#Twilight never actually examined the horror of that

[thetrekkiehasthephonebox]

I am caught up on that fucked up vampire show in time for tomorrow amazing

I have a lot of thoughts but I keep going back to Twilight and how much of a piss poor exploration of vampires it is and honestly just wondering why SMeyer wrote about vampires when she very definitely did not want to write about vampires.

[thatpodcastkid]

Magnus Archives Relisten 5, MAG 5 Thrown Away

Trash apple teeth! Is this anything

Spoilers ahead!

Facts: Statement of Kieran Woodward, regarding items discovered in the refuse of 93 Lancaster Road, Walthamstow. Given February 23rd, 2009.

Statement Notes: There are so many posts out there comparing The Magnus Archives to the Twilight Zone because of Jon's narration and the serial creepy story format, but this episode really stands out in mind as Twilight Zone-esque. Like the Twilight Zone, some Magnus Archive episodes deal with things like childhood guilt and cult-behavior, like MAG 4. But other episodes just kind of say "Damn, isn't that fucked up? Anyway," like this one.

I do love Kieran as a character. He's just so weirdly chill and realistic about everything. There's are some statement givers who are still being tormented by the fears, some who cause fear, some who are reporting on things that happened to people they know, but there's also this interesting category of people who survived because they played the game right. When the audience says "don't go in the basement" or "call the cops," they listen. Woodward gets through this statement unscathed because he moves on from the creepy dolls heads and reports the teeth, then destroys the "gift" left for him and tries to move on. Alan can't let go, Alan doesn't know the rules of the genre, that's why he doesn't make it out.

My two new favorite characters in the series are "Matt, who was raised Catholic and never shut up about it," because he is me, and David who "broke the silence by vomiting loudly into a nearby drain," because he is the most realistic horror character of all time.

Entity Alignment: Whenever I think of this episode, I think of it as the "teeth in a bag" episode. I actually 100% forgot about the metal heart. Now, when you think of those things, it kind of sounds like a Flesh episode.

But, let's all remember our favorite bio majors and their special gift to their professor. The Stranger has a history with teeth. The description of the dolls heads is very "uncanny valley," which is the Stranger's real niche. The thing that really sells me though is Jon's last line in the statement, "All two thousand seven hundred and eighty of them were the exact same tooth." The exact same tooth, apparently from the exact same person, repeated over and over again to the point that the examiner can date them because of their differing stages of decay. You know what that sounds like to me? Someone has been practicing.

The metal heart also says Stranger to me. I know it has a little Flesh energy, but it really reminded me of the hospital episode from season 5. The way the character describes feeling like her body was not her own, that parts of her had been replaced, substituted. The metal heart as the only remanent of Alan feels like that same kind of fear. It's not his, it's not him, but it's all he's got.

Speaking of Alan, does his obsession with watching the house to the point he goes without sleep for days, isolates his friends, and is presumed dead remind you of anyone? He must be influenced by the Eye at least a little bit.

But ignoring entity alignment for a second, Jonny does consistently uses obsessive characters really well. There's a lot of horror media where, in real life, it would make more sense for the characters to give up on their investigations of the supernatural or to ignore it in entirely in the first place. The audience is usually (and rightfully) able to suspend reality for the sake of the story in these situations. But what's so interesting about Jonny's writing is that he explicitly states characters like Alan, like Amy Patel, like Jon, can't stop themselves. It's obsession, it's all consuming, they know it's bad for them, but they just can't stop. It really adds to the audience fear because you're not the only one telling them turn back, their mind is screaming it too, but they still won't listen.

Character Notes: The post-statement in this episode is just 90% Martin hate. Absolutely unhinged behavior. What if you worked at a restaurant at the end of receipts your boss just wrote "This waiter is a goddamn loser and I hate him." Wild man Jonathan Sims everybody.

[mogwai-movie-house]

Guillermo del Toro's Cabinet of Curiosities (TV Series, 2022)

This horror anthology series was, as a whole, considerably better than I’d expected, though it never really approaches the highs of the best episodes of, say, Black Mirror or Inside No. 9.  Still far better than that catastrophically awful “reboot” of The Twilight Zone, though. Here’s my episode-by-episode review of the first season:

1. Lot 36 

“An army veteran buys storage locker contents to pay off debts, but buys more than he bargained for when he purchases a lot owned by a strange old man”. 

Tim Blake Nelson, in the lead, is very good, but none of the other characters really stand out, and the ending is rushed and over almost as soon as it begins. The shoehorned-in racial politics that awkwardly bookend the episode play no meaningful part in the greater story, and the final pay-off, in which a Mexican immigrant he ignored earlier lets him die, actually works against the intended message of the the tale, in that it seems to be telling us that causing the death of other people is justified, if they ever inconvenienced you.

★★★★★★☆☆☆☆

2. Graveyard Rats 

“A grave robber eyes the riches of a wealthy new arrival to the cemetery, but must survive a maze of tunnels -- and an army of rodents -- to secure them.”    

Fairly weak stuff, mostly filler, with no interesting or memorable characters to speak of, and the steampunk supernatural elements are little more than del-Toro-by-the-numbers.

★★★★★☆☆☆☆☆

3. The Autopsy 

“A seasoned sheriff investigates a dead body in the woods and calls on an old pal, a medical examiner, to help piece together a series of chilling events.”   

Easily the best episode. Glynn Turman is splendid in a likeable and nuanced performance as the aging small town sheriff confronting something beyond his ken, and F. Murray Abraham as his old and dying coroner friend drafted in to help him get to the bottom of a bizarre series of murders. It’s kind of like the entire first season of True Detective in a single episode, but with an alien.

★★★★★★★★☆☆

4. The Outside 

“Longing to fit in at work, awkward Stacey begins to use a popular lotion that causes an alarming reaction, while an unnerving transformation takes shape. “

The other notably good episode of the series, mostly a satirical attack on the modern world of shallow surfaces, the “beauty” industry, and the lengths people will go to fit into a fantasy ideal. Kate Micucci is good throughout, and the whole thing has a Stepford Wives/Invasion of The Body Snatchers-kind of vibe to it that keeps one watching, although the story drags a lot and could have been told much better in half the time.

★★★★★★★½☆☆

5. Pickman’s Model 

“Art student Will meets introvert Richard, whose terrifying works of art begin to have a deeply disturbing effect on Will's sense of reality. “

One of a couple of episodes based on Lovecraft stories, this one has nice setting and period detail, with some solid creepy moments here and there, but the characters are shallow and underdeveloped, the monster - when it finally appears - is just a boring dollop of CGI, and Crispin Glover wins the award for the stupidest accent of the year.

