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libramonthlyhoroscope1 · 2 years

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December zodiac signs

December Zodiac Sign – December Born People Are Sagittarius or Capricorn: Zodiac Sign for December is Sagittarius or Capricorn – Sagittarius Tropical Zodiac 23 November – 22 December And Sagittarius Sidereal Zodiac Sign is 16 December – 14 January | Capricorn Tropical Zodiac 22 December – 20 January And Capricorn Sidereal Zodiac Sign 15 January – 14 February.

About Sagittarius

In astronomy, Sagittarius is the ninth constellation of the zodiac.This means that Jupiter is the ruler of this planet. People born under this sign tend to have fair skin, good looks, and a large forehead.People also like to be nice.Sagittarius people are often daring and brave, but they will never back down in tough.

December zodiac signs

Sagittarius people are very intelligent. They learn more while talking to people. Jupiter is the ruler of these people. He makes them strong and lively. They like sports and outdoor activities. They are always moving all the time. Their heart is always looking for new experiences, so they do not like being alone or isolated from other people too much.

Sagittarians are good learners. They learn from their mistakes better than any other sign. Sagittarians might do things when they are younger that can be dangerous, like driving fast cars, but if they make a mistake, they never do it again. They like to be free and work hard, but they will eventually use their intelligence potential to reach something that seems far away. He sets his own standards for what he wants to achieve in life. He will try to reach something that is far away, but once it is close, he wants to start a new project before finishing the one he has been working on now.

He likes to be free, either by being in a place with room to move around or by being challenged mentally or physically. It is not unusual for him to have two jobs at the same time. He enjoys mental challenges so he needs physical exercise as well. Getting tired means that he is bored and needs something new. He should try to control his restlessness, or else it will cause himself and other people to be unhappy.

Sagittarius Lucky/Unlucky Important Details

Ruling Planet- Jupiter is the planet that rules these things.

Symbol – The symbol is an archer. He shoots arrows at targets.

Element- Fire is an element. It can be hot and also has a color that is red.

Lucky Color- These colors are lucky: light blue, white, cream and orange.

Lucky Stone – Lucky Stone is a yellow sapphire with turquoise.

Unlucky Stones- Unlucky Stones are Pearls and Diamonds.

Lucky Numbers- Numbers that lucky are -6, 5, 3 and 8.

Lucky Days- Do you want to know when your lucky days are? Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays.

Business Partner- I am a business partner with Taurus.

Lucky Alphabet –A, M, L and Y

Best profession: Teacher, banker, publishing, advertising etc.

Best Boss- This is the best boss. His name is Leo.

Eventful Years- Every year I add 9. So in the years 6, 15, 24, 33, etc. my next eventful year will be in the years 5, 14, 23 and so on.

Body Parts –Hips, Thighs

Good Points- Good things about me are that I’m honest, broad-minded, generous, vivacious, fearless, and independent. I also have a lot of aspirations.

Bad Points- Bad points include being over-confident, inconsistent, boastful, aggressive, and short-tempered.

Soul Mates- Soul mates are people who love each other. Aries and Leo both have fiery personalities, so they might be soulmates.

Just Say No- The star signs Taurus and Cancer say no.

Sagittarius Man

Sagittarius men like to travel and ask questions. They want to find the truth, beauty, and wisdom in life.Sagittarius men are good listeners and they give balanced answers when someone is asking them something.

Love, Sex, Romance, and Relationships

Sagittarius men need someone who understands love like them. They don’t want someone who is just like them. Sagittarius men are good at being loved because they are honest with their partners.

Understanding Sagittarius Men

Optimists are people who enjoy exploring every day. Philosophers, people who think about morality and religion, are curious.You will have fun talking with them.

Money

Sagittarius men need to be independent. They are too optimistic to overlook any of the good or bad parts of their life, and they like to plan for money carefully.

Fashion

The Sagittarius man likes to wear purple and turquoise colors. He might like to mix different styles together.

Relationships

Men who are born under the Sagittarius sign are trustworthy and happy.They are the man of advice that they give without hesitating.

Romance

Sagittarius men do not make commitments to their partner. They want excitement and new lovers.

Health (December Zodiac Sign)

Sagittarius men can get bruises, broken bones, and lots of pain in their hips. To stay healthy, they should eat foods that are good for them and not weigh too much.

Career

Sagittarius men are good at being a publisher, teacher, philosopher, consultant, travel guide or academic. They can also be an entrepreneur.

Sagittarius Woman

The woman with Sagittarius is curious. She asks lots of questions and likes to talk about many things. She does not like someone telling her what to do, so she likes to do things on her own terms.

Love

Love is a secret for Sagittarius women. Sometimes they keep it as a secret but most of the time they really want to have it.

Relationships (December Zodiac Sign)

Women who are Sagittarius like to spend time with people who love truth, knowledge, and company.

Friendships

Sagittarius women are adventurous and intelligent. They like to spend time with people who have fun.

Fashion

Sagittarius women are different than most people. They do not care about most fashion trends and only really care about comfort.

Sagittarius Children

Children born with Sagittarius as their zodiac sign are fun-loving and would grow up to be popular. They are always optimistic and full of enthusiasm, and they’re usually outspoken too. Children with the Sagittarius zodiac sign usually always try to become wise, which is why they’re often very talkative.

Exceedingly popular (December Zodiac Sign)

Sagittarius children are good at everything, so other people will like them.People who do great things are really happy.

Greatly optimistic

Children born in Sagittarius are optimistic. This helps them.

Bundle of energy

Children with Sagittarius zodiac signs have a lot of energy and enthusiasm. They have the power to do hard things, like achieve their goal.

A free and independent spirit

Sagittarians are independent people and they do not need help with their activities.

An outspoken nature (December Zodiac Sign)

Some children are quick to talk and say what they think. These children can be identified as Sagittarius. That is because they speak boldly and it helps them stay successful.

Innate hunger for wisdom

They think about the intelligence of their activities.

Sagittarius Career Horoscope

Sagittarius are truthful and see really far. A person who is open minded is accepting. Freedom is important for them to perform well. Sagittarius are adorable people who can be good at jobs that challenge their body or their mind, like being a pilot or being a teacher, so they have many choices of what job they want to have when they grow up. If someone is female, she might love to travel and spend time outside so she could join the profession of travel agent salesperson or tourism salesperson etcetera. If they are a male Sagittarius, they should work in a profession that is related to law because people from their ethnic background often work in these professions.

Sagittarians are people who have a lot of experience and can turn things to their advantage. They are good at getting the things done from their employees.Their strong personality and knowledge always helps them stay ahead of others. They will be great at teaching, speaking in public, making engineering projects or working with banks. Mercury being the lord of the profession means that they will do well in law or accounting in company law or accounting companies.

As a boss, they are good. They never let down workers or anyone else. They are honest and have a positive personality. When it comes to team-building, they handle it in a diplomatic way without any chaos. The thing that makes them successful is the fact that they have an outgoing nature for their target and positive outlook on things.

Sagittarius Health Horoscope

People who are Sagittarius can be sensitive. Small things make them feel bad. They might get gout, rheumatic pain, lumbago, or fractures. Mars and Saturn can cause this too. Sagittarians should be careful of what they eat and take their medication on time so that they don’t have these problems.

Sagittarius Finance Horoscope

Sagittarius people are attracted to wealth. They either make it or attract it. Sagittarius has talent, energy and ideas that can create their own perfect world. But they need luxury in every area of life for satisfaction. They can find their dream financial status if they improve on their organizational and managerial skills.

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venomous-five · 2 years

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Whenever I’m capturing my screen for gifs, my computer always picks up the music I’m listening to while I’m working. Sometimes it really goes with what I’m watching, like in this instance. I thought I’d share :)

This is a simple clip where nothing’s actually happening, but I thought it had strangely good timing anyway.

The movie is The Brave Archer and His Mate (1982), the song is Metempsychosis by Zhao Ji-Ping.

#video #screen capture #venom mob #The Brave Archer and His Mate #Zhao Jiping #kuo chui #candy wen xue er #chin siu ho #alexander fu sheng #lau fong sai

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mari-writes · 3 years

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☀️🏹🖤

Note: This is a drabble I wrote for a Haikyuu + Percy Jackson event on Twitter. Thought I’d share it on here, too. Of course I made it BokuAka, haha. Enjoy! ;)

Akaashi was anxious.

This wasn’t too unusual—Akaashi was often in some state of worry. It was just part of his nature.

His father, a salaryman from Tokyo, had passed down his tendency to overthink things, and even his mother’s godly gifts of wisdom and courage hadn’t been enough to cancel out those particular traits.

So yes, anxiety wasn’t uncommon for Akaashi, Son of Athena.

But this was different.

Bokuto had disappeared from Camp Half-Blood earlier that afternoon. He had even missed dinner—and it had been barbecue, his favorite.

“Bokuto-san, where are you?” Akaashi cupped his hands around his mouth, amplifying his voice through the dense forest. His heart pounded hard in his chest, worry coursing through his veins.

Bokuto wouldn’t run off like this without telling him. They were best friends. Whenever Bokuto did anything, Akaashi was always at his side, at Bokuto’s request. That was just how it was.

Finally, as Akaashi approached the river on the edge of camp, he spotted him.

His friend was sitting on a large boulder half-submerged in the shallows. He was looking up at the sky, arms pulled close around his legs, which were pressed up to his chest. His feet were bare, shoes tossed aside on the shore, along with his signature orange camp shirt—

Oh, he’s shirtless. Akaashi tried not to react to as he made his way over. But his eyes couldn’t help but soak in the boy’s rippling back muscles, sculpted from long hours of fight training.

Ordering himself to calm down, Akaashi tried to scramble up to join his friend. Bokuto offered his hand, which Akaashi gratefully took, allowing Bokuto to hoist him the rest of the way.

He sat down, legs crossed, ignoring the thrill that shot through him as his knee touched Bokuto’s thigh. “What are you doing out here, Bokuto-san?” He asked, locking his gaze to the rushing water. “Are you okay?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Akaashi saw Bokuto shrug. “Not really. But it’s okay. I’m just… having one of my moods, you know.”

Yes, Akaashi did know. Bokuto’s erratic moods were known by everyone at camp. But he usually wouldn’t run off to be alone if he was feeling sad, or nervous, or grumpy. He’d let anyone in his immediate vicinity know, right away.

“Did something happen?” Akaashi kept his voice low and steady. “Please, talk to me.”

