#gallow has a great friend and then he's just listen as dead?

[inkpromise]

we deserve more information about hancock.

#･ﾟ ✧ 。― ooc #gallow has a great friend and then he's just listen as dead? #deb drop your location i just wanna talk #listed**

[jewishzevran]

Companion Guide: Ori Lavellan

Original template from @dextronoms​, art by @tzedekart​

Inquisitor’s Name: Ori Lavellan

Alternate Name?: None

Race, Class, & Specialization: Elf, Mage, Spirit Healer/Fire

Varric’s Nickname for them: Firecracker

Default Tarot Card: Strength (bravery, compassion, protection)

How they are recruited: Ori is part of a group of Dalish elves from the Free Marches that have come to assist the rebel mages. She can be found in the Hinterlands, tending to the wounded in a refugee camp. She will initially be standoffish with non-mage or non-elf Inquisitors, but through conversation will reveal that a nearby group of bandits have stolen most of her medical supplies and she fears those she is treating will die without them. If the party locate the bandits and retrieve her supplies, the Inquisitor can ask her to join the Inquisition as they need talented medics such as herself. 

Where they are in Haven: Ori can be found near the pier, past the soldiers, where she has set up a small fire and healer’s tent. She will be tending to the injury of a soldier resting on her cot, and she will be singing under her breath quietly. There is a cutscene with Cullen where the Inquisitor happens upon the end of an argument between the two, and observes Ori take a swing at the commander before storming off. The Inquisitor will comment on her aim, and Cullen will nurse a split lip. If the Inquisitor asks what the argument was about, Cullen will say that Ori grew up in Kirkwall and there are apparently wounds that are still raw. 

Where they are in Skyhold: Ori will be outside the infirmary, watching the courtyard, though sometimes she may be either tending to injured soldiers, or observing the sparring ring. Most of her cutscenes take place in the courtyard area. With a high enough approval, the Inquisitor can inquire about her past, and she will divulge that she was born in the Kirkwall, that her parents were killed by Templars raiding the alienage looking for elven apostate children to take to the Gallows, and that she left to seek out her mother’s clan in around 9:34 Dragon. Her opening dialogue at Skyhold begins with her covering the body of a dead soldier, but thanking the Inquisitor for saving so many lives. 

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Things they Generally Approve of: 

Greatly Approve -

Making the mages allies

Saving all the civilians in Haven

Putting Briala in Power

Drinking from the Well of Sorrows (Elf Inquisitor)

Gaining approval from the Dalish (if in party)

Approve -

Compassionate choices in judgements

Completing side quests that help civilians, mages or elves

Allowing the Grey Wardens to join the Inquisition

Picking the infirmary upgrade for Skyhold

Slightly Approve -

Killing Red Templars

Exploring Elven Ruins

Dialogue options that are chantry and templar critical

Things they Generally Disapprove of: 

Greatly Disapprove -

Making the mages prisoners

Recruiting the Templars (without disbanding)

Reuniting Celene and Briala

Keeping Celene in power

Selling the Dalish history to the chantry

Clan Lavellan killed

Disapprove -

Supporting Cassandra as Divine

Allowing Morrigan to drink from the Well of Sorrows (Elf Inquisitor)

Claiming to be the Herald of Andraste

Letting Cullen interrogate Samson

Telling Cullen to continue taking Lyrium

Slightly Disapprove -

Killing Dragons

Lying to Dorian about his father’s letter

Making Cole human

Dialogue that is critical or derogatory towards elves 

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Mages, Templars, Other?: Ori is resolutely pro-mage. If recruited before In Hushed Whispers/Champions of the Just, and the mages are made prisoners or templars not disbanded, she will leave the Inquisition unless the Inquisitor is an elf or a mage, in which case she may be persuaded to stay, but she will still greatly disapprove. Several of her further dialogue options are locked off, and it will be impossible to complete her personal quest. If she is not sought out until after the quest and either of these choices were picked, she will be permanently unrecruitable. 

Friends in the Inquisition: Varric, Iron Bull, Cole, Krem, Sera, Vivienne (if questioned about their differing positions regarding the Circles, Ori will remark that she and Vivienne disagree but she has a great deal of respect for her, and values her opinion highly). 

Rivals in the Inquisition: Cullen, Cassandra, Morrigan Neutral towards: Dorian, Solas, Blackwall, Josephine, Leliana

Romanceable?: Ori is not romanceable by the Inquisitor, though flirt dialogues are available for all races and genders. If the Inquisitor is persistent enough, it will trigger a cutscene where the two are alone, and the Inquisitor leans in to kiss Ori. She will pull away and apologise, saying that she hadn’t meant to lead the Inquisitor on, but that she is in love with someone else. If Anders was romanced in DA2, Ori will remark that her affections are unrequited. 

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Small Side Quest: A Night of Revelry Ori will mention to the inquisitor that the elves that are part of the inquisition are feeling quite homesick, particularly the Dalish that have been separated from their clans, and she would like to hold a party for a night to allow the elves to celebrate their culture, with traditional Dalish songs and dances. If the Inquisitor agrees, Ori asks them to acquire some ingredients so she can help the kitchen make food in preparation. Once this is complete and the items delivered to the kitchen, a cutscene will trigger with Ori inside the Herald’s Rest who is stood on a table singing whilst a very large gathering of elves joins in, interjected with cheering and whistling. A space has been cleared for a dance floor and there is a band of elvish musicians playing where Maryden usually is. Ori will notice the Inquisitor as her song finishes, and she comes to talk to them and thank them for allowing them to have such a special evening. 

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Companion quest: Sanctum Santorum Note: This quest is only available when approval with Ori is very high. A cutscene will trigger where Ori is poring over a map, and will jump when the Inquisitor appears. She will look visibly nervous and flustered, and asks very seriously if she can trust the Inquisitor. The Inquisitor replies with yes, and Ori will then say she has managed to track an old friend to somewhere in the Emerald Graves and asks the Inquisitor to go with her and help find him. The next time Ori is in the party in the Emerald Graves, a small cutscene will trigger where she notices a mark on a tree and remarks that “he must be close”. The search function is then used to find three more signs (blood from an animal carcass, flattened grass from someone sitting or lying down, and the remnants of a fire,  the last being outside a well-hidden cave. A magical trap is triggered and the party must fight off several angry spirits. When combat ends, a cutscene is triggered of the Inquisitor and Ori creeping inside the cave at night. A spell comes flying out the dark and both characters dodge, then a voice shouts from further in “don’t come any closer!” The Inquisitor goes for their weapon and Ori places a hand on their arm and shakes her head. She then lights a flame, illuminating herself, the Inquisitor and most of the cave, shedding light on a small, dirty campsite situated right at the back, and a cloaked figure with a staff raised to attack. She then says quietly, “Anders? It’s me. It’s Ori.” The figure slowly drops their staff, then steps into the light and pulls their hood down revealing themselves to indeed be Anders. He squints at the pair for a moment, and upon recognising Ori, breaks into a smile and hugs her tightly. Dialogue then follows where Ori reveals her long-standing friendship with Anders and the Inquisitor can ask about their history. If questioned, Ori will say she supports Anders’ actions at the end of DA2, and will remark that it pained her to see a place of worship destroyed and lives lost as a result but after all the evil she’s seen, she knows it was necessary. After dialogue is finished, Ori will thank the Inquisitor for coming with her, and beg them not to say anything. 

Option 1: Let Anders go. Ori will greatly approve of this choice. If this option is selected, the Inquisitor will promise to keep Anders’ location a secret, and hopes they can meet one day in better circumstances. Ori and Anders will say their goodbyes, and Ori and the Inquisitor will depart. Back at Skyhold a cutscene will trigger where Ori is sat by a window reading a letter and smiling, and when prompted, will say it is from Anders. She will thank the Inquisitor again, and say that she lost contact with him when she left Kirkwall to join her mother’s clan, so she’s glad he’s safe and that she can keep an eye on him again. If the kiss scene has been played, the Inquisitor can comment on Ori’s feelings for Anders, asking if he is the person she  had previously referred to. She will agree, and either comment sadly on Hawke being who makes him happy, (if he was romanced in DA2), or blush and say she hopes one day she will pluck up the courage to confess to him. There is a dialogue option for the Inquisitor to encourage this.

Option 2: Bring Anders back to Skyhold for judgement (unlocks the quest The Judgement of Anders).

Ori will greatly disapprove of this choice, and will be visibly upset, telling the Inquisitor she trusted them and feels betrayed, and will not listen to any justifications for this decision. It will be impossible to engage in dialogue with her until The Judgement of Anders is complete; the first attempt to do so will trigger a cutscene in the infirmary where Ori shouts at the Inquisitor, for all subsequent attempts she will simply reply “leave me, I have patients to care for”.

Follow-up Quest: The Judgement of Anders

Ori will be present in the main hall during this judgement. 

If the Inquisitor pardons Anders, Ori will greatly approve. After the quest is finished, the next time she is interacted with, it will trigger a cutscene where the Inquisitor walks in on Anders and Ori holding each other, both crying and laughing. They break apart when they hear the Inquisitor, and Anders will smile at the Inquisitor, squeeze Ori’s hand and leave the room. Ori will then give the Inquisitor a tight hug, and thank them profusely. There will be dialogue about what Anders plans to do forthwith, and the Inquisitor has the option to invite him to stay on as healer at Skyhold, which Ori will greatly approve of. The Inquisitor will now also have the same dialogue options regarding her romantic sentiments from option 1. If Anders stays on as healer, then, Ori will then sometimes be found talking with him inside the infirmary. If not romanced in DA2, idle dialogue later in the game will imply that he and Ori have started a relationship. 

If the Inquisitor conscripts Anders, Ori will have no approval change, but if the Inquisitor executes Anders, Ori will greatly disapprove and permanently leave the Inquisition. 

Tarot card change:

Option 1 - If Anders let go: VI of Cups (reunion, healing, joy)

Option 2  - If Anders brought to Skyhold: X of Swords (betrayal, defeat, loss) 

Option 3 - If Anders pardoned: The Star (hope, faith, renewal)

Option 4 - If Anders executed: III of Swords (heartbreak, suffering, grief)

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Cole’s reflection on their thoughts:

“Panic. Screaming. Armor silver and sharp and unforgiving. Helplessness. Grief. So much anger. Family taken without warning. “In their blood the maker’s will is written”. A hole in your chest. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. It’s my fault. I should have stopped it.”

“White lines where skin has healed but you still feel its bite. Dreams darkened by wretched smiles and pleas for mercy gone unanswered. Tears darken the dirt and water the roots of the tree that cries out in anguish for salvation that will never come.”

“So full of righteous fury. So determined to seek justice. A clenched fist, gritted teeth, a battle cry. An apron worn like armor. A voice for the voiceless. A flame inside that never dies. Always strong. Always caring. I will protect them. There is so much love inside you.”

“You love him. He sees you when no one else does. Words spoken through silence. Hazel eyes and healer’s hands. Soft smiles and gentle touches that feel almost holy. (If Anders was romanced in DA2) You whisper his name in the dark. It hurts that he doesn’t hear it, but you want him to be happy more than anything else.”

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Comment(s) on Mages: (referring to the Circle) “No one deserves to be locked away for a circumstance of birth.” / “We’ve been fighting for so long. We just want freedom and peace.” / “Magic is a gift.” / “Our light will outlast this hatred.”

Comment(s) on Templars: “They claim to be peacekeepers, but they wield fear like a weapon.” / “I’ve never met a Templar I can trust. They’re all the same.” 

When looking for something: “Keep your eyes sharp.” / “We should investigate.”

When finding a campsite: “We should rest.” / “This will be good for a camp.”

When the Inquisitor Falls: “Be more careful!” / “Not on my watch, Inquisitor!”

When they are low on Health: “It’s not wise to let your healer die!” / “Fenhedis!”

When they see a Dragon: “So beautiful, and so misunderstood. It is a privilege to behold such a creature.”

Default saying: "How can I help you?" / (high approval, teasing) “What needs healing this time?”

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Travel Banter with Canon Companions:

Varric: It’s been a while, Firecracker. Ori: Indeed it has. It’s good to be adventuring with you again Varric. Varric: Just like old times! Though I suppose if we’re picking our favourite old times, I’d rather be drinking the liquor you and Daisy used to make than out here shooting demons. Ori: (laughs) I think the demons are easier to handle. 

Cassandra: You are Dalish, Lavellan, but you were raised in Kirkwall? Ori: (curtly) Yes. Cassandra: Why did you leave? Ori: Templars murdered my parents. Cassandra: I’m sorry. Ori: I will not speak of them again. Not to you. Cassandra: What have I done to make you dislike me so? Ori: You stand for an order that has enslaved and murdered my people for generations, justify the imprisonment and oppression of mages, refuse to acknowledge the corruption in your own ranks and then choose to remain wilfully ignorant of why I have cause to distrust you. Cassandra: I… Ori: I would wish that you could spend a day in my shoes during my time in the alienage, Seeker, but I do not think you would survive it.

(If Anders was not romanced in DA2, and was invited to stay with the Inquisition after his trial) Iron Bull: So… Ori: So? Iron Bull: You and Blondie, huh? Ori: What about us? Iron Bull: Have you told him how you feel yet? Ori: I don’t know what you’re talking about.  Iron Bull: Sure. And I’m the Queen of Antiva.  Ori: Is it really that obvious? Iron Bull: Kid, you’re about as subtle as my horns. He’s about the only person in all of Skyhold that hasn’t noticed.  Ori: Oh sweet creators…

Vivienne: You are a very talented mage, my dear. Ori: As are you, ma’am. It is a privilege to watch you fight. I have learnt much. Blackwall: But you use different styles of magic? Ori: Frost and Fire are opposites yes, but Madame de Fer’s use of offensive ice magic informs my defensive fire, and vice versa. I learn how to better protect myself and exploit my enemy’s weakness. Vivienne: (smiling) Very astute my dear. We shall have to meet up to practice some time. Ori: I should like that very much, ma’am. 

(if Blackwall was pardoned after his revelation) Blackwall: There have been many that have turned their backs on me, Miss Ori, but you have not wavered in your kindness. I am very grateful for that. Ori: I may disapprove of your original actions, Blackwall, but we have all done things we are not proud of. What matters is how we move forward. 

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Leaving the Inquisition: (what do they say or do if the approval is low enough for them to leave?)

Ori will leave the Inquisition if her approval becomes low enough, or after choices she disapproves of after In Hushed Whispers/Champions of the Just or The Judgement of Anders. 

Ori will be found packing her bags in the infirmary. If this takes place after Anders’ execution, she will be seen holding his mage robes to her chest and weeping. She will not acknowledge the Inquisitor until her name is spoken, and then she will turn around, visibly shaken and upset. 

“I trusted you. I thought you might actually make a difference, that you cared. But you are just like the rest of them. You stand here claiming to be holy and expect me to believe that your God - any God - would condone this? You are drunk on power and your heart is bitter and cruel. I will not assist your crusade or become complicit as you remain blinded to the corruption running through the heart of your ideals. May your name and memory be erased. I pray we never meet again, Herald.”

#ash writes #ori lavellan #inquisitor as a companion #inquisitor lavellan #my ocs #oof this was long

[adhdeancas]

Sunset Sound: Gallows Pole

In the midst of the Lawboy shitposting, a Sam-centric chapter to see what he got up to after Dean went to hell. Special thanks to my bro @friedchickenangelwings for keeping me in check forever and always, I wouldn’t be able to do this without you.

Sam sobs. He can’t help it; he can’t do anything else. His big brother’s body is impaled on the post in front of him, the ground is littered with beheaded bodies, and two little boys are crying outside somewhere in the dark. And he can’t stop crying.

“It’s not okay. It’s not!” 

He tries to take back those words that had made his brother leave, but Dean's chest doesn’t shudder back into life, and it won’t. It hangs there, heavy and lifeless, and it always will. Dean is dead. 

And for what?

When Sam’s head starts to pound from the tears, he finally takes breaths to calm himself. Common sense floods back into his head and overtakes his grief, and he pulls Dean’s body off the stupid rusty nail that killed him. He lowers him to the ground and closes his eyes, because he can’t bear to look at his dead stare any longer. 

He doesn’t want to leave the barn. He knows he has to, but he doesn’t want to leave his brother there all alone. That’s what Dean had always been most afraid of: being alone. He stands frozen to the spot for more minutes than he should, trying to reason with his grief. Finally, finally, he wins, and he turns around to see his breath in the air before him. Sam immediately gasps, another desperate sob coming from nowhere, because the night isn’t cold enough for that.

“Dean?” He screams it. “Dean!” It’s gotta be him, Dean’s a ghost, Dean’s here, Dean’s trying to talk to him. “Dean!” 

“No, I’m sorry, Sam.” Kevin Tran flickers to form in front of him, pity and sadness in his eyes. “But Dean’s okay.” 

Sam rubs his eyes. He thinks for a second he’s hallucinating again, that losing Dean for real broke down all the sanity he’d built over the years. “K-Kevin?” Though he didn’t know it was possible, his stomach takes yet another plunge, like a boulder has just been dropped on him. Kevin’s incorporeal form shakes into being the thought once more that he did that, his hands killed Kevin, he’s the reason Kevin is a ghost. He’s in a room with the corpse and untethered soul of two people he loves and two people he watched die.

As if sensing all the ways Sam is shaking apart, Kevin nods and starts to reach out before realizing it would be no use. “Yeah, Sam, it’s me.” 

“But- w-w why?” Sam curses his voice for failing him, curses the shaking that sobbing left him with, curses it because he needs to be strong now. For Dean. “Why didn’t you help us?” A ghost would’ve been a great thing to have in a fight! A ghost could probably, I don’t know, push Dean away from a deadly-sharp hook on the wall? If Kevin has been here, why- “Is Dean in the veil? Can he hear me? Dean!” 

Kevin throws a gust of air in his face to get his attention, and it hits Sam like a slap. He looks back at the ghost, wideyed. Kevin looks apologetic. “I don’t have a lot of time, but you need to calm down. Seriously.”

“I can’t calm down-”

“No, Sam, you need to calm down.” Kevin looks upward nervously, as if he’s expecting to see some big figure raise the roof of the barnhouse up and peek down at them. “I’ll explain, but first thing you need to know is: Dean’s dead. He’s in heaven, and he’s in trouble.” 

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

Sam drives the Impala at exactly the speed limit, eyes dried to the point of aching. Dean’s wrapped body is sprawled out in the back seat, and if Sam just glances in the rearview mirror he can almost pretend he’s just passed out. Just had one too many shots of Cuervo and conked out so his little brother can drive. Sure. Whatever gets you through the night. 

Dropping off the kids was easy. Traumatized kids don’t say much, don’t ask too many questions, and they’ll forget the shellshocked stranger that saved them soon enough. Either that or he will haunt their nightmares, but Sam can’t help that. He can’t help anyone at this point, covered in dirt and blood and exhausted. He drives out to the middle of the forest anyway, Kevin’s words on a loop in his head. 

“You have to be normal. Chuck can’t want to watch you at all. So just play into his game. Pretend to only care about Dean, get out of the life, settle down.”

Sam had frowned, Eileen instantly springing to his mind. Surely he can care about her, right? “But-” 

“No, Sam, I’m sorry. Dean told me to tell you that Eileen… it’s just too dangerous. He likes you two. He’s gotta hate your life so much he doesn’t want to see it. It’s gotta bore him.” 

So Sam burns his brother's body in a forest alone, with only Miracle for company. There’s a dagger in his chest that tells him he’s betraying everyone he cares about, including Dean. Dean wanted a big funeral. He wanted his whole family there, not just his brother and a dog. And Eileen. There are three unread texts and a missed video call from Eileen already. Apparently Kevin hadn’t visited her yet. To let her know. 

It doesn’t take Sam long to leave the bunker. It just feels like a punch to the gut at this point. That table over there, carved with their family’s names, that’s where he and Dean swore they’d be free. They swore they’d get everything they wanted and everything they deserved. And now Sam has one pillow on his bed and an empty bunker full of the possessions of dead people. 

He knows there is a plan. He knows that. And it should comfort him, but it doesn’t, because he still has to live his long, boring, lonely life without the woman he loves or the family he misses or the brother he mourns. Time on Earth is torturously slow. 

The small things make the ache in his heart just a little lighter. He finds a job he likes, teaching history and the classics to teenagers. He remembers his old English teacher, and he tries to be that to kids that need it, kids that remind him of Claire or Jack. He gets to see Jody and the girls once every few years, a risk that he knows is worth it because it keeps him going. He can’t see Eileen. It would hurt too much. They both agreed the one time they called. He keeps learning ASL anyway, and he tells the story of him and Eileen meeting (slightly modified) to the kids in his class. 

He finds a wife. It was one of the things he put off, but after three years he knows he has to get on with it or he’ll get depressed. He needs someone, even if she is boring and too-nice and entirely too gullible. She’s nice and he’s good to her, but he can’t love her because she’s not real. Not in the way that Eileen is. She might as well be a blurred out mother figure action doll, for all she knows. And he hates himself for marrying her, when she deserves someone who finds her boringness interesting, but he knows this is what Chuck expects. He expects Sam to marry a nice woman and have a kid named Dean and grow old always hurting for the old times. Oh, and Sam does. 

He’d rather be back in the pit with Lucifer than this domestic djinn dream, but he reminds himself every day that someday they’re going to get rid of Chuck and then he’ll be able to live. Dean too. Cas too. And Jack. Sam’s going to kill that son of a bitch if it’s the last thing he does, living or dead. And it looks like it’ll be dead.

His fiftieth birthday has come and gone when Kevin finally comes back. The lights in Sam’s classroom flicker and go out, and then Kevin is there, chest heaving. He runs to the chalkboard and picks up a piece of chalk, and Sam’s talking as he writes. 

“Kevin, how’s Dean? Any updates on what’s happening in heaven? Is Chu-Jack okay?”

Kevin turns around, irritated, until he sees the look on Sam’s face. “Yeah, listen, everything is… fine. We’re working on it. Look, the important thing is that you get these ingredients-” he points to the chalkboard, “and perform the spell. But listen, it’s gotta be next week. Friday. There’s a full moon, it’s… you gotta make it happen.” 

Sam’s eyes bulge. “Friday? Kevin, what the hell, a little notice would be nice! How am I supposed to get-” he looks past him to the hastily written ingredients. “These ingredients are insane! It’lll take me weeks just to fly around the fucking world to grab them!” 

Kevin throws his hands up, looking almost as stressed as Sam. “Listen, man, we’re doing our best up there! Time is fucked up and we’re trying to be sneaky and it is a lot of pressure!” he finally takes a deep breath, which seems to help. “I’m sorry, I know it’s too much to ask, but we have no choice. Call a witch friend for the ingredients, summon Rowena and let her in on the plan. It’s Friday or never.” 

He flickers out before Sam can even reply. Apparently the stress and talking like that took too much out of him. Sam’s left alone to say “Sorry,” to an empty classroom. He sits down heavily at his desk and runs a hand through his graying hair. 

He copies down the ingredients and the spell and it’s then that he knows he definitely needs help. Luckily, he knows who to call. 

The phone rings so long Sam thinks about hanging up, but he picks up just before he can. “Sam!” Max sounds winded, and the first thought that enters Sam’s head is not appropriate for the occasion. 

“Hey Max, you got a second? You’re not…” busy? Jesus, Sam is blushing.

Max laughs. “Nah, you’re good, man. What’s up?” 

God, to speak to someone who understands his life again. To really get to talk to them. “Uh, it’s kinda not the kind of thing to talk about over the phone. Can I drive to you?” 

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

“Hey, Rowena,” 

Sam’s natural state is apparently social awkwardness now. Dean would say that had always been true… No, not the time to get sidetracked with that sad shit. He shuffles his feet again and adjusts a candle, waiting for Rowena to appear. He’s fifty fucking years old. He’s fine.

“Hello, dearie.” 

Sam grins at her, but is once again met with the sad eyes Kevin always gives him. “Fuck, can everybody stop with the dead brother horrible life shit?” She doesn’t look taken aback, no that’s not Rowena. She looks more like a school principal that just got told off by an 8th grader, surprised and a little offended. Sam softens a little bit. “Sorry, I just- listen, I get it, okay? My life is fucked up and it’s all a lie to beat God, I know. Can we move past that and get back to the saving the world stuff?” 

A slow smile spreads across Rowena’s face, and she pats him on the cheek. “There she is. Hello, Samuel.” 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Hi Rowena, how are you?” 

“Oh, just dandy. Tamped down a few ne’er-do-wells, not a problem. Being worshipped every day is hard work, but I manage, somehow.” 

“I’m sure. ‘Jack’ giving you any trouble?” 

She waves a dismissive hand. “I’ve barely seen the boy since he took over. Apparently he’s much more interested in watching his little short films in heaven than anything down below…” Sam’s got a question on his lips but she waves that away too. Too little time to explain the intricacies of eternal family drama that heaven is currently. “It doesn’t matter. I have free reign, which means I can pop in for our little soirees.” 

Sam nods, grateful that that’s true at least. He hands her the list of ingredients and the spell and watches as she studies it. “Problem?” 

“Hm. No, I can do that.” She looks up brightly at him. “I’m the greatest witch of all time, Samuel. I’m more worried about how you will accomplish it.” She looks down at his summoning ritual and bends down to correct a chalk mark with her finger. “You’re a wee bit rusty.” 

Sam scoffs. He’s missed this. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I called up my friend Max, Max Banes. He’s going to help me out.” 

“Max Banes? Hm.” For a second, Sam thought he saw something flash across Rowena’s face.

“What?” 

“Nothing.” She shrugs it off. “I’ve heard of the witch, that’s all. He’ll be good help for you, I’m sure. Now, Samuel, if you’ll excuse me… Underworlds to run and all that.” She steps away, but Sam stops her before she can disappear again.

“Wait!” He hugs her tightly. She only resists for a moment before she returns the hug, a light tap on his shoulder. “Thank you, Rowena.” 

“Of course, Samuel. Until next time.” 

She’s gone with a puff of smoke and Sam is left hugging air.

tag list (ask to be added or removed):

Tag list: @dochunterwitch  @justonecitizenoftheearth @gnbrules @purpe @castiel-is-a-cat @alienapparatus @damian-janus-pendragon

#sunset sound #chapter 7 #gallows pole #destiel #deancas #fanfic #my writing #sam winchester #15x20 #fix it fic #rowena #max banes #kevin tran

[stonebreakerseries]

Day 4: Ambush + “That didn’t stop you before”

Another piece for @oc-growth-and-development‘s OC-tober, also incorporating the Day 4 #Fictober20 prompt.

Series: Stonebreaker (Original Fiction) Characters: Delver & Sylda Warnings: Language

             ____________________________

Where in the Divider’s name could she have run off to?

Muttering darkly, Delver peered down another alley, shook his head, and continued onward, boots scuffing against the dust and grit that coated Yelen’s streets. When he’d left Sylda, she’d been half-dead at best, barely able to move, her body a mess of hastily bandaged injuries and deeper, less visible pains. It wasn’t that he blamed her for taking off the second his back was turned; all things considered, it was fair enough. Waking up to a complete stranger eating soup beside her bed - especially a man from the Allied Kingdoms - would be alarming at the best of times. But particularly for a young woman who had spent her previous waking moments hanging by the neck in the gallows courtyard. How she had managed to get out of bed, yet alone sneak out the second storey window, was nothing short of baffling.

Or it would have been, if he hadn’t already witnessed her do far stranger things.

Whoever she was - whatever she was - he needed to find her. Apparently, convincing her to uproot her entire life and travel the length of the continent alone with him was going to be difficult.

Who knew.

Alleys and side streets drifted past as Delver continued his nighttime hunt, the middle moon, Rhana, kind enough to bathe the streets in her pale blue glow. Part of Delver knew what he was doing was foolish. His innkeeper, after some creative haggling that left Delver short an iron drem and his belt knife, had offered vague directions towards a section of the city infamous for housing thieves and cutthroats. Apparently, it was an area civilians knew to avoid, especially after dark. Which just happened to be the exact place a runaway thief like Sylda was likely to go. 

Of course, that meant Delver had to follow, and despite it being a well-lit evening, he couldn’t keep his gaze from snapping towards every faint movement in the corner of his vision. This particular tangle of streets would make the perfect site for an ambush.

It was going to be a long night. 

What if she’d collapsed in an alley, somewhere? Divider, he hoped not. Burnout was a severe risk among thaumists - even highly trained ones. If she pushed herself too hard too soon, it could be enough to succeed where the gallows had failed.

After his wanderings along the main road bore no fruit, Delver sucked in a breath, shoved aside his self-preservation instinct, and began to search the side streets. The even narrower alleys, swathed in a near impenetrable darkness, could wait until he was truly desperate.

Of course, as he was quick to discover, even the side streets held their dangers.

“Well, what’ve we got here? You’re a long way from home.”

Delver came to a sharp halt as a voice carried up the street behind him. Turning, he found himself approached by two figures, one as tall as he was, the other about a half-head shorter. They ambled almost casually, which seemed an odd tactic for a robbery. Or a murder. That or he posed so little threat that they were happy to take things slow. 

How thoughtful.

“Easy,” Delver said, swapping to the local dialect, hoping its might earn him some kind of favour. He raised his hands, proving he was unarmed, although he doubted it made much difference. “I’m looking for a friend, not for trouble,”

As expected, the tall one snorted. “Right.” He gestured to his partner. “He your friend?”

Delver blinked. “No?”

“What about me?”

“Ah, no.”

“Well...” The shorter one smiled and drew a knife from his belt. “Then I guess you’ve got trouble.”

Great. Thieves and fucking comedians to boot. He must truly be the unluckiest man alive.

Sighing, Delver lowered his hands. “I guess I do.” He made a show of stretching his back, using the movement to quickly scan the nearby alleys. There didn’t seem to be any more movement. The two of them must have been running as a pair, probably on the way back from an unsuccessful hunt somewhere else in the city. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to just leave me alone?”

The tall one shrugged. “You could try. Most folks do.”

“I take it that didn’t stop you before?”

“Nope.”

Delver sniffed. “Fair enough.” He went to put his hands in his pockets, only to find a second knife being thrust menacingly towards him. Jaw tight, he froze, then returned his hands to their former position. “Listen - I’m only here because I’m looking for a woman.”

“Yeah? Ain’t we all.”

“No, not like… her name is Syldana.”

There was a pause. The pair shared a glance, brows raised, their knives still raised threateningly. “Hey, wait,” said the taller one slowly. His dark gaze drifted back to Delver. “You the one that bought her off the rope?”

Realistically, telling the truth could go one of two ways. Luckily, Delver had always been a gambling man. “I am,” he replied, raising his chin, doing his best to look more important than he was.

Again, the two shared a look. Then, the smaller one grinned, crooked teeth flashing. 

“Well, you’ve got more coin than brains, dontcha?”

Exhaling, Delver closed his eyes. Of course it went the wrong way.

The taller one stepped forward this time, boots crunching, advancing until he was almost within arm’s reach. “It’s our lucky day, Raoul. C’mon. Let’s clean his pockets.”

Well, there was no helping it. Shoulders stiff, hands still raised, Delver waited as the man started patting down his sides, hunting for hidden pockets, jewellery, treasures sewn into the lining. His knife hovered menacingly by Delver’s throat at first, so close that when he swallowed, he could feel the steel brushing against his skin. But the man was distracted, busy running a rough hand down the side of Delver’s leg. The knife wavered… pressed closer for a moment… started to dip away…

The second he had an opening, Delver swung, cracking the man across the temple with his elbow. He went down with a shocked yelp, red dust springing up around him. The knife skidded from his hand, but Delver was already moving, dancing out of his reach and away from his partner, who appeared to still be processing what had just happened.