★★★★★★½☆☆☆

6. Dreams In The Witch House 

“ Years after his twin sister's death, a researcher ventures Into a dark, mysterious realm with the aid of a special drug, determined to bring her back. “

By far the worst of the series, this one’s just a muddled mess, with very amateurish acting and forced diversity entirely out of place for the period in which it was set. I’ve still no idea why there was a rat with a human face.

★★★½☆☆☆☆☆☆

7. The Viewing 

“ A wealthy recluse hosts four accomplished guests at his stylish mansion for a once-in-a-lifetime experience, but their intrigue soon turns into terror. “

Visually this is amazing, and the first two-third have great atmosphere, with lots of small moments building tension. Peter Weller is a towering presence, and effortlessly dominates every scene he is in. Unfortunately, it all leads-up to nothing; the ending carries no dramatic weight, there’s an entirely unexplained monster of some entirely uninteresting sort, and then the final scene just peters out and grinds to a halt. A great pity. 

★★★★★★☆☆☆☆

8. The Murmuring 

“Mourning a major loss, ornithologists Nancy and Edgar flock to a secluded home to study birds, but the house's history reveals heartbreak and horror. “

This is the smallest, quietest and most emotional of the stories, and Essie Davis and Andrew Lincoln give fine performances as a married couple trying to distract themselves from the death of their child by losing themselves in their shared work. The rest of the episodes would have greatly benefited from this level of characterization, and the premise reminded me of Don’t Look Now in a number of places. Once again though, the ending is weak and derivative and nothing you haven’t seen many times before. Still definitely worth a watch.

 ★★★★★★★☆☆☆

[percontaion-points]

VOEN chapters 29 & 30

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Click here for the rest of the series!

Chapter 29

He bent toward Luna’s neck and rode hard for Los Ojuelos.

Chapter 29 summary: As Nestor rides away from Nena’s family ranch, he mopes about the entire situation. He never once examined the future desires he had as a 13 year old in the past nine years… If only because he thought that they’d died along with Nena. But now finding out that she was still alive rekindled that spark in him. Only for her to turn into a doormat in front of her father. 

He eventually has a moment of “What are you doing? Go back and fight for your woman!” Which is fair enough, I suppose. Despite the insistence that this is a horror novel, it’s actually a classist version of Romeo and Juliet. So I don’t think that it would have half as many good reviews if Nestor rode off into the sunset, never to be seen again. 

However, as he rides into twilight, he comes across the body of a puma, sucked dry by one of the vampires. And that only spurs him on, since he’s way too close to the ranch. 

Chapter 30

She turned on her heel and leaped over the line of salt. She set her sights on the tree line and ran.

Chapter 30 summary: Back with Nena, she grabs Nestor’s pistol and runs downstairs. As she goes, she knows that she’s going to have to do whatever it takes to save her family and her home, even if it means disregarding anything her parents tell her to do. 

In the kitchen, she arms her sister and female cousins with big knives, and asks Didi to help her spread salt over the doorways. But too late, because one already got in. She’s forced to fight it off. And it’s only now that Mama has seen this thing for herself that she begins to understand exactly what’s been going on.

As a second one shows up, Nena understands that these are the ones she and Nestor saw being captured by the yankees. That the white man riled up the monsters and set them loose on the house in order to get rid of all of the humans inside. However, Nena decides to tell the thing to leave… And to her immense surprise, it actually listens. She wonders if it’s capable of somewhat intelligent thought, or if it’s connected via her own bite. 

She then looks outside, and realises that the wooden homes of the ranch hands are on fire. She sees Beto standing outside, and tells him to bring Granny inside the main house, so he does that by physically carrying her on his back. Once Beto is in there, Nena explains to Beto about how he can try to communicate with the monsters, since he’s the only other one among them who’s been bitten. 

Beto tells her that there are about 30 yankees, but that there are others “chained up” outside of the line of sight. Nena tells him that those aren’t people, but tells him how he can hope to communicate with them, since he was also bitten. She then tells him to tell Nestor that she loves him, and leaves to go deal with the vampires. 

[autolovecraft]

There was nothing like a ladder in the tomb.

Why did you do it, Birch? Only the coffins themselves remained as potential stepping-stones, and as he considered these he speculated on the best mode of transporting them. The boxes were fairly even, and could be piled up like blocks; so he began to realize the truth and to shout loudly as if his horse outside could do more than neigh an unsympathetic reply.

There was evidently, however, no pursuer; for he was alone and alive when Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door. He had, indeed, made that coffin for Matthew Fenner; but had cast it aside at last as too awkward and flimsy, in a fit of curious sentimentality aroused by recalling how kindly and generous the little old man had been to him during his bankruptcy five years before. You know what a fiend he was for revenge—how he ruined old Raymond thirty years after their boundary suit, and how he stepped on the puppy that snapped at him a year ago last August … He was the devil incarnate, Birch, and I don't blame you for giving him a cast-aside coffin, but you got what you deserved. That was Darius Peck, the nonagenarian, whose grave was also near by; but actually postponed the matter for three days, not getting to work till Good Friday, the 15th. Birch, before 1881, had been the village undertaker of Peck Valley; and was a very calloused and primitive specimen even as such specimens go. I'll never get the picture out of my head as long as I live. For an impersonal doctor, Davis' ominous and awestruck cross-examination became very strange indeed as he sought to pull himself up, when he noticed a queer retardation in the form of an apparent drag on both his ankles. The thing must have happened at about three-thirty in the afternoon. He would not, he found, have to pile another on his platform to make the proper height; for the hole was on exactly the right level to use as soon as its size might permit. Tired and perspiring despite many rests, he descended to the floor and sat a while on the bottom step of his grim device, Birch cautiously ascended with his tools and stood abreast of the narrow transom. In either case it would have been appropriate; for the hole was on exactly the right level to use as soon as its size might permit. Birch was glad to get to shelter as he unlocked the iron door and entered the side-hill vault. It was Asaph's coffin, Birch, but you always did go too damned far! He always remained lame, for the great tendons had been severed; but I think the greatest lameness was in his soul. It is doubtful whether he was touched at all by the horror and exquisite weirdness of his position, but the other was worse—those ankles cut neatly off to fit Matt Fenner's cast-aside coffin, but you got what you deserved.

As he remounted the splitting coffins he felt his weight very poignantly; especially when, upon reaching the topmost one, he heard that aggravated crackle which bespeaks the wholesale rending of wood. His drinking, of course, only aggravated what it was meant to alleviate. There was nothing like a ladder in the tomb. The vault had been dug from a hillside, so that it was possible to give all of Birch's inanimate charges a temporary haven in the single antiquated receiving tomb. Perhaps he screamed.

Horrible pains, as of savage wounds, shot through his calves; and in his mind was a vortex of fright mixed with an unquenchable materialism that suggested splinters, loose nails, or some other attribute of a breaking wooden box. In this twilight too, he began to realize the truth and to shout loudly as if his horse outside could do more than neigh an unsympathetic reply.

