Inspired by the gif - the first time Kleya and Luthen laugh together
Kleya has been aboard Luthen’s ship for only two months, and she still hasn’t decided whether she likes him, hates him, or simply exists beside him out of necessity. Maybe it’s all three.
She doesn’t trust him. How could she?
He’s the man who helped destroy her world. But he’s also the man who carried her out of its ashes. And now she’s trapped with him—in the hold of a creaking haulcraft they’ve just recently acquired—pretending to be a travelling merchant’s niece while he tries to teach her the difference between ‘antiquity’ and ‘junk’.
Today’s lesson is happening in a cramped, humid market on a backwater moon that smells of spices, hot dust, and the metallic tang of speeder fumes. Stalls overflow with relics both real and outrageously counterfeit, and Luthen wanders along the tables, mumbling expert analysis under his breath while Kleya lingers behind him, forcing her expression into one of wide-eyed, slightly bored adolescence.
It’s her newest tactic to unsettle him, and it works beautifully.
He stops at a vendor’s booth that’s a cluttered mess of chipped figurines, cracked pottery, and one very… conspicuous statue.
The object is unmistakably carved into a phallic shape, glossy with age and far too anatomically optimistic. Luthen picks it up to inspect it and immediately freezes when Kleya steps up beside him, watching him like a hawk through lowered lashes.
‘What’s that?’
He clears his throat, loudly. ‘A fertility idol.’
Kleya’s eyebrows lift with painstaking innocence. ‘A what?’
He blinks, opens his mouth, and quickly closes it again. ‘A… cultural symbol.’
‘What kind of culture?’ she presses.
Luthen rubs the bridge of his nose. ‘The kind that— well, it encourages… ah— how to phrase this… propagation.’
‘Propagation?’ she repeats, tone sweet as medicated syrup.
‘Yes.’ His voice cracks. ‘You know. The… interpersonal method for creating future citizens.’
She stares blankly back at him and takes deep satisfaction in the panic that churns beneath the surface of his eyes.
‘Intimacy,’ he continues, blurting the word. ‘Physical coordination between, erm… compatible participants.’ Kleya watches in amusement as his hands wave vaguely in the air, as if he’s trying to wrestle an abstract concept into submission. ‘A joining.’
‘Joining of what?’ Kleya drawls slowly, frowning slightly for effect.
He looks like he wants to eject himself into orbit, and Kleya sees the vendor from the corner of her eye biting back a grin.
‘Bodies,’ he chokes out. ‘For reproductive… alignment.’
‘Is this something you elderly discuss often?’ she asks. ‘This reproductive alignment?’
The look of betrayal on his face is exquisite. ‘It’s not an elderly topic,’ he hisses. ‘It’s an everyone topic. It's normal. It’s—’
‘Sex?’ she says plainly.
He goes corpse-white. ‘Yes!’ he blurts, far too loud. ‘It’s— that… precisely that.’
Kleya keeps her face perfectly serene while something bright and wicked sparks pleasantly under her ribs. She’s toying with him and now he knows it, but there’s a moment, just a flicker, where she sees the man beneath the former Imperial soldier: awkward, earnest, flustered beyond belief.
The absurdity cracks through her armour before she can stop it, and she snorts.
Not a delicate laugh, but a startled, graceless sound.
Luthen stares at her, stunned.
Then he laughs too; a low, reluctant, bewildered laugh, like he never expected such a sound to exist between them.
For the first time since he found her in the smouldering wreckage of her world, they are just… two people.
Not weapon and wielder. Not guilt and survivor.
Just a girl pretending innocence, and a man hopelessly out of his depth trying to explain a very explicit statue.
The vendor, emboldened, asks, ‘So, are you buying the fertility idol or not?’
‘No,’ Luthen and Kleya answer at the same time, and when their eyes meet another spark of laughter escapes her.
They walk away quickly, Kleya’s shoulders still shaking, Luthen muttering something about ‘ridiculous carvings’ and ‘never bringing her near a market like this again’. And the strange warmth of shared humour lingers between them: fragile, uneasy, unexpected.
She shouldn’t be laughing with him.
