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theshadowhare · 2 years

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New William From A Dream.

I was an orphan (I guess?? maybe an orphan and an actor? as I knew that some of the children in the orphanage weren't really themselves and simply people pretending to be them, as the original ones had died years ago {context for how this would be possible is that I'm Nevil in almost all of my dreams, and Nevil is immortal due to remnant shenanigans} and were probably in the graveyard behind the church/orphanage I was living in. I had left for quite some time but reappeared at this orphanage and due to this the staff were trying their best to make sure that I didn't leave again, and were attempting to act like nothing had changed since I had left.) And based off of the clothing that the children and staff were wearing along with the structure of the buildings and the orphanage, this was probably in 1800s England. While the staff were walking the dogs, I was allowed out to see my own dog (Birdie), but I noticed that she didn't really look like Birdie, and she didn't recognize me. After I realized this I started to think back to seeing the graveyard and realized why I wasn't allowed to go out to it, and why the staff panicked when I looked through the old window to it. I snuck away from the staff member walking the dogs and started to fly down the street using my wings (again, Nevil). And I stopped when I saw an odd looking building that was a bit larger than the rest and had lanterns and lights around the outside, as well as different images of candies and sweets painted on the windows. This was also the only building with any lights on, as it seemed to be late at night. A kid who was at the entrance of the building looked at me excitedly and grabbed my hand, guiding me inside of the building. I was hit by the smell of fresh bread and sweets almost immediately and accidentally knocked into a table in my daze. I apologized to whoever owned the place, before I looked at the counter and saw that a rather tall, imposing William owned it and I looked at him, shocked.

This William seemed to be a Baker/Candy Maker, and was wearing a white shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his forearms, with a dusty white, stained apron with pockets over it and dark, stained jeans. He was overweight, and looked a lot like Chef Saltbaker, if Chef Saltbaker was wearing Williams skin and hadn't sleep well in years. He had rosy cheeks with freckles on them, and he had piercing blue eyes. His hair was a rusty brown color with gray streaks throughout it. And he also seemed very unamused and almost annoyed by me entering his bakery. he looked questioningly at the kid who had eagerly dragged me in, as if he was asking him "Why this one?" I realized that something was off about this, and was wondering why they kept silently looking at each other, when another kid walked in. The new kid looked like Michael from the FNAF 4 minigame sprites but wearing a sleeveless version of the crying child's shirt, and he held a coded note in his hand. I wondered out loud about it by accident, and then realized what it meant when William began looking pissed off at Michael. After I had said that I understood "what this all was now" William looked at me with wild eyes until I stated that "I always did wonder what that would taste like, candy with human blood in it.." After that he looked at me questioningly, and then tightly grabbed my forearm, half-dragging half-pulling me behind the display cases to a preparation room. After that he pulled out a marker from his apron, and began drawing a heart-shape on a piece of purple colored and silver star patterned fabric, with a dotted line that stopped halfways down the middle of the heart, starting at the |3 part of the shape. after that he began to guide my hand to the heart shape, looking interested by me correctly guessing out loud that my finger was meant to be on the dotted line. He tapped my middle finger twice, and I put it on the dotted line, and he began to cut it off at the second knuckle with a serrated knife. He seemed very interested that I wasn't feeling any sort of pain, and the fact that I was simply looking down at the fabric, interested as to what he would do with it when he was done. When he had finished severing my finger at the second knuckle, he pulled my hand further down the heart shape and began to cut my middle finger off completely, only for him to look shocked as my finger began to grow back (again, remnant shenanigans) I questioned why he thought I would willingly let him cut my finger off if it wasn't going to grow back, and he looked surprised before he thought for a moment and seemed to realize that I probably wasn't truly human, then smirked a bit at me before going back to what he was doing earlier, only he cut my finger off at the first knuckle this time, and then the second one again. he finally let go of his vice grip on my arm and looked at me smiling, before I blurted out that it would "probably take a while for the pastries and candy and whatnot to be done" before leaving hurriedly. When I came back, the place was pretty much deserted and no one was inside, despite the door being unlocked. I looked around the main area (which I don't remember now, sadly) and went to the back, leaving the preparation room and entering the cooking area. It was huge, with seemingly countless brick/clay ovens and bunches of different candy making devices. I walked over to an oven that had meat buns left in it, seemingly fresh baked, as they were just cool enough to not burn your hands or mouth, but warm enough to leave a lingering sensation of warmth after swallowing a bite. The dough was crispy on the outside and light and fluffy on the inside, and even stretched when I pulled back while chewing on the bit that i had in my mouth (like a cartoon, or something!) and the meat was still a bit bloody in the middle and perfectly juicy, yet cooked enough to be a bit greasy and savory. the only thing "wrong" with it was a bone in the middle of the meat bun (that oddly looked like a bit of rib bone from a lamb chop) I sadly didn't get to try any candy however.

I'll be posting some picrews of what I remember the characters to look like, but I wanted to describe William in a high amount of detail so anyone who wanted to draw him could do so accurately.

#fnaf oc #fnaf #william afton #michael afton #textpost from the hare #dream of the hare

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sleeperagentclone · 1 month

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@figsandphiltatos Tagged me!

shuffle your on repeat playlist (on spotify) and list the first 10 songs and then tag 10 people

1. Roses are Falling by Orville Peck

OOOOH BOY. So like I have a very vivid imagination and a very good minds eye and for years I have been plagued with visions when listening to this song. *Exterior, wild west, sunset* A cowboy stands smoking a cigarette and watching the sunset, back to his companion who is rummaging through a saddle bag "I guess they say nobodies perfect" The second cowboy turns "But they've never" aims his revolver at the first cowboy "Met a devil" cocks the gun "like you" a single gunshot rings out across the prairie. Anyway I can't fucking draw so now I'm writing a book about outlaw lesbians in the wild west who have a totally normal and fun time and nothing bad happens to either of them, I promise

2. Miss Chatelaine - Iron Hoof Remix by k. d. land and Orville Peck

Imma be real with you, never heard this song before in my life, I have been shuffling Orville Pecks entire discography recently while working on aforementioned book and I've definitely fallen asleep to it, so I guess it played than. It's good, I like it

3. Brick By Boring Brick by Paramore

I am too shy to tag people in this but I will tag @ribbittrobbit because I've been listening to their Crisis of Faeth playlist and I doubt this will be the only song from it making an appearance. Absolute banger of a playlist, absolute banger of a song

4. Seven Nation Army By The White Stripes

What did I fucking say, another Crisis of Faeth song! Fucking love The White Stripes and this is undoubtedly a classic. Fun fact I was at the thrift store a couple of weeks ago and found a White Stripes funko pop set for probably at least half as much as it would be new

I normally think funko pops of just full on real people of a little odd but I had to fucking do it

Other fun fact, to me Gorgug is very Meg White coded, widely considered one of the greatest drummers of a generation but steps out of the limelight because performing just isn't for them

5. I Don't Care - single version by Fallout Boy

Say it with me now, Crisis of Faeth! Listen to it! I like never on purpose listen to Fallout Boy but I was a teenager in the 2010's so I do love Fallout Boy

6. Dead of Night by Orville Peck

I love Orville Peck, I have a pinterest board that's just outfit inspiration for if I ever get to go to one of his shows

7. Dancing on My Own by The Regrettes

Besides being another Crisis of Faeth song, all of The Regrettes song are so fucking Fig Faeth coded to me, like nearly a 4th of my Figayda playlist is The Regrettes because they just sound exactly like something Fig would write about Ayda

8. Satanist by boygenuis

Crisis of Faeth also finally forced me to listen to boygenuis, and I can almost listen to them without having an existential about Lucy Dacus now so 👍👍👍

9. Summertime by Orville Peck

It's extremely unfair that none of the other Orville Peck songs that remind me of my outlaw lesbians come up, like it's a great song, but, come on man

10*. Fences by Paramore

Fucking love Paramore dude, Haley Williams is truly one of the greatest vocalists of a fucking generation and they put on an incredible fucking show (The only thing that could ever get me to go to a music festival is Paramore, I would love to see them live but I know they tend to do some like flashing effects so a dark venue would not be ideal for my epileptic ass) (This is also a Crisis of Faeth song)

*I cheated on this one because the real 10th one was a song Orville Peck featured on that I just don't like very much so I skipped it

#Things I've been listening to on repeat that spotify didn't want to talk about: I know it's today from the Shrek musical soundtrack #Which was actually the first song on my unshuffled on repeat playlist #And I've been listening to a lot of vintage lady jazz vocalists #I don't think I've ever been tagged in one of these before!#Thank you ☺️#Also I swear I listen to smaller artists

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babybirdling · 3 years

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can you write something about Lily and Sirius being good friends?

Thank you for the propmpt, love. I really had fun writing this and I hope you liked it!

She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t care so much for James.

That’s a complete lie.

Not that she’d admit it if she was being held at wand’s point, threatened over the Cruciatus Curse.

They’d never cared to notice each other enough years before, only exchanging a few quips over nonsensical things. The first time they’re forced to, tough, is when she finally starts to date James. If she didn’t know him, she’d be positive Sirius hated her down to her very bones.

She couldn’t say the same for him, but her feelings were hardly a hair’s width less.

He somehow knew to push the precisely and unnervingly correct buttons but, unlike James, didn’t seem to know where the line was drawn or rather didn’t seem to care if he did, which on several occasions nearly had him at the end of one of her infamous hexes.

It had continued on well into their seventh year and in her months of dating James, until one night bought upon a heart to heart wherein they discovered they perhaps had far more in common with each other than they could’ve ever imagined.

Secrets of disappointed parents, disapproving siblings, adoration of motorbikes’ existence and an uncanny love for Russian literature spilled over bottles of priceless wine on the highest rooftop of Hogwarts found them side by side overlooking the morning sun.

She’s never been more grateful for that night than now, when her husband is at a mission of the details which she isn’t privy to.

It’s nothing new.

But it’s somehow so much different from the other times.

Perhaps it’s due to the fact that that morning, she was staring at the mirror which only showed one living being, and then the next second, it showed two—if anything the pregnancy test said was to be trusted.

Except, she’d tried several of them, and a variety of other magical potions.

They all said the exact same thing.

Somehow, an hour later after angonising over what to do, Lily finds herself knocking on the door to Sirius’ lavish London flat, heart hardly slowing down from the trip she’s taken and hand clutching her wand in her coat pocket.

There’s a click, and Sirius’ face appears a moment later through the crack of the door.

“Who did you catch me shagging in the broom closet at the beginning of seventh year?”

“Elena Williams. My favourite dish?”

“That’s a trick question. That’s got to be a trick question—“

“Answer it, Sirius.”

“—it’s either rare steak or pizza, there’s no telling with you.”

He lets her in and makes for the kitchen, shooting her a slanted smile as he rests his forearms on the kitchen island, waiting for her to seat herself on one of the stools.

“If you’ve come here to interrogate me over Prongs whereabouts, save it--”

“No, its not that. I know you guys. Marauders honour and all that.”

Sirius grins appreciatively at her, waiting for her to continue.

“Its just...something happened today morning. No, nothing like that,” she says hastily as Sirius’ brows start to draw together, “I’m just— I—“

She’s at a complete loss for words, wondering how to tell Sirius and looks up at him. He, by some utter miracle, seems to understand and turns to the cabinets, opening them to take the snacks out.

Her stomach drops at the sight of the glass bottle but she ignores it.

She can manage it.

Somehow.

Discretely.

***

“That’s impossible.”

“You’ve never been good at chess, you dolt.”

“That’s irrelevant. This has got to be an illegal move.”

“There’s no such thing as illegal moves.”

Lily looks down at her bishop for confirmation, finding the white piece nodding back at her solemnly.

She tries to hold back her laugh as Sirius whacks the piece off the board, and fails miserably.

***

He’s lounging on the sofa with his bum placed where his back is supposed to be and his back where his lap ought to be, holding the book high over his head.

“I’ve read this already.”

“You’ve read every single one of the Russian novels.”

Lily isn’t facing him, but she can already feel him scrunching his nose.

“There’s got to be something new.”

“Well, there isn’t.”

“Bloody fuck, that’s a way of asking you to get me one stubly.”

“I don’t have any.”

“You have loads in your house!”

“Then I’m not giving them to you when I know you’re never going to give them back.”

“Oi, that’s a blasphemous accusation—“

***

“I could lock you in four moves.”

“Sirius, you don’t tell the person you can do that.”

The knight on the chess board looks up, nodding at Sirius as if to prove Lily’s point.

“Knight to b7.”

“Bishop to c6.”

“Castle to d6”

“...damn.”

Lily grins at him, leaning back to rest her head on the couch, victory shining in her eyes as Sirius makes his next move.

“Mate at b4, my dear friend.”

“Fuck you and these judgemental bastards.”

“You’re the one that wanted another round.”

“Another winning round—“

***

“Lil?”

“Hmn?”

She’s turning on the stove, placing the kettle and turns around looking at him.

“Why’d you come here? This isn’t about James, is it?”

Panic courses through her veins, running wild and free. She wipes her hands on her pants, stalling.

She really shouldn’t tell him, but she needs to get it out—

“I’ve been sick for the past few days.”

“Mmhm.”

“I can’t drink any alcoholic beverages.”

“What does that have anything to do with—“

Lily sits down on the floor next to him, wrapping her arms around her legs, “Sirius, my period is late by three weeks.”

There’s silence, and she looks back at him, laughter slipping out between her lips at the look of incredulity on his face but faltering.

“Please tell me you’re just ratting out symptoms to numerous cases, mind you.”

“I took the test today morning. It’s positive.”

There’s a pause, and then,“I call dibs on godfather.”

“What?”

“It either has red or black hair and green eyes. A leather jacket would look great on them either way.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“Maybe I could put in some spikes on the shoulders. There’s got to be a sunglass shop somewhere in London.”

“Are you trying to turn my baby into a mini you?”

Sirius scoffs, “Handsome as they may turn out to be, they can never begin to compete with their godfather.”

“Bit too assuming, don’t you think?”

“Hardly. It’s been declared the moment you married Prongso.”

She can hardly help it, the myriad of emotions raging within her when the tears burst forth. The kettle whistles away in the background, but they both ignore it.

He looks at her, alarmed, before squirming to the side and pulling her into a side hug.

“For Christ sake, I know you pregnant women are a tad bit unstable but if you do this for more than three times, I’ll move to France.”

Lily sniffles, laughing, “Better choose those three moments carefully, eh?”

He grins down at her, rubbing his fist gently on her head, “James will be really happy, I think I’ll have to kick him out. You know that right?”

“He can move in with me.”

“God, yes please.”

“Sirius?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

He shakes his head fondly at her, hugging her even tighter as they sit together in comfortable silence.

#bb writes #prompts #sirius x lily #canonverse #ficlet #sirius black #lily evans potter #lily potter #pregnant lily #marauders era

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bean-na-farraige-agus-foraoise · 4 years

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Druids ain’t shit and here’s why.

Straight from the Pond- here’s a lesson from your friendly neighborhood historian.

It’s a long post so the history lesson is under the cut.

Druidic “history” (or pseudohistory rather) actually begins with early renaissance politics.

Basically Italy is dominating politics and religion by being able to call back to an ancient history that led directly into the formation of the centralized Catholic church. Surprising nobody who's familiar with European history- the German states want in on that action but they don't really have that direct line linking them to antiquity beyond their conquering by Rome- so, like any good 15th century academics, they create that link by just making shit up.

So they look back at ancient roman writings, and see mention of druids, and also realize that they actually don't know fuck all about them, there's no records of them beyond a few classical authors- and for the record, classical authors are NOTORIOUSLY unreliable, there are entire graduate level seminars dedicated to teaching people how to read through ancient Roman propaganda, almost every druid I have ever met has taken classical authors at face value, anyway I digress, they just start making up a history of the druids, German lands used to be populated by Celts, and they create these mystical druids who serve as the direct precursor to The Church in these areas, like they forge documents and everything so when Italy goes "oh yeah since when?" they have something to hold up as a "gotcha" - they fashion statues and hide them in crypts as further evidence. It’s wild.

