the way he’s treated.

This is Tom Riddle:

“I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic.”

There was silence. Riddle had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes were flickering back and forth between each of Dumbledore’s, as though trying to catch one of them lying. “Magic?” he repeated in a whisper.

“That’s right,” said Dumbledore.

“It’s... it’s magic, what I can do?”

“What is it that you can do?”

“All sorts,” breathed Riddle. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. “I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to.”

His legs were trembling. He stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, his head bowed as though in prayer.

“I knew I was different,” he whispered to his own quivering fingers. “I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something.”

His megalomania and violent nature are already apparent, as is his preternatural control of his magic. It also hints at rudimentary legilimency.

Dumbledore spells out that young Tom Riddle equated magic with immortality and liked to collect trophies, and that Tom Riddle liked being special, as he resents the name Tom for being too common; he already lives behind a mask and only shows his true face in shock. This, and not Dumbledore’s magical prowess, is what always scared Tom. Voldemort knew Dumbledore knew what he was. That was the only tactical advantage Dumbledore had.

It’s also one of JKR’s strokes of brilliance: Dumbledore saw Tom for what Tom was, and others never did until it was too late, not because he was that clever, but because he knew from experience. Dumbledore had allowed himself to fall for a charismatic but heartless man before, and it took Ariana dying to slap him awake. Dumbledore knows good people can be led astray: It happened to him. It has nothing to do with intelligence or “goodness”. Gellert was able to give Albus exactly what Albus lacked, stuck at home taking care of Ariana: the promise of freedom and a bright future, and the companionship of an equal. Albus fell for it, despite warning signs that should have been obvious.

Later, we know Tom is chosen by a wand of yew and phoenix feather. Both yew and phoenix are associated with immortality; yew trees are very long-lived. Compare this to Harry’s wand, holly and phoenix feather: both these characters will experience death and rebirth, except Tom Riddle’s wand tree is yew, and Harry’s is holly.

From Wikipedia: “The Christian church commonly found it expedient to take over existing pre-Christian sacred sites for churches. It has also been suggested that yews were planted at religious sites as their long life was suggestive of eternity, or because, being toxic when ingested, they were seen as trees of death.” Also from Wikipedia: “Christians have identified a wealth of symbolism in the holly tree’s form. The sharpness of the leaves help to recall the crown of thorns worn by Jesus; the red berries serve as a reminder of the drops of blood that were shed for salvation; and the shape of the leaves, which resemble flames, can serve to reveal God's burning love for His people.”

The two orphans’ wildly different views of death are also apparent in their wand trees. Voldemort will murder to attain his goals; Harry will sacrifice himself. That the phoenix feather came from Fawkes is also meaningful - Dumbledore taught both magic in some capacity, but he never could defeat Voldemort, because they’re too alike. One of Harry’s advantages in this battle is the integrity of his soul, which cannot be compromised.

Next, Tom Riddle is sorted into Slytherin. For a child who is already prone to megalomania, the house values bring out the worst in him, and under Slughorn, he grows into a manipulative, cunning, ruthless young man. I’m not blaming Horace for Tom being a psychopath, but some of the particular ways his psychopathy manifested in seem to have been directly due to Slughorn’s influence. Slughorn is a blood-supremacist, who was convinced Tom must come from fine stock. Slughorn tests drinks for poison using house elves; Tom Riddle tests the effectiveness of his Horcrux’s protection on Kreacher. Slughorn emphasizes the importance of connections and outright praises Tom for knowing more than he needs to, and encourages an attitude of “it’s only wrong if you get caught.” But Slughorn, prejudiced and cunning as he is, is not violent - he is academically curious about Horcruxes, but he finds them repugnant. Tom’s heart is not so faint - at the point of asking Slughorn about Horcruxes, the diary is already a horcrux, and Tom has already murdered his father. This is how Dumbledore describes Tom’s original gang, who were the proto-Death Eaters:

As he moved up the school, he gathered about him a group of dedicated friends; I call them that, for want of a better term, although as I have already indicated, Riddle undoubtedly felt no affection for any of them. This group had a kind of dark glamour within the castle. They were a motley collection; a mixture of the weak seeking protection, the ambitious seeking some shared glory, and the thuggish gravitating toward a leader who could show them more refined forms of cruelty. In other words, they were the forerunners of the Death Eaters, and indeed some of them became the first Death Eaters after leaving Hogwarts. Rigidly controlled by Riddle, they were never detected in open wrongdoing, although their seven years at Hogwarts were marked by a number of nasty incidents to which they were never satisfactorily linked, the most serious of which was, of course, the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, which resulted in the death of a girl. As you know, Hagrid was wrongly accused of that crime.

Dumbledore explains what motivated people to join Tom: some were afraid, some ambitious, some cruel. He controlled his so-called friends, and already started framing others for his own crimes (Hagrid’s framing was followed by Morfin’s and Hokey the house elf’s).

This is followed by Tom’s attempt to become a teacher (Dumbledore spells out his motivations: He is attached to the school, he wants to study its magic, and he already wants to build himself an army). He is denied, oddly chooses to work for Borgin and Burkes, a choice fueled by the desire to trace down more items to make into Horcruxes. Through the memory of the meeting with Heptzibah Smith, we see that Tom was definitely charming when he needed to be, and knew how to make people feel good. He did not use magic to trick her into showing him her precious locket and cup: he used muggle manipulation - flattery, making an old and forlorn lady feel valuable, perhaps even flirting with her (she’s certainly flirting with him). He was pleasant enough that Ms. Smith eagerly looked forward to his visits - but as she showed him her treasures, he was caught off guard by hearing about his mother and how she sold the locket, and she saw him for what he was, although she quickly fell into denial. Sadly, she was murdered two days later.

Why rely on Horcruxes to gain immortality? Tom must have known about Nicholas Flamel and the Philosopher’s Stone, and the Horcruxes require someone else to perform the resurrection ritual. Either making the Stone is so hard that it would deter Tom (unlikely), or he already expected to rely on followers who would find him and revive him - he certainly seems to have expected his followers to have searched for him earlier. Maybe Horcruxes were appealing because they require murder. In any case, this is followed by the memory of Tom asking Dumbledore for the DADA job again, a decade later. Tom has spent a decade gathering followers, and he has already changed his name to Lord Voldemort. This is reminiscent of real life cult leader David Koresh, and the leaders of the Children of God, Aum Shinrikyo, etc. The meeting between Voldemort and Albus is interesting, because it’s clear that Dumbledore had tried to teach Tom about the power of love:

“The old argument,” he said softly. “But nothing I have seen in the world has supported your famous pronouncements that love is more powerful than my kind of magic, Dumbledore.”

“Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong places,” suggested Dumbledore.

This did not help. Tom never learned - how could he? At 16, he was already a murderer - who could love him now for who he was? He could never be truly loved, and he could never truly love another, and he underestimated the power of love for his entire life, leading to his downfall - twice (were that it was so simple in real life).

Voldemort is trying to obfuscate the nature of the relationship, like all cults - they never admit this is what they are.

“I am glad to hear that you consider them friends,” said Dumbledore. “I was under the impression that they are more in the order of servants.”

“You are mistaken,” said Voldemort.

But LV can’t lie to Dumbledore, who changes the subject. He denies him the DADA job again, and the curse is placed on the job. LV’s ascent is due to begin in a few years. Hagrid tells the story:

Anyway, this — this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin’ fer followers. Got ’em, too — some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o’ his power, ’cause he was gettin’ himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry. Didn’t know who ter trust, didn’t dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches...

Voldemort isn’t just interested in immortality. He wants complete control. He wants everyone fearing him - even fearing his name. He has people isolated and distrustful, fearing for their lives.

But we know his reign of terror was dreadful - what I’m interested in is the way he treated his own followers. We know little about how he treated them in the first war, but we do have what Sirius had to say about Regulus’s fate:

From what I found out after he died, he got in so far, then panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out. Well, you don’t just hand in your resignation to Voldemort. It’s a lifetime of service or death.

We know the real story of Regulus’s disappearance, and it’s different. Kreacher tells us that Regulus died in the Horcrux cave - but more telling is that Regulus forbade Kreacher from telling his parents what had happened to him. Why did he feel the need to do that? This suggests that Regulus knew LV destroyed traitors’ families, which is a tactic used in cults and other abusive dynamics. We know LV would leverage Draco’s welfare against Lucius for his failure in the Department of Mysteries, too. We know also that instead of going to Dumbledore, or to his own brother, Regulus chose death – unless he was really dumb, and I don’t think he was, he must have been manipulated into believing that was his only option, or his world made no sense after his faith had shattered. So many people never readjust to life outside the cult.

Voldemort “dies” about two years after that, having successfully recruited about 400 followers (“the death eaters outnumbered us the Order 20:1” - Lupin). We can’t say if all these people were genuine Death Eaters or people who had been Imperiused or otherwise coerced, or allies like Narcissa, but that coercion is used to recruit shows that Voldemort did not take his own followers’ ambitions and wishes into account. People who use outright coercion don't suddenly draw the line at manipulation.

You’re Easier To Kick When You’re Kneeling.

summary: you and eren were both titan shifters, getting your ass beat in the court room by humanity’s strongest

warnings: violence, swearing,

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

“Good luck!”

Where the last words Hanji spoke before shoving you and Eren into the court room. Tension penetrated the air as the Survey Corps gave hard glares to the Military Police.

Spinning around you saw everyone looking to you and Eren. Embarrassment and fear crawled through your nerves, gazing to Eren as he looked just as afraid.

“I’m scared..” You whispered to the brunette, he turned to look down at your lightly shaking physique.

“We’ll be fine.” He gave you a small smile, his eyes creased softly, he wished he could reach out and pat you on the shoulder.

Straining yours eyes forwards you bit down your tongue readying yourself mentally. You noticed two long metal pillars beside eachother, gulping.

“Step forward.” An office spoke as he shoved the barrel of a gun into Erens back. Urging him forwards forcefully, quickly you walked to catch up with him.

Two officers pushed you and Eren apart. Snapping your head to the brunette, he nodded his head to you calmly, his eyes gave you comfort as the man shoved you to your knees infront of the pole.

Together the men picked up the metal and ordered you to place your hands stretched behind you, doing so they let the pole fall back into place. Having you directly connected to the pole and squatted down.

You hung your head low as the hair on your shoulders fell forwards to conceal your face. Your eyes had dilated and your body shook. Fear. Worry. Anxiety.

A door opened followed by footsteps and a chair scraping across the stone as someone seated themselves. The judge.

“Well then, let us begin. Eren Jaeger and Y/N L/N, yes?” He’d adjust his glasses and stare at the small paper in his fingers before continuing. “You are soldiers, sworn to sacrifice your life for the public good. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.” Eren answered as he stared bug-eyed at the judge, “Yes, sir.” You repeated after Eren and tilted your head up.

“This is an exceptional situation. The tribunal will be held under military, not civilian, law. The final decision rests entirely in my hands.” The white haired man looked from the paper to us, “Your fate will be decided here. Do you have any objections.”

Looking to the floor you squeezed your eyes shut momentarily, opening them wide again. “No, sir.” You and Eren spoke simultaneously.

“I appreciate your perception. I will be direct. As anticipated, concealing your existence has proved impossible. We must make your existing public in some form, or a threat to humanity other than titans will arise. What I will decide today is which force will have custody of you.”

“The Military Police,”

“Or the Survey Corps?”

“Then, I ask the Military Police for their proposal.”

Your head shifted to the Military Police, watching as a man readied himself before speaking vibrantly.

“Yes, sir, I am Commander of the Military Police, Nile Dawk, I will present my proposal. After a thorough investigation of Eren and Y/N’s body, we believe they should be eliminated immediately.”

Your eyes expanded as he said this. This man hardly knew either of you, not a single fucking thing. Your eyebrows furrowed into a scowl while your hands contoured into fists.

“It’s certainly true that their titan power overcame our pervious peril. However, now their existence threatens to spark a civil war. So we ask them to die for humanity’s sake, leaving behind all information they can.” He finished

Your stomach churned as he spoke, did everyone seriously wish you dead?

“There is no need for that! They are an invasive pest! They have deceived the walls that embody Gods wisdom! They must be killed at once!” A preist yelled at the top of his lungs as he pointed to us with crazed eyes. Freak.

“Preist Nick. Order, please.” The judge calmly stated before shifting his attention to the right side.

“We’ll hear the Survey Corps’s proposal next.”

“Yes, sir. I, 13th Commander of the Survey Corps, Erwin Smith, will present my proposal. We would welcome Eren and Y/N as an official member of our forces, and use their power to retake Wall Maria... That is all.”

You stared at the Commander, that’s all. That’s all? Yours and Erens life were on the line and he couldn’t conjure up another defense statement.

“That’s all?” The judge questioned suspiciously.

“Yes, sir. With their power, we can retake Wall Maria. We believe it is clear what our priorities should be.”

“I see. And where do you plan to begin this mission”The judge stated, “Pixis, the Trost wall has been completely sealed, correct?” He added.

“Yes, it can never be opened again.” A bald man retorted.