She shouldn’t feel anything warm towards the man whose past actions helped put her in the path of tragedy.
And yet, she cannot deny the truth blooming quietly at the edges of her hate—Despite everything he saved her. And he is still trying to.
Back aboard the Fondor, she sits on a crate while he unloads their purchases, muttering like an old navigator. The ship hums around them, familiar now, in the way that shelters become familiar when survival demands it.
‘For the record,’ he begins stiffly, ‘I handled that conversation with impeccable professionalism.’
Kleya lets her lips tilt. ‘Of course. I’ve never heard someone avoid a three-letter word with such… creative exertion.’
He pointedly ignores her. ‘You knew,’ he says after a moment. ‘You weren’t actually confused about the idol.’
Her smile softens into something small and rueful. ‘My parents taught me plenty.’ She glances at the floor. ‘Before.’
Before the ashes. Before the Empire. Before him.
Luthen’s expression darkens, guilt and something sharper tugging at the corners. But Kleya stands before he can apologise, because she will not let him place that weight between them again. Not now. Not when they’ve just begun to share something that isn’t grief or obligation.
‘You’re easy to unsettle,’ she says lightly.
He huffs. ‘And you’re… impossible.’
She allows herself a quiet breath; a steadying one.
‘I can be,’ she says truthfully.
He glances at her—really looks—and for a heartbeat she sees the blueprint of the man he will become: the strategist, the gambler, the architect of Rebellion. But she also sees the man who carried her through smoke and shrapnel, the man who stumbles through softness like it’s foreign terrain.
Maybe she hates him a little less today. Maybe she likes him a fraction more. Maybe that’s dangerous.
But when he passes her a wrapped bundle of new tools—bought quietly, without announcement—something in her chest loosens.
‘For your work, cleaning the relics,’ he says. ‘If you’re staying.’
She takes them carefully, deliberately, letting their fingers brush for the tiniest of moments before drawing her hand and her newly gifted tools back.
‘For now,’ she says.
And for the first time, it feels like the beginning of something.
Stellan Skarsgård of "Sentimental Value" poses in the Getty Images Portrait Studio Presented by IMDb and IMDbPro during the Toronto International Film Festival at InterContinental Toronto Centre on September 05, 2025 in Toronto, Ontario. (Photos by Gareth Cattermole/Getty Images for IMDb)
For anyone interested, this play is free on YouTube from 7pm GMT 7 November until 11 November. A surreal journey through the life of Nye Bevan, the creator of the NHS.
I loved seeing this in London in the spring and cannot wait to watch it again.
Although I can not yet watch the latest season of ACGAS, I do all the spoilers, videos, and gifs that fans post. This picture of Tristan from 5x03 instantly brought to mind this image of Sam from Foyle’s War. I thought the resemblance was uncanny, even down to the raised eyebrows. Let me know what you think.
When your disappointment from missing out on Coldplay tickets is overshadowed by the possibility of seeing Samuel West at the RSC. If only I can figure out how to navigate the multiple train rides from Heathrow to Stratford-upon-Avon!
"People mostly write and read very character driven, specific ship focused fic, because what most people want out of fanfiction is to focus on the romance between characters they're not getting in canon so they can soak in the vibes."
Yes, absolutely. And thank hell for all the authors who write character-driven, ship focused fic for us to soak in the vibes to.
But also…
thank hell for all the authors who write angst, whump, and hurt no comfort, for us to luxuriate in blorbo's hurt and pain and cry or cackle.
thank hell for all the authors who write cheating, love triangles and affairs for us to consume large quantities of popcorn to and yell 'oh no, they didn't'.
thank hell for all the authors who write case fic, mission fic, and intricate, plot-driven stories to replicate the feel of canon, when canon has stopped or gone wrong.
thank hell for all the authors who write 'fix it' fics when canon has betrayed us with bad vibes, plot holes and deaths.
thank hell for all the authors who write poly ships when what we need is just for everyone to get along and screw instead of screw up.
thank hell for all the authors who write gen fic when we're not interested in romance.
thank hell for all the authors in fandom, and all the wonderful, different kinds of fanfiction they write for us.