At last the spring thaw came, and graves were laboriously prepared for the nine silent harvests of the grim reaper which waited in the tomb. Only the coffins themselves remained as potential stepping-stones, and as he considered these he speculated on the best mode of transporting them.

At any rate he kicked and squirmed frantically and automatically whilst his consciousness was almost eclipsed in a half-swoon. Well enough to skimp on the thing some way, but you got what you deserved.

That he was not an evil man. Well enough to skimp on the thing some way, but you always did go too damned far! He was curiously unelated over his impending escape, and almost dreaded the exertion, for his form had the indolent stoutness of early middle age. Being without superstition, he did not heed the day at all; though ever afterward he refused to do anything of importance on that fateful sixth day of the week.

[visceravalentines]

These Violent Delights

Remember earlier today when I said I couldn't write angst? Guess I lied. 😬

Inspired by the song Hysteria by Spiritbox, one of my absolute favorite bands.

2k words

Major character death at the hands of the reader. That's it, that's the fic. Violence including bludgeoning and stabbing. Zero happy ending. Gender-neutral but there is mention of reader wearing a female victim's shoes.

He knew something was wrong when you told him you didn't want to kill anymore.

He didn't make you. He needled you about it, tried to reason with you, bully you, even piled on the guilt. He actually made you feel guilty for not wanting to slaughter perfect strangers. But you stood your ground like you never had before, and eventually he backed off, reduced to snide remarks and grumbled complaints.

But the thing about no longer being complicit: what were you now? A bystander? Sure, you weren't the one who pulled the trigger and blew the brains out of that blonde girl with the cute shoes. But you stood back and watched, offered her no aid, and when you just couldn't get her blood out of the fabric of your sneakers, you took hers. They were your size.

You were a vulture. Living on carrion.

It reduced you the way killing never had. Killing had purpose. Killing was action, motion. This…this was purgatory. You were purposeless, no matter how clean you kept the house, no matter how tightly you clamped your jaw when a new batch of hapless souls wandered in. Slowly, insidiously, it started to drive you mad.

You thought about trying to talk him out of it. It, the whole thing, the whole operation. You thought about it, but you'd never give voice to those thoughts. He'd dismiss you. Wouldn't even dignify it with a quip about you going soft, wouldn't faze him at all. So you sat back and rocked on the porch and sipped beer like water as the screaming split the twilight.

When you found yourself in his playroom one night, you couldn't have recounted how you got there. You'd gone for a walk. That house was smothering. The town was no better. Every corner held a memory. Every building was a grave. The sidewalk was spotless only because you'd bleached out the bloodstains.

Your feet carried you through the station in the dark. You knew the walk by heart. Your steps were heavy on the stairs, fingers quiet on the doorknob. You did flip on the light in this room, horror movie fluorescents heaving to life.

The sight of this place almost made you smile. It was like Bo took the blackest, most rotten pieces of himself and left them here so he could go on living. It was a room designed for exorcism. It was so heavily burdened with misery - his own, that of his victims. What you felt for him had no name, just an ache deep in the soft wet warmth of your innards.

You examined the polaroids on the wall. There were almost a hundred by now. These were irredeemable. A scrapbook of suffering. You remembered some of the women. Others were before your time.

You sensed the weight suspended above you like the claws of an avenging angel: grief, shame, fear, rage, guilt, guilt, guilt. But it didn't land on your shoulders. It couldn't. You were numb to it now. Would you ever be able to feel those things again? Feel anything at all?

You were so deep in your own head you didn't even hear him come down. His voice was the first thing that broke into your reverie.

"Whatcha doin' down here?"

You didn't answer at first. He didn't speak again. He had so few words for you anymore. Something had shattered irreparably between you. Was it the killing? Or was it something else, something before?

"I'm leaving," you said suddenly. You turned to him. His expression was inscrutable. "I'm not coming back."

He looked at you with flint in his eyes, tongue running over his teeth behind his lip. "Y'know that ain't an option."

"It's the only option. If I don't leave I'll suffocate."

"I ain't gonna let you."

You felt something, for the first time in weeks. A bright red flower of anger blooming in your chest. "You can't fucking stop me."

"I can."

"No, Bo, you can't! You don't own me! I'm not part of this miserable goddamn family!"

He tilted his chin up, regarded you coolly. "Where you gonna go, darlin'? Y'ain't got a life left out there."

"You think I don't know that? You took everything from me! I cut every tie I had for you!"

"Your mistake." His voice was so infuriatingly level, maddeningly unaffected.

You had no more words for him. You pushed past him toward the door. His grip on your arm was anticipated.

"You ain't leavin'."

"Get off me." You twisted and he gripped harder. "Bo! You can't keep me here!"

"I can and I will."

You shot an elbow back, aimed at his diaphragm, connected but not hard enough as he folded away from you. You twisted your arm again, ignored the burning in your skin, managed to slip free and darted up the stairs.

"Darlin'!" he barked. "Get back here!"

You were almost at the top when his hand closed around your ankle, yanked the ground out from under you. Your face smashed into the edge of the top stair; a crunch; the immediate flood of blood from your nose. Gasping around it, you twisted to look at him over your shoulder.

"Sorry, baby, had to be done." He tugged you towards him.

How many times had you stood at the top of these stairs and helped him do this?

You didn't bother kicking at him, pulled your leg hard enough that his wrist slid and braced against your shoe, and then with a mighty jerk, your shoe popped off and your foot slipped through his grasp.

He was surprised for only a second, but you only needed a second. You were up, out, over the stairs and into the garage. You could hear him, feel him, tearing up the stairs after you.

You both knew he was faster than you, and you were almost waiting for his arm when it looped around your neck and jerked you back like a rabid dog. He pulled you to him, his breath hissing hot through his teeth into your ear.

"You ain't leavin'," he snarled. "You're gonna rot in this shithole with the rest of us."

He was hauling you back toward the stairs, his arm crushing your windpipe harder than you expected. Panic, unbidden, flushed your veins and you clawed at his sleeve, his scars, your eyes rolling wildly in search of something, anything -

Crowbar.

Your hand swung for it aimlessly. The cold metal hit square in the center of your palm. You gripped it, yanked it so hard the nail it hung on was ripped from the wall and shot across the room. You heard the hitch in his breath as he saw it arcing toward him, felt him brace for the hit, felt the impact on the back of his skull inches away from you.

His arm went slack and you broke away, spinning, panting. Bo slumped against the wall, dazed, looking at you with disbelief scribbled across his features.

"You fuckin'...." He screwed his eyes up, grunted, shook his head in slow motion.