So, France sees that the German states are becoming more politically popular within the HRE (Holy Roman Empire) because of these druid stories, and so they go "Hey Celts used to live in France too... we should have druids"- and they create druid stories. Scotland at the time is very close with France politically and they go "Hey us too, we're still Celts,” and then it spreads to Wales, and then England. Ireland is mostly staying out of druid nonsense- like in this period of the OG pseudohistories Ireland is like "this is disgusting we don't want druids" so like all the writings in Ireland in this period on druids are like "yeah the Church HATES druids"

Things quiet down for a little bit, because the stories are established, the cards have been played, whatever, but then Neo-Classicism and the Enlightenment- and now suddenly it's cool to have ancient history again - but like... Britain has "we got conquered by Rome" or "hey a few centuries ago people were saying we had druids?”; so naturally the more nationalistic go with druids....which is how we get, Iolo Morganweg. Iolo's real name is Edward Williams but he insisted on going by his "bardic name"- bc druids. Williams was a Welsh antiquarian- who is in some scholastic circles considered the father of “modern” druidry. Williams literally named his son Taliesin after the bardic poet behind the Poems of Taliesin which is frequently in association with the Mabinogi in Brythonic texts. To pull from the wiki on this asshole:

[he made] claims that ancient Druidic tradition had survived the Roman conquest, the conversion of the populace to Christianity, the persecution of bards under King Edward I, and other adversities. His forgeries develop an elaborate mystical philosophy, which he claimed as a direct continuation of ancient Druidic practice. Williams's reportedly heavy use of laudanum may have been a contributing factor

Yeah.... just... yeah. So not only did he forge like hella documents, which today in the 21st century, over 100 years after he was revealed as a fraud, are still more popular than the originals- but he also is the reason that ogham is like that. Williams created a ‘bardic alphabet’ based on combining Scandinavian runes and extant ogham - we are still wading through his bullshit trying to fix ogham.

And this brings us to the Celtic Twilight......

To quote @liminalblessings, “And a bunch of noodle fuckers decide "hey, we didn't bastardize the Irish enough for the last however long.... We should do more of that."” But for those of you not familiar with the term, it's a nationalistic pan-Celtic movement that wanted to like, make the Celts in vogue again? but like their idea of the Celts as "noble savage” - because the modern era was scary. At this point, Pan-Celtic Nationalism is starting to rise as pushback against British colonialism in Celtic nations. Unfortunately it's heavily reliant on the Druid myth as like.... A foundational shared cultural history between the surviving Celtic nations. The point largely is, though, "look at us. We should all be sticking together because we're the same / cousins / brothers". Which leads to a L O T of Celtic culture from various countries kind of getting.... molded into one singular idea- which is USUALLY what we think of today when we think of Celts. Basically everything gets branded as Irish because the Irish were “pure” and a “separate racial identity” as opposed to the Scots and Welsh. It took that idea of a pan-Celtic singularity, and then went ham with it mostly on Irish pre-Christian stuff, and as it occurred not too long after Williams’ fuckery, it really cemented those forgeries and psuedohistories in the cultural memory. And Williams wasn’t exposed as a fraud until after the Celtic Twilight had died down.

Now... Yeats, we all know Yeats- some people recommend his writings for learning about the fairies. DO NOT LISTEN TO THOSE PEOPLE. Yeats makes up an entire tree calendar, and also files all Scottish fairy lore under the “Irish” tab because he’s part of the Celtic Twilight and didn’t you know that everything Celtic is actually Irish? Fuck this guy. #yeetyeats

Enter... Robert Graves- destroyer of histories and all around fuckwit. Graves maked up an ENTIRE religious notion around a mother goddess and shit. And like, the irony of that is the people he supposedly went to originally were like lol dude you're a fucking idiot none of this is real. But he published it anyways and of course it got taken seriously. And then there's a lot of reverse etymology at this point which is just.... really bad linguistics. And because of Graves’ white goddess + said bad linguistics by others, you get Danu.(Danu is a whole thing, please shoot me an ask if you want a post about all of that nonsense).

So.... Gerald Gardener.... to quote @liminalblessings again- “didn’t have a direct role in druidism, except he kind of did.” See, Gardner had a good friend who was hella interested in the Celtic twilight. Said friend was hella inspiried by Gardner's "recreation" of old British trad witch traditions... But he didn't jive with the old British trad witch traditions. HE jived with Irish Druidry. So while Gardner's doing HIS thing, his friend's doing the modern Druid thing- heavily drawing from Gardner's own work but "making it more historically Druid" Except, as you may have picked up- there is no such thing as “historically druid” that can be reconstructed. Basically he can only pull from Williams, but because he had issues with with the old 15th century on stuff, up to the Twilight era (despite those being his sources) so he tries to distance himself from the earlier movements and leans hella heavy into Gardner's work as a result. Which is, if you've ever wondered, why Wicca and Druidry have such incredibly similar ritual structures and beliefs.

SO, this guy starts the Druid Order, decides that he’s gonna like pull his teachings from Williams- but he's also gonna say that Williams has nothing to do with his druidry because y'know, Williams has relatively recently been revealed as a fraud. This guy goes through the grueling process of ripping off his best bud gardner founding Druidry, right. So The Druid Order has this rebranding in 1951, that lauds the “history of the druids” as written by Williams but simultaneously rejects Williams saying “yeah we have nothing whatsoever to do with that guy.” Mix into this narrative, Gardener’s “burning times” bullshit, and now not only do we have mythical pseudohistorical druids, but a rewrite of Williams’ “the druids survived conversion” which then turned into - “The druids were heavily persecuted by the church and survived a horrible burning times but despite this there’s a tradition of continuous druidic belief.” Here begins the bullshit known as “vestiges of pagan thought”- which took actual historians not even a decade to disprove, and yet still circulates in pagan circles, because nobody picks up a fucking book. Theoretical Folkloric archaeology became very popular at this time, which postulates (incorrectly) that all folk traditions and folklore absolutely stems from Pagan times and is 100% the Christianization of pagan practices and thoughts- which is not at all true. (Not-so-friendly reminder that Eostre? DOESN’T FUCKING EXIST. STOP FALLING FOR A JOKE MADE BY A MONK)

Td;lr so far- the druids went from

the Catholic clergy before the Catholics existed

a religious group that survived conversion

druids survived an intense and violent persecution

And now? In this our 21st century?

Well.... druidic organizations today tend to still push these ahistorical narratives, that buy into the pagan persecution complex.... and several of these organizations also have known racists and terfs on their recommended reading lists. And while some organizations have made attempts to become more historically accurate- but the end result is usually.... bad. It tends to result in them using a source from like 1960 that’s been disproven 1000 times since by other historians to go “look a historian agrees with us!” rather than like... keep up with current research trends and academic standards. Druids also tend to be hostile to the syncretism of the Irish church which is just..... so fucking dumb. Don’t worship gaelic deities if you can’t accept that our lore are Christian texts about pagan beliefs.

So yeah..... druids ain’t shit and I can prove it historically. I am also more than willing to send anyone links to full length books on the history of druids if you want to learn more.

#anti-druidic rhetoric #druids #druidry #fuck druids #druidism #druid

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loxcommon · 3 years

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⚠️!Trigger Warning! Swearing, Mentions of Abuse⚠️

Five Days until the Party, Day 1, Part 2

Elizabeth and Timothy sat on a tiny bench in front of Michael's school, waiting for the bell to ring. Elizabeth was in a puffy blue jacket and a long pink skirt with equally blue heels, ones that William spent at least a hundred dollars on. Timothy was wearing an oversized black hoodie that he got from Michael a few years back. He had on jeans and brown boots that were covered in mud. The final bell of the day rang, and Timothy pushed his hands over his ears. Elizabeth pulled the younger boy closer to her as the teenagers ran out of the school. A few minutes passed by, and Elizabeth and Timothy grew warier each time a short boy that looked like Michael passed. Finally, Michael and three other boys walked out of the doors. They all towered over him. "Hey, Timmy! I see Mike!" Elizabeth said as she prodded the barely conscious boy. Timothy yawned and looked on absent-mindedly. Michael scanned the crowd until he found them. He nodded over to the tallest boy and said something around the lines of, "See ya' tomorrow, guys!" And ran over to the younger kids.

"Hey, Mikey!" Elizabeth yelled, drawing the attention of some of the kids. "Hey, guys! How are you both?" Michael asked while picking the half-asleep younger boy up. "We're good, Tim fell asleep in class, so you have to go to the principal's office." Elizabeth responded, mispronouncing the word' principal.' Michael chuckled and muttered a "Cool. What time?" Michael was used to going to his sibling's school for one reason or another. He went to a 'meet the teacher' event once, and most people thought he was their father. He didn't mind, though; he didn't want others to know about their 'situation.' "At 6:30, do you think we can get ice cream after that?" Elizabeth said as they got up and grabbed Michael's hand. Michael smiled and said a quick, "Okay." And clasped her hand as they walked through the school gate.

------

Michael sat the sleeping boy down on the neat, little bench sitting crooked on the equally small porch while he unlocked the door. Elizabeth wandered up onto the bench and settled down next to her brother, waiting for Michael to open the door. She pulled one of the yellow throw pillows off the bench and stared at it, remembering when it used to be a bright white. Michael gave a small glance towards the empty driveway. "Fuck." Michael mumbled under his breath. "What's wrong, Mikey?" Elizabeth asked, now leaning on Timothy's shoulder. Michael knew if he told the truth, she would start freaking out, so he just decided to lie. "Hey, nothing's wrong." "Then, why did you swear? You swear when things are wrong, right?" Elizabeth looked confused, but Michael changed the subject quickly. "Hey, remember when we played robbers when we were younger? With the broken window?" When Michael and Elizabeth were younger, Elizabeth found a broken window that leads to the basement. Where then you could get through a small trapdoor that went to the kitchen. Since it was the only way to actually get to the basement. Michael and Elizabeth were the only ones who knew about it; they had told their mother before she- No. Neither Michael nor Elizabeth like thinking about that. About her.

"Yeah, I remember! Why?" She asked, sounding happy that Michael remembered to. Elizabeth moved her head off of her brother's shoulder. She was excited to play with Michael again, even if it was just for the short time her father was at wherever he went when Henry was out of town. "I thought we could play it again while Tim's asleep, does that sound nice?" Elizabeth nodded eagerly; she got up and laid Timothy's head on the throw pillow. They didn't live in the best neighborhood, so Michael silently thanked God that the window was behind the house. The truth was William had changed the lock, for whatever reason, Michael knew he changed it. The lock was completely different, and Michael didn't have the key for it. William wanted him to get in trouble; he knew that they couldn't get in without picking the lock. Good thing William doesn't know about the window. Michael thought to himself.

Michael and Elizabeth went to the back of the house and found the opening. "This window is much smaller than I remember." Michael joked, which earned a laugh out of Elizabeth. "Do you want me to go? I'll do it!" She asked while smiling. "Yeah, that sounds like a good plan." Michael suddenly pulled his hood on and said in a scratchy voice, "Open the door for me so we can both get the booty!" Elizabeth laughed again while Michael opened the window. He pulled the hood off, so others don't think he was actually breaking in. And Elizabeth slipped in. Michael quickly walked to the door and sat down on the bench, making sure to lift Timothy's head off the pillow. He pulled his hood up and laid Timothy on his chest for a short nap.

------

Elizabeth pushed her body through the tiny gap, making sure to not rip any of her clothes or cut herself on the dangerous, small bits of glass that were still holding up after years of misuse. She was almost entirely in the house before a sharp, stinging pain tore a little cut in her right leg; she gasped and slowly brought her leg up and then broke the glass that cut her so it wouldn't hurt her anymore. Once Elizabeth was completely inside the basement, she dropped down at least seven feet to the floor, which only made her leg hurt even more. She pulled her skirt up to inspect the wound; it was around an inch long, and on her calf, it could be easily covered by a band-aid; she wouldn't want to worried Michael or her father. She got up and decided to push one of the tall shelves full of non-perishable food and other things for emergencies; so when the next person went down there, they wouldn't get hurt. It was way heavier than she thought it would be, so she had to use all her strength, which wasn't very much for a ten-year-old. Still, after around five minutes, she finally was able to move it. When she got done with that, she started walking through the small maze that was the basement; she couldn't even see the walls; it was just endless barriers of emergency stuff. Elizabeth walked for some more time, thinking about how much the cellar had changed since she was last down there; then she turned the final corner she found a box of medical supplies right next to the ladder that leads to the kitchen. Hell yes! Elizabeth thought before mentally attacking herself for swearing. She grabbed the box and opened it, finding the band-aids almost immediately; she put the box back where she found it when she was done. Elizabeth climbed up the ladder and pushed open the trap door with all her might until she heard the signature click of the door.

Elizabeth climbed up and onto the kitchen's grey tile floor; she looked up at the brown cabinets that were to high for anyone under six feet to reach. She always tried to get up there using the equally brown counters that complemented the floor, while the way to big flower print carpet under that was under an ugly lime green table did the exact opposite. Their mother was the one who chose the carpet, though an aunt on William's side that the children had never met picked out the table. Elizabeth never liked the table; she never liked the color green, she would even go out of her way to say she hates it. Elizabeth pushed herself up and moved towards the brown door; she always thought it looked small compared to the tall, dusty pink walls. She walked through the door and into the big, navy blue living room; two sunshine yellow couches contrasted nicely against the walls, bookcases lined the sides of the room, with books that haven't been touched for at least five years, covered in a thin line of dust. A walkway to the far right of the kitchen leads to the bedrooms that Elizabeth spent most of her time in; if it wasn't William's room, it was Timothy's, if not that, Michael's. She never liked her own room -even if it was one of the biggest bedrooms, second only to the master- it unsettled her; it wasn't just that her window was pointing towards a small forest that was dividing her house from their non-existent backyard, or the closet that she could've sworn had something living in it. No, it was the vent that connected to the big air duct, the one that anyone could get into; Elizabeth knew that someone went in there, she saw it, she saw her. Elizabeth was sure it was her mother, she had tried to tell her father, but he just brushed it off as a child's wild imagination, like Timothy's nightmares or Michael's 'emetophobia', whatever that meant.

Elizabeth went up to the front door and opened it to find Timothy and Michael resting against each other, Michael had his hand over Timothy's shoulder, and Timothy's head was on Michael's chest; they seemed comfortable. Elizabeth was happy that her brothers were getting along together and would hate to break it up, but Michael would get mad if she didn't wake them up to go inside since it was so cold. She nudged Michael's shoulder; he muttered some swears and looked up at Elizabeth. "Oh, hey, Eli. What happened? Is the door unlocked?" Michael said as he lifted his arm off of Timothy. "Yeah! And I found medical supplies in the basement! We can raid the house!" Elizabeth cheered; Michael smiled back at the girl, "Hell yeah! We get to steal everything now! William will regret this!" Elizabeth let out a chuckle.

"Regret what?" William asked, which stopped Elizabeth and Michael dead in their tracks. "Nothing, William." Michael started to talk back until William walked up to him; he reeked of cigarettes, and his breath smelled of booze. He's drunk. Again. Michael thought, now knowing to keep his siblings close to him today. William glanced over to the open door and scoffed, "And how'd ya' do that? Did ya' break-in." he said, more as a statement than a question; looking back to Michael -who was now holding the keys in a 'ready to stab' position-, William chuckled and whispered a sharp "Wouldn't want anything bad to happen to the kids, would ya?" Michael pulled Elizabeth behind him as William got closer and closer; until he was only a few inches away from Michael's face, "Remember the plan, or I'll bust ya' worst than last time. Got it?"

Michael gulped, but William just laughed and walked into the house. Michael watched him leave, and once he was sure that William was in his room, he woke Timothy up.

Timothy groaned and groggily asked, "Where are we?" Michael smiled and picked him up, "We're home, c'mon; let's get you to bed." Michael said, checking the time on his watch. It read 5:19. "What about the principal? Don't we need to go?" Timothy asked while yawning. "Nah, we have around an hour until we need to leave; you can sleep; I'll wake you up on time, don't worry." Michael responded as he and Elizabeth walked inside. Timothy gave a small nod while rubbing his eyes, "Okay." Michael made a beeline to the smaller boy's bedroom, not even daring to look over to William's room. Elizabeth sat down on the yellow couch while Michael put Timothy to sleep. She decided to check on her leg. Elizabeth gasped; the cut was bleeding hard, the blood was even slipping through the band-aid, which was now soaked. Elizabeth knew that she would have to tell Michael about it; he was the best person to tell -Timothy would probably just cry and tell William, and William would yell at her until she told him where she got the cut.

------

Michael pushed his dark brown hair out of his face; he had finally got Timothy to sleep, which wasn't as much of a task as it was in the past; Michael had noticed Timothy had been getting less and less sleep in the last few weeks; he was worried. He had just walked out of the younger boy's when he checked the time; 5:32 it read. Shit, I left Eli alone! What if William found her!? Michael thought before racing to the living room, there he saw Elizabeth, bleeding profusely from her leg; he ran over to her, Michael got down on his knees. "Eli! Are you okay?! Did William do this!? What happened!? Where is he?" Michael bombarded her with questions while Elizabeth tried to calm him down. "No, Mike. I'm okay, it's just a cut; I got it on the window, I'm fine." She said quickly, making sure that he hears each protest. "I just need a bandage; daddy did nothing. He would never hurt us!" Michael looked up at her and gave a relieved sigh, glad that William had never done anything to her. "Okay, that's good, but tell me about any injuries you get next time. I'm worried about you. Why didn't you tell me?" Michael responded, peeling the band-aid off her leg. "Okay, I will; I was just scared that you would get mad at me." Elizabeth said in a small voice; Michael just looked up at her with a sad face, "I'll never be mad at you, just tell me if you get hurt next time; now let's go get you a bandage, okay? There should be some in the kitchen." Elizabeth only nodded in response.