Taking a deep breath, Bokuto unfolded himself, stretching his legs over the boulder and leaning back on his palms. Akaashi’s eyes widened. The sun was dipping low in the sky, and through the trees its rays hit Bokuto’s skin, illuminating every dip and curve.

Akaashi gulped. It was unfair, how attractive his friend was. He seemed to shine—like a shooting star, or the sun itself.

Appropriate, Akaashi mused, for a Son of Apollo…

“Do you think I deserve to be here, Akaashi?”

Akaashi blinked, tearing his gaze from Bokuto’s chiseled form. The boy’s brow was furrowed deep. “What do you mean?” Akaashi felt his face slip into a frown. “You’re a half-blood. Of course you belong here…”

Bokuto hummed, shoulders tensing. He shrugged again. “But… Do you think I’m good enough to be in that cabin?”

Akaashi was confused. “I’m not sure what you mean. You’re a son of Apollo. So you’re in the Apollo cabin.”

“Yeah, but…” Bokuto interrupted, voice raising in pitch. “Maybe I’m just a third-blood, or something? Maybe I don’t have as much of his lineage in me than I thought…”

Akaashi leaned in, trying to catch his friend’s eye. “You’re an incredible archer, Bokuto-san, and your sword fighting is unrivaled…”

“Those are just physical things.” Bokuto’s lip juts out into a pout. “Anyone could be good at those with practice.”

Akaashi pondered his words. “You’re a natural at healing…”

“But there are so many other things I’m just not good at!” He threw a hand up in frustration. “I can’t understand music theory at all! And I’m just not smart, in general. I hate reading and philosophy is so boring. I can’t concentrate, I get anxious all the time when we have to memorize things…”

Akaashi couldn’t stand to see his friend like this. What had brought this on? Had he failed a task? Had someone said—

“They said I’m too stupid to be Apollo’s.”

The words sank into Akaashi slowly. When they finally solidified, he felt his fingers, which he’d been fiddling with absently, curl into fists.

“What?! Who said that?!”

“A couple of my cabin mates. I heard them.” Bokuto continued. “They said I’m not well-rounded enough. That I’m a ‘meathead,’ whatever that means. One of them said I wasn’t worthy of my dad’s lineage…”

Fire burned inside Akaashi, anger welling up from his belly to his throat. Involuntary thoughts began circulating, detailed battle strategies of how he was going to annihilate Bokuto’s cabin mates in the next Capture the Flag.

No, the chariot races! They would team up and leave them all in the dust! He would show those assholes not to mess with his friend…

“Akaashi?” Bokuto was looking at him with one eyebrow lifted. “What’s wrong?” Akaashi realized his face was probably betraying his emotions; he didn’t usually allow that to happen.

But gods, Bokuto’s own cabin mates—his siblings, had said such awful things about him! Who gave them the right? How dare they?

Huffing, Akaashi shook his head. “I’m fine.” He turned to face his friend, reached out and grabbed Bokuto’s forearm. “Bokuto-san.” He swallowed. There was so much he wanted to say. So much he absolutely adored about Bokuto, loved about him… But he had to focus.

Now was not the time for romantic confessions.

“Listen to me. Yes, you are a son of Apollo. You do have some of his traits, and those make you a strong, capable demigod.”

Bokuto opened his mouth, ready to protest, but Akaashi continued. “But Apollo is not all of who you are.”

Bokuto cocked his head. “Huh?”

Akaashi smiled. “Your mother. The person who raised you and your half-sisters. The one who you told me was the most important person in your life, and maybe the whole world. What about her?”

Bokuto bit his lip. A small, crooked grin creeped onto his face, and his eyes seemed to glow. “Oh. Yeah. My mom’s pretty great.”

Akaashi nodded. “She’s caring, and always knows what to say when someone is feeling down or scared. She uplifts everyone around her.”

Bokuto chuckled. “She does.”

“And so do you.” Akaashi squeezed his arm softly. “You’re all of those things, and more. You make us all want to be better people. I’m a better person for meeting you, Bokuto-san.”

The smile grew. “Yeah?” He turned towards Akaashi so that they were face-to-face. The sunset cut a shadow over half of Bokuto’s features. His eyes were wide; he seemed eager to hear more.

Akaashi leaned in. “Yeah. Those traits, not your godly ones, are my favorite things about you. They’re… why I like you so much.”

He watched in delight as his friend’s face bloomed red. “Really?”

Again, Akaashi nodded.

Bokuto was silent for a moment. He just sat there, eyes scanning Akaashi’s face rapidly, like he was figuring out some challenging equation. There was energy flowing between them, something Akaashi had never felt before. It probably had nothing to do with the fact they were half-bloods.

If Bokuto wasn’t in such a fragile state, Akaashi might’ve thrown caution to the wind and kissed him, right then and there. He was just so beautiful, so precious, brave, and good…

“We should head back,” Akaashi said, desperately trying to reign himself in. “The others will probably wonder where we’ve gone.”

He didn’t think it was his imagination that Bokuto’s face fell as Akaashi pulled back. But the older boy nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s go.”

I had so much more planned for this fic, but I totally burned out this past month because of my jobs. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless! If so, please comment and share! <3

#bokuaka #Percy Jackson au #hq pjo weekend #bokuto koutarou #akaashi keiji #haikyuu!!#haikyu #haikyuu #my writing #drabble #ficlet #fanfiction

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my-soulful-remedy · 3 years

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PERSONAL INFORMATION “Don’t wait for the perfect moment to strike, strike in the current moment and make it perfect.” Name: Kialos Sage Plutonus Nickname(s): Pluto, Ki (Kee) Title(s): Pluto the Phantom Prince Gender: Male; He/Him Age: Adult; 26 human years Species: Troll Race: Gumm-Gumm Height: 5’2” Weight: 300 + lbs Tattoos: Various, swift strokes of amber upon his body, most notably, his chest. Piercings: None PERSONALITY & TRAITS Likes: Chasing things, Hunting, Debates, Sweets, Savory Food Items, Cool breezy nights under the stars, Scrollkeeping, Writing, Dislikes: Sour Foods, Cooked human meals, Complete darkness, being alone, sleeping too much, Strengths: Direction, Swordplay, Culinary Arts Weaknesses: Clumsy, Shallow, ,sometimes Aggressive, Challenges authority Fears: Losing his loved ones, being alone, Fire Aspirations: To become a strong, brave warrior Hobbies: Scrollkeeping, Writing, Cooking, Adventuring Personality: It’s easy to get to know an open person like Pluto, but if there’s anything you should know it’s that he’s determined and sociable. Of course he’s also persuasive, balanced and daring, but these are in a way distorted by being vindictive as well. His determination though, this is what he’s most well-liked for. People often count on this and his methodical nature especially when they need comforting or support. Nobody’s perfect of course and Pluto has plenty of character faults too. His demanding nature and prejudices pose plenty of problems and could ruin plenty of evenings. Fortunately his sociable nature assures this isn’t the case very often. Biography/History: He’s witty, responsible, innocent and perhaps a little too restless. But what’d you expect from somebody with his position. He was born in a fairly rich family in a developed town. He lived free of trouble until he was about 16 years old, but at that point things changed. He gained new responsibilities and was gaining a little fame. Through hard work, he is part of an adventure in a wild world. But with his capability and sense of humor, there’s nothing to stop him from reaching great success. He could quickly become an unstoppable force. But there may be more to it than this; he is currently enjoying the simpler life. He feels like there’s more to enjoy in this world. Luckily he has a great family to support him. BASIC INFORMATION Weapons/Tools: A Magic imbued Crossbow titled, Hunter’s Bane: This common compound crossbow has been adeptly constructed of valuable hickory. Its string is made from deluxe hide, it’s a fairly uncommon material around these parts of the world. The limbs have been decorated with rows of large teeth and end in curves ornamented with axe heads. The stock is wrapped in obsidian and decorated with gilded decorations. The broad quiver is made from hollowed out bamboo and is supposed to be worn around the archer’s back. The outer side has been decorated with small animal horns, which although seemingly random does have some reason behind it. In the hands of a master archer this bow is capable of firing arrows up to 70 meters while still retaining lethal power. Skills: Scavenging, Crossbow Accuracy, Writing, Rank: General, Bular’s Mate (AU) Occupation: General to the Gumm-Gumm Army Accessories: He only carries a small satchel on his person which holds the poison and magic that is used to power up his crossbow. Love Interest: Bular The Vicious Sworn Enemy: James Lake Jr. Best Friend(s): ??? Theme Song: Plumb-Beautifully Broken FACTS -He is a completely different entity in the eyes of his enemies. Around Gunmar or his dear ones, he is protective and affectionate, but when faced with danger or enemy contact, he becomes a force to be reckoned with. –He normally comes off as antisocial at best…but will open up to some. -In the tradition of his tribe, it is tradition for males to carry out an act of kindness for a stranger every solstice. It’s supposed to be a symbol of integrity and humbleness and it’s usually part of a larger ceremony that can last for a week. -In the region of The Phantom Kin, it is tradition for men to create a traditional work of art on the first day of the third month. It’s supposed to be a symbol of confidence and loyalty and it’s usually part of a spiritual ritual or festivity that can last for days –The Phantom Kin. Built upon the intense labour, bountiful nature and bitter struggles of its past, this union is now among the most adored tribes in its corner of the world. –Their trade, fuel production and clean water are among its current greatest strengths. Unfortunately they lack a little in natural resources and hygiene. –TPK is a patriarchal union. There are no opposing groups against the current leadership and this doesn’t appear to be changing any time soon. –However, the current greatest threat to the nation is a flood, but the current leadership is supported by other nations to solve this issue. –The people of The Phantom Kin are delighted. They live great lives and while natural resources might be lacking, their trade helps relieve most of their issues. –Religion holds a fair deal of importance in their lives and, if anything, has made them more faithful. The people of The Phantom Kin are moderately spiritual as well and they have an abundance of celebrations and special rituals.

#pluto #trollhunters #trollhunters oc #gumm gumm #trollsona #my art

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varricmancer · 4 years

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Intertwined | 2

*** Cross-posted on AO3 ***

Pairing: Farkas x F!OC

Summary: A child of Mara was a soul blessed and bound to its mate for all eternity. Elizabeth Williams is summoned to Mara as a lost soul, only she’s from modern America and her mate is somewhere in the wilds of Skyrim.

A/N: Quick note - Don't worry! I don't plan on rehashing the script the entire time. This part was just essential so that Elizabeth recognizes where she is and what's going on.