I’ve just finished reading “Incomplete” by Isabella2004 on AO3. It is, ironically, a ACGAS fan fiction that has not yet been completed and was last updated in January 2003.
For the last few years I avoided reading it because it was not finished and because it was a Siegfried/OC story and not Siegfried and Mrs. Hall. Well, I can not express enough how glad I am that I finally read it, finished not.
Run, don’t walk, to read this story. Isabella2004 beautifully captures the layered emotions of Siegfried and Lily. I felt their every high and low, and the story had me crying, laughing, and angry in equal measure.
I doubt if Isabella2004 will ever see this but thank you for sharing your wonderful ACGAS story.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
I just finished the audiobook, Part of the Furniture by Mary Wesley, read by Samuel West. I absolutely fell in love with all the characters, and all the wonderful dialogue and personalities were enhanced by Sam’s reading. What he can do in creating different character’s voices is just amazing. Why can’t every book just be read by Samuel West!
For me, this was the type of story that just made me feel like cocooning myself in a blanket and listening to it all day long. I wanted it to go on and on and to hear more from the characters.
That feeling is one off the many reason why I adore fan fiction. The character/s that you love go on and on and on and can lead so many different lives - the possibilities are endless. And sometimes, because they are written by others who also love the characters, they are even more fleshed out and fully realized than they may have been originally.
Also, a quick shout out to the amazing person who gave me access to this story!
I recently had the good fortune to spend a gloriously beautiful day in the Yorkshire Dales. The day was even more amazing when you consider that it was overcast and rainy the entire day before.
The highlight, of course, was visiting Grassington, aka Darrowby from ACGAS! If only Siegfried and Mrs. Hall had been there to have tea with 😊 My goal next year is to try and be there on a filming day, but coming from so far away that will be more about luck than anything. But here’s hoping!
I find it so much easier to stay positive about things and situations when I’m visiting England.
The tube train you just got on suddenly has mechanical issues and you miss an event. That’s ok, there’s another line to take you somewhere else just as exciting.
It rains the one day you have to visit the Yorkshire Moors and Whitby. That’s ok, it lends to the atmosphere. Plus, it then stopped raining just long enough so I could climb the 199 steps to Whitby Abbey. (Which I had to do since I specifically read Dracula just for this trip)
You wait at the bus stop only for the driver to inform you that he is ending at this stop so you have to hoof it to another bus stop to catch a different bus. That’s ok, you end up getting off at the top of Brick Lane and get the full experience of a Sunday market stall day. Plus see some really great street art.
Again with the rain - it rains out the Southbank Book Market. That’s ok, you get to spend 1.5 hours in the National Theatre bookshop perusing play after play, and trying to stop yourself from buying too many!
These are just a few examples. My goal is to try and maintain this positivity in my everyday life. I fear it will be hard because my everyday life is not in England! 😂
I have to apologize because I don’t have notifications turned on and I just discovered this ask today! So sorry, and thanks for the ask.
Note: Spoilers ahead
As to Howards End, I think it is excellent. Not one of the choices but I feel the film is better than great but not a masterpiece as a whole. While I do think it is a masterpiece in acting and style, personally, it’s not a film that I can watch over and over in its entirety because the characters actions frustrate me. Even though I know it will happen, I just can’t watch Margaret choose and continue to support Mr. Wilcox over and over. Especially in the face of all the evidence Helen keeps presenting to her about his character.
I do however love Helen and Mr. Bast’s story arc, with the exception of the ending of course, not least because I am a huge fan of both Helena Bonham Carter and Samuel West. A part of me would love to have Helen’s fiery spirit and her tenacity to stand by her convictions. And how can a person not relate to Mr. Bast as he toils away at his dull and thankless job, dreaming all the while not of a more prosperous life but a more intellectually fulfilled life. He doesn’t just dream but actually works toward it. All the while he sticks by Jackie simply because he gave his word.
The scene in the boat breaks my heart every time because you want these two characters to be together but you know they never can be. Both actors convey so many emotions with just their facial expressions.
Lastly, even though Leonard’s death is attributed to his weak heart, the image of him falling into the bookcase and him essentially being smothered by the weight of all this knowledge he desperately sought is poetically tragic and has always stuck with me.