“Krom!” the short one cried eventually, then turned a hateful glare on Delver. “You bastard - get back here!”

“Alright, alright. Just take it easy.” Delver continued retreating, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. Reaching back, he slid a wooden rod from his waistband, its twelve inch length concealed beneath his loose shirt. Just as well Krom hadn’t gotten too handsy, or he would have easily found it. With a jerk of the wrist, Delver extended the weapon to the side, doubling its length, then twisted to lock it in place. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. Krom was already getting to his feet and Raoul had seemingly regained his addled wits. “How about we all just walk away?” Delver pressed, eyes flicking between the pair. “No one has to get hurt.”

Their response was simple enough.

Grunting, Delver ducked to the side, the sound of Raoul’s dagger whipping past his ear barely registering as he swung the rod, striking the shorter man across the back. The thief grunted, the momentum of his overeager lunge sending him stumbling past, buying Delver a few seconds to plan his next move. 

Or it would have, if there weren’t two of them.

A low grunt gave Krom away, but only barely. Heart lurching, Delver whipped around, his movement unnaturally fast. As he spun, something inside him burned away, the sensation sending a shiver of discomfort racing through his body. Still, he managed to slap Krom’s fist aside and follow through, ramming the end of the rod into his gut. It’s been too long since I did this, Delver thought, breathing hard, hands trembling slightly as he backed away from his assailants. He’d grown too reliant on the anchor fastened to his wrist; too willing to use its reserve of thaumic essence than tap into his own. Now the disc was empty - possibly even broken. He was on his own.

The rod, handy though it was, wasn’t doing the damage he needed. Even with its unnaturally hardened wood, the two thieves just weren’t staying down. He was starting to think the obscene amount he paid for it in Tel Shival might have been a mistake. However, before Delver had time to dwell on his poor financial decisions, he found himself accosted once more.

One knife, one fist, two angry men. Delver wasn’t a fighter. Not really. As Krom swung a punch at his stomach, Raoul darted forward, slashing at him from the side. He could only hope to stop one of them, so he swung the rod towards the dagger, barely catching it before it sunk into his shoulder. That left him open to Krom, and he acted on sheer reflex. Concentrating, sucking in a breath, Delver reached for the hum that resonated inside his body. Then, without the time or practice necessary for any finesse, he dragged it all to one spot at the center of his torso. 

Krom’s fist connected.

And the bones in his hand shattered.

The man’s scream was enough to curdle Delver’s blood. Cradling his hand, at least three fingers bent at jarringly unnatural angles, Krom stumbled away, tears pricking his eyes, a string of panicked curses bubbling from his lips. “Y-Y-You! You rat-bloody-bastard!” He groaned loudly, sounding almost nauseous as he curled over his ruined hand. “K-King’s eyes as m... my fucking witness... I’ll kill you!”

Normally, Delver would have had a snarky remark for that. You’ll have to catch me first. Tell The Errant King I said hello. Try aiming a little higher next time. But instead, he found himself also staggering, heart pounding, head spinning. Almost immediately after Krom’s fist connected with his stomach, the area briefly hard enough to rival stone, Delver had lost his concentration. What remained of his essence suddenly dispersed, like a cloud collapsing under its own weight into a fine mist. He could barely feel its hum now. It was weak. Very weak.

I need to get out of here.

Sweating, Delver backpedaled, stumbled on a broken cobble, and barely caught himself against a nearby wall. His arms were shaking something terrible, the rod in his grasp wavering laughably as he brandished it between himself and the advancing Raoul. “Last chance,” he rasped, blinking, fighting to clear his vision. And to think he’d been worried about Sylda pushing herself too hard. Divider’s Own, he was a fool. If he burned out now, that was it. He was a dead man.

“Y-You’re one of those freaks,” Raoul spat. He was shaking too, although for a very different reason. “A fucking aberration's what you are!”

On a regular day, Delver would have been impressed that Raoul even knew such a long word. But as it was, he could barely keep his feet under him, familiar shivers starting to tingle across his skin. That damn girl, he thought, an irrational anger washing over him as his remaining attacker warily advanced. She just couldn’t stay put for one night. Couldn’t even do me that one fucking favour after I---

“Raoul - stop!”

Suddenly, there was another body in front of him. Short. Brown haired. Familiar.

Delver stared, speechless. He must be dreaming. Or dead. Or both.

With a knife in each hand, Sylda jabbed one towards Raoul, who had halted mid-step, eyes wide. She was still injured, the bandages around her wrists, stomach, and throat all stained brown from old blood.

But she was there. Awake. Alive. 

“Enough,” Sylda continued, her voice surprisingly firm. Far stronger than it had been just a few hours ago. “He’s with me.”

“Ahh…” Raoul glanced back at Krom, who was clearly the leader of the pair. Unfortunately, he found him barely conscious, slumped against the wall of a boarded up building. No help there. Slowly, he turned back to reassess the situation for himself. An aberration and a miracle, both apparently on the same side.

What would he do...

“He’s your friend, is he Sylda?” Clearing his throat, Raoul’s eyes flicked to Delver. “Why, ah… why didn’t you say so?”

Delver blinked. He almost argued, then realised that this was his way out. 

“Must’ve slipped my mind.” He shrugged awkwardly. “Sorry?”

Huffing, Raoul rolled his eyes. Despite his over-performance, it was no small relief when he sheathed his knife and took a step away. “Gotta keep a better eye on your friends, girl. Nearly killed this one. He doesn’t belong here.”

Sylda just nodded. “I’ll keep it in mind.” There was a pause. “Uh… what happened to Krom?”

The man in question had started whimpering, rocking slightly, hand curled against his chest.

“He punched a wall,” Delver said hurriedly, then shot a meaningful look at Raoul. The other man, clearly looking for someone to follow, nodded.

“Oh, yeah. Got a mean temper, he does. Really shouldn’t let it get the better of him like this.”

Sylda glanced back, and Delver nodded sagely. 

While it was pretty obvious that Sylda wasn’t buying their composite lie, it didn’t really matter. Sighing, she lowered her blades and shook her head. “Fine. You’d better get him back to the nest. Davros has been asking about you two.”

Raoul stiffened. “He has? Did he say...”

Dizzy and about one sharp turn away from throwing up on his shoes, Delver let the rest of the conversation wash past him, focusing on his breathing, willing his body to comply. With the threat apparently over, he twisted the rod, the two halves sliding back into themselves. By the time he’d managed to stow it away again, Raoul and Krom were already limping away down one of the nearby alleys, their forms vanishing into the heavy dark.

“You’ve...” Delver coughed, throat painfully dry. Another fun side-effect. “You’ve got some timing.”

Sylda just exhaled, clearly as relieved as he was. She turned, regarding him for a moment; his clammy skin, his shaking hands, his over-reliance on the wall. Then she reached up, fingertips brushing over the bandage he’d wrapped carefully around her neck earlier that day. As she did, her expression softened.

“Guess I could say the same about you, huh?” Slowly, she moved closer, concern tinging her round face. “Are you okay?”

Delver grunted, offering a conciliatory nod. As much as he’d been cursing her just a few moments ago, he had to admit, she had practically saved his life. Which meant…

“I suppose this makes us even.” Delver chuckled weakly, tipping his head back against the crumbling stone, closing his eyes. Just for a moment. “A life for a life. Pretty fair trade, if you ask me.”

Sylda hummed, and the pair lapsed into a strange, heavy silence. They both knew it wasn’t the same. Not really. What Delver had done - reckless and archaic and irrational - went a little beyond intervening in an alleyway brawl. When he’d saved her life, she’d been a stranger. A murderer hanging for her crime before a crowd of thousands.

But, as it turned out, they were both willing to ignore that fact. At least for now.

“Come on,” Sylda said softly, her voice coaxing Delver’s eyes to open once more. Blurry at the edges, she held out her arm - an offer of support. It was a gesture of peace, even if only temporary. “We’d better get out of here. I’ve... got some questions.”

Nodding, pulling in one last steadying breath, Delver didn’t even have to swallow his pride for once. He just accepted the offer.

#oc tober #oc-tober #fictober20 #stonebreakerseries #day 4 #delver #sylda #prompt #delver prompt #sylda prompt #other location #yelen #delver writing #sylda writing

[jitteryjive]

FANTSY AU OH BOY*sits down and brings out a bag of popcorn and a large fanta* I WANA LISTEN ABOUT THIS ONE

HELL YEAH!!!

also apologies for this taking so long to answer!!! I wanted to write everything down :)

warning: this will be a long post even though it’s incomplete! also this will contain ode/pmtok chapter three spoilers since I’m not ignoring the fact that the game exists

tags contain all triggers.

-

okay, so basically, this niche au is entirely centered around the protagonists of my normal pmtok fics, consisting of Sea Captain, Ode, Prof, Cherub, DJ, and Shroomses. I’m sorry I don’t know why it’s such jitteryjive-protags-toadcentric but whatever, sorry guys

let’s start five thousand years ago. five thousand years ago, a pirate by the name of Captain Ode stole a legendary item from the heavens called the Marino.

it was simply a simple barter for the crown of the desert, belonging to a widespread king named King Shroomses (not to interrupt but HOLY FUCK his later designs in this story are like YES). for a while now, he’s held a grudge against him, as he’s much more skilled in stealing in this au and does stuff to fuck with him.

so, one day, Ode comes to make a deal with the King. he proposes that, if he lets him inherit the entire kingdom right now, he’ll have in possession both the Marino and boundless riches he’d stolen from aristocrats and oligarchies.

however, things don’t go as planned. Ode is captured by the King in response to the deal, surprising him.

he’s told to return the Marino to the heavens or else. like the crafty pirate that he is, Ode creates a plan to get away with the crown, and to seal the deal in a way the King won’t realize.

he tries to become king in the dead of night. he’s found attempting to steal the responsibility of being a ruler of the Kingdom, and apparently, this was the last straw.

this is where canon goes downhill. instead of being frozen and revived yadayada, he’s brutally executed on the spot (it’s not relevant to the plot but he was guillotined if you were wondering, ouch).

even though he’s, well, dead now, the King is still upset over his fuckery, and with necromancers growing stronger around him, he decides to take measures to ensure he will never walk the earth ever again.

he creates an elaborate labyrinth and hides the body of the pirate, convinced no one will ever revive his presence, and he goes back to his throne.

that isn’t the end of his story, though— he feels worse and worse for executing him in such a painful way, all on a personal grudge. it isn’t kingly at all to feel petty and take a technically innocent person’s life, even if everything he said was genuine.

over time, in his head, his morals degrade and his ruling abilities deteriorate as he falls into madness, believing he isn’t fit to rule at all with such a sin committed.

King Shroomses goes to Sedjet, the Fire God, to receive punishment. however, as a divine being due to his blessings, he cannot die from fire (MARY SUE ALERT /j).

he is severely injured, though, earning permanent magic scars all over his body that reek of flames and intended death.

so, what does he do now, to step onto the gallows and rid his kingdom of his evil doings?

the King decides to put himself into eternal sleep (contrasting from the non-au theory that he didn’t intend to sleep for a couple thousand years lmao). he curses himself a flower called the sleeping lily, shutting down his body and sending him into what is essentially a magic coma. he cannot be woken up, unless the lily is destroyed (causing him immense pain), or his living conscience is taken over. the way the curse works is that he allows himself to only think— his intention is to suffer and think over everything he’s done, to rid his body and his kingdom of anymore of his madness and horrible intention.

he orders his kingdom to set a new ruler, and to seal him into a room where his flowers will be kept and connected to his immobilized body. combined with the heavy doors, the flower’s intense properties, and the now hidden key to the room, there is essentially no way to wake him up. the King has finally gotten his wish— he will do the same as Ode and never live again.

he earns the new nickname of the Sleeping King, the once proud and prominent ruler dissolving into nothing more than a mysterious legend and a locked room. again, it’s what he would’ve wanted, to lose everything he’d built up to.

now, present time! woohoo!

five thousand years later, the story now focuses on a young bard by the name of Peter (this is DJ in the au, it’s his first name). Peter is a necromancer bard who comes from a long line of.. oh, pyromancers. they’re not very happy he’s chosen a different route in magic. (this is based off my headcanon/theory that he’s the Lighthouse Keeper in pmcs, just for kicks n laughs lol)

they have dreams of being able to revive someone great, to be known as an important necromancer who’s skilled at what they do. he’s had a dream to revive those important to him, too, considering an incident from long ago when a face-stealing monster (hole punch, not derogatory) took his friends’ lives and nearly took theirs.

however, Peter has no opportunity to revive any great figures of the past— where in the world would he find someone, asking for a necromancer to try their skills and revive an ancient person fo the past?

he finds a scholar named Baker (ahhh prof the homosexual), who also happens to be obsessed with archeology and a certain dead figure in history that he has direct plans to revive and.. okay, on second thought, they find him sort of strange.

he wants to revive a dead pirate named Captain Ode, just a fantastical legend, to have him explain the entirety of his long-dead time. it could provide context for the backstory of the Sleeping King or perhaps the barren desert kingdom that once held the two figures of legend and wonder.

well, it works for Peter, considering they’ve got similar focuses, and they actually become friends! they’re besties now.

to practice the skills of an experienced necromancer, he goes around the world with Baker, the two practicing their skills and gradually collecting what little information they can scavenge for about the infamous pirate, now a shadow to the world’s past.

one day, though, things drastically change and pick up the pace. as they’re passing through a forest, known for its holiness and direct paths into the heavens, an angel falls down from heavens.

and not gracefully, as the fucker just like— *THUNK* hits the ground and doesn’t wake up.

now Peter (an inexperienced necromancer) and Baker (a wimpy scholar) are standing in front of an angel, pale and covered in feathers that fell off their small wings.

I think you can guess who this is, lol.

after taking the dead? unconscious? whatever angel to safety, they wake up. and instantly start freaking out, because through the jumble of words they’re spitting out, the two friends make out essentially:

they were walking through the heavens, guarding the clouds like usual, when the angels all around them began to panic and freak out. somehow, a monster with blades (scissors, not derogatory once again) had gotten in, and was now killing angels by slicing them in half and causing awful chaos all around.

at some point as they were running away, someone said a warning and shoved them from behind, breaking the magic barrier in the clouds and sending them falling all the way through the heavens to the vines to the canopies, and now onto the ground they were on.

so, essentially, this terrified angel going by the name of Cherub had just survived an attack from a monster and had fallen an impossible height onto earth, where they were now trapped. great.

they agree to take them into their care until they’re back to full health, and they’ll find a way to return them to the heavens— it’s safe to assume they’ll be in trouble for befriending a (literally) fallen angel.

the thing is, they don’t want to go back.

Peter and Baker are confused until they elaborate. recently, Cherub has taken up interest in a long-dead pirate by the name of Captain Ode. they’d already gotten punished for researching such a horrible, damned name in the heavens. he’d stolen the Marino, a precious artifact that was perhaps lost to time now, ruining any chance of letting those on earth to enter the heavens.

since they were so interested in Ode’s character, and that they held the belief he wasn’t as bad as the angels swore he was, they didn’t want to return to angry attendants who despised their growing opinions.

they proceed to ask if they can join them in adventuring, and their quest to revive Ode for answers of everything— they’ve always wanted to see the world.

with even more opportunity for information on a silence figure of the past, they accept them into their party. together, Peter, Baker, and now Cherub set off into the wide world of fantasy, still searching for an answer on the Pirate of Dreams and the Sleeping King.

the three become close friends, stringing quite tightly together that there is no room for anyone else— it’s just Peter, Baker, and Cherub against the world’s judgement, adventuring and fighting monsters and studying dead people.

which messes with a lonely Ken, a sea captain (Sea Captain) who considers himself ‘friends’ with the three. he isn’t sure where he stands in their relationship— he believes that all he is is a figure of transportation, boating them across oceans and supporting their adventures despite his buried jealousy and growing sadness.

he oh-so-wishes he could be part of their world. Ken wishes he could show his unused swordfighting abilities, be able to research whatever legend they’re investigating, join them and be considered an actual friend.

but, every time he asks, the three worried adventurers always say that they’re afraid he won’t be safe enough to come with them. he technically doesn’t own a sword he knows how to wield (why did he choose such a specific weapon..?), and they would hate for him to perish on a certain adventure. besides, they were scared, thinking about how he wasn’t adapted to the environments they’d been in— would he actually survive if he came along?

and every time, Ken’s pleas are refused. when will he ever get his wishes, to be part of them? to be as esteemed as Ode, the seafarer they’ve been researching?

but those are childish dreams, he tells himself. he knows he will never be important to them.

so Ken spends his days, sailing the ocean, wondering what his purpose is when his former purpose was nothing more than expectant ramblings. he’ll never be an adventurer, and he knows this.

the first section of this story is spent detailing Ken’s issues with his loneliness and yearn, and detailing the adventures our three journeyers are going about on, leading up to the true plot of the story.

Baker comes to find information that there is an ancient city deep in the desert, a kingdom of forgotten dreams and necromancers. as Peter is a necromancer bard and likes gathering crowds to their music, a small city full of necromancers is his place to be.

it’s also confirmed by Cherub that this is the assumed kingdom where the Sleeping King resides, the only ‘living’ person left who knows the location of Ode’s body. is he exactly alive, though, they’re not sure.

all they have to do is wake up the basically-fictional-at-this-point King, and they’ll be on their way to getting their precious answers about the history of the ancient times.

also, by this point, the strange party the three have created has taken up a name. they call themselves the Sun Keepers. (this is essentially a way to stop saying “the three” “them” “the group”).

the Sun Keepers head to the Sandcastle Kingdom (YES THIS IS A REFERENCE), asking the long-time residents where to find the Sleeping King. but for some reason, they get ridiculed and laughed at.

one of the residents elaborates that there is no way to find him, because his chambers were magically sealed with the only key that could open them. really, no one knew where the keeper of the key was, or even if she was still alive, narrowing down their chances of ever meeting the Sleeping King in general. woah, plot shit.

their journey takes a brand new turn when they go out, searching everywhere they know for the key that could lead them to the Sleeping King and then Ode.

eventually, more “oh HELL YEAH” plot shit happens where they have to duel the keeper in a battle of wits for the key. Baker’s actually being put to use 😳 also CHERUB USES THEIR AXE. IN SOME OF THE SCENES HERE

once they have the key in their possession, they head to the Sandcastle Kingdom, ready to open the chambers of the Sleeping King after all eternity of slumber.

when they break open the doors, they discover they’ve forgotten the fact he can’t be awoken— considering that he’s spiritually and physically connected to quite a few sleeping lilies, it’s going to be very hard to wake up the, well, Sleeping King.

they attempt a few things (avoiding the last resort of cutting off the lilies and causing him pain) such as naturally trying to wake him up I.e shaking his shoulders, having Peter try to revive him with necromancy despite him being alive, and using heavenly methods to wake him up.

with no way to wake him up, they, downtrodden, leave and lock his chambers. despite all this, hope was not entirely lost, meaning they had to take a forbidden path as to not risk his life and kill the king.

Cherub finds a way to cast a spell that will temporarily allow them to ‘intrude’ his mind, aka just fucking with his thoughts to get him to wake up. it’s difficult at first, as there are no thoughts to be able to intrude (his mind is oddly empty), but they’re able to wake him up.

the sleeping lilies disconnect, he starts breathing again, and King Shroomses is once again awake.

things go VERY differently that expected. instead of standing up or speaking or doing anything, he’s simply in shock and dumbfounded at the fact that he’s actually awake after thousands of years of thinking to himself, preserved in the ancient chambers of his palace.

he then says that he’s confused that two peasants and a divine being had woken him up with no guards in sight— was this some kind of mistake?

the Sun Keepers explain that they’ve woken him up to find the location of Ode’s body, to resurrect him for answers of a pirate’s past.

knowing he was the one who despised Ode and executed him, they expected him to put up a fight and to protest against bringing him to life, he accepts, saying he’ll allow it.

Shroomses explains that he doesn’t care whether Ode is alive or dead at this point— he is nothing more than a legend of the past, and he has nothing to lose or gain from bringing him back to life. so, bringing the one he so awfully killed to fruition, it’s not wrong in his book in the slightest.

he also elaborates that Ode’s body is hidden in a large labyrinth from thousands of years ago. originally, before he had his downward spiral, he despised the thought of Ode returning to mortality, so he’d created this elaborate prison for his body so no one could find him.

their goal won’t be easy to reach if they’re literally going to have to fight tooth and nail to get to the bones of a dead pirate. it’s really sucky for them that, now that Shroomses doesn’t care about whether he’s dead or alive anymore, there’s no reason for the labyrinth to be there.

he lends them a couple things to aid them in their journey, hands them the key to open the labyrinth, and wishes them off.

Shroomses also passes over the old clothing of Ode, his trustworthy, recognizable coat. if he’s going to be alive again, he may as well have the clothes he’s always worn.

he doesn’t even bother to leave the room or follow them or greet anyone— he simply sits back down into his ancient throne, amongst the dead sleeping lilies, and thinks about things for the first time in a long while.

with their road rocky, the Sun Keepers nervously set off to achieve what they’ve come for.

Ode, the Pirate of Dreams, soon to breathe the air of life once again.

(also, if you’re thinking they could’ve asked Shroomses about the past, they were specifically looking for Ode’s insight, as he traveled everywhere and Shroomses did not.)

the trip isn’t easy in the slightest at all— the three risk death and peril as they make their way through the endless structure, holding the bones of the dead man somewhere in its hands.

the worst part is is that they don’t know his location in this maze— it’s a mystery to where his bones might be hiding. good thing Baker has a shovel, though.

and Peter’s afraid to tell his friends that they might not be able to fully/actually revive Ode. they might not be strong or magically potent enough to bring the body of an ancient, ancient man back to life and somehow reverse its decay so the body is all back together.

hopefully, this won’t all go to hell and be for nothing. right?

after hours of staving off the magic of the labyrinth, a defense system to keep out people like them, they’re finally at the end of their path.

a small, simple room, with a grave marked with Ode’s name.

Peter casts the spell. at first, it’s messy— there’s blood, there’s guts, there’s things he wished he hadn’t seen.

but Ode walks again. he’s, surprisingly, acting normal— unlike Shroomses, who sat there for at least thirty seconds processing his existence.

they give him his coat, and now he’s in the full, depicted appearance of himself— the Pirate of Dreams, with his red spots and his blue coat.

he asks who they are, and the Sun Keepers explain just that. Peter, the young necromancer who’d just revived him. Baker, a scholar who’s been waiting to ask him so many questions. And Cherub, a fallen angel who’s been adventuring with them.

Now that he knows who they are, he nonchalantly agrees to teaching them everything he knows. although he is ruffled his peaceful deaths was interrupted, they’ve come this far to learn about him.

Ode doesn’t exactly have any opinion on this— besides, he’s got nothing better to do.

they depart together with small talk and no fanfare.

the four spend the next months learning all about the pirate. Ode does as they say and gives up everything he’s ever seen and learned. Ransacked ships, treasure islands, dead kingdoms of the past, everything an adventuring pirate would see on their travels.

they learn everything he’s been holding onto, the sights he’s taken in and the world he’s experienced.

every word out his mouth is written down and stored away for reference, everything now a symbol of the life he lived before his execution.

Ode bonds with the three, learning about them too and how they all met— even if it’s not an equal exchange, he still finds it usefully interesting.

finally, nothing’s left for them to learn. the three thank him profusely for his help.

he leaves with a simple goodbye to the three, off to apparently re-see the world in new eyes, walk on the modified land he’d ran across thousand of years ago.

the Sun Keepers know their lengthy, strenuous adventure is over now, but they’ve grown so close to one another they can’t help but want to keep going in their futures together, journeying through lands untouched and keeping their reputation as reviving such a famous figure of the past.

everything is well.

of course, that’s what they think. they’re under the oblivious impression that Ode had been cooled down to an unbiased legend, happy to comply to anything.

they’re painfully wrong, because he hates them.

at first, Ode didn’t know who they were— he assumed they were random adventurers who didn’t understand who he really was, which was technically true.

but when they explained that King Shroomses had helped them, he understood who they were. they were evil. they were malicious people, working with the man who’d so shamelessly killed him without a single thought.

and he was offended by how much they used him. at first, when he rested in his grave and grew dormant, he was upset that he was wrongfully executed. but after time, he’d gotten used to the blissful silence and approaching eternity of sleep. it was peaceful, really— no more panic or anger or joy or sadness.

he was dead, and he was fine with that. and that was where he expected to stay.

until these things that held themselves so high revived him with their shitty magic and said they needed him for— what— writing a book or something?

Ode couldn’t believe they’d brought him back into life, overwhelming and miserable for him now, just to learn about them.

they so happily worked with the King he hated, treating him like he was nothing more than a project to be studied. actually, that was who he was to them!

Ode analyzed their behaviors and got them to give up the things they were so vulnerable with.

he was finding the best way to kill them.

they were clearly affected by the state of Shroomses’ deteriorating mindset, nothing more than arrogant adventurers who gave him bad purpose. if he killed them off, he could move onto his bigger goal— the King.

and then he’d finally be at rest.

he targets the Sun Keepers first. he hears they’ve gotten off a boat in a maritime town, so he heads there to find and quietly take their lives.

however, as he’s searching the area by the docks for the sight of a purple haired bard, a scholar in brown, and a small angel with an axe, he hears.. crying.

Ode’s torn. he can either find them and kill them, or he can find the person who sounds like they’re sobbing their eyes out.

he chooses the latter— as morally screwed as he is, he isn’t going to abandon whoever’s crying.

he then discovers the crying’s coming from the boat that he hears belonged to the Sun Keepers. either one of them has been separated, which is lucky for him, or they’ve hurt someone dearly, only adding to the reasons to despise their guts.

Ode finds a freckly sailor, clad in blue, crying very hard in the corner of the boat’s cabin.

he won’t leave them behind, so he sits down next to them and asks who they are.

they admit they’re confused someone’s actually talking to them, then explains that their name is Ken. he’s a sailor who’s friends with a very popular adventuring team, the Sun Keepers.

oh.

Ode mentions that he’s.. ‘looking’ for the three, which prompts Ken to immediately direct him towards them, but he refuses his offer— some foolish adventurers don’t matter when he’s in pain.

the sailor is still perplexed by how considerate he’s acting (even though he’s literally asking what his name is..?), apparently not being used to people so nice to him. it’s been a while since someone’s considered his feelings, boating around so many people around the world.

after a bit of coaxing from Ode, he eventually lets slip that he hates his life. he’s such a miserable, greedy person who’s overly jealous of everything about the Sun Keepers.

they won’t let him adventure because they think he’s too weak for it. they’ve got such strong relationships with one another that it’s painful to even watch them stand together. he’s been friends with Baker for so long, so why did it take so little time for him to be painted over with new friends?

he finally confesses that he wants to know just why they ignore him so much, what they’ve been doing that’s making him a ghost in their lives.

Ode painfully reveals how he’s technically the reason why— they’ve been searching for him.

he expects the downtrodden Sea Captain to retaliate or get angry with him, but all he does is sadly accept the truth. it’s really his fault he’s so obsessed with the three.

the pirate backs up his feelings and opinions, however— this isn’t normal behavior in a friendship. this is neglect on their part, and he is a pawn in their game of pathetic research.

he finally speaks up. he says he hates the Sun Keepers, because they’re working with the man who wrongfully killed him over a stupid grudge of his. and they support this! they brush over it like some kind of mistake!

Ken is horrified to hear this, now knowing the deeds of the ones he is now ashamed to call his friends. how could he have been so blind to their horrible tolerance?

and that’s not all— Ode had been revived only to be used for research. he was treated like a lab rat, being continuously squeezed for answers about the past and everything he could remember. it was torture to do it, working tirelessly to give them what he needed.

combined with the fact Ken was only needed just to boat them around (as assumed), they were used in different ways by the same people.

they’re so much worse than he thought, it’s realized.

then Ode asks him something he’d never expected to be offered— if he’d like to join him in killing the Sun Keepers and King Shroomses, to finish off the ones causing them both pain.

it’s a hesitant thought, but he finds it’s the only way to feel better. obviously, they don’t care enough to listen to his pleas to adventure or even be friendlier with them.

Ode promises he’ll never treat him as awfully as the two have been treated— he’ll genuinely be his friend in exchange for working together.

that day, Ken left behind his role as an unsatisfied way to ferry a ‘friend’ around, and he became the best thing he’s experienced—

a bad person. he’s tired of being good, he wants to do bad things.

now that his hunger to be so much better than his measly past self is only temporarily satiated, he’s ready to use those swordfighting abilities he’d left idle, and join Ode on his journey to kill the Sun Keepers and the King of the Desert.

the two set off on foot towards the Sun Keepers’ distant direction, ready to complete the first targets in their intertwined destinies.

-

anyways! that’s all I have so far. it might be kinda cringe but this au is legit one of my favs of any I’ve written from how interesting it is to me. I’m probably gonna update/make my better refs for all the important characters and post em :)

if you’ve gotten this far in this wall of text, thank for reading about this! it’s incomplete, but again thank you for giving it attention.

peace out 💜

#pmtok #fantasy au #fantasy #long post #infodump #execution tw #death tw #violence tw #attempted suicide tw #falling tw #suicidal thoughts tw #guilt tw #murder tw #swearing tw #abandonment tw #corruption tw #necromancy tw #weapons tw #revenge tw #punishment tw #depression tw #jealousy tw #coma tw #sleep tw #caps tw

[writing-the-end]

Exodus- Part 1

An Edolas Hermit AU story. 

Impulse has become public enemy no. 1 in Hermitland. Making the impossible escape from General Xisuma and his cohorts Doc and Cub, Impulse and his friends need to do the impossible- escape Hermitland, beyond the walled city. Where will they end up? Who will make it? 

How does Impulse become Edolas Impulse? 

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

I didn’t intend to make an 8 part story of how Impulse found his way to Edolas, how he came to become a part of the guild, but Red’s story is just too good to not tell it all! I’m very proud of this story, I hope you guys love it as well. 

Warning: This story includes general dark elements and language

“It’s only a matter of time before they find you, Impulse.” Tango whispers, watching as Zed presses the last of their medical cream against Impulse’s bruised neck. Impulse flinches at each touch, even though he knows he has no reason to. 

Impulse knows these are his friends. They saved his life, cut him free and fled through the underground tunnels together. But it hurts either way, and any sort of pressure around his neck makes his throat close up all over again, and the tears well at the corners of his eyes. A whisper in the back of his mind says this isn’t real, that he isn’t really alive. He’s still on the noose, and his mind is playing tricks with what he sees, the time he feels passing. Or that he's still in the rehab center, hallucinating it all after the effects of the shots that are forced into his veins. 

He has to quiet that voice, remind himself that it is real. His friends really did save him from the gallows. It’s been a week since they made their great escape, into the long forgotten tunnels of Hermitland. Tango and Zed only took short trips to the city above, just to get food from safehouses littered across the place. Impulse was public enemy number one, he wouldn’t be able to show his face above ground. Not unless he wanted to get captured again. 

In the week that he’s been hiding below ground, the red marks around his neck have turned into horrible black bruises. In a fractured mirror salvaged from an abandoned house, he can see where the noose constricted against his throat. It aches at all hours of the day, and in any reflection, he has to pause to look at the mottled skin. When he gulps, or eats, it stings like someone just struck him in his trachea. He struggles to sleep at night, both from the pain in his neck as well as the nightmares that haunt his dreams. 

“We need to leave.” Impulse breathes out, once Zed’s fingers are away from his neck. “We need to get out of Hermitland.” 

“Where will we go?” Zed questions, bouncing in his shoes at the thought of leaving. Excitement glitters in his eyes, the closest thing to sunshine Impulse has seen all week. 