“We would like to set out from Karanes, in the east. From there, we will proceed to Zhiganshina. We will determine the route as we go.” Erwin confidently spoke as he stared to the judge.

“Wait a minute!” shouted a man, whipping your head over, “Shouldn’t we seal all the wall gates once and for all? The Colossal Titan can only destroy the gates. If we can strengthen them, we needn’t endure further attacks!” His planned seemed smart but there where missing pieces and it would most likely be difficult to achieve.

“Shut up, merchant dog!”

“With those titan powers we can return to Wall Maria!”

“We can no longer indulge your delusions of grandeur!”

Argued two men as they yelled at one another from across the room, ‘So annoying’ you thought.

“You talk a lot, pig.” A dark voice rung throughout the court, turning your head up you spotted Levi. Behind his tough physique he was actually a bit funny.

“Where is your proof?” Levi continued, “that the titans will wait while we seal the gates? The ‘we’ you speak of are only those you wish to protect, your ‘friends’ who help line your pockets. The people who starve because there isn’t enough land to sow don’t even figure into the thoughts of you pig.” Levi finished as you stared at him with wide eyes, was he seriously protecting you from the Military Police?

“We just thought that we could survive by sealing the wall gates—“ The merchant began, “Silence!” Yelled the priest beside him as he slammed his hand on the railing, nearing the mans eyes. “Impious traitor! Mere humans altering Wall Rose, walls that were a gift from God? Can you truly see those walls? Gods work far beyond human capabilities, and not understand?”

The rest of his words drowned out as your mind took hold, thoughts of the future plundered your head as you squeezed your eyes shut.

The judges taps of his desk brought you back to reality and you snapped your head up, “Silence. You may discuss your personal philosophies and opinions elsewhere.”

“Jaeger, L/N. Can you continue to serve as a soldier, using your titan powers to benefit humanity?”

“Yes, I can!” Eren spoke clearly, the judges cold gaze shifting to you, “Yes, sir.”

“But the report on Trost’s defense says this... ‘Immediately after turning into a titan, Eren swung his fist at Mikasa Ackerman.’” You sucked in a breath and looked to Eren, his eyes extended as he looked to Mikasa. Of course, he doesn’t remember.

“Is Mikasa Ackerman present?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“You are Ackerman? Is it true that, as a titan, Jaeger attacked you?” The old man questioned her.

You sighed softly, ‘As if he can control it yet’ you thought angrily in your mind.

“Yes, its true.”

Gasps of terror rung throughout the court, all eyes falling on Eren in a deathly glare.

“I knew it... He’s just another titan.”

“What about the girl!” Another protested as your head whipped to them, sending a glare to them.

“But, on two previous occasions, Eren saved my life in his titan form. The first time, mere seconds before a titan would have had me in its grasp, he stood between us, protecting me. The second time, he saved Armin and me from an HE shell. I would like these facts to be considered aswell.”

“I object,”

“I believe these comments are greatly colored by her personal feelings. At an early age, Mikasa Ackerman lost her parents and was taken in by the Jaeger household.” Well haven’t you done your homework, you pondered with a small frown.

“Our investigation had also revealed a surprising fact about the underlying events. At age nine, Eren Jaeger and Mikasa Ackerman killed three robbers who tried to kidnap her.”

More gasps could be heard as the news entered their ears, you shook your head. ‘What stupid fucking evidence to have, like they had a choice’ you considered furiously in your mind.

“Even if it was self defense, I must question their fundamental humanity. Is it right to entrust humanity’s fate, resources, and lives to him?”

Whispering and arguing broke out between the different sides, turning their heads to their fellow comrades to spew hatred. What a loss. Losing to this mans ugly mouth. You hung your head and sighed quietly.

“So is she. Do we know if we can trust her!” Referring to you as he pointed. “That’s right! Just to be safe we should dissect her too!” He looked to Mikasa next.

“Wait!” Yelled Eren and looked up to the man, “I may be a monster, but they have nothing to do with it! Nothing at all!” Eren defended as you watched, his spit flying from his mouth as he spoke from his soul. Your heart clenching in pitifulness as you frowned sadly.

“We can’t trust that!”

“It’s true!”

“If you’re covering for them, it means they’re one of you!”

“No!” He screamed and slammed his handcuffs against the metal pole, looking down in defeat, “I mean, you are wrong. But you’re simply coming up with theories that fit, whatever it suits you to fit.”

“Eren..” You said softly as you stared at him, your eyes in pain for him. He was so much braver than you and it gave you courage to see him so persistent.

Looking up you began to speak, “Besides, all of you people. You’ve never seen a titan! What are you so afraid of? What is your point if you do not have the power to fight? If you’re afraid to fight for humanity’s survival then, help us!” Your voice getting increasingly louder as you glared at the pathetic people who called themselves the Military Police.

“Just shut up and trust us!” You yelled your last statement and looked up to the judge, your chest panting heavily as you meant every word.

“Weapons ready!” The Commander of the Military Police shouted while his cadet set his gun on the railing and pointed it to you.

Until your face snapped to the right and pain shot through your nerves, your vision blurred instantly. Metal was all you tasted. A tooth had even managed to fall from your mouth and rolled onto the ground. You blinked to dimish the haziness and looked to your striker.

Levi Ackerman

“Huh?—“

His steel pointed boot slammed across your face again. Your back slamming against the pole behind you. Blood trickled down your nose and down to your chin, dropping onto the floor. Your blood had even splattered small droplets along the stone flooring.

Levi grabbed your collar and shoved you forwards to him. The handcuffs clanging against the pole as Levi stared down at you, his frigid glare locking eyes with your beaten ones before slamming his knee into the side of your head, sending it flying.

Pain. So much pain. It was burning you alive from the inside as all you could do was endure it. Tch, this guy’s a dick.

“Y/N!” Eren screamed from the opposite end. Hatred and worry evident in his tone as he struggled against his own cuffs, “Stop it!” Eren attempted again as all he could do was watch his friend get beaten to the brink of death.

Levi continued to sock you with his boot, giving you zero remorse as he beat the girl below him. Mikasa glared and got ready to jump the railing before Armin held her back.

Blood streamed down your face, a large puddle had began to form under you. You gasped for air before Levi lifted his leg high and stomped down on your head into the puddle of your demise. Grimacing at the filth and pain, all you did was lay there. If someone wasn’t looking hard enough, they’d assume you were already dead.

Croaks of pain left your body as his boot remained on your head, struggling to breath as blood trickled down your nose and into your mouth, unintentionally swallowing.

“This is a personal opinion. But I believe pain to be the best way to train someone. What you need is to be trained like a dog, not a man.”

Your rigid breathes left your mouth as you stared straight at Eren, his eyes meeting yours as he seemed to become visibly furious. Bruised and cuts tracked your once pretty, soft skin. Blood now coating all the crevices in your face.

“It’s easier to kick you while you’re kneeling, too.”

Levi lifted his boot and slammed it into the side of your head once again, giving you no time to breathe he stomped it back onto the cold ground again. Repeating his tourtue when he kicked your head all over again.

Strangled breaths was all you could muster, along with the rattling of the handcuffs as you were thrown around like trash, filling the silence of the fearful court room.

Kick. Kick, Kick.

All anyone could do was watch your doom, “Wait, Levi...”

Your head was pushed against the pole with his boot flat on your face as he turned his head to the one speaking, “What is it?”

His boot fell from your face as you hunched forwards, croaking as you gasped for air, blood trickling down the sides of your mouth.

“That’s dangerous... What if she gets angry and turns into a titan?”

You slowly tilted your head up to Levi, hair falling away from your face and resting on your shoulders. The raven head stared at you for a moment, then shoved his boot back onto your face and slamming it against the pole.

“What are you saying?” Levi dropped his leg again and gripped a fistful your hair, violently pulling you to his face as your eyes struggled to remain open from extreme bruising.

“Aren’t you going to dissect her?” He dropped your hair and stood straight, peering down to your defeated and beaten figure.

“When she turned into a titan last time, she killed twenty other titans before collapsing. If she is an enemy, her intelligence makes her a more formidable foe. Still no match for me, of course.”

Levi gazed to the Military Police, “But what will you do? Anyone persecuting her should also consider that fact. Do you really think you can kill her?” Levi spoke cooly as he stood infront of you, staring you down.

From afar you heard others speak, but your heartbeat clogged your ears as it deafened any other noise. Staring at Levi’s boots infront of you, you noted your blood coating the bottom before gently shutting your eyelids.

You could only hear Levi as he spoke from ahead of you, “I’m certain I can kill her. The only problem is I doubt I can do any less.” Levi proposed.

Hearing the pound of the desk above you, the judge made his decision. But you’d never make out what he proposed.

Footsteps stepped back from ahead of you as new ones came from behind you, uncuffing you and lifting the pole.

You tumbled forwards onto the unwelcoming ground, cautiously opening your eyes to the glaring sunlight that entered through the windows.

Eren ran to you, crouching down infront of you as you saw him shout words at you. He picked your head up in his hands and cradled you in his lap, checking for your pulse.

Your eyes began to shut again, your head lulling to the side to spot the raven head. Levi stared at you from afar, his arms crossed over his chest. The last thing you saw was the ravens dark gaze before your eyes rolled and all you saw was darkness.

be real, we all wish we were the ones being kicked

A Review of Loki (2021)

[The following is an exact transcription of Twitter user @/diolesbian ‘s thread linked here . They gave me permission to cross-post their thread on my Tumblr. Keep in mind that this review is fairly long and quite critical of the series. I agree with this review wholeheartedly, and would be welcome to discuss it with anyone else.] 

Loki is a character who has died many times, but his own series may be his most brutal character assassination yet.

1.  Loki’s role in the series. Instead of tackling Loki's most villainous state of mind in Avengers 1, the series literally speedran through his development in the subsequent films, after which they almost entirely halted his character progression.

Because this series was set right after Avengers 1 it had the responsibility of developing Loki further in place of The Dark World and Ragnarok. In Episode 1, this development was kicked off by having Loki watch a reel of some of his defining moments in the MCU, allowing him to see his future all the way up to his death in Infinity War. Sadly, this scene ended up being the most development he received in the entire series. And arguably, this isn’t even true development but more like a speedrun of his character up until that point, serving as a simple tactic to explain why he wouldn’t be acting all dictatorial and murderous during his own series. As soon as he had been made “good” (read: docile) enough to follow along with the plot, his agency was completely thrown out. From that point on, the series wasn’t about Loki making things happen but about things happening to Loki.

Loki was supposed to be the main character, but he wasn't the protagonist in this story. In fact, he was more of a side character than we’ve ever seen him be in the MCU before, perhaps excepting IW and Endgame.

A protagonist is by definition someone whose important decisions affect the plot, whose development is followed most closely by the audience, and who is opposed by an antagonist. Loki exhibited none of these traits in this series. Especially the latter half of the story, he was reduced to simply reacting to the revelations around him, such as the reveal that the TVA members were all variants and that Kang was the true mastermind behind everything. He never truly involved himself or acted based on any of these plot points, and hardly played a key role in what was supposed to be his own story. Even in the films, where Loki is a side character, he makes choices which impact the plot to a larger extent. He almost seems more like a background character in the role of protagonist than in the parts he plays in the films.

2. The antagonist. The TVA could have worked as the perfect setting for Loki to have a new arc. It’s a thematic antithesis to who we know Loki to be. But when this Loki turns out to not be who the audience thought he was the TVA’s thematic significance falls apart as well.

In Episode 1, the TVA’s Agent Mobius enlists the help of Loki the Variant to pin down a greater foe who we are told is another, more malicious version of Loki. Order and chaos meeting in the middle, teaming up to take down an enemy, who even happens to be the protagonists’ literal evil self: that works, it sounds promising. But this dynamic is soon undermined when Loki leaves with Sylvie. Still, the benefit of the doubt is easy to grant here: a story about tricksters is bound to contain twists. But by Episode 3 the series is halfway done and the TVA has been appointed as the main antagonist again: we’ve now established villains three different times. And then the Cloud Monster At The End Of Time is introduced, and finally Kang. In other words, the Loki series has no consistent antagonist, no one to pit its main character against. And this is where we once again miss out on an enormous aspect of Loki’s potential characterization.

Protagonists are always defined by an antagonist, whether a purple Titan, a flat tire, or themself. Loki is not given anything to define his morals, motivations, or development in opposition to and this is a huge oversight. Especially given the fact that Loki has taken on the villain’s role in the past: how is the audience supposed to know that the “bad guy” is now a “good guy” if there’s no “even worse guy” to stand up against?

3. The plot. A plot should show off its MC’s strengths and match their personality. The Loki plot hardly relied on his presence at all, he didn't play a key role. The story had so little to do with Loki that it seemed as though he has barely any impact on “his” narrative.

One of the most central conflicts in the Loki series doesn’t involve him at all: it’s between Sylvie and the TVA. This plotline was a good concept overall, but its main problem is that it’s practically the only conflict in the series. Loki himself, as mentioned before, isn’t set in opposition to anything or anyone. And thanks to his relationships with Sylvie and Mobius being weakened by conflicting storytelling devices, he appears to be in a bubble by himself away from the rest of the cast for much of the story. First he follows Mobius around, then Sylvie, then he wanders aimlessly in the void before following Sylvie once again and learning that Kang is a Really Bad Guy who he should be opposed to even though by this point he has interacted so little with the story unfolding around him that the audience doesn’t even understand why he should be choosing to play the hero.