#fnaf #five nights at freddys #fnaf afton #fnaf cc #fnaf michael #fnaf michael afton #fnaf cc afton #fnaf elizabeth #fnaf elizabeth afton #fnaf william afton #fnaf willaim #Dreameater AU

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itsmyregularcat · 4 years

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Influenced by @white-cat-of-doom, and his Cats dream cast (please check it out), I have made my own.

This is going to be a tough one to figure out, but here is my Cats dream team, as of today.

I wish to see more productions to be better informed in my choices, so I need to get on some bootlegs I guess! (Some choices are actually going to be based off of assumptions of how the actors portray them).

I already know a bunch of my choices are going to be from the Broadway Revival (because I really like that production), and almost all are going to be from newer productions because I am way more familiar with them.

In alphabetical order:

Admetus / Macavity: Thomas Inge (Asia Tour 2017/2020 and UK International Tour 2018/9)

I quite like the Macavity redesign for Vienna 2019 and Asia 2020, so he gets the nod just for this. Otherwise, he is an established Admetus and seems to have fun with it.

Alonzo / Rumpus Cat: Fletcher Dobinson (Asia Tour 2020)

I have never seen him perform as Alonzo, but he has this energy about him I cannot really describe. From short videos I have seen, he seems to have a 'snarky' side, and just has a hell of a time flirting about with everyone during curtain calls. He has the moves.

Bill Bailey / Tumblebrutus: Kolton Krouse (Broadway Revival 2016 / Cats 2019)

They can fly with the best of them. Their flip in with the ball during the end of the Old Gumbie Cat is a cool addition. No strong feelings for this character though.

Bombalurina: Rosemarie Ford (Cats 1998)

If anyone exemplifies what it means to be Bombalurina, I think Rosemarie wins. The duality of caring attitude and scornful nature, combined with her moves and her voice all make her a top pick. Also, slightly older Bombas I feel are better?

Honourable mentions: Christine Cornish Smith (Broadway Revival 2016) for sure, Suzie Melloy (Asia 2017/2020), and Tanya Valenzuela (Mexico 2018).

Carbucketty / Pouncival: Joel Morris (South Africa 2008 / UK Tour 2013 / Palladium 2014 / International Tour 2016)

He does a relatively good job being juvenile, but not annoying in his role. Him screwing around during Tugger's song, Moments Of Happiness, and Skimbleshanks is actually endearing to a point. No strong feelings for this character though.

Cassandra: Mariah Reives (US Tour 6)

Another pick I have never seen during performances, but she looks like a good Cassandra. She is really pretty and appropriately tall, so ¯\_( ツ)_/¯. Bonus points for her lighting up during Misto's song.

Honourable mentions: Jessica Buckby (2013 UK Tour), Danielle Cato (International Tour 2019), and Emily Pynenberg (2016 Broadway Revival)

Coricopat: Corey John Snide (2016 Broadway Revival)

He pairs up very well with my top Tantomile pick, and cannot realistically be separated. This legend was also a dance captain, involved with Cats 2019, and did a split track cover of Coricopat and Jennyanydots during his run.

Demeter: Zizi Strallen (London Revival / Palladium 2014)

Real talk, I love her as Tantomile in Cats 2019, and her singing voice is beautiful and distinct. Her as Demeter is a good bet, and she gives off a happy vibe during less serious points of the show. That happiness she puts in 2019 Tanto is what she did with 2014 Demeter.

Honourable mention: Lisette Pagler (Gothenburg 2006 / Stockholm 2009). The OG grey Demeter. She is absolutely beautiful, and her non-rep portrayal design is neat. She is also an actual singer in Sweden, so her voice is top notch. I really like her as Demeter. Also, Ella Nonini (International Tour / Asia 2020).

Electra: Leah Sue Morland (Cats 1998) or Lili Froehlich (2016 Broadway Revival)

I cannot reasonably pick one over the other, I have disproportionately strong feelings for both. Lili made me fall in love with Electra as a character (and I mean, look who my icon is!), and Leah cemented it before and after me seeing the Broadway Revival. They both make a modest ensemble cat seem so much more important. One of my favourite Cats across any production.

Etcetera: Jo Bingham (Cats 1998)

Boundless energy and happiness rolled into one bouncy cat. No one had a better time during Cats 1998, and for a cat that does not appear in many production afterwards, Jo just said f*ck it and did whatever seemingly came to mind to forge a legacy. Biting Coricopat’s ass remains a landmark moment in cinema. One of my favourite cats in the film without a doubt.

George: Frank Thompson (Cats 1998)

He is sort of always there, enjoying himself. If I would cut a cast member, George would be it. Sorry George.

Gus / Bustopher Jones / Growltiger: Rory Campbell (UK Tour / Zurich / London)

Dignified Busto. A good Gus that does not play off too much about being old and decrepit. If done properly, Growltiger (for the sake of Griddlebone) should make a return to more productions. Remove the total racism and the open misogyny inherent to many portrayals of Growltiger, and make it strictly about the lovers.

Grizabella: Jennifer Hudson (for real) (Cats 2019)

I know this one will ruffle feathers, but her sad sap performance is quite unrivaled in Cats. She brought the gloom and the dejection of being casted out to life. Her singing Memory is powerful as all hell, and filled with emotion. She wins the screaming match.

Jellylorum / Griddlebone: Freya Rowley (Cats 2019)

At this point you are probably thinking, ‘my lord, what the hell is this person on about?’. Freya does not sing in the movie, and is just a background cat, but my god is she the best cat there! During her time with actual stage productions, she was a principle Tantomile, and covered Demeter, Jelly, Jenny, and Cassandra as swing. I know she can sing (even though I have never heard it), and I want to hear / see her as the most novel Griddlebone around. Big orange energy - get with it.

Honourable mention: Sarah Jean Ford (2016 Broadway Revival)

Jemima: Veerle Casteleyn (Cats 1998 / London / Dutch Tour)

The most vanilla choice, but she was the face of Jemima / Sillabub and the Cats ‘franchise’ when the 98 film first came out, and rocketed her character to great importance and notoriety. They used her for promo shots after the movie came out realizing how popular her character had become. Veerle is the innocence of youth personified. By the way, I am taking her without the overdub.

Honourable mention: Arianna Rosario (2016 Broadway Revival / US Tour 6) and Dawn Williams (UK Tour 2013)

Jennyanydots: Eloise Kropp (2016 Broadway Revival)

A younger Jenny still as wild as any other. Her greater involvement during the show is also cool to see. The changes they made to the Broadway Revival may irk some, but the Gumbie Cat scene with the choreography change is my favourite I have seen so far. Eloise does a really good job, and has a chaotic energy that draws me to her.

Mistoffelees: Laurie Davidson (Cats 2019)

On my pursuit of pissing off the purists, here is another controversial choice. He provides a character development that I think would work out well on stage. Imagine it for a second, with Tugger or Munk hyping him up. No Mistoria though.

Honourable mention: Joseph Poulton (UK Tour 2013 / Palladium 2014)

Munkustrap: Jack Rebaldi (London / Madrid / Paris / Dusseldorf / German Tours)

The man is a serious Munk, who is versatile with his portrayals. He gets so into playing the character, and seems to be having a great time doing it. Plus, how the hell can someone do Munk in English, Spanish, French, and German in the course of three years? Madness.

Honourable mentions: Robbie Fairchild (Cats 2019) and friend-shaped Michael Gruber (Broadway / Cats 1998)

Mungojerrie: Drew Varley (Australia 1993 / London / Cats 1998)

One half of the chaotic duo present in Cats 1998, with an oustanding level of dumbassery and foolishness that encompasses Jerrie. He encapsulates that attitude very well, and pairs perfectly with my top Rumpleteazer.

Honourable mention: Dante Hernandez (Mexico 2013 / 2018)

Old Deuteronomy: Nicholas Pound (London / UK Tours / Palladium 2014 / International Tour)

A bit of a different choice, considering most people would likely pick Ken Page (and for good reason). Mr. Pound has a great voice, and welcoming vibe. Behind the scenes, he is a chaotic Old D. Plus, his name is Dick Pound.

Rum Tum Tugger: John Partridge (UK Tour / London / Cats 1998 / Berlin / Dusseldorf)

Velvety smooth voice, swagger coming out the hip thrust, and a playfulness suitable for the rockstar cat. No contest with this choice. He also does not play of RTT as being childish or over the top (*cough 2016 Broadway Revival / US Tour 6*), which is appreciated. Sorry Tyler Hanes, your vlogs were delightful, but your Tugger was a bit too much.

Rumpleteazer: Jo Gibb (London / Cats 1998)

Jo Gibb is the reason I became super obsessed with Cats, and probably why my favourite character is Rumple. Having initially seen the 2019 movie before the 1998 film, seeing her smiling face and adorable portrayal made me sort of fall in love with her. She is a perfectly mischievous Rumple, and I feel is the benchmark for most others. Her engagements with other characters is awesome, and she is just the ideal actor. Also, Cockney accent Rumple is best Rumple I do not make the rules.

Honourable mentions: Every other Teazer. All of them. There is no bad one. They all have my heart.

Skimbleshanks: Steven McCrae (Cats 2019)

Big daddy Skimble, with the red pants and the moustache. Tap dancing and ballet powerhouse. WOO WOO. Enough said.

Tantomile: Emily Tate (2016 Broadway Revival)

Given all Tantos do not really have an opportunity to set themselves apart because they are more of an ensemble Cat, I liked Emily from the beginning I saw her, and I think she is really cute. Her, paired with CJS, make a pretty ideal Cori and Tanto. Maybe I am swayed by the amount of lifts and spins they do together during the show? They have a beautiful synchronization and grace with their movements.

Weaponize your Tantomiles, helicopter her above your Coricopats and take over. Kill Macavity. Become the Everlasting Cat.

Honourable mention: Kaye Brown (London / UK Tour / Cats 1998), Melody Rose (US Tour 6), Helen Gulston (RCCL Cruise). Realistically, all Tantos are good. I like Tantomile.

Victoria: Georgina Pazcogiun (2016 Broadway Revival)

A prominent soloist with the New York ballet, renowned for her distinctive style, and you can appreciate that if you watched a 2016 bootleg show. She has also pushed out against ballet norms by being "The Rogue Ballerina" as a means of embracing the qualities that make her unique as a dancer, such as her 'bigger' (in terms of ballet) body type. Her unique style as Victoria makes her my choice. Plus, she be sneaky.

Honourable mentions: Hannah Kenna Thomas (UK Tour 2013 / Palladium 2014 / International Tour / Vienna Revival), Tyler Lotzof (Asia Tour 2020), Alicia Beck (UK Tour 2013), Phyllida Crowley Smith (London / Cats 1998). Realistically, all Vics are good.

Any way, there is my shitshow of a production.

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Why Amazon Prime’s Invincible Had to Be Animated

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Invincible comic writer Robert Kirkman has a gentlemanly agreement with Steven Yeun, who appeared in The Walking Dead for six seasons and now stars as the adapted Invincible’s titular hero.

“Steven and I have a rule that there’s no more popping his eyeballs out. I can live with that – once is enough,” Kirkman tells Den of Geek and other outlets during the series’ press day.

Kirkman’s imagination is as violent as it is vast. Yeun’s character Glenn Rhee on AMC’s The Walking Dead (based on the Kirkman comic of the same name) was a notable unfortunate recipient of that bloodlust when he was beaten to death with a barbed wire baseball bat in the show’s seventh season.

Now Yeun is providing his voice to Mark Grayson a.k.a. Invincible – the super-powered high schooler at the center of Amazon Prime’s adaptation of Kirkman’s comic. Steven (and Mark’s) eyeballs are safe for now…but very few other body parts are in this sprawling superhero tale.

Invincible first premiered in a preview as part of Image Comics’ Savage Dragon #102, more than a full year before Kirkman’s black and white zombie blockbuster The Walking Dead debuted. The character graduated to his own regular series in 2003, first illustrated by Cory Walker, and then by the prolific Ryan Ottley. The story of Mark Grayson ran, uninterrupted and with very few side arcs, for 15 years before concluding with issue #144 in 2018.

The appeal of Invincible can be hard to describe. At first glance, it’s a very conventional comic book story. Mark is the son of Nolan Grayson a.k.a. Omni-Man, an alien from the planet Viltrum and now Earth’s most powerful superhero (of which there are many). The series begins with Mark eagerly anticipating the arrival of his own superpowers and then embarking on an adventure of super self discovery, alongside a host of heroic allies and terrifying villains.

What sets Invincible apart, however, is its dedication to realistic storytelling. Mark is a very likeable, yet believably flawed young man.Kirkman’s sprawling 144-issue narrative meticulously follows Mark’s maturation and the ethical questions raised by a universe fit-to-bursting with invulnerable ubermensches.

There’s also the violence…oh the sweet, sweet violence. Ryan Ottley’s art in Invincible has a deep, abiding respect for the physics of super powers. Though the images may be colorful, the action depicted within them are shocking in their brutality. Nary does a bone go uncrunched or an intestine un-ripped out in Kirkman and Ottley’s hyper visceral world.

Naturally, Invincible was always a hot target for adaptation, particularly after AMC hit Kirkman zombie paydirt with The Walking Dead. But how exactly could any TV series fully capture the deliriously gory detail of Ottley’s art? The answer as it turns out is to just go ahead and adapt the art too.

Amazon Prime’s Invincible, the first season of which will be eight episodes, features animation from Wind Sun Sky Entertainment and Kirkman’s own Skybound. Kirkman himself is on board as a producer, alongside David Alpert, Catherine Winder, and Simon Racioppa (who serves as showrunner). The end result is an animation style that hews closely to the comic’s original art and often seems like Ottley’s illustrations in motion.

“The action is a little bit more brutal when things are moving. I think it’s going to serve to heighten things in the series,” Kirkman says.

While heightening the violent rhythms of Invincible seems like a wild proposition, the show’s star agrees that the animation does just that.

“You can go to places that live-action probably isn’t able to go to, even now,” Yeun tells Den of Geek and other outlets. “(Animation) creates a nice separation so that you can examine what the show might be saying without one-to-one comparison. Like that’s an actual arm being ripped off, but it’s a cartoon arm being ripped off. There’s just something different about that.”

Both Yeun and J.K. Simmons, who plays Nolan, note that the show’s kinetic sequences provide interesting voice acting challenges.

“What’s really fun is going back over in ADR and tracing back over these action sequences and these emotional moments. A lot of this show lives in those emotional moments that aren’t necessarily mixed in with dialogue, where a breath or a subtle way of gurgling blood in your mouth and trying to breath is its own kind of emotionality,” Yeun says.

“ADR is usually just ‘make this grunt.’ But because of the intensity of the violence and the stakes and the repercussions, it did feel much more emotionally connected doing the fight sequences,” Simmons adds.

The show’s animation style isn’t all about merely capturing the grunts and gurglings of blood, however. While Mark Grayson’s story begins relatively small, it eventually blossoms into an enormous superhero universe containing countless people, monsters, and worlds. Even in our era of technical sophistication where just about anything seems possible on television, Invincible is a hard sell as live-action.

According to Kirkman, animation was the only way to properly tell this story.

“The main benefit is that we’re going to be able to provide the audience with a scope and scale, more akin to a $200 million blockbuster movie than what you usually get from your average superhero television show,” Kirkman says. “Drawing an army of a thousand people is a little bit easier than hiring a thousand people and putting costumes on them and things like that. If we want to have three different alien invasions in the same episode, we can.”

Invincible Review (Spoiler-Free)

By Bernard Boo

Kirkman knows the limits of live-action television as well as anyone. Though The Walking Dead remains an enormous success for AMC, it has experienced quite a bit of casting turnover throughout the years with only Norman Reedus’s Daryl Dixon and Melissa McBride’s Carol Peletier remaining of the season 1 main cast in the show’s 11 seasons. Requesting that actors endure grueling television shooting schedules in the humid Atlanta summers for an undetermined number of years is a big ask as it turns out.

If depicted in live-action, the commitments of actors’ times and bodies would be even more brutal for the Invincible cast. And the cast of Invincible is set to be huge. The first season alone will star: Yeun as Mark Grayson, Simmons as Nolan Grayson, Sandra Oh as Debbie Grayson, Seth Rogen as Allen the Alien, Gillian Jacobs as Atom Eve, Andrew Rannells as William Clockwell, Zazie Beetz as Amber Bennett, Walton Goggins as Cecil Stedman, Jason Mantzoukas as Rex Splode, Zachary Quinto as Robot, and many, many more. (Check out the full list over here).