“Anywhere we want. We’ll be free, we don’t have to listen to anyone. We can go anywhere, do anything.” Impulse sees Tango sit up, determination and hope filling tired eyes. 

“Do you really think we’ll be able to make it out there? How do we know what’s on the other side of the wall?” Tango wrings his hands, unable to not be skeptical about such idealistic beliefs.

“We’ve made it here for this long. Survived all the city had to throw at us, survived living off the grid down here. We’re three smart dudes, we’ll figure it out.” Impulse runs a hand through his hair. They have different skills, different pasts. Impulse knows how to make things last, when he doesn’t know what the future will hold. Zed sees uses for things no one else would think to make use of. And Tango has years and years of private schooling and work in the underground to understand what they’re dealing with. 

“We should leave sooner rather than later.” Tango concedes, a wispy smile starting to appear on his face. They’re really going to escape. “It’s only a matter of time before they find us.” 

“Let’s leave now!” Zed tosses the empty medicine tin over his shoulder, scrambling to his feet. 

Tango grabs Zed by the tail of the white button up shirt they all wear. “We need supplies if we’re going to leave. Food, water, tools.”

“I know that my family has some stone tools at our house.” Zed offers. “And we can get food as well. Pack up what we want to take with us.” 

“Can I come up with you guys?” Impulse wants to go to his apartment. Get his own things, his own clothes. Maybe even say goodbye to his family. He hasn’t been home in so long, not since he was captured by the guards. That was...well, he doesn’t know how long ago it was. He can’t remember how long he was in the rehab facility. 

Even Zed’s face loses the joy, both frowning at him. “It’s too dangerous, mate. They know what you look like. Everyone knows what you look like after the…” 

Zed doesn’t need to say it. Mentioning the public execution by name wasn’t necessary, they all knew what Zed was saying. Tango stands, brushing his black pants clean of the dust and dirt the underground carries. “Besides, the bruises would be a dead giveaway as well. You stay down here, we’ll be back soon enough.” 

Impulse watches Zedaph and Tango disappear down the dimly lit tunnels, wandering down the subway that was half built then forgotten. Leaving Impulse to his own devices, pacing nervously around the small cave they’ve claimed as theirs. His worries of them getting caught start morphing as time goes on. What if they’re wrong, and Cub does know who Zed and Tango are? What if they’re waiting to catch them when they can’t escape? What if they're walking right into a trap, and he can’t do anything from down here? What if Cub has been watching them all this time, and there’s cameras even in the underground? Impulse looks around, trying to find any sort of telltale hint of their little hideout being bugged. 

He peels back maps, careful not to smudge his sloppy handwriting. Handwriting from when they were looking for a break in the wall. He presses the corners of the map back up, noting the empty area surrounding Hermitland. Whoever made this map didn’t even bother to fill in what’s beyond the wall- it might as well be the void, or not exist at all. Hermitland is the entire universe, the entire life of everyone left in this world. 

He digs through chests, shaking bottles of redstone and flicking comparators. Nostalgia whispers across Impulse’s mind, remembering when he first met Zed and Tango. They were all first years in engineering school, having just passed their placement exams. Tango came from a well off family that had adopted him, Zed was a genius that won a competition, but Impulse just got lucky. Lucky to get a scholarship to become a redstone engineer. To help the people and the city. Back then, his idea of helping was developing better redstone lines, fixing old tech. Now, helping the city was freeing it from the corrupt hands that toy with them. Three friends, enjoying school and hassling over tests, turned into three rebels just trying to find their freedom. 

Impulse goes through everything, even their beds, leaving the room a torn up disaster in his wake. He doesn’t find anything, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling like he’s being watched. Cub knows everything. He knew things about Impulse that even Tango and Zed didn’t know. But there’s nothing Impulse can do- just sit, waiting and twiddling his thumbs. Hoping for his friends to return. 

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

“Do you think that’s enough food?” Tango whispers, looking at the bag full of apples, baked potatoes, and even some bundles of golden carrots. 

“Once we’re out of the city, we’ll be able to find food no problem.” Zed laughs, putting the stone axe into the bottom of his bag. Hidden in case curfew officers ask what they have. 

“How are you so sure it’s going to be lush and green beyond the wall? How do we know everything still isn’t fucked by the war?” Tango knows that Zed is a glass-half-full kind of guy, but even this surely must give him some pause. No one knows what’s beyond the wall. Not even the most knowledgeable rebels have ever even attempted to leave the city. That fear, that unknowing of what lies beyond. It could be nothing, it could be everything. 

And that’s all they needed, all Impulse and Zed had been banking on. That everything is just beyond the wall. Tango was less sure, but the more that the others would chatter and dream, they would spark hope in him as well. That there was something beyond the wall. His friends gave him the hope that no other member of the underground ever gave Tango. It will be better beyond the wall- it has to be. 

“All those years, and nothing grew back?” Zed giggles. “I know you’re from the inner city, Tango, but I worked in the farming industry. Plants are tricky little buggers. You can’t get them to stop growing when they really wanna. I’m sure there’s stuff out there.”

Tango shrugs the pack onto his shoulder, nodding towards the door. Towards the dark streets, distant figures scurrying towards home before getting in trouble with curfew officers. “Let’s get back. I want to be out of here before sunrise.” 

The pair walk onto the streets, blending in with the other citizens. It’s easier for Zed, he doesn’t look so different as Tango. Tango always gets stopped by officers, questioned as to why he’s out. Lucky for the both of them, their jobs as redstone engineers grants them a certain amount of wiggle room. They can just claim they’re going to a build site that needs emergency maintenance. They slip through the night, unnoticed among the other people on the streets. Exact same clothing, exact same demeanor. They shouldn’t be out past curfew. Zed stops in the middle of the street, scrabbling his fingers against Tango’s arm. “We need to go to Impulse’s house.” 

“What? Why?” That’s a stupid idea. If there’s anywhere they’ll most likely be seen, mostly likely get investigated, it’s Impulse’s apartment. It’s probably bugged to hell and back. Where they first thought to search for Impulse after his escape. 

“We both grabbed things from our homes...it’s only fair he has one thing from his childhood. I know exactly what to get too. Please, Tango. It’ll be quick. No one will notice. You can use that jammer of yours to keep Cub and his drones from seeing.” The two look up into the sky, beyond the dim street lights to see if any of the surveillance drones are listening in. 

Tango sighs. “It’s only a few blocks. Let’s go. But we need to be quick.” 

They take off down the street, creeping down alleys to avoid busy intersections or patrolling drones. Out of the luxurious upper class sector, into the blue-collar apartments and homes. Smaller, looming over one another. Some houses are in disrepair, but still housing families of people. 

And there’s Impulse’s apartment. One of many doors to a long line of apartments, but his is the only one with the door wide open. The hinges nearly off their bolts, thin wood slowly creaking in the wind. Zed pauses at the doorway, looking just to his left. Into the brush and bushes that surround the steps up to Impulse’s apartment.

“Zed?” Tango waves his hand across his friend’s blank stare. They shouldn’t be seen here. 

“I saw it happen, you know. I was here when they took him. Right there.” Zed points out where he hid in the foliage. “Impulse saw them coming, and shoved me out the window. Told me not to move no matter what. They tore the door open, and dragged him out by his hair. Kicking and Screaming, no sense of humanity towards him. I should’ve done something to stop them, but Impulse told me not to move. They disappeared into an unmarked vehicle, off towards Bastion Towers.” 

He takes shaking steps up to the door, each rise up the stairs weakening his knees. All the optimism in Zed is gone, shadowed by memories so much worse than dreams. He should have done something, anything, to stop them. To help his friend.

Inside Impulse’s apartment was a disaster. Drawers flung open and contents spilled out. The sparse furniture broken and scattered. It looks like a horde of monsters came through here. The truth isn’t that far off. It’s a small apartment, really just a living area and a branched off bedroom. For this part of the city, having it’s own bathroom is fancy. Impulse was proud of the hard work he did to get this place. And now it’s all destroyed. 

Zedaph knows exactly where it is. What he knows will be the one thing Impulse would take with him. And lucky for them, it wasn’t harmed. The clock had been knocked off the shelf it sat on, but the arms still clicked along at their steady, equal pace. The brass frame was dented, but it didn’t stop the intricate clockwork from continuing to run. Zed crouches down, picking up the redstone infused clock. 

“His first redstone project. That’s a brilliant idea, Zed.” Tango whispers, looking at the moon continue to rise against the black night sky. Impulse even painted stars onto it. “I remember when he showed us this. Our first time going out to lunch together, all three of us.” 

“Let’s get back to him. I’m sure he’s on the verge of a breakdown.” Zed carefully stows the precious, cobbled together clock into the pocket of his slacks. Just as they slipped out of the underground, they returned. 

None the wiser that they’ve been watched. 

Always watched.

#I swear this story has a happy ending #but you gotta break a geode to get the gem #hermitcraft impulse #edolas hermits #edolas impulse #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft tango #hermitcraft zedaph #impulsesv #tangotek #zedaph #edolas au #dystopia au #dystopia hermits

[recentanimenews]

86 – 07 – Nobody Comes Back

86’s structure returns to more of a mix of the processors’ and Lena’s perspectives rather than being split evenly, starting with the unit launching fireworks on the anniversary of the Republic’s Great Revolution. Some are playing with sparklers, Anju is finally crying, and Kurena watches Shin off by himself talking to Lena.

Lena is the one who sent them the “special ammunition”, emptying her wallet to bribe the quartermaster. It’s a small gesture, but she can do it, so she does, and it also highlights her increasing disillusionment with the shallow material world she lives in. If it can soothe the hearts of those soldiers for just a few moments, it’s worth all the money she has.

The superb juxtaposition of the fantasy world she inhabits with the realities of how it’s maintained continues as Lena walks alone in a bustling plaza. Celebrating Alba citizens are stuffing their faces with fine food and wine and couples are whispering sweet nothings, and little kids are crying about something as little as tripping and falling (something Lena herself does in front of subordinates earlier, so nervous she was about the fireworks).

All the while, Lena is on her Para-RAID, listening to Kuren describe in unsparing detail all of the horrors processor see every day.  Compared to watching their friends lose limbs, get their faces shredded, their bodies burned, their guts ripped open, and screaming in pain as they die, the voices of the long dead are nothing.

Because Lena is a kind and virtuous person, she never stops requesting reinforcements from the surrounding units, even “overstepping herself” in the eyes of her Uncle Jerome to complain directly to him about the lack of progress in her request. He assures her “the resupply and Processor replacement plans for the Eastern Theater are a settled matter.”

She takes that to mean resupply reinforcements are on their way to Spearhead, and Jerome pointedly doesn’t dispel that misconception. Despite what she takes as good news, she obeys the letter of her uncle’s order to attend the Revolution gala in an “appropriate dress”—which for Lena, can only be mourning black.

When the time she usually contacts Shin passes, he ends up calling her, which may just be a first, and she’s clearly thankful to be called away from the boring festivities. She heads out into the courtyard to watch the city’s fireworks display, marred by light pollution, almost letting slip that she wishes she could watch the fireworks she sent with Shin, modifying her hope that all of them can watch them together when the war is over.

Lena knows Shin once watched fireworks with his brother, and Shin is happy Lena remembered her brother when he was still his brother, something he can’t do anymore. Shin also reports Anju was finally able to cry, making the fireworks a unique opportunity for 86 to have a memorial gun salute. When asked if she’ll remember them all, Lena says she will, but before that, she won’t let anyone else die.

Rewinding a bit to the morning Shin received the delivery of fireworks, Anju and Kurena, the last two girls left in Spearhead, discuss whether they should “tell” Lena a secret they still carry, now that it’s clear she’s a good person. Anju warns that Shin and Raiden probably aren’t telling her because she’s a good person they don’t want to hurt more than they need to.

We also learn Anju has words scarred into her back, and while she grew her hair out to hide them, Daiya thought she did it because her hair was so pretty. Now that it’s just her and Kurena, and Daiya is gone, she sees no reason to hide it anymore. As for Kurena, she knows when they die “their Reaper” Shin will make sure they’re properly sent off. What she fears most is when he’s the only one of them left…who will carry his heart?

Two days after the fireworks and Lena’s vow not to let anyone else to die, Spearhead attacks the forward base knowing full well it’s a trap, and are then assaulted by a new ultra-long range Legion artillery cannon. Within seconds, four more soldiers are killed. Hopefully they died instantly, because Shin obeys Lena’s retreat order, knowing if they stay they could be wiped out entirely.

When they manage to shake off their Legion pursuers, Lena launches into a diatribe about reinforcements and how it simply “doesn’t make sense” that a unit as important as Spearhead hasn’t received any in all the time she’s been their Handler. That’s when Shin asks the others if it’s okay to “tell her”, and they all agree. She’s earned enough trust to learn yet another horrible truth.

Shin, Raiden, Theo, Anju, and Kurena all take turns telling Lena that nothing she does will change a single thing, ever. They’re going to get wiped out, because they’re supposed to get wiped out. The “replacements” Jerome told her about are the Processors that come after them, but they won’t come until every last one of them is dead. Nobody ever leaves the 86th District. The five-years thing is a lie…of course it is.

The higher-ups are able to determine which Eighty-Six are smart by how long they survive, and place them in increasingly dangerous positions until finally they arrive at the Spearhead. They’re not in an elite squad because they’re the best at fighting the Legion. They’re there to be killed off so no strong strategic or tactical Eighty-Six minds will ever be able to lead a rebellion against the Alba.

Now that she knows replacements won’t come until all of them are dead, Lena doesn’t want to believe it, but she believes them anyway. When she asks why they don’t simply run, or let the Legion through, it’s for many reasons. First, to honor those lost before them. Second: just as not all 86 are good, not all Alba are scum.

An Alba woman raised Raiden. Shin was raised by an Alba priest who refused to give up his land and was sent to the camps. Theo’s captain was an Alba. They knew some of the good Alba, while Kurena and Anju knew the very worst. They mention how Kaie was abused by other 86 for her skin color, while many of them have Alba blood.

Raiden says just because some of the Alba are scum who treat them like scum, doing the same doesn’t make them better. Even if they have no choice but to face the gallows, they can at least choose how they’ll climb up there. So they’ll keep surviving as long as they can. With increasingly advanced Legion—controlled by Shin’s brother’s brain—slowly advancing, that may not be long at all.

Now that Lena knows all of these things, simple gestures of kindness or little acts of resistance against her apathetic, hedonistic society probably won’t suffice anymore. All her hopes were riding on reinforcements that she now knows aren’t coming. And if Shin and the others are right, slaughtering their best frontline shoulders will eventually lead to the Legion invading the Alba districts.

So really, Lena can see the gallows in the distance as well. The difference is, she may still be do something other than merely decide how to climb up to them. With the help from what’s left of Spearhead, there’s a slight chance she can change all their fates.

By: braverade

#Anime #News #RABUJOI – An Anime Blog

[swanqueeneverafter]

Sins of the Past Pt.16

Camelot. Dungeons. (Lancelot, Merida, Belle, Xena and Gabrielle continue to fight Morgana's guards alongside the now-freed knights of Camelot. While Xena kills the last guard, Guinevere arrives.) Lancelot: "Guinevere. What are you doing here?" Guinevere: "Morgana sent me… to talk to you, to make you see sense." Merida: "They've bewitched her!" Guinevere: "No, listen to me. I’m going to help you escape." Gabrielle: "I'd say you're a little late for that." Guinevere: "You may have escaped your cells, but only I know all of Camelot's secret passageways. Come on, it's this way." (Watching discreetly from the top of the winding staircase, Morgana and Morgause see and hear everything.) Morgana: "It is as we suspected. She’s betrayed me." Morgause: "I'm afraid so, my sister. But wait, this is still a good thing. Let her lead the rebels from the castle, it will give us just cause to execute them all."

Wonderland. (Will and Ella walk back towards the Underland, Will carrying the Forget-Me-Knot over his shoulder.) Ella: “The way you talked to that poor man, you were really getting through to him.” Will: “I'm a thief. Playing parts is what I do.” Ella: “I don't think you were playing a part. You were identifying with him.” Will: “Ah, bollocks.” Ella: “Is it? He was heartbroken, and you saw that.” Will: “Yeah, well I know what we won’t see, and that’s your mother through this thing. I’m sorry, Ella, but you’ve seen how this thing works now. We can’t just hold this thing up and walk over ever last millimeter of Wonderland in the hopes of seeing her.” Ella: (Nods:) “I know, you’re right. But what it can do is settle your debts with the Caterpillar, and that will mean that you can focus on helping me without looking over your shoulder all the time.” Will: (Looking at the sun setting on the horizon:) “Looks like we'll just make it.” Ella: “What are you waiting for? Time to clear your name.” Will: “I've been thinking.” Ella: “Oh, no.” Will: “And maybe you were right. Handing this thing back to the Caterpillar might be a truly horrible idea.” Ella: “What do you mean?” Will: “Well, he's not exactly Wonderland's chief humanitarian now, is he?” Ella: “No.” Will: “Chances are he'll use it for the same way he uses everything - to hurt people.” Ella: “But if you don't hand it over to him, you'll spend your remaining days as a desk ornament.” Will: (Shrugs this off:) “Pah.” Ella: “That thing is your key to freedom, for you to no longer be a hunted thief.” Will: “Actually, being a thief ain't up to anyone but me. If I give this to him, then I went to steal this thing for me, that makes me a thief. But if I don't give it to him, well, then I got it for you.” Ella: “And what does that make you then?” Will: “Hopefully someone with a shred of humanity left.” Ella: (Smiles:) “No ‘hopefully’ about it.” (Will holds up the knot, strikes a match from his pocket and sets light to the rope. The resulting smoke rises into the air and vanishes.) Camelot. Forest. (Pursued by Morgause and her men, the escapees run through the forest.) Belle: "They’re almost upon us!" Merida: "We need to get out of this valley!" Lancelot: "I can buy you all some time. You need to go. Run!" Guinevere: (Grabbing his arm:) "I won't leave you!" Lancelot: "Camelot needs you." Xena: "Camelot needs both of you. Gabrielle and I have got this. Go! We'll be right behind you." (Gabrielle and Xena stand back to back, taking on several soldiers before Xena is able to release her chakram.)

(The weapon arcs upward and across the valley, dislodging some large boulders to cause a rockfall, creating an impasse for the soldiers. Before Xena can catch the chakram however, she is knocked backwards by the force of Morgause’s magic. Inches from disaster, Gabrielle jumps and flips, catching the weapon in mid-air. Snarling up at the sorceress, Xena is ready for round two when Gabrielle grabs her.) Gabrielle: “Not now, let’s go!” (As they retreat, Morgause chants and blasts the rocks away, clearing the path for her soldiers. Arriving at the end of the valley, the escapees find Regina, Emma, Hook and Rumplestiltskin waiting for them beside the Sorcerer’s door. One by one, the knights, Lancelot and Guinevere and Merida run through the door to safety, Belle running into her husband’s arms.) Rumplestiltskin: “Oh, Belle, I’m so glad you’re safe.” Regina: (Seeing the soldiers running towards them:) “Not yet she isn’t. Go through the door. Now!” (Standing aside to let Xena and Gabrielle run through the door, Regina steps forward, sending fireballs at the soldiers, scattering them. Before Emma is able to use her own magic, she is knocked backwards by Morgause. Conjuring a fireball in each hand, Regina shoots them at Morgause who deflects them effortlessly.) Morgause: “Well if it isn’t the Evil Queen. Let’s see if you can live up to your reputation.” Regina: “Bring it, bitch.” (Both women send sparks of magic towards each other, neither managing to gain ground on the other. Finally getting to her feet, Emma joins the magical battle. The combined magic of the married couple blasts Morgause backwards. Taking their chance, Regina and Emma escape through the Sorcerer’s door. Helped to her feet by two soldiers, Morgause watches the door disappear, silently impressed by the combined force of the Savior and the Queen’s magic.)

Somewhere In Some Other Woods. (Walking through the forest together, Henry and Richard really are quite lost.) Henry: “Please stop talking.” Richard: “Well, no need to get snippy with me, you’re the one who didn’t think to bring a map. Wonderland can’t be too far away now. Do... oh, no.” Henry: “What ‘oh, no’?” Richard: (Looks around, turning in a circle:) “Oh...No.” Henry: “‘Oh, no,’ what?” Richard: “I think I may have led us into the Enchanted Forest, and that is not good. My father warned me to stay away from here at all costs. There's a queen... An evil queen... In fact, once my father and his best friend/camping buddy, Keith, who... I called him Uncle Keith 'cause he was always around...” Henry: “Spit it out!” Richard: “They wandered in here, and Uncle Keith was never heard from again.” Henry: “Oh, great. Oh, yeah. Mm-hmm, typical. God, can't anything go right?!” Richard: “You’re just gonna keep walking?” (They walk a short distance and come to a stop outside a moss covered building.) Henry: “Oh. (Reads the notice:) ‘Happy Hour’? (Sees the sign:) The Enchanted Forest is a pub. (Exhales sharply:) God, you actually had me scared for a minute there.” (Together, they enter the establishment.) Storybrooke. Mayor's Office. (Snow White, David, Grumpy and Happy stand opposite two of the knights who accosted the dwarves earlier.) Knight 1: "By order of her Majesty, Queen Morgana, I am here to arrest Emma Swan." Snow White: "Well, first of all, it's Swan-Mills. Secondly, she's not here, and third-" David: (Rolling up his sleeves:) "She's our daughter and you're going to have to go through me." Snow White: (Calmly:) "David, please, let's hear what they have to say. What is your name, Sir..." Knight 1: "My name is Sir Mordred. Your daughter is charged with the murder of Camelot's King. Be assured that even though Arthur was her brother, Morgana has insisted that there be a fair trial." David: "Oh yes, because Camelot has a history of fair and just rulers." Mordred: (Ignoring this, to Snow:) "Where is your daughter now?" Snow White: "On vacation, with her wife and daughter. We're not exactly sure where they went. (Looking to her husband:) David, did they mention where... (David innocently shakes his head. Shrugs, to Mordred:) Daughters. You know how secretive they can be." Mordred: (With a curt smile:) "Indeed." Robin Hood: (Entering:) "I may be able to shed some light on their whereabouts. (Nods to Snow and David. To Mordred:) They're currently outside laying waste to your two colleagues. Lancelot and Guinevere are with them, so if you're feeling lucky, you and your little friend here, (Looks the other knight up and down:) could nab yourself all of Camelot's enemies in one fell swoop."

Mordred: (With another insincere smile:) "Make no mistake, we shall be back with reinforcements and next time, I will have your daughter." David: "Over my dead body." Snow White: "And mine." Regina: (Entering, her eyes full of rage:) "And mine! You tell your Queen and her lapdog that there's no way in hell I am letting either of them anywhere near my wife!" Mordred: (Infuriatingly calm:) "We shall see." (Conjuring a fireball into her hand, Regina is about to hurl it at Mordred when he vanishes. Realising that he is now along amongst very unfriendly faces, the remaining knight runs quickly towards the door and out of sight.) David: (Grabbing his jacket:) "I'll get him. Robin, let's go." Outside Town Hall. (While Lancelot and his men restrain the other two knights, Emma turns at the sound of running footsteps. After almost getting knocked down by the remaining knight, Emma is spun around again, this time by her father.) Emma: "Dad, what the hell?" David: "No time to talk now, (Tossing the keys of his truck to Robin:) we've got this!" (Before she can say anything, Emma watches as David and Robin Hood pile into David's truck and speed away in pursuit of the last knight.) Camelot. Chapel. (Morgause meets with Morgana to relay the news.) Morgause: “They were lucky to escape. I’m sorry, Sister.” Morgana: “What can they do? Guinevere and Lancelot have but a handful of men. We have Bayard’s soldiers and Camelot’s army at our disposal.” Morgause: “Yes, but whist Guinevere lives, the people will not yield.” Morgana: “Then we will make them. Let it be known that Guinevere freed Camelot’s enemies and betrayed m- (Corrects herself:) us all. Tonight we will have a gallows built, and tomorrow, one by one, we will put an end to the knights of Camelot.”

Storybrooke. Mayor's Office. (Regina and Emma sit alone with Maria sleeping beside them.) Emma: "You know, they're not wrong. I did kill Arthur." Regina: "You were protecting yourself from a madman who had threatened your family if you didn't surrender to his will." Emma: "I still had a choice. I chose to kill him. You saw what happened when I did, I was fully embraced by the Darkness after that." Regina: "Which means you've already been punished. And redeemed for that matter. If it wasn't for you, there would still be a Dark One. Never mind the fact that the Darkness was created in Camelot in the first place. Not that you'll ever hear them admit that of course." Emma: "I don't think it was technically created there, but you can work out the finer details and be ready to defend me by the time my trial starts." (Realising Emma is trying to lighten the mood, Regina takes a deep, calming breath.) Regina: "Morgana doesn't care about Arthur's death. How could she when it was her brother who poisoned her all those years ago? Morgana just ousted a beloved Queen and needs to change the conversation. The people of Camelot don't know her, so Morgana has to show that she can be a tough but fair ruler. This whole idea of a trial is nothing but political theatre." Emma: "Kind of like when you had Leopold killed and blamed Snow for his murder?" Regina: "Exactly. (Thinks a moment:) God knows why your mother still speaks to me after all I've done to her. (Tilts her head:) But then again, after five minutes of talking with her, I'm not so sure the silent treatment would be such a bad thing." Emma: (Smiling:) "Please try not to turn our daughter against her grandmother. We’re going to need as many babysitters as we can get." (They both stop and take a moment to look at the slumbering child between them.) Regina: "All I'm saying, is that you can't let this bother you. We both know how you can get when you're feeling angry or persecuted." Emma: "Oh that is not fair. That hasn't happened since... well it's been a long time." Storybrooke. Past. Main Street. (Walking together after a rough magic lesson, Regina and Emma talk over Emma's issues.) Emma: "It's like I just can't seem to control it." Regina: "That's because your magic isn't born from anger or hatred. Your magic comes from love, from the desire to protect those around you. When the Snow Queen pushed your buttons and made you angry, your powers surged out of you in a way that you'd never experienced before." Emma: "Gold always said magic is about emotion." Regina: "And he's right. Emma, before I met you, I thought that any magic or power that I had came from darkness. You showed me that there was another way." Emma: (Nods:) "When you defeated Zelena. Hasn't your magic ever faltered?" Regina: (Shrugs:) "When Gold first brought it to Storybrooke, it took a little while for my magic to come back. But I have both light and dark magic, so if one fails-" Emma: "The other takes over. So shouldn't I try and... I don't know, tap into my dark magic. As a backup?" (They walk in silence for a few paces as Regina considers her answer.) Regina: "The thing is, Emma, the strength of your Savior magic is so powerful that it dwarfs my dark magic. If we were to attempt to access your darker side, I'd be concerned about possibly diluting the purity of your light magic." Emma: (Smiles at this:) "Oh I think we both know I'm not that pure." Regina: (Chuckles:) "Well, this is true. In certain instances you've proven to be downright devillish." Emma: "I've obviously had the perfect teacher." Regina: (Smiles:) "You've plenty more to learn and I'm more than eager to teach you." Emma: "Sounds intense." Regina: "It can be." Emma: "Promise?" (With a wave of Regina's hand, both women disappear in a cloud of smoke.)

Mayor’s Mansion. (Re-appearing outside the front door to the mansion, Emma's lips are upon Regina's before the brunette can even find her keys. Noticing Regina's struggle, Emma waves her own hand and they re-appear at the top of the stairs, each woman now pulling at the other's clothes. As the intensity of their kissing increases, Regina finds herself being guided towards the window seat. Letting out a moan when Emma straddles her lap, Regina grips the blonde woman's hips, grinding her down against her thigh. Letting out her own moan, Emma latches onto Regina's neck, breathing heavily into her ear.) Emma: "Enough foreplay." Regina: "I couldn't agree more." (With a final wave of her hand, Regina transports them to the bedroom, her bra somehow landing on the door handle in mid-flight. As Emma shimmies out of her jeans, Regina puts a knee up on the chest at the bottom of the bed and, growling, begins to crawl on all fours before lowering herself into the arms of her favourite student.) Storybrooke. Present. (On the run, the remaining knight, Grif, rides off on his horse, with David driving his truck in pursuit. Robin Hood rides shotgun.) David: "Hold on!" Grif: (In the distance:) "Hyah! Hyah!" David: (To Robin:) "Take over! Speed is feet, direction is hand. (David climbs into the back of the truck while Robin Hood takes the wheel. Grif pulls his horse off-road. Banging the truck’s roof:) Circle around!” (David picks up a wooden plank from the truck bed and uses it as a joust to knock Grif off the horse.) Wonderland. The Underland. (The Caterpillar stares closely at the hourglass on his desk.) Caterpillar: “Mmm. Not much time left, Knave. (Suddenly the music stops playing and everyone turns towards the entrance:) Well, speak of the devil.” (The crowds part, revealing...) Morgause: “Expecting someone else?” Caterpillar: “Yes.” Morgause: “Pity. Now, I want you to tell me everything you know about Emma and Regina. Everything.”

#sq #swanqueen #swan queen

[thdorkmagnet]

Prison Break (Star is Rapunzel part 5)

Summary: A series of one-shots and multi-chapters proving why Star Butterfly should be considered a Disney Princess, as Star and company take over the roles of all your favorite Disney Princess characters! (Starco inevitable)

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Disclaimer: Star vs and all its characters are owned by Daron Nefcy and Disney. Frozen belongs to Disney. All rights go to their respective owners.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Marco stared sadly out the window of his lonely prison cell, the gloomy atmosphere almost a perfect match to the young thief's depressing thoughts. He was worried sick about Star, Ludo's harsh words ringing through his head on an endless loop. Who knows what had happened to her, all because he had been stupid enough to fall into such an obvious trap. Of course, it had been a trap! One that Marco had walked right into and the boy had been beating himself up over it since he got thrown in here. If anything happened to Star it would be his fault. He just hoped that Star had somehow managed to get away, but the fact that he couldn't be sure terrified him to no end. And what was worse was that he had no way to help her stuck here in prison.

He had tried multiple times to explain his plight to a passing guard, hoping to send his friend some kind of help but no one listened, his pleas falling on deaf ears. So all he could do was stare out the window and think about the events leading up to this point, wishing he had seen through Ludo's schemes to avoid this whole mess in the first place.

The last thing he remembered was falling unconscious at Ludo's feet before waking up tied to the mast of a ship, the crown on the ground next to him. He had struggled in vain for a few moments but the boat had apparently been spotted by the guards because the vessel was soon dragged to shore and he was hauled, none too gently, to the prison cell he now sat in. He had tried to fight back, to escape their grasp and go save Star but the grip was too strong. He had failed Star... again.

Marco had tried reasoning with them, trying desperately to tell them of the danger Star was in but no one believed them. Not that he blamed them. Why would anyone trust a thief? His stupid reputation was going to get the one person in this world he cared about killed. Or worse.

Marco shuddered. He didn't want to imagine what Ludo had in store for Star but he swore he wouldn't let it happen. He would save her. Somehow.

"Well would you look at that," came a cynical voice behind him and Marco turned to see Kelly standing just outside his cell, her arms crossed and giving him a superior look. "The great Marco Diaz sitting behind bars. Not so smart now, are you?"

"Kelly, thank goodness," Marco said, happy to see a familiar face (even if it was one that hated him) rushing over to the bars and gripping them tightly as he gave the girl a pleading look. "You have to help me!"

Kelly gave a sarcastic chuckle, before saying bitterly, "Yeah, right. I don't have to do anything except escort you to your hanging."

"No, wait. Please, it's not like that! My friend is in trouble, I think she's been kidnapped, you have to save her!"