The plot and the characters both suffer by being so incredibly unrelated to each other. A series, especially an MCU one, should tell an overarching narrative through the perspective of its main character.

In the beginning of the series, when Loki was still getting his bearings in the TVA, this lack of decision-making was more understandable, especially since some of his skills were still being shown-- he discovered Sylvie was hiding in nexus events, and he made the choice to leave Mobius and follow her. But by the latter half of the series he still hasn’t had much impact on the story or taken any actions of his own, and simply allows plot points to happen to him. Just because the Loki series had to introduce the TVA and Kang didn’t mean it had to forgo telling a story about its protagonist. If Loki’s story had been intrinsically tied to the overarching plot points, if his choices had been some of the primary factors determining how events ended up taking place, the series would have succeeded in every aspect. But instead Loki is pushed aside by the plot of his own series, a plot which subsequently ends up coming across as largely hollow and pointless due to its lack of character drive.

4. Loki’s arc. One of the main reasons MCU Loki is loved is for his excellent character development across his films. TVA Loki was extremely lacking in that aspect and chances to take his character in interesting new self-aware directions were thrown away without much thought.

Throughout the MCU, Loki is on a journey with many highs and lows. He goes from a bitter and disheartened prince standing in the shadow of his brother, to a self-loathing Jotun bent on destroying his own people in a desperate attempt to win his father’s love, to a half-mad partially mind-controlled dictator with delusions of grandeur fueled by his own insecurity, to a prisoner wondering what there is left for him to lose, to a savior of Asgard’s people finally coming to accept his place in what is left of his family, to a tragic sacrificial victim who knew he had to die so the true hero might live on. That’s a hell of a journey, incidentally shown in less than TWO HOURS of screen time, and the prospect of TVA Loki embarking on an equally stimulating one, this time told over the course of over four hours and shown from his own perspective the entire way through, was exciting. But as it turned out, this relatively simple expectation went completely unmet.

For a story trying to say so much about individuality and self-acceptance, the Loki series seemed to pass by every obvious opportunity to tackle those questions.

Sylvie’s introduction seemed like a good idea at first: Loki would be able to literally bond with himself and learn to accept who he is that way, and forays could be made to explore what Loki’s personality could have been like if he grew up under different circumstances! But aside from a scene or two in Episode 3, this was not how things ended up going. Loki didn’t come to any grand or important conclusions about his identity, he didn’t choose to act differently, all that happened was a vaguely-worded confession of pseudo-romantic feelings which was cut off in the middle, made no sense, and weakened the narrative in a whole host of other ways explained elsewhere. Loki’s encounter with other versions of themself in the Void was similarly meaningless: Loki didn’t end up expressing or demonstrating a single thing he learned from meeting all of those alternate selves, despite the fact that there was potential for massive self-discovery there.

Less than 2 hours of MCU screen time portrayed Loki more coherently than this entire series. Loki is loved because of how much he changes, and it felt like he didn’t in this series. He started off lost and stayed that way throughout the entire plot.

By the end of the series, it was impossible to identify who Loki had become. He said he didn’t want a throne, but it was not obvious why not. He looked sad to be betrayed by Sylvie, but never expressed what that meant to him. He seemed afraid once Kang was unleashed, but why? Why did he care about the Sacred Timeline? What were his motivations? Throughout the series the answers to these questions became less and less obvious, culminating in the final episode which ended without a single moment of reflection or explanation as to who Loki had become. He wasn’t a villain, but only because he wasn’t murdering people. He was in some capacity a hero, for… being against Kang, probably, but once again with no explanation as to why Loki had decided to feel that way. He never seemed self-assured in his heroism, as if he hadn’t chosen the role for himself. Again, making one’s own choices that shape the narrative are what differentiates a protagonist from a side character, but Loki did not do that in this series.

5. Loki and Sylvie’s relationship. Loki and Sylvie had the potential to be a powerful duo representing the process of self-acceptance but instead they were reduced to a strange pseudo-romance.

Despite Loki’s many developments in the films, he never truly liked himself. He has been known to act extremely confident and self-righteous at times, but this is merely the opposite side of the coin containing his self-loathing and insecurity. Having him literally meet and subsequently befriend himself in Episode 3 was a move towards developing this aspect of him and potentially teaching him to finally accept himself as he truly is, but this buildup was all shattered in Episode 4 when the relationship is portrayed to have romantic undertones. Instead of a powerful struggle to accept oneself, the relationship between Loki and Sylvie becomes a twisted thing which is memeable at best (selfcest LOL amirite?) and outright damaging to both characters and the very concept of loving oneself at worst.

Ultimately, Loki and Sylvie's relationship didn’t add anything to either character’s development and actively detracted from what could have been a touching story.

Romantic love is extremely different from self love; romantic love has connotations including dating conventions and sexuality which are impossible to ignore and in this case serve as a distraction. And on top of ruining a potentially powerful storyline, this strange relationship makes both Loki and Sylvie seem out of character. Loki is once again one thousand years old and he has never even had a true friend, so why would he possibly fall for someone after knowing them for only two days? Meanwhile in Sylvie’s case, Loki’s “feelings” for her cause the audience to pay more attention to her romantic life and gestures rather than her actual character and motivations.

6. Loki’s Sexuality and Gender Fluidity. Loki’s sexuality and gender has been shown in several comic runs, and the series was advertised as featuring this representation as well. But due to several fundamental errors and problematic storytelling this also fell flat.

Sylvie’s introduction filled many fans with hope regarding the portrayal of Loki’s identity. In the MCU neither of their LGBT identities had ever been touched upon, while the series introduced a female variant of Loki and explicitly stated their sexuality. But this portrayal soon unraveled, most notably in Episode 5, in which many other Loki variants were shown but not a single one besides Sylvie was non-male. On top of that, when TVA Loki mentioned Sylvie and referred to her as “a woman Variant of us”, the other Lokis agreed that that sounded “terrifying”. Why should a genderfluid being be afraid of a version of themselves presenting as a different gender? It read as both fluidphobic not to mention strangely sexist.

The pseudo-romance between Loki and Sylvie only aggravated the situation. Not only did the nature of the “relationship” seem to follow heteronormative storytelling tropes (falling in love after a couple days of knowing each other, one party being reduced to a love interest, valuing romantic love above any other type, etc) but it also seemed distressing and offensive to many genderfluid people. A romance between a male and a female Loki, one of which doesn’t even call herself by that name, seems to be implying that an individual becomes someone else when merely presenting as a different gender, which of course isn’t at all the case. The writing wasn’t necessarily malicious here, but it was certainly ignorant and potentially even harmful. The opportunity was there to translate Loki’s powerful comic representation into the framework of the MCU, but this attempt did not succeed.

7. Loki’s characterization. Loki is a chameleon, but there are certain traits fundamental to his character. These traits were either ignored or actively mocked in the series. The audience already knew “what makes a Loki a Loki", but the series threw that knowledge away.

Episode 1’s premise of stripping Loki of everything he is used to was an intriguing setup to ensure the discovery of the core of who Loki truly is. The only problem was that this truth didn’t end up being found at all. Mobius made fun of Loki’s most defining traits, such as his habits of lying to manipulate people and acting out of a place of insecurity, which seemed to be a signal for the narrative to forbid Loki from exhibiting any of those traits from that point on in any way. This reduction in Loki’s character was reflected in everything, from his lack of humor (in the films he’s even funny while he’s taking over the world!), the underpowered way in which he fought against Sylvie (he’ll use magic to dry his clothes, but fight with a damn vacuum cleaner?) to the way that he wore the same boring outfit in every single episode-- it may sound shallow, but clothes are important when presenting a character. Every one of Loki’s looks in the films said something about him and his state of mind, and sadly that bland TVA outfit seemed to convey that Loki really was nothing more than a subservient pawn in what was supposed to be his own story. Ironically, the writing stripped Loki of everything that made him Loki, and left us with nothing but a Jotun-shaped void to be swayed by the whims and wills of the characters and plot devices surrounding him.

8. Loki’s past and abilities. This series could have elaborated on aspects of his character which had been teased at in the films and theorized about by fans, but ended up being a disappointment in this aspect as well.

Aside from Loki’s characterization and development, something else the series ignores is much of his canon story in the films. Since Thor 1, a truth that always overshadowed Loki was his Jotun heritage. He struggled with it up until the time of his death, clearly visible in his relationship with his foster family. It’s understandable that Loki was supposed to be independent from Thor in his series, but that’s no excuse for completely ignoring this central part of who Loki is. It doesn’t matter how much he goes through or how much his circumstances change, this feeling of unbelonging sits deep in Loki’s core and should have been both explored and explicitly discussed in the series. A series all about Loki was the perfect opportunity for him to finally confront and explain his relationship with his heritage, and potentially come to terms with it as well. And this isn’t even to say how cool some more insight on Loki’s Jotun inheritance could have been-- hypotheticals aren’t the point of this review, but it would have been fascinating to see Loki reacting adversely to heat like he has been hinted to in the past or even using his ice powers like he did in Thor 1.

Loki's magic was tragically underused. It felt like he was stripped of all of his magical powers even after his TVA chains had been removed, and this was never explained.

A second huge oversight is his magic. His powers are all over the place in this series. They were always a bit vague in the films, but this series was the opportunity to set that right and explain exactly what Loki was capable of as a sorcerer, especially now that the MCU has embraced magic more than it had ten years ago. But instead, Loki showcased an inexplicable lack of magic use-- again, the vacuum cleaner fight can be presented as evidence. There is a single scene in which Loki says that he learned his magic from Frigga, but no information is given as to how much he learned or why he doesn’t always favor spells. His power levels are incredibly inconsistent (he forgoes using magic when first confronted by the TVA, but is later shown using telekinesis to save himself from being literally crushed to death). And, strangest of all, there is a scene in which he tells Sylvie that he “can’t” enchant living beings. Loki, the millennium year old Trickster sorcerer god, who can hold an Infinity Stone with his bare hands, reanimate Surtur in the Eternal Flame, and trick the average person using illusions with ease, can’t cast a little enchantment? And if so, why not? The series offered precious few explanations concerning Loki’s magical abilities and instead only raised more questions. And in this way, Loki is once again relegated into the background and left with not a single shred of any new characterization or development. 

Loki contains multitudes, but the series reduced him to two dimensions.

This isn’t to mention every other facet of Loki’s story that could have potentially been explored to great success in this series-- his torture and subsequent partial mental influence at the hands of Thanos just before the events of Avengers 1 is one obvious example, as is his youth on Asgard, as are his suicidal tendencies (people don’t tend to survive falling off the Bifrost, and he knew that when he threw himself off of it), plus infinite other facets of him. Of course, it was both necessary and more interesting for this series to be its own story rather than one which lingered on past films-- but that’s not to say that none of these plot points should have come back, at least subtly, to play a role in this story. Plot points exist to be brought back later, not completely ignored. Otherwise a story may as well be written about a completely original character.

i feel like you're a c0mmie /lh

First of all, there is a reason that assume is spelled the way it is, but I'll answer this seriously because I'm in the mood to. First of all, hating how commercialism and monetization has taken over what should be an open-source community does not mean I am a communist. It means that I just think that there are some places and communities that don't need everything to be transactionary. I'm all for people making money with their own labor, talent and tools but the truth is, when you're making works for the Sims 4, the labor and talent is not all you. And I personally don't think it's fair for people to monetize what is essentially a derivitive work, especially when they use that as an excuse to act like asshats to the community on top of it. First of all, you are using EA's platform/game which they worked hard on as a display for your work. To get your CC, poses, or mods to work in the game, you have to use their tuning files, and/or clone their objects in Sims 4 Studio or another similar program. Which, ironically...let's think about it...oh wait...Sims 4 Studio is a FREE program that someone else made. And they FREELY update it and add important patch-fixes to the community for zero cost. Again. Not your work. In addition, there are a LARGE number of very WELL known sims 4 creators {especially in the alpha side of things} who are converting from 3D models they didn't make in the first place, and doing it unethically without talking to the original owners of the models. So that compounds the "not your work" argument further. If people want to sell 3D stuff they made on a 3D modeling site, or on a site that has terms that allow it like secondlife, they can go wild. But this community, when it originally started, hated and villified paywallers, because the community was open and focused on sharing and being creative. Sadly, we've strayed from how things used to be, and have slowly let in drips and drips of monetization until we basically expect that everything we try to download is going to lead to an ad or a patreon-locked page. And that f'ing sucks.