***

She’d gone to college so she’s woken up to some horrible things before - puke in the bed, strange houses, dates that were definitely a product of beer goggles. She couldn’t ever remember feeling this horrible, however, not even during the worst hangover in her memory.

Elizabeth’s entire body ached, from the pounding in her head to the sharp stabs of pain in her ankles. The pain was amplified every time whatever she was in would hit something and bump her. If she was in a car they were the slowest drivers of all time, and they had the top down. The sun was piercing through even her closed eyelids. She tried to bring her hand up to shade her eyes from the painful light, only to realize she couldn’t.

She tried to crack open her eyes instead, but she was still groggy and her vision slightly blurred. She took a sniff instead, immediately recoiling. Overwhelming amounts of body odor, spoiled food, and what certainly smelled like shit of both human and animal variety.

Where the hell was she?

Someone groaned next to her and she finally managed to focus enough to see clearly. She looks up into the grim face of a strange man. His blonde hair was scraggly and clearly hadn’t been washed in ages as it hung around his face. He wasn’t ugly, just kinda dirty. Like, Kurt Cobain after a roll around in some dirt.

“Hey, you’re both finally awake. You were trying to cross the border right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush same as us and that thief over there.”

She looks around, finally noticing that she’s in the back of an old rickety wooden wagon, the kind that they usually put in old westerns or other period movies. There are several men stuffed in the back with her, all of them with their hands tied in thick rope. The one nearest the back of the wagon is even gagged. She looks down at herself and notices that she is indeed tied up too, but she also has an extra rope tying to her the man next to her. The one blinking up at her groggily with red eyes set in a face of grey.

Okay...so she guesses she’s still dreaming? Her head really fucking hurt and she could barely think straight, but she felt like she knew what was going on. If only her head would stop pounding enough for her to concentrate.

“Damn you Stormcloaks... Skyrim was fine until you came along! Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn’t been looking for you I’d have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell. You there, “ he nods towards the grey man next to her, who stops glaring at his ropes long enough to lift a questioning eyebrow at the angry brunette man. “You and me, we shouldn’t be here. It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.”

“We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now,” says dirty Kurt.

“Shut up back there!”

Elizabeth startles at the sudden shout, turning to look at the drivers themselves. They were wearing what looked like medieval armor. She even spotted a glint of metal on their hips, like they were carrying real swords. She gulped and spared a look at the grey guy still tied to her, noting that he looked just as freaked out as her even if the proud tilt of his head remained.

“What’s wrong with him, huh?” The angry brunette man snorts and nods his head towards the large gagged man in the back.

“Watch your tongue! You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King.”

Apparently, dirty Kurt had said something truly terrifying, because angry brunette looked ready to piss his pants. “Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You’re the leader of the rebellion... if they’ve captured you... oh gods, where are they taking us?”

“I don’t know where we’re going, but Sovngarde awaits.”

“No, This can’t be happening! This isn’t happening!”

Angry brunette looked on the verge of a panic attack and she was afraid his terror was infectious because she was starting to freak out herself. Her mind was finally clearing of the painful fog and she realized she knew this scene. She’d seen it play out a million times. She could quote it word for word if asked.

“Hey, what village are you from horse-thief?”

“Why do you care?”

“A Nord’s last thoughts should be of home.”

“Rorikstead. I’m from Rorikstead.”

“General Tullius sir! The headsman is waiting.”

Everyone in the wagon turns to watch as two official-looking men meet to talk. Elizabeth swallows thickly when she recognizes Hadvar. Fucking Hadvar.

“Good, let's get this over with.”

“Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh! Divines, please help me!” Angry brunette mutters loudly, rocking back and forth in his seat. What was his name again? Something with an ‘L’ she thinks.

Dirty Kurt - who she now realizes is Ralof - scoffs at the men. “Look at him! General Tullius, the Military. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves, I bet they had something to do with this.” He pauses and looks around the filthy little village. “This is Helgen... I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Velod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in... Funny, when I was a boy Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe.”

Elizabeth feels her breath hitch as they turn the corner, the little scene where the father is ushering his child into the house so he wouldn’t witness the deaths scarily familiar.

The wagon is slowing even more, and she looks around, amazed that she could recognize everything. There’s Hadvar, waiting with his list. There’s his bitch of a Captain. There’s the chopping block. There’s the tower where Alduin...oh fuck.

“Get these prisoners out of the cart!”

The wagon stops with a jolt and she struggles to keep her balance. The grey guy (Dunmer, she recalls. Dark Elves) is someone that she doesn’t recognize but seems nice enough since he pushes his shoulder against her to keep her from falling over. She smiles timidly in thanks, and he nods briskly. She realizes he’s been silent the entire time. Could he be the Dragonborn? It would be a giant fucking joke on the entire world if she was.

“Why are we stopping?”

Ralof looks at the angry brunette with pity shining in his eyes.“ Why do you think? End of the line. Let’s go, we shouldn’t keep the gods waiting for us.”

Ralof stands bravely and leads the way out of the wagon, despite angry brunette’s panicked whining.

“No! Wait! We’re not rebels!”

“Face your death with some courage, thief.”

To be fair to the guy, Elizabeth was starting to feel like breathing was becoming difficult. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she could feel her entire body shaking. To be honest, she was probably in the middle of both a panic attack and whatever shock did to the body. She felt almost detached and yet this still all felt almost too real.

“You’ve got to tell them we weren’t with you! This is a mistake!” angry brunette continues ranting.

“Step towards the block when we call your name, one at a time!” the female Captain shouted. Elizabeth glanced around nervously. Any moment now she was going to wake up. Hopefully, before she had to put her neck anywhere near the wooden block still stained with past kills.

Hadvar clears his throat and adjusts his papers before turning towards the gagged prisoner.

“Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm.”

They all turn to watch as the large man walks defiantly towards his place in line.

“It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric,” Ralof nods his head towards the man.

“Ralof of Riverwood,” he moves to his spot in line proudly.

“Lokir of Rorikstead.”

“No! I’m not a rebel! You can’t do this!”

Elizabeth flinches as angry brunette tries to make a run for it. She’d always thought this part was fucked up.

“Halt!” the Captain yells at him.

“You’re not going to kill me!”

Horrible choice for your last words, she thinks.

“Archers!”

Elizabeth observes in horror as the arrow flies through the air. Surprisingly enough it landed in his knee instead of his head or gut. He rolled around on the ground, groaning. Elizabeth thought she might be going a little crazy if all she wanted to do was giggle and make jokes about guards and arrows to the knee. Maybe the guard in Whiterun was angry brunette the whole time.

The Captain glares at the rest of the prisoners. “Anyone else feel like running?”

Hadvar crinkles his nose and looks at the Dark Elf man next to her.

“Wait... You there. Step forward.”

The man did his best to walk up to Hadvar without pulling her too much. He subtly eases her behind him and quirks an eyebrow at the soldier.

“Who are you?” Hadvar questions, glancing between him and the list in his hand.

“Sundrose Droleno,” the Dark Elf answers, his voice refined and currently sounding very bored and unimpressed with the entire affair. If Elizabeth hadn’t noticed the fear flashing briefly in his eyes while they were on the wagon, she would think him unaffected entirely.

“Another refugee?” Hadvar sighs. “The Gods really have abandoned your people, dark elf. Captain, what should we do? He’s not on the list.”

The woman sneers at him and shrugs. “Forget the list. He goes straight to the block.”

Hadvar frowns, obviously trying to hold back saying something. Finally, his shoulders droop and he looks at the dark elf, apology shining in his eyes but meaningless as everyone now knew how unfair this entire thing was.

“By your orders, Captain. I’m sorry. We’ll make sure your remains get returned to Morrowind. Follow the captain, prisoner.”

Hadvar finally notices Elizabeth behind the Dark Elf, frown deepening as he notes the combined rope.

“What’s going on here?”

“He tried to stop us from taking her,” one of the soldiers that drove the wagon answered. “Figured he’d come along easier if he had his...lady friend,” the soldier snorted, showing exactly what sort of friend he thought she was.

“Enough!” the Captain shouts. “Take care of her next. Whether she’s accomplice or camp whore makes no difference. She was with the rebels. Collect her name and stand her in line.”

“Captain, I don’t think…”

“Exactly. You’re not to think. You’re to follow orders. Or do you want to join them? Don’t think I’m not aware of where you’re from. A childhood friend of yours, perhaps?”

“No, Captain,” he swallows, shutting his eyes briefly before calling her forward.

“I’m sorry. What is your name?”

She swallows to wet her dry throat, answering softly, “Elizabeth Williams.”

Hadvar raises his eyebrow but scratches down the name. “And where do you hail from? High Rock?”

Elizabeth merely nodded her head, knowing that any other answer like, “Planet Earth,” or “Arizona,” would probably get her a trip to an interrogation chamber rather than waiting out here for the inevitable outcome.

He then waves for her to join the dark elf, no one thinking to bother untying them from each other before sending them to the block, apparently. As she steps up to her place, she searches the skies frantically for signs of Alduin. Unless her being here has changed things he should start heading over here soon. Hopefully, before they made her walk up for her turn.

She hadn’t realized how much she was shaking until the dark elf - Sundrose? - placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. He leaned over slightly and whispered in her ear, “Don’t let them see your fear. Head up, little one.”

She exhaled harshly and nodded, squaring her shoulders as she resumed her search. That’s right, she’d be okay. This man next to her was the Dragonborn. She was going to live.

General Tullius walked towards Ulfric, his eyes burning with hatred and fanaticism.

“Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn’t use a power like the voice to murder his king and usurp the throne.”

Ulfric growls warningly from beneath his gag, but the General ignores him.

“You started this war, flung Skyrim into chaos. And now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace.”

Finally, the sound that Elizabeth had been waiting for rang through the skies. The far-off roar of a dragon.

Hadvar looked around nervously. “What was that?”

“It’s nothing. Carry on.” General Tullius snapped, eyes never moving from Ulfric.

Captain Bitch salutes him. “Yes, General Tullius!” She turns to the priestess they’ve so thoughtfully provided. “Give them their last rites.”

The drably clothed woman nods and turns towards the line of prisoners.

“As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the 8 divines upon you-”

“For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with,” one of the Stormcloak soldiers snaps and marches towards the chopping block. Elizabeth swallows nervously, because holy shit, was she really about to see someone decapitated?

The priestess stops and stammers, looking at the soldier with a mixture of confusion and pity. “As you wish.”