There was a roaring in your ears. You spat blood on the floor. Somewhere, a tether broke. You cocked your arm back again and lunged at him.

He caught your wrist, barely, flung you past him and down the stairs. Your momentum was too great to stop yourself, but you seized his collar and you fell together, tumbling over one another, landing in a heap at the bottom. You lost the crowbar, heard it clang across the floor to a corner unknown.

He was up on all fours, scrambling on top of you, and you slapped at his face, trying to crawl away backwards into the playroom, your sock slipping on the smooth floor. His hand wrapped around your jaw and he slammed your head against the ground once, twice.

The pain in your skull and your broken nose was a blinding, blistering white flash that made your stomach churn. You kicked him in the groin, drove your fist into the side of his head, earned a split second of reprieve and scrabbled your way out from under him.

You lurched up unsteadily, backing away, dead end, no way out. The look in his eyes as he staggered to his feet was bloodcurdling. If you lived through this, if he managed to subdue you, you would die. It would take months.

"Where you gonna go?" he taunted hoarsely. "You're never gonna see the outside of this room again."

Your hand found the pocket knife clipped to your waistband. He's the one who taught you never to leave home without a weapon. Your fingers wrapped around the handle, thumb flipping open the blade. His eyes darted to the knife and back to your face and by the time his gaze refocused you were on him.

He put his hands up to stop you, delay you, but you could not be stopped. You drove the knife up under his ribs to the hilt, drew it back, thrust it in again two inches down, drew it back. His blood wept over your fingers, his hands were on your face, in your hair, gouging at your eyes, but you tucked your chin down and stabbed blindly again and again. The handle was slick. Your fingers slipped over the blade and the pain was dull and secondary.

He threw his weight at you and you crumbled, taking him with you, crumpling to the floor. You wrapped your arms around him and plunged the knife into his back over and over with such force your clenched fist thudded against his back, until his breathing diminished from a rattle to a whisper. The lights were flickering, or maybe you were losing consciousness, falling into a nightmare, waking again and again.

You shoved him off of you, got up on hands and knees, stabbed the knife into the left side of his chest and left it there. The light in his eyes was faint and fading. You knew he couldn't see you. You dragged yourself around his body, lifted his shoulders with shaking arms, laid his head in your lap.

There were no more words. You touched his face, leaving it bloodstreaked. It had been so long since you'd killed someone. You'd almost succeeded at forgetting the euphoria of it, the hum of victory in your nerves. You were exhausted, spent to the bone, the pain in the various reaches of your body blending into a single, subatomic roar. You bent low over him, stroking his cheek, until the wet sucking of his breathing ceased altogether.

Hysteria.

No screaming, no sobbing. Just the buzzing of a thousand flies beneath your skin. The leaching of color from your vision. The swing of the world on its axis was too fast, made you motion sick.

You craned your head back, sightless. You would never leave this room. You would run. You had to run. But you would forever be here, on the floor, licking a mess of blood and saline off your lips, his hair sticky under your hand. You should've let him kill you. You should've let him kill you. Maybe then you'd feel something. Something besides the gnawing, all-consuming emptiness that only surged in strength now that you were drawing breath in a world without him.

Hours passed, or minutes. His body never grew cold, remained horribly warm to the touch even as the blood ceased flowing and the pain in your head and hands pierced through the fading adrenaline. You'd thought you were exhausted before. This was different. You were a shambling assembly of pieces barely conscious.

Nothing special triggered your movement. One minute, you were lifeless, the next, you were lifting his head off your lap and sliding out from under him. You discovered the last unbroken piece of your heart when you set his head down on the hard concrete floor as gently as possible. That final shard snapped with a sharp and tinkling sound.

You rose to your feet and climbed the stairs without looking back. You left the garage, cast a glance up the street at the house, brightly lit on the hill. There was nothing for you there.

Limping, wearing one shoe, cradling your sliced hand to your chest, you started down the road. The stars were incredible overhead. It was a clear and beautiful night.

All you could see were fluorescents.

[powdermelonkeg]

Where the Wind Doesn’t Blow

This is a continuation. You can find the first part right here.

Time cradled the youngest hero in his arms, stiff with horror as the golden specks of Wind’s soul left his body, flickering out in the open air.

He’d been too slow.

Wind was gone. For seven years? A hundred? He didn’t know. His ears rang, the sounds of the forest fading into numbness. The gut wrenching feeling he’d had when he first woke up after touching that cursed sword returned full swing.

He didn’t notice when Twilight called for him, barely registered the hand on his shoulder, or the other heroes gathering around.

“Hey.” Snap snap. “Snap out of it, old man.”

Warriors knelt down in front of him and met his eyes, a concerned frown on his face. “There you are.” He held out his hands. “Hand me the kid. I can check his vitals while we figure out what just happened.”

Time hesitated. “He’s asleep.”

“Probably. But I don’t trust that pedestal over there.” He nodded to the stone the Master Sword was buried into, one that Legend was frantically examining for clues. Wars offered Time a half smile. “Just humor me, okay?”

It took every ounce of self control the older swordsman had to honor that request, but he relented. Wind needed as much help as he could get, and even if the worst did happen...there was nothing Time could do about it now.

Wind’s eyes flew open, and he gasped for air.

He felt...cold. Unbearably cold, like he’d been plunged into the ocean in the middle of winter. He sat up, hugging his arms to try to conserve a little bit of warmth, but he got no relief from it. It was as if the sword had taken all of his body heat away from him.

Slowly, carefully, he pushed himself to his feet and looked around, expecting to be back at camp and being watched over by one of the other heroes.

Instead, the forest stretched around him, its shadows more distinct than before, the sky an eerie teal glow, and the air thick with...something. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was a stifling power, and it gave him the sense that he shouldn’t be here.

This is not your domain, it said. You will leave, or I will make you.

Beneath his feet, a glowing flower pattern spiraled outward, the same kind that had appeared when he’d played the Wind Waker. And yet, at its center, there was no pedestal, no sword.

He was trapped here.

“The Silent Realm?”

Sky nodded. “It served as a trial for me during my own adventure. It’s like...a reflection of the world, where wind doesn’t blow and the sun never rises.” He looked over at the pedestal. “It’s a little different from the one I used, but that’s a trial gate if I ever saw one.”

“I’ve had trials from the Master Sword before,” Wild spoke up. “It sent me into a big shrine puzzle where I had to kill monsters room by room, and it powered the sword up each time.”

“Like the Cave of Ordeals.” Twilight crossed his arms, thinking. “If that’s where he is, I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s resourceful.”

“...Actually, no. It’s not like that at all.”

Everyone looked back at Sky with renewed worry, and the skyborne hero glanced away. “The trials of the Silent Realm are...brutal. Technically harmless, because if you get hurt, you just start over, but...”