And that’s before the story begins to expand with more heroes and villains in later issues/seasons. The relatively smaller time commitments of voiceover acting in animation allows Kirkman and the series writers to keep the cast as large as needed, though Simmons notes that he, Yeun, and Oh all still get to act together in-studio.

Kirkman says the show is able to delve deeper into certain characters than the comics did, with figures like G-man Cecil Stedman and the Rorschach-esque Damian Darkblood getting more screen time.

“These are characters that I should know intimately, but getting to work with these actors and getting to hear these voices and how these performances come together, it’s like I’m meeting these characters again for the first time and the absolute best way,” Kirkman says. “I’m seeing new aspects to them that didn’t really exist before. It’s really making me more excited about moving forward with this show for many seasons with this cast.”

Yes, Kirkman and the rest of the Invincible cast already have “many seasons” in mind for the show. Whether those seasons will come to pass are up to Amazon and its subscribers. But it seems clear that animation was the right choice for the story’s scope was television was the right choice for its length.

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The first three episodes of Invincible will premiere Friday, March 26 on Amazon Prime.

The post Why Amazon Prime’s Invincible Had to Be Animated appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3lItwd9

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 4 years

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Core Drive (intro)

A/N: Once upon a time, @malionnes asked me what I would write if I could write any story for one of my characters. And this AU is the result. Logan Delos is much more than the sum of his flaws, and he is determined to prove that.

Warning: this series will deal with drug use, depression, addiction, violence and other such topics.

Word Count: 3,113

“Will it help?” You shocked yourself by asking the question in an even tone despite the way your chest was clenching and your throat tightening. Watching him struggle to remove the plastic band from around his wrist - thin...he’s so thin now…- you felt your bottom lip tremble and you pressed them together to stop it. Reaching out, you placed a hand on his arm and he froze, looking up at you. Oh... His eyes, always so bright and full of life now looked lost, the light in them dull, barely a flicker, and the darkness hit you like a sucker punch to the heart. You sucked in an involuntary breath, but swallowed it down, slipping your fingers beneath the band he wore. Giving a quick yank, you easily snapped it, letting it fall to the floor. He muttered a thank you under his breath, pulling his wrist away slowly, encircling it with the fingers of his other hand. Yours dropped to your lap and the second that it did you felt a distance start to form; a slow but strong undercurrent pulling you away from him. He hadn’t answered you, so as one last attempt to throw out a life vest- for him or for me?- you asked again. “Logan? Is that…” Don’t ask if it’s what he wants. Ask the question that matters. “Will it help?”

It was all you’d been trying to do since he’d been released from the hospital after his last trip to Westworld; help him find a way through it. You’d thought he was joking the night before he left for his trip, when he told you that he’d updated his park profile to make you his emergency contact. He’d said it through a smirk, lips crawling up your neck, tongue sweeping across your sweat slicked skin as his hands roamed your body and his hips rolled against yours. You’d smacked his arm playfully, drawing a chuckle from him that tickled behind your ear. “No you didn’t, Delos,” you challenged. There was no reason for him to list you as any kind of contact, emergency or otherwise. You and Logan had been enjoying several months of unlabeled fun, and you knew that he’d been seeing other people during that time. You had, too, though it had been a few weeks since you’d seen anyone but him. And he’s the only one I’m sleeping with. “Besides, I thought Juliet was your emergency contact.” You twisted beneath him, turning your head to look in his eyes, your fingers going up to brush a few strands of his long chocolate brown hair away from them.

“She was,” he answered, tilting his head to lean into your palm. “But William needed to list someone and park rules state that two guests can’t have the same emergency contact.” He rolled his eyes and sat up, moving so that he was next to you. Reaching over, he pulled you by the hips into his lap, the feel of his skin on yours better than any high thread count cotton you’d ever experienced.

You hummed as he returned his lips to your neck, his touch trailing down between your breasts and over your abdomen. Fuck that feels amazing. Letting your head fall back onto his shoulder, you reached one hand up behind him to tangle your fingers in his hair where it curled near the base of his skull. “You excited to get back to the desert, cowboy?” You’d heard about Logan’s escapades in the wild west, knew that he enjoyed blowing off steam by channeling his inner outlaw. It’s a nice visual, too. You scratched your nails down over his scalp, smiling as he let out a groan, just like you knew he would.

“Fuck, that feels…” Amazing? Yeah, Logan, I know. He released a throaty breath as his fingers flexed against your body to press you closer, your spine flush to his chest. “I always have fun when I go,” he said in answer to your question. “Know how to make my own fun no matter who I’m stuck with.” He’d been expressing his distaste for William since the man had proposed to Juliet and Logan realized that he could be stuck with him for a lot longer than a week’s vacation to a prairie full of robots. “But I wish I was gonna be stuck with you instead.” You sucked in a breath as he took your earlobe between his teeth.

Your heart had been racing since before the two of you had fallen onto the mattress, shedding clothing and claiming each new inch of skin with lips and hands as though it were the first and not the fiftieth time you’d done so. But the way he’d said that he’d rather be stuck with you, the way he was clutching you close, the way you could feel the rise of his breathing against the blade of your shoulder brought you to another level. Too much, it’s not… this isn’t… You took a steadying breath and leaned forward, separating yourself from him and turning to face him. “Oh, come on, Logan, you don’t want me around ruining your chances with…” you tapped your chin in mock thought. “What’s her name? The one you told me about at the Mariposa? Peach?” He cocked his head to the side and gave you an exasperated glare, his hands falling to the tops of your thighs. “No, wait, Clementine, that’s it,” you winked and his glare melted into a grin. “Knew it was a fruit.” You scrunched your nose and laughed as he surged forward and caught you in his arms again, lips covering yours as he tackled you back onto the bed, his heart racing just as hard as yours was as it knocked against your chest. You kissed him back, arms winding around his shoulders and one leg thrown around his waist.

You’d kissed Logan countless times in the past few months, but this one had been different. You felt him slow it down, pressing his body down on top of yours with intention as one hand cupped the side of your face and the other threaded through your hair, loose and spread out over the well-worked sheets. His tongue entered your mouth, yours blindly following his lead as you breathed together, your thoughts completely unraveling. When he finally broke apart he pulled away just enough so that you could see his eyes, a bright gleam in their nearly onyx depths. He shook his head and spoke your name, his voice taking on a low gravelly tone that set your blood on fire. “You really think I’d rather have one’a those dolls when I can have you?”

Your breathing was heavy and uneven from his kiss, small puffs of air leaving your lips to meet his. Have me? Does he… He doesn’t mean… You closed your eyes and willed your heart to stop hammering at your ribs. He just means like this, not...nothing more. Swallowing hard, you opened your eyes to see that he hadn’t taken his off of you, still looking at you with that disarming clarity. “You have me right now, Logan,” you barely got the words out, your voice dissolving as you spoke. You can always have me.

His eyes narrowed as he took a breath through his nose, his chest pressed to yours as his lungs expanded. “Yeah, I do.” He nodded, leaning in until his lips found yours again, this time leaving a quick kiss before trailing up your jaw to your ear. “And I’m gonna want you as soon as I get back, too.” You felt his biceps tightening as his arms wound around you.

That makes two of us. You let him crush your body beneath his own, your palms pressing into the warm skin of his back. “I’ll be right here,” you told him, lips close to his ear.

And you were.

The call woke you up at 2:28 am, jarring you from your dreams as you bolted upright and grabbed for your phone. What’s… oh… Your confusion turned to worry as you read the caller ID. The number was restricted, but the entry came up as Delos Destinations INC. Your hands shook as you fumbled to answer. The voice on the other end greeted you with your name in the form of a question.

“Yes,” you spoke the word into your phone, a slow sensation of dread spreading through your veins.

“We’re calling on behalf of Logan Delos.” You held your breath in the dark, head spinning. Why can’t he call on his own behalf? “There’s been an incident in the park and Mr. Delos required… medical extraction. He’s being closely monitored and I’m told his condition has been downgraded from critical to stable.” You gasped his name, a fear you’d never felt before filling your heart. “At this time ma’am we are only required to inform you of Mr. Delos’ status, you are not obligated to come out to the facility or-”

“I’m coming.” You tore the blankets from your legs and stood, cutting off the too-calm employee on the phone. Your entire being was vibrating with nerves and you could feel your pulse behind your eyes. There’s no way I’m leaving him alone. He’d made you his contact because he trusted you. He’d asked you to stay with him that last night before his trip, asked you to stay with him, in his bed, in his place, because he wanted you. “I’m coming, I’ll be there.” You got dressed as you listened for flight information, hands still shaking uncontrollably as you ended the call and headed for the door.

They continued to shake as you drove to the airport, dizzy from the rapid, shallow breaths you’d been taking between sobs. You’d been given a little more information on Logan’s condition, and while again you were told that he was stable, you felt no better. You stared at your fingers, laced together in your lap. They didn’t stop shaking at any point during the flight.

Your hands didn’t stop shaking until they clutched the railing at his bedside, knuckles white and threatening to poke through your skin from how tight your grip was. Oh my god. “Logan…” Tears ran silently down your cheeks as you lowered yourself into the chair that had been provided for you. Bandages covered various portions of his body, where the burn was most severe; his wrists and palms- according to the medical team, these areas were worsened by adding the chafing of thick, coarse rope- the tops of his shoulders, where the sun was the most unrelenting, even on his cheek, where you were told he’d been given a shallow slash wound. Any exposed skin on his arms, neck or face was a deep purplish red color, peeling in patches on his nose and lips, and even while he slept he looked like he was in agony. His legs and torso were covered by the thin sheet, but you could only imagine that it was more of the same. Jesus, Logan, how did this… you felt a hollow ache as he flinched and mumbled in his sleep. Without realizing that you’d moved, you looked down to see that you’d placed your hand on his chest, desperate to give him any amount of comfort that you could. “I’m here, Logan, it’s okay, it's…”

His eyes flew open, and for a few seconds he didn’t seem to see or hear you, his chest heaving as he gulped at the air, and you didn’t have to guess to know where he’d been in his dreams. Three days, they’d told you. He’d been out there for three days, naked, alone, dehydrated and without food, hands bound and left for dead. Three days of cooking in the scorching sun, two nights of frigid, silver moonlight. Host Malfunction, they’d said, telling you that Logan had joined some war narrative near the edges of the park, and one of the blood thirsty robots had taken things off script. It matched the story that William had told when he alerted park officials that Logan had gone missing. He’d turned up looking fairly rough himself, you were told, slightly dehydrated and sunburned. Your eyes roved over Logan’s weakened frame as he blinked and finally registered your presence. But not like this.

“Hey, it’s okay, Logan, it’s okay,” You kept your hand on his chest as you spoke softly to him, fighting to keep from sobbing at the hurt in his eyes. He looked down to where you were touching him, tears gathering in his own eyes as he brought one bandaged hand up to cover yours.

“You’re here.” The tips of his fingers were free over the top of the gauze wrapped around his palms, and they found their way between yours.

You nodded, leaning in to get closer to him without hurting him. “Of course I am, I…” I think I’m falling in love with you. “I care about you Logan…”

He’d broken down into tears then, both of his hands holding yours in place above his terrified heart.

The weeks and months that followed were dark ones, the torture that he’d endured replaying on a relentless loop in his mind day and night. He hadn’t wanted to talk much, and you didn’t press him on it, trying only to be there for him in whatever way he wanted or needed you to be. I’m gonna want you when I get back, he’d said, and it was true- he wanted you to distract him from his waking nightmares, wanted to bury himself in you so he could bury the memories. You have me, Logan, however you want me.

But it wasn’t enough of a distraction, and he soon found a much stronger way to dull the pain, which is how you ended up where you were now, sitting across from him in his apartment after he’d been released from the emergency room, still too weak to even snap the plastic band around his wrist. It was the second time you’d found him passed out with a needle in his hand and a strangled moan rattling in his throat, and the third time that you feared that you might lose him. You ached for him in ways you never thought possible when you first met, in ways that wouldn’t have made sense for the carefree fling you’d started. But there was one thing that was certain, and that was that you loved Logan Delos. You were even fairly certain that he loved you, too. You just couldn’t have had worse timing in realizing that.

After the second overdose he made the decision that he needed to check into a rehab program. Your heart flipped and your eyes welled with tears, ecstatic that he’d come to that conclusion on his own, that he valued his own life enough to try to save it. You told him that you’d be there for him however you could, no matter what he needed. He hadn’t been sleeping, hadn’t been eating, and knowing that he wanted to do something about it was enough to give you the hope that he could be happy again, whole again, even if it wasn’t with you. “I’ll be here for you, Logan, when you get back.”

He looked down then and shook his head. “I can’t…can’t ask you to do that” He didn’t try to hide the pained wince that creased his forehead, or the way his voice had snapped, becoming brittle and dry. You felt the bottom drop out of your chest as he turned his face back towards yours, his cheeks gone hollow and his eyes brimming with unshed tears. Oh, Logan… He shook his head again, unruly strands of hair falling over his eyes. It was longer than it had ever been, his beard, too, looked scruffy and unkempt. He looks like he did after the desert. All that was missing was the burn. Your breath caught in your throat as he continued. “What I’m doin’ isn’t… working. I can’t,” He tilted his head to the side, swallowing as a salty droplet fell from his eye. “Can’t do this to you again, and I…” He swore, the word wavering as it left his lips. Another few tears fell free as he blinked, his long lashes wet as he squeezed his eyes shut tight. The skin beneath them was sunken and dark, highlighting how pale he was, how fragile. That’s not you, Logan. “I won’t let you sit there, watching, waitin’ for me to…” His eyes opened again and they were as clear as they’d been in weeks, catching you off guard. “I don’t want you here just so I can lash out at you when things get hard and…”

That’s when you’d asked him if it would help, taking time apart. His answer was a strained yes, and you could tell how badly he wanted it to be anything but yes. Tears were streaming down your cheeks, but you nodded. “Whatever you need…if it will help.” Even if that isn’t me. Though it hurt like a dagger to the heart to hear him tell you that he needed you to leave, there was nothing you wouldn’t do to help him heal, and seeing him like this was a pain that you both knew you couldn’t endure much more of. You wrapped your arms around him one last time, holding him close as he kissed you, slow and meaningful like the night before his trip, full of all the things neither of you had ever said. I love you, too. “Take care of yourself, Logan, you deserve to be happy.” You left him with those words, whispered against his cheek.

.. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ..

You deserve to be happy.

That’s what you’d told him, and he was determined to prove you right.

It’s like you’re programmed for fucking failure, Logan.

How many times had he heard that from his father? Enough that I started to believe it. But of the two lines that stuck with him, yours was stronger. His father believed that everything in life could be broken down to codes and algorithms, simulations and predetermined pathways. I’m writing my own code, Dad, fuck yours.

He read over the form one final time before clicking submit, the screen redirecting him to a new page thanking him for his application to Stanford School of Law. Like he’d tried to show William, there was a fundamental difference between the hyper realistic robots that populated the parks and a flesh and blood human. Choices, not codes, were what made a man, and Logan was making the choice to fight for himself.

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @gollyderek @thesumofmychoices @lexxierave @belladonnarey @ymariejp @obscurilicious @songtoyou @traeumerinwitzhelden @breanime @drinix @jigsawlover10 @getlostinyourparadise @nananananananananananabatman @malionnes

(i just used the same tag list from my other Logan series, so if you would like to be added or removed please let me know!)

#core drive #CD #Logan Delos #Logan Delos AU #westworld logan #logan delos x you #logan delos x reader #logan delos deserved better #law school logan au

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theyearoftheking · 4 years

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Book Thirty-Nine: The Green Mile

Hoooooly crap, y’all! This is the halfway point of this project: I’ve read thirty-nine books, and I have approximately thirty-nine more to go (depending what Steve releases before the end of the year). And honestly? If it wasn’t for COVID, and quarantine, and lots of time traveling (pre-COVID, of course); I wouldn’t have reached the halfway point. This probably would have turned into a two year project. But here we are, diving into The Green Mile!

Of all the Steve books, I dreaded re-reading The Green Mile the most. I had originally read it when it was first published, and it came out in chapters every few weeks. I’d breathlessly tear through a chapter, only to have to wait for the next one to be released. It was a pretty fun format, and I really wish I still had my original chapters. Oh well.

But this time around, I didn’t think I was in the right head-space to read it, and the world sure as hell isn’t in the right head-space. The Green Mile was published in 1996, and takes place in 1932. It could very well have been set in our current climate. Just a few quotes for you...

“He got (his sentence) commuted mostly because he was white...”

“I think we have to be humane and generous to solve the race problem. But we have to remember that your negro will bite if he gets the chance, just like a mongrel dog will bite if he gets the chance and it crosses his mind to do so.”

“John Coffey is a Negro, and in Trapingus County we’re awful particular about giving new trials to Negros...”

NOTHING HAS FUCKING CHANGED SINCE 1932!! We are still hearing these same sentiments from people claiming, “I’m not a racist, but...” Our judicial system is still biased against POC, and the rate of incarceration for POC compared to whites is staggering.