Also, let's turn to the dictionary and look up COMMUNISM, shall we? {Because I'm the daughter of a history teacher, and I like talking about history and stuff like this.}

If I were a communist, here are some statements I'd probably make: - We all own all CC that is made, and can freely share it regardless of who made it in the first place. [Oh wait, I've talked before about how you should talk to people who own rights to the original 3D models, and how we shouldn't share early access content. Darn.] - Each person who is the community must work for the betterment of the community. Nobody can freeload, or else they will not get any cc or spoils at all. [But wait, I've never said anything about how everyone has to work on something to receive CC. Because obviously I currently don't have the talent yet to make custom content by myself. Darn it again.]

- People should be paid based on their cc making abilities. So people who mesh their own stuff like Bill L and Syb should be paid more than people who convert! [Wait, I've not said that either. I have said that people need to be ethical and give credit when converting, but I haven't said that people who hand mesh deserve to be paid more...shucks.] Also, let me be real....communism is one of those things that is often FORCED upon people. The main people who choose to be communist, are usually people high up in the ponzi-scheme that is that political system, because they want to gain power, wealth, or other resources off the backs of their people. Many people who are in communist countries don't choose to be communist, they just...are...because the people in power are and make them be that way. It's a system that benefits few, and hurts many. And that's not what I'm about. The fact that you're so ignorant about how this system causes people to suffer while those in power grow rich and fat just shows your immaturity {and your lack of capitalization doesn't help either}. I'm an artist. I believe artistic spaces should be about sharing and creating, not profit. Especially when the PLATFORM and the TOOLS we are given to make that art are not our own. I feel making a profit off a community that already has been fleeced so much by EA is just ethically yucky. One last thing, here's a couple documentaries about Communism and Facism, should you decide you want to educate yourself on how those political systems actually work, and why they should be avoided: How to Become a Tyrant - Documentary Series, Netflix Evolution of Evil - Documentary Series, Amazon Prime Video I would highly recommend both as they dive very deeply into what makes someone a dictator, and you will find that communism/facism are both primary tools used by evil people suffering from delusions of grandeur to achieve such power over their people. I'd also recommend reading books on the subject, but you don't seem like the type who'd enjoy that. I hope you've learned a little something. If you don't like my answer, here's where you can go to solve that problem!

My mother went from ignoring me as a child to controlling and enmeshing with me as an adult... and sadly because I was so starved for her attention I failed to see how this isn’t love, either. Not knowing any better, I failed to see how she was undermining my independence to keep me as a source of supply, not out of any genuine care for my wellbeing. If my existence doesn’t serve her, I am discarded. She only wants my existence if it’s an extension of her, and acting as her supply. To control your child is to fiercely hate their independence. I see how she undermined my confidence in so many ways to keep me dependent on her, to keep her having an upper hand. Narcissists will never treat you as if you are equal. They want a power imbalance. Covert narcissists spend their life perfecting their manipulation tactics, and no one is easier to brainwash than your own child.

There have been times I’ve been aware of people being possessive and controlling but felt like, “I’m so lonely.. At least it’s some kind of attention ?” But it’s not healthy attention. It’s the kind of attention you pay to an object. It is not respect. You don’t respect what you want to control. You don’t want what’s best for what you want to control. You don’t support the growth of what you want to control. I will not sacrifice respect for attention. Attention that is possessive/controlling/enmeshing is draining, not enriching. Attention that is possessive/controlling/enmeshing is a red flag and will always lead to pain and chaos. If someone doesn’t respect your boundaries, they don’t respect you. If someone doesn’t respect you, they’re comfortable hurting you. If they’re comfortable hurting you, they’re comfortable gaslighting you. If they’re comfortable gaslighting you, they’re comfortable gossiping/making up smear campaigns about you. If they’re comfortable gossiping/making up smear campaigns about you, they’re not worth knowing, as the foundation of every relationship is trust. Because narcissists live in delusions of their own grandeur, they live in a world of lies. They are pathological liars and will lie in any situation that serves as a source of supply for them. They’re more concerned with getting supply than anything else, including your feelings (they actually feel powerful when they hurt you), or what’s “right”. You can not appeal to their conscience, as they have none. They have no problem telling lies about you to deflect blame from themselves. They would rather discard you completely than ever own up to anything they’ve done. Do parasites apologize to their hosts? No, they just look for a new one.

Short Story

His blond hair caught the eyes, his blue eyes caught their hearts and his noble heart caught their lost dreams.

He was their hero, the one that would change their lives. He would rid the world of this evil and he would set them free.

This he had been told and why would they lie? He was the chosen one, that once in a lifetime hero whose name would live forever.

  His name was John Salvo. Decked out in his silver armor, he was the most eye catching sight on the battlefield. He swung his sword and minions fell,

 inconsequential as they were, they should be honored to even die by his blade. Standing in their midst, he felt no fear at all. He raised his head and looked in the direction of his ultimate goal- The Usurper, the man responsible for this terrible situation that the entire Kingdom found themselves.

The throne room was not too far from him now. He would truly slaughter his way from the Castle gates to the throne room and kill the Usurper.

The Usurper had killed millions of young men just like him but none had his talent nor were they chosen.

  He would avenge their deaths.

He roared, his voice at its highest just like his courage, This battle cry signified the start of the massacre for him.

"Onward!!!"

Onwar-

...

Onward??

He recalled shouting that once as he was forced to kneel in front of the Usurper. His ribs were a bloody mess and his left eye was half closed and blood flowed down from his head to coat that same area of his face.

How did this happen?

"You seem surprised..."

  The voice sounded somber, almost sad.

"Did you think that you could storm a castle and fight your way to the throne room alone?"

John looked up at the owner of the voice to find the Usurper with a sad expression on his face. His anger flared.

This was the man that caused the deaths of the all the previous warriors before him and made the lives of the common folk a living hell.

  "I will kill you for your misdeeds and you will beg for mercy. I, the Chosen one, John Salvo swear this on my life."

His declaration caused turmoil in the throne room and the murmurs spread like waves in a restless sea.

This reaction was what he wanted to see the most. Yes, he was still capable of this and all he needed was a little time to recover. He could still win, after all he was the chosen one.

"Chosen one.... yes, the others all said the same thing." the Usurper said in a low tone that was barely audible but John still heard it.

The others?

Seeing the puzzled look on the boy's face, the Usurper sighed deeply and got up from his throne.

"Did you assume you were the first? The only one perhaps? A special existence chosen by the heavens?"

The every word of this cruel Usurper was like a small dagger stabbing at his convictions until it was full of holes.

"Before you there were others. One named Arthur, a good swordsman with a mother waiting at home; fooled into believing these same lies. Then there was Nicolas, his archery skills were outstanding but wasted on me and he was by far the smartest of your bunch but he was still foolish enough to believe their lies."

"There was also Tasha.... Natasha Coleman: aged 16 and a truly talented girl for her age. She reminded me of my daughter: resilient and tenacious, strong willed and determined. Yet they overlooked her age like the rest, built up her hatred and sent her in to die."

John listened attentively but his brain failed to truly understand the words that the man spoke. Still it registered the bitter tone in which he spoke, it registered the pain and anger on his face.

  Recalling these details brought him pain as well. Why would he feel pain for his victims, people he killed? And what was this nonsense about him not being Chosen?

Yes, they must be lies.

John refused to believe it. He had been chosen, this was a certainty!

"After that came dozens of you, children barely through their teens, talented every one of them but they all bore the same hatred and delusion: they were Chosen and they would bring my reign of tyranny to an end. I remember all their names."

By this point, he was at the end of the staircase that led down from the throne to where John was kneeling.

"I will ask you the same question I asked them- Who chose you? Was it not men? Was it not the foolish brother of mine clinging to the throne he convinced himself was his? What makes you special except for the fact that out of the many youths, you were singled out to die?"

The Usurper's voice kept slowly rising like his anger but John wasn't listening anymore. He was trying to figure out how to break out.

  The villain had finally started his monologue. This was his chance!

"They gave you an impossible task and provided you with nothing but hate and delusions of grandeur and you took it gingerly and ran to my doorstep asking to be killed."

"Why must you all be so hopelessly stupid?! Can you not see the truth?!" The scream jolted John back to his senses and he realized how close the Usurper was to him.

Chance!

He twisted his way out of the guards hands like a viper, his actions quick and lithe. In one fluid movement, he had disarmed the a guard and sent him flying with a kick- this was what it meant to be Chosen!

Before the Usurper could react, he had stabbed out and his sword was buried in his chest.

John grinned. He had done it. He had fulfilled his mission. He was truly the Chosen One that would bring an end to the Usurper King.

...

"You teenagers are all truly impulsive..."

The words shocked him beyond despair and into panic. This was the Usurper's voice and it didn't sound in the least bit strained.

"Did you even listen to the words I spoke or were your ears stuffed with your hatred?" the Usurper asked rhetorically.

John looked at the man he stabbed pull the sword out of his chest like it was nothing and his mind shook.

What was this???

The Usurper sighed.

"Even fate chooses its favorites and you are not one of them. This is the sad truth. You are talented, yes, but you needed time to grow into that talent. Sadly though, you were dealt a bad hand and played it instead of folding."

John struggled to speak but couldn't find any words. He just couldn't understand. The Usurper could not be killed?

"I cannot die. My brother, knowing that still sent you here to torment me for this is all he can do to retaliate. I have taken his kingdom and he has vowed to take my conscience. You were but a pawn."

"In consolation, you were Chosen- sadly you were chosen to die. It was an unfair and unnecessary choice."

John didn't know what was happening but he couldn't accept it. There must be a way to kill the Usurper and stop him from spewing this nonsense.

He sent out a kick hoping to use it to create some distance between him and the Usurper King but the reverse happened. His kick was blocked and his leg was used to pull him closer as the same sword he stole from the guard was plunged into his heart.

He felt the cold steel in him. Being this close to the Usurper King, he saw the tears in his eyes as well.

He could also feel his breathing slowing down and his thoughts slowly becoming muddled.

How did it end up like this?

He was Chosen...

"I will remember you, John Salvo, Chosen One. This much I can promise you, sadly."

This was the last thing he heard.

So, It was supposed to be SMALL but instead of Yoda, I made Chewbacca

The Rise of Skywalker completely removes any and all character development from Rey that Rian gave her in The Last Jedi. In an attempt to give it back, I accidentally rewrote the entire movie, and have since screwed myself over in a larger fanfiction I’ve been writing for years now. So here’s this one, and I’m going to go cry in a corner now because I don’t know what else to do.

General Hux is still the Mole in the First Order. He doesn’t have an allegiance to anything except power, and with Kylo Ren in the way, he is being blocked from his real goal; Supreme Leader of the First Order. He had been willing to bow to Snoke, because Snoke had real power, and wasn’t a whiny brat like Kylo had been. But that is what happens when you give a young boy delusions of grandeur.

Hux started slipping the Resistance several pieces of good intel, giving them troop movements, small plans and even warnings of technology in the works until they trusted his information blindly. Once, he had almost been caught, but he had convinced Pryde that he wasn’t a traitor. Pryde almost killed him, but realised that working with Hux, the two of them could spell the end of the Resistance, and leave the First Order victorious. 

Hux warns the Resistance that a battalion of Stormtroopers are going to attack a planet back in the Alderaanian system. He warns that it’s going to be a ground invasion because the planet has shields, and that the attack was going to be in a few weeks time. The resistance rushes to get there first to set up base. 

In their rush, many fail to notice that the planet is deserted. It was as abandoned as Crait had been. No sentient life forms, only sparse wildlife, but the Resistance believed in their intel, and as General Leia was from Alderaan, they wanted to protect the system from First Order interference. The first order couldn’t be allowed to use this planet as a stepping stone into taking over, or even destroying another Alderaanian planet. 

With this being so close to after Crait, Rey still doesn’t have a saber, so she takes a blaster and with Finn, makes herself useful as Leia’s guard. Leia, being personally involved in the outcome of this battle, is leading the protection, and isn’t hidden away giving orders. She is on the front lines. 

Halfway through the battle, Rey and Finn are spread out, keeping an eye on the Stormtroopers. A gut feeling (the force, moron) creeps up through Finn’s system as he studies the troopers and their movements. They were still too green to be running a full scale invasion like this. Something was horribly wrong. He turned to call out to Rey or Leia, when the unthinkable happened. 

An ATAT fires down on the spot Rey is guarding Leia. Leia Force-Shoves Rey out of the way of the blast, taking the full force of it, much like Luke did back on Crait only a few weeks ago. 

Ben chooses the worst possible time to Force-Call Rey. She feels the connection just as Leia shoves her away from the blast. Rey and Ben watch together as Leia takes a full hit from an ATAT. Ben falls to his knees as he watches his mother fall. Rey rushes to her side, trying to catch her before she falls to the ground. 

“You have to lead the resistance now, Rey. You are our New Hope. You must be the spark that keeps the fight going. Be strong my Children,” Leia looks over Rey’s shoulder and sees Ben kneeling there and reaches a hand out, almost as if welcoming him home.

Despite the raging noise of the battle, Rey and Ben only heard silence as Leia went still. 

In Ben’s chambers, his things flew around the room as he shoved out with the Force without thinking. His face became a mask of pain and fury, even though he had no real thing to be angry at. 

In the middle of the battle, Rey and Leia were surrounded by floating, flying rocks and pieces of shrapnel as Rey let out a violent, pain filled scream of rage and loss. Her emotions pulled the Force around them and caused them to float upward, above the battle as things flew around them, hitting First Order and Resistance alike.