“Come on! I haven’t got all morning!” The soldier bellows. Some of his fellow soldiers snicker, not seeming surprised by this turn of events at all. He takes one last look at Ulfric and they share a nod before he drops to his knees and presses his face to that horribly stained wood.

“My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?”

Elizabeth holds her breath as they step on the man to hold him down, and she watches in horror as the axe falls and -

A hand quickly grabs her head and turns it towards the side, and she finds shelter in the dark elf’s shoulder. Unfortunately, she could still hear the moment metal met flesh and the horrifying thud as they simply kicked the body to the side like trash.

“You Imperial bastards!” One of the Stormcloak’s yelled at the executioners, spitting into the dirt.

The gathered crowd of villagers were screaming a different tune - “Justice!” and “Death to the Stormcloaks!” were the most common. The first taste the game gave you of differing views and sides.

Ralof sighed and she peeked out of Sundrose’s arm to watch him stare proudly at the corpse. “As fearless in death as he was in life.”

Captain Bitch stood at attention, smirking gleefully at Sundrose. “Next, the dark elf!

The distant roar of a dragon grew closer.

You’re an asshole, Alduin, but right now I’d really like you to hurry and get here, she thought.

Hadvar dropped his hand to the hilt of his sword, searching the skies himself.

“There it is again... did you hear that?”

Captain Bitch ignored him, too power-mad to pay attention to anything else.

“I said... Next. Prisoner.”

One of the Imperial soldiers grabs Sundrose’s arm, yanking him forward.

“To the block prisoner. Nice and easy.”

To her horror, they still hadn’t untied her, so she was pulled right along with him and expected to stand at his side as they executed him. She definitely wasn’t picking Imperials this playthrough.

Sundrose knelt gracefully, turning his head to face her.

“Close your eyes, little one,” he said softly, watching her as the headsman raised his axe.

“No need. He’s here,” she grinned, even as terror filled her at the very real Alduin flying close and landing on the stone building behind them. He roared, sending everyone around them into a panic.

“What in Oblivion is that?!” Hadvar yelled.

Elizabeth waited for Captain Bitch and the General to be caught up in the panic before reaching down to help Sundrose to his feet. They both stood there watching as Alduin set the little town ablaze, killing most of their would-be executioners instantly.

Suddenly Ralof appears and grabs Sundrose’s arm, tugging him towards one of the buildings.

“Come on! The guards won’t give us another chance! This way!”

They both run along after Ralof, with the still gagged Ulfric not far behind them. They rush into one of the still mostly intact buildings, slamming the door behind them. Ralof pulls a dagger off of one of the bodies inside, using it to slash all of their ropes. Elizabeth sighs and rubs her burning wrists in relief.

Ralof turns to Ulfric, his eyes wide in wonder - and though he would probably never admit it - a touch of fear.

“Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing? Could the legends be true?”

Ulfric finishes untying his binds and spits out his gag. “Legends don’t burn down villages.”

Alduin’s roars outside rattle the building as he nears their location, all of them looking worriedly at the walls.

“We need to move, now!” Ralof bellows, gesturing for them to follow him upstairs.

They all run until they can’t anymore, finally facing a dead end. The rest of the stairs had been smashed off by Alduin, leaving nothing but a giant hole in the stone wall.

“See the inn on the other side?” Ralof asked, turning to the two behind him. “Jump through the roof and keep going! We’ll follow when we can!”

And here she was, the end of Skyrim chapter one. She startles as Sundrose suddenly jumps without a word. She rushes towards the hole, watching in awe as he neatly lands with a slight roll, before standing up and dusting himself off.

He looks up with a charming grin and reaches both of his arms out.

“Jump, little one. I’ll catch you.”

Elizabeth gulps and walks trepidly towards the edge. She steels herself by taking a few deep breaths, staring at Sundrose as she launches herself from the edge.

Time suddenly stood still as she registered the roar of the dragon was far too close for comfort. She could feel the sweltering breath as he opened his mouth, the stench of sulfur bringing tears to her eyes. Then came the scent of searing flesh as her pained screams filled the air. The last thing she heard was the cry of horror from the man below her.

She supposed as far as ways to die went, this was probably up there. Death by video game. That wasn’t a video game. And it wasn't a dream. Because she was in Skyrim and she was very, very, awake.

***

#skyrim #farkas #farkas x reader #farkas x oc #skyrim fanfic #farkas fanfic #farkas skyrim #skyrim farkas #elder scrolls #farkas companions #varricmancer #soulmate au

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sassysatsuma · 4 years

Text

“This job it takes you, breaks you. Rebuilds the pieces but they don’t fit together the same."

Caught In The System: Chapter 33 - Lívstræðrir

Rated M

There was no idle banter in the rec room that evening.

The heavy, unnatural noises of the aircraft carrier seemed louder, more present than the new normal. An eerie quiet had descended on the men, where no one's voice ever reached anything more than a mumble. They were all exhausted, covered in ash and soot, broken and bruised. The missile had everyone shaken, but it was the absence of their medic that had truly caught their tongues.

MacTavish didn't know where he fit. Beside himself with worry, caught in a purgatory between the obligation to the men he loved and the woman he couldn't live without, he found himself being absolutely no use to either. When he should have been amongst them, a wave of reassurance in uncertain times, he faltered. Where he should have been by her side, he found himself ousted out by the medics who fought to try and stabilise her. There was no place for him to be, no words for him to say and so he loitered in the rec room doorway, back pressed against cold metal as he watched his men with worried eyes.

Every time he blinked, he could see her. They'd stretchered her off the chopper as soon as they landed, what little remained of the fatigues around her chest torn and bloody. She'd been so pale, so limp that he'd sworn his heart might stop in his chest. He'd wanted to reach for her as the medics bundled her away, in the confusion maybe he had, because suddenly Riley's hand had been at his shoulder, a strong squeeze that spoke enough sense to hold him back. Powerless, he'd watched them carry her further and further away, her white hand coated in blood dangling from the stretcher.

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Now, all there was left to do was wait, to find comfort in what little they all had left. But somehow MacTavish just couldn't allow himself that either.

"This is utter horseshit." It was almost jarring, the sudden outburst into an otherwise quiet room. MacTavish looked up as Toad stood, the young sniper still coated in a thin layer of ash. "We can't just sit around here like we're waiting for some fuckin' open casket."

"Chris... mate..." Archer's voice was hoarse, but oddly caring as a hand reached for his partner's forearm. Toad shrugged him off like he was red hot.

"What? You all really want to sit around and pretend like this is a done deal?" He took a step further into the centre of the room, arms open wide. "McCoy's still breathing, still fucking fighting in there. I for one am not writing her off. She sure as shit would hold out for us too, and every man in here knows it."

"No one is writing anyone off here." Ozone, fatigues still covered in her blood shook his head. "No one wants to."

"Then tell that to your face, Nick." Toad retorted. He marched back over to his bunk, kneeling by his pack until he retrieved a cheap looking bottle of whisky. Glancing over his shoulder, he waved impatiently at Roach. "Gary, get your ass up and bring some cups with you."

Between them, Toad and Roach filled the cups in organised silence, using everything that was to hand from the mugs from their packs to old canteens. Whisky was shared amongst every man in the room, all bar Ghost who MacTavish hadn't seen since they'd left the chopper, the lieutenant storming off before anyone could try to tell him otherwise. MacTavish was the last to receive his drink, along with a soft smile and nod from Roach. He took it in both hands like the cheap metal itself was a lifeline.

"To Bones, the toughest bitch to ever walk into this task force." Chris said with a stoic smile, mug held up at head height. "Get your ass back to us, ‘cos getting hurt's no fun when there's no one there to lecture us about it."

The room erupted into a chorus of her name, every man slinging back the measure of whisky in a single gulp. For MacTavish, the alcohol burned at his throat, but the tears that pricked at his eyes were something else. Forcing them back with a long blink, he cleared his throat, willing the emotions growing there to bubble back down with everything that he had. There was an odd moment of clarity in that darkness, caught somewhere between the whisky burn and the sound of his men talking in more than hushed tones at last.

The peace was short lived. Opening his eyes, MacTavish became acutely aware that he was not alone in the doorway, Trojan having imperceptibly slipped in to stand beside him, his arms crossed. He surveyed the Captain was an inquisitive look.

"And how is the good doctor?"

"... In surgery." MacTavish didn't doubt for a second that Trojan already knew that answer. Instead he turned his head, his features passive in the knowledge that he was still around his men. "What do you need?"

"You, as it happens. Captain Price opened quite the can of worms on your watch. Shepherd wants a full debrief."

"Now?"

"Now. Or did you forget the missile launched at American soil?" Trojan laughed, rolling his eyes. "There's a veritable shitstorm coming our way, John. The General needs to make sure that we, and by that I truly mean all of us, end up on the other side unscathed." He pushed off from the door way, a hand beckoning after him for MacTavish to follow. "So shall we?"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

After what had felt like an eternity since they got back to base, Lara finally got the all clear enough for her doctors to allow visitors. With the majority of the task force hanging back as a sign of respect, Roach made it a point of principle to be by her side when she needed him most.

No contact from his family had felt like rock bottom, a dark place and as close to breaking point as he'd ever reached. It had threatened to consume him with worry more than once, to drag him away from the very work that was sustaining him at this point.

But it had been his brothers that had truly kept him going, who had prevented the wolf of despair to truly come baring down his door. The 141 and the deep bonds that bound them so tightly together were like life support, holding him up and keeping him breathing through it all. He'd found such a strength in that, a solace that before had felt unattainable. The ability to dust himself off and carry on fighting felt that little bit easier when he had Lara, Ozone and Toad at his side.

Now, one third of that support network was laid out unconscious in front of him.

He was caught in place, the muss of thoughts careering through his head too fast to truly make sense of. He was in limbo, trapped between wanting to be useful and wanting to shrink away and hide within his own thoughts.

In the end, the only real choice was to stay by her side.

Her skin was like porcelain, pale with a greyish quality. Dark bags shaded the orbits of her eyes, her body lying flat against the sheets, the plain eggshell blue fabric pulled up so that it was tucked neatly beneath her arms. Her body was wrapped in a white and grey speckled operation robe, her chest padded out with bandages to disguise the surgical wound beneath. She'd didn't look like McCoy, but rather a pale waxwork imitation, the soft sheen to her pallid skin a world away from everything he knew.