“Sky.” Time met his eyes, his voice dangerously calm. “Tell us how it tests you.”

Sky hesitated for just a moment, feeling a stab of anxiety in his stomach as he remembered the various realms he’d trespassed in. “...You start in a circle of light.”

“It swirls around you, and it looks just like the gate did in the realm of sound.”

Wind stood at the edge of the circle, hesitant. It felt...important. Almost familiar.

Almost.

“It’s your one point of safety in that world, a small mercy from the Goddess. As long as you stay inside that ring, nothing can touch you.”

He took a deep breath. He could face whatever came his way. He’s a hero, he’s faced sea monsters, giant poes, and worse. With determination, he put a foot forward and left the ring.

“But the second you step outside that ring—”

His foot touched the ground.

“—It’s like the Goddess herself has abandoned you.”

In an instant, all Calamity broke loose.

The sky flashed red, the peaceful chime of bells in the distance breaking with a crunch like shattered glass, replaced with the stomp of heavy armor. Wind’s eyes widened, and he reached for the Phantom Sword, only to grasp air.

A silver suit of armor emerged from the trees before him. Its eyes flashed menacingly, and it charged at him, blade drawn.

Wind bolted.

“THERE HE IS!”

Wild interrupted Sky’s explanation, leaping to his feet and pointing. Everyone quickly turned to look at what he’d seen.

There was nothing there.

Wars looked at his fellow soldier with a frown. “I don’t see any-”

“Kid! Come back!” Wild exclaimed, taking off after the phantom Wind as fast as his legs would take him.

The other heroes exchanged a concerned glance, then hastily ran after him.

Wind fled through the Lost Woods, not daring to look behind him. He didn’t need to; the resounding clank of armor echoing through the forest was enough to keep him locked into a sprint.

The mist in the woods intensified—he found himself back in the edge of the clearing, face to face with one of the Metal Guardians. It raised its blade high-

Wild froze in horror as he watched Wind disappear, the look of sheer terror on the teenager’s face now a haunting memory.

“Hey!” Legend stepped in front of him. “What happened?! You got wound up in the Woods and-”

“He’s gone,” Wild replied, running a hand through his hair. “It looked like he got stabbed.”

Time’s eyes widened, and Sky quickly held out a hand to stop the leader from panicking. “He’s okay,” he said, “he just got found. He’ll start right back at the sword.”

“Are you sure?” Wild looked at Sky desperately. “He looked like—”

“Positive.” Sky walked back over to the gate. “When I got hit, I would always appear at the entry point.” His eyes drifted down to the sword. “...Fi was always able to offer me some support when it happened.” He rested his hand on the hilt. “I just—”

“—wish she could do the same for him.”

Wind bolted upright, still clutching where the Guardian’s sword should have cleaved him in two. “Sky?!”

“Kid?!” Sky’s voice seemed to echo around him. “You can hear me?!”

“I—yeah.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. There was no way he was going to cry here. “Yeah, I can hear you. Where—Where are you? Where are we?”

“I’m...back in the world of sound.” Wind heard Sky take a deep breath. “Alright. You need to listen to me, okay? I’m going to try to help you through this. This place is called the Silent Realm, and it's not exactly known for being hospitable.”

[unmaskedagain]

Sorry, it’s reserved

  Honestly neither Marinette nor Chloe had been surprised when Bustier caved to Alya’s insistent requests that the two girls not be allowed to go on the class trip to New York City. Lila had been subtly hinting about how much friendly better thing would be if they weren’t there.

           Mostly because just two weeks ago, Marinette had presented her class trip idea presentation; complete with a potential itinerary, pictures of the grand hotel could stay at, the fantastic tours they could go on, and exciting places they could eat. The class had been suitable wow’d.

           What was surprising was when, after Bustier announced in front of the class that Marinette and Chloe couldn’t go to New York much to the smug faces of the students, Adrien said, “Cool. Then I’ll skip the class trip too.” He then turned to his two best friends. “What do you two want to do instead?” Adrien was sick and tired of the other students in the class. He had been trying to get them to believe Lila was a liar for months but no one, not even Nino, would listen to him.

           Instead, they turned on the two most awesome girls in the class. Well, Adrien wasn’t going to deal with it anymore.

           The look of horror on Lila’s face was priceless. However, there was no backtracking now. The dream of a romantic trip to New York, walking hand in hand with Adrien, burst into flames and was now nothing more than ashes.

“Yeah, I won’t go either,” Nathaniel stated. “Doesn’t seem fair. Marinette worked really hard on the idea for the trip.” He never bought Lila’s crap, and he never understood how anyone else did.

           Marinette smirked, “I’m up for whatever.” She shrugged. “I’m actually looking forward to now having to organize the trip. Or fundraise for it. And to think I was going to start working this weekend.” The bluenette made sure to look directly at Bustier and Alya, her ex-friend when she said this. “Its only October but believe me, you’ll want to start making reservations fast. Nothing was done but the presentation; which you can have by the way. And just a reminder, a lot of places do require a down payment. Also, don’t forget approval from the school board.”

“Which takes like three months btw,” Chloe said with a vicious smile on her face. She was the last class president. She knew exactly how hard getting a fabulous trip approved of was. “Paperwork has to be filled out in triplicates and if you mess up on even one form, they’ll make you fill out the entire thing again.” She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text. “I just let Daddy know that he won’t have to make his annual donation this year for the trip. If you don’t want us there you obviously don’t need it. And to think, he usually funds thirty percent of it. But I’m sure you already knew that.”

           By the looks on the other students’ faces, it was clear that they didn’t know that. However, pride wouldn’t let them back down. Besides, Alya thought, they had the moral high ground. Who wanted to hang with bullies anyway?

           To the other students’ credit, they did manage to raise enough money for the trip to New York. Granted, it wasn’t nearly as much as they usually did. Alya, the new class president, also forgot to make most of the reservations until the last minute, and it was hard to find a fancy hotel willing to accommodate an entire class of rowdy teenagers at the last minute. So they would stay at a Holiday Inn just outside of New York City. The glasses-wearing girl wished Lila had been so busy with her charity work so she would’ve had time to help and maybe they could’ve gotten a much better trip.

           By the end, the class trip the class would be getting wasn’t nearly as were or amazing as the one Marinette had presented at the beginning of the year. However, most were just happy to be going to New York.

           Lila shot four exiled students a victorious look as she bragged about all the things and people she’d get to see in New York. She had spent months trying to get Adrien to agree to go on the trip but he wouldn’t budge.

She sighed dramatically, “I love New York. The only bad part are the superheroes. Last time I was there Robin and Speedy practically got into a fistfight over who’d take me on a date. I hate getting in the way of friendships.”  Marinette snorted. “We leave for New York in three weeks. What will you three be doing then?”