NOTHING HAS FUCKING CHANGED. And that’s the part that makes me the most sad. So, yeah, I wasn’t looking forward to cracking The Green Mile in our current climate.

Few Steve books have touched me the way this one did. A fellow Constant Reader pointed out, “This is one of the only stories where he showcases the forces of good. We usually get ghosts and demons, but John Coffey may be the closest thing he has ever wrote of an angel...” Hot damn, Sam Beall, you’re not wrong.

But in addition to forces of good, we’ve also got Percy Wetmore; who I feel is the nastiest Steve villain ever... he makes Randall Flagg and The Crimson King look like dudes who drink matcha lattes at a cat cafe, and compare notes on their polarized sunglasses. Percy Wetmore immediately activates my, “must kick hard in the junk” reflex. He. Is. The. Worst.

The Green Mile is told from the POV of Paul Edgecombe; a prison guard on “the green mile;” which is where convicted killers awaiting the death penalty are housed. “The green mile” refers to the long hallway inmates have to walk down to get to the electric chair.

The story kicks off when John Coffey (like the drink but spelled different) is accused and found guilty of brutally raping and murdering two little blonde twin girls. He’s found on a riverbank, clutching their bodies, and crying, “I couldn’t help it, I tried to take it back, but it was too late...”

So, Coffey makes his way onto The Mile, and shares space with Eduard Delacroix and his pet mouse Mr. Jingles; and William Wharton (Billy the Kid, or Wild Billy, depending on the day). Delacroix is French southern gentleman found guilty of murder, and then arson to hide the murder scene. He’s a bad guy... don’t get me wrong... but there’s something intensely likable about him. Maybe it’s the pet mouse he’s trained, maybe it’s his meek nature that Percy (another prison guard) takes advantage of... I don’t know. But you grow to like him, and the relationship he has with Mr. Jingles. Mr. Jingles randomly showed up one day, and the guards (except Percy) were all taken with him. After Percy attempts to smash him with a club, he takes to Delacroix and whispers in his ear that his name is Mr. Jingles.

William Wharton is another story. He’s a wild card, who upon his arrival, promptly tries to strangle a prison guard. He also spits masticated Moon Pie at another guard. Sooo, he’s a lot of fun.

The three of them live on the wing, and the first up for execution is Delacroix. Percy has a particular hatred of him, he claims he tried to grab his junk once. It didn’t happen... Del just got yanked along when he was in handcuffs and fell in Percy’s lap. The day before his execution, Percy thinks it might be fun to kill Mr. Jingles. Like I said... total fucking asshole. He stomps on him, and Del loses it. Mr. Jingles is the only thing he loves in the whole world... and maybe the only thing that loves him back.

Thinking quickly, Coffey asks for Mr. Jingles little mousy body. Speaking of junk grabbing, he grabbed Paul and cured the UTI he had brewing for weeks. So, Paul is hopeful Coffey can use his miraculous healing abilities to do it again. And he does! Mr. Jingles lives!

But Percy’s not done being a scab on the balls of society. The night of Del’s execution, he tells him Mr. Jingles isn’t going to Mouseville like Paul promised he was (total lie- like telling kids a dog is going to live on a farm). And then, Percy doesn’t wet the sponge before placing it on Del’s head prior to his execution, so it’s horrible, painful and just horrible. So, Del is dead, Percy plays the, “I don’t know what happened!” card, and Mr. Jingles is gone. My heart. Of all the scenes in the book, I was dreading this one the most.

Meanwhile, the prison warden, Hal Moores is struggling with the fact his wife Melinda has a massive brain tumor, and it’s starting to change her personality. He doesn’t know what to do. Paul thinks they should pack Coffey up, and take him out to the Moores’s house and have him heal Melinda.

It’s a crazy idea, but it ends up working. The other prison guards drug Billy; and put Percy in a straitjacket and throw him in the supply closet so he doesn’t notice anything is amiss. They tell him it’s payback for how Del’s death went down. So, they race out to see Hal and Melinda, and Coffey does his thing. They race back to the prison, and no one notices they’ve been gone. However, Coffey is in a bad way. This was much more healing than he’s used to doing, and he’s mentally and physically exhausted.

After they release Percy from the supply closet, Coffey grabs him and “kisses” him: which transfers the sick energy he got from Melinda into Percy. Percy then turns around, and shoots Wild Billy/Billy the Kid dead; and then becomes catatonic.

He’s then carted off to the psych ward, which is too good for him. Fiery pits of hell would have been better.

But wait!

Plot twist! Billy the Kid had briefly touched Coffey, and Coffey learned HE was the one who had killed the two little girls. Paul puts this together as well, and tries to fight for Coffey’s release. He realizes Coffey’s words, “I couldn’t help it, I tried to take it back, but it was too late...” were about his inability to heal the girls, not his guilt.

When I had read the revelation the first time, I flew through the end, hoping and praying justice would be served, and Coffey wouldn’t be executed. Bad things didn’t happen to good people like John Coffey, right? Oh, how naive. There were A LOT of tears.

But Coffey is at peace with his upcoming execution. He tells Paul, “I’m rightly tired of the pain I hear and feel, boss. I’m tired of bein on the road, lonely as a robin in the rain. Not ever havin no buddy to go on with or tell me where we’s comin from or goin to or why. I’m tired of people bein ugly to each other. It feels like pieces of glass in my head. I’m tired of all the times I’ve wanted to help and couldn’t. I’m tired of bein in the dark. Mostly it’s the pain. There’s too much...”

That right there makes me cry every damn time I read it.

So, Coffey is executed, and life continues on; as it always seems to do. Paul is actually writing this story in his old age, at the Georgia Pines nursing home. There’s an orderly there who’s just as evil as Percy, and he keeps trying to follow Paul on his daily walks outside. Where’s Paul going???

TO SEE MR. JINGLES!!!

Yes! He’s still alive! It seems when Coffey healed people, it added onto their life expectancy. Mr. Jingles was still alive, and Paul was one hundred and four years old. But he knew his time was coming. He reflects on the loss of his beautiful wife, the people he knew on the Green Mile, the guards he worked with, and that mile seems LONG.

Such a sad, beautiful end to an incredible work. This is another one I recommend to people who tell me they don’t like Stephen King. Try it... you’ll like it... when your heart is done breaking that is...

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 27

Total Dark Tower References: 38

Book Grade: A+

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

The Talisman: A+

Needful Things: A+

The Green Mile: A+

Rose Madder: A+

Misery: A+

Different Seasons: A+

It: A+

Four Past Midnight: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

The Wastelands: A-

The Drawing of the Three: A-

Dolores Claiborne: A-

Nightmares in the Sky: B+

The Dark Half: B+

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

Nightmares & Dreamscapes: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Running Man: C+

Thinner: C+

Dark Visions: C+

The Eyes of the Dragon: C+

The Long Walk: C+

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Insomnia: C-

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Gerald’s Game: D

Roadwork: D

Christine: D

The Tommyknockers: D-

Next is Desperation, which I know nothing about, other than it’s a real chonk of a book.

Do me a favor, please? Stop being ugly to each other. Stop hurting gentle people like John Coffey. Please and thank you.

Until next time, Long Days & Pleasant Nights,

Rebecca

#the green mile #stephen king #constant readers

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hms-chill · 4 years

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RWRB Study Guide: Chapter 10

Hi y’all! I’m going through Casey McQuiston’s Red, White & Royal Blue and defining/explaining references! Feel free to follow along, or block the tag #rwrbStudyGuide if you’re not interested!

Earl Grey (267): Earl Grey tea is an incredibly common caffeinated tea. It is the base of a London fog.

Hamilton to Laurens, “you should not have taken advantage of my sensibility to steal into my affections without my consent” (267): This quote is from an April 1779 letter and is immediately followed by “But, as you have done it, and as we are generally indulgent to those we love, I shall not scruple to pardon the fraud you have committed, on one condition; that for my sake, of not your own, you will always continue to merit the partiality, which you have so artfully instilled into me”. Essentially, “you were rude to me, but I love you so much I forgive you as long as you look after yourself”. Just before it, Hamilton’s like “you taught me what it means to love”. (You can find it here)

Pyramus and Thisbe (268): The pair of lovers whose story inspired Romeo and Juliet, they were separated and could only talk through a wall between their houses (I’ve written a very in-depth analysis of this myth, which you can find here).

Dulles International to Heathrow (268): Dulles International is the airport in Washington, DC, and Heathrow is the classy airport in London.

John Cusack (270): An American actor largely known for his roles in the 1980s. This line in particular likely references Say Anything..., a romantic comedy known in part for a scene where Cusack’s character stands outside a girl’s window and plays music from a boombox.

Y’all had to marry your cousins (270): A reference to the royal tradition of only marrying other royals, which led to a whole lot of inbreeding.

Consummation (275): To consummate a marriage is to have sex for the first time, therefore making it “official”.

Wilde’s complete works (276): Oscar Wilde is an Irish author famous for writing satires and also defining gay culture in the late 1800s.

Fit of pique (277): If someone does something in a fit of pique, they do it spontaneously and out of anger at being wronged.

Mr. Darcy brooding at Pemberley (278): In Austen’s Pride and Prejudice (spoilers, though it’s been out for 207 years), after Elizabeth rejects Darcy’s first marriage proposal (which is essentially “your family sucks but you’re hot; marry me”), he goes back to the house his family owns and thinks about it and misses her.

Anmer Hall (278): A house owned by the Crown in Norfolk, England; it is currently home to Prince William, Duke of Cambridge.

Mel and Sue (280): A comedy duo and hosts of The Great British Bake Off. Sue was outed in 2002, but claims that “being a lesbian is only about the 47th most interesting thing about me”.

South Kensington (284): A district of West London known for its high density of museums and cultural landmarks.

Prince Consort Road (284): Prince Consort Road is a street in London named after Prince Albert, consort to Queen Victoria. A consort is a royal’s spouse or partner (hence Alex laughing at the idea of his being a prince’s consort)

Ferris Bueller/ Sloane (284-285): Ferris Bueller’s Day Off is a popular movie from the 1980s about Ferris, who skips school for a day of wild shenanigans in Chicago. Sloane is his girlfriend who’s roped in for the ride.

Victoria and Albert Museum* (285): The Victoria and Albert Museum, often abbreviated “V&A”, is the world’s largest museum of applied and decorative art and design. (you can explore their collections here)

Renaissance City (285): Room 50a of the V&A is full of Renaissance sculptures. (photo here)

Seated Buddha in black stone (285): The V&A has a bunch of Buddha sculptures, but this one is the only one I saw that’s in black stone.

John the Baptist nude and in bronze (285): Possibly this piece from 1881 by French sculptor Auguste Rodin and is in the V&A’s collection.

Tipu’s Tiger (285): A nearly life-sized semi-automaton that shows a tiger mauling a man in European clothes. The tiger makes growling sounds and the man screams and waves his hand when a handle on the side is turned; it also contains a small pipe organ on the inside and was created to show the power that the Tipu Sultan of India held over invading Brits. The “give it back” that Catherine argues for is officially called repatriation, it would mean that (Western) museums have to give back stolen objects; British museums are famously bad at doing this. (see Tipu’s Tiger here)

Westminster (286): Westminster Abbey, a church in London where royals are crowned and buried. It is covered with intricate carvings and beautiful stained glass.

The Great Bed of Ware (286): A bed made by Hans Vredeman de Vries from the 1590s; it is ten feet wide and made of oak. (see it here)

Twelfth Night (286): A Shakespeare comedy full of chaos that includes a woman cross-dressing, then her twin brother being mistaken for her.

Epocoene (286): A 1609 play that includes a boy dressing as a woman to dupe a man into giving his son an acceptable inheritance.

Don Juan (286): A Spanish figure known for his powers for wooing women; the first text published about him was in the 1630s.

Florence (287): Florence is a city known for its art; it was the cultural center of the Italian renaissance.

Gothic choir screen in the V&A’s Renaissance City (287): This Roodloft, or choir screen, carved by Coenraed van Norenberch is in the back of the Renaissance City in the V&A. It’s a stunning piece; the link above has great pictures and a more in-depth description than I could give.

Zephyr statue by Francavilla (287): You can see this statue here; it was one of thirteen statues commissioned for the garden of a villa near Florence. According to Greek mythology, Zephyr (the west wind) was married to Chloris, goddess of flowers.

Narcissus (by Cioli) (287): This statue may have once been the centerpiece to a fountain with Narcissus looking into an actual pool; it depicts him in the moment he sees and is mesmerised by his reflection.

Pluto stealing Proserpina (287): Likely the statue “The Rape of Proserpina” by Vincenzo de' Rossi. I couldn’t find it on the V&A’s site, but there’s more info here.

Jason with the Golden Fleece (287): This is a sculpture of a very naked Jason, the Greek hero who stole the golden fleece. He was helped by its owner’s daughter, who was in love with him, but whom he later abandoned. You can see the statue here.

Samson Slaying a Philistine (287): You can see this statue here. Henry does a pretty good job of explaining the incredible history behind it; all I have to add from my (limited) research is that it is remarkable in part for the fact that there is no one point on it that draws the eye-- it demands to be looked at completely or not at all.

Victoria and sodomy laws (288): Queen Victoria famously instituted a whole lot of anti-sodomy laws.

Viau on James/George (288): A 1623 poem by Théophile de Viau:

“Apollo with his songs

Debauched young Hyacinthus

Just as Corydon fucked Amyntas,

So Caesar did not spurn boys.

One man fucks Monsieur le Grand de Bellegarde [a friend of Viau],

Another fucks the Comte de Tonnerre.

And it is well known that the King of England

Fucks the Duke of Buckingham.”

“Christ had John, and I have George” (288): This is an actual thing that James I/VI said to the heads of the church. Here’s the full quote, from wikipedia (emphasis is my own): “I, James, am neither a god nor an angel, but a man like any other. Therefore I act like a man and confess to loving those dear to me more than other men. You may be sure that I love the Earl of Buckingham more than anyone else, and more than you who are here, assembled. I wish to speak in my own behalf and not to have it thought to be a defect, for Jesus Christ did the same, and therefore I cannot be blamed. Christ had John, and I have George.”

George iii (289): George III was the king against whom the American colonies revolted. He was deeply religious and instituted laws declaring that royals could not marry without the approval of the court.

Convent church of Santa Chiara in Florence (290): This church is no longer a church, but the altar chapel is in an alcove in the V&A. It is the only Italian Renaissance chapel outside of Italy. (you can see photos of it here and here)

Santa Chiara and Saint Francis of Assisi (290): Saint Francis of Assisi founded a few different monastic orders and is one of the most celebrated saints; Saint Clare of Assisi founded a women’s monastic order and wrote the first set of monastic guidelines by a woman.

Blessed Mother (290): Mary, the mother of Jesus, one of the holiest figures in Catholicism.

“Come, hijo mío, de la miel, porque es Buena, and the honeycomb sweet to thy taste”** (290): “My son, eat thou honey, because it is good; and the honeycomb, which is sweet to thy taste. So shall the knowledge of wisdom be unto thy soul: when thou hast found it, then there shall be a reward, and thy expectation shall not be cut off” -- Proverbs 24:13-14, King James Version (yes, that King James. He translated the Bible to make the church stop hating him).

David and Jonathan (290): An aggressively gay couple from the Bible who have been presented as friends for centuries. Jonathan was a prince and David a shepherd, but God promised that David would be king one day. Rather than argue this or hate David for it, Jonathan welcomed David into his household and loved him despite the prophecy that he would one day usurp him. Following Jonathan’s death, David took in Jonathan’s son and looked after him.

Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, amen (291): Many Christian prayers end with “in the name of the Father, the son, and of the Holy Spirit, amen”. It’s a way of celebrating the god who gives you all of the good things in your life while also giving up control to them.

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A fill in from chapter 1, as requested by someone on AO3:

Deputy Chief of Staff (Zahra’s position, 23): The Deputy Chief of Staff is the top aide to the president’s top aide, and is responsible for ensuring that everything runs smoothly within the bureaucracy of the White House.

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*This museum puts out books called “maker’s guides” that teach you how to make pieces based on things in their collections; they’re super duper cool.

**I’m not a theologian, but I am a pastor’s kid, and just... this gets me. This whole bit, but this Proverb especially. Like obviously there’s the “oh we’re kissing and I’m thinking about honey tasting sweet”, but verse 14 coming in with the “when you’ve found what’s right, you will be rewarded with the confidence of that rightness and you will have hope”? Just kill me outright next time. Don’t make me google my own murder weapon.

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If there’s anything I missed or that you’d like more on, please let me know! And if you’d like to/are able, please consider buying me a ko-fi? I know not everyone can, and that’s fine, but these things take a lot of time/work and I’d really appreciate it!