It was strange, seeing her so still. Oddly peaceful, though it was a forced kind of peace, artificial and false. There was no relaxed quality to her features, merely a blank one that silently broke Gary's heart when ever he looked at her. His friend was still there somewhere, buried beneath a spaghetti junction of tubes, cables and equipment. She was alive, stable, saved by medics just as brave as she was. And yet, for all of Toad's grand words earlier; her war was over. Busted open and almost lost to them completely, she was going home, leaving the 141 even though Gary knew that it would be the last thing she'd ever want.

That was what broke him the most. The thought of her waking up back home and him not being there to see her. The thought of her being alone without anyone who truly understood.

Roach was used to being a brother. His sister back home drove him crazy, but in truth she had always been like a best friend underneath all the bullshit. Someone who he could tease and provoke and hate and somehow still adore and want to protect. He could still remember the feeling when he'd first met her, the day his parents came home from the hospital and placed her in his arms. He'd wrinkled his nose, oblivious to the responsibility he would feel for the tiny human he held as they both grew older.

With Lara, it was different. Gary loved her like she was a big sister, someone who in a way looked out for him in all the ways that he looked out for his own sister. She was his best friend too, someone who understood him even when he didn't have the words to express himself. She'd been the first person at his side when he'd been unable to reach his parents, the constant presence who would always check every bruise and scrape, no matter how much he tried to shrug them off. The friend who would sit and listen when he needed to vent, or who would sit by his side with a beer in silence if he needed that instead. The friend who trusted him enough to talk about everything, even the things that had the chance of destroying everything she'd worked for.

He and Lara might have been cut from entirely different cloth, but they were the same. It had felt good, to have someone with the same loves and values when he'd felt so far from home.

So far from who he should be.

She would have done the same for him, if their roles had been reversed. Somehow Roach knew that if it had been him who had taken the bullet, she wouldn't have left his side until he'd at least opened his eyes and proved that he was going to be OK. It was that thought alone that drove him to her side, to the uncomfortable, fold out plastic chair beside her bed. At this point, Gary had lost all track of time, not really bothering to check his watch and work out just how long he had been sitting there. Until their next mission, he figured that he had nowhere else to be.

There was a noise behind him, the creak of a door and the scuff of boots against plastic tiles. The medical personnel had accepted his presence at this point, coming and going around him with very little fuss. The sound Gary thought was simply a doctor doing their rounds, here to flick through a chart and check her meds before moving on to the next bay.

Instead, there was a heartbeat of silence, before an oddly soft, cockney voice rang out through all the quiet.

"She ain't going anywhere, mate."

Riley.

Off guard, Gary turned his head, looking to where the lieutenant stood behind him, his hands jammed inside his pockets. He was still in uniform, but his mask was gone, revealing a face that for all of its self confidence looked weary and just a little haggard. His eyes were bloodshot, bags nearly as big as Gary's darkening his under eyes.

A shadow of the figure that he usually cut.

"Like that makes a difference. She'd be sitting right here if it were either of us in that bed and you know it." Gary shook his head, returning his gaze to Lara. He heard Riley shift from one foot to the other behind him. "She gave us everything, man. It's about time we gave her something back."

"Yeah..." It wasn't the reply that he had been expecting, the breathy, exasperated noise final as Riley worked his way around the other side of her bed. He hung back, visibly discouraged by the cables and tubes that surrounded Lara, kicking back and leaning against the wall instead. For a long while, there was silence. The quiet had a heavy quality, an awkwardness that Gary couldn't quite shake. Riley wasn't a man to show concern or care lightly, but his presence in the room still spoke volumes. Although Gary knew more than most, he still didn't dare encroach on his friend, afraid that any words he might say would be badly received.

"She always was too good for us." In the end, Riley broke the silence first. His voice was oddly quiet, his fingers picking at the hem of his sleeve. With his head bowed he looked oddly soft, no longer the hard edged lieutenant that Gary considered a friend. "She's all fuckin' heart, always has been. But she's different... more..." He tailed off, shaking his head and finally meeting Gary's eyes. "... I wanna say softer, but it sounds like a bloody insult, y'know? Bones has some of the biggest brass bollocks out of all of us."

"Maybe that's the difference? She isn't one or the other, just a good mix of both." Gary shrugged. "All I know is that walking into Hell is gonna feel a whole lot shittier without her watching my back."

"Gonna drive her insane isn't it? Waking up out of the fight?" Riley paused, running his tongue across his teeth. A smile cracked his features. "Still remember when she did her shoulder in... worst fucking patient ever."

"Don't envy the doctors over there. Gonna have a hell of a job keeping tabs on her. Knowing Lara, she'll be back on the front lines before we know it."

"Maybe that's not something we want."

The bluntness of Riley's comment threw him and Gary paused, checking he'd heard correctly. His brow wrinkled in confusion and he turned to look at Ghost directly.

"Why wouldn't we want that?"

"...Because." Riley paused, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze. He squared his shoulders and straightened up, no longer leaning back against the wall. "I don't have to be your LT to tell you where shit is headed from here, mate. We're guys who are paid to run head first into suicide missions and somehow make 'em work. But the more Shepherd throws at us, the more our luck is gonna start wearing thin. Bones doesn't deserve to die in the mud like a bloody animal. None of you do. But at least this way... she's getting out, y'know?"

Getting out. Somewhere in between the war and losing contact with his parents, that was something Gary had barely even considered. He was trapped now, by both obligation and choice to keep on walking the path they were on, to follow order after order, dutiful and without question. They were all in the same boat, but with Lara's injury both her obligation to serve and her choice had been taken from her. She'd hate it, hate herself even and the mere thought of that made Gary's stomach twist uncomfortably. But she'd be safe, alive, healing. A part of his family would endure, would remember him if the worst was to happen.

Ghost was right. There was at least an ounce of comfort in that.

"... Besides..." Riley's voice cut into the silence again before Roach could voice his agreement. "Losing her? It'd fuckin' kill MacTavish."

Well shit.

If Gary had been blind sided before by Riley's desire to open up, then now he was completely and utterly wrong-footed. There was an unspoken understanding between those who knew Lara best that her relationships were off limits and in truth, most of what Gary himself knew was inferred rather than something he'd been told. Everyone knew about Lara and Riley and their ill fated encounters, but it was only Gary who knew that the pair had cared for each other past the sex, that they were friends rather than enemies. Gary had known that Lara cared for Riley deeply, had been there and helped her through the realisation of just how deeply she'd hurt him. He had guessed her true feelings for MacTavish too, had helped cover for them when necessary. That knowledge was a much more closely guarded secret, something that Roach had assumed was as unknown to Riley as it was the rest of the task force.

"How'd you know?"

"John's my best mate and Bones is as near as dammit the same, how could I not know?" Riley scoffed darkly, rolling his shoulders. "Lovesick bastards deserve each other, they always bloody have. Time was I'd get a kick out messing with that but now..." he paused, running a hand through his hair awkwardly as he hesitated. He lifted his head, eyes fixed on Lara as though Gary was little more than a fly on the wall. "... That's my family lying there all because one stubborn old arsehole can't follow orders. There aren't many upsides to this shitshow we're living Roach, but at least where Lara's headed no one's going to be able to fuck with her again."

"She's my family too." Gary could only shrug softly in agreement, his head hanging from between his shoulders. There was a weight on his back, a heavy stone that pushed against him and made it hard to swallow. "She knows that right?"

"It's that bad, eh, mate? Friendship advice from me?" Riley teased, although the sound rang out hollow to them both amongst the medical beeps that filled the room. The smirk on his features softened the moment he met Gary's gaze, his tired eyes filled with an alien gentleness that at any other time might have unnerved him. "She knows, Gary. Best you can do now is get some rest and look out for yourself. You know it's what she'd tell you too."

"... I don't want to leave her." The words came out as a croak that surprised even himself. Roach looked back to Lara, swallowing back the second half of his statement, unable to say the words. They had no idea when Lara would be shipped out, when the next mission would drag them all off base again. A part of him didn't want to leave her because he simply didn't want it to be goodbye already.

He was so distracted that he never heard the rustle of fabric as Ghost moved, not until he felt a firm hand squeeze at his shoulder. It was gone in a flash, almost awkward in a way and yet the solidarity behind it was never lost. "She won't be alone, mate. Now get your arse in a bunk before I have to make it a bloody order."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The room didn't feel any less heavy with Gary gone. Riley had expected it to, had thought that when he had the room to himself there wouldn't be that bitter cloud of regret and sadness hanging in the air.

But as door closed on Roach's heels, it became all too clear that the regret was all him.

He wanted to throttle Price, to have his throat in between his hands and watch as the life slowly squeezed from his lungs. Had Lara been dead, Riley doubted that he would have been able to stop himself. But as it was, Price was sitting shackled up somewhere far from the rest of them, contemplating just how many court martials could be thrown at a person. It would have been easier just to slot the bastard. They were at war after all.

He couldn't help but wonder how much Soap hated his beloved mentor right then. Was he swallowing back the same anger as Riley, hiding it behind the mask of the ever professional soldier that he always wore so well? MacTavish was a better man than him, the best friend that he trusted more than he rightly should trust anyone. But that didn't mean that Riley didn't hate the way he could just lock away the ugly parts that made him whole, to choke down all anger and resentment that walked in step with the life they’d all chosen to live.

He admired that quality as much as he resented it. Envied it maybe.

Not that Riley was all beast. Price was lucky that Lara was still drawing breath by the time his sorry arse crawled back out into the light. With trying to keep McCoy calm and conscious as Ozone fought to stabilise her, Riley had had no time to concern himself with beating the shit out of the old man. It was only when Ozone shoved him aside and out of his way that Riley even remembered Price. He'd got one good shot in, a decent slug that the old man hadn't even bothered to dodge. It had been enough to send him hurtling to the ground, nose broken as blood began to pour from his face. It had taken restraint that he didn't know he still possessed to slap cuffs on him in that moment and nothing else.

Sitting by Lara's bedside, Riley smiled softly to himself at the memory. Bones would have been so unbearably proud of him in any other circumstance.

The scars she'd left him with ran deep. He took her hand.

How was he still only just realising the ways she'd gotten under his skin? Why couldn't he have realised when it mattered, when there was still the time for him to be something more? It was a cruel, practical joke that fate had played on him, letting him spend years believing that he was little more than a still breathing ghost only to realise too late to ever properly come back to the land of the living.

He'd been as close to loving Lara as he could. He hadn't realised that until he tried to force himself to hate her, willed himself with everything he had and still not quite been able to manage it. He'd resented her, been frustrated, angry, dejected. He'd reeled from the unfairness of it all, felt sick with the knowledge that she loved John and not him, even though that knowledge had been with him the whole time they'd been together. Hell, it was half of the reason he'd got such a kick out of everything back at the start, knowing that with every visit to his bed he was being rewarded for the same recklessness his best friend warned him against. That rebellion had felt good, like he was winning some kind of argument, especially as McCoy's holier-than-thou halo slipped with every day that passed.