“Mom? Mom?! Mom!” Ben Solo shouts out, screaming his pain for anyone to hear, Resistance and First Order alike. Those that could feel the Force felt a premonition of pain for whoever caused Leia’s death. The resistance knew the pain of losing a mother, child, son, father or partner. Many had lost family to the First Order and that was why they fought. 

“Rey! Rey, this isn’t the way! This isn’t what Leia would have wanted!” Finn shouted, strangely untouched by the carnage of Rey’s fury. “Rey!”

Rey looked down at Finn, her face cold and stoic despite the tears rolling down her cheeks. Her eyes had a strange, almost frightening yellow tint to them, promising pain and vengeance against the First Order. “Rose, get Poe and get everyone out of here. Have Chewie wait for us.”

“Rey, please! This isn’t what we do. We have to pull back, get out of here before we lose anymore people. You’re our leader now, please! Come back to us.”

Gently, slowly, Rey floated back down, crying into Leia’s shoulder as she mourned. As she sat back on the ground, she looked over at Ben and saw his face much the same as hers. “I’ll come for you soon. Meet me on Crait. You deserve to be at her celebration.”

Finn and Chewie practically carried Rey and Leia back to the Falcon, where Rey eventually passed out, still clutching Leia’s hand.

“Prepare my ship!” Kylo Ren snarled at the the two closest Stormtroopers just outside his chambers. His sadness had masked itself as Fury, sending troops and others scattering away from his rage. It suited him just fine. He returned to his room and forced himself to breathe. If he went to the Resistance like this, they would kill him on the spot, and he wouldn’t be able to chase down the traitor that had orchestrated the attack. Something was wrong, he could feel it within the Force. 

Rey stood as still as a statue as a Tie Fighter landed meters from her on Crait. Her hair was down, limp and lifeless, even as it blew in the wind from Ren’s ship.

Ben disembarked his ship and studied Rey. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in the three days it had been since the battle. Her hands were bruised, and badly wrapped to stop the bleeding. 

Rey studied Ren as he stepped out of the Tie Fighter. Instead of his usual black garb, he’s wearing deep blues and a silver-grey. Traditional Alderaanian Mourning colors. His long hair holds intricate, complicated braids that Rey couldn’t comprehend. Another Alderaan tradition that Leia had taught her son.

“Rey...” Ben hesitates, wondering if she would even accept his sorrow. Unbidden, tears roll down the scavengers cheeks, and Ben moves to gently wipe them away. “Come, let’s go.”

Instead of Rey leading the way, Ben ushers her into the Falcon, where he sees Chewbacca for the first time since he killed Han Solo. Pain lances through the boy as he stares at the Wookie. Chewbacca lets out a soft, sorrowful sound, causing Ben to slump in relief. While Chewie would never forgive Ben for what he did, he wouldn’t retaliate. Not now that Leia was gone too. “Let’s get you cleaned up, Rey. Chewie? Take us home.”

Ben ushers Rey into the captain’s chambers on the Falcon, and practically drops her into the refresher. BB-8, in turn pushes the boy back out and rolls in to force Rey into motion. Ben takes over again once the girl is thoroughly cleaned and at least decently covered. 

When the Falcon lands, those who were closest to Leia greeted them. The still silent and sullen Rey, and the subdued Ben were not what people were expecting. Seeing them both in the Alderaan Mourning colors and braids sent home why they were all gathered there that day. 

Maz led the service, having spent a few hundred years on Alderaan. As was traditional, the children of the deceased lit the pyre. Ben carefully lead Rey up and accepted the two torches Maz and Chewie were holding out. Standing at her head and feet, Rey and Ben gently lit the fire, letting the tears roll unimpeded. 

After the pyre was lit, it became a celebration of Leia’s life. Stories were told about Leia from the first war. Chewie told of the Ewoks, and how they adopted Leia, before trying to serve Han and Luke up for dinner in honor of C3PO. Poe told of how Leia had accepted him into the resistance, even with his criminal past.

Ben hesitantly told the story about how his mother had taught him all about Alderaan, hoping the people would live on through him. He described the different braids they would wear, and sadly told them about why he never had braided his hair until now. 

Rey spoke about how after Han died, Leia embraced her like a daughter, and how it was at that moment, Rey knew the Resistance was her family. The first one she had ever known. As she spoke, she reached out and took Ben’s hand. He held it gently, as if afraid she would take it back. 

“Where did the intel come from?” Rey asked quietly after the celebration had died down. There were only a few left, mostly those closest to Leia in the resistance. “I know we had a mole in the First Order, did they give us the information?” 

“It couldn’t have been. That was an abandoned Alderaan Moon. The first order had been using it to train troop movements for years,” Ben said, frowning. For many, it was the first emotion he had shown them. 

“Who would have known about the training then?” Finn demanded. He had a bad feeling in his gut, the same one he’d had at the battle.

“I knew, General Hux, and General Pryde,” Ben said, thinking hard about what it had to mean. “Hux was the only one, except for me that knew about all the incursions the resistance appeared at. It had to be him.”

“Hux would never give up the First Order,” Maz said, staring beyond the fire they were sitting around, looking beyond the base and past the trees. She saw something that they were missing. “But he would betray you.”

“Hux only wanted power. He wasn’t always a general. When I was younger, I remember him being there, supervising the training of the younglings. He took the one with the most promise under his personal tutelage. Phasma.”

“The one you killed?” Rose asked, looking across the fire at Finn. His eyes looked haunted.

“She became his right hand,” Ben said, rage growing in his eyes. He stood up and started pacing, coming to conclusions faster than he wanted to. None were good. “Alderaan was mom’s home. Even though the Empire destroyed it, Mom wouldn’t have let anything else happen to it’s system. A raid on the Alderaanian System would immediately mean Resistance fighters, led by her. It was a trap?”

Rey had stood with him and tried to follow his thoughts, tried to understand his conclusions. But he was thinking, moving and talking too fast for many of them to follow. Finn though, Finn was nodding along. 

Faster than people could react, Ben spun and grabbed Rey’s blaster from her thigh before violently throwing his saber high and far, over the Klossian Forest. Three consecutive blasts caused the saber to explode violently.

“Consider that my resignation from the First Order,” Ben snarled. He threw down the blaster and stormed off, the force radiating off of him in waves of agony.

Finn was the first one to approach the sullen Ben Solo. His braids had fallen into disarray and the area around him had been destroyed. “So what’s the plan, Solo?”

Ben turned on instinct, his hand outstretched as if to throw or attack Finn, but nothing comes of it. Finn stays, standing stoically, as if he shouted at the ex-Supreme Leader every day. “You and I know the First Order best. How do we take them down?”

Behind Finn, Poe, Rose, Maz, Chewie and Rey stood, looking ready to take on the first order with their bare hands.

First we recover. The Resistance had taken a hit with their supporters when it was discovered Leia was dead. They needed that support back. Poe, Finn, Rose and Chewie took the Falcon out to the different systems and found those that would support them. Engineers, dreamers, thieves, believers. Those who knew Han, Luke, or Leia personally. The resistance rebuilt their ships. X-Wings, A-Wings, B-Wings. Bombers, command ships. What they couldn’t build, Ben called in favors and got for them. A few First Order members were only loyal to Kylo Ren, and they followed him to the resistance. 

Then we remind the First Order that we aren’t gone. General Hux was now the Supreme Leader. With Ben Solo gone for weeks, he had been declared dead - they wouldn’t risk labelling him a traitor, just so they were spared if he returned. “General Leia Organa is dead!” Hux shouted down at his troops. “The Supreme Leader is Dead!” The troops shouted back, cheering the hit to the resistance, and the new Supreme Leader. Before Hux could continue, the world around them exploded.

X-Wing fighters, bombers, and the Millenium Falcon pulled out of lightspeed on top of the First Order base, dropped all of their explosives, fired as much as they could, and then vanished again, before the Tie Fighters could even be released. The First Order lost an entire battalion of troopers, and the Resistance hadn’t even gotten a scratch. 

We remind the Galaxy that we are still fighting for them. Whispers spread through the galaxy, faster than they had at the end of the first war. Spread by careful resistance fighters, reckless spice runners, and hopeful senators in Republic City. “Rey and Ben Solo have picked up Leia’s torch. The Resistance lives on in them.”

Ben and Chewie disappear for days at a time, not telling anyone what they’re looking for, nor asking questions. Each time they return, Rey sees less and less of Kylo Ren, and more and more of Ben Solo. The same Ben Solo she saw that night in the hut on Ach-To.

“Finn!” Ben Solo had become the quiet planner of the resistance. He rarely spoke, letting Chewie, Poe, Finn and Rey take the lead. Hearing him shout out across the complex saw heads turning, surprise and confusion running across every expression. Seeing him almost beaming, his hair braided back, screaming hope for everyone to see saw the hope in them swell. Everyone with a connection to the Force could feel it. Finn was nearly drowning in it.

Ben and Chewie had laid out dozens and dozens of crystals in a small building off to the side of a disused landing strip. Different shapes, sizes, and even colors sparkled in the low lighting. “What is this?”

“For millennia, Jedi and Sith alike have created their own sabers. Choosing their crystals and designing their hilts, allowing the force to flow through them and into the blade, making each saber as unique as the person wielding it.”

“I’m not a Jedi,” Finn protested, shaking his head.

“Neither was my mother,” Ben said, pulling out a saber. It had the name Leia scraped into a piece of scrap metal, just under the braided leather hilt. It was Alderaanian Leather, and the braid was a symbol for protection. “You only have to have a connection to the force for it to flow through you. I’ve seen the Force react to you. You can do this. Just close your eyes and meditate. Breathe, let her flow through you.”

Finn had chosen a Permafrost Crystal from the Planet of Hoth, where the rebellion had stayed during the first war. His blade came out an icy blue and left the Force Sensitive feeling cold all the way to their bones. The Jedi’s Sacred Texts called him a Jedi Guardian, saying those with blue blades used the Force on a Physical Level.

His hilt had metal that came from StarKiller Base and a piece from Jakku. “The start of my new journey,” Finn said. He wrapped the hilt in leather, similar to Leia’s, and also scratched something into the metal. 2187. “Sometimes, the past is worth holding on to, it is a lesson for the future.” 

Ben was drawn to a bronze colored crystal that later, Maz identified as one called “Heart of the Guardian” his blade was a bold yellow, that of the Jedi Sentinels, and had a darker bronze radiance. Maz said that a prophesy of the ancient Jedi Order claimed that this crystal would appear at the time of greatest turmoil and help in bringing the galaxy to salvation. However, the Sith also believed it would be the crystal to give them dominion over known space. “Conflict, and Peace.”

He created the hilt from a piece of the Falcon, and melted down jewelry from his mother’s collection. It created a two tone hilt, of silver and gold, again, showing two sides to Ben. Him, and Kylo Ren. He accepted that he could never truly be just one or the other, both were there.

Rey’s meditation took her in a different direction. She collected the crystal pieces from Ben’s destroyed light saber, and the crystal from Luke’s. She meditated on them, removing the previous emotions from them and connecting them to her. Ben’s old crystal split perfectly in two, as did Luke’s, giving Rey the inspiration for her two sabers. 

Ben’s crystal created a stable blade of yellow - the same shade as Ben’s, calling her a sentinel as well. Luke’s crystal gave the blades a silver aura, showing Rey’s purity of heart and spirit. She had a pure connection to the force, untainted by light or dark. She understood, deep down, that the force wasn’t good or evil, it just was.

The hilt was made from her staff, and the leather binding of one of the Jedi Texts. It was a pitch black hilt that seemed to absorb light, encased in a pure white leather wrapping that seemed to defy stains. Etched underneath the leather, where no one would see it, was simply ‘no one’ in Ben’s careful calligraphy. Only he and Finn knew of the inscription. And only her and Ben knew of it’s meaning. Her parents had been no one special, they weren’t royalty, they weren’t rich, they might not have even been drunks, they were just no one, but that was okay. She didn’t need a family name - the Resistance was her family. The force had told her that one day, she would have a family name. She would one day take Ben’s, in Republic City, after there was peace.

The three had taken a week to meditate and create their sabers. While they stayed sequestered away, General Poe Dameron led the resistance in small, guerilla style raids against the First Order, gathering intelligence, weapons, and striking them down as best as they could. Commander Rose Tico led groups to tear up cities that profited off of slavery, abuse, and war. The Resistance would bring peace and prosperity to the Galaxy, they would make sure of it.

Chewie reconnected with Lando Casterillain and took the Falcon out to rally more support throughout the outer and mid rims. People flocked to their cause and their banner, slowly starting to rise up against the First Order and their Tyranny. Maz reached out to her friends and allies, bringing in refugees and families that had been torn apart by war. She would shelter anyone who wanted to stay out of the fight. 

Supreme Leader Hux and General Pryde searched after Sith Myths, needing any advantage to destroy the rumored three Jedi Knights that were coming after the Sith-less First Order. They had the Knights of Ren, and while they were force-sensitive, they weren’t enough to take on three Jedi Masters and a fully armed resistance. 