Kelly scoffed and rolled her eyes before saying, "Yeah right, you think I'm dumb enough to fall for that."

"No, no, it's not a trick, I swear!" Marco pleaded. He had to make her listen, Star's life depended on it. "It's just like I told you when I tried to turn myself in... well okay, that actually wasn't you, it was a scarecrow made to look like you, but still! The only thing that matters to me right now is Star's safety!"

Kelly gave him a long, hard stare, an eyebrow half-raised, before she muttered, "You're crazy."

"Kelly, please, I know it sounds crazy but I'm telling the truth, I swear. All I'm asking you to do is double-check that she's okay and then I'll never ask for anything again! Just, please, if Ludo has her, then-"

"Wait, Ludo?" Kelly said, her eyes widening as she took a sudden interest in the conversation.

"Y-Yeah," the boy in red replied, hope filling his chest.

"As in Ludo Avarius?" The girl asked.

"Uhh, I think so," Marco replied hesitantly, not sure where this conversation was going, worry starting to fill the pit of his stomach.

Kelly paused, thinking over her decision to tell him or not before finally, seeing the desperation in the boy's eyes, said, "A couple of guards picked him up just this morning."

Marco's eyes widened, his brain struggling to comprehend this new information. "D-Did they say anything about a girl being with them?!" He asked panic in his eyes, his heart pounding as he waited for her response, pressing his face as far against the bars as he physically could.

His heart dropped as Kelly shook her head in response, saying almost apologetically, "No, nothing about that. Apparently, they found him unconscious by the lake, no idea how he got that way."

Marco stared down at his feet for a moment, letting that all sink into his frazzled mind. Ludo didn't take her? Did Star knock him out and escape? Where was she? Was she okay? Did she know what happened to him? Finally, he looked up, locking eyes with Kelly, before declaring, "I need to talk to Ludo."

"What?!" Kelly shouted. "Nuh-uh, no way, not happening."

"Please Kelly! I need to talk to him, he's the only one who knows what happened to Star!"

"Not my problem!" Kelly yelled back. "My job is to escort you to you're hanging! Nothing else!"

"Come on, Kelly! This is important!" Marco begged.

"Why should I even listen to you? You've never given me any reason to trust you before. I bet this whole thing is just a trick for you to try and escape."

"It's not, you gotta believe me! Look just give me five minutes with him and then I'll let you- y'know, without a fight," the boy said, not bothering to hide his desperation. He didn't care if he had to get on his knees and beg, he had to make Kelly say yes. Even if Ludo was in jail, someone had told him about Star's ability and he had to know who.

The green-haired girl tried to hide her weakening resolve as she frowned at the imprisoned thief. "Not. Happening."

"Look, I know we've had our differences in the past but you have to trust me on this. I'm not asking you as your friend. But as someone who respects you."

Kelly was silent for a moment, as she internally debated her options, looking into the boy's begging eyes. There was no way that Marco could escape, especially with her watching him, so what was the harm in letting him clear his conscious before death. But then there was the slim chance that someone would find out about the visit. She could lose her job. Finally, the girl let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose as she said, "Fine. I'll take you to Ludo. But you get five minutes and then I'm taking you to the gallows, got it!"

The boy nodded, trying not to let his fear show at the mention of his fate, a small shudder jumping up his spine. "Okay," he said in a small voice.

Kelly moved to unlock the cell pulling a set of keys from her pocket and then attached handcuffs to the boy's wrists. She practically dragged him out of the cell holding his arm in an iron grip as she led him quickly down the corridor. "For the record," Kelly snapped after a moment or two of silence, keeping her gaze straight ahead. "I'm not doing this because I care. I just didn't want to listen to you whine the whole way."

Marco doubted that, but didn't say anything, instead focusing on calming his nerves. His stomach was churning with worry, his skin practically crawling at what was about to happen to him. But none of that could compare to his fear for Star's safety.

At least before he died, he'd get some answers and that small comfort was all he had to cling to as he marched slowly closer to his death.

…

"I've got a dream, I've got a dream. And I know one day romance will reign supreme," the scratchy, off-key voice of Lobster Claw rang clearly through the Snuggly Duckling, causing the rest of the pub's patrons to cringe as the Monster continued his solo for the 150th time that day alone. Buff Frog was still happily playing the jaunty tune on the piano, a lighthearted smile on his face, while the rest of the Monsters all lounged around, resisting the urge to cover their ears but most too tired to even raise a claw.

All except Tom that is, the half-Monster boy sat annoyed at his own table, fuming with anger at the lobster Monster's endless solo, his fingers drumming away on the smooth wood surface. Finally, he could take no more, slamming his hands down on the table and jumping to his feet as he shouted, "Lobster Claws, enough! The joke is dead already!"

The Monster finally ceased his ballad for a moment as he gave Tom a hurt frown. "But what about my adoring fans?" The crustacean whined. Buff Frog too stopped his piano solo as he locked eyes with the hot-headed teen.

"You put them all to sleep!" Tom shouted at the top of his lungs, gesturing over to a group of sleeping Monsters, passed out on the table next to him, snoring and some even drooling on the wooden surface.

"We are so unappreciated in our time," Lobster Claws sighed dramatically to Buff Frog, who nodded in agreement.

"Da, we will achieve dream someday, friend," the amphibian replied, putting a reassuring claw on Lobster Claw's shoulder.

Suddenly, the door to the pub busted open, the loud noise waking the group of lazy Monsters as they all jumped to attention turning to see the intruder to their hangout. Only to stare in shock as the same horse from the other day trotted into the room, looking around the dirty room with disgust. "Oh great and now this guy is back!" Tom shouted in annoyance, the Monsters around him all tensing up as they went on guard. "We already told you, we don't know where Marco Diaz is, so leave us alone already!"

But to the half-Monster's surprise, it wasn't Kelly who jumped down off the horse's back but a new girl altogether. She had a cocky smirk on her face as she casually strolled into the room, looking like she belonged there. Tom was taken aback by the girl, especially the intensity in her bright brown eyes, a mischievous twinkle in them that made Tom feel weird... almost intimidated. Still, he tried to hide his discomfort as he shouted, "Who the heck are you?!"

The girl casually approached him, the other Monsters backing away suspiciously and nervously, standing just a little too close for Tom's liking as she replied, "I'm a friend of Star and Marco."

A gentle murmur filled the room at this declaration, Buff Frog moving closer to the pair so he could hear better, the Monsters all intrigued to see where this went. Tom's interest was peaked as well, but he did not best to hide it with a suspicious glare, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Oh yeah, well where are they then?"

"That's actually why I came here," the dark-haired girl responded, not missing a beat. "See, our mutual friends are in a bit of trouble at the moment. I left them alone for one second and Marco goes and gets himself arrested and Star just up and vanishes to who knows where." There was clear concern etched in her voice but Tom couldn't tell if it was fake or not.

Buff Frog's eyes flashed with fear, while the other Monsters gasped at the news, nervously muttering amongst themselves again as they worried about the fate of the two teens. Tom, however, hid his own concern behind his stony demeanor, as he retorted, "And what does that have to do with us?"

"Simple, I got a plan to bust Marco out of jail but I'm gonna need some help to pull it off," Janna explained, burying her hands in her pockets. "That's where you guys come in."

Tom scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, right," he spat sharply. "Like you expect us to buy that. This is clearly a trap."

Janna cocked her head slightly to the side, before asking with a small smirk, "And what would make you think that?"

"Well, for one thing, you have no proof that you even know Star or Marco," Tom continued, shooting her a suspicious glare. "And last time I checked, that crazy horse over there wasn't exactly on good terms with them." Tom gestured over to Pony Head, who neighed angrily at the insult.

"Yeah, she's kind of a new addition. I'm not too sure about her myself," Janna replied, with a shrug and Pony shot her a death-filled glare, which Janna ignored. "But I'm not asking you to trust me or her, I'm asking you to help out your friends. Isn't that what you want?"

Tom still looked unconvinced, his eyes flashing with suspicion, prompting Janna to try a different tactic. "Look I get it, you just can't trust me, that's fine." The girl shrugged innocently before turning on her heels and heading for the door. "But y'know when Marco ends up in the gallows don't come crying to me about it." The girl continued, keeping at a steady pace for the door, hiding her smirk from view as she heard the Monsters shift uncomfortably behind her.

The Monsters were all giving Tom a lost look, seeing how he would respond, Buff Frog with his hands clenched at his side, staring off into space. The boy tried to hide his uncertainty behind an iron mask but he could feel the emotion crushing his chest and threatening to escape.

Janna, seeing the boy's weakening resolve out of the corner of her eye, added sneakily, "Come on, Pony. It's clear these guys are just too afraid to help us."

Her trick worked wonders as Tom instantly glared back in anger, his eyes full of fire and determination as he growled, "What was that?"

Janna smirked before turning to the boy with a blank look. "Look it's okay that you're afraid-"

"I'm not afraid of anything!" Tom shouted, completely losing any sense of rationality as anger burned through him. He stormed over to the girl, his fists clenched tightly as he crowded Janna's personal space. "Least of all facing those idiot guards!"

But Janna, didn't seem bothered by the dark glare of the feisty teen, keeping a cool head as she said, "Then, you'd be up for helping me out with my little plan?"

"Hah, like that would even be a challenge!" Tom continued with a confident smirk, his eyes still blazing with anger. "I can handle anything you could come up with."

"Good, then welcome aboard," Janna said, shaking his hand before he could even think to argue. "Glad to have you."

Tom paused, his anger dispersing as he finally realized what he had just walked into. "W-Wait, what just happened?!" Tom screeched, his brain spinning as he tried to comprehend how he ended up agreeing to her crazy scheme, after all.

"Nothing, you just volunteered to help me out is all," Janna said with a wink, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Tom flinched at the close contact, his cheeks flushing and causing his mind to grow even more befuddled. But he recovered from his shock, violently shaking his head before shouting, "Only cause you tricked me.

"Guilty as charged but it's for a good cause," Janna said, completely unaffected by the boy's harsh glare or grating teeth. She turned to the rest of the patrons of the bar before asking pleasantly, "So anyone else interested in lending a hand and saving our mutual friends?"

The cursed girl was not surprised when Buff Frog was the first to step forward, determination in his eyes as he said proudly, "Da, I help save Star and Marco."

Lobster Claws followed after with a very serious (for him at least), "Me too." Soon followed by another Monster than another until every single Monster in the bar had loudly proclaimed their willingness to help.

"Well looks like it's unanimous then," Janna said with a quick look over to Tom who was still fuming in her grip. The hot-head met her eye then looked gloomily over to his fellow Monsters before muttering bitterly, "Fine."

The Monsters all cheered in celebration, before quickly racing out of the bar, eager and ready to go save the two helpless teens, some even shouting battle cries on the way out. Soon only Janna, Pony, and Tom were left. "Come on, bud. You can ride with me," Janna proclaimed, leading the boy over to Pony Head, who was still giving them a very annoyed glare for their comments. "Oh, come on, Pony. Lighten up, I just said all that stuff to get them to agree," Janna said, but Pony just turned her head away, ignoring the pair.

Janna didn't mind though, her focus on other things, as she climbed up on the horse before reaching a hand out to the half-Monster who flushed in embarrassment, for some reason feeling flustered around this strange girl. "Come on, I won't bite," she said in a teasing tone, the slightest hint of a smirk on her face as she sensed his hesitation.

Tom's eyes narrowed at the comment while his heart did flips in his chest. "Yeah, well I still don't trust you." He tried to act angry and suspicious but it was halfhearted, especially as his voice cracked against his will.

"That's fair," Janna replied with an understanding nod. A few seconds passed before the girl added, "So are you gonna get on or are you walking?"

Tom hesitated for another second, before rolling his eyes and reluctantly taking her hand. "Can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered under his breath as he was hauled up into the saddle behind the creepy teen, the boy flushing at the close contact, keeping his hands stiff at his sides, afraid to touch her in any way.

"You can put your arms around me, y'know," Janna said in a teasing tone.

"Don't push it," Tom snapped, ignoring the part of him that wanted to take her up on that offer.

The girl just shrugged. "Have it your way," she replied calmly, before directing her attention on the horse. "Let's go, Pony."

The horse snorted an argument, keeping her hooves planted firmly in place, refusing to budge even an inch, and Janna rolled her eyes. "Look, I'll get you a whole bushel of apples once this is all over with, okay. Would that make you happy?"

This seemed to do the trick as Pony finally got into action, trotting out of the abandoned pub in half a second, galloping off toward the Kingdom of Corona as fast as she could. Tom was bouncing badly in his seat but refused to hold onto the girl to keep him steady, the mere idea of doing such a thing causing his heart to do all kinds of crazy things. "So what is this brilliant plan of yours anyway?" The boy asked via shout, the wind whipping around them making it hard to hear.

Janna smirked, as the gears in her head started turning, the perfect plan of escape already in mind. "Glad you asked."

…

Marco felt his breath hitch as Kelly unlocked the door to Ludo's cell, the loud clank nearly causing the young thief to jump. His nerves were on edge, both out of fear for his fate and for the answers he was about to receive. Regardless of what Ludo told him he would be of no help to Star, he just hoped he could live with it... well for as long as he had left to live, that is.

Kelly turned to him with a distrusting glare, silently warning him against any attempts to escape. But really, what could he do to escape anyways? He was in the middle of a heavily guarded and fortified prison, escape almost felt impossible at the moment. Marco had been in some rough spots before but he couldn't see a way out of this one, much to his dismay and horror. "You get five minutes," Kelly said firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Marco swallowed thickly and nodded. Kelly pulled the door to the cell open, letting Marco inside and the red-clad teen took a shaky step closer. This was it. Do or die. The boy cringed at his mind's poor choice of wording before stepping into the cell, the metal door closing behind him the second he was inside.

He looked over at Ludo, who seemed unaware of his presence, the small Monster perched in the window of his cell, using a small, dull knife to cut away at the thick bars that prevented escape, muttering under his breath the whole time. Marco was caught off guard by the odd sight, but remembering his mission he pushed past his surprise and loudly cleared his throat.

Ludo flinched, whipping his head around with a guilty, startled look before his eyes widened to see the red thief of all people standing there in his cell with him. "Oh, it's you," he said dismissively, turning his attention back on his project. "Go away, I'm busy."

"Not until you tell me what happened to Star," Marco said firmly, anger towards the small bird Monster bubbling in his chest and causing him to scowl. But he did his best to hold this feeling in, he couldn't afford to blow this, he had to get the Monster to open up to him, and losing his temper, no matter how justified it was, couldn't happen.

"How should I know?" Ludo replied in annoyance, still not looking up from his pointless task.

"Because you were trying to kidnap her!" Marco screamed, his hands clenching into tight fists.

"Oh right," the bird Monster mumbled uncaringly. "Are you still upset about that?"

"Yes!" Marco hissed heatedly. "You tricked me, knocked me out, got me arrested, and then tried to kidnap my best friend!"

"Look, I saw an opportunity and I took it, it was nothing personal," Ludo responded coldly.

"Nothing personal," Marco repeated in disbelief, before practically roaring, "Nothing personal! You ruined my life and attacked my friend. That is not okay!"

"Well there's not much you can do about it, is there?" Ludo replied, finally turning to face the boy with a vicious smirk. "Since you're stuck in prison, ha!"

"You're stuck in here too, Ludo," Marco deadpanned.

"Not for long, I'm gonna be out of here in no time." The bird went back to cutting at the thick metal bar, his thin knife doing absolutely nothing.

The boy doubted that but didn't bother arguing as he instead demanded, "Well, regardless, you're still gonna tell me what happened. Where is Star? What did you do to her?"

"Why should I tell you?" Ludo scoffed, dismissively.

That was the last straw, Marco's patience finally wearing out as the anger he was trying to hold back exploded, the young thief rushing forward and ripping Ludo off the window, slamming him against the stone wall as he glared dangerously into the small Monster's face. "Because I told you too!" Marco shouted, his face mere inches from Ludo's. "And you're gonna tell me right now!"

"Okay, okay, geez," Ludo said frantically, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "You didn't have to get so worked up about it."

Marco said nothing, waiting for the Monster to speak, giving Ludo a warning look. "Well, look I don't really know where she's at myself. It's all a little fuzzy for me, see I was about to capture her after I told her you abandoned her-"

"You what?!" Marco screamed, fear filling his features. Poor Star, she had been terrified he'd leave her, and then he and Ludo had just confirmed that in her mind. She must be heartbroken. And the fact that he had no way to ever explain what actually happened to him made his heartache. He would die with her hating him and there was nothing he could do about it.

"Look, I needed her weak so I could capture her, it made the most sense," Ludo argued, clearly not seeing the hurt he had caused the two teens.

"So you broke her heart!"

"Yes, keep up, geez. Anyways, as I was saying, I was about to knock her out like I did you when something hit me on the head. Next thing I know I'm waking up here."

Marco's eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. So Star hadn't been kidnapped? But then, where was she? And what had happened after Ludo fainted or passed out or whatever. If that was even the truth, for all Marco knew Ludo was lying about the whole thing. Not that he would put it past the little Monster, considering he had tricked him before. "And you're sure that's what really happened?" Marco asked suspiciously, his eyes narrowed in warning.

"Yes, yes, now put me down already," Ludo whined unhappily.

Marco obeyed, dropping the Monster, who landed hard at his feet and groaning in pain. "Ouch, you didn't have to be so rough, you jerk,” Ludo snapped, shooting him an annoyed glare.

But Marco ignored the little Monster, shuffling backward as his knees threatened to give out on him, a million unanswered questions making it difficult for him to breathe. His breaths become shallow and ragged as his fears threatened to consume him. He still had no idea where Star was and no way to reconcile with her. The little remorse he could take was that Star was not likely in danger if what Ludo was telling him was the truth. Which brought back an even greater question, one that nearly stopped Marco's heart as he remembered it. He looked over at Ludo, ignoring the Monster's silent attempts to guilt trip him as he asked, "How did you know about Star's power?"

"What?" Ludo screeched in surprise, looking uneasy for the first time since their conversation began. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Back in the forest, you said Star was the real prize," Marco reminded him, keeping his voice down just in case Kelly might overhear. "And you wouldn't have done all this without a reason, so don't try and lie or squirm your way out of this. I know you know about her healing ability. And I want to know how you found out."

"I-I don't know anything about that," Ludo muttered unconvincingly, but Ludo's body betrayed him as he began to sweat nervously, his eyes darting left and right in a guilty attempt to hide the truth from the boy, which only proved Marco right. The boy crossed his arms, waiting to hear the Monster's answer, his hard glare cracking Ludo's resolve. Finally, the bird just sighed, throwing his head back dramatically before declaring, "Fine! It's true, are you happy? Someone told me she had special powers and that if I helped them, I'd be rich."

Marco's mind was buzzing now with questions, his heart racing, as he asked desperately, "Who? Who told you?" Who besides him and Star knew about her powers? It didn't make any sense. And if there was someone out there, then they could be after Star, too. Which meant she may not be as safe as Marco hoped.

Ludo just shrugged through, saying simply, "Some old lady, called herself Eclipsa or something like that."

"Eclipsa," Marco whispered under his breath, trying desperately to put the pieces together. "Old lady." Finally, the answer clicked into place and he gasped, his eyes widening in disbelief and fear. There was only one other person who knew about Star's power besides him and Star, someone who she had mentioned multiple times. Someone Star seemed openly conflicted about. "Star's mom," he whispered in dread.

A rattling from the cell door interrupted the tense moment, snapping Marco out of his troubling thoughts as he turned to see Kelly unlocking the door to his cell, her voice back to being harsh and impersonal as she declared, "Time's up."

"No, wait!" Marco started to scream but Kelly ignored his protests, gripping his arm in an almost death-grip as she yanked him none-too-gently out of the prison cell. "You don't understand, Star's in trouble!"

"Yeah, yeah," Kelly scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You've said that already."

"But I think she's in danger right now! And she has no one to help her!" Marco shouted, desperate to get the captain to listen.

"Fine, I'll tell my men to be on the lookout for this Star or whatever, happy," Kelly said in annoyance, clearly tired of listening to his incessant whining.

"But she lives in a tower in the middle of the forest," Marco explained, fighting forcefully as the girl dragged him through the stone hallways, needing to escape, to do something.

"Uh-huh and I live in a house made entirely out of hair," the green-haired girl sarcastically replied. "Now look, we had a deal, you talk to Ludo and then let me take you to the gallows without a fight, remember?"

"But-"

"Hey, Kelly is there a problem?" a boy said behind them and they turned to see Tad, Oscar, and Justin staring at the two in confusion and concern.

"Nope, no problem," Kelly replied immediately. "But since you're here..." She pushed Marco over to them. "...help me get the prisoner to the gallows. I'm tired of dragging him around."

"Yes, Ma'am!" the three shouted, Oscar and Justin gripping his arms firmly before practically carrying him along behind Kelly.

"You're making a big mistake!" Marco tried, hopelessness beginning to flood his chest as he squirmed as much as physically possible.

"The only mistake anyone made here was you, for deciding to mess with the crown," Kelly replied dismissively, not even bothering to turn as she led the group to their destination.

"I thought you were different, Kelly!" Marco screamed accusingly and the green-haired girl tensed but still didn't acknowledge the boy, deliberately staring straight ahead so she wouldn't have to face the young thief.

Marco fought back as much as he could, shouting out useless warnings and pleas but they fell on deaf ears, no one was listening anymore. "Hey, just give it up, dude," Oscar told him. "We're just doing our job, okay." The boy felt all the fight drain from him, hanging his head limply as he realized the guard was right. It was useless. He wasn't getting out of this. No matter what he said or did, his fate was sealed.

The group stopped at a sealed door, making too distraught to even raise his head to stare at it, knowing what waited just on the other side of the door. He felt a million regrets wash over him, an immeasurable sadness filling his chest as he thought of Star, a pair of crystal blue eyes haunting his memories. I'm sorry, Star, he pleaded in his head, wishing so badly to see her just one more time. Please forgive me.

Kelly raised a fist, banging on the door, before proclaiming, "Open up, we have a prisoner to deliver."

A small eyehole flipped open, revealing a pair of beady eyes. "Sorry, we're closed," a voice said from the other side, Marco's head raising as he recognized the goofy tone. Lobster Claws?

"What?!" Kelly exclaimed in surprise. "We weren't told anything about that!"

"Sorry, orders are orders," Lobster Claws said apologetically. "You'll have to take it up with the boss."

"I am the boss!" Kelly shouted angrily.

"Oh, well then you might want to look into that, I think someone's out there pretending to be you." They eyehole slid closed and Kelly growled under her breath.

"Seriously?" Kelly hissed, before banging on the door again. "Open this door, right now. That's an order!"

"Sorry, no can do," Lobster Claws deadpanned.

"You are gonna open this door right now or I'm busting it down," Kelly commanded, her voice scolding as if she was talking to a child. There was no response this time and Kelly's eyes narrowed. "Alright have it your way." The girl captain turned to the group and shouted, "Tad, come bust this door down for me."

"Wait, me?" Tad exclaimed, his voice shaking in worry.

"That's an order," Kelly said, her eyes narrowing on her ex's form. Not seeing any way out of it, Tad reluctantly walked over to the door, stopping just a few paces away. He sucked in a deep breath before charging at the wood frame head-first, yelling loudly as he prepared himself for the impact. But just before his fragile body collided with the thick wood, the door flew open, Tad running inside and unable to stop before he hit a wall, falling to the floor unconscious before the door slammed closed again.

"What?!" was all Kelly had time to say before three forms dropped down from the ceiling, Buff Frog, Tom, and Janna. Kelly didn't even have time to react as Janna gave her a hard shove, pushing her into an empty cell, the metal door slamming closed, locking instantly. The other guards were met with similar fates, all shoved into identical cells by Tom and Buff Frog, quickly locking the doors behind them. In a matter of seconds, Kelly's whole squad was dispatched and Marco could only blink in disbelief.

"Tom! Janna! Buff Frog! Lobster Claws!" Marco screamed, in complete bewilderment. "What are you doing here?!"

"We came to rescue you, duh," Tom said with a confident grin, Janna stepping over to pick the lock on Marco's handcuffs.

"Yeah, you didn't think we'd just let you die, did ya?" Lobster Claws added.

Marco felt tears welling up in his eyes. He hadn't thought anyone would risk a rescue mission for him, much less people he had known for less than a day. And yet here they were, three allies he didn't even know he had, in the middle of the most secure prison in the kingdom, saving him from certain death. And with that thought, Marco felt a sudden weight float off his shoulders, knowing his life was no longer close to its end... he hoped. And the relief he felt in that moment was indescribable, no words able to accurately portray the sense of hope and joy he felt flooding his system. And it was all thanks to his friends. "I-I can't believe you guys came for me," Marco muttered, shooting them all a grateful smile.

"You can thank us later," Tom told the young thief with a smug grin.

"It weird girl's idea, we just following her," Buff Frog said much more humbly.

Marco gave Janna a surprised look, who raised her head up enough from her work for their eyes to lock. "You did this for me. I-I don't know what to say."

"Eh, don't mention it," Janna replied with a smooth wink. "I'm only doing this for Star, anyway."

Marco smiled at his friend, rubbing his tender wrists as the handcuff finally opened with a click. But the boy didn't let the pleasant moment last long, focusing his attention on the more pressing matter as he declared in a commanding tone, "Star's in trouble. We gotta go help her."

"That's the plan," Janna said with a nod.

Meanwhile, Kelly rose to her feet with a groan, rubbing at her aching head from where it had hit the stone ground, her senses coming back to her slowly. But the second they returned she stormed over to the bars of the cell, shaking them wildly as she shouted, "Hey, what do you think you're doing?! Let me out of here!" She spotted Marco and her eyes narrowed dangerously. "You! I knew I couldn't trust you, you tricked me!"

"Technically I'm the one who tricked you," Lobster Claws pointed out, raising a claw to gain the captain's attention.

But Kelly ignored the Monster, shouting angrily, "We had a deal!"

"Sorry, Kelly, but Star needs me," Marco said, no hesitation in his tone. He turned his back on the green-haired girl, feeling no regrets for his decision as he asked the group. "So what now?"

"Follow me," Janna said with a smirk, before running off, the others quickly jogging after her.

Kelly screamed after them the whole way, yelling at the top of her lungs, "You won't get away, Marco! There's no escape for you, after this! You will pay for your crimes!"

Once the group had rounded the corner though, the girl let out a groan of annoyance, slamming her head against the bars of the cell. Just perfect.

The group hadn't gotten very far when they ran into more guards, who all stood in shock for a moment, not expecting to run into the group of teens and Monsters alike. But they all recovered quickly, growling before running at them, yelling for them to stop or surrender. "Quick, this way!" Janna shouted, tugging at Marco's arm before pulling them down the opposite hallway. But the shadow of the guards appeared down that hallway next and Janna quickly muttered, "Nope," directing the others a completely different way altogether.

It continued this way for a while, Janna leading them in a crisscross pattern, avoiding guards at every turn, leaving Marco completely lost on what direction they were even headed, the maze-like structure of the prison causing the young thief to grow disoriented.

"Are you sure this is the right way, Janna?" Marco asked, starting to pant from exertion.

"Relax, Marco. I know what I'm doing," the cursed girl replied, only for the group to be immediately cut off by more guards, who all held their weapons menacingly out in front of them, sneering at the escapees with disgust.

"You were saying?" Tom sarcastically quipped, giving the beanie-wearing teen a knowing look.

"Okay, so slight change of plans," Janna replied, still keeping her cool despite the dire situation. "We just have to fight our way through these guys first."

"Works for me," Tom smirked, slamming a flaming fist into his palm.

Marco and the others got into a battle-ready stance, preparing to engage the group of guards, all of them poised and confident for the fight ahead.

…

Ferguson and Alfonso sat in their lonely prison cell, bored out of their minds, the latter trying to entertain himself by bouncing a ball against the wall but it did very little to help at this point. They had been stuck in there for over a day now and the two already felt like they might lose their minds if they didn't find something to do other than stare at the stone walls of their prison. The two let out mutual sighs, feeling restless trapped in one place for so long, wishing they were anywhere but there at the moment or at the very least that something exciting would happen to break up the monotony.

As if their wish had been granted by some unseen force, a loud racket sounded from farther down the hallway and the two boys shared a look before racing over to the locked door to see what was going on outside the four square walls of their trapped space. They saw a group of teens and Monsters bravely facing off against a group of guards, somehow winning the battle as they all worked together to fight off the highly-trained knights. They were making their way slowly toward where Ferguson and Alfonso were, all of them looking completely in control of the situation, no signs of fear or worry on their faces as they fought as a team. And in the lead of this rag-tag group was none other than Marco.

Ferguson and Alfonso gasped, upon recognizing their partner, the latter screaming, "It's Marco! He came to rescue us!"

"About time!" Ferguson added, gripping the bars tightly in anticipation, a goofy grin on his face. Finally, they were going to be freed from this boring place and the chubby thief was itching to get out and do something.

"He didn't forget about us, after all," Alfonso commented. The two had been sure Marco had just completely erased their existence from his mind but it seemed they were wrong as their friend drew steadily closer to them, his new allies helping him every step of the way.

Finally, the last of the guards were defeated and Marco and the others all panted heavily, tired from the long, intense battle. But there was no time to rest as they ran toward Ferguson and Alfonso who grinned ear to ear. "Marco!" They both shouted as the boy reached them at last... only to keep running right past them, not even turning to acknowledge their existence.

In fact, none of Marco's friends even noticed that Ferguson and Alfonso were there, the group just running ahead undeterred from whatever mission they were on. The two trapped thieves could only watch stunned as their only chance of freedom disappeared down a hallway, leaving Ferguson and Alfonso alone to their thoughts once more.

For a few seconds, neither teen said anything, their faces set in annoyed frowns before finally, Ferguson commented in a deadpan, "Never mind, he did forget about us."

"Yep," Alfonso replied, no emotion in his tone. "I'm kinda getting used to it at this point, honestly."

Finally, the two let out deep sighs, before returning to their previous task of trying to fight off their ever-growing boredom.

…

Marco and the others, with Janna in the lead, finally came to the entrance of the prison, the large metal door thrown open by the beanie-wearing girl. Magnificent sunlight flooded Marco's senses, the boy blinking as his eyes struggled to adjust. He could hear the tell-tale sounds of clashing metal and grunts as some sort of battle took place and the boy's mouth dropped open as he finally got a good look around the large courtyard. The rest of the Monsters were engaged in combat with the knights, doing their best to fight off the trained warriors and somehow holding their own so far. The Monsters all turned to Marco with large, goofy smiles, looking completely out of place in the life or death struggle they were all currently in, greeting him in an almost sing-song voice. "Hey, Marco!"

The boy numbly waved back to the Monsters as they each returned to their struggle, their faces morphing into that of terrifying warriors as they relentlessly beat on their opponents. "Well, I was not expecting that," Marco muttered in shock. It was jarring to see such polar opposite versions of his rescuers, Marco unsure which side was more troubling to him.

"Yeah, I know," Janna replied, sounding impressed. "Who woulda thought these guys were actually capable in a fight."

"Guys, we gotta focus on the plan," Tom reminded them, sounding slightly annoyed. "They can only hold the guards off for so long."

"Right," Janna agreed instantly, a mischievous smirk lighting up her face.

"So what is the next part of the plan, exactly?" Marco asked, suddenly not sure if he wanted to know judging by the cursed girl's reaction.

"Oh you'll see," Janna said cryptically, which only worried Marco even more.

The boy watched as Buff Frog and Lobster Claws grabbed a large plank of wood and barrel, the former carefully setting the board against the barrel. Marco gulped, finally seeing their plan, they were planning on launching him into the air... again.