It had been the worst of him, to enjoy that. To let his envy and resentment fuck with the two people he cared for most.

It hadn't stayed that way for long, but he'd fought hard to lie to himself that his reasons for wanting Lara were as fucked up as they always had been. In reality, it had been hard to ignore the strength in her, the beauty in her resilience and determination. More than that, she made him laugh. Somewhere amongst it all, she turned into a mate, someone he trusted and cared for. Perhaps some of it was just the fact that she found the time to care about him too. She didn't walk on eggshells around him, was never afraid of him, showed him a reflection of a bloke he hadn't seen in years. It had scared him shitless.

But he'd loved her, in his way. Had never really stopped either.

"You're going to play Hell when you wake up, aren't you, Bones?" Riley laughed to himself, stroking absent minded circles into the back of her hand. "God... I'd pay to see it. Never known someone be a shittier patient. Doctors are going to have a grand old time trying to tell you to rest, eh?" A pause, as the levity suddenly dropped from his voice. "But... you've gotta listen to 'em, love. Don't put all of Nick's hard work trying to keep your arse alive to waste, eh?"

He could see it almost as clear as day, the stubborn furrow in her brow as she dissected the medical arguments thrown at her, the way she wouldn't rest until she was cleared and back in the fight. The beating she'd taken, even McCoy would be forced to admit that recovery wouldn't be overnight, but he could still see her, forcing her way through rehab like a woman possessed. She was a force of nature, a person who just didn't take 'no' for an answer. It was how she'd fit so easily into the 141. Only those crazy enough ever stayed.

"... I mean it, Lara." His voice was a whisper now, strained as though he was willing her to answer him. "You've got to make it. This isn't your fight any more. There's no winning in this job; it's just the same shit on a different day. But you can get out and do whatever the Hell you want. You can go back to being a doctor and save lives without ever having to worry about taking 'em again. Or go back to Sandhurst and teach the next generation of crazy bastards to be better than we were. You don't have to compromise any more. God knows, you've forced yourself to do that enough."

A lump grated in his throat alongside the words and Riley paused, bowing his head in the hopes that not looking at her might help. It didn't. Instead, the weight in his chest grew, rising steadily upwards to his throat. For all of his wise words to Roach seconds earlier, even he didn't want to imagine a task force without her.

"None of us will be the same without you, Lara. I hope you let yourself take the credit for that someday. You'll always be a part of the 141. I promise you… that's something that's never going to change."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

How had it come to this?

He was used to feeling sick to his stomach, disgusted with the man who met his eye whenever he eyed himself in a mirror. It didn't happen always, but it was there, an extension of his command that meant that he was forever a disappointment to the high standards to which he held himself accountable.

But it was rare for him to feel that same, stomach churning feeling when looking at someone he loved. Someone who was as close to a father as his own back home in Elgin.

John felt betrayed. Cast adrift, the bedrock on which he cemented so much knocked from beneath his feet. So much of the soldier he had become had been built on Price's lessons, on his no nonsense, practical attitude and the respect that followed him through Credenhill.

But this wasn't Price. It only looked like him, the silent, hunched over figure still cuffed as he sat alone in a makeshift holding cell. Through the small window in the door, MacTavish could see the blank expression in Price's eyes, the tired lines that framed them. There didn't appear to be any remorse, any regret, any frustration. He was simply held in place, awaiting judgement like a man who no longer cared what the future held for him.

MacTavish had never wanted anything more in that moment then to walk away. To go and be by Lara's side duty be damned. He'd been held away for so long, briefing after merciless briefing holding him hostage. It had been pure torture to be drip fed updates from Archer and Toad, to know that she was allowed visitors and was almost stable enough to be flown home. The man he wanted to be should have been with her, talking to her in the vain hope that his company might help. But MacTavish could only settle for the man he was, the Captain trapped by red tape and due process, somehow helping Shepherd and Shadow Company make sense of the utter chaos his mentor had left in his wake.

Now, MacTavish wanted nothing more than to hold onto his anger, to clasp Lara's hand in his and to feel the pulse still beating at her wrists. To reassure himself that against it all, she'd not been wholly taken from him, if only for a fleeting moment.

And yet he was here, still duty bound, still a man he chided himself for. Slipping into a room with a man he now loved and loathed all at once. He may have been there on Shepherd's orders, but his feet had their own agenda, driven by the need for answers to the questions he knew would plague him. He needed to understand, to confront the one man he thought he'd known inside and out.

He needed to know whether the John Price he loved was still there.

Price locked eyes with him the moment he entered, his head slowly raising from where he had been staring into the middle distance. There was the swelling of a bruise around under both of his eyes, an angry red line cutting across the bridge of his nose, rusty red flakes still littering his lips and chin. One of the lads had taken a crack at him in the chaos that had followed Lara's shooting. Soap didn't need to be a detective to work out which one.

"Soap." The voice that greeted him was a croak. It was neither a question or an apology.

"Was it your plan all along?" Soap hadn't expected the questions to come so fast, but as a grim line settled across his lips, he folded his arms, eyeing Price expectantly. He was uncomfortable to be in the same room as him, eager to get their chat over and done with as quickly as possible.

"...John..."

"Don't bullshit me, Price. I deserve better than that."

He was greeted by a heavy sigh and a defeated sag to Price's shoulders. The older man drooped back against the back of his seat, although his eyes slowly gravitated back up to MacTavish's.

"It was an... opportunity. A chance to level the playing field."

"And a chance to endanger millions." The words spat from MacTavish's lips. "What if the missile had made landfall, eh? What if the US had fucking retaliated before we got chance to stop them?"

"We're at bloody war! There's always a risk..."

"Civilians, John!" MacTavish could barely hold his temper, sick of the indifference that met him with every reply. He took a step forward, looming over Price with his fists clenched. The man never even flinched. "We're talking about innocents, mate. People we're fucking paid to protect. In what world can we put them at risk?!"

"A world where our biggest ally is bloody floundering." Price was up on his feet in seconds, hands still cuffed, although every muscle in his arms seemed to tense with the action. "Makarov wants this, can't you see? He wants as many people as possible with their eyes on the US, distracted. We needed something... anything to give the Yanks the upper hand."

“And this was the bloody answer?!”

“It was the only one I had.”

"... So you stayed fucking silent. You could have said something, planned this the way it should have been. You could have told me."

"... And put you at risk of collusion?" Suddenly Price's voice faltered, his anger lost. He looked at Soap, his cuffed hands flexing for a beat as though he wanted to reach out towards him. "... This way, the buck stops with me, son."

It was as though the wind had been knocked out of his lungs. MacTavish took a step backwards, unsteady, the small glint of emotion that now flickered within Price's eyes catching him entirely off guard. He opened his mouth to speak, but his words were lost to him whilst his mind fought to caught up.

He'd been so angry, so betrayed that he had never stopped to even consider that Price might be looking out for him.

"... How is she?" Now it was Soap who felt as though he was floundering. He looked up, meeting the older man's gaze, one eyebrow cocked as he waited for an answer. Ever since that ill fated night when Price had caught him leaving Lara's quarters, there'd been no mention of his fraternisation, the elephant in the room that neither had the heart to mention. For Soap, that look of disappointment in Price's eyes had been enough for him to never want to start that conversation, instead leaving it hanging like a loose thread between them. He'd thought that Price's pride and faith in him would stop him from ever really acknowledging it either, but locked in a room where they had both been laid bare, his old Captain was still able to read him like an open book.

Still, the look in the old man's eyes when he asked the question was as close to remorse as Soap had seen him get.

"Alive." Clammed up, it was all MacTavish could do but shake his head, a rough hand rubbing across the ridge of his mohawk, the shaved hair flanking it beginning to grow out and fade the distinct lines across his head. "Her war is over."

"Good." There was another awkward pause. "She fought hard today."

"She always does." Soap hesitated, running his tongue across his teeth. "She earned her place here, Price."

"Never questioned that, son." The expression that met his was hard to read, and in truth Soap could neither confirm or deny whether Price was outright lying to his face. After the events of that day, how could he be sure of anything? "I only question her place in your bed."

Somehow hearing the truth that they'd both chosen to blatantly ignore spill from Price's lips made MacTavish laugh. It was an almost surreal sound that wrong-footed them both judging by the way his mentor's eyebrows jumped in reply.

"We both know that Shepherd would have your balls on a platter, Soap."

"Out of the two of us, I'd say you have more to fear from Shepherd right now." The indignant smirk still plastered across his face, MacTavish folded his arms. "General has bigger fish to fry."

"And fucking about with your subordinates is still dangerous. In more ways than one."

"Still sounds a bit hollow from the man who totalled the ISS. But we're at war, right? There's always a risk?" It was petty, shaping Price's own defence to use as his own and yet MacTavish couldn't deny the powerful feeling it granted him. Deep down, he knew that Price would always have his back and defend him, from anything from collusion to his own, much more carnal mistakes. But it felt like an odd duality, how the man could risk so much for him and yet put the very people they prided themselves on protecting at risk. It was illogical, irrational even... the very characteristics that his mentor scolded him for whilst his hands were still cuffed for a much larger crime. "It doesn't matter... a few more hours and she'll be back in Birmingham, staring down those same ceiling tiles you and me learned to bloody hate. About as far from fraternising with anyone in this task force as you can get."

"Out of sight, but not out of mind, eh?" Price chided. "You need your head in the game, son. Now more than ever."

"Really? I'm the one who's bloody well lost it? Pot and kettle, Price."

"Don't be so naive. Or have you forgotten what I taught you? It's our job to walk a line, Soap. Make the tough calls, sacrifice one for the many. It isn't pretty, but that's why they keep it off the books. The dirty work that no one is ever going to earn a medal for. That's where wars like this are won."

"Maybe... but this is coming from the bloke who also taught me to respect the chain of command, listen to orders and get my men home alive. Where's that Price, eh? Or did he just happen to forget that today was my Op, under my fucking authority?" A scoff left MacTavish's lips, a flash of white teeth as his words tore into Price. Gone was his rage from before, instead replaced by something far more vengeful. He was an injured animal, lashing out at the perceived source of all his pain, ripping into him with whichever weapon he knew would cut deepest. "I read McCoy's report, y’know. Quite the fucking write up, believe me. It was your head she had concerns with, no one else's. Recommended psychological tests, the lot. Shepherd over ruled her, had me back him up because I couldn't believe that the strongest bloke I knew would be compromised... And yet here we fucking are."