“Waiting for a house to fall on you,” Marinette said easily.

           Adrien chuckled, “We leave for L.A in two days.”

           That got the classes’ attention.

“Sorry, What?” Alya asked; suddenly getting a bad feeling in her stomach.

           Chloe leaned back in her seat, “L.A. It was my idea. We decided since we couldn’t go on your trip we’d go on our own. Let's see… our first stop in L.A, we’ll be there for about a week; we’ll tour some movie studios, go on set for the Star Trek movie that filming. Attending the movie premiere of the newest Marvel movie. Then leave for Indio; it's not that far from L.A, I think. But who cares. We have to be at Coachella, even if only for two days. Then we go to Metropolis. And I can’t remember… Marinette what did you plan for us to do? It was her idea to go there.” She told the class who had looks of sheer dismay on their faces that got worse and worse as the four described the trip.

           Marinette smiled, “Tour of LexCorp, a tour of Daily Planet, reservations for the grand opening of Gordon Ramsey’s new restaurant, we got backstage passes for a 5 seconds of Summer concert-” She was cut off

“Why couldn’t we go see Selena Gomez again?” Adrien frowned.

           Marinette rolled her eyes, “Because you couldn’t beat Chloe in an arm-wrestling contest.”

“She is freakishly strong,” Adrien protested. “And she plays mind games!”

           Chloe blew a raspberry at the other blond.

“We’ll be in Metropolis for about a week,” Marinette continued, as her two friends bickered and Adrien declared he would have his vengeance. “Then Adrien got to pick where we next.”

“Disney World!” The blond shouted. It was his biggest childhood dream and it was becoming a reality. “We’re going to Florida to Disney World, and then Universal Studios; where we’ll get to see the Magical World of Harry Potter.”

“Geek!” Chloe sniped.

“Slytherin!” Adrien hissed back at her.

“And proud,” Chloe crossed her arms. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Hufflepuff?” She said the Hogwarts’ house like it was a dirty word. “Most notable thing a Hufflepuff ever did was die. And then somehow ended up in Twilight.”

           Adrien stood up angrily, “You take that back!”

“Make me!”

           Adrien looked at Nathaniel, “Ravenclaw, do something!” Their two houses went together like PB&J.

           Nathaniel put down his pencil, “No.” And went back to writing. “Make the Gryffindor do it!” He motioned to Marinette.

           Marinette just looked up at the ceiling, praying to gods’ for patience.

           Adrien, she was suddenly reminded, was loyal enough to help hide a body.

           Nathaniel was smart enough to have already come up with an alibi.

           Chloe as conning enough to ensure they got away it, after goading Marinette into doing it in the first place.

           Marinette would eventually snap and kill Lila. She would need them. “We’ll be in Florida for about four days; enough to see both amusement parks. Then all four of us agreed to go to New York next. First, stop Gotham; we’ll be touring Wayne Industries and attending one of the Wayne family annual galas.”

“Then we go directly to New York City,” Chloe said examining her nails. “Mama arranged us a tour of Vogue and Mode. We’ll be going to a few of the runways for Fashion Week. Adrien’s father arranged for us to go see Hamilton on Broadway.”

           It had taken a lot of time, effort, threats of going to the police, press, and CPS regarding child labor laws broken concerning Adrien to get Gabriel Agreste to agree to let his son go on the trip (as well as allow him to actually have a childhood). But there had been several conditions; mostly to do with security and proper supervision; which all the parents had, though not to Gabriel’s extremeness.

           Still, the four kids agreed to the terms.

“We’re going to a baseball game!” Adrien added excitedly. “A real one. I’m going to eat a hot dog the size of my arm. And cotton candy the size of my head.”

           Marinette nodded slowly, already picturing herself patting Adrien’s back as he whined about as stomach ache from eating too much.

           Chloe frown, picturing the same. She had lost a pair of Jimmy Choos after one disastrous trip to the carnival that involved way too much greasy food and rollercoaster with two loops. She shook the nightmarish memory away, “Thanks to Marinette, we’ll be touring the Stark Industries and the Avengers tower. All the hotels we’ll be staying at are 5 stars. Also, we’re going to three, three Michelin star restaurants. I can imagine what would’ve happened if she had made the reservations late. We might have ended up in some god awful Inn.”

“Come to think of it,” Marinette paused thoughtfully, “We should get to New York about the same time you do. What are your plans? No! Don’t tell me. I’m sure they’re amazing and I don’t want to be jealous. I mean you kicked us off the trip so you had to have something out of this world lined up.”

           Alya’s mouth was dry. She tried to come up with something to say; something to brag about but she knew that come September she’d have to pony up the pics. Because Pics or it didn’t happen. Chloe was active on social media; she’d be updating on a daily basis and scooping out her competition. She’d know instantly if they were lying and they’d never live it down.

           Lila fought the urge to throw the biggest tantrum of her life. At the beginning of the year, after Marinette’s trip presentation, she thought getting the bluenette and Blondie off the trip was the perfect plan; even when Adrien said he wouldn’t go. However, it was soon clear that Alya and the other students were in way over their hands. The dream trip that Marinette had spun them would be realized as only a dream as it was clear they wouldn’t manage it without Marinette’s organizational skills and Chloe’s funding.

           The trip they got was the standard tourist one. A look around the city, the statue of liberty, Time Square, and a museum or two. Honestly, Lila took better trips with her grandmother.

           Maybe there was still a way to save things…

“You know,” Lila smiled sweetly. “Since we’re all going to be in New York anyway, we should do everything together-“

“Can’t,” Marinette stated firmly. “Reservations are reservations for a reason. Tickets were bought. You know how it is.”

           Bustier frowned. This had ended the way she thought it would. When Alya and the other students beseeched her to disallow Marinette and Chloe from the school trip, she thought it was for the best. Chloe had always had a hostile attitude that Marinette seemed to have developed as well. It left the rest of the class with negative energy that wasn’t helpful for nurturing their growth.

           However, she couldn’t have predicted just how badly things would go. Alya had come crying to her several times about having to fill out and re-fill out multiple forms for the school board. She seemed to get something wrong every time.

           The children could barely raise enough money for the trip. And it wasn’t nearly as wonderful as the one Marinette had come up with at the beginning of the year. Still, they were going to New York which was what counted. Most classes wouldn’t even have gotten that far, She thought smugly. It would be a good trip. (Caline had dreamed about accidentally running into Steve Rogers or Thor and being swept off her feet. And she thought that dream wouldn’t even be possible if she was too busy trying to reign in her to most troublesome students which were one of her reason her telling the two they couldn’t go.) However, even that trip paled in comparison to the one the bluenette had planned for her and her two friends. 5-star hotels, trips to galas, fashion week, going to the Avengers Towers, possibly meeting Captain America, Thor, and the rest! It all sounded too good to be true.