—–-

Chapter 1 // Chapter 9 // Chapter 11

#this is for that anon who thinks I'm smart and cute #but y'all can read it too #rwrb study guide #rwrb analysis #English Major Brain™#English Major Brain™️#rwrb #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor x alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #june claremont diaz #nora holleran #pez okonjo #bea fox mountchristen windsor #firstprince #red white and royal blue

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platypanthewriter · 4 years

Text

The Keg-King of Elfland’s Sword

Chapter One: The Arrival

for @ihni

It wasn’t like a party in New South Wales, nor yet was it like the parties Billy had attended in London, where everyone had seemed to blur together in endless lines of pearl buttons and curly white wigs. His first sight of Hawkins society was a confusion of colors and heights—the person offering to take his coat, he realized, pulling his eyes from the constellations of candles, was at least partly horse, and clapped their hooves over it, bowing. He bowed back, pulling Max forward through the doorway—she was as wide-eyed as he, her eyes catching on a woman floating near the punch bowl with a face either covered in moss, or made of it.

He wondered, watching the dancers, whether he could be less careful here—whether iron was more easily avoided, and he could apply himself at a stranger’s dinner table without burning his hands.

In the center of the room, surrounded by the most candles—and, he noted, after some consideration, floating flames with no visible source—were two empty ornate chairs, like thrones. Between them was a huge head, cut and seared bloodless from some hairy, fanged, one-eyed beast, on oilcloth, and he registered how many of the dancers had bandages. The dance shifted to pairs, and a young man with a bloodied face, a flower crown, and a wide grin spun his partner down the room. Billy stumbled as Max drew him, wide-eyed, towards a person whose silvery ruffles matched their wheeled ambulatory device. Billy glanced at them, then back to the dancer, whose teeth and eyes gleamed in the candlelight. “I—I have to—” he whispered, yanking at Max’s grip on his arm.

She hissed, “No, wait, we have to find the sheriff, he’s—”

“I have to go dance with him.” Billy pointed, and Max stood on her toes, until he lifted her by her securely corseted waist, and she kicked out.

“Unhand me, or I’ll unhand you—” she snarled, then narrowed her eyes. “Oh, there, with the flowers?”

“With the flowers,” he agreed, “—and the smile.”

She folded her arms, comfortable with the boning supporting her weight. “...at least turn around a few times, Mr. Hopper did send a sketch—”

Billy laughed, spinning slowly with his sister’s feet swinging against his knees, until she yelled, pointing, and smacked his head. He sat her back on her feet, but she held onto his jacket.

“Take me over there, or he’ll think I’m a lost child. And I can ask about your dancer.”

“No need.” Billy allowed himself to be dragged away, eyes on the spinning white flowers and gleaming dark hair. “I’ll ask him myself.”

“What if he’s married?” She rolled her eyes, and nearly jerked Billy’s shoulder out of its socket when the idea spurred him towards the dancing again. “Walk, idiot. If he’s married, he won’t be less or more so in the time it takes to greet Mr. Hopper.”

“How do I look,” he muttered, frowning down, and she groaned loudly, putting an arm through his and spinning him to see a man about his father’s age, who looked as though he half thought they were entertaining—after watching Billy progress across the room like an untrained dog on a lead—and half wished they’d leave him to his conversation with a tiny dark-eyed woman who kept laughing, tears in her eyes.

Billy blinked at them, and the man’s smirk widened. Max kicked his leg, aiming unerringly at the bone. “Sher—Mr. Hopper?” he tried, saving his revenge for later.

“I am, and this is Ms. Byers.” Mr. Hopper nodded at the small woman, and she blinked at them, laughing again, and wiping her eyes.

“Mr. William Hargrove and Ms. Maxine Mayfield.” Billy offered the woman a hand—her fingers trembled against his—then shook Mr. Hopper’s, as Ms. Byers shook with Max, and asked how far they’d come. Max explained the speed of the newest dragon-craft, getting distracted, as usual, describing her continuing attempts—thwarted by crew—to climb the rigging, and speak to the dragon.

Billy listened with a smile, his mind half soaring between shining ocean waves and gleaming dragon scales, and half watching the dance floor. When he heard the word “pirate,” he rolled his eyes, imploring, “Good sheriff, as a man of the law, try to discourage my sister. She’s never more than three dull conversations from stealing a dragon ship and raising a flag with a skull and crossed swords.”

“A temptation shared by us all,” the sheriff replied, toasting her, and Billy made a fist and thumped it on the top of her head.

“Look, now you’ve corrupted him.”

“I would never!” Max grinned. “We saw the Pirate Queen, you know.”

“We may have done,” Billy interrupted, sighing. “At the very limit of our telescope, we saw a dark blotch—”

“She was standing on her dragon’s head,” Max said, twining her fingers together, and stretching, her eyes focused on visions of piracy.

“Every hour it was the Pirate Queen, listen.” Billy yanked the chain of his keepsake out of his shirt, and held up the battered shell, despite Max trying to smack it out of his hand. Her cheeks were reddening until they nearly competed with Ms. Byers’ gown. Billy held it out of her reach, and ran his thumb around the edges, and Max’s voice came out with the watery echoes of low-quality keepsake enchantment.

“There, that’s her,” echo-Max said. “There! Billy! Billy, it’s—oh. Oh, no, it’s—it’s not.”

Echo-Billy’s voice joined her. “Max, that’s an albatross.”

“No, wait! I see her! I see her now!” echo-Max cut off, muffled, as actual-Max climbed her brother like a tree, grabbing the keepsake. She dropped to the floor, feet wide-set, her arm up to guard, and Billy laughed, raising his hands.

“You’ve disarmed me. Return my keepsake, fierce Amazon, I’ll keep your secrets close.”

“I’ll record something over it first,” she hissed. “Something flatulent.”

“Give it back,” he pleaded, circling her and grinning.

Max tossed her head, crossing her arms. “Because it was your mother’s. I’ll surrender it for her sake, not yours.” She held it out by the chain, and he put it back on.

Ms. Byers was staring at it. “I suppose her message was too—familiar? That you would erase it?” Billy laughed, clearing his throat, and Max rescued him.

“She gifted only the keepsake, it came with no message. If it had,” she confided, cocking her head to grin up at him, “—he would not have filled its chamber with my nonsense about an albatross. I would be safe from his brotherly abuses.”

“I received word only of Ms. Mayfield.” Mr. Hopper raised his eyebrows, and Billy bit his tongue on an explanation of his father’s low regard.

“I am grateful for my brother’s company.” Max gave her most even and insincere smile, “—as it would be hazardous, for one of my youth, travelling alone.”

“We are relieved you have him,” Ms. Byers said, her eyes searching the room. “It is not safe, alone, always. Though the Hunt does its best.”

“I am here as her shield.” Billy patted his belt, where his sword would hang, and he saw that she took his meaning.

“Get much use, does it?” Mr. Hopper asked, his brows drawing together. “I’ll take no issue with a hand raised against the wilds, but we’ve had too many fights, as of late.”

“I’ll keep him in line,” Max promised, elbowing Billy when she realized his attention had strayed.

“Do I look as well as I may,” Billy whispered out of the side of his mouth, watching the dancer—he’d finished the dance, and his friends were carrying him around, along with someone else.

“I beg your pardon, Ms. Byers,” Max sighed, “—my brother has seen someone on the dance floor, and he’s having heart palpitations.” Ms. Byers snickered, steadying her hands on her glass of punch, as Max looked Billy up and down, then smacked his shoulder until he was low enough for her to assess. She fluffed his cravat, and pulled forward some of the curls he’d carefully combed back, tucking them to hide the almost-points of his ears. She pinched his cheeks. “Bite your lips ‘til you get over there,” she advised, and pushed him back. Ms. Byers was cackling into Mr. Hopper’s shoulder, but Billy ignored them, bouncing his heels to try and track the bright-eyed dancer.

By the time he’d sidled through the crowd, the flower crown was twirling again on the dance floor, its bearer laughing with—Billy tore his eyes away to inspect the partner—a human woman, he thought, though her ears looked rather pointed, from across the dance floor, and through the largest flower crown. He couldn’t tell whether the crown had antlers, or she did.

“Thomas Hall,” said a voice in his ear, and Billy smirked to cover his start, turning to see a freckled grin. “But Hall ‘the Elder’ s are everywhere, so Mr. Thomas, to most. You are watching Harrington.”

Am I, now, Billy thought, raising his eyebrows at the memory of the name in his father’s leftward slanting script. “William Hargrove.” He cocked his head, letting his gaze drift back to the dance floor. His target careened his partner with the headdress towards the musicians, spinning away every time at the last minute, and no one faltered, though all were laughing.

“Those two fill most of each other’s dance cards,” Thomas told him, and Billy nodded, watching the partner crouch, jump, and get spun over Harrington’s head. He’d shed his jacket, if he’d ever worn one, and rolled up his sleeves, so the muscles of his arms shone in the candlelight.

“...he’s in love with her,” Thomas tried again, and Billy nodded again, appreciating the angle the light had on flowers, and gleaming dark hair, and gleaming leather breeches. “He won’t want you.” Thomas punched his shoulder, and Billy raised his eyebrows, glancing over, and considering whether it was worth punching back.

“Hasn’t said so yet,” Billy replied, rolling his shoulders as the music came to a close. He angled himself to intercept the blur of golden waistcoat, flower crown, and bloodied face he could see through the crowd.

After sidling through what was probably the entire population of Hawkins, Billy spotted his dancer again. He finally got in front of Harrington by the punch, and took a deep breath, his eyes following a trickle of sweat down the side of the man’s face. It dripped into the unbuttoned neck of his shirt, and Billy shut his mouth and swallowed, nearly having drooled. “Dance with me,” he blurted. “...Billy Hargrove.”

Harrington had just tipped in a mouthful of punch, but he held out a hand, swallowed, and wiped his mouth. “Steven Harrington.”

Billy was watching the wetness of the punch on his lips. “...Mr. Harrington. May I have this dance? Or any.”

“Why not,” Harrington laughed, chugging another glass of punch, and then took Billy’s hand in his, cold and damp from the punch glass, and dragged him back to the dancing.

The complex pattern kept whirling Harrington away, but he kept returning to grab Billy’s hands and spin him around, all smiles and shining eyes and warm muscles under Billy’s hands. Billy breathed in the smell of white flowers, and felt dizzy.

The next dance the antlers returned, and Billy wandered off to the punch, took a deep, steadying draught, and remembered he had a sister, because she punched him in the side.

“Max,” he wheezed.

“My thanks for escorting me to the ball, sweet brother.” She raised her eyebrows, and took his glass of punch. “I have appreciated your company at every divine moment. Ms. Byers said to watch the punch. Since they ride out on the morrow, it was supposed to be all sugar and mint, but that just means everyone with a flask dumps it in. She said by an hour in, it’ll be alcohol enough to fuel a dragon ship. When are we going to dance?”

“I can still smell flowers.” Billy watched for the flower crown, and Max groaned.

“What are you doing? Did you even get his name? Make sure when you’re walking towards him, it isn’t through a road.”

Billy laughed, shoving her head down. She flailed, nearly spilling the punch, and he mussed her hair. “I’m not—”

“Or into a river. You’d probably forget to swim.” She held the sloshing glass of punch at a wary arm’s length with both hands, glowering up at him.

“I’ll push you in the river,” he growled, swiping a hand at his cup again, “—and I did get his name, as it happens. It’s, ah. It’s Harrington.”

“How’d you know?” She blinked up at him, and automatically took a swig of the punch, before coughing. “Dear god.” She wiped her eyes. “—that’s not for fueling engines, it’s for cleaning them. How’d you know it was him? You already got a dance with him?”

“I…” Billy swallowed, yanked the cup back, and drained it. “I didn’t know it was him. I can’t—it won’t work, anyway. He’s engaged, or as good as. The one with the antlers. I’ll just—I’ll have to write.” He took a deep breath, staring into the cup. “Tell him I failed.”

Max rocked sideways, thudding her shoulder into his ribs. “You did get a dance with him. That doesn’t sound hopeless.”

“It was never going to work—” he hissed back, and then the music stopped abruptly, with the musicians joining in cheering and clapping with the crowd, as the floor cleared around Ms. Byers. She was carrying a flailing, giggling child a bit smaller than Max to one of the thrones, while another with close-cropped hair furtively approached the second throne. A thin woman waved and cheered at the second child, who flashed a smile.

“Come sit with me, this chair is huge!” yelled the one Ms. Byers was holding, and she kissed his cheek, squeezing him so hard he squeaked. The other kid nodded, flashing a quick smile, and skirted around the enormous severed head, nervous glances fixed more on the crowd than the dead monster. Harrington and his antlered partner stepped up next to Ms. Byers to lift the chair, along with another few people who ran out of the restless crowd, all bandaged in various places.

“...I should have run out,” Billy told Max, watching, and she snorted.

“I think it’s invitation only.”

“Maybe he needs help. Maybe he needs me to carry him—”

She smacked his thigh, and he snickered.

Once they had the chair aloft, they carried it around, amidst whoops, and whistles, and drunken shouts like, ‘King and Queen of the Hunt Ball!’, ‘Welcome home!’, and ‘So glad you’re safe!’ The crowd smacked Harrington and his cronies on the shoulders and back, as they whirled the laughing children around in the chairs. Ms. Byers cried, and so did her kid, slinging his arm over the arm rest and clamping his hand over hers.

“What are they doing,” Billy leaned to ask Max, finally realizing there was more happening than Steve Harrington lifting something heavy over his head.

“They fought that,” Max whispered, pointing at the enormous head, “to get them back. The townschildren.” A tiny crab scuttled out from under its eyelid, and then a few more, and Billy’s mouth fell open again.

“They…” He frowned around, cataloguing the bandages, and Harrington’s scraped knuckles and scabbed-up face. “What?”

“Apparently the boy—his name’s Will Byers, I met him after you went off all starry-eyed—was missing. The girl was missing even longer. Usually it’d be the hunters in the thrones at the Hunt Ball, but—” She jerked her head at the procession, and Billy nodded, eyes lingering on Harrington’s biceps. Max rolled her eyes, sighing. She waved to little Byers, and dragged Billy closer when Byers waved back.

Billy echoed the motion, and Harrington waved back, grinning over.

“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” Max whispered, as Billy kept waving, until Thomas grabbed his hand.

“Noticed he danced with you. Hargrove.” He leaned in, and Max leaned around to give him a puzzled glower.

“Lucky me.” Billy tried to pull his hand back, and winced at Thomas’ grip.

“He’s King of the Hunt Ball, you know? He’s always King. Nan Wheeler sits next to him as Queen.”

It wasn’t hard to imagine how grand it would look—Harrington in his finest, instead of sweatstained and bandaged, and Wheeler at his side, borne through the air on the shoulders of their friends. He must have made some kind of face, because Max elbowed him.

“Byers wants her,” Thomas whispered, “—but she’s not for him.”

“Little Byers?” Billy raised his eyebrows at the laughing, crying child, and Thomas squeezed his hand until the bones ground together.

“Who the hell are you,” Max muttered.

“The elder Byers, Jonathan. Steve dueled him.” Tommy leaned close. “—he was watching her, with a telescope. Sketching her through the window.”

“Why didn’t she duel him?” Max wrinkled her nose. “I’d have—”

“Steve found out first, didn’t even wait for me, his second—” Thomas hissed back at her. “He fights for her—”

“I hear you.” Billy shifted to slam their shoulders together, and yanked his hand loose at Thomas’ stagger. “—would you like to match steel to your words?”

“No! Billy,” Max hissed. “You’ll be thrown out. You’ll miss the dance. Billy.”

“They wouldn’t dream of stopping us.” Thomas bared his teeth in a grin. “An exhibition match, to first blood.” He spun away, shaking his fists in the air, and shouting, “A sword! And a referee!”

“What is this place,” Max whispered to Billy, her eyes shining. “Instead of dancing, we can duel?”

Another antlered person wafted towards them, the silvery train of her dress shining after her. “As it’s my house, I’ll keep watch.” She held out the hilts of two fencing sabres, and looked Billy dispassionately up and down. “...They’re dulled, as humans are fragile.”

He took a deep breath before accepting one, wondering whether he’d feel the dull, frozen ache of cold iron—but either the blood he’d inherited from his mother was indeed as fae as the Lady offering the sword, and it was some fae metal, and harmless to him; or else the madness rotting in his blood acknowledged that the sword was probably not iron, and didn’t set fanciful pains running up the veins of his arms.

He whipped the sabre through the air a couple of times, eyes narrowed. Thomas struck a stance, his off hand up in a pointlessly stylish wave, and Billy tested his defense. It wasn’t terrible, for a man who smelled more of whiskey with a dash of punch than the reverse, though he was focusing too much on trying to end the duel. Billy raised his eyebrows, dancing away from a wild swipe near his knee.