He finished with a flourish, indicating down to the cuffs clamped around his mentor's wrists. When he looked up again, the eyes that greeted his were suddenly so much older, tired and exhausted. The stiffness of Price's back wilted and his posture changed, his face crestfallen as his shoulders dipped under the weight of MacTavish's words. They'd been quiet and resentful, designed to punish and he was rewarded with just that.

It didn't feel good, like he'd hoped. If anything it only made his heart ache more.

"... Haven't been whole since the day they took the regiment from me." It was a long time before Price spoke, his words more a mumble than anything else. Every syllable stung. Price's head hung from his shoulders as he spoke, as though the very emotion in his words made him unable to meet MacTavish's gaze. There was another long pause, followed by a slow, rasping sigh. Heavy eyes finally lifted to meet his. "Maybe I'm not right in the head. Maybe it's been that way longer than I want to admit. But don't you think for a second that means I stopped caring about what was right, about what was bloody important. Caring about you. I didn't ask for how today happened, but every single person on that battlefield knew exactly the kind of odds they were walking into. Maybe it's about time you stopped and thought about that too."

"Those people on the ISS, they knew what they were walking into too? How about any civilians caught in the crossfire? You can try and make this about Bones all you want, Price. But the fact of the matter is, what you did, the chain of command you ignored? It's inexcusable regardless of who took a bullet or not."

"Maybe, but I decided to live with that. I'm not asking for your blessing here, just for you to keep your head on your shoulders when your men need it most."

"Thank God for your wisdom." MacTavish let out a dark laugh. He clenched his jaw to prevent any further rebuttal, every inch of muscle tightening in his neck, his teeth grating. They were going in circles now, Price resigned to the consequences of his actions but still believing they were justified. MacTavish would never change that belief, no matter how much his mentor's blatant disregard for all that they had once held sacred stung. They were at an impasse, caught between each other's stubbornness to back down when in reality all that mattered now was Shepherd's final judgement on how to proceed.

"You're never wrong, are you John? You never misjudge, never make a mistake?" MacTavish sighed. "Time was I used to think that was strength. Now? I see you're just as shit scared as the rest of us."

"Soap..." He'd already turned on his heel to leave when Price finally spoke out. "Where the Hell are you going?"

"Anywhere but here. Turns out I can't always be the bloke you taught me to be."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Obligation and duty forgotten, Soap's legs finally carried him to the place he should have been all along.

It shouldn't have been a surprise to find Riley sitting by her side, but it caught him off guard all the same as he stepped into the room. The lieutenant gave him a once over from over his shoulder, although his eyes quickly fell back to McCoy's sleeping form. The hand that had been holding hers had retreated the second he'd entered the room.

"How is she?"

"Stable. They're keeping her under. Doctor's want her home, they're even talking about shipping her out as early as tonight."

"Tonight?" MacTavish's surprise gave him away. Somehow he'd thought he'd have more time.

"Still a war on, or there was last time I checked. Shepherd wants her out of here ASAP, wants to free up the medical personnel." Riley smiled, although somewhere along the line it became sad where it should have been smug. "Funny, would have thought you'd known about that with Shepherd pissing in your ear all day."

"You've gotta know that I wanted to be here, mate."

"It's not me you need to convince though, is it?" Riley shook his head. "Sometimes there's bigger things out there than command and duty, you know?"

Ghost had him there. MacTavish opened his mouth to speak, but any rebuttal felt hollow. He didn't have the fight left in him, his heart allying itself with his friend even if his brain stubbornly thought otherwise. Instead, he nodded, took the criticism head on and swallowed it with everything he had.

"Thanks. For being here when I wasn't, Simon."

"Didn't do it for you." Riley slowly stood and turned to him. Although blunt, his words weren't unkind. "Found Roach in here about to pass out, figured I'd send him back to his bunk." He shrugged. "I thought someone should be 'ere, so I stayed."

"She'd be honoured, mate."

"Maybe." Clearly uncomfortable, Riley ran his his tongue across his teeth. "You speak to Price?"

"Yeah."

"Any more pearls of wisdom from him?"

"No..." MacTavish sighed. "He's still convinced he did the right thing. Worst of it is, by all reports so far... he was right. American army is digging in and pushing back. It's not his motives I question, but his bloody methods."

"Man's a fucking loose cannon. Had Bones had her way, he'd have never been out there today." Riley folded his arms. "Those kind of calls are above my pay grade, but I agreed with her 100%. So did half the task force."

"What was that you said about command? Don't know about you, but all I remember was a lot of bitching in that Ops room, but not a word of outward opposition to either my, or Shepherd's authority." MacTavish frowned, the piercing headache that had begun to throb beneath his temples coming to the forefront. He was fighting back like he always did, but it was a knee jerk defence when in reality hindsight told him Riley was right. There was so much to regret, so much to be accountable for, but he didn’t need another fight with his best mate to help him see it. "What's done is done, mate. Best we can do is try and pick up the pieces. If things had been different..."His gaze slipped to Lara, voice completely unable to voice an alternative. “… It just doesn’t fucking bear thinking about.”

"Think you can forgive him?"

"Could you?"

"Never, but you're a better man than me." Riley's words were nonchalant. He was still agitated, visibly so, but he was also backing off, saving his anger and concerns for a different day. It was a shade of the best friend MacTavish hadn't seen in years. Or maybe Soap truly did just look that tired after all. "Say your goodbyes, mate. God knows, you've waited long enough."

The room plunged into silence with Riley gone, punctuated only by the rhythmic beep that denoted Lara's heart. It was odd that the first thing he noticed was how much cleaner she was than when he'd last seen her, bathed and pristine and oh so clinical. She looked young and removed, her face set into the mask of a woman he only just recognised.

Taking Riley's abandoned seat with a grunt, MacTavish became acutely aware of how stiff his muscles had become. As he sat beside her, they relaxed a little all as one, groaning with the effort. He hadn't even realised how tightly wound he'd been, how strongly his fists had clenched at his side through endless debrief after debrief.

He should have been more. Should have been there and yet it had almost been easier not to be. Once he'd known that she was stable, a weight had been lifted, but replaced by a fear of just exactly how he would feel confronted by her sudden frailty. If he allowed himself to admit it, there had been an ounce of comfort in that, in delaying the inevitable.

Now that he was here, that inevitability was regret. Sadness. Grief. An unbearable fear that this would be the last time he'd ever see her and she'd never even remember.

Maybe he'd hoped she'd be conscious, hoped that he'd be able to kiss her and give her one last verbal memory of exactly what she meant to him. That in that moment he would have stopped being a coward, stopped burying himself behind his Captaincy and would have finally let the true John MacTavish back into the driving seat, if only for a moment.

But maybe didn't count for shit right now.

Reaching into his pocket, MacTavish pulled out a familiar weight, a loop of strung wooden beads with a weighty silver crucifix attached. His Grandfather's rosary, one of the few treasures he allowed himself to keep. He hadn't prayed with it since he was a teenager under his mother's instructions, but he'd carried it with him every single day since. It was a good luck charm of sorts, a reminder of family and faith and the man he'd left behind. It had never meant what his parents had wished it to mean to him, but that didn't mean that it had never brought comfort to times where it felt as though there was none to be found.

MacTavish didn't need luck anymore. He figured that where he was headed there would be very little of it to be found. He was in this fight until it reached it's end and no faith or reminder of home was ever going to change that.

Not without her at least.

In a slow, deliberate movement, he reached forward and wrapped the rosary around Lara's right hand, winding the beads as delicately as possible between her fingertips. Tightening her grip on the beads as best he could, he leaned in closer, pressing the softest of kisses to her knuckles. Her skin was warm, but he would have given anything to feel her fingers flex at his touch.

"I love you, Lara." His words were a whisper, an admittance to himself though he wished that she could hear them too. He'd known for so long, had kept the words to himself for fear of what they represented. He'd bottled everything up as he always did, scared to love and even more terrified to lose. And yet he was losing her anyway, being robbed of the person who reminded him of everything he'd once wanted outside of the military.

It was his own fault that he'd never hear her say those words back. Just like Price, those consequences would stay with him through whatever trials came next.

He didn't have it in him to say goodbye. Instead, he pressed closer, a hand enclosing hers and the rosary beads. The tears he’d held back since the shooting finally pricked at his eyes and finally alone, he let them fall. He bit his lip, still trying to be strong in front of her even now, at a time when even she would have chided him for it. He was tired, in pain, overwhelmed under the weight of his command and everything in between. He needed his confidante, needed the person who understood him better than himself. In that moment he was every bit the headless idiot that Price had warned him not to become.

He couldn’t break, wouldn’t let himself until the job was done. But finally alone and finally free, John MacTavish at least allowed himself to feel.

Resting his head on his other arm, he lay uncomfortably at her side, seeking comfort in the warmth that radiated from her still body. He closed his eyes, clinging to the memories of her smile and laugh and trying his best to tell himself that they were real.

He hoped that she'd understand. He'd hoped that she'd forgive him, that she'd remember the man he wanted to be, rather than the man he always was.

He hoped.

#call of duty #modern warfare 2 #fanfiction #sass pretends to be a writer #caught in the system #citscape #john mactavish #simon riley #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #fic

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venomsreviews · 2 years

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Lu Feng and Kuo Chui fight in The Brave Archer and His Mate (1982). Gif set 2/2

#Their sync in the fifth gif #A work of art #Lu Feng #Kuo Chui #The Brave Archer and His Mate #Venom Mob

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doctorcanon · 5 years

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New Characters! Left to Right. Also Heavily inspired by Bravely Default.

Anissa Omidan: A former servant of the Valkyrie suddenly gifted her late mistress’s spear. Traumatized and desperate to pay respects, she goes to her Valkyrie’s homeland in hopes of making amends with her family. Only to be mistaken for Esther’s handmaiden and getting kidnapped alongside her.

X: A mercenary with no proper name, past or family to speak of. He’s the new second mate of the Rose Crusade, a famous group of sell swords. He may or may not be Esther’s missing adopted brother. Either way, he saved their lives and they’re stuck with him.

Vale Fowler: A former thief and archer desperate to leave the game and find a better life for himself and his little brother. Unfortunately, his little brother is killed and he’s left without a home to go back to. Having no where else to go, he decides to follow Esther back to Orsi to find new purpose.