“There must be something you can do,” Bustier said. “It would be nice if all my students were together.”

           The other students looked at the tour with hope clear in their eyes.

           Adrien, Marinette, and Chloe just looked at the teacher like she was dumb. Each fought the urge to remind the teacher that she was just fine with the three not going less than ten minutes ago.

           Adrien rolled his eyes, “There isn’t. Everything was bought and paid for. They are only expecting four kids which is why we get to go to so many places. Turns out, not many hotels and restaurants want to deal with a bunch of teens at the last minute.”

Marinette nodded, “Besides you wouldn’t want us crashing your trip anyway. We’d hate to get in the way. We know you guys wanted a drama-free trip.” She through the term back in their faces. “But I wouldn’t mind meeting up one day. You guys are doing time square right. Let us know when and we’ll see if we can do it the same day.”

“If we can fit in our schedules,” Chloe snapped. “It's pretty packed.”

“Not as packed as theirs, I’m sure,” Marinette smiled kindly, though inside she was doing a victory dance worthy of a champion. “I can’t wait to see the pictures.”

           The four left that Friday. By Sunday, the social medias were filled with dozens of pictures of beautiful hotel rooms. The next three weeks were the worst in the class’s entire lives. The other students in the class tried their best not to look but it was hard. Particularly when the picture of Marinette, Adrien, and Chloe on the red carpet started to make waves. Pictures of the four meeting various celebrities like Lex Luther and Chris Pine, superheroes like Superman and Batman, of them at Disney World and Coachella had left more than a bit of envy in their hearts.

           Their own trip had started out terribly. Alya hadn’t book enough rooms so they had to triple bunk, with some people having to sleep on a cot. And it turned out that the only tours she had secured was to Elis Island and the New York Art Museum; nothing nearly as exciting as they hoped. So they had been mostly left on their own for sight-seeing.

           Still, it wasn’t a terrible trip. They ate great good and saw the normal New York tourist attractions.

           However, when the time came for them to go to Time Square and meet up with Adrien, Alya, Chloe, and Marinette, Bustier was ready to pull her hair out.

           Bustier never had trouble on any of the previous trips, as they were always organized to the minute, but this one had so much free time the kids didn’t know what to do with themselves which resulted in chaos. And being threatened with being kicked out of the hotel. She didn’t understand what was different. The students were usually so well behaved.

           Sure on previous trips, there had been two more chaperones but Bustier always thought they were unnecessary. Her students were the best and most well behaved in school for the most part. She was positive that they only needed their teacher to watch out for them.

           She was wrong.

           And Bustier was very surprised to see Mendeleiev there with her four wayward students, looking very much like the Cat that got the Canary.

“Demetria,” Bustier greeted politely. “What are you doing here?”

           Mendeleev didn’t bother to hide her smirk. “I was invited as a chaperone. It just me and Gorilla. Between the two of us we keep the delinquents in check,” She said Delinquents at the four who playfully hissed at her. Each of the four wore a black shirt with a different Hogwarts house on it.“Best decision I ever made. I was reluctant at first as it’s not school-related and I wouldn’t be paid for it. But Agreste and Bourgeois are paying me nine times my usual amount an hour to watch the kids like a hawk. Luckily their goods kids. What about you? How is your class trip going?”

           Bustier forced herself to smile, and not bite out angrily that it was driving her insane. The kids were driving her completely up the wall. And Caline was more than a little aware of how amazing her four students trip was and to think Mendeleiev had gotten to do it all with them made her blood boil and her eyes practically turn green with jealousy. “Extremely well. We are having… the time of our lives.”

“I’m sure,” Mendeleiev said. She and the rest of the teachers had never been happy with how Bustier ran her class. Or just how much she and Damocles got away with. However, it didn’t matter. Come September, things would change. Damocles had already gotten fired for taking bribes, breaking procedure, and being a complete idiot.

           Bustier, while technically, hadn’t done anything wrong would still have to listen to the school board tell her everything that was wrong with her class. And there was a lot.

“Have you gone to the Avengers tower yet?” Bustier asked, not subtly at all. She still hoped that if there was time she and her class could tag along.

“We have,” Mendeleiev told her, bursting the bubble of hope that had sprung in Caline. “It was quite wonderful. I had a wonderful debate with Doctor Banner; it turns out he’s read several of my papers and me, his. While the kids are at the baseball game tomorrow, the two of us will be having a lunch date and going over our scientific hypothesis tomorrow.”

“Get it, Ms. Mendeleiev,” Chloe laughed.

           Mendeleiev shot her a stern look but her mouth twitched as she fought a smile.

“Perhaps my class could go with?”

“Sorry, we have a reserved seats.”

Envy flared in Caline Bustier more than ever before in her entire life. If they had been still in Paris, Hawkmoth would’ve had a field day. “Oh but what about watching the kids. Won’t they need you? What would their parents say about this?” A vicious smirk appeared on Bustier’s face. She always thought Mendeleiev needed to be knocked down a peg or two.

Mendeleiev didn’t bat an eye, “Already covered. Already cleared with their parents. After all who’s going to say no to Captain America and Iron Man babysitting their kids. Steve hadn’t been to a game a while and he really wanted to take his son Peter and the rest of Tony’s interns. The kids should have a blast.”

Adrien shot a bright smile at his bodyguard, “Natasha is going too! I still don’t understand how you two know each other.”

Gorilla’s face burned a red color but he remained silent. He wore the bright yellow and black Hufflepuff scarf Adrien had begged him to wear as a show of support, particularly when Mendeleiev revealed herself to be a Ravenclaw (So did Bruce Banner). Captain America and the Winter Soldier high-fived Marinette over being Gryffindors. And Pepper Potts, Iron Man, and the Black Widow introduced themselves as Slytherin alumni.

Where was the Hufflepuff love?

Adrien had looked at Hawkeye with hope but Clint had shrugged and said, “Gryffindor.”

The blond boy huffed and pouted (the pout was how he got Gorilla to wear the scarf). He bet Thor was a Hufflepuff.

           The rest of Bustier’s class still steer clear away from the four; out of pride and envy. Lila had attempted to go near Adrien but was stopped by Alya who didn’t want to risk her bestie getting bullied by the meanest girls in school.

           Alya had decided after seeing the pictures of the four with Superman, The Avengers, Batman, and THE LOIS LANE that life just wasn’t fair. If it was Marinette and Chloe (Maybe even Nathaniel) would be stuck in Paris, crying their eyes out over not being allowed on the trip. It was what they deserved for being such bullies.

           The preplanned tour of Times Square, which was mostly just the kids walking around and awing at the pretty lights. It was actually a bit boring, once the excitement wore off. They found themselves on the highest building there, looking over New York City in its entirety, along with a bunch of other tourists.