It became apparent pretty quickly he was in no great danger from Thomas, who seemed continually surprised to find his blows swinging into thin air, and was beginning to pant.

Billy spun to the side, and realized they’d been surrounded. The dancing had stopped. Harrington was watching, and Billy called for a pause, and stripped out of his jacket, tossing it to Max. She glared at him, rolled her eyes, and crossed her arms. He was somewhat hoping it hit her in the face with a brass button, and then Harrington leaned out and caught it, grin wide.

Billy bowed again, then pointed his sword, holding Harrington’s gaze. “For you.” Harrington laughed, shaking his head, but saluted back, and then Thomas was attacking again.

The rhythm was easy, once Billy settled into it—simpler than the dances, just practiced muscles stretching and flexing, and Harrington’s grin, and cheering. Thomas was starting to look a little wild, drenched in sweat, and when he stumbled backwards, wiping his brow, Billy realized the fight was nearly over.

He was irritating Thomas into ever more desperate swings, enjoying his growls, when a new round of whoops and cheers went up to his left, and the crowd parted to admit another fencer. She walked in and threw an arm around Thomas’ shoulder, tossing back a cup of punch. She stared, smiling, at Billy, and unbuttoned her jacket. Thomas yowled like a cat, and she tugged her sleeves off in turn, without breaking eye contact with Billy. He couldn’t help but grin back, even as she walked over to Harrington, handed him the cup, and tossed her jacket over the man’s head.

As the crowd whistled, Harrington growled, trying to free himself from the jacket without spilling the cup.

Billy raised his eyebrows, licked his lips, and dropped his sword on the ground. He turned to stare Harrington in the face, peeling out of his shirt and sauntering over to drape it over the man’s arm. Harrington was laughing, his smirk widening as his gaze traced the sweat gleaming on Billy’s chest. Billy leaned in close to tug the flower from Harrington’s jacket, and breathed in its fragrance. Harrington watched, mouth hanging a little open, and Billy spun back to the duel, tucking the flower into the curls over his left ear.

The crowd was beginning to chant “Carol! Carol!”—and he could immediately see the difference, as she shoved Thomas out of the impromptu arena with her foot. Her stance was deep and steady without being showy, and she didn’t try for the obvious openings he gave her.

A good opponent was a heady pleasure, letting him show his best side to Harrington, and soon he and Carol had matching grins, circling each other. She was tired, though—her flowing shirt showed the same patches of dried blood as all those who had carried the thrones around in triumph, and she had a purpling bruise along her hairline, from her eyebrow to her ear. The point of her sword drooped a couple of inches, and she narrowed her eyes, sinking her stance deeper as though it had been on purpose. She tossed her sword into her left hand—Billy raised his eyebrows—and wiped her right on her trousers.

“Harrington,” she growled. “Candelabra.”

Harrington spun to grab one of the heavy brass candelabras off the dais by the thrones—a low one, its flames gleaming off the sharp teeth of the monster—and tossed it to her. The wax sprayed across her chest and face, but three of the five candles stayed lit, and she laughed low in her throat, holding the candelabra in front of her at arms’ length like a buckler.

“My lord is fickle,” Billy protested, flashing a smile at Harrington, who did a weird curtsey with all the clothes he was holding, like they were skirts.

Billy hadn’t had much faith in a lit candelabra as a buckler, but her stance was sure, and it was more effective in her hand than many a buckler he’d seen, turning his blows aside with the slightest tilt of her extended arm. With the candelabra at arm’s length, though, heavier by far than the sword, he could see the barest tremble beginning in her wrist and elbow, and he pressed forward to end the fight. The still-lit candles dazzled him—her, as much as him, he thought, nearly slipping on spilled wax, and parrying her immediate thrust.

He flicked his saber to cut the two remaining lit candles, and one toppled. Carol kicked it away, swinging around to nick the leg of his trousers, and he spun away.

Max whistled with two fingers in her mouth, and the candelabra tinked against the edge of his sword again, just nudging it the half-inch over so the tip went well wide of her thigh.

After the dancing, and the hours, days, and weeks of travel, Billy was growing winded. Her blade nearly took his ear off, and he scuttled backward, as her next swing scraped across the chain of his necklace.

Thomas cheered. “Carol!” he yelled, at the ceiling. “Carol, my sweet, my song!”

She was panting outright now, her arm shaking with the candelabra. The people around them were yelling both their names—Max the loudest, with his.

Billy let her chase him a bit, sidling around the edge of the laughing crowd until she pressed in, baring her teeth in a wide grin, the melted wax hitting his arm and chest as he ducked along the throne to block her swing, and flicked his blade to draw a few drops of blood from her shoulder.

“First blood!” cried the antlered woman, like a bell, and the tip of Carol’s blade stopped, hovering in a blur in front of Billy’s left eye. She staggered back, dropping both the sword and the candelabra, but Thomas and another woman were there to catch her. Nan Wheeler was leaning against Harrington’s shoulder—but he waited, watching Billy, so Billy picked up the sword Thomas, then Carol, had used, as it rattled across the floor, and scooped up the candelabra. The other antlered woman stepped in front of him to accept the swords, so by the time he reached Harrington, all he held was the candelabra.

“I gift to you my spoils of war,” he said, bowing with every flourish he could manage, and Harrington’s grin widened.

“The Hargrove Candelabra,” he laughed, and Billy stumbled closer, as though the floor had tilted—or Harrington were the kind of celestial body to affect the tides, and the moon, and pull comets around to light his way. “Am I your lord or your porter?” He tossed Billy’s shirt in his face, and then his jacket, but his cheeks were flushed. Billy caught them in one hand, and stretched, peeling wax from his pectorals. He used his thumbnail to scrape at the rest. Harrington bit his lip, but drew Wheeler back to the dance.

Billy allowed Max to pull him away, and thus made the aquaintance of one Lucas Sinclair, a boy who came up and bowed to her. She accepted a dance—though the music was unfamiliar—so he stayed close and showed her, and reluctantly Billy, the steps. After two songs, they pulled each other off into the dancing. Then she accepted a dance with another boy, turned to frown at Billy, and stuck out her tongue. The boy half-collapsed with laughter, and Billy went to get more punch, ladling a massive ice cube into his glass and tossing back the horrible mix of flavors with a grimace.

When the antler crown—Nan Wheeler—stepped away from Harrington again, and he turned away from the dancing, panting for breath, Billy stepped into her space. “Free again?”

“Ha,” Harrington panted. He threw an arm around Billy’s shoulders, leaning into him, and Billy felt himself flush at the proximity to Harrington’s grinning face. “Little worn out.” He was watching Wheeler dance with someone else—the same someone as before, Billy thought, possibly, trying to remember. Harrington shook his head, turning a somewhat stiffer smile on the world at large, and laughed. “He’s doing a better job lifting her spirits.”

“...I understand that’s your sacred duty?” Billy asked, wondering if a kiss would get him a meeting of steel at dawn, more serious than his earlier sword dance with Thomas and Co.

Harrington bit his lips, and when he stopped, they were pinker, and moist. Billy licked his own, trying to pay attention to what Harrington was saying. “Ms. Wheeler...lost someone, as well. She is—thinking only of the search, until her friend is found.”

“...but she sits aside you, as Queen,” Billy offered, disliking the set of Harrington’s jaw.

“I suggested the children sit the thrones,” Harrington said with a laugh, “—so she would not have to choose a King of the Hunt to sit beside her—me, or Byers there—”

Oh ho, Billy thought, eyebrows raised.

“—or maybe she would have left it free, for Barbara. Barbara Holland. There...” Harrington swallowed, watching the antlers waltz with the elder Byers, and Billy watched the movement of his throat. “There’s no formal arrangement. Between us.” Seeing the muscle work in Harrington’s jaw, Billy tried not to hope.

They didn’t dance long, Wheeler and the interloper—the interloper Billy was grateful for—before stepping away from the dance floor and consulting closely, their faces within an inch of a kiss.

Harrington cleared his throat, and laughed. “We’re—we’re riding out again at dawn. To look for Ms. Holland. They—they’ll be planning, for that.” He didn’t look like he believed his own words, and Billy put an arm around him.

“I think I know the steps, now, if you’d admit another partner,” he said against the side of Harrington’s head, and didn’t press a kiss to his jaw, despite the fascinating trickle running along it.

“I’m tired,” Harrington whispered, watching Antlers Wheeler, and Billy sighed.

“Perhaps some punch?” he whispered back, his entire awareness on Harrington’s weight against him, the smell of sweat, blood, and flowers, and the shiny depth of Harrington’s smiling brown eyes. Whatever the strain of perilous lunacy fermenting in Billy’s blood, he thought, it was a marked improvement on Ms. Wheeler’s, for her to have Harrington ready and willing and yet be disinclined to pluck him like a ripe fruit.

“Today’s been a day longer than some years.” Harrington gritted his teeth, finally looking away from Wheeler. “Might need to sit down.”

“Where?”

“Maybe the balcony? I can dance aft—”

“I hear you’ve a fine hand with steel.” Billy thumped their hips together, his arm securing Harrington as he nearly toppled.

“A better one with a club,” Harrington said with a grin, frank, before nodding at the monstrous head, “—and I was not unaided, in that battle.”

“How is it there are many here, that are not, ah—” Billy’s eyes flicked from an owl in a hat, serving itself punch with the spidery arms it kept under its wings, and then to the grisly trophy between the thrones. “—that I would not call—precisely—I haven’t met many—”

“Fair Folk,” Harrington snorted. “We are invited to their ball, in thanks for aiding them against that villain. They prefer we call them fair, over mentioning what they are not.”

“And Wheeler is also...fair?” Billy grimaced, but Harrington just sighed, casting his gaze again upon her.

“The fairest. Really, it—it was she who felled the beast.” He hauled Billy around to the side of the head, now dripping silvery, long-legged crabs as though they were blood. He waved his free arm at a cluster of arrows. “—her arrows strike true, no matter which, I mean, whose heart she aims her—”

“Finish that sentence, and I’ll empty my stomach on yon beastie,” Billy cut him off, wrinkling his nose. “Let me distract you. Before you fall out a window, sighing into a rose.”

Harrington laughed aloud. “I think...I—I’ve no dances left in me—”

“Then a fight—” Billy leaned to take the lobe of Harrington’s ear in his teeth, letting them graze over it as Harrington startled. “—or a fuck.” Billy smoothed a hand down Harrington’s spine, and squeezed him through his breeches. “Let me drive you to distraction,” Billy whispered against his ear, and felt Harrington’s skin heat.

“Wait.” Harrington turned away, lifting his hand to cover his face. “Wait, wait, wait—”

The music paused, the musicians meandering—or floating, or in one case, clambering up the wall and across the ceiling—towards the punch, and in the sudden milling crowd, Harrington pulled him away. They ducked and wove past the thrones, away from the light of the candelabras, and into a darker, narrow hallway.

#harringrove #harringrove bang #platypan #platypan fic #Dark Fairytale Edwardian romance #Like you do #Max and Billy are allies #Steve is King of the Hunt Ball #Billy duels with swords instead of fists #Mostly #Probably seven chapters?#Six written #Apologies to Lord Dunsany for riffing on his title

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drawing-way-outside-the-lines · 4 years

Photo

Felix Lupei. *Main Character.

Voice Claim: (Dylan O’Brien) https://youtu.be/YiqG5up_qeM?t=1m43s

Partner(s): Jackall, Sebastian, Omen. Parents: Evan and Akin. Kids: None. Other family members: The Cullman, Shaw and Thompson family. Daniel, and the Lupei clan. And of course his siblings, Lina, Willow, Odette, Sam and Oscar. Age: Immortal, but translates into mid 20′s. Birthday: 20th of June. Height: 178cm Body type: A bit on the skinny side, but muscly. Eye color: Light blue and pink. Classification: (Immortal) Shapeshifter —-> wolf and white stag. He’s also an illusionist (An Illusionist is a person who can change the structure of molecules to make a location or person appear different. Sometimes this can be used to mask something that is already there or to create a distraction and lead someone the wrong way. Some Illusionists can create these illusions using their mind while others choose to use a more concrete method such as drawing or writing. These types of Illusionists are more stable and less likely to get caught up in their illusions. All Illusionists have very vivid imaginations and their dreams feel very real to them.)

About: ~ Outgoing, spontaneous, brave, charming, cheeky, flirty, adventurous, social, adaptable, enthusiastic, sassy, positive, cheerful, confident, vibrant, problem-solver, energetic, creative, fearless, humorous, easygoing, easy to talk to, open-minded, capable, helpful, creative, dramatic, fun-loving, colorful, neat, popular, irresponsible, sensitive and outgoing. ~ Gay. ~ Has long silky straight black hair. ~ Has a twin sister, Odette. ~ Reincarnation of Akin and Evan’s kids through time. ~ He chose his own name as a toddler. ~ Quite a good dancer. ~ Loves making ‘spa treatments’ for his sisters. ~ Has several tattoos scattered on his body. ~ Wants to become a DJ. ~ Was in nurse training. ~ Is quite feminine at times. ~ Don’t mistake his pretty exterior, Felix packs a punch if he needs to. ~ Loves to wear makeup and dresses, skirts, heels. ~ Cat person. ~ Skilled at Fencing. ~ Very skilled at several martial arts. ~ Very skilled in archery. ~ Watches a lot of makeover programs. ~ Lives in New York. ~ Fiddles around with possible getting his own makeup tutorial/fashion Youtube-thingy. ~ Goes by the nick name Felly. ~ Fierce. ~ Can be a bit dramatic/petty/salty. ~ Smells like: DKNY - Be Delicious, Juicy Couture - Viva La Juicy, Tom Ford - Rose Prick, Lolita Lempicka - L De Lolita, Lolita Lempicka - Midnight Couture, Guerlain - La Petite Robe Noire, Lancome - La Nuit Tresor, Victor & Rolf - BonBon, Lancome - Tresor Midnight Rose, Vera Wang - Pink Princess, Katy Perry - Royal Revolution, Calvin Klein - Euphoria, Dolce&Gabbana - Dolce Garden, Yves Saint Laurent - Black Opium, Taylor Swift - Wonderstruck, Marc Jacobs - Daisy So Fresh, Marc Jacobs - Oh Lola!, Giorgio Armani - Armani Code, Christian Dior - Poison, Christian Dior - Midnight Poison and Givenchy - Ange Ou Demon. ~ Obsessed with Brendon Urie from Panic! At The Disco. ~ Loves his parents, his partners, siblings and other family members, sex, fetish sex, wearing female clothes/shoes/, any sort of luxury, all kinds of electronic music, cats, dolphins, swimming, diving, surfing, bright colors, going to the cinema, going clubbing, dancing, alcohol, making porn, meeting new people, socializing in any way, loves posing in front of a camera, candy, dildos, glitter, shopping, NY, silk sheets, being spoiled, rough sex, drugs, neon lights, beach life, beach parties, cupcakes, Champagne, stars, the moon, feeling free, chocolate covered strawberries, makeup, smoothies, coffee, bubble tea, pizza, Starbucks, Burger King and the smell of rain. ~ Dresses mostly on the casual side, preferable something with bright colors, often a crop top paired with baggy pants or jeans and chunky heels. ~ He is for the most part very positive, not much seems to get him down. People love hanging out with him, and he’s always up for fun. Felly’s tag Felly’s house/home Felly’s moodboard Handwriting/ask answer pic:

One Gif to describe him:

One song to describe him: The Black Eyed Peas - I Gotta Feeling Personal play list: 1. Thulin - Dancer (Kygo Remix) 2. LMFAO ft. Lauren Bennett, GoonRock - Party Rock Anthem 3. Alex Gaudino feat. Crystal Waters - Destination Calabria 4. Panic! At The Disco - High Hopes 5. Michael Gray - Borderline 6. Oh Wonder - Lose It (Jerry Folk Remix) 7. Avicii - Hey Brother (TEEMID & Tessa Rose Jackson Cover) 8. The Paper Kites - Bloom (Close To You) (Alex Brandt Remix) 9. Taylor Swift - ME! (feat. Brendon Urie of Panic! At The Disco) 10. Calvin Harris - Feel so close (Housejunkee Edit) 11. Disclosure - Latch (Daniela Andrade & Teemid Remix) 12. Ed Sheeran - I'm In Love With The Coco (Hitimpulse Remix) 13. Panic! At The Disco: New Perspective 14. James Hersey - Coming Over (Filous Remix) 15. Sia - Chandelier (Matthew Heyer Remix Ft. Madilyn Bailey) 16. Panama Wedding - Infinite High (Bee's Knees Remix) 17. LMFAO ft. Lil Jon - Shots 18. Wiz Khalifa - Young Wild & Free (Konglomerate Remix) 19. Victoria Magda - Pumped Up Kicks (AceLine Remix) 20. Panic! At The Disco: But It's Better If You Do 21. Daft Punk - Get Lucky (Official Audio) ft. Pharrell Williams, Nile Rodgers 22. Aloe Blacc - I Need A Dollar (Ben E & Falki Remix) 23. Ellie Goulding - High For This (Kygo Remix) 24. John Gibbons - P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing) 25. Joe Stone - The Party ft. Montell Jordan (This Is How We Do It) 26. Mr. Belt & Wezol, Jack Wins - One Thing 27. Panic! At The Disco - I Write Sins Not Tragedies 28. Fedde Le Grand - So Much Love 29. LMFAO - La La La 30. Taylor Swift - Delicate (AFG Remix)

#Felix Lupei #Felly #immortal #supernatural #shapeshifter #wolf shifter #white stag shifter #simography #ts3 #sims3 #sims 3 #simblr

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iihappydaysii · 4 years

Text

title: eudaimonia

rated: e

pairing: john/jamie

summary: To protect baby William, Jamie and Lord John run away with the child to raise him—in the year 2020. The more time they spend together in this new and unusual world, the harder it is for both of them to ignore their growing and changing feelings for one another.

read on ao3

. . .