Pryde inspects the Death Star wreckage and finds a Sith Wayfinder, leading them to Exegol. The leaders of the First Order wonder if that could be the shift they need to finally destroy the Resistance. 

Ben and Rey teach Finn all they know about the Force and being a Jedi or a Sith. The two were very similar, despite being in opposite directions. Ben taught Rey some of his tricks, and Rey teaches them about what she’d learned from the Force. How to pass on Life-Force to save someone or something from an injury. How to heal, and how to throw crystalized force energy around. When she first summoned lightning, Ben wondered if she’d had any relation to Emperor Palpatine, but quickly discarded the thought.

They feel it while running the training course. Flashes of the planet sear themselves into the minds of the three. Sith monuments, terrifyingly similar to the ring Snoke once wore, and had promised to Kylo Ren after he’d completed his training. “I know where we have to go.”

Rey and Poe went to Mustafar in the Falcon (bickering the entire way about lightspeed skipping) and found the second Wayfinder. After they returned, the Resistance rallied all they could, and set after the Resistance Leaders, determined to end the war.

Rose and R2D2 flew after Poe and BB-8 and pulled fire off of the three Jedi as they stormed the Command Ship on foot. Rey and Ben had laughed after they saw R2D2 practically adopt Rose Tico after the battle at Crait. Once the majority of the resistance arrived, the focus became keeping the Final Order Fleet grounded, where they couldn’t put shields up. The Navigation System was on the Command Ship so it became Finn’s job, while Ben and Rey fought off the Knights of Ren. 

The fight was reminiscent of the fight against the praetor guards in Snoke’s throne room, Rey and Ben fighting back to back, but this one was different. Instead of good and evil fighting against one enemy, instead of black and white against red, the three Jedi wore the same blues and silvers Ben and Rey wore at Leia’s funeral. They wore the Mourning colors of Alderaan and the braids saved for the Celebration of Life. 

Supreme Leader Hux, General Pryde, and several other high ranking members of the First Order were captured and taken to Republic City to sit before the United Galactic Senate for trial. Their crimes were genocide, terrorism, and they were sentanced to life on a mining colony moon. They would die there, along with many of their beliefs. 

On Republic City, Ben lead Rey to where the Jedi Council had met, what seemed like lifetimes ago. Finn was the first to notice that they were not alone. 

Master Yoda, Mace Windu, Ashoka Tano, Anakin Skywalker, Luke and Leia, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and even Qui-Gon were standing there, watching the three new Jedi. Even more were standing behind them, watching to see what would happen. Rey reacted first, easily flying into a rage at seeing Luke Skywalker again.

“We will do this our way, not yours. We will recreate the Jedi Order, specifically remembering those like Ben and Anakin, those who may have doubts or temptations to stray from the path of peace we want to create,” Rey snarled, her grip on her saber only being impeded by Ben’s careful grip on her arm. “There is no Dark side or light side of the Force. There is just She, the Force, the giver and bringer of life and death. We do not call death our enemy, so why should we consider the Force thus? The Sith are not our only enemy in the Galaxy, so why do we believe this? As Jedi, it is our job to protect the people, all people, from those who would do harm. Even if that means looking to the Dark Side for answers.”

Rey’s hands sparked with electricity, the Pure Force Energy she had used to destroy Exegol after the resistance left. Anakin looked at her sharply, concerned that she was being led down a path he had once followed. Ben gently took her sparking hand and held it within his own, calming some of her rage. 

“People draw strength from those they love. We will not forbid emotions, rather encourage people to work with and through them,” Ben took over, drawing Rey closer to his side. It would do her no good to attack the Force Ghosts. “My grandfather began to turn when he was told to ignore the warnings of danger to his mother, and then he had to watch her die because he was too late. Again, the Jedi Order instructed him to ignore the warnings of the Force, foretelling a death of a loved one, and he turned to the only person willing to listen, willing to help and provide hope.”

“Emperor Palpatine,” Finn said, stepping forward. “I was a StormTrooper, taken from a family that most likely loved me, in order to be brainwashed and commanded to kill without discrimination. The new Jedi Order will be a family, one that cares for and helps those that need it. Especially loved ones. We will do our duties, and we will protect those that need it, and then we will come home to our loved ones and our families.”

“We are not our enemy. We answer rage with wisdom. We answer fear with creativity. We answer war with hope,” Rey said, looking at Leia. It was a part of her speech once, when she was working to recover any lost part of Alderaan. Leia looked between her and Ben, smiling. “And we are, each of us, important. And whatever happens, I bow to all of you, and to our future,” Leia finished, bowing to the three Jedi. Obi-Wan was second to move, followed by his master, Qui-Gon. Anakin bowed, letting his hair fall into his face, hiding the proud smile he held. Luke was the last to move, still unsure about allowing Ben to be considered a Jedi Knight. Ben saw his hesitation.

“We are a Dyad in the Force, Master Luke. The two that are one to be whole within the force. We keep each other balanced, and with that, we keep the balance of the force.” Luke finally bowed, before the ghosts of the past vanished, leaving only room for the future.

“So what now?” Finn asked, clipping his saber on his belt. They looked around the chamber and glanced at each other, wondering what to do now.

“Send out the word. The Jedi Knights have returned. Any wishing to study the ways of the force are welcome. Any willing to help keep the peace are encouraged. And those who wish to destroy the peace generations of my family have fought for, will be removed,” Ben said, staring out the window. 

“We will recover. We will remind the Galaxy who we are, and what we stand for, and then we will show them,” Rey said, taking Ben’s hand. “We will explore the unknown regions, and make alliances with everyone we can. We will settle disputes and quell the rages of war. With the New Galactic Senate, we will create an era of peace.”

Finn put his hand on Ben’s shoulder, standing just behind him, clearly marking him as the Leader of the New Jedi Council. “We can send out those who know, and we will take in those that are Force-Sensitive, and bring them here to study and train. Even if they aren’t, if they wish, they can come and learn the ways.”

“The Jedi Order started as a religion. Religions are formed around Gods to be worshipped. No longer will we be above and beyond the people. We are one with them. The Jedi Order is a group of peoples that wish for peace among all,” Ben said, nodding to the sunrise as it crested above the Jedi Temple.

A budget was granted to the New Jedi Order, and people flocked to the halls of the Jedi Temple. Young and Old, those willing to learn or work hard were welcomed into the Order. The archives were recreated and updated. They were ever expanding as the Jedi Explorers flew past the Outer Rim and into the Unknown Regions, bringing hope, and alliances, and returning with new information and technologies. The New Galactic Senate folded into four new sections, headed by a house of representatives. The inner rim, the mid rim, the outer rim, and the new, unknown regions each received their own senate, and together the four, worked with the house to create laws and agreements that all the systems had to abide by. The Galaxy fell into an era of peace and prosperity the likes of which hadn’t been seen in generations. 

The leadership of the resistance came together once more, several years after the end of the war. Rose, Maz, and Rey sat together in a small room off to the side of the main hall in the Jedi Temple. Rose was gently braiding Rey’s hair in a style Ben had taught her months ago. Maz was draping careful swaths of fabric around the still Jedi Sentinel. Deep, warm purples, sharp, emerald greens and crisp silvers. Alderaanian Wedding Colors. Specifically the wedding colors of the Royal House of Organa. 

Finn, Poe, and Chewie stood around a calm Ben Solo. His hair had been braided hours ago, restless energy burning itself off in the creation of a celebration. Chewie let out a small roar, calming the Jedi Knight’s twitching fingers. “I know that, Fuzzball, doesn’t stop be from being nervous.” Poe laughed. The one person he had once feared and hated was now trembling nervously as he waited on his wedding ceremony. 

Rose Tico stood off to the side at the head of the Hall, watching as Rey practically glided down the walkway. Ben stood transfixed in his garb of cool silver and purple and green accents. Behind him stood Finn and Poe, each wearing similar tunics of burgundy and white. Her clothes matched them, only differing in style. Rey wore a crown, wrought silver dancing with Kyber Crystals. Ben wore a similar headpiece, only styled to be more masculine. Despite the Senate, and the New House of Representatives, many considered Rey and Ben to be the true leaders of the Galaxy, leading them forward with the New Jedi Order. A small child and once called them the Prince and Princess of peace, and it had somehow crossed the galaxy and stuck. Unlike the Chancellor of the Senate, they held no real power over the law making, so it was a superficial title, but they were well respected and listened to. Their titles let their voices be heard and respected throughout the regions. People came to them looking for guidance and hope, regardless of their status, race, creed, or hierarchy in their system. Rose smiled as she looked into the audience.

Leia had come to the wedding, wearing a similar outfit to the one she had worn all those years ago when she presented the awards to Luke and Han for rescuing her, and destroying the Death Star during the first war. Chewie was walking Rey to the altar, since Rey had no family to present her. Senators and representatives had come, and filled in the back seven rows, trying merely to be seen supporting the couple. Resistance fighters had come out of the woodwork to be there to support their Generals. If they had them, they wore their badges with pride and honor. The chancellor of the Senate, a distant cousin of Bail Organa presided over the ceremony. Small children, either from the Temple, or from the schools, danced around in the halls outside the room, giving an additional sense of laughter and joy to the occasion. Several ex-stormtroopers had come, finally free to find their own place in the galaxy. They wanted to personally give their thanks for ending the First Order’s reign. 

The New Jedi Order had seen a growth like never before. Universities, schools, libraries and temples appeared in every system, welcoming in the peace, and encouraging learning to better oneself, many Alderaanians that still survived came out in support, and ended up creating a new legacy as professors, tutors, and encouragers.

Ben and Rey Solo left Republic City one day. They took the Millennium Falcon and merely vanished in the night. They left no tracking information, nor any destination in mind. They took their sabers, blasters, and BB-8, and they disappeared. 

Several years later, a ship carrying several Jedi Knights and their young Padawans, landed on Naboo for refuelling and a break from being in the Unknown Regions. The Queen of Naboo, a young woman with brilliant blue eyes welcomed them to her home, and showed them where they would stay for the next several days. 

One of the young Padawans, a girl by the name of Paige was exploring the archives, entranced by all of the books there, noticed an older woman with thick, braided hair holding a young child and reading him a story. It was a story about Obi-Wan Kenobi and his padawan Anakin Skywalker. Paige stopped and listened, almost hypnotised by the woman’s voice. “Are you back here telling fairytales again, my love?” a man asked, slipping out of the shadows to press a kiss to the woman’s forehead. She looked up at him and smiled with so much love it reminded Paige of her parents.

“Well, young padawan, are you going to lurk there in the shadows, or will you come say hello?” Rey called out, sensing the girl. Paige swallowed nervously at being caught, and approached the two. She could feel the force within them, it was so strong. “And just who might you be?”

“Paige Tico, Padawan to Master Amilyn Dameron. She’s the youngest of the new Master Jedi,” Paige was so proud to be the Padawan of her older cousin. She was the youngest graduate to Jedi Master. The whole family was so proud of her.

“Yes, I remember young Amilyn, Poe’s oldest, wasn’t she? A right terror when we first took her to the Temple to be tested for the academy. She was one of the first to graduate. Leia was very proud of her.”

“You know Master Leia?” Paige gaped at the couple in front of her. Master Leia had only taught at the academy for five years before she left. Paige hadn’t gotten the opportunity to be taught by the Legendary General Organa.

“Mom was always one to inspire awe in the younglings, wasn’t she?” Paige suddenly realised who was in front of her. These two were Emperor and Empress Rey and Ben Solo, the Protectors of Peace and the Jedi way. As the realisation flooded her, the young girl fainted dead away, only missing the floor by Ben catching her. He shook his head and smiled ruefully at his wife. “Let’s return this one to her Master, shall we?” “Then perhaps a walk through the gardens? The setting sun will be beautiful.”

Ben and Rey Solo walked arm in arm through the beautiful Naboo gardens, much like Anakin and Padme had before the start of the war. They had found their own peace there, away from the adoration of the galaxy. The grandson of Naboo’s most beloved queen was always welcome on the planet. They had allowed him and Rey to take refuge there and grow their family in peace and privacy. While they were looked up to, they were not revered they way they had been on Republic City.

Finn, his wife Rose, Poe and Chewie quickly followed Paige’s holocall to Naboo to see what the fuss was. They were met by Jedi Master Amilyn Dameron acting like a young padawan, excited at getting her first saber, and Padawan Paige Tico trembling like a leaf in excitement. R2D2 merely beeped and rolled away down the halls. Chewie lead the charge to follow the droid. R2D2 lead them to the gardens where a couple was sitting, playing with their child.

“So this was where you ran off to,” Finn said dryly, shaking his head at the two of his best friends. He seemed unsurprised. “Are you going to introduce me to my nephew?”

“Finn, Rose, Poe, Chewie, this is our son, Han Skywalker.”

“May the Force Be With you, Young Skywalker,” Poe said, kneeling down before the young boy. 

Han Skywalker would continue to lead the people through the era of peace his parents had created. Wouldn’t he?