"Uh, isn't there another way for me to get out of here?" Marco asked nervously. One that didn't involve him being flung precariously in the air, preferably.

"Oh relax, Marco," Tom said dismissively, him and Janna pushing him onto the end of one of the boards. "You'll be fine."

"Yeah but-" Marco started to argue, only to be interrupted by Janna.

"Just remember to keep your head down," the creepy girl said, pushing him down into a scrunched position.

"And keep your arms tucked," Tom added, folding Marco's into his chest.

"Don't forget to keep your mouth closed, otherwise you might accidentally swallow a bug," Lobster Claws helpfully supplied.

"Oh and most importantly, whatever you do, make sure to keep your knees apart," Janna casually added.

"Wait, knees apart?" Marco repeated in a questioning tone. "Why do I need to keep my knees apart?"

"Okay, Buff Frog!" Janna shouted up to the Monster who had climbed up onto a high spot, before launching himself into the air, doing a flip, before landing expertly on the other end of the board.

Marco panicked, asking once more in a loud shout, "Guys, why do I need to keep my- Aaaaaaahhhh!!"

The boy was flung into the air at breakneck speeds, ignoring the crustacean's advice as he screamed at the top of his lungs, the feeling of weightlessness and the cold bite of the wind, causing his stomach to drop. He somehow managed to stay in the exact position his friends had told him too, but as he saw his form heading toward the castle wall, he squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for his body to be squished like a pancake on the smooth stone.

Instead, he landed hard onto something, letting out a breathless oof, he fell forward, his arms flailing to try and balance himself. He gripped something soft, his eyes slowly opening as he saw the smug face of Pony Head staring at him. "Pony?!" he squeaked in disbelief, his voice still choked from the near-death experience. He looked down to see himself sitting right in the middle of her saddle, the groups confusing instructions finally making sense to him now. "You came to help me, too," he muttered, locking eyes with the horse.

The horse let out a dismissive neigh, before turning her head forward again. Don't let it go to your head.

But with his escape now out of the way, he focused his attention on the most important step now, finding Star. "Star needs our help," Marco told the horse, gripping the reins tightly. "You up for a little rescue mission, Pony?"

The horse neighed, her body tensing as if to say, Heck yeah, as if you even had to ask.

"Then let's do it!" Marco shouted, leaning forward in his seat, determination fueling his being.

The horse galloped across the stone walls of the large castle, easily clearing the jump onto a nearby rooftop before making her way to the busy street below.

Tom and Janna watched as Marco and Pony disappeared from view, leaping off the large stone structure before sharing a smile of victory. "Well looks like we actually pulled it off," Tom commented, crossing his arms in front of his chest proudly. "I'm impressed your plan actually worked."

"Naturally," Janna responded, lightly tapping into his side with her own. "Next time you'll know better than to doubt my skills."

Tom looked around at the crowded courtyard, watching as the guards started to arrest his fellow Monsters, who surrendered the moment Marco had successfully escaped. "Well, looks like we're going to jail, fantastic," the half-Monster muttered, rolling his eyes.

Janna shrugged nonchalantly. "Eh, I'll figure a way out, I'm sure." She eyed the boy hintingly as she added, "Who knows? We might even be able to escape together." She then wagged her eyebrows for emphasis.

Tom blushed beet red, looking anywhere but in Janna's direction, coughing into his hand to try and cover his nervousness. He tried to think of something to say to change the subject before the two got dragged away but couldn't think of anything.

"There is still one thing left to do," Janna said, breaking the moment of silence.

Tom turned to her with confusion, an eyebrow slowly raising. "What?"

Janna smirked, before reaching out and wrapping her arms around Tom's waist, who squeaked in surprise. "This," she said cryptically, before dipping the boy low, holding him suspended above the ground and planting a firm but gentle kiss to his lips. Tom's startled mind stopped for a few seconds and he closed his eyes melting into the kiss.

As soon as it started it had finished, Janna pulling away and lifting Tom back to his feet, the half-Monster nearly collapsing as his knees threatened to give out on him. He stumbled in place for a few seconds, his eyes wide and full of stars and a bright, goofy grin on his face. Finally, his brain started processing again as he exclaimed loudly, "What was that?!"

Janna shrugged but the smile on her face showed her own joy. "Just something I always wanted to try. Seemed like a dramatic way to go out."

"You can't just kiss someone out of nowhere like that!" Tom shouted, hoping anger would hide his blushing cheeks and fast-beating heart which he was sure Janna could hear.

"What? You didn't like it?" Janna asked, the playful smirk returning.

Tom froze, words failing him for a second as his cheeks grew hotter than the sun. "I-I didn't- I-I mean- it's just-"

Janna opened her mouth to say something, only to stop her eyes widening out of nowhere, "Oh no, time's up," she muttered, concern in her voice for the first time since Tom had met her and it startled him even more than the kiss had.

"Time's up for what?" Tom started to ask, only to nearly scream in shock as before his eyes he watched Janna shrink, in a matter of seconds a small purple bat taking her place. The bat stared up at him with the same, chocolate brown gaze of Janna and the smile on its fangs was reminiscent of the beanie-wearing girl as well. Tom's pupils couldn't grow any smaller as he stared dumbfounded and slack-jawed down at Janna's new form. "What- How did- I have so many questions!" Tom screamed, clutching his salmon hair in his fists.

Marco and Pony, meanwhile, had almost escaped from town, the horse racing across the smooth stone streets while dodging around citizens and guards alike, never once slowing down as they reached the large bridge. As they crossed it, Marco looked up at the treeline above him, his thoughts jumping to his amazing best friend. He just hoped she was alright, that he wasn't too late. Hang on, Star, he thought, willing Pony Head to run faster as they entered into the wooded area, the boy already guiding Pony on the quickest route he could think of.

I'm on my way.

#star vs #Star vs AU #My Writing #Star is a Disney Princess #Star is Rapunzel #Starco #Jantom

[ilguna]

Whist - Chapter Four

summary: you can’t protect her forever.

Word Count; 4.3k

Warnings; swearing, murder!

NOTES: not a finnick odair x reader. it’s a ‘what if’ series

–

When they raise the tributes above the ground, you’re finally able to get a good look at the arena. You get up from where you’re sitting on the couch in the apartment, planting yourself mere inches from the television.

The sun is bright, you watch as the tributes squint and place their hands above their eyes at first to try and get their eyes adjusted. Alyssum gets her footing on the podium, and it makes your heart skip two or three beats. Just the idea of her running into the cornucopia… but she has an alliance, it’s okay.

The cornucopia that they have in the clearing is really similar to the one you and Finnick had. However, they have a good ten or more feet between the podiums and the trees. For you guys, the trees were really an inch above your heads. All of you could have reached up and at least touched a leaf from the nearest branch.

The cornucopia is full of so many goodies. There’s a few backpacks scattered around, for the brave souls who don’t want to go all the way to the cornucopia, and instead want to settle for halfway. Those backpacks likely carry iodine, a little bit of food, rope. You can see the sleeping bag clearly on the outside.

The countdown finally hits ten, and you’re watching Alyssum bend, arms ready to run. There’s a determination in her eyes that you haven’t seen in forever. All the times you played pretend with the hunger games, she never looked like this. But now that she’s hunched over, adrenaline running through her body--she looks older. She looks to be fourteen instead of a measly twelve.

“She’s about to go against her own number one rule.” Finnick says.

You can’t help but to crack a smile, “I know, right?”

Rigg also prepares to run towards the middle. You watch as Alyssum’s mouth drops open, her determination faltering. You worry, reaching out for the screen, but she snaps her mouth shut just in time, clenching her teeth. Right when the gong goes off, she takes off running towards the middle.

You place one hand over your mouth, watching her legs and how she’s clearly exerting as much energy as she can to run, “Come on, baby.”

The tributes are clearly scattering. A lot run to the woods--like Peeta--but others like Katniss and Thresh head right towards the middle, where the bloodbath is. In no time, the older careers have secured their special weapon, and they’re turning on the first person they see.

There’s a lot of blood, and you’re worried for Alyssum’s sanity. But she slides right into the cornucopia, grabbing a hold of a machete and clutching it in her hand tightly. She reaches up for her tanzanite necklace, whispering something. Then, her eyes catch a movement.

It’s her reflexes that she has to thank. The machete is flying through the air before she has time to think about who it is exactly. The weapon lodges itself in the chest of the girl from ten. The girl looks down, reaching for the handle, dropping to her knees.

Alyssum is reaching for something new immediately, not worried about retrieving what she had just used. She turns straight to see what else is happening, allowing you to see too.

Clove is digging through a backpack for something. Marvel has moved onto stabbing a girl with something that vaguely resembles a spear, but it’s much smaller. Cato has a machete similar to the one Alyssum just used on the ten girl, and Glimmer is nowhere to be seen.

Alyssum doesn’t catch the movement near her, but it’s Rigg, sneaking into the cornucopia.

“That’s going to get him killed.” you say.

“Not if he moves quickly.” Finnick leans forward on the couch, onto his knees.

“No, not even then.” you say, “Alyssum or someone else is going to catch a glimpse of him, and then it’s all over.”

“You think Alyssum will kill Rigg?”

“Without a doubt.” you say, watching as Aly moves on.

She doesn’t know what to do, and that’s just fine. She’s already got one killed, and the other careers are taking in a lot at once. Glimmer already moved onto her second victim by the time Clove had started for the boy from seven. The knife she throws hits the boy in the back, and when he’s on the ground, it reveals Katniss next to a backpack very clearly.

Clove throws a second knife, Katniss uses the backpack as a shield, getting up. Clove heads for her.

There’s a commotion inside of the cornucopia, Thresh against some other kid--you can’t tell who it is. All you know is that Rigg is still back there. Thresh finally breaks free, leaving. On the way out, he kills the boy from nine.

Cato moves for the boy from six, tripping him so he’s an easy stab. Alyssum’s able to catch the District Nine girl heading for her. Alyssum squares her shoulders, and instead of letting the girl go to her, she moves in.

Nine thinks it’s comical, until Alyssum is fixing the heavy sword in her hand, getting ready to swing it. Then, it’s not funny anymore, and nine is trying to escape. But the second she turns to run, she slams right into Glimmer. Glimmer grabs a hold of the girl’s shoulder, shoving her knife as far as she can into nine’s stomach.

One simple push later, the girl’s guts is spilling over the grass, and she’s falling to her knees, intestines in hand. Glimmer gives Alyssum an impressed look, and then she’s moving right on to the next person to look at her.

“Alyssum--” Cato has his hand out for the sword, and she passes it over. Then, he looks her dead in the eye, “Kill your friend in there.”

Alyssum’s eyes shift to the inside of the cornucopia, seeing the top of Rigg’s curls, just peeking above a crate. She then looks to Cato, gives him a hard look and a nod, moving to retrieve her machete from the ten girl, and then she’s moving into the building.

“His parents are going to hate this.” Finnick says, he’s getting to his feet to join you now.

“It’s the kid’s own fault.” you dismiss, eyes glued to your little sister, as she marches into the cornucopia, the determined look resurfacing, “It’s not our fault that he couldn’t survive.”

Alyssum finds Rigg. His lips form a word, but she’s already got the machete behind her head, getting ready to bring it down. Then, he screams just as the blade lodges in his head. She lets his body fall, stepping on his face as she yanks out the machete. 

She must know there’s a camera in the cornucopia, because she looks in a general direction and mouths, “How did I do?” with a small smile on her face.

Finnick’s laughing, and you’re gripping onto his arm, shaking him from side to side a little, “Fantastic, baby. You’re doing great.”

Alyssum moves back out to join the other careers, they’re all forming a circle together. Blood on their clothes, face and hair. Alyssum uses the jacket sleeve to wipe the blood off of her cheek, but all it does is smear and make it look like battle paint.

She stops right next to the others, running the machete over her jeans to try and get off some blood and chunks. It works, looks as shiny as ever. Then, she’s looking up to the others.

They’re discussing some sort of game plan about what they’re going to do. Alyssum mostly listens, and then she suggests grabbing a few things, leaving the cornucopia to allow the hovercrafts to come in and so they can find water. Then, they can return and count their belongings.

It takes a few more minutes of debate before they’ve all agreed on Alyssum’s plan. 

“So how many did you get?” Glimmer asks.

“Two.” Alyssum says, she doesn’t care for the conversation, you know that it’s not easy for her. Her brain is probably processing it all, she can picture all their faces right before their deaths, especially rigg, “What about you?”

“Three. One of them being from the help of you.”

“Two and a half for the both of us, then.” Alyssum is picking up a backpack, digging through it.

Glimmer gives Aly a smile, even though she can’t see it. Glimmer doesn’t dwell long on Alyssum, though. She heads right towards Cato, Clove and Marvel to discuss some things.

This is when Alyssum takes a breather. You watch as she crouches down, placing her head against the round corner of a crate, taking deep breaths. It’s a while before she appears again, looking just fine.

“You alright?” Marvel asks.

She forces a smile, “A little dizzy was all. Are we ready to go? I’m thirsty.” she swings a backpack over her shoulder.

The others agree, and the five of them head in a random direction. As they’re walking through the trees, they’re all talking about the bloodbath. The hovercraft comes in, picking out the tributes as the cannons begin to go off. There’s eleven. Eleven dead, with thirteen alive.

Subtract the five careers from the thirteen, there’s only eight to hunt. Most of them will end up accidentally killing themselves in some way. And because they’ll also be sweeping the forest, the careers will stumble upon somebody.

“So (Y/n) Gallows really is your sister, huh?” Clove asks, looking down at Alyssum.

“Yup.” Alyssum says, “And Finnick Odair is my brother-in-law.”

“How much did they teach you?” Cato asks.

Alyssum looks at them through the corner of her eye. She has to know that it’s just curiosity fueling them, but she must catch an undertone that you don’t, because she phrases her sentences carefully after that question.

“Well, different techniques on how to win.” she says, avoiding a log on the ground, “They made me study how other victors won. Like Enobaria, Cashmere and Gloss, them, Annie Cresta.” you doubt that they’ll know much about Annie, but Enobaria, Cashmere and Gloss are their mentors, so they have an idea, “Most recently, Johanna Mason.”

“That’s it?” Marvel asks, he’s sharing a dangerous look with Cato.

Alyssum stops, turning to look at all of them. She might be small, but her words are much bigger than she is, “From what I’ve learned throughout these years, is that the worst thing you can do is underestimate a person. Look at my sister, Finnick and Johanna for example. They were all overlooked because people thought they were useless. And what are they all? Winners.”

She turns right back around, “I know I can’t win. But I won’t be underestimated. Had I not messed up during my private training session, I would have gotten a nine.”

Alyssum disappears through the bushes, leaving her alliance to decide whether or not she’s bluffing. She likely is. Her scoring an eight was huge, because it’s unheard of. Everyone was probably expecting her to get a seven or lower, like the other twelve year olds, but she got just one point more. The same score that Peeta had, and he has four years on her.

“I’m a career, not a moron.” Alyssum mutters, swinging the machete in her hand slightly, “I hear water!”

“We’re coming.” Glimmer assures her, “Do you think it’s clean?”

“Maybe, but we have to use the iodine just in case.” Alyssum says, not looking towards Glimmer, but paying attention to where she walks instead, “If we don’t, we could end up with a load of illnesses that could kill us.”

“You taught her well, (Y/n).” Finnick tells you, “She could play the long-game. Look at her hands.”

You do, the camera just barely gets them in shot. She’s moving them around, but there’s nothing in them. For a second, you’re thinking a knot, until you see that her lips are moving. Reciting how to set animal traps.

“Yes.” you agree, finally relaxed enough to move away from the tv, “We should go to the betting room.”

“You think?” Finnick looks at you, watching as you start to grab a few things.

“My sister has two kills under her belt, and she’s teamed up with the careers.” you look at Finnick, “She’s got people lined up around the block.”

--

Something bumps into your arm, making you readjust where you sit to move away from the thing. It’s a long moment before it happens again, and a whisper accompanies it, “(Y/n).”

Your eyes open immediately. The world is a little blurry, so you blink, but your eyes are on Finnick, “I’m awake.”

“Look.” Finnick motions.

You turn to the tv, squinting at it. Leaning forward, you try to process what’s going on. Your brain is hazy though, and you can’t seem to focus all that much. Finnick must understand, because he’s filling in the gaps.

“They’ve been on the move all night looking for other tributes. Aly just barely made friends with Cato and Clove, and now they’re coming right up on Peeta.”

He’s right. With one camera on Peeta, curled up at the base of a tree with only a knife in his hand. The other is focused on the careers, who are still moving just fine despite it’s been hours. Alyssum doesn’t even seem phased just yet, still gripping her machete tightly in her hand. 

Cato leads with Clove, the two of them talk up a storm. Every now and then, Glimmer will pitch in with some things about herself. Alyssum is behind them, and Marvel takes up the back.

Marvel says something to Alyssum and she nods, passing off her machete to him. You watch as she fixes the backpack on the front of her body, unzips it, and pulls out a canteen. She zips the bag up again, puts it back in place, and trades the canteen for the machete.

“At least she’s made friends.” your voice is scratchy, you lean over for the cup of water on the table.

“She seems closest with Marvel, to be honest. The two of them are a lot calmer than the other three.” Finnick says, giving a look to you.

You glance at him, thinking that you’re just going to find him giving you a loving look, but you have to do a double-take when you realize it’s the opposite. You gulp down a mouthful of water, coughing at how quick you drank it, “What is it?”

“Reed called.”

You’re confused for a long moment, waiting for him to say anything else. And then you remember you were supposed to call him yesterday after the interview, “Oh shit, I totally forgot.”

“He wanted you to call him immediately when you woke up but--” Finnick’s motioning to the tv again.

“Yeah, right.” you look back at the screen to see that the careers are literally in front of Peeta now.

Alyssum hangs back, canteen and machete in hand. She watches how the others circle Peeta, how he’s scrambling to try and come up with a reason to let him live. Every now and then, his eyes will dart to Alyssum--obviously curious as to why she’s there. She raises her chin a little, and then turns her head to look around.

They’re taunting Peeta, Cato is getting in his face with the sword that he has. Peeta then makes a wrong move, making Cato act quickly, bringing the sword down onto Peeta’s upper arm.

Alyssum winces, “Cephalic vein.”

They pay her no attention.

It goes back and forth for a while. The taunting, beating Peeta up--until he finally says the golden words.

“I can help you kill Katniss!”

Finally, a hush falls over the trees. Alyssum has a smile hinting at the corner of her lips, but it’s so very subtle. The way she looks at Peeta lets you know that she thinks he’s smart for saying something like that.

And it stalls the careers long enough to make them think.

“Watch him.” Clove barks at Alyssum, and without a second thought, she moves forward and stands over Peeta, fixing the machete in her hand, and then placing the blade beneath his chin.

The careers step away.

“Nice one.” Alyssum says to him, the smile is still on the edge, “Quick thinking.”

“Please.”

“I’m not in charge.” she says smoothly, “If you think about running, we’ll just get right back to you. I can track.”

She’s bluffing, she has no clue how to. But he doesn’t know that. She’s just using the lies to her advantage.

Alyssum takes a look over her shoulder, looking to see if they’re in earshot. They’re close, she can see them through the trees. She can’t hear what they’re saying though, which means that they can’t hear her either.

Looking right back at Peeta, she smiles now, “If I were you, I’d try to prove that you’re useful. ‘Cause the second that we find that Katniss girl, you’re next.” There’s a snap of a stick after that, and she looks back at Cato and the others, “What’s the plan?”

“We take him with.” Cato says, “But one wrong move and we kill him.”

Alyssum looks back at Peeta, lowering the machete, and trading it for her hand. It takes him a moment--probably thinking that she won’t carry his weight--but he reaches out anyway. With teamwork, he’s on his feet, and she’s moving on to pass the useless canteen off to Cato to drink.

Right after this, they’re back to hunting. Peeta begins to list off all the ways he could think of what Katniss would do out there. It’s a long moment before they decide to find some place with water nearby, and they go from there.

You get up from the couch, heading towards the phone.

You dial the number to the house, turning to watch the tv in the meantime. There’s no Caesar at the moment, it’s really just the gamemakers tracking the tributes. It flashes between the careers and their newfound friend, Katniss Everdeen, a girl who’s just started a fire--and it’s a bright glow too, not very smart--and all the other tributes. Like Rue, Thresh, a redhead, and more.

It’s a while before the phone picks up, “(Y/n)?”

“You got her,” you say, leaning against the wall as you watch Alyssum. Her and Glimmer are talking about something, but you can’t hear it, “Sorry about not calling last night, I was spending time with Alyssum.”

“Did you tell her to team up with the careers?” Reed asks.

“I gave her plenty of options, I even talked to Haymitch about Katniss and Peeta.” you tell him.

“But you encouraged her.”

“She picked them herself, Reed.”

“(Y/n), that is the exact same mistake you made, and you nearly died.” he says, “She--”

“Reed, she’s got the trust of every single one of them. If you were watching, you’d know that.”

“She ran towards the cornucopia.” Reed finally snaps, “She got caught up in the bloodbath, she--”

“She killed the girl from ten, trapped the one from nine and killed Rigg. She proved her loyalty and ruthlessness to them, and now she’s one of them.”

There’s a long moment of silence between the two of you. Finnick is turning to look at you to see what the two of you are arguing about. You shake your head slightly, rolling your eyes.

“I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job, Reed. I’ve been doing this for years, and trust me when I say that she’s in the perfect place right now. She’s made friends out of Glimmer and Marvel, Cato and Clove has just begun to trust her, and she’s got a friendship on the way with Peeta, too. She’s got more sponsors than I know what to do with, and the betting only raises more every hour.”

“You could have chosen anyone for her to have an alliance with--her own district mate--” Reed’s voice is measured, but he’s on the verge of losing it again.

“Rigg wasn’t a good candidate from the beginning.” you hiss, “He didn’t know anything, he ran away from the careers after the tribute parade, he didn’t do well inside of the training center and his score proved it. And he blew everything at his fucking interview! Rigg would have killed her, Reed!”

“(Y/n)--”

“No, I’m done talking about this. Alyssum survived past the first day, and she’s in the second. As far as I’m concerned, she’s golden.” you pick at your nails, “If you don’t have anything else to talk about, I’m hanging up.”

“I don’t.”

“Good.” you snap, slamming the phone against the box as you move back towards the couch.

You take a seat next to Finnick, crossing your arms. He places his right arm over the back of the couch, and the two of you watch the games in silence for a while. He’s probably giving you space and allowing you to talk whenever you feel like it.

A couple of hours go by, before you’ve finally decided that it’s time.

“I don’t understand why he thinks he knows better than me.” you say, Finnick looks over, “He acted like I don’t know the dangers of being with the careers. As if either of us hadn’t experienced what it’s like. How so incredibly delicate and easy to break it is.”

“Had I known he was going to yell at you, I wouldn’t have…” Finnick shakes his head.

“It’s not your fault.” you reach over, patting his thigh, and then leaning into his body, head resting on his shoulder, “He’s probably so worked up over Mox, he just needed to blow some steam. And since I had allowed her to be a career, I was the best thing for him.”

Finnick holds you close to him.

“Alyssum is safe.” you say, “She’s safer with a group than if she was alone. If she had been without an alliance, and the careers still hunted around--she would have been found just like Peeta. And unlike Peeta, she would have been killed.”

It’s no secret that the careers are holding Peeta just for his information about Katniss. Plus Clove is worked up over the fact that Katniss had scored an eleven, outshining her ten. It’s jealousy that’s fueling her, and she wants to kill Katniss because of it. She’s probably pissed that Katniss had blocked her head like she did.

And now that Peeta offers a solution, Clove’s going to take it. But none of them are going to keep him around for much long, after. Just like Alyssum had said. Her even being there is a bit shaky. You’re sure that they’re keeping her because she had gotten two kills--or two and a half, as her and Glimmer have been saying--which is quite the feat for a twelve year old.

She might not win, but her name will be one to remember.

“She is.” Finnick agrees, “If I had any objections, I would have said something by now.”

You laugh.

At some point, the group begins to work in the direction of the red glow. They’re all laughing, taking bets that it’s Katniss or some other dumb tribute that doesn’t know any better. By the time they get there, the girl is completely passed out next to the fire.

You watch as Alyssum stands back, but Peeta moves forward. She reaches out with one hand, grabbing his sleeve, “You don’t have to.”

Clove nudges the sleeping girl with her foot, Cato has his sword an inch from her face. The girl stirs, wanting to roll over, but she must sense that there’s something wrong in the air, because her eyes snap open and her body goes rigid. 

“Hi.” Clove’s voice is taunting.

“Please.” the girl starts, “Please don’t kill me--please--” tears fill her eyes quickly, “Please, please--”

Glimmer’s already slammed her knife into the girl’s stomach. The girl screams, Alyssum winces slightly at how loud it is, no doubt it can be heard around the entire arena. And right after Glimmer comes Cato, sword through the chest.

The girl isn’t dead yet, but there’s blood dribbling down the side of her face, the tears running. She tries to say something, but eventually stops. That’s when they all start celebrating.

They leave the area, going to move on since Peeta’s caught sight of Katniss’ snares. But they stop literally feet away from Katniss--who’s up in the tree, weaponless--when they realize there wasn’t a cannon.

For a moment, they debate about it. But then Peeta volunteers to go check by himself. Alyssum doesn’t move from her spot, and the second that Peeta’s disappeared through the bushes, the other careers all huddle next to her.

“Why don’t we just kill him now and get it over with?” Glimmer asks.

“Let him tag along. What’s the harm? And he’s handy with that knife.” Cato says.

“Besides, he’s the best chance we have at finding her.” Clove agrees, looking to Glimmer.

“Why? You think she bought into that sappy romance stuff? Glimmer rolls her eyes.

“She might have. Seemed pretty simpleminded to me. Every time I think about her spinning around in that dress, I want to puke.” Clove says, she fakes a gag which gets a laugh out of them.

“Wish we knew how she got that eleven.” Alyssum finally pitches in, they all nod. 

“Bet you lover boy knows.” Marvel says, and then they all quiet once they hear Peeta coming through the bushes, he’s not very quiet, “Was she dead?”

“No, but she is now,” A cannon follows what Peeta says, “Ready to move on?”

They all seem to agree on heading back to the cornucopia now, since the sun is just beginning to rise. Katniss lets out a breath of relief, and the camera focuses on her as she readjusts back onto the branch--since she had nearly fallen off.

#ilguna #whist #whist chapter four #lacuna au

[twentiethcenturymoviesandtv]

Frankenstein: The Story

Before Frankenstein even starts, the movie wants you to know that it isn’t messing around.  This isn’t a horror-comedy, or a mildly spooky drama.  This is a horror story, make no mistake.

The film opens up in a rather unconventional way.  Edward Van Sloan, who plays Dr. Waldman in the film, appears from behind a curtain in order to directly address the audience:

“How do you do? Mr. Carl Laemmle feels it would be a little unkind to present this picture without just a word of friendly warning. We’re about to unfold the story of Frankenstein, a man of science who sought to create a man after his own image without reckoning upon God. It is one of the strangest tales ever told. It deals with the two great mysteries of creation: life and death. I think it will thrill you. It may shock you. It might even horrify you. So if any of you feel that you do not care to subject your nerves to such a strain, now is your chance to, uh… Well, we’ve warned you.”

After this genial warning, Mr. Van Sloan steps back behind the curtain, and the music starts over the credits.  (This is the only time music will play during the film.)

The film opens proper this time, appropriately enough, in a graveyard.

The scene is a funeral, a sad occasion over which church bells are heard ringing.  Fittingly enough, the story of Frankenstein already is focused on death, and so is our possible main character.

Enter Dr. Henry Frankenstein. (Colin Clive) (Spoilers below)

Frankenstein waits outside the graveyard, alongside his hunchback assistant, Fritz (Dwight Frye), for the mourners to leave, and for the gravedigger to finish up.  As soon as the cemetery is deserted, the gruesome twosome move in, using their own tools to dig up the grave again, removing the coffin.  As they do, Frankenstein manically murmurs this:

“He’s just resting. Waiting for a new life to come.”

With that, the pair put the coffin on a wheelbarrow, and head off.  They stop at a gallows, where Frankenstein tells Fritz to clamber up and cut the body down.  Reluctantly, Fritz obeys.  The doctor examines the body, before proclaiming it useless.

“The neck’s broken. The brain is useless. We must find another brain.”

He’s 2 for 2 on the ominous foreshadowing, despite the fact that that’s not how neuroscience works.

Fritz, in a quest to find another brain, hides outside a medical college, where he listens to Dr. Waldman (Edward Van Sloan) teaching a seminar about brains.  He has two specimens: one, a perfect example of a model brain, and the other, the brain of a criminal.

After class is dismissed, Fritz sneaks into the classroom, intending to steal the well-adjusted brain.  At first, it looks like success, but a loud noise startles him, and he drops it.  Panicked, Fritz grabs the brain labeled: ‘Abnormal Brain’ and takes off.

Meanwhile, we are introduced to a few new characters: Elizabeth (Mae Clark), Henry’s fiancee, and Victor (John Boles), friend of Henry and Elizabeth.  Elizabeth has just received word from Henry for the first time in four months.  She reads the letter out loud to Victor, who explains that he is in the middle of an amazing discovery, and is working on his experiments in hiding in an abandoned watchtower, where they can remain secret.  

Elizabeth explains that she sent for Victor because she is worried about Henry, saying that he’s talking as though he’s crazy.  She also says that she’s heard him talk about these experiments before, and that when they were first engaged, Henry was happy to tell her about them, but now acts as though everything is a great mystery.  

Victor agrees that Henry’s acting strangely.  He tells Elizabeth that the last time he ran into Henry and asked to see the lab, Henry got very defensive.

So far, the movie really isn’t selling the audience on Henry.  Not many good traits for this guy if we’re being honest.

At this moment, Victor tells Elizabeth that he is in love with her, which doesn’t help the situation at all.  This is not the first time he has done this, but Elizabeth is already engaged to aforementioned mad-scientist.  

Victor also says that he will go track down Dr. Waldman (remember him?) who was Henry’s mentor, to see if he knows anything about Henry’s behavior.  Elizabeth runs after him, determined to go along, and the two set off.

The two arrive at Waldman’s office and begin discussing Henry and his odd behavior.  Waldman admits that Henry is brilliant, but he’s also erratic, possessing an “insane ambition to create life”.  Waldman also explains that Henry had wanted actual human corpses for his experiments

“You do not quite get what I mean. Herr Frankenstein was interested only in human life. First, to destroy it; then, recreate it. There you have his - mad dream.”

The university obviously wouldn’t allow the use of human corpses, and so Henry left, in order to pursue graverobbing for his experiments.  More worried than ever, Elizabeth convinces Waldman to accompany them to find Henry and bring him to his senses.

Henry, as it turns out, is inside his watchtower where a mighty storm is brewing.  It’s dark, there’s a thunder and lightning storm growing, and inside, Henry is busy about his laboratory, full of crackling electric gadgets and a table, on which lies a figure, with a cloth lying over it and bandages wrapped around its head, inside which is the brain that Fritz had stolen.

“The brain you stole, Fritz. Think of it. The brain of a dead man waiting to live again in a body I made with my own hands! With my own hands.”

As Henry prepares his experiment (powered by electricity, hence the storm), there is a knock at the door, interrupting him at his work.  Irritated, he sends Fritz down to send whoever is there away.  Upon realizing that Elizabeth is at the door, Henry changes his mind, and lets her, Victor, and Waldman in, albeit reluctantly.  He tries to persuade them to leave, but is stopped short when Victor accuses him of being crazy.

“Crazy, am I? We’ll see whether I’m crazy or not.”