Esther Tulock IV: A princess of an ambitious warrior clan that Anissa’s Valkyrie initially came from. She is currently looking for her missing brother Altair. But after being kidnapped and nearly killed, Esther ends up on the wrong side of enemy lines and tries to protect her new friends.

#x #esther #Vale #Anissa #Bravely Default #ocs #original character

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weirdletter · 6 years

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London Lovecraft Festival: A Teatrichal Celebration of the Works and Mythos of H.P. Lovecraft. February 3-9, 2019 at The Old Red Lion Theatre, 418 St. John Street, London, UK. Info: oldredliontheatre.co.uk; londonlovecraft.com.

Taking place over seven nights, the festival will have original and gently-loved productions presented to London audiences deep in the depths of darkest pub theatredom. With world premieres as well as tried and true creations, both Lovecraft novices and deeper initiates should find their palates tickled and their brains disturbed.

6:00pm Sunday, February 3rd Pickman’s Model Meet Richard Upton Pickman, an artist shunned by the establishment because of his horrifying paintings. But what kind of company has Pickman been keeping? And who — or what — pays a visit to his studio on one terrifying evening? The story is perfect material for Nunkie Theatre — one-man performances by Robert Lloyd Parry, who is best known for his adaptations of the work of PD James. He’s an amazing actor, with a real talent for bringing a story to life and sending a shiver down your spine. Although this is a rehearsed reading, the fright factor should be very high as the original story is one of Lovecraft’s best and Parry is an expert at filling intimate spaces with lurking horror.

7:30pm Sunday 3rd Night of 1000 Tentacles Clocktopus Cabaret presents: Night of 1000 Tentacles! On their second expedition, Captain Bang Bang and her trustworthy first mate, Stormina Teacup, set out for eldritch realms. Join them and a host of London burlesque and cabaret favorites, including Dolly Trolly with a brand new Lovecraft themed act, and necromantic sorcerer – er, magician – Chris Benkin with his sleight of tentacle, for an outstanding steampunk/transdimensional night of wonders. You will gasp, you will gibber, you will wonder … where did they hide those eyeballs?

9:15 PM Sunday 3rd Cool Air Dr. Muñoz has spent their life battling the forces of death. When Miskatonic University student Natalie Peaslee comes looking for help for her heart, she has no idea how far Muñoz will go to win that fight. As summer rages, they’ll both need to keep a cool head to make it out of Arkham alive. This staged reading directed by Emma Muir Smith marks the European debut of Ron Sandahl’s stage adaptation, originally presented at Seattle’s Open Circle Theatre in 2005.

7:00pm Monday 4th Lovecraft Shivers Do you like stories that make the hairs stand up at the back of your neck? Sam Enthoven’s Shivers nights have been giving aficionados that sensation of spiders down the spine for more than a year now. Sam picks and adapts the finest frightening literature and finds great performers to read it. The twist with Shivers is that these tales are then paired with live sounds from his uniquely uncanny instrument, the theremin, and some of the best up-and-coming artists from London’s experimental music scene. The result is a kind of cinema for the ears and imagination, with storytelling and sound combining to draw you irresistibly in, to reach cold fingers into your mind, to give you Shivers. The stories of H.P. Lovecraft have, naturally, featured at previous Shivers nights. We’ve performed From Beyond in the chapel of Abney Park Cemetery and Dagon in the hold of Spanish galleon The Golden Hinde. The opportunity, however, to put together a new all-Lovecraft Shivers for the festival that celebrates Horror’s dark prince himself is, like his legacy, irresistible. We look forward to scaring you.

7:00pm Monday 4th Albertina West: Reanimator Schoolmates Albertina West and Carla Milburn are scientists in pursuit of knowledge – about reanimating the dead. But when the formula only seems to work on the freshest of bodies, it’s a small step to take from robbing graves to murder. And for some reason, the awakened dead don’t seem very happy about it… In this work commissioned especially for the London Lovecraft Festival, TL Wiswell extends her suite of genderswitched Lovecraft tales to this perennial favorite. Come and see a play Borne and Walk (but not come back for revenge).

7:00pm Tuesday 5th and Wednesday 6th Providence “Life is a hideous thing.” Prepare to be amazed, terrified, and driven insane! Great Cthulhu may be sleeping beneath the sea, but in Providence, Rhode Island, Lovecraft can’t get a wink. Join the morose and miserable Howard Phillips Lovecraft, author of ‘The Call of Cthulhu’, ‘Shadow Over Innsmouth’ and other incredibly weird tales, as he contemplates the many mistakes that make up his life. His father went mad when he was four. He suffered a mental breakdown when he was eighteen. He lived with his overprotective mother until he was thirty. He loathed seafood, loved coffee and hated immigrants. Indeed he despised anyone who wasn’t an 18th century English Gentleman. But he hated himself most of all. Lovecraft’s losses were fortunately our gains as his enigmatic, tortured mind gave birth to a body of work we now consider as the foundations of the modern horror genre. Using physical comedy, live music and all the classic horror tropes you can rattle a chain at, Dominic Allen (Belt-Up, A Common Man) and Simon Maeder (Superbolt Theatre) explore a wretched life and ask a haunting question: can any love be salvaged from one so filled with hate? Winner of Vaults Festival ‘Pick of the Week’ award.

9:00pm Tuesday 5th and Wednesday 6th The Lurking Fear and other stories Nestled in amongst the Catskills, sits Tempest Mountain. Far from a vacation destination. This mountain is shrouded in death and destruction. At the heart of all the horror, sitting empty and imposing atop the mountain, is the legendary House of Martense. No-one from the town below, that lies quivering in the shadow of the Martense mansion, ever dares venture up there. Especially when there’s a storm brewing. That is until an inquisitive young journalist, with a self-confessed ‘Love of the grotesque and horrible’, finds herself alone, following the trail of what the locals will only call “The Lurking Fear”. Broken Word Productions Presents The Lurking Fear and Other Stories, an adaptation of H.P. Lovecraft’s “The Lurking Fear”, as well as an introduction to some of his shorter stories. With the aid of puppetry and storytelling, follow our Hero as she faces one of Lovecraft’s deadliest monsters. This is Broken Word’s second theatre production, following it’s 4 star debut with Train Journey at the Camden Fringe earlier this year. They are excited to be taking, somewhat of a darker turn in presenting the World Premiere of (in their opinion) not one, but two of Lovecraft’s finest horrors.

9:00pm Thursday 7th The Witching Hour Montague Rhodes James returns with another selection of unsettling tales of antiquarian terror! Brave the horrors lying in wait within “An Episode of Cathedral History”! Witness the spectral malevolent seeking revenge in “A Warning to the Curious”! One-man show and follow-up to our successful touring production of “Old Haunts”. Jonathan Goodwin plays M.R. James in a show scripted by himself, and directed by Gary Archer.

7:00pm Thursday 7th Lovecraft After Dark Allow the cosmic horror of Howard Philip Lovecraft to envelop your senses and blast your imagination! At any moment, the terrors of the Ancient Ones may be unleashed upon the world. The Elder Gods scrutinise our every deed, awaiting their opportunity to reclaim what was once theirs. Madness will be a blessing to those mere mortals who witness the crawling chaos soon to be released upon mankind! Jonathan Goodwin plays Cornelius Pike in Lovecraft After Dark. The show is scripted by Goodwin, and co-directed by Goodwin and Gary Archer.

7:00pm Friday 8th & Saturday 9th 3:00pm Saturday 9th Late Night with Cthuhlu It’s been a few hundred years since the Great Old Ones awoke from their ancient slumber and enslaved humanity. Yet somehow, against all the odds, life has gone back to normal…ish. Thankfully, the people of London now have something to look forward to at the end of a long day of suffering and toiling. A being known only as THE PRODUCER has ordered the city’s best Television Station (or maybe the city’s *only* television station) be reopened, and for the broadcast of a new state-approved talk show “Late Night With Cthulhu” to stretch its tendrils onto the airwaves. Join your hosts Arabella Fenneck Reid and Sebastian Baxter Thompson for the newest instalment of your new favourite (and mandatory) evening of post-apocalyptic light entertainment. Late Night With Cthulhu is a heart-shuddering romp through a world after the return of the Great Ones. So come along and tune in for an evening of all stars, guest stars, and things beyond the stars! If you’re lucky, you might just go insane…” Trigger warnings: Strobe Lights, Loud Noises, Creeping Dread.

5:00pm Saturday 9th Writing Lovecraft A rehearsed reading of the winning play written for the London Lovecraft Festival.

9:00pm Friday 8th and Saturday 9th The Colour Out of Space With their signature live-Foley treatment, Shedload bring the already potent storytelling of Lovecraft to life through a carefully structured mix of live readings by highly-trained and experienced actors, and sound effects, performed by our very own Foley experts. For this, we rely on a whole ‘shed’s’ worth of sound makers, including every day items such as gardening tools, coal scuttles and salad spinners, as well as more niche instruments such as the ‘sea hoops’, grapefruit (and other choice fruit & veg items), and our prized possession: the Waterphone; an instrument that will no doubt be familiar to every horror film fan. So picture the scene – a dimly-lit stage, with a set comprising Arkham’s town sign and boundaries; a lone narrator, centre stage, using to great effect Lovecraft’s faithfully-adapted writing to describe the horror of the disintegrating farm animals before him – but hang on! – not only are you picturing this, you’re hearing it too: A pig barks out its last rattling breath as its skull collapses – its rotting flesh spills out onto the ground… – voice actor, red pepper, grapefruit, and a hammer – The RØDE mic does the rest. Chilling screams from the attic, complete with nails scratching on wooden floorboard, and the palpable wail of the strange celestial matter plaguing the farm… namely, The Colour out of Space.

12:00pm through 10:00pm, Sunday 3rd through Saturday 9th Patient 4620 Gretel Sauerbrot: a once famous artist, admitted to the Raventhorne Institution and then never heard from again. You are invited to the Royal Museum of Contemporary Art, and through a series of audio guides you explore and uncover clues to Gretel’s past. This unique theatre show is a blend of immersive theatre, auditory storytelling, and art installation; resulting in a rich and sensory experience that won’t be easily forgotten. To experience the show at its fullest, audiences should bring a Smartphone or WiFi enabled device, along with a headset. In the event you cannot provide your own device and/or headset, you will be loaned items on entering the show.

#lovecraftian #h.p. lovecraft #lovecraft #weird festival #festival #theatre #lovecraft on stage #london #uk #cthulhu mythos

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