The Quill Seal Of Approval Awards - The Best Of 2019

Hey guys! I’m still alive!

Sorry for my two month absence. Things have been pretty difficult at home lately. I’ve been having a really hard time at university lately, my mental health has suffered as a result, and oh yeah, there’s a worldwide pandemic going on and we’re all probably going to die!

So thanks to this Coronavirus, my uni has been shut down, which means I now suddenly have a lot more free time. So I thought I’d take this opportunity to catch up on things I’ve missed. Yes it’s once again time to hand out the most coveted and prestigious of awards that every writer, producer and director so desperately craves (or at least they would if they actually knew this existed). The Quill Seal Of Approval Awards. Where I list the very best the creative industry had to offer over the course of 2019. (yes I know it’s now March 2020, but if Jon Campea can release a best of 2019 list in February, then I should be able to get away with it). For there is no greater honour on this planet than to have your work of creative artistry praised and acknowledged on an obscure blog by an anonymous snob. That’s the dream, isn’t it?

First a couple of parish notices. Obviously due to various other commitments, I haven’t had the chance to experience everything 2019 had to offer, so this list will be limited to the media and literature I personally got to experience. So sorry that HBO’s Watchmen TV series won’t be on this list. I know everyone loves it, but I’ve only seen one episode so far (and will be posting a review on that soon) as I’ve only just gotten around to watching it. Also bear in mind this is my subjective opinion. If you disagree with my choices, that’s fine. Go write your own list. I won’t be upset. You have every right to like what you like.

...

But if you disagree with me, then you’re a philistine and a poopyhead. That’s not my opinion. That’s a scientific fact that’s been proven in a lab by grown-ups. Sorry. The truth hurts, I know.

Shazam!

Do you remember the days when superhero films used to be fun? When they weren’t some heavily militarised, dark and angsty loners with all the charm and charisma of a pub toilet at closing time? If you do, then you’re going to love Shazam. A funny and moving film about a kid that can transform himself into a Godlike chosen one figure through space magic.

Joking aside, Shazam is an exceptionally good movie with a strong cast, great writing and a very personal and intimate story about self worth and finding your place in the world. For those who have grown sick of these soulless, big budget, CGI heavy superhero flicks with world ending conflicts that end up meaning nothing in the grand scheme of things, Shazam serves as the perfect antidote.

John Wick: Chapter 3 - Parabellum

I’m very much late to the party when it comes to John Wick. I’ve never exactly had the highest opinion of Keanu Reeves as a credible action star and I’ve always found the Matrix movies to be overrated trash with delusions of grandeur, but after constant nagging from my friend @dicapitoe​ I eventually gave in and watched the first one. I loved it so much, I watched the second one immediately afterwards, and then the following day I went to see Chapter 3 in the cinema. Now I think it’s safe to assume I’m a fan.

I actually don’t want to say too much because I want to do in-depth reviews of these films at some point, but needless to say, John Wick: Chapter 3 earns its place on this list. Hell, the whole franchise deserves a Quill Seal Of Approval Award. John Wick is a masterclass in visual storytelling and worldbuilding, and Chapter 3 continues this exciting and dramatic narrative with great confidence and skill. Oh and Keanu Reeves, I take back every snide comment I’ve ever said. You sir, are a national treasure. Can’t wait for more :D

Joker

No! No! Stop! You, yes, you, the one who’s about to comment saying how wrong I am and that Joker is a derivative, dangerous movie. May I remind you once again that this is my list. It’s fine if you don’t agree. In fact I can understand completely why some people really don’t like this film. That being said, I very much enjoyed it and I feel it represents a unique achievement for the comic book movie genre. As superhero movies from The Dark Knight to Captain America: The Winter Soldier to Black Panther have been slowly and steadily proving that these films can not only be socially relevant, but can also be considered high art, Joker represents the genre’s apotheosis. It’s a smart and sharply written film that doesn’t shy away from exploring its themes of mental health, social neglect and narcissism, and it demonstrates the reason why characters like Batman and the Joker have been a staple of popular culture for so long. Even after all this time, we’re still finding new ways of reinterpreting them and exploring them. Combined with Hildur Guonadottir’s amazing score and a career defining performance from Joaquin Phoenix, Joker is truly a force to be reckoned with, much like the title character himself.

Elementary - Season 7

CBS’ brilliant adaptation of Sherlock Holmes sadly came to an end in 2019, but not before one last excellent season.

Elementary has always stood head and shoulders above its BBC counterpart in terms of quality, but personally I always felt that the show never managed to live up to the heights of its very first season with Moriarty. While Moriarty ultimately doesn’t return sadly, we get a great substitute in the form of Odin Reichenbach, a tech mogul who uses social media for his own ends in his misguided pursuit of justice. He serves as a great source of moral conflict for Sherlock and Joan, who have been known to use morally questionable tactics themselves, and is a compelling antagonist. Under showrunner Rob Doherty’s expert direction, Elementary ends on a high as we see the stories of Holmes, Watson, Gregson and Bell conclude in an emotional and satisfying finale. It’s sad to see a great show like this end, but it felt like the right time to stop and I’m glad the Elementary team kept their high standards throughout and were allowed to finish the show properly on their own terms. You will be greatly missed.

The Outer Worlds

Have you heard the news? Single player video games are dead! Nobody wants RPGs anymore apparently! It’s all about ‘live services’ and multiplayer looter shooters. Nobody wants a story driven, single player RPG these days.

Wait! What’s this? A story driven, single player RPG?! And people actually like it?!?! OMG!

Yes, from the people that brought you Fallout: New Vegas comes a new IP that makes a mockery of the AAA industry and their greedy trend chasing. Introducing The Outer Worlds. Set in the Halcyon Colony in the far future where rampant capitalism has taken over and disrupted society, you play as a colonist that’s been recently released from cryogenic suspension and has been tasked with saving the colony from the Board who are hellbent on taking away humanity’s civil liberties and destroying lives all for the sake of profit. The lore and setting is beautifully realised and the writing contains the same wit and satirical charm as Fallout. It also boasts a wonderfully diverse cast of characters, including a very unorthodox vicar and an openly asexual companion. Add to that some super smooth first person shooter combat and a great amount of freedom in customisation and roleplaying, The Outer Worlds proves definitively that single player isn’t dead. Take note Bethesda.

And there we have it. 2019 is finally over and done with. Now we can finally look forward to 2020. Assuming we’re all still alive by the end of the year :S