Taking the accusation as a challenge, Henry brings his unexpected guests upstairs to the lab to witness his experiment.  He forces Victor and Elizabeth to sit, chases Waldman away from the hidden body, and describes his experiment.

In short, Henry has discovered a ray that is the foundation of life, and that he has created a body, stitched together from other corpses, super large, super strong.

Without further ado, Henry launches into the most famous scene of cinema history.  He starts up the equipment as the storm begins to rage, and the table holding Henry’s creation rises up the tower towards a skylight, where the thunder and lightning crash and flash.  Slowly, Henry brings the body back down, and the hand of his creation begins to move.

Say it with me:

“Look! It’s moving. It’s alive. It’s alive… It’s alive, it’s moving, it’s alive, it’s alive, it’s alive, it’s alive, IT’S ALIVE!”

In his euphoria, Henry compares himself to God, and in shock and horror, the others restrain him.

Weirdly enough, at this point, the movie decides to put itself on hold.

After an emotional, tension filled high point, one of the most famous scenes in movie history, the film decides that, rather than show you Frankenstein’s creation, to take you instead to the home of Baron Frankenstein, Henry’s father, and a conversation with Elizabeth and Victor.

The movie has been moving at a pretty good clip up to this point, albeit with rather sparse ‘monster’ action.  We don’t see Frankenstein putting his creature together, we only see the before and after, and now we don’t even get to see the after.  The sequence interrupting the ‘good stuff’ seems to come in, interrupting a continuous flow.

Henry’s father is also worried about him (it seems to be a pattern), but refuses to believe Elizabeth’s claims that he’s just tired.  The Baron believes there’s something legitimately wrong with him, and that he’s involved with another woman.  At this point, the Baron isn’t sure if there’s even going to be a wedding between his son and Elizabeth, which is unfortunate, since the whole town is preparing for it.

The Baron makes a decision: he’s going to go visit Henry now, too.

See, as it turns out, Henry hasn’t left the watchtower.  He’s still with his experiment, and so is Waldman.

Waldman, for his part, isn’t in the slightest happy about Henry’s experiment.  He explains that the ‘monster’ is dangerous, but Henry isn’t buying it.

“Dangerous? Poor old Waldman. Have you never wanted to do anything that was dangerous? Where should we be if no one tried to find out what lies beyond? Have you never wanted to look beyond the clouds and the stars, or to know what causes the trees to bud? And what changes the darkness into light? But if you talk like that, people call you crazy. Well, if I could discover just one of these things, what eternity is, for example, I wouldn’t care if they did think I was crazy.”

Waldman explains that the brain that Henry used was a criminal brain.  Henry looks disconcerted for a moment, but brushes it off, ignoring Waldman’s pleas to stop experimenting.

“I’ve got to experiment further. He’s only a few days old, remember. So far he’s been kept in complete darkness. Wait till I bring him into the light.”

As he finishes speaking, heavy footsteps are heard in the hallway.  Henry shuts off the light, casting the dark room into further shadow, as a towering figure steps, backwards, through the doorway.  It turns, slowly, facing the camera, with a dead, blank expression.

You already know what he looks like.

Henry tells the creature (Boris Karloff) to come in and sit down.  The creature, although mute, seems to understand him, obeying as Henry rolls back the skylight.

The monster stands, looking up, and raises his hands to the sky, trying to touch the light.  The expression comes to life, full of curiosity-

And Henry closes the light again.

The monster halts, looking dejected, as Henry gleefully brags about his creation.

Right here, we as an audience have been told a lot of information about a lot of people.

There’s Elizabeth, the loving fiancee, Victor, the concerned friend, Waldman, the dismayed mentor, and Baron Frankenstein, blustering father, but when you boil it right down, the audience’s concern lies with two characters: Henry and the monster.

We know that Henry is a raging egomaniac, who is determined to make his mark on scientific discovery.  He is proud of what he has done, to the point of hysteria, and has become so absorbed with his work that he has neglected family, friends, and his fiancee, to the point where he has driven them all to worry about him.  He’s obsessed with his creation, with his apparent success.

And the creature?

As famous and magnificent as the laboratory scene is, the scene where the monster first sees the light is almost as well-known, and with good reason.  Arguably just as important, this sequence gives the audience some very important information about the creature: he is not inherently a ‘monster’.  His expression is not that of a vicious beast, but a curious child.  His backwards lumber into the room and straining to touch the light stirs an emotion out of the audience: not fear, but pity.

Hold onto that, we’ll be coming back to that shortly.

After the monster sits back down, Fritz comes tearing into the room with a lighted torch, brandishing it at the creature.  The creature, naturally frightened, goes into a bit of a frenzy, barely restrained by Henry and Waldman.  The two scientists tie him up, and Waldman, more resolute than ever in his stance that the creature is dangerous, tells Frankenstein that he must destroy the monster.

The two scientists move the creature to the cellar, where Fritz continues to torment him, beating him with a whip and antagonizing him with the torch.

Upstairs, Henry and Waldman hear a bloodcurdling shriek, and rush downstairs, where they discover the monster, free, and Fritz, strangled.

The pair manage to get out of the cellar and close the door behind them, but it won’t hold for long.  The monster’s superior strength comes to bear as he struggles to smash down the door.

Henry, horrified at his own creation, reluctantly agrees with Waldman’s assertion that the monster must be destroyed, and allows Waldman to go up for a needle for a hypodermic injection.  After Waldman returns, the pair open the door, and as the creature attacks Henry, Waldman injects the monster in the back with the needle.  After a tense moment, the drug takes effect, and the monster slumps to the ground, unconscious.

Waldman and Frankenstein hide the body of the creature as they hear a banging on the door: Victor, warning Henry that Elizabeth and Henry’s father are on the way, right behind him.  Henry goes upstairs to clean the blood off of him.

When Elizabeth and Baron Frankenstein do arrive, they find Henry, collapsed from exhaustion in his lab, muttering mournfully about Fritz.  They decide to take him home, and Waldman promises Henry that he will preserve Henry’s research, and destroy the monster.

While Henry is taken home and helped to recover, Waldman sets about dissecting the creature.  Before he can get started, the sedative wears off, and the creature wakes up.  Seeing the doctor bending over him with sharp tools, the creature strangles Waldman, gets up, and wanders out of the watchtower, now loose across the countryside.

The story takes a little bit of a skip now.  Henry is recovered, and it is the day of his wedding to Elizabeth.  His father, the Baron, hands Henry and Victor orange blossoms, family tradition for weddings, and toasts the wedding, remarking about his hope for a future son of Frankenstein.

An interesting comment.  More on that later.

Meanwhile, the creature’s wanderings have taken him to a forest, relatively close to civilization.  There, he stumbles upon a girl named Maria, who is playing by the side of a lake.

Instead of being frightened at his appearance, the girl approaches the creature and invites him to play with her, bringing him down by the water as well.  She gives him a flower, which he reacts to with a look of genuine happiness.

Maria offers up an interesting look at how people approach the creature.  Up until this moment, he has been contained, tortured, and treated as an experiment at best, and a monster at worst.  This is the first time that anyone has treated him as anything close to ‘human’, and it’s a touching moment.

Unfortunately, this is a horror film, and we have to take a sharp left turn into disaster.  Or at least, tragedy.

See, Maria teaches the creature a game where they toss flowers into the water, demonstrating how they float.  Once the creature runs out of flowers, he tosses Maria in, not really understanding why that’s not acceptable.  As it turns out, Maria can’t swim.

Her floundering in the water frightens the creature, and, clearly upset, he runs away.

The scene switches once more to wedding preparations.  Elizabeth, already in her wedding gown, asks to speak to Henry privately, as she’s feeling rather uneasy.  As a matter of fact, she’s downright afraid.  She explains to Henry that she’s not sure why she’s afraid, but she is concerned for Waldman, and asks why he’s late.  She adds that she’s very afraid of losing Henry, but he reassures her that he’s not going anywhere.

The touching moment is interrupted by Victor, banging on the door, shouting about Waldman.  He’s been found, dead, in the watchtower where Henry had been working.  Henry locks Elizabeth in a room and rushes out, knowing that the monster must be loose.  He and Victor begin searching the house for the creature, all the while thinking that at least Elizabeth is somewhat safe.

Elizabeth is pacing the room, very nervous.  I can’t blame her.

As she paces, the monster comes through the window of the house, stalking her down.  Elizabeth screams, and tries to escape, but of course, Henry locked the door in his most brilliant move since reanimating the dead.  The monster gets out the way he came in, and Henry bursts in to find Elizabeth unhurt, but hysterical.

Henry proclaims that he cannot get married until his creation is destroyed, and leaves Elizabeth in Victor’s care while he leaves to track down the monster.

“I made him with these hands, and with these hands I will destroy him. I must find him.”

Meanwhile, interrupting the wedding festivities outside, a grief-stricken father carries the body of his little girl, Maria, into the town.  The townspeople, now subdued, follow him as the father approaches the Burgomaster, proclaiming that his daughter has been murdered.  (This is perhaps the one plot hole that I have the hardest time getting around, as if she’d been drowned, there’s no way the father could have figured she’d have been murdered.)

Still, it’s enough to get the townspeople in a riot.

The Burgomaster organizes the mob, splitting it into three groups and putting Henry in charge of one.  The mob storms off, armed with torches and pitchforks (what else?).

Henry’s group spots the monster, and stumbles upon an injured man who points them in the direction of the creature.  

Naturally, Henry gets separated from the rest of the group while up on a mountain, and, of course, runs into his creation.

Frankenstein tries to scare the creature with his torch, but the monster is well past the fear of fire by now.  He lunges at Henry, they struggle, and the monster knocks him unconscious, dragging him away.  

The creature takes Henry into a windmill, pursued by the mob of angry villagers.  As the monster lugs Henry up to the second story, the search party tries to break the door down.

Henry wakes up, and narrowly escapes another attack by the creature, hiding behind mill machinery before entering another losing grappling match with the creature.  After a brief struggle, Henry falls from the mill, unconscious.

Some of the search party stop to take Henry home, as the rest light the mill on fire.

The monster remains trapped in the flaming building, under a fallen beam, terrified and alone.

With the monster presumed dead, Henry begins recovering again, under the care of Elizabeth at his home.  His father, the Baron Frankenstein, breaks out the old wine for the wedding and makes another toast: a toast to the son of Frankenstein.

Cue closing credits.

The story of Frankenstein is not a long one, clocking in at just over an hour and ten minutes.  On a rewatch, it can seem like there isn’t even that much of the monster.  Instead, we spend a lot of time with the creator of the creature, watching him prepare for his wedding.  We even get a few scenes with Elizabeth and other supporting characters.  

At first, these scenes really seem to slow the story down.  The odd placement of a few scenes with Henry’s friends and family worrying about his sanity sprinkled in-between the monster’s creation sequences can seem to abruptly grind the movie to a halt as the audience is forced to sit back from the edge of their seats.  I mean, what is this story about, anyway?  Reanimating the dead or Henry’s wedding?

More specifically, who is this story supposed to be about?

That’s kind of the problem, isn’t it?  

The easy answer is to say that Frankenstein as a film is focused on Frankenstein as a man.  The scientist, bent on playing God, creating a monster and forced to destroy it.  Frankenstein, the son, the fiance, the student, the friend.

By the same token, it’s equally as simple to claim that the focus of the story is on the monster.

The mute creation of a madman, the childish brute who never asked to be made, who was never shown any kindness.  The lonely monster, tortured and brutalized for being ugly, condemned for the sins of his creator.  The monster, the son of Frankenstein.

Typically, finding the protagonist of a film isn’t that hard.  Luke Skywalker, Rocky Balboa, Dorothy Gale, are all easily presented as who the story is about, the person who pushes the action forward.  But unfortunately, protagonists aren’t as easy to spot in every case.

Protagonists, as it turns out, aren’t always at the center of the story.  In our study of Ladyhawke (nearly a year ago!), we discovered that sometimes, the protagonist and the character that the audience spends the most time with aren’t necessarily the same person.  In Running Scared, there are two protagonists, but only one major one.  In our analysis of Psycho, we discussed the fact that the protagonist doesn’t even have to be a hero.  

That’s certainly the case with Frankenstein.

Whichever way you slice it, there is no ‘hero’ in Frankenstein.  Neither monster nor man saves the day.  The climax, presented as a victory to the townspeople, is a tragedy: the creature, beaten and hated for his entire short life, is seemingly burnt alive, trapped, rejected by his creator.

This is not a happy ending.  But then again, it’s not a happy story.  It started with digging up corpses in a graveyard, remember?

It turns out, when you think back over the events of the film, it’s actually pretty easy to spot the protagonist.

When it comes to ‘spotting’ the protagonist in Frankenstein, it’s less an analysis of the actions taken by specific characters, and more the ‘blame game’.  Who’s fault is most of the story?  Is it the monster, for killing?  Is it Fritz, for antagonizing him unprovoked?  Waldman’s, for mentoring Henry in the first place?

Rather grimly, looking back over the course of events in the story and determining who is to blame gives us our protagonist.  It is, of course, Henry Frankenstein.

Henry Frankenstein is far from heroic, but he is responsible for nearly every action taken by every character in the story, from his friends checking up on him to his creation wreaking havoc.  It is his blind arrogance and refusal to take into account the consequences of his actions that lead to so much suffering, and, ironically, death.  Henry is bent on achieving the impossible, and in doing so, nearly dooms much of the main cast.  He digs up the graves.  He creates the monster.

Worst of all, he’s the one who won’t give the creature what he needs most: love.

For all intents and purposes, the creature is the son of Frankenstein, his creation.  Henry has been nothing but an active character up until the point where he creates the monster, and after that, he suddenly becomes passive.  His goal accomplished, he doesn’t treat the monster like a person, but a successful experiment.  He halfheartedly scolds Fritz for tormenting him, but doesn’t actively try to stop him.  Through his carelessness, he gives the monster none of the attention he needs, and as a result, the monster is treated terribly at worst, and with indifference or scientific curiosity at best.

Once people start dying, Henry wakes up a little bit.  His growth, his character arc, comes in the form of self-realization, of owning up and accepting blame for what he’s done.  After he realizes his guilt, he does something about it, going after the monster and trying to ‘right’ his wrong by destroying it.  

While still not exactly a heroic figure, at the very least, Henry does change by the end of the story.  And isn’t that what protagonists are supposed to do?

Yes, it is.

But there’s another character we’re leaving out of this equation.

The idea of the monster being a reflection, or another side, of Frankenstein is not a new one.  It’s an idea that’s frequently discussed and analyzed by plenty of experts.  Right now, though, we’re not looking at the monster as a reflection of Frankenstein.  We’re looking at him as a creation, as a son.

See, Henry isn’t the only person that changes throughout the story.  While Henry goes from mad monster to man, the creature has a reverse progression.

Throughout the first part of his existence, the creature is a passive character.  He is acted upon, created through no will of his own, and then tormented for no good reason.  He is a curious creature, a being that demonstrates a childlike joy at the world around him.

The creature doesn’t truly become a ‘monster’ until more than halfway through the film.  He kills Fritz, only because he tormented him.  He kills Waldman while the doctor is trying to dissect him.  In his early moments, the monster reacts to people trying to harm him, rather than lashing out, unprovoked.  His interaction with light, and people who aren’t cruel to him, demonstrate the monster’s potential true nature: a gentle giant.

When the monster breaks out of the tower and meets Maria, there is no hostility.  He is genuinely happy, enjoying interaction with the first person to show him genuine kindness.  Her death is an accident, the result of his misunderstanding, causing him great distress.

After that, a switch is flipped.  It is here that he goes after Elizabeth, (though not harming her) and attacks Henry after Henry pursues him.  At this point, it can be argued that the creature truly becomes the monster…but it’s hard to say that it’s his fault.

We as an audience don’t know what’s going on in the monster’s head at this point.  He can’t speak to tell us.  But it’s not a large leap of logic to wonder if the monster might be blaming his misery on Henry and the others in his life as well.  And in the end, he is seemingly killed, abandoned by his uncaring creator and shunned by a world who mistreated him without cause.

No matter who Frankenstein is about, it’s a sad story.  It’s also a good story.

Frankenstein learns his lesson, repents from playing God, and fixes his mistake.  The monster dies.  All of the human, ‘non monster’ characters live happily ever after.  (Until Bride of Frankenstein.)  Good…wins?

There’s no line drawn, no sides of ‘good or evil’ in Frankenstein.  The story is not good guy vs. bad guy, no good vs. evil, just a creator and his creation, the tragedy of a man too arrogant to realize the blasphemy of his actions, and the creature he made, turned into a monster due to mistreatment and misunderstanding.  

It’s sad, yes.  It’s also a satisfying ending.

It ties up loose ends.  It answers the questions.  It gives everyone an ending, happy or not.

While Frankenstein does have some plot holes, overall, it’s a tight story.  More importantly, it’s an emotional story, and a smart story.  It brings up questions of morality, of nature vs. nurture, and of what we perceive as monstrous.  It’s a gripping story with a great atmosphere, an iconic look, and immortal characters, setpieces, scenes and dialogue that have been remembered for almost ninety years for a reason.  It’s an iconic film, a memorable masterpiece of simple, but smart, storytelling, constantly driving at an emotional core that still holds up to this day.

A toast to the son of Frankenstein.

In the articles ahead, we’re going to be taking a look at some of the other important elements to the story of Frankenstein, so if you enjoyed this one, stick around and join us!  Don’t forget that my ask box is always open for questions, requests, comments, or just a conversation.  Thanks so much for reading, and I hope to see you in the next article.

#Movies #Film #Frankenstein #Frankenstein 1931 #1931 #30s #Horror #Sci-Fi #Science Fiction #Drama #PG #Boris Karloff #Colin Clive #Mae Clarke #Dwight Frye #Edward Van Sloan #James Whale

[tessatechaitea]

The Invisibles #1

If I had to pretend to know anything about art, I'd say this cover represents how pop culture can kill. Or will blow your mind. Or feels dangerous but it's actually pretty safe because the pin is still in the grenade.

What the fuck do I know about art and why the fuck am I assuming this comic book is going to be about art anyway?! Just because Grant Morrison wrote it and I happen to think Grant Morrison has written some pretty smart comic books? Well, I'm pretty sure he's written some huge fucking turds too! It's just that I haven't read any of them that I remember. Apparently I've read a few issues of this but I don't really remember it. I don't like to tell people that I don't remember it when they talk about how great it was because that's admitting that 22 year old me wasn't a discerning critic of his entertainment. At least I also can't remember the truly garbage comic books I was reading in 1994 as well! So it's possible I read this and thought, "I'm so smart because I understand what's happening!" Now I'm terrified to read it because I'm absolutely certain I'll think, "What the hell is going on in this comic book? I'm such a stupid asshole!" Oh boy. This comic book is forty pages long. Get ready for a review that explicates the first fifteen pages thoroughly while also digressing twelve separate times before quickly summarizing the last twenty-five pages so I can go play some Apex.

I can't say for certain this is a shot at Ann Nocenti but, thankfully, I can say it's definitely not a shot at me!

This guy is Elfayed. He's retrieved a mummified scarab from the desert believing it might be a sign for the mysterious bald man with too many face piercings and the endeavor he's currently on. Which is a mystery because Grant Morrison isn't going to let the reader understand the comic book on the first page! Sheesh! The second page doesn't help explain things but it does place the word "synchronicity" burning in my brain like a buzzing, blinking neon sign.

Get it? Mummified beetle. Dead Beatles. Boy throwing a Molotov cocktail. Pop culture and violence. I think I intuitively understand this comic book so 70% of the rest of what I say will be dick jokes.

The kid throwing the explosive is one of three members of a gang called the Croxteth Posse. Every youth in Britain joins a gang no matter how stupid and lame they are. It just proves how hard they are even if they never throw one Molotov cocktail or ever even get their genitals touched. The gang members run off into the night, past some "King Mob" graffiti which will be important later, yelling, "We are the boys! We are the boys!" Is that a thing lame youth gangs in London did in the 80s and 90s? Because I remember Lister and his posse saying that shit about being the boys of the Dwarf when they thought they were acting hard on some adventure that probably involved Lister fucking a future version of himself. The Croxteth gang are from Liverpool because Croxteth is a suburb of Liverpool. It shows how imaginative these youths are. I bet there are at least fifty different Croxteth Posses bumbling about at night destroying things. The bald guys name is Gideon (and possibly King Mob. Unless the antagonist is King Mob. I should probably keep reading to find out) and he's both young and old at the same time. He's probably some kind of spirit of the zeitgeist or something, Grant Morrison's Jenny Sparks. He's looking for a new recruit for his own gang since something happened to John-A-Dreams. He might have just died of old age because Gideon's other acquaintance, Edith, is now 95 years old and sulking in her mortality. He wants her to contact somebody named Tom to let him know he thinks he found their new recruit. I think it's probably the anarchist kid because I know how stories work. I'm starting to think maybe The Invisibles are a bit like the Upright Citizens Brigade. Their only enemy is the status quo. Their only friend is chaos. Except there will be less skits with people wearing giant papier-mâché cat heads and more ultra-violence. The arsonist kid's name is McGowan and he's smarter than he acts, according to his teacher who gives him the old "you're not fulfilling your potential and your friends are just dragging you down" speech. But what kind of an anarchist would McGowan be if he gave a shit about what his teacher thinks of him? Oh, that's right! He'd be a good anarchist if he really gave a shit and a bad anarchist if he didn't give a shit but he let the teacher's words affect him anyway. That's how anarchy works, right? The problem with anarchy is that it needs a few rules to make it work well but you can't enforce any rules or else you're not living an anarchic lifestyle. Here's my definition of anarchy from Places & Predators, my roller playing game: a philosophy where anybody can do anything they want without worrying about some stupid guard putting an axe in their head. But they have to worry about everyone else putting an axe in their head all the time because there are no guards. I should probably read The Dispossessed by Ursula K. Le Guin instead of all these stupid Han Solo and Lando Calrissian adventure books.

Oh, well McGowan's mother withholds love and affection and blames him for all the ills in her life. I suppose I can now forgive him for torching the school library, right?

McGowan heads out to sit in the cold and watch John Lennon have a conversation with Stuart Sutcliffe. They joke about being dead and it's funny because they are dead. Stuart even says he wants to die young which is doubly funny because he does. Ha ha! McGowan doesn't laugh because maybe he doesn't find gallows humor funny. But some weird creature that speaks some German does laugh. He's all, "Ha ha! They're going to die young! Oh ho ho! Such jolly fun! Now join with me, you dumb kid." He also says some German stuff that I can't make sense of because I don't speak German and I don't want to ask the Non-Certified Spouse what it means. I could use Google but I'm being extra lazy right now. McGowan tells the weird German tourist to fuck off because he doesn't care about anything. But you know what kind of people actually care a lot about everything? The kind who need to tell everybody that they don't care about anything. Only people whose feelings are super hurt say stuff like that. And maybe serial killers. Later McGowan decides to prove he doesn't care by suggesting he and his friends blow up the school. Not because he cares how they think they know everything and they want him to be just like them and all adults lack affection and sincerity. No, he just wants to blow it up because he doesn't give a shit about nothing, man. The scene switches to the bald guy who might be King Mob on an LSD trip. It's nothing like taking LSD but I'll pretend it's all metaphor and analogy and spiritual nonsense. In his trip, he sees a gigantic head of John Lennon. Mostly because the whole trip was to summon this head. It's a double page spread of psychedelic images and nonsense mixed with Beatles lyrics and album titles. Strange that Morrison fails to translate an acid trip involving The Beatles when The Beatles themselves have a song that I think most feels like and describes an acid trip. No, it's not "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds"; it's "Strawberry Fields." If I had to state what my favorite Beatles song was right now, I'd say "Strawberry Fields" even though Magical Mystery Tour might be my least favorite (later) album (although now that I type it, I remember it contained "Penny Lane" and "The Fool on the Hill" and "All You Need is Love" and I guess I was wrong about Magical Mystery Tour being my least favorite album). I added the later because their early pop shit doesn't really resonate with me. I don't think I appreciate their music until after they've met Doctor Robert. Just listened to "Strawberry Fields" and now I'm crying. Fucking great song. While trying to burn down the school, McGowan is caught be his teacher. He gives his teacher a brutal beating and then answers a question he refused to answer in class, just to show he's both smart and violent.

McGowan's arrested and Hugh Laurie sentences him to hard juvenile labor.

I was speaking of acid earlier and I'd like to recommend the documentary on Netflix called Have a Good Trip, especially to people who have never done acid. It's enlightening. You might think that my favorite part was one of the crazier bits about hallucinations or one of the stories about how something odd always happens when on acid (it totally does) but I think my favorite bit is when the musician from Bikini Kill, Kathleen Hanna, tells the story about how acid made her realize that you didn't have to cross the street along the legs of the two triangles comprising the square intersection but can just cross along the hypotenuse. It's not that the idea is mind blowing or even close to an "A-ha!" shower thought; it's just that's the kind of mundane thought that seems like a fucking magic revelation when you're on acid. It's the epitome of the acid experience. LSD makes the mundane profound which is way more exciting than you might think. If you've never done acid, you might have fucked off to the comment section just now to point out that the universe is a wonderful and magical and profound place even without acid. And I fucking agree. But LSD makes everything profound. Every single thing you see or think combines with the fabric of the universe and it all becomes staring at the stars and wondering how it all fucking fits together. But you don't need space or infinity or philosophy; you just need LSD, a stapler, a bottle of water, and a Jack Kirby comic book from the early 70s. Dane McGowan is sentenced to ten weeks in a juvenile facility called Harmony House. It's where violent teenage boys aren't taught to stop being violent; it's where they're taught to use their violence to benefit the government! At least that's my guess. I like to pretend I know what's happening in the comic book as I write the review and then later I delete the wrong assumptions I made and replace them with lies to make me look like a Grandmaster Comic Book Reviewer! Actually, that last sentence was a lie. Normally if I get something wrong, I just write "Oops!" later and then tell readers to forget the terrible mistake I made.

This is the plot to every young adult dystopian book ever written: "Society says conformity is good. But one young spunky individual with weird hair won't submit and will save the world!"

Sometimes I feel the only people touched by stories about the individual refusing to be a sheep of the status quo are people who tend to be sheep of the status quo. To rely identify with the hero in one of these stories, the reader needs to have though of themselves as part of the status quo and felt the need to participate in some activity that would prove that they weren't. Instead of, you know, just being themselves and never actually giving their place in society a second thought. I find odd people who are inspired by a story that tells the reader to be themselves. How is that inspiring unless you never really knew that was an option? And how could you fucking not know it?! But then again, Heathers is one of my all-time favorite movies and I suppose that's got a similar message about being oneself. But it also has murder and some seriously great lines of dialogue and Christian Slater blowing himself to bits.

Oh, remember where I mentioned this comic book was basically screaming "synchronicity" at me and that I understood it on an instinctual level after page two? Grandmaster Comic Book Reader!

The leader of The Invisibles (man, I wish the comic book would just tell me that the bald guy with piercings is actually King Mob already) decides to infiltrate Harmony House to make sure their soon-to-be new recruit, McGowan, is doing okay. I'm sure he'll find he's fine because he's not buying into the whole "be a soldier of the status quo" bullshit being fed to the young boys at the institution. It's easy to be against a Headmaster who thinks arguments like "Liberals love freedom but do they want people to be so free that they can steal their VCRs." But will he be able to stand up against the techno-brainwashing and the influence of the mystical creature running things from behind the scenes?! Probably but only with help from the Upright Citizens Brigade. I mean The Invisibles.

It's surreal that this is the way we thought of controlling the populace in the 90s: turn them into content sheep without any anger or frustration. And yet the exact opposite of that is true: control them by making them angry and frustrated at as many lies and half-truths as you can.

The big twist reveal isn't that the boys' brains are cut up and messed with; it's that the boys genitals are removed as well. Yeesh! Now I'm angry and frustrated! I'm totally against this Harmony House bullshit. Is this actually happening red states?! Horrific! King Mob (yes, they finally reveal that's the bald guy's name) rescues Dane from Harmony House while shooting a bunch of people (including the Headmaster) and blowing the building to bits. It's a good thing we learned the real antagonist was some dick-eating creature called the King of Chains. Dane McGowan isn't ready to join The Invisibles which King Mob was ready for. He had a tarot reading earlier that said the kid was going to have to be put through the wringer first. So he leaves the kid in London and disappears, just so we all know why they're called The Invisibles. I guess Batman is a member? The Invisibles #1 Rating: B+. This issue was forty pages long and it felt like it used every page to move the story along. It's insane that that's one of the greatest compliments I can give a comic book. Way too many writers just fill their scripts with nonsense because they don't have a real plan for their story. I know everybody espouses the idea that a good comic book story should teach the reader something new about the character. But unless learning that Superman can punch something harder than he previously thought he could, or Batman is super resilient and can take a ton of punishment for five issues before rising to the occasion through pure force of will, most comic book writers really don't put a lot of thought into themes. Sure, sure. This sort of feels like the mystic super hero version of Catcher in the Rye which might be why I stopped purchasing it after six issues. Although it's just as likely that I stopped purchasing it at six issues because my infrequent visits to the comic book store made me miss Issue #7 and I just gave up on it. It's not bad and it's put together well and as a young 48 year old who thinks the man can go fuck himself, I'm totally into it's message about being a unique individual! Anarchy rules!

#The Invisibles #Grant Morrison #Steve Yeowell

[laughingpinecone]

Yuletide letter!

I am laughingpineapple on AO3 

Likes: worldbuilding, slice of life (doubly so if the event the fic focuses on is made up but canon-specific), missing moments, 5+1 and similar formats, bonding and emotional support/intimacy, physical intimacy, lingering touches, loyalty, casefic, surrealism, magical realism, established relationships, future fic, hurt/comfort or just comfort from the ample canon hurt, throwing characters into non-canon environments, banter, functional relationships between dysfunctional individuals, unexplained mysteries, bittersweet moods, journal/epistolary fic, dreams and memories and identities, outsider POV, UST, exploration of secondary bits of canon, leaning on the uniqueness of the canon setting/mood, found families, characters reuniting after a long and/or harrowing time, friends-to-lovers, road trips, maps, mutual pining, cuddling, wintry moods, the feeling of flannel and other fabrics, ridiculous concepts played straight, sensory details, places being haunted, people being haunted, the mystery of the woods, small hopes in bleak worlds, electricity, places that don’t quite add up, mismatched memories, caves and deep places, distant city lights at night

Any tense, any pov, any rating, plotty, not plotty, IF, canon divergences, non-mundane AUs (space opera! high fantasy! new weird also), deep lore, unrequested characters popping up - please do go wild with the & combos!

Blanket crossover prompt with Untitled Goose Game: set that goose loose anywhere and ruin anyone’s day. Tariq and select Twin Peaks characters who are not Albert (Margaret, Laura...) may hope to tame and befriend the goose; anyone else better get wrecked. Capitalism may also get wrecked while Kentucky Route Zero characters popcorn.gif nearby

DNW: non-canonical rape, non-canonical children, canon retellings, unrequested ships (I listed all the ships I like for each fandom. Outside of those, I’d prefer if other canon characters weren’t shipped, unless they’re like, canon engaged/married)

Dark Souls 1: Solaire of Astora

I’m only familiar with the first game! It’s probably relevant to mention that I think that linking the fire is kind of a dumbass move, Gwyn is a jerk, Kaathe has his own agenda and there’s no winning move in this world, or at least no obvious one. And amidst all this nonsense, Solaire just shines, pure of heart and dumb of ass like the best of ‘em. I love his kindness in this cruelest of worlds and I love the sad edge he’s got even earlier on when he admits to being seen as weird.