The day passed slowly, like sap rolling down the trunk of a tree. Jamie dressed in the strange clothes Zoe gave him. A pair of “boxer-briefs” she said, then “jeans-and-a-t-shirt”. Zoe had said that phrase like that, as if it was all one thing, though he imagined it was not. Jamie asked her where the rest of it was. She laughed and said, “Stop worrying about your modesty, Princess. This is how everyone dresses.” She’d purchased Grey something similar, though the “jeans” were black and the t-shirt grey instead of white. It was simple, minimal, worlds away from the extravagance of the red coat dress he usually wore. Somehow the image evoked good garden soil, the kind that reaped autumn crops. Jamie pushed the thought away furiously.

Ever since Jamie had left Helwater the previous night, he’d been acting on instinct—the way one does in battle. It had been instinct that led Jamie to Grey’s quarters, redcoats not far behind. Maybe a touch of insanity was to blame, as he did not know what he expected Grey to do. But Jamie had found himself pounding like a madman on Grey’s door, in the middle of the night, before he even understood that he was doing it at all.

Jamie explained the situation to the major as quickly and thoroughly as possible, feeling more and more foolish as the story went on. Grey said nothing, which only increased the withering feeling between his ribs. When the redcoats first arrived to apprehend him, Grey had let them into his room. Jamie thought Grey had meant to turn him over, leaving Jamie sorting through ways to kill him and the other soldiers, with a baby in his arms, when one of the soldiers rushed towards Jamie and found himself with Lord John Grey’s pistol to his head.

Had John made that decision as he had made the one to go to him for help? With instinct and a touch of insanity?

“I ordered a pizza,” Zoe said, drawing Jamie from his thoughts. “It’ll be here in thirty minutes or less,” she put the telephone—Claire had explained that one to him— away. “We could watch something.”

Watch? Jamie thought. Watch what? He said nothing though. Second by second, he gained a greater appreciation for what Claire must’ve endured when she first landed in the past. And, unlike him, she was entirely alone.

Jamie followed Zoe out of her frankly wondrous kitchen into the room with the front door, the one they’d first arrived in.

Grey was there by the window, hands around a glass of water, looking outside. “What are those? The machines that keep passing by so quickly?”

“Cars,” Zoe replied. “They’re how we get around here for the most part, instead of horses and carriages.”

With a blink, Grey’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “How do they work?”

“Hell if I know. I just drive ‘em and don’t ask questions. I could google it.”

“Google?”

Zoe shook her head. “No, never mind. Google is too much for today. We should start with television.” She grabbed a long black rectangle from one of the small tables and pointed it at the flat black something against the wall.

The black transformed to a vibrant array of colors, organized into moving images that emitted sound.

“Dear God in heaven,” Grey said.

Jamie was speechless, simply staring, brow furrowed at the pictures.

“Pretty wild, huh?”

“How does this work?” Grey asked as he had earlier.

“Ask me again when I think you’re ready for Google.”

Jamie found himself desperately wanting to know what or who Google was and why Zoe presumed they would not be “ready for it”, when she’d assumed, wrongly Jamie might add, that they were prepared for this thing called a television.

“Deciding someone’s first television show is far too much responsibility,” Zoe said.

Pointing that rectangle at the pictures, she kept pressing her thumb down and the images would shift, showing one impossible thing after another. Then, suddenly, she stopped and announced that she had an idea. “Netflix.”

Jamie had no idea what Netflix meant, and he was wondering if he’d ever get used to all the new words and concepts this time would hold.

“What would you like to see? Forests, seas, caves, deserts?”

Grey looked over at Jamie, which made Jamie realize he’d been looking over at him already. Neither one of them seemed to know how to answer that question. Did Grey feel as small and ignorant as he did?

“Let’s go with forests,” she eventually said when they did not answer. “That will at least be somewhat familiar.”

The television changed once again, opening up to a vibrant world of deep greens and blues and shocks of violent red. The gentle voice of an unseen man spoke as Jamie felt he were sweeping over the world on the back of an eagle. He stood witness to sight after magnificent sight, each one he’d never even dreamt of seeing.

Again, he was speechless; Grey was not, however. “How do they… how is it possible…” he turned toward Zoe, then answered his own question. “You don’t know.”

It could be magic, Jamie thought, but it seemed this had gone far beyond the realm of magic and had landed among the world of miracles. Would William grow up, as Zoe had done, believing all of this to be so commonplace that he wouldn’t even think to ask how it all worked? Would, could even he himself grow to find this simply usual? No, Jamie found that impossible to fathom.

In silence, they all moved to sit, Grey to a chair by the window and Zoe and Jamie on the sofa. They watched, attention rapt, until a ring sounded throughout the house.

“Pizza’s here.” Zoe jumped up from beside Jamie and went to the door. She opened it and a man in a red shirt was stood on the doorstep. He held a large, flat brown parcel and one of those strange sacks that Zoe had brought home William’s bottles and such in. She thanked the man and took the parcel and the bag, closing the door behind her with her foot. “God, if I’m this hungry, you both must be starving.”

Jamie wouldn’t argue with Zoe. His stomach was empty, but he’d been far hungrier many times in his life and, despite his position, it was almost certain that Grey had felt the same way. Still, the food smelled unusual, but delicious, and when Zoe opened the box, the food was unrecognizable.

She looked over at John, who had just walked in behind them. “Ask me how this is made, I actually know the answer to that.”

He leaned over the top of the box to look down at the “pizza”. “Maybe just explain what it is.”

“Bread, tomato sauce, cheese and meat.”

“Tomatoes are poisonous,” Grey said.

Zoe laughed. “No, they’re acidic. Lead is poisonous and your plates had lead in the them. The acid in the tomatoes makes the lead leach out of the plates.”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly,” Zoe said, pulling one of the pieces from the large circle. She took a bite. “Super delicious and not gonna kill you.” She pulled three plates down from her cabinet and gestured to them. “Have at it, guys. There’s buffalo wings and brownies too.”

“Buffalo don’t have wings,” Jamie said.

“They’re chicken wings. Buffalo is the name of the sauce. It’s named for the town in New York where they were invented.”

“Should I ask about brownies?” Grey said with a small smile.

“Like a dense chocolate cake.”

As they were filling up their plates, Zoe opened up what she’d earlier referred to as a refrigerator and asked, “You guys want something to drink? Uh, looks like I’ve got Sam Adams and some expired almond milk?”

“Who’s Sam Adams?” Grey inquired, looking over at Zoe with his plate balanced in his left hand.

Her eyes darted towards Jamie and she grimaced. “Not sure I should tell him.”

Grey’s brow furrowed.

She pulled two brown bottles out and placed them on the counter. “It’s beer. Named after a revolutionary, fighting for uh the independence of the American colonies from England.” She grabbed a metal instrument out of her drawer and used it to remove the lids on each bottle.

“Like a Jacobite?” Grey said, taking a seat at Zoe’s table.

“Sort of. Except they kick your ass.”

A ruddy flush bloomed across Grey’s cheek and he stiffened. Zoe looked over at Jamie. “Told you I shouldn’t tell him.”

“How?” he asked, blinking.

“The indomitable spirit of the American people. That and intervention from Spain, France and the Netherlands.”

“Claire…” Jamie managed, as he still often struggled to say her name aloud. “She also said something about… it was a strange word… guerrilla tactics.” He sat at the table too, taking an offered bottle of the beer from Zoe.

“There was that too. They learned it from conflicts with the Native Americans.”

Grey hesitated, but he took one of the bottles of beer from Zoe. “This is cold…?”

“One thing at a time,” Zoe replied.

“What are guerrilla tactics?”

“If he ever goes back to his own time, we’re fucked.” Still standing, Zoe took a bite of her own pizza. “It’s basically small groups of soldiers carrying out ambushes, sabotage, hit-and-run maneuvers. It can be pretty effective when you’re up against a larger, less-mobile traditional army. God, I suddenly feel like a traitor.”

“That’s not unlike what you and the Jacobites did the night we met,” Grey said to Jamie.

“How did you two meet?”

“He tried to kill me,” Jamie replied.

Zoe gave Grey a look.

“I did not succeed.” Grey hesitated, but picked up the slice of pizza with his hands as Zoe had done. He took a bite of the pizza and chewed it slowly, brow knitting. “That’s… unusual but quite delicious.”

“It’s all the fat and sodium,” Zoe replied, her mouth full, as she joined them at the table.

Jamie did his best not to judge. He knew Zoe was whip-smart, kind-hearted and an incredibly powerful sorceress, but her lack of manners would sometimes unsettle him. When they’d met in those years after Culloden, when he was Red Jamie and hiding in the woods, she’d saved his life more than once. He respected her even if he never understood the rules she used to govern her life. He would have to meet more people from this time to know if these behaviors were particular to Zoe or if they were widespread. Grey, on the other hand, was almost painfully neat. He carried himself with the rigid posture of an English soldier, his body reaching the floor at controlled yet elegant angles. Jamie had seen him eat before, of course. Each bite he took was always precise, like a reasoned decision.

Jamie returned his attention to his own meal and ate some himself. The texture of the bread and melted cheese slid over his tongue, the flavor enhanced. Everything in this time seemed to be. Louder, more vibrant, desperate for attention.

They’d only finished a portion of their meal ,and Grey was asking Zoe more questions about the man on their bottles of beer, when a loud cry sounded from down the hall where Jamie had laid William down to sleep.

He stood up from the table and walked towards the sound, pushing open the door to the small bedroom. William was a small-bundled freckle in a sea of egg blue linen. Jamie lifted his son—his son—from the bed and stared down at the bairn’s soft pink face.

With a hush, he bounced William in his arms, smiling down at him. The bairn’s face scrunched up and moments later, the putrid stench of shit filled the room. He hurried back to Grey and Zoe in the kitchen. Jamie held the baby out to Zoe.

“The bairn has soiled himself.”

Zoe cringed. “Gross. Change him.”

“Change him?”

“Yeah, I bought diapers.”

“What are diapers?”

With a sigh, Zoe stood up from her chair and walked over to the kitchen counter where the bags from earlier that day still remained. She pulled out a blue box and tore into it. “I’ll tell you how, but you’re doing it.”

It wasn’t that Jamie was particularly disgusted at the thought or that he found himself above it. No, he simply felt inadequate. Men rarely looked after bairns in his time, at least the roles for how they were to look after bairns were more clearly defined. There were the things women were better suited to doing, and the things men were better suited to doing. Though, at the thought, he could almost hear Claire’s judgement. She was far better physician than any man he’d known and that was an occupation supposedly better suited to his sex.

“Come with me,” Zoe said, gesturing with the diaper towards the main room. “You too, John. You’re going to need to know how to do this too.”

Jamie expected Grey to protest or stay seated, but he wiped his mouth with a napkin, then stood to follow them. When he’d come to Grey for help, he hadn’t expected to reach out to Zoe too, for the three of them to end up here. He certainly hadn’t expected that Lord John Grey would be a willing participant in any of this. Maybe, Jamie figured, he should just stop assuming anything of the man. He had not the talent for it.

Zoe laid a plush blanket on the floor, then knelt down beside it. “Lay Will down here. Gently.”

The reminder was unnecessary, but Jamie understood the instinct to protect this fragile creature, so he said nothing, just did as he was told.

Zoe talked Jamie through the steps, as Grey stood behind them with a studious look on his face. She told him about wiping the bairn clean with the disposable wet wipes and about making sure to cover him in a way so he couldn’t piss all over you while you were changing him. And finally, she talked Jamie through attaching the diaper, as she called it, which was constructed of some kind of thick parchment-like material that stuck to itself.

“Who’s that?” Grey asked.

“Who do you mean?”

“The image on the front there.”

Zoe laughed. “That is the most recognizable image in the world. More recognizable than our Lord Jesus Christ. Mickey Mouse.”

“You cannot be serious,” Grey replied.

Zoe stood from where she was crouched and patted Grey’s shoulder as she passed by him. “Welcome to the 21st century.”

A few moments later, Zoe returned with a grey spotted outfit for the bairn. She helped Jamie slip his arms and legs into it, then taught him about zippers before helping him close it up.

“Such a bonnie bairn,” Jamie said, scooping his son up into his arms. He caught a soft look on Grey’s face, a gentleness in his eyes that had this way of setting him at ease, even when Jamie knew he should remain on guard. Grey had not made any advances on him since that day at Ardsmuir. The trouble was that Jamie did not know if Grey’s behavior came from the threat Jamie had made or from a genuine respect for his person. He guessed Grey could’ve taken him when he was tied up on the way to Helwater and there wouldn’t have been much Jamie could’ve done. Grey didn’t however, and Jamie really didn’t believe Grey would do such a thing to anyone who did not want it. Not after what he’d come to know of the man. Even if his... lusts still made Jamie wholly uncomfortable.

They returned to finish their food, Jamie eating one handed.

“Do you think William should visit a physician soon?” Grey asked Zoe.

“Definitely. I’ll need to figure some stuff out first though. In this time you need documents for everything.”

“How do you go about procuring documents? As, of course, we cannot confess where we are truly from.”

“No, we won’t be able to get real documents, but fortunately this won’t be the first time I’ve, um, played a little fast and loose with the law. I know people.”

“People who can forge these documents?” Jamie asked.

“Yeah, hopefully. I’ll need a picture of you guys though.” Zoe reached into her pocket and removed a shiny small device. She cradled it in her hand, sliding her finger across it, then held it up towards Grey. “Smile,” she told him. He just furrowed his brow. “Actually, never mind. They don’t let you smile anymore.”

“What is she doing?” Grey spoke from the side of his mouth.

Jamie shook his head, as Zoe pivoted the strange thing towards him and said “Your turn.”

When she finished doing whatever she was doing, she turned the thing towards Grey.

“It’s like looking in a mirror,” he said, turning his head back and forth. “But it’s not following me. That’s unsettling.”

Zoe turned the item towards Jamie, showing him a frozen image of himself, and as much as it pained him, he had to agree with Grey. It was very unsettling.

Once they finished up dinner, Jamie offered to help clean the dishes but Zoe told him there was no need. She opened up the metal box near the sink and just dropped their plates inside. Its insides were already filled with cups, mugs, cutlery and others dishes. She grabbed a small bluish rectangle from her cupboard and dropped it in a compartment.

Zoe shut the door and pressed her finger against the front of the metal box. A tiny green light illuminated on it, followed by the sound of churning water, like a river pounding over rocks.

“Dishwasher,” she said. “Explanation’s in the name.” Zoe paused again, before looking over at Grey, who was disguising a yawn behind his broad hand. “You guys must be totally beat. Willie’s asleep. Though he’ll probably wake up in a few hours for a bottle and for a diaper change, you should sleep too. Say goodbye to your full eight hours though.” Zoe laughed, then frowned. “Shit, I’ve only got the one guest bedroom. The bed’s probably big enough to share though, if you want. It’ll be cozy tonight with Will though. We can go out tomorrow and get a crib.”

Jamie’s mouth was dry as he tried to parse through Zoe’s barrage of words. One guest room. One bed. Sharing. With Grey. His heart was thudding like a rabbit’s foot in his chest. They’d been close, last night in the leaves, but this was different. This was a room with a closed door and a bed. Jamie didn’t want Grey to ever get the wrong idea again, not like he had that night in Ardsmuir. He’d yet to make himself clear again, after coming to Grey for help with Willie. Was it possible that Grey had come here under the impression Jamie would exchange his body as some kind of payment?

“One of you can also sleep on the couch, but you’ll have to argue that out.” Zoe’s words were drawn out, her eyes narrowed.

“I’ll take the couch,” Grey replied, before Jamie had the chance to say anything himself. “I don’t mind.”

The rabbit between Jamie’s ribs settled down at the major’s offer. It seemed he could put the question of John Grey’s intentions away, for tonight at least.

#lord john grey #john x jamie #outlander nonsense #my fic

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