Anastasia in Translation

Or: an in-depth analysis of English-Dutch translation shifts in Gleb’s lyrical lines in the stage musical Anastasia Okay, so this is a post literally no one needs except me, but I’m making it anyway. After seeing the Dutch staging of Anastasia I’ve been intrigued with some of the choices made in the translation of the lyrics, particularly when it comes to Gleb and the main conflict he deals with in this musical. René van Kooten certainly plays him differently from OBC incarnation I have seen. For example, the scene in which Anya and Gleb first met is played with considerably less silliness, even though Gleb’s ‘I’m here every day’ retains its desperation. Gleb seems (even) more serious in some ways, and I was wondering how much of that has been given in by translation, so here y’all are – an in-depth analysis of English-Dutch translation shifts in Gleb’s lyrical lines in the stage musical Anastasia. Before I start this, I want to say that I’m not doing this to criticise the translation made by Daniël Cohen – translating lyrics is a job I don’t envy and I think he did a wonderful job. I’m merely trying to see what was emphasised in translation and how this might have impacted the show as a whole. The reason I’m only looking at the lyrical translations is a simple point of access: I do not have access to the complete scrips for either the English-language or Dutch production, and will be using the cast recordings to compare the texts. Any songs that are not on the cast recording, such as Gleb’s short reprise of ‘Land of Yesterday’, will sadly not be included. Abbreviations used: ST = source text (OBC lyrics) TT = target text (Dutch translation) Lit. = literally Now, without further ado, I will start with the first song Gleb sings in. ‘The Neva Flows’ In this song, Gleb warns Anya of the danger of rumours and reveals his entire background story. Convenient, and very interesting in translation too. Be very careful of these rumors that prevail Be very careful what you say I was a boy who lived the truth behind the tale And no one got away I saw the children as the soldiers closed the gate The youngest daughter and her pride My father leaving on the night they met their fate His pistol by his side Wees heel voorzichtig met de dingen die je zegt Pas op voor ieder vals gerucht Ik was nog jong maar niemand is dat weet ik echt Die dag de dood ontvlucht Ik zag de kinderen, toen ging het hek op slot De jongste dochter zo kordaat Ik zag mijn vader als de beulsknecht van het lot Met zijn pistool paraat While the immediately noticeable shift is that the song doesn’t start with rumours (which do appear in the second line), perhaps the most interesting shift in the start of the song is the addition of ‘beulsknecht van het lot’ (lit. executioner of fate) in the TT when Gleb is talking of his father. Gleb is very clear on who his father was and what he has done, and a double play on ‘beulsknecht’ is introduced: he executed a family, as well as fate. Gleb clearly believes in the righteousness of his father’s actions here, as early as the first verse. The Neva flows A new wind blows And soon it will be spring The leaves unfold The tsar lies cold A revolution is a simple thing De Njeva stroomt Een volk dat droomt Van lente pril en rein De sneeuw die wijkt De tsaar bezwijkt Zo simpel kan een revolutie zijn The chorus also introduces Gleb’s feelings towards the revolution clearly. When the ‘new wind blows’, the TT speaks of the dreams of the people. The spring Gleb sings about is ‘pril en rein’ (lit. young and clean) in the TT. These small hints reveal, perhaps more than the ST, that Gleb is behind this revolution completely. I heard the shots I heard the screams But it’s the silence after I remember most The world stopped breathing And I was no longer a boy Ik hoorde schoten Ik hoorde schreeuwen Maar de stilte daarna klinkt nog steeds De wereld stokte En ik was niet langer een kind This verse is well-translated and continues the trend of strengthening the ST. Whereas OBC Gleb remembers the silence, Dutch Gleb poses that it still ‘klinkt’ (i.e. he can still physically hear it). Trauma much? My father shook his head and told me not to ask My mother said he died of shame But I believe he did a proud and vital task And in my father’s name Mijn vader weigerde te praten van die nacht Zijn schaamte dreef hem naar de dood Maar ik geloof dat hij iets nobels heeft volbracht En hou zijn naam nu groot Another small shift in this verse: Gleb doesn’t just act in his father’s name like in the ST, but ‘hou[dt] zijn naam groot’ (lit. keeps his name big), which once again emphasises Gleb’s adoration for his father. A shift which may not seem relevant at the first glance is the deletion of ‘My mother said [he died of shame]’. The TT reads ‘Zijn schaamte dreef hem naar de dood’ (lit. his shame drove him to death), which deleted the implication that Gleb only heard this from his mother and that it may not even be true. As Tumblr user december-dragon writes in this post, Stepan Vaganov was a historical executioner who was killed by peasants in 1918 for assisting in brutal acts committed by the Cheka. December-dragon proposes that this has left Gleb with two upbringings: a father who did in fact not regret his actions but insisted on the value of duty, and a mother who told him his father did in fact feel shame because she wants her son to have a moral compass. This line in the ST gives some more context to the duty vs. morality conflict in Gleb’s character, which is deleted in translation. Instead, the translation chooses to focus on Gleb’s father and in a sense makes him the sole motivation for his actions. This erases some of the nuance of the conflict between duty vs. morality found in Gleb’s character background. This verse is followed by the chorus, and while there is no difference in translation, a difference in performance is that Anya now starts to sing with him. Does she, too, believe in the revolution? Is Dutch Gleb so strong as to convince her? Could I have pulled the trigger if I had been told? Be careful what a dream may bring Revolution is a simple thing Had ik toen kunnen schieten toen men dat zei? Pas op niet elke droom is fijn Zo simpel kan een revolutie zijn The ST ends full circle: at the start Gleb warned Anya of rumours and what they may bring, and he ends on a warning for dreams (which she harbours due to those very rumours): previous dreams have led to a revolution, and if Anya dreams too much she might become a threat to the existing order, which will put her in harm’s way. In the ST, this idea is continued in the next scene: Gleb warns Anya as both friend and officer, and in ‘Still’ sings of his wish to protect her. In the TT, the translation breaks from what it has been doing so far. So far Gleb has only been supportive of the new Russia and of his father’s ideals. In the TT, however, Gleb sings that ‘niet elke droom is fijn’ (lit. not every dream is pleasant), in which he hints more clearly at the pain and suffering that the revolution has caused Russia and his family. Simultaneously, it could be read as Gleb dreaming about him being in his father’s footsteps. This display of awareness allows Gleb some more emotional depth and enforces the conflict latent in the ST. This Gleb is not (just) about protecting Anya, but shows some awareness of the horrors of revolution – despite his own certainty about their necessity. Dutch Gleb displays, perhaps, more emotional maturity in his train of thought than OBC Gleb, as will also be clear in the translation of the following song. ‘Still’ This song takes place right after Gleb knows that Anya has escaped from his clutches; he wonders about her motives and own role and feelings. In translation, some subtle shifts take place. An underhanded girl An act of desperation And to my consternation I let her go Een onbetrouwbaar wicht Ze zal haar vingers branden En ik heb tot mijn schande Haar laten gaan In the first verse, a few things immediately catch my attention. While in the ST Gleb calls Anya simply a girl, the TT contains the word ‘wicht’. In Dutch, this word can be used to denote a young girl, but has a negative meaning as well as sound: it’s commonly used to denote girls who are stubborn, stupid or annoying. The [x]-sound at the end of the song (like in Loch Ness) is common in Dutch, but does give the first sentence a harsh ending. This negative view of Anya continues in the next line. While the ST reads ‘An act of desperation’, which shows some of the understanding that Gleb might have for Anya’s situation, the Dutch text reads ‘Ze zal haar vingers branden’ (lit. she’ll burn her fingers), imagining a punishment for her behaviour. The imagery of Anya as purposefully deceiving vs. innocent poor girl is lost here. A last notable shift in this verse is Gleb’s English ‘consternation’ vs. his Dutch ‘schande’. In the ST Gleb is confused, shocked and perhaps annoyed by his own actions, while the Dutch ‘schande’ speaks clearly of shame. This hints perhaps at a deeper emotional maturity for the Dutch Gleb – he feels shame, but no confusion. She wants what she can get Is that a fair depiction Does she believe her fiction It’s hard to know De dingen die ze doet Gaan mijn verstand teboven Ze lijkt het te geloven Haar grootheidswaan The second verse knows a lot of shifts from the ST. In the ST Gleb muses on whether Anya is ‘pretending’ to be Anastasia, because if she can, why wouldn’t she? Then, he asks himself whether she actually believes it or not – he is unable to decide. In the TT Gleb speaks of ‘the things she does’ that he doesn’t understand, but says ‘ze lijkt het te geloven / haar grootheidswaan’ (lit. she seems to believe it / her delusions of grandeur). The TT poses some confusion towards Anya’s actions, but not her motives; Dutch Gleb is more certain that Anya believes that she is Anastasia. Again, some of Gleb’s confusion has gone missing. Is it innocence or guile? Or nothing but a childish act of will? She doesn’t know she needs you She willfully misleads you But still Still Is zij koppig of gedwee? Onschuldig of bedreven in bedrog? Ze ziet niet wie haar vriend is Ze liegt wat niet verdiend is Maar toch Toch The TT chorus then does strongly introduce Gleb’s conflict. Gleb considers the following options as Anya’s motivation: she is an innocent victim (innocence vs. onschuldig), she purposefully deceives him (guile / willfully misleads you vs. bedriven in bedrog / liegt wat niet verdiend is) or she actually believes she is Anastasia (childish act of will / koppig). One shift from the ST is the lack of emphasis on Gleb’s own role in all this. While Gleb’s ‘She doesn’t know she needs you’ clearly denotes his own longing to help Anya, the Dutch says ‘Ze ziet niet wie haar vriend is’ (lit. she doesn’t see who is her friend). While the implications are similar, this translation could easily mean that Anya has mistaken Dmitry and Vlad for friends – which would erase the focus on Gleb’s own feelings. A son becomes a man At his father’s knee If my father asked questions, well Where would we be? Een zoon die wordt een man Aan zijn vaders hand Zijn gehoorzaamheid Dat was geen angst maar verstand At it again with the daddy issues. The main shift in this verse is the inclusion of the line ‘Zijn gehoorzaamheid / Dat was geen angst maar verstand’ in the TT. While ‘gehoorzaamheid’ (lit. obedience) is also in the ST, the TT poses that his obedience was borne from rationality instead of fear. The idea of fear is not included in the ST and gives Dutch Gleb some well-earned emotion after all: while this Gleb is not fighting confusion, he seems to be combatting fear. She’s nothing but a child A waif who needs protection I feel a strange connection I can’t allow Zij is nog maar een kind Dat hunkert naar affectie Ik voel een soort connectie Is dat verkeerd? This verse has been translated rather literally, except for the sentence ‘a waif who needs protection’. While the ST focuses on the protection Gleb could offer Anya, the TT has Gleb say that she wants affection – and hints that he wants that too. Dutch Gleb is not a man who wants to just help and protect Anya, he is pretty certain of his feelings already: he wants to give her affection and he wants to receive hers. He wonders if he is wrong in the last line, but he doesn’t repress the feelings like OBC Gleb, who tells himself he can’t allow a connection at all. This once again gives Dutch Gleb some more emotional maturity. She said it’s all a game She trembles like a flower But in her there’s a power I see that now I’m nothing but a man With nothing but his orders to fulfill Al noemt ze het een spel En trilt ze ietwat tragisch Daarbinnen zit iets magisch Dat intrigeert Ik ben simpelweg een man Die handelt op bevel en wat dan nog? Like the previous TT verse, this verse gives Dutch Gleb more certainty about his feelings for Anya. While OBC Gleb talks of Anya’s power, Dutch Gleb speaks of the intriguing magic within her, willfully admitting that she intrigues him. Another hint at his certainty in his role is the addition of ‘en wat dan nog’ (lit. so what) to the fairly literal translation of the final lines. Whereas in the ST Gleb seems to pose himself as as man who is a slave of his orders, TT Gleb pronounces to the world that he is indeed that man, and tells the audience: so what? That is what I am, and that is what you’re getting. This again hints at more certainty and maturity in Gleb’s feelings. ‘I’m innocent!’ she cries But then you see her eyes Then something in them tells you that she absolutely lies Until your heart replies But still Still Still Ze smeekt je, 'laat me gaan!' Maar dan kijkt ze je aan Dan zij je in die ogen elke grove leugen staan Je hart gaat sneller slaan Maar toch Toch Toch The final verse is translated fairly literally, but includes one notable addition that once again confirms Gleb’s feelings. While in the ST he sings ‘until your heart replies’, which can refer to his romantic feelings about Anya but also to general feelings of compassion, the TT reads ‘Je hart gaat sneller slaan’ (lit. your heart begins to beat faster), which hints more clearly at Gleb’s romantic feelings. Throughout the translation of ‘Still’, Gleb gains more emotional surety and perhaps even maturity. He is more certain of who he is and what his feelings about Anya are, and his doubts are generally weakened. He doesn’t delude himself that he wants to protect her. He wants her. ‘Quartet at the Ballet’ Another obvious point to look for Gleb’s romantic feelings towards Anya is ‘Quartet at the Ballet’, in which he watches her from the balcony. She’s near at hand Yet here I stand My heart and mind at war The times must change The world must change And love is not what revolution’s for Ik zie haar daar En aarzel maar Mijn hart vecht met mijn brein De wereld splijt Een nieuwe tijd Ook liefde kan een revolutie zijn While the ST is in this case pretty clear about Gleb’s heart being in the game when it comes to Anya, he immediately proclaims that this can’t be his motivation: he supports the revolution, and love is not allowed to get in the way. In the TT, however, Gleb proclaims ‘Ook liefde kan een revolutie zijn’ (Love can be a revolution too), in which he reveals just how strongly he feels about Anya. Up until this point Dutch Gleb has always held to his own causes, and now he states that love might be a revolution, which can be read in multiple ways: love can be as strong as a revolution, love has caused a revolution in him, love is to him now equal to the revolution. It is impossible to pinpoint with which meaning the translator has chosen to change this line, but it is clear that this shifts the focus of Gleb’s motivations away from simple protection or morality, and places it very explicitly on his love for Anya. As seen before, this Gleb does not doubt his love. He is certain, and it is strong: perhaps love is part of the new world order. Someone holds her safe and warm Someone rescues her from the storm Simple things but one thing’s clear It’s fate that brought us here Iemand die haar veilig houdt Iemand die zij compleet vertrouwt Lijkt zo simpel maar let wel Het lot dat speelt een spel The verse that Gleb sings with Dmitry knows one relevant shift, namely that as before the focus on rescuing and saving is deleted as much as possible. The word ‘rescues’ is here replaced by the idea that Anya will find someone she trusts, which speaks more of a healthy relationship than a saviour complex. ‘The Neva Flows / Still’ (Reprise)’ For obvious reasons, the translation of this song bears much similarity to the translation of ‘The Neva Flows’ and ‘Still’. For the lyrical translations of those songs I concluded that Gleb portrays more certainty of his feelings for Anya, and in general more emotional maturity: he is aware of who he is and his doubt is smaller than in the ST. This trend is continued in the reprise. The children Their voices A man makes painful choices He does what’s necessary Anya Ik hoor ze Ze gillen Maar ik heb niets te willen Een man vervult zijn plichten Anya At the musical’s climactic point, Gleb sings about the children’s voices In the ST, Gleb keeps his lines rather passive: he talks of a man and painful choices, but doesn’t refer to himself. In the TT, the scene is made more personal. One of the first shifts is the addition of ‘ik hoor’ (lit. I hear) to the TT. Instead of merely referring to the children’s voices, Dutch Gleb sings more explicitly that he hears them and is still haunted by them (mirroring the haunting silence he sang of in ‘The Neva Flows’). Additionally, Gleb does not simply hear ‘voices’ in the TT, but hears them ‘gillen’ (lit. yell). OBC Gleb is haunted by the image of the children in general, perhaps screaming but perhaps simply playing as well. Dutch Gleb, however, specifically refers to the trauma that was done to the Romanovs and the screams. The aggression of the revolution is more clearly embedded into Gleb’s mind. The next line ‘A man makes painful choices’, continues the trend of making the lyrics more personal: Gleb sings not of ‘a man’ but again uses ‘ik’. In addition to the more personal nature of the Dutch line, the text is also subject to a shift that makes Gleb’s reliance on duty more obvious. In the ST Gleb speaks about ‘painful choices’, thus posing duty vs. morality as a choice that he has difficulty with. Dutch Gleb sings that he has ‘niets te willen’ (lit. nothing to want), meaning that the idea of a choice in itself is erased. Similarly, the word ‘necessary’ is translated as ‘plichten’ (lit. duties), making the reference to duty explicit. The struggle of duty vs. morality is once again weakened: Gleb knows his duty and will follow in his father’s footsteps. For Russia, my beauty What choice but simple duty We have a past to bury, Anya De keuze is simpel Voor Ruslands rode wimpel moet jouw verleden zwichten, Anya While in the lines above ‘duty’ itself is left untranslated, the Dutch translation also transfers the idea that if there even is a choice, the choice is simple, if not by shifting the more neutral ‘have’ to ‘moet’ (lit. must) in the last sentence. Another interesting shift is found when Gleb sings of Russia, which he calls ‘my beauty’ in the ST, while he sings of a ‘rode wimpel’ (lit. red flag) in the TT: in the TT, Gleb underlines not his personal connection to Russia itself, but his allegiance to the Bolshevist party line and the national interests. One of the most interesting translation shifts in the entire musical is found in the climax, when Gleb sings ‘Be careful what a dream may bring / A revolution is a simple thing’. This line was obviously also sung in ‘The Neva Flows’ and has already been translated as ‘Pas op niet elke droom is fijn’, as covered previously. At the end, however, the translator has elected to translate the line anew as ‘Veel dromen eindigen in pijn’ (lit. many dreams end in pain), making the warning Gleb gives Anya even more explicit, and emphasising the horror of what has happened and what he is about to do: moving against the revolution Gleb supports certainly brings pain, and Gleb is about to inflict it. Of course, Gleb’s seeming certainty does nothing to chance the ending of the musical. Gleb changes his mind, doesn’t finish the line ‘A revolution is a simple thing’ and falls to his knees before Anastasia. The manner in which Dutch Gleb unravels before her is perhaps more wondrous than it was for OBC Gleb: OBC Gleb has, as seen in the ST, always had glaring doubts and conflict, whereas Dutch Gleb seemed certain of his case, even if he knew about the tragic consequences his convictions could have. In his entire performance, René has seemed more collected than the OBC performance I have watched (and, all right, I’ll admit, I watched the bootleg. I’m a secondary school teacher and definitely cannot afford actual Broadway tickets, or a plane to the US. Either way, I’m not certain how representative for the entire OBC performance the boot I saw is). Whereas OBC Gleb immediately screams ‘And I am my father’s son’ back at Anya/Anastasia, Dutch Gleb is forceful and angry, but doesn’t quite scream and still leaves a moment to breathe between the lines. This Gleb again comes across as less emotional, less conflicted: why then, does he collapse so completely before her? And collapsing he does. Unlike in OBC Gleb, he doesn’t merely fall down on one knee, he collapses on both knees and decides to let Anya/Anastasia live. Even though the conflict between duty vs. morality was of course latent in the translation, it is perhaps more likely that this Gleb chooses not to shoot her out of love: he has portrayed his feelings for her rather certainly. The translation of the lyrics has shown that the duty vs. morality conflict was replaced to some extent by a conflict between duty vs. love. Dutch Gleb never doubted his duty, but also confidently sang about his affection of Anya. While the duty vs love conflict appears in the ST, OBC Gleb could be argued not to love Anya truly and suffer from a saviour complex. It’s harder to make such an argument for Dutch Gleb. Perhaps, then, Gleb’s revolution in this production is not morality, but indeed, as Dutch Gleb has sung, love.