I would enjoy a bittersweet ending for him but I realize both of his endings are deeply entrenched in his themes so it’s hard to make him steer clear of either of those. If you can figure out how to make him not link the Flame or survive the ordeal, I’m all ears! I like a sense of purpose being the thing that can stave off hollowing, and I like characters helping other characters finding that sense of purpose within themselves. Focus on scenery always welcome, and if you want to make up a location, that’s great too!

I’d be super happy with a story set during Solaire’s time in Lordran that simply doesn’t mention his endings, anyway. Maybe he’s the one who helps someone else while his own tragedy keeps looming on the horizon. Striking up friendships in the face of a crapsack world! Meeting people through Lordran’s temporal/dimensional fuckery, where it’s possible to cross the path of warriors who have been gone for ages… could Solaire meet either or both Catarina knights (there’s so much great art about sun bro and onion bro but where’s the fic?), or do the grumpy grump&ray of sunshine routine with Logan, or meet Artorias or even Gwyn before he linked the Flame - or himself? What if he met Kaathe?

Ships: none really? Solaire/Chosen Undead but I don’t really like to read about customizable protagonists in fic so I’d rather not get fic featuring the CU. I’m all about the & character combos here.

Ghost Trick: Cabanela, Jowd

I love Cabanela being fierce and dazzling bright and determined and loyal to the very end, dancing to his own rhythm, so sure of himself and of his ideas that he doesn’t even need to prove to anyone that he’s right. Too sure of the wrong idea, once, and everything crashed and burned. And I love Jowd being the immovable object to Cabanela’s unstoppable force, a suicidal trainwreck of guilt with the gallows humor to show for it, and also incredibly smart (both jerks figured out Sissel’s powers better than Sissel did, that’s... something) and athletic and with an unsuspected talent for stealth.

I am very interested in various characters finding about the erased timeline, but not getting their memories back, and having to live with being told about what they did but never remembering it. Touch-starved Jowd in the new timeline is a surefire hit (or maybe Cabanela if he’s the one who came back and kept the memories of the old timeline). Touchy-feely Cabanela as kind of his baseline with the people he likes.  All what-ifs welcome:what if they managed an acceptable happy ending but didn’t reset the timeline, what if Alma’s ghost stuck around… I’m also wondering about either of them ending up undead via Temsik shard - how would they take these developments (I’m assuming better than Yomiel did but the bar is admittedly low), did Cabanela do it on purpose for whatever sensible-if-you-are-Cabanela reason, what does it change in their relationship, what are the practical pros and cons of the situation here. UFO adventures with Pigeon Man! Lynne teaming up with either of them against the other! Sissel death-averting action if either/both of them die or just regular cat action! Spy stuff! Daring rescues! My forever prompt of Jowd being the one who gets a chance to prove his loyalty to Cabanela for once. Dancing.

Please no Yomiel. Nothing against the guy I’m just getting an overdose of him through RPing.

Ships: Alma/Cabanela/Jowd and all sides thereof, but when it splits the canon couple I only like it when the missing spouse is dead or otherwise unavailable, hopefully with a reset on the horizon. If you want to go for a Cabanela&Alma or Cabanela/Alma who are strongly motivated by a dead or jailed Jowd, I’m good with him not actively appearing in the fic. Alma/Jowd & Cabanela is excellent in all scenarios. I’m good with explicitly non-romantic takes on Jowd&Cabs but please keep their bond strong, and please no conflicting ship for Cabanela. Lynne/Memry!

Kentucky Route Zero: Any (Lula Chamberlain, Joseph Wheattree, Donald kentuckyroutezero, Weaver Màrquez)

(if enough of us request it, will some Murphy corollary guarantee that Act V will come out between now and reveals just to mess with the Yuletide schedule? If it does, I’ll be playing it immediately and probably add a few thoughts and prompts here for kicks, at the end of this section, after a spoiler warning. Obviously feel free to stick to canon up to Un Pueblo De Nada)

I’m all for exploration of any of the game’s themes and for including any staples from adjacent genres - wanna go full-on American Gothic? Dip into surrealism? Take a leaf from Twin Peaks with tulpa / split narratives to explore the characters’ issues? I can’t think of any specific AUs for the disaster trio + disaster soloist here, but I generally love AUs so if you want to sidestep the inconvenience of an incomplete canon that way, be my guest! Or of course there’s Xanadu at the height of its glory, an infinite what-ifs generator. Was Weaver ever part of it, what was this digital Weaver up to? A Xanadu narrative would be great! A good fit for IF, too? I’d love to hear about any new spot along the Zero or the Echo river, or an expansion of some place that’s only mentioned by Will in HATATE or only gets a few paragraphs of text. Lula getting ideas for a new installation, or an article talking about her work? Donald listening to Static between stations somehow (Donald being constantly high as a kite as per this)? Joseph who went back to the surface finds himself near an entrance to the Zero somewhere? A collection of Weaver-isms? Feel free to bring in anyone else from any part of canon.

Ships: “Flipping through the pages, Conway is able to gather that it's a story about three characters: Joseph, Donald, and Lula. It's something like a tragic love triangle, but much more complex. Some kind of tangled, painfully concave love polygon.” 😬 that one, as a full triad, regrettably since they don’t seem too inclined to get reunited and stay that way. If you can nudge them, good. But I’m very open to non-romantic resolutions as well, going past their messy feelings to find each other as friends after so many years maybe. For Weaver, I’m interested in all her & relationships (seriously. Weaver & Cate. Weaver & EmilyBen&Bob. Weaver & Slow Moe Crow.) but nothing shippy. Conway/Lysette, Junebug/Johnny(/Shannon?).

The Last Remnant: David Nassau, Pagus

I’m very interested in post-game exploration, and getting a clearer feeling of any of the cities and assorted places that populate this fascinating world. I like the whole party with their characterization based on battle quotes, red bubble dialogues, and even their unique stat (‘authority’ is a natural fit for David but ‘romance’ tells me something new about Sibal!) Character interaction. Bit of worldbuilding. What’s another festival they celebrate? Do they erect something else instead of the Valeria Heart? Any fun discoveries down in Siebenbur? Where the hell IS Veyriel, anyway, do they go look for it and if so what do they find out? End of an age. Old bonds.

I ache for David who fought so valiantly as a warrior and as a politician only to be slapped in the face with the unexpected loss Emma first and then Rush, right as they were ready to claim their victory and as he would have to start coming to terms with the idea that maybe without the Gae Bolg he wouldn’t die young. At least his Generals are still with him - out of them, all of whom I adore, I picked Pagus because Qsiti are cool. And Pagus in particular is the coolest (”I know that fine qsiti... That large, reticent mouth, the laugh lines around the eyes...“ he’s FINE it’s CANON!). So I’d like to see how David bounces off Pagus in particular, what their bond is like, what he thinks of whatever aspect of Qsiti culture.

Ships: postcanon David/Rush, possibly with an emphasis on Rush’s nature as a remnant? I am also fond of Pagus/Sibal/Maddox, there are more prompts for them in my #letters tag!

Pyre: Volfred Sandalwood, Tariq The Lone Minstrel

Oh the burning found family feelings, the revolutionary passion, the tension between topside social constraints (moreso for liberated exiles, thrust into heroic roles after the revolution) and the kind of freedom allowed by the Downside! I love all the themes, the solemnity, the heart of this game. I’ve been waiting for a character like Tariq all my life, a minstrel who’s otherworldly soft and just a lil bit eldritch. Volfred as well, he just hits my perfect ratio of “noble intentions” to “scheming to a fault”. Like, the percentages in his planner are pointless for gameplay since the ending just depends on the number of Nightwings sent topside at the end - so it’s just there for his characterization, he’s the sort of person who assigns percentages to people, nbd. ...for a good cause! That said, I would die for anyone in that Blackwagon+Dalbert+Celeste, so if you want to write in someone else as well, please do! (otoh if you maybe want to dunk on Brighton or Manley, I don’t like bashing but canon levels of love-to-hate-them would be fun)

Thoughts about finding oneself at the end of an age, as everything crumbles down to form something new. The titan stars. History nerd Volfred, “aye sir, I was there” Tariq. Conversations with Dalbert. Or with Sandra? Any postcanon very welcome with any combination of endings as long as the revolution was peaceful. Please do lean into the xeno headcanons if you enjoy them! Even for gen, I like to read what it’s like to be something other than human and these two are very much not human in different and intriguing ways. Or, Volfred’s zodiac sign is Cancer and Cancer is ruled by the Moon, so there’s that. I also love how they both hold the other in the highest esteem, especially on Tariq’s part since he’s the immortal Herald of the Scribes and Volfred is, all in all, a history teacher, but listen to him and you’d think the roles were inverted. I love my nonviolent canon but could anything happen to either of them that may require a rescue, and/or some good old-fashioned h/c? What’s something that could make Tariq of all people lose it? How’s life 100 years on?

For a funnier mood, picture Volfred trying to figure out how to flirt with Tariq with percentages, planners and all. He could just ask him but no, it’s convoluted plan or bust. Or, conversely, Tariq’s increasingly direct hints that he’s interested, but they’re still ‘increasingly direct’ for Tariq standards, so, not at all, undetectable even by Volfred who can get pretty damningly indirect himself.

Ships: Volfred/Tariq, Volfred/Oralech, some form of Oralech/Volfred/Tariq (more of a Volfred-centric V but I would like to be convinced of the Oralech/Tariq side of things), Celeste/Jodariel, Hedwyn/Fikani and Pamitha/Bertrude.

Twin Peaks: Albert Rosenfield

Case fic but they don’t find out jack shit, someone disappears, David Bowie was there, it’s complicated. Fragmented, shifted, mirrored identities. New Lodge spaces. The risks of staring into the void for too long. Gentle illusions. Transcendence. The moon. Static buzzing. Any title from the s3 ethereal whooshing compilation used as a prompt, actually. Twin Peaks is all about the mystery to me, the awe of mystery and unknowability and the human drive to look beyond and the risks of getting a peek, and about shared consciousness and trauma taking physical form and about the warmth of human connections in an uncaring world. Go wild with the ethereal whooshing!

I love Albert and he breaks my heart, a pacifist who ends his arc shooting his oldest remaining friend after life sucked all the passion and most of the idealism out of him. Is shooting Diane just to see Cooper come back, get her back and disappear with her again trauma enough to make him split? I’d be interested in reading about it, or any other take on his unwavering loyalty to Gordon which should maybe waver after Gordon’s admission that he’s lied to him for 25 years and the aforementioned unmitigated disaster of an ending. But I’m also very interested in his life apart from the disaster that is Blue Rose and his heartbreaking search for Cooper: did he keep in touch with Harry throughout the years, what did they talk about? Was he ever dragged along for a hike in the woods and did something weird happen there? We know he kept in touch with Diane, what did THEY talk about? Does he go on a journey of his own to find her after the ending? Does Tammy come along, do they see each other as friends other than mentor and protégé? What was Phil like as a co-boss back in the day? Did he get a small victory over Windom at some point (maybe even in the present day, given Kenneth Welsh’s recent wonderful interview where he’s adamant that Windom lives)? Does Laura ever visit him in some ghostly manner? He and Denise look like a great duo for a case and/or office shenanigans. We know from TFD that he’s a big jazz enthusiast, something about that? When does he cave in and just accept some aspects of Coop’s investigative method? Just set him loose on another unsuspecting character and I’ll be happy.

If Coop comes back (and I’d love for Coop to come back), I would like it if he came back on his own thanks to having sorted out his crap. After s3, I am not interested in stories about any other character saving Cooper. Albert’s got his wounds to lick dangit. And he’s got friends who can be by his side! ...I do love his dynamic with Coop so much, though. Sigh. I do miss that bastard. Anyway.

Ships: Albert/Coop/Harry and sides thereof, Tammy/Cynthia, Gordon/Phil, Diane/Constance, Lucy/Andy, Chet/Sam.

Canon-specific DNWs: any singular Dreamer being the ‘source’ of canon, BOB (let alone Judy) being forever defeated in the finale, Judy being an active malevolent presence in the characters’ lives, clear explanations for canonical ambiguities, ‘Odessaverse’ being the reality layer, the Fireman’s House by the Sea being the White Lodge, anything that 4 hours video says is the explanation of Twin Peaks

#letter #yuletide 2019

[whispersafterdusk]

Raven Among Wolves - ch 5

As he'd suspected they were hunting more Silver Hand -- specifically, they were hunting the stragglers that had escaped Gallows Rock.

These were men and women who saw the Companions as little more than mongrels to be put down and they'd never stopped to determine if a captured member actually carried the beast blood; Vilkas still remembered some younger members in the past that had been killed by the Silver Hand who had barely spent a month within Jorrvaskr.  He despised them and did agree with killing or running them off wherever possible, if only to protect those who were of innocent blood...but he couldn't help but feel a shred of anger still toward Aela as well -- if she and Skjor had just come back for help then maybe he wouldn't be beside her now to avenge him. ((Continued below cut))

It was clear that these survivors of Gallows Rock were not prepared for their immediate retaliation; Vilkas almost pitied them, but not enough to spare them.  They had set up camp about a half day's walk from Gallows Rock to the north in the shadow of a cliffside which amounted to little more than a fire pit and a few bedrolls.  There were only nine Silver Hand there and three were visibly injured -- none of them that tried running could avoid Aela's bow and even exhausted as he was Vilkas still had no trouble cutting down any that couldn't get out of his way.

"Was that all of them?"

Aela carefully scaled down the side of the cliff and stood at his side (she was clearly admiring his kills) and gave him a curt nod.  "That's all of them."

"Good," he muttered. The exhaustion was really setting in and he didn't think he would have been able to run anyone down; at least being this tired somewhat silenced the beast inside him and he was relatively unbothered by the scent of fresh blood or the rush of battle.  "Let us return to Jorrvaskr then.  Skjor's spirit has been avenged."

Aela nodded but he noticed her attention lingered on the dead longer than it should have, though there wasn't any real reason to scold her; he turned his back to the carnage and took a deep breath - all he wanted was to be home asleep but that was several days away.  They left without fanfare and about halfway back Aela cleared her throat.

"So who exactly is that woman again?"

"She is kin to Kodlak."

"But how?"

"His great grandfather courted a woman he did not know was already married, and sired a child on her.  He left to spare her and her husband's honor and never went back."

Aela made a thoughtful noise.  "She has been around often, I hear."

"Aye," Vilkas replied.  He thought to elaborate but then, with as tired as he felt, he decided not to unless pressed.

"Around you a lot, too."

He shot her a sharp look.  "What are you implying?"

Aela snorted and rolled her eyes at him.  "You're blind if you think no one else has noticed.  It was the first thing Athis and Torvar mentioned."

His mouth went dry but he fought to keep his expression steady.  "And?  She is a skilled mender, I have learned much from her-"

"-you're as far from a mender as I am the throne."

"Even still.  I enjoy her company, and the time spent listening to Kodlak's stories.  My not being a mender does not mean what I learn is useless, nor that it's impossible to be her friend."

"Vilkas.  You've never been the sort to just make friends.  It took years for you to warm up to Skjor and I. You keep a clear line between yourself and the rest of the new bloods with your temper, and you don't go out of your way to seek anyone's company but your brother's."  She looked over at him.   "Suddenly all that's changed?"

"Don't be foolish," he muttered.  He sped up his pace with an irritated grunt.  "You look for meaning that isn't there."

"It just seems out of character for you."

He stopped and spun on a heel to fix her with a glare.  "You are the last person who should be lecturing anyone on their actions, Aela.  Watch yourself, sister."

She stopped too; her expression was one of mild indifference but by the way she gripped the hilt of her dagger Vilkas could tell he'd made her angry.  "And just what does that mean?"

"You and Skjor were supposed to be scouting.  You should have come back for help but you didn't and now Skjor is dead.  You both knew better."

"We DID scout and it was within what we could handle!"

"Then how did Skjor die?  How did so many escape?"

Aela went silent, lips pressed together in a thin line; after a few tense minutes she blew out a sigh and turned her face from him.  "There was a hidden entrance we couldn't have possibly seen unless we were inside or directly on top of it.  It wasn't our fault."

Vilkas let out a noisy exhale that was half growl.  "Then how many were there?"

"We thought just fifteen.  It was closer to thirty when we actually got in there, and by the time we realized it it was too late to retreat."  She fixed Vilkas with an empty look.  "If we had known about the hidden entrance we could have used that to go in and it would have been easier to retreat through it after."

"It hardly matters now," Vilkas grunted.  He turned and started walking again; his head was pounding with that type of headache one got when they were on the brink of total exhaustion and his limbs felt like lead.  "Skjor is gone but avenged, and the Silver Hand's little establishment is wiped out."

"They won't be allowed to get that close again," he heard Aela mutter.

They walked until Vilkas couldn't stand it anymore then spent an uneasy night sitting in a copse of trees; he couldn't quite allow himself to fall asleep and only felt slightly better once he'd dozed a bit.  At the first sign of sunrise they started off again and did not stop until they'd reached Whiterun.  Vilkas tried to keep from stumbling as he climbed the stairs to Jorrvaskr and fell in through the door; he was met with a few concerned looks but those Companions sitting in the mead hall (perhaps wisely) didn't say anything as he and Aela headed down the stairs.

Farkas was on the other side of the door and stood aside to let them pass.

"You look awful."

Vilkas simply nodded at his twin's observation and staggered toward his room. Farkas followed along behind him and made certain he made it into his bed, then blew out the candle left burning on the dresser and shut the door behind him.  

After days of terrible (or no) sleep the quiet darkness was a blessing and Vilkas felt asleep quickly but tonight his dreams mocked and horrified him.

He dreamed of Tormlia and the Underforge; there was a flash of a blade as he drew it over the crook of his elbow and bled what seemed like an impossible amount into the basin that stood there in the middle of the claustrophobic space.  Tormlia drank it and they left together, forms rippling and changing as they leapt in unison over the walls of Whiterun and tore across the plains at a sprint.  They came upon an unfortunate elk and tore it to pieces, reveling in the meat and gore, then he'd flipped her to her stomach and taken her right there, rutting in the blood and the mud-

When he jerked awake he almost toppled from his bed -- he'd moved to the very edge in his sleep and managed to catch himself with his hands on the floor while his legs stayed on the bed.  His heart was hammering in his chest and he felt sick to his stomach, which was made worse when he realized he'd awakened aroused and...messy.

He would never, NEVER, think of letting Tormlia take the blood.  And the rutting...his mind had given it such a beastly, primal sound - he'd never heard anything like it before in his life and questioned where his mind could have dreamed up such a hideous noise. It was by far the worst nightmare he'd ever had and it took him an hour or two to calm down enough to drag himself out of his bed and clean himself up. When he left his room he could smell her nearby then heard Kodlak's voice and her gentle laugh; he immediately pressed himself back into the doorway of his room.  

While he was still horrified at the exact imagery of his nightmare the underlying tone of it was crystal clear, and it frightened him enough that he couldn't force himself to step out into the hallway where she could see him and he could see her; instead he retreated back into his room and shut the door, dropping into a chair at the table in the corner and first propping his elbows on the wood and then his head in his hands.

He was in love - it could be nothing else - and he couldn't bring himself to tell her -- who could possibly love a beast like him?

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

Vilkas was back to feeling nervous and uneasy around Tormlia; it had been over a week but the nightmare (THE nightmare - the worst one ever) was something he had yet to fully banish from his mind and each time he looked at her he could see the blood dribbling down her chin, the transformation, their shared hunt -- like some kind of perverse mating ritual.  He took a pair of jobs that took him away from Jorrvaskr for several days at a time but the distance didn't ease his soul any; no matter what he did it was still fresh on his mind, and he was gripped in a constant fear of what she would do or say if she found out about his werewolf curse.

The one thing that cut through his inner turmoil however was noticing that Aela had disappeared from Jorrvaskr - she had to have left sometime very soon after he had, or maybe right before he'd come back from the first job.  No one seemed to know where she'd gone and none seemed overly worried either...for some reason it worried Vilkas and he couldn't place why.

He still accompanied Tormlia outside of Whiterun's walls; they were starting to travel further out, especially out into the wooded areas to the south.

Today the sky was overcast, the day gloomy and the smell of a storm on the wind.  They were picking their way among the trees - she kept searching among the bases of trees, but not any tree in particular that Vilkas could determine.

"What do we search for?" he finally asked.

Tormlia stood up from where she'd dropped to her knees among the upraised roots of a pine.  "-it's a sort of...moss, or lichen.  I'm not sure which it actually is but it's a pale green that looks like this-" she scraped her nails over the growths on the tree bark and pulled a small strip of some kind of crusty looking plant free.  "Same coloration, sort of.  But the one I'm looking for has very tiny purple flower-looking things - they're kind of shaped like tiny hands."  She held up her free hand, fingers held together and her thumb sticking out over her palm.  "Petals like this, the little pollen part sticking up between the "thumb" and the fingers."

"I have not see anything purple."

She sighed heavily and tossed the peeled lichen to the ground.  "I know...it's irritating, but I guess not too surprising.  It can grow anywhere in Skyrim, on any tree, and it's highly valuable."

Vilkas scanned the trees around him and saw no hint of purple but plenty more of that washed out, pale green.  "What is it for?"

"The flowers sort of...bring out the potency in a lot of medicines and salves.  A small bit of them and you can even get away with using half the amount of the rest of the ingredients without losing strength, assuming you infuse it correctly.  I was hoping that I could find even just a little bit to see if it makes a difference..."  She trailed off, glancing at him then quickly looking elsewhere.

It had to be for whatever potions she'd been providing Kodlak; he wondered at what might afflict the elder -- Kodlak hadn't seemed sick, just...old.  Aging.  And while he knew there were potions to help with the various ailments that aging brought to the body he hadn't noticed or ever heard Kodlak voice problems with it.

"I understand now in the literal sense what it is used for," he said slowly, carefully picking his words.  "But, what is it for?"

For a long moment she remained still, then slowly turned her head to look back to him.  "It's not my business to say.  But, I swear I'm going to do what I can for the person it's for."

She said it with a determination and a steely gaze that wasn't so much looking at him as it was through him; Vilkas decided not to press the issue and continued to follow in her wake, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings.  It was already dark when they finally returned to Whiterun and he knew she was highly disappointed that they'd returned empty handed.  As they passed through the market her steps turned toward the inn; before he could stop himself he'd reached out to grab her sleeve, stopping her.

She turned around to fix him with a questioning look; he floundered a bit under her gaze.  "You- come take your evening meal with us.  In Jorrvaskr.  There's no reason you should be wasting your coin here."

"I don't feel I really belong there among all you warriors," she replied, giving him a faint smile.

"You are kin to Kodlak and- and friend to me," he added, swallowing hard.  "No one will question your presence.  I promise you."

She was silent, considering it, then to his relief she nodded.  "All right.  I guess."

She walked behind him as they returned to Jorrvaskr; once inside the mead hall the smell of roast mutton hit them.  Most nights they fended for themselves but often Tilma was kind enough to cook them dinner -- it was usually something simple like a roast or stew.  There weren't two empty seats next to one another so Vilkas took his usual corner seat while Tormlia moved to the far side of the table across from him and slid into a chair beside Kodlak.

Something about the smell of the meat turned his stomach; he kept to bread and cheese and quietly watched Tormlia and Kodlak - he couldn't quite make out anything they were saying over the chatter of everyone else.  When she got up to leave later he nodded to her and she smiled to him before disappearing through the door.

With her gone he found his attention wandering and it occurred to him that Aela wasn't here again; as before something about it bothered him but he couldn't figure out what.  It shouldn't feel unusual to him for her to be absent (they all took jobs without much input from one another - it was a common thing) but considering the events of the last several weeks...

He tried to put it out of his mind but much like everything else it was something of a losing battle; later, while sitting listlessly at the table in his room he heard a thud at his door and turned to find Farkas in his doorway, leaning against the door frame.

"You haven't been acting like yourself," he said simply.  "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong."

Farkas snorted.  "Even I can tell you're lying."

Vilkas inhaled through his nose and out his mouth.  "Fine.  Yes.  I am bothered by many things.  I'd rather not speak of them at the moment."

His brother grunted but didn't move from the door.  Vilkas turned back to the table, hands clenched on top of it; he was very aware of his brother's gaze and he had the feeling that Farkas wasn't going to leave until he got something out of him.

He huffed out a sigh finally.  "Fine. Skjor's death weighs on me.  And Aela's absence has me worried."

His brother came in to drop into the empty chair on the other side of the table.  "She's been gone awhile.  Left not too long after you did."

Vilkas frowned, not at all pleased that his suspicions were partly correct.  "Did she say where she was going?"

"No."

"Of course not," Vilkas grunted.  "I hate that I am suspicious of what she may be doing."  They were both silent for a long time before Vilkas sighed again.  "Has there been word of the Silver Hand at all?"

"Not that I've heard.  Between Gallows Rock and the camp you and Aela cleared out we've killed a good number of them.  And if they try to get that close again we'll kill those too."

He could appreciate his twin's simple solutions to things at times.  "If they are smart they will stay far away."

"Yeah.  But they're not smart."

"I'm afraid that you may be right."

Farkas sat in silence with him for awhile; it was incredibly late when Vilkas decided to try sleep.  His brother left for his own room and then he laid there in the dark, alone, wondering what sort of nightmare his mind would present him with tonight.

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

"I work to avenge Skjor's death."

Aela's voice was sharp and loud - loud enough to wake Vilkas through his shut door.  He rolled over, feeling groggy and unnerved by a dream he (thankfully) couldn't clearly recall; Kodlak's voice was just as loud.

"His death was avenged long ago.  You have taken more lives than honor demanded. You know better."

"We cannot let these hunters establish another foothold."

"We both know that is not what you are doing. Do not mistake foolhardiness for bravery or you'll find yourself back with Skjor."

Vilkas stood from his bed and opened his door in time to see Aela pass by the hall's opening, then he heard the door shut and her footsteps heading up the stairs into the mead hall.  He stuck his head around the corner to see Kodlak staring after her, a deep disappointment evident on his face that disappeared as he noticed Vilkas.

"What has she done?"

"Gotten caught up in the hunt, and in her vengeance," came Kodlak's answer.

Vilkas briefly glanced to where she'd disappeared through the door.  "Was there any truth to her words?  Are the Silver Hand really so foolish as to try and get so close again, so soon after we've wiped out their last foothold?"

"It is possible but we've no way of knowing unless someone goes with her to see."  Kodlak sighed, rubbing at his beard and suddenly looking much older.  "She takes to the blood too readily."

Vilkas let out a sigh himself and returned to his room to get his armor back on; he met Tormlia on the stairs and got a kind smile that managed to slightly raise his mood, only for it to sour moments later. Feeling angry and disappointed with himself he went out to the training yard and took some of his frustrations out on a dummy and then later Njada with a sparring session.

He purposely avoided going back downstairs until late that evening when he knew Tormlia would be gone and climbed into his bed without any real desire to sleep...so he was awake when he heard a sudden surge of footsteps upstairs followed by a shout for help.

For once he was thankful that, more often than not, he fell into his bed fully armored; he was up in an instant and reaching for his weapon, then shoving his way through his door and out into the hall only to meet a rush of...people.  People he didn't recognize but were clearly not friendly as the large Nord male at the front of the rush swung a great sword at him; Vilkas ducked aside and by how the blade flashed in the candlelight he instantly knew it to be a silver blade.

'The Silver Hand?  Here?'

There was no time to consider how it was possible for the Silver Hand to have gotten into Whiterun in such numbers -- they were under attack and that was the only important thing right now.

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

The night air still stank of blood, even outside of Jorrvaskr.

Vilkas could see the guards that helped the others carry out the corpses; they were so much background movement and noise - something he saw and heard but didn't really register.  He was sick to his stomach and sick at heart, and...angry.  So, so angry.  That the Silver Hand had gotten brave enough to attack them here, in Jorrvaskr...

And they had taken so much.

He tilted his face to the sky and took a deep breath...then his heart stopped as he caught the scent of rain; he looked down and could see Tormlia hurrying up the stairs toward him.

"Tormlia-"

"What's happened?  Sinmir woke the entire inn up saying Jorrvaskr-"

Moving quickly Vilkas stepped into her path; she went to move around him and he moved with her, grabbing her by the arms.

"-was attacked," she finished, looking at him in surprise when he seized her.

"You need to stay here."

"What happened?  Is anyone injured?"  She squirmed in his grasp and her look of confusion was slowly turning into one of irritation - at him.

"Tormlia.  You need to stay out here," Vilkas said slowly, hardly able to keep his voice steady.

She stared into his face, eyes narrowing; her struggles against his grasp resumed.  "Let go, Vilkas."

She almost slipped free; in a sort of panic he grabbed at her again and snagged her around the waist, crushing her to him.  She immediately started beating at his arms and hands and kicking her heels into his shins but he kept hold as she struggled.  "Tormlia, please, listen-" He wasn't prepared for her to suddenly slap her hands to his arms and send that calming spell into him.  As he relaxed his grip loosened and she pulled free as he sank to his knees, drowsy and unable to stand -- the last thing he saw was Tormlia's angry expression as she buried him under that spell and put him fully to sleep.

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

"Who will start?"

"I'll do it.  Before the ancient flame...we grieve."

"We grieve."

"At this loss...we weep."

"We weep."

"For the fallen...we shout."

"We shout."

"And for ourselves...we take our leave."

"We take our leave."

At the front of the gathering Aela stood with a torch, and at the end of the prayer she stepped forward to thrust the torch into the stacked wood of Kodlak's pyre.  The flames caught and began to steadily burn; that the smell of burning meat and hair was someone he loved and respected cut deeply and he couldn't bring himself to watch as the pyre burned down.

Many in Whiterun had come to the funeral and when Vilkas turned around he saw that there was still a rather large gathering but that people were slowly staring to disperse...and, he felt a surge of alarm when he could not see Tormlia among them but could somehow still catch a whiff of her scent as the breeze shifted.  When finally most of the crowd had left he spotted her -- the Skyforge had a wide area paved with flat stones but it was edged with rough stone outcrops and she was perched on the edge of one of them sitting with her knees pulled to her chest and hunched over, pulled into as small a form as she could manage.

The outcrop wasn't large enough to sit by her; Vilkas stood behind her feeling his heart and stomach twisting but cleared his throat.   "Tormlia..."

Her shoulders were shaking and he heard a quiet sniffle.

"...I'm sorry," was all he said after.  He turned his back to her and sat down on the outcrop's back half.

The pyre had died down and fallen down into the forge -  he wasn't brave enough to look and see what may remain of Kodlak within it - when he heard the scuff of a boot on the stone and turned to find Tormlia standing right behind him.  Her eyes were red and she looked...empty, and defeated.

"May I ask you something?"

"Anything," he said quietly.  His armor scraped against the stone as he stood, turning to face her fully.

She stared over his shoulder at the dying fire then moved her empty gaze back to him.  "W-when I first came here I gave Kodlak a book with my family's bloodline and history in it... I'd like to retrieve it before I leave, but I don't want anyone to think I'm stealing."

"Leave?" he repeated, eyes widening.  In truth that was all that had really registered with him.  "You can't - you can't leave."

An anger cut through the emptiness and she narrowed her eyes at him.  "You can't hold me prisoner."

"That's- no, that's not-- I didn't mean it like that," he replied quickly.  "It's just - why?  Don't leave.  Not like this."

Her angry look softened but into something like suspicion.  "Kodlak was the only family I had left.  And now he's gone.  Nothing holds me here."

"Don't leave.  Please."

'Tell her,' came the thought.

"I'm no Companion.  I don't belong here.  I never have."

"Please do not leave."

'Tell her.  Tell her everything.'

"Why?  What reason should I stay?"

'Tell her.  Tell her right now.'

'She'll hate me.'

"Kodlak...he was our family too.  You are our family now."

She let out a bitter laugh.  "Please.  None but you and Kodlak cared I was here. I don't belong here, Vilkas."

"Please don't go."

In his mind he sounded desperate and pathetic, and the need to tell her everything -- how he felt, what afflicted him, everything -- warred with the fear of her scorn and judgement and the fear that she would leave and he'd never see her again.

She was staring at him with an expression he couldn't read, waiting for his reasoning...and the words wouldn't come.

'Tell her, now!'

'She will hate what I am.'

'Just tell her!'

'Why should she even look twice at me?  How could she care for a monster?'

'Tell her now or you'll lose her-'

'-I will lose her anyway if she knows.'

"No one will challenge you," he whispered, looking away.  "If they do, I will handle them."

As the words left him his heart sank, and disappointment crossed her features.  She nodded though and stepped around him; he could hear her soft footsteps going down the hill toward Jorrvaskr.  As the sun began to rise he remained standing there - he couldn't even be certain what he was feeling...so much was warring in his head right now.  Anger.  Loss.  Disappointment.  Fear.  Emptiness, and with a keen sense of failure that was a hard knot in his gut.

For a time there was just silence save for the final pops of the smoldering funeral pyre; finally he heard the sounds of Whiterun stirring -- he'd stood there all night, silent and still, and grieving for so many things.

But as the sun finally hit him he felt...a sudden stirring.  Something cutting through the grief and the fear: the need for truth.  Withholding the truth was the same as a lie and it pained him to keep lying to her, and if she was going to leave anyway...why should he fear telling her the truth of things?

No...  No.  He couldn't let her leave without telling her everything.  If anything...she at least deserved to know the truth of Kodlak, the family she had come looking for.  Let her learn the man he was, what he struggled with, and what his final wish had been that he'd never have now.

He hurried into Jorrvaskr but she was nowhere to be found; rushing out of the hall he then ran down to the market -- Ysolda was kind enough to confirm that yes, she'd seen Tormlia come this way and that she'd continued to the gate without stopping.  He'd thanked her and ran onward through the small residential area and out through the gates; when he reached the stables he stopped to catch his breath - her scent wasn't that strong here and he didn't see her near.   Movement to his left drew his eye; a Nord man with stringy dark hair and beard was moving in the stalls of the stables.

"You there-" Vilkas called out to the man.  He'd seen him countless times but had never asked the man's name.  "Did you see a black haired woman with blue eyes come this way?"

"I did - she was out here early this morning as Bjorlam was hitching his horse to the carriage.  Seemed in a hurry to leave."

Carriage...damn.  She would be moving faster than he could on foot and he doubted the stables would be willing to lend a horse.  At the very least the carriage would stick to the roads so he wouldn't be trying to find her in a forest or...or anywhere else.

Vilkas muttered a thanks and hurried down the road; the breeze had blown away any hint of her scent out here but if she was...actually, she hadn't said where she was going.  Would she return to Riften?  To the temple?  It was the only thing he could think of but he didn't want to find her there, he wanted to catch her before she got too far from Whiterun...

There was a place where the road out of Whiterun split, running to the east and west.  Riften was to the southeast, and-

For one reckless, stupid moment Vilkas nearly threw caution aside and went to change forms right there, to hell with whoever might see him; the carriage wasn't something he could hope to catch on foot - a horse could go for much longer than he could, as a man...but as a beast...

A sound stopped him; it was the sound of wagon wheels on the stone road, and in the far distance in the east Vilkas could spy the carriage...but, it was coming back toward Whiterun.  For a moment he felt his heart lift - was she coming back after all?  He rushed down the road to the carriage and darted to the side to avoid spooking the horse; the carriage driver yelled something at him but Vilkas ignored it and hurried to the rear, only to see the carriage was empty.

"Were you hired by a black haired, blue eyed woman?"

The carriage had come to a halt and the driver dropped down; he did not look pleased with him.  

"Aye, I did. And then she wanted off and to go the other direction.  Took forever to find a place to turn around without tossing a wheel."

Other direction?  West?  What was to the west?  Why would she go that way?  "Did she say why?"

"No.  'least she didn't demand her coin back. Now unless you need a ride yourself I want you clear of my carriage, understand?"

Vilkas muttered something that sounded like an acknowledgement and stood there in the road, confused, as the carriage moved off.  Riften was to the east...why would she go west?

And if she was going on foot...maybe he could catch her.  If he...

He could catch her if he changed into a beast, and he could hardly believe he was considering this again; the desperation to catch up with her won out over his hesitation to answer his blood but at least this time he had the sense to not change forms in the open.  His attention turned to the south and the thick woods that were at the base of the mountains there -- if he could get among the trees he could change without anyone seeing, and even if he was seen afterward he was incredibly fast as a wolf.

No one could hope to catch him.  No one could stop him.

He sprinted for the trees, not caring if the carriage man noticed him; within the safety of the forest he gave in to the blood and changed, lifting his head to sniff the air.  There was no hint of her scent but there was also no hint of danger either; it was good enough for him -- he took off at a maddened sprint through the trees, heading west.  He would pick up her scent as he grew closer.

Whiterun had disappeared behind him when he finally smelled her...but mingled with her scent was a metallic one he knew well.

Silver.

'Not here.  Not now.'

He pushed himself to run even faster -- he was slavering at the mouth and feeling ready to vomit when he skidded to a stop at the base of three pines that had grown together; he could hear jeering, and the sounds of struggle, and Tormlia's voice pleading with someone to go away.

Slowly, cautiously, Vilkas lifted his head to scent the air, then peered around the trio of pines -- he could see nothing from here but rustling bushes in the breeze - the road was not visible; he crept closer, keeping low to the ground and trying to get his panting under control.  Nearer to the road he found a fallen log he could slide beneath, laying there hidden among ivy and dead leaves, and the cramped quarters helped him rein in his sudden surge of anger and instinct when he finally spied the struggle he could hear.

Tormlia was standing in a ring of men and women - all were brandishing silver blades and nasty smiles as the circle tightened slowly.

"Leave me alone - I don't know what you want!"

"This is one of them, right?"

"Aye - I've seen her in and out of there on the daily."

Vilkas's control over himself slipped and he rammed his head on the underside of the log; the group of Silver Hand didn't hear the thump and rustling of leaves, or otherwise didn't care -- their attention was on Tormlia, and they moved in until they were all standing shoulder to shoulder, completely surrounding the woman.

"What do you want?" Tormlia asked desperately.

An orc broke free of the circle; he was a huge male, a head and a half taller than Tormlia and heavily muscled, and held a dagger with a strangely curved blade that glinted bright silver in the sunlight.

"One less monster in the world," the orc growled.  He advanced on Tormlia, blade lifted.

Inside his head he was screaming - he needed to get down there, to rescue her, but his beastly form's instincts were shouted down by his logical side; even if he were to rush in to save her right now there were too many for him to take on alone -- he counted thirteen from his vantage point and he couldn't rule out that there might be some in the trees or standing somewhere he couldn't see from here.

If he charged in now they'd just die together.  

It tore at him - he'd never felt so helpless.  Out of sheer frustration he threw his head back and howled.

Down on the road the orc flinched and spun around, staring into the trees.   The other Silver Hand likewise turned their attention outward at the howl, immediately tense and on the alert; Tormlia attempted to take advantage of their distraction and charged at an Imperial woman in lighter armor than the rest but the woman quickly recovered from Tormlia's shove and kicked out at her legs.  Tormlia hit the ground on her stomach and scrabbled to get to her feet only to collapse as the Imperial woman aimed a steel-toed kick into her ribs; the orc tore his attention from the forest and moved over to grab Tormlia by the hair, bodily lifting her from the ground.

"New plan - seems they're coming for their new pup."  He spun around and threw Tormlia into the waiting arms of two others, then once they'd wrestled with her and gotten her turned around to face the orc he slammed his fist first into her gut then into her temple; Vilkas almost darted out from under the log again at the sight of her falling limp in their grasp and he had to keep reminding himself to remain calm and remain in place.

'Recklessly charging in will get us both killed,' he told himself again and again, and watched helplessly as one of them threw Tormlia over their shoulder and together the group of Silver Hand moved down the road and then abruptly turned north and began to cross the plains.

And so began his hunt; for days he stalked them from the darkness, letting them walk freely in the day time and quickly tracking them and catching up once night fell.  Every time he approached their camp he prayed he would see an opening -- some moment, some weakness, that would allow him to either strike and kill them all or at least rescue Tormlia and flee...but each night a rotating group of eight of them stood guard, awake and alert, and they kept Tormlia bound and gagged in the middle of the camp well out of his reach.

For the first time in a long time Vilkas was relying entirely on his altered form; he hunted small game only if it was in his path, he stayed within the form when he rested during the day, and at night his dark fur made him indistinguishable from the shadows he prowled in.  It disgusted him that he'd taken to it so quickly again after not having transformed in months...but the disgust with himself could wait.  For now this was a tool - the only tool he had - to save Tormlia and he couldn't afford to hesitate or stop to consider what consequences he might personally encounter for this momentary embracing of the damned blood.

The further north they traveled the higher up the mountains they climbed; Vilkas's black fur stood out terribly against the white snow and he was having to fall further and further back during the day to avoid being seen.  It was maddening but he comforted himself with the thought that so long as he didn't lose the scent it didn't matter if it he was ten feet or ten miles behind them - he would find them.

At last, after a week's hard march, they came upon a squat, square stone building; there were three Silver Hand standing guard outside and they quickly opened the door for the returning group.

From where Vilkas crouched behind a wide tree trunk he heard the orc order the others to get the "bait" inside and secured, and to get the entire base on alert.  All but those three that had been standing guard outside quickly hurried through the door and disappeared inside.

Tormlia was now effectively out of his reach.

Finally he let his form slip away and knelt as a man in the snow; his throat was raw, his chest and legs aching in a way he'd never felt before, and he was sick with fear for her safety -- they had called her bait so he was...reasonably...certain they wouldn't kill her, but he would need to travel back to Jorrvaskr for help, and then return here.  It had taken a week to get here meaning she would be in their clutches for two weeks at minimum before he'd be able to get back here with help.

With his heart breaking he turned from the crumbling fort and let himself slip between forms again; he had to get back to Jorrvaskr, and quickly. As he sprinted down the mountain and tore through the trees he slowly loosened his hold on his anger and without it reined in the bestial side of him took over -- it didn't care for HOW he got to Jorrvaskr, only that he did, and at least the anger helped fuel his aching limbs as he cut a direct path back southwest to where he knew Whiterun to be.

When he came within sight of the city he changed back to a man; once he reached the gates he collapsed into the arms of a guard that had reached out to grab him as he'd started to fall, and as he'd slipped into unconsciousness he prayed he'd recover quickly.  He had to.

#Raven Among Wolves #raw #Raven Among Wolves ch 5 #vilkas #farkas #kodlak #aela #non-dragonborn #Companions #AU #Skyrim

[sonofhistory]

November 27th 1835, John Smith and James Pratt (sometimes reported as being named John Pratt) were hanged outside Newgate Prison for (in the exhausting fulminations of the Old Bailey trial records) “feloniously, wickedly, diabolically, and against the order of nature, carnally … commit and perpetrate[d] the detestable, horrid, and abominable crime (among Christians not to be named) called buggery.” They were the last men to be executed in Great Britain explicitly for “buggery”. 

“The grave will soon close over me, “and my name [be] entirely forgotten.”

- John Smith allegedly wrote this to a friend before his hanging.

After being observed having sex in a friend’s house, William Bonill, in front of the fire, Smith and Pratt were arrested on August 27th at a house in Southwark. William Bonill, aged 68, had lived for thirteen months in a rented room at a house near the Blackfriars Road, Southwark, London. His landlord stated Bonill frequently had male visitors, who generally came in pairs. Pratt and Smith came to visit Bonill. The landlord climbed to an outside vantage point in the loft of a nearby stable building, where he could see through the window of Bonill's room, before coming down to look into the room through the keyhole. Both the landlord and his wife later claimed they both looked through the keyhole and saw sexual intimacy between Pratt and Smith. The dick landlord broke open the door and confronted them. Bonill was absent, but returned a few minutes later with a jug of ale. The landlord quickly went to fetch a policeman and all three men were arrested. 

“Pratt laying on his back with his trowsers below his knees, and with his body curled up—his knees were up—Smith was upon him—Pratt’s knees were nearly up to Smith’s shoulders—Smith’s clothes were below his knees . . . and a great deal of fondness and kissing.” 

Pratt, Smith and Bonill were tried on September 21st 1835 at the Central Criminal Court, before Baron Gurney, a judge who had the reputation of being “independent and acute”, but harsh. Pratt and Smith were convicted under section 15 of the Offences against the Person Act 1828 and were sentenced to death. William Bonill was convicted as an accessory and sentenced to 14 years of penal transportation. James Pratt  lived with his wife and children at Deptford, London. A number of witnesses came forward to testify to his good character. John Smith was from Southwark Christchurch and was described as an unmarried labourer although other sources state he was married and worked as a servant. They are preserved by Charles Dickens. They make an appearance in Dickens’ Sketches by Boz, an 1836 compilation of London scenes of which “A Visit to Newgate” is the best-known. Dickens paid a visit on November 5th, 1835. Dickens would write in a correspondence that the experience left him “intensely interested in everything I saw.” He was twenty-three years old at the time. 

“In the press-room below, were three men, the nature of whose offence rendered it necessary to separate them, even from their companions in guilt. It is a long, sombre room, with two windows sunk into the stone wall, and here the wretched men are pinioned on the morning of their execution, before moving towards the scaffold. The fate of one of these prisoners was uncertain; some mitigatory circumstances having come to light since his trial, which had been humanely represented in the proper quarter. The other two had nothing to expect from the mercy of the crown; their doom was sealed; no plea could be urged in extenuation of their crime, and they well knew that for them there was no hope in this world. ‘The two short ones,’ the turnkey whispered, ‘were dead men.’”

Smith and Pratt were the “dead men.” The third person spoken of (unconnected to them), was a soldier named Robert Swan, convicted of robbery. 

“The man . . . was lounging, at the greatest distance he could place between himself and his companions, in the window nearest to the door. He was . . . aware of our approach, and . . . assumed an air of courageous indifference; his face was purposely averted towards the window, and he stirred . . . while we were present. The other two men were at the upper end of the room. One of them, who was imperfectly seen in the dim light, had his back towards us, and was stooping over the fire, with his right arm on the mantel-piece, and his head sunk upon it. The other was leaning on the sill of the farthest window. The light fell full upon him, and communicated to his pale, haggard face, and disordered hair, an appearance which, at that distance, was ghastly. His cheek rested upon his hand; and, with his face a little raised, and his eyes wildly staring before him, he seemed to be unconsciously intent on counting the chinks in the opposite wall. We passed this room again afterwards. The first man was pacing up and down the court with a firm military step – he had been a soldier in the foot-guards – and a cloth cap jauntily thrown on one side of his head. He bowed respectfully to our conductor, and the salute was returned. The other two still remained in the positions we have described, and were as motionless as statues.”

Dickens re-counted with a picture of where they passed their last nights:

“A few paces up the yard, and forming a continuation of the building, in which are the two rooms we have just quitted, lie the condemned cells. The entrance is by a narrow and obscure stair-case leading to a dark passage, in which a charcoal stove casts a lurid tint over the objects in its immediate vicinity, and diffuses something like warmth around. From the left-hand side of this passage, the massive door of every cell on the story opens; and from it alone can they be approached. There are three of these passages, and three of these ranges of cells, one above the other; but in size, furniture and appearance, they are all precisely alike. Prior to the recorder’s report being made, all the prisoners under sentence of death are removed from the day-room at five o’clock in the afternoon, and locked up in these cells, where they are allowed a candle until ten o’clock; and here they remain until seven next morning. When the warrant for a prisoner’s execution arrives, he is removed to the cells and confined in one of them until he leaves it for the scaffold. He is at liberty to walk in the yard; but, both in his walks and in his cell, he is constantly attended by a turnkey who never leaves him on any pretence.

We entered the first cell. It was a stone dungeon, eight feet long by six wide, with a bench at the upper end, under which were a common rug, a bible, and prayer-book. An iron candlestick was fixed into the wall at the side; and a small high window in the back admitted as much air and light as could struggle in between a double row of heavy, crossed iron bars. It contained no other furniture of any description.”

“A Visit to Newgate” concludes:

"Hours have glided by, and still he sits upon the same stone bench with folded arms, heedless alike of the fast decreasing time before him, and the urgent entreaties of the good man at his side. The feeble light is wasting gradually, and the deathlike stillness of the street without, broken only by the rumbling of some passing vehicle which echoes mournfully through the empty yards, warns him that the night is waning fast away. The deep bell of St. Paul’s strikes – one! He heard it; it has roused him. Seven hours left! He paces the narrow limits of his cell with rapid strides, cold drops of terror starting on his forehead, and every muscle of his frame quivering with agony. Seven hours! He suffers himself to be led to his seat, mechanically takes the bible which is placed in his hand, and tries to read and listen. No: his thoughts will wander. The book is torn and soiled by use – and like the book he read his lessons in, at school, just forty years ago! He has never bestowed a thought upon it, perhaps, since he left it as a child: and yet the place, the time, the room – nay, the very boys he played with, crowd as vividly before him as if they were scenes of yesterday; and some forgotten phrase, some childish word, rings in his ears like the echo of one uttered but a minute since. The voice of the clergyman recalls him to himself. He is reading from the sacred book its solemn promises of pardon for repentance, and its awful denunciation of obdurate men. He falls upon his knees and clasps his hands to pray. Hush! what sound was that? He starts upon his feet. It cannot be two yet. Hark! Two quarters have struck; – the third – the fourth. It is! Six hours left. Tell him not of repentance! Six hours’ repentance for eight times six years of guilt and sin! He buries his face in his hands, and throws himself on the bench.

Worn with watching and excitement, he sleeps, and the same unsettled state of mind pursues him in his dreams. An insupportable load is taken from his breast; he is walking with his wife in a pleasant field, with the bright sky above them, and a fresh and boundless prospect on every side – how different from the stone walls of Newgate! She is looking – not as she did when he saw her for the last time in that dreadful place, but as she used when he loved her – long, long ago, before misery and ill-treatment had altered her looks, and vice had changed his nature, and she is leaning upon his arm, and looking up into his face with tenderness and affection – and he does NOT strike her now, nor rudely shake her from him. And oh! how glad he is to tell her all he had forgotten in that last hurried interview, and to fall on his knees before her and fervently beseech her pardon for all the unkindness and cruelty that wasted her form and broke her heart! The scene suddenly changes. He is on his trial again: there are the judge and jury, and prosecutors, and witnesses, just as they were before. How full the court is – what a sea of heads – with a gallows, too, and a scaffold – and how all those people stare at HIM! Verdict, ‘Guilty.’ No matter; he will escape.

The night is dark and cold, the gates have been left open, and in an instant he is in the street, flying from the scene of his imprisonment like the wind. The streets are cleared, the open fields are gained and the broad, wide country lies before him. Onward he dashes in the midst of darkness, over hedge and ditch, through mud and pool, bounding from spot to spot with a speed and lightness, astonishing even to himself. At length he pauses; he must be safe from pursuit now; he will stretch himself on that bank and sleep till sunrise.

A period of unconsciousness succeeds. He wakes, cold and wretched. The dull, gray light of morning is stealing into the cell, and falls upon the form of the attendant turnkey. Confused by his dreams, he starts from his uneasy bed in momentary uncertainty. It is but momentary. Every object in the narrow cell is too frightfully real to admit of doubt or mistake. He is the condemned felon again, guilty and despairing; and in two hours more will be dead.”

A magistrate named Hesney Wedgewood appealed vigorously for clemency for Smith and Pratt. He pointed out that the only reason these two had been doomed was because they pursued their desires in a lodging-house rented by a friend where they were easily spied-upon. The magistrate wrote:

“There is a shocking inequality in this law in its operation upon the rich and the poor. It is the only crime where there is no injury done to any individual and in consequence it requires a very small expense to commit it in so private a manner and to take such precautions as shall render conviction impossible. It is also the only capital crime that is committed by rich men but owing to the circumstances I have mentioned they are never convicted. The detection of these degraded creatures was owing entirely to their poverty, they were unable to pay for privacy, and the room was so poor that what was going on inside was easily visible from without. [x]

At the trial, no character witnesses came forward to testify on Smith’s behalf. The conviction of the three men rested entirely on what the landlord and his wife claimed to have witnessed through the keyhole; there was no other evidence against them. 

Pratt and Smith were hanged in front of Newgate Prison on the morning of November 27th. The crowd of spectators was described in a newspaper report as larger than usual. The hanging was the first to have taken place at Newgate in nearly two years. William Bonill was one of 290 prisoners transported to Australia on the ship Asia, which departed England on November 5th 1835 and arrived in Van Diemen's Land (now Tasmania) on February 21st 1836. Bonill died at the New Norfolk Hospital in Van Diemen's Land on April 29th 1841.

Although there were no further executions for sodomy after Smith and Pratt in 1835, that penalty remained live until 1861.

#james pratt #John smith #pressles musing #history #british history

[8147]

reading hamlet for the first time (act 5: the finale)

masterlist

none of you told me it was going to be this painful . none of you.

a5s1

“Ophelia’s dead.” “Enter CLOWNS!”

Like im sure this has a different meaning in EMA but im gonna make fun of it because it’s fucking hilarious. (future (present? (now past once more (?))) antares coming back to say i did look at nfs and yeah theyre gravediggers)

“First Clown: What is he that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter? Second Clown: The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a thousand tenants.” damn not even just this one quote but these are some depressing clowns

hamlet and horatio!

okay there’s something about all of hamlet’s skull talk that makes me uneasy. like, not even the topic, just something in the words and how earnestly and (pardon my pun) gravely hamlet’s speaking about this. and it’s almost a mournful tune, too. it’s a huge difference from his “we’ll all be eaten by the same worms” speech to the point that it’s almost haunting.

“HAMLET: I will speak to this fellow.” C O N F R O N T

“HAMLET: I think it be thine, indeed; for thou liest in't.” (incomprehensible scribbling)

HAMLET, NOT IN ENGLAND: oh yeah lol he was sent to england huh u know why lmao

wait. did the. did the pirate situation get resolved. before act V.

I mean i think hamlet mentioned something about three years but the pirates are so fucking glossed over like what the fuck

“First Clown: 'Twill, a not be seen in him there; there the men are as mad as he.” HOLY SHIT ROAST THEM JFC

“HAMLET: Let me see. (Takes the skull)” THIS IS THE SKULL SCENE! I fucking KNEW it was bullshit that holding the skull was in the to be/not to be speech. I saw it being presented as such like once or twice while reading and I KNEW IT

hm okay so hamlet picks up this guys skull, of someone he used to know, and sure maybe i could ignore the “those lips i have kissed” but then he goes on to mention alexander the great and i mean come on

but jesus like i feel like im not doing justice to the stuff hamlet’s saying. just, the gravity of it all. Its kinda hitting home a bit hard bc like ive had a crippling fear of what happens after death and being forgotten etc since i was like in fourth grade and this is @ing that phobia

like, with that julius ceasar thing. “O that that earth which kept the world in awe / should patch a wall to expel the winter flaw,” it’s so strange. like, every fucking human who has lived, whether they be emperors, murderers, inventors, peasants, or philanthropists- as long as they weren’t blind, they’ve all looked at the same sky. like. It doesnt matter what the fuck you did or didn’t. It’s wild.

“First Priest: No more be done: We should profane the service of the dead To sing a requiem and such rest to her As to peace-parted souls.” hey i get that there are cultural taboos around suicide but like this guy’s a dick it isnt even clear if it was suicide, like, she was so fucking crazy she might not have even known she was, y’know, in a lake or w/e

laertes, dude, my guy. maybe jumping into a grave is cosmic foreshadowing for something you don’t want to happen to you. js.

“HAMLET: [Advancing] What is he whose grief Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow Conjures the wandering stars, and makes them stand Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I, Hamlet the Dane. (Leaps into the grave)” hamlet is NOT one to be out-extra’d (posting-antares here to say, wait, ‘whose phrase of sorrow conjures the stars? is this my aesthetic-speeches-summon-ghosts theory? probably not, but i havent mentioned it for a while)

“LAERTES: The devil take thy soul! (Grappling with him)” IN A FUCKING GRAVE. THEY ARE FIGHTING. IN A GRAVE.

all because hamlet doesn’t want to be out-extra’d. my god.

“QUEEN GERTRUDE: This is mere madness: And thus awhile the fit will work on him; Anon, as patient as the female dove, When that her golden couplets are disclosed, His silence will sit drooping.” Ah yes gertie just talk about the distraught and angry madman as if he isn’t there. that’ll diffuse the situation.

You know what? We still haven’t discussed the pirates.

a5s2

“HAMLET: So much for this, sir: now shall you see the other; You do remember all the circumstance?” If this isn’t gonna be about the pirates im gonna. scream.

“HAMLET: My fears forgetting manners, to unseal Their grand commission; where I found, Horatio,-- O royal knavery!--an exact command, Larded with many several sorts of reasons Importing Denmark's health and England's too, With, ho! such bugs and goblins in my life, That, on the supervise, no leisure bated, No, not to stay the grinding of the axe, My head should be struck off.” god, though. imagine that. being exiled to another country by the person who killed your father, only to find out that they were going to have you killed, anyways. that’s fucking terrifying. jesus christ.

Damn this idea that pretty handwriting is ~beneath~ nobles confuses me so fucking much. I got called haughty once just because my main handwriting is cursive. I mean, they were right, but their evidence was circumstantial at best.

“HAMLET: That, on the view and knowing of these contents, Without debatement further, more or less, He should the bearers put to sudden death, Not shriving-time allow'd.” Hamlet’s Revenge. 

but also, what the fuck, dude. two wrongs dont make a right.

damn i kinda lost myself while reading but it really doesn’t sound like hamlet’s insane anymore. Like he’s… tempered himself. he doesn’t feel insane, just solemn.

“OSRIC: Your lordship is right welcome back to Denmark. HAMLET: I humbly thank you, sir. Dost know this water-fly?” goddamn ROAST HIM HAMLET (also what a fucking mood)

Osric put on your fucking ha--

The wind is

The wind is northerly

“HAMLET: No, believe me, 'tis very cold; the wind is northerly.” I remember someone saying that this is important

Okay here: “HAMLET: I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw.”

oh no

Osric just wear ur fucking hat u doof

“OSRIC: Exceedingly, my lord; it is very sultry,--as 'twere,--I cannot tell how. But, my lord, his majesty bade me signify to you that he has laid a great wager on your head: sir, this is the matter,-- HAMLET: I beseech you, remember-- (HAMLET moves him to put on his hat)” excuse me a WAGER

but alas all hamlet cares about is osric’s fucking hat

“HAMLET: What's his weapon? OSRIC: Rapier and dagger. HAMLET: That's two of his weapons: but, well.” hamlet u sarcastic little shit i love you

I mean so is horatio. I love him too.

This stuff with the competition is. not gonna end well. not at well.

“HAMLET: I do not think so: since he went into France, I have been in continual practise: I shall win at the odds. But thou wouldst not think how ill all's here about my heart: but it is no matter.”

hamlet no. listen to your heart or whatever. jesus christ don’t do it.

“HORATIO: Nay, good my lord,--” HAMLET LISTEN TO HORATIO

Ohhh hamlet

okay reading what laertes said, you know what? i’m giving laertes one last chance. please do not prove me a fool, laertes. 

everything is giving me mad anxiety. e v e r y t h i n g.

claud’s speech is insanely sketchy

“KING CLAUDIUS: [Aside] It is the poison'd cup: it is too late.” One, so that’s why it was sketchy. Two, the POISONED CUP?

IT’S TOO LATE?

Gertie’s. Dead.

Shit, shit, shit

“LAERTES: [Aside] And yet 'tis almost 'gainst my conscience.” YES! SO PLEASE! STOP FIGHTING!

“LAERTES wounds HAMLET; then in scuffling, they change rapiers, and HAMLET wounds LAERTES.” Oh no oh no oh jeez eheu they’re hurting each other, shit, fuck,

“LAERTES: ...woodcock…”

“KING CLAUDIUS: She swounds to see them bleed. QUEEN GERTRUDE: No, no, the drink, the drink,--O my dear Hamlet,-- The drink, the drink! I am poison'd. (Dies)” one, i love how claud is desperatley trying to stick to the plan, its almost adorable in a childish sort of way. two, oh god. ohhh god. gertie. 

Oh no. 

this is the bloodbath. THIS IS THE BLOODBATH.

BODY COUNT: 1

“HAMLET: The point!--envenom'd too! Then, venom, to thy work. (Stabs KING CLAUDIUS)” ...

BODY COUNT: 2

wait and hamlet’s on death row, as with laertes. Oh no.

“LAERTES: He is justly served; It is a poison temper'd by himself. Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet: Mine and my father's death come not upon thee, Nor thine on me. (Dies)’ oh my god already??? I haven’t even really accepted king claud’s death?? jesus christ??

My friend just sorta nudged me and asked if i was alright and i. I’m not. i’m in shock. goddamn. what?

BODY COUNT: 3

goodness thats three in like less than thirty seconds JESUS CHRIST

“HAMLET: Heaven make thee free of it! I follow thee.I am dead, Horatio.” that’s chilling. just, the poignancy. that’s so fucking spectral. i’m not okay.

“HORATIO: Never believe it: I am more an antique Roman than a Dane: Here's yet some liquor left.” No no no on no nononon NO NO oh my god are you going to-

“HAMLET: As thou'rt a man, Give me the cup: let go; by heaven, I'll have't. … If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart Absent thee from felicity awhile, And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, To tell my story.” hey i’m crying in study hall. i’m actually crying. what the fuck. I don’t cry unless i’m thinking about that one pair of 18th century shoes with the really good photo quality (transcribing-antares here. I fucking love those shoes. I’m looking at them right now and they’re so fucking beautiful. they look how velvet feels, which is odd, bc they're apparently silk. I don’t care they’re just so fucking lovely)

F O R T I N B R A S?

“HAMLET: O, I die, Horatio; The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit.” I’ve identified my emotion. Dread. pure, unadulterated Dread.

for all of you that’ve listened to the penumbra podcast: do you remember the concierge, right before final resting place, saying “you do realize you can just like, leave, and everything will be hunky dory and you won’t have to deal with the emotional consequences this episode will bring you” because i’m seriously considering doing that right now.

“HAMLET: The rest is silence. (Dies)” shit. (posting-antares here to say that i forgot to do the body count but honestly im crying while formating because of this goddamn fucking 400 year old play)

“HORATIO: Now cracks a noble heart. Good night sweet prince…” oh god. horatio.

“Good night sweet prince…”

(yet again tis transcribing-antares here to say that im fucking sobbing right now, the shoes are no match for this, and ‘goodnight sweet prince’ is actually never going to leave my head.) (editing-antares here to say im fucking crying again god fucking damn it) (posting-antares back again saying that this fucking line. this line. my god.)

“HORATIO: What is it ye would see? If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search.” oh, horatio. god. that isn’t something said without tears staining your skin and a bitter tone hard-won, not that its possession is a victory.

oh my god. this can’t. no. this can’t end like this. What. no. people must have rioted. No. no!!

i typically hate it but i would GLADLY accept a deus ex machina right about now!!

okay my friend just took my phone away from me and shut it off because i kept on trying to scroll past the end

jesus christ

okay so i’m not going to be okay for like, several eternities, so im going to play the sims until i. until i die, probably. my god.

masterlist

#shush antares #antares reads hamlet #thE PIRATES WERE NEVER ADDRESSED #also im crying but im STILL ANGRY #mostly in shock tho