           Suddenly all the electronic billboards and every ounce of electricity turned off. Crowds up people looked around confused.

           The giant monitors blurred and a face appeared, “Greetings citizens of New York, I. AM. THE. Electrocutioner!” Lights were centered on the highest building there, and it was clear the villain stood on top of the building. The building of Bustier’s class was on.

           One thought echoed in the minds of each Parisian citizen, “Fuck.”

           Before any of the Paris heroes’ could figure out if they should act or not, another team of heroes arrived.

           The evil-doer had with him a dozen or so henchmen, each more menacing the last.

           The sight of Kid Flash zooming up the side of the building was incredible. Seeing Young Justice kick butt left Marinette a little breathless.

Was this what it was like, she wondered, seeing Ladybug fight.

           When some of the henchmen were ordered to take hostages; Marinette, Chloe, Nathaniel, Adrien, Gorilla, and Mendeleiev fighting back much to the shock of Bustier and her class. Chloe rolled her eyes as she, and the other three pulled out miniature pens from their pockets; did they really not know how often New York is attacked by Super Villians. Seriously.

           With a click of the button, the pen turns into a long whip. Chloe refused to be taken without a fight. Her and Marinette, who now wielded a fighting staff, nodded at each other. The blonde snorted when she looked at Adrien, “A shield, really?”

“I don’t want to hurt people too much,” Adrien defended.

“This is why you’re a Hufflepuff.”

           Nathaniel spun his trident around. It worked like a Taser and could shock people. Luckily only the villain had electricity powers.

Marinette didn’t know how it happened but suddenly she was fighting back to back with Robin.

“Nice moves,” Robin said after Marinette knocked out a henchman with a high kick. He knocked out a henchman with his staff.

“Not too bad yourself.”

           Nathaniel nearly had a heart attack when Aqualad jumped in to help him protect several tourists. When biggest henchmen came rushing at him, the redhead fired up his trident and within seconds the underling was down for the count.

           Kaldur paused, “…Can I borrow that?”

           Chloe used the whip with ease and grace. She has been practicing with it ever since she saw Shadow Hunters for the first time. Isabelle Lightwood was an icon.

The blonde didn’t know how it happened. But one minute she was fighting off two lame minions then she saw an Arrow guy fighting and then falling off the roof, and the next thing she knows she’s jumping after him. Then they both were dangling off the roof with only Chloe’s whip for support.

“You call this a rescue?” Arrow guy snorted.

“You call yourself a hero?” Chloe snapped.

“Meow!”

           Chloe didn’t see how he did it but one moment she was hanging there; the next Arrow guy was swinging her up back onto the roof.

           He smirked at her, “You’re a pretty one.”

           She waved him off, “Oh go save someone!”

           When Superboy crashed down next to him after taking a brutal hit, Adrien gripped his shield and stood in front of him. Adrien was able to block most of the attempts of the underlings to reach the boy of steel. But it wasn’t long until they had them surrounded. Just when Adrien thought he was a goner, red lasers blasted the henchman back.

           Superboy stood up, “Thanks for the assist.” He smiled at the blond boy. “Nice shield.”

           Gorilla and Mendeleiev handled their own really well. After seeing Gorilla fight, Adrien started to have some serious suspicions about just how his bodyguard knew the Black Widow.

           When the fight was over, and the villains detained, the small group stood with the rest of the civilians until the all-clear was given.

The Bustier and her class stared in awe as the members of Young Justice walked over to the six with large smiles. The heroes didn’t even spare the class a glance. Not even when Alya pushed Lila to the front but Robin and Arsenal never even noticed her.

Dick Grayson, Robin, smiled at the pretty bluenette with bluest eyes he’d ever seen and did his best to ignore Batman in his ear about bringing in the Heroes Ladybug, Chat Noir, Queen Bee, and Bright Roar in to Watch Tower stat. He knew all about Ladybug and, thanks to Batman, knew her civilian identity. But to see her in person was a whole different experience.

No, there was a time and place for everything. And right now the time was to flirt with the Gorgeous Superhero who a skintight red suit.

“You’re amazing,” He told her honestly. “What are you doing for the rest of my life?”

“I swear to god if you propose!” Batman hissed in his ear.

           Marinette blushed a bright red.

           Kaldur handed the trident back to Nathaniel, “This is an amazing weapon. You use it well.” He told the redhead. This must be the new Hero Bright Roar “I wish for one just like it.”

           Nathaniel flushed but handed the weapon back to Kaldur, “Keep it. I’m not that good with it.”

           Kaldur smiled, “Then perhaps you will let me teach you one day. One on one sessions.”

“Really Kaldur,” Aquaman chastised. “This is a mission, not a dating show.”

           Aqualad ignored him.

           Superboy nodded at Adrien, “You’re good,” he told the smaller blond boy. Though from the reports he read about Chat Noir, he was only a year younger than him. “Cool shirt by the way. It's nice to meet a fellow Hufflepuff.” He said and then suddenly his arms were full of a blond boy thanking him for existing.

“Breathe,” Superman chuckled in his ear. “Just breathe, Connor.”

“For such good finders, we’re so hard to find,” Adrien said. “I could kiss you!”

           Superboy turned the brightest shade of red anyone had ever seen.

           Arsenal eyed the hot blond girl, “At least you know how to stay out of the way.”

           Chloe glared at him, “Next time, I’ll just let you die.”

“Then who be the man of your dreams.”

“Freddie Kruger would probably take his job back,” Chloe said with a hand on her hip. “Though his face isn’t as terrifying as yours.”

“That girl will eat you alive,��� Oliver warned in his ear.

“So you admit you dream about me,” Roy stepped forward.

           Chloe huffed, “Get real!”

“Hey,” Alya called. “Robin, Speedy, don’t you want to say hi to Lila Rossi.” She motioned to the Italian girl who had gone pale.

“It’s Arsenal now,” Roy corrected.

           Dick nodded, “And who’s Lila?”

           Marinette smiled, “Oh I’d totally marry you now!”

           Robin grinned and raised his arms in victory.

           Batman cursed in his ear.

            Robin, Arsenal, Aqualad, and Superboy kept their attention on the on the four. No matter how much their superhero mentors protested. No matter how much Bustier’s tried to intervene.

              No, their attentions’ were reserved

[moonlightreal]

This is the “author’s note” I found on the amazon pages for the pretty hardcover Night World books.  My memory is that it was just there, the book-blurb at the top by the cover picture, was this. 

Like a bonehead I just copied the text without grabbing a screencap or noting the date.  The amazon page now has the publication date is December 2016 so this bit of optimism was just before Ms. Smith vanished.  Of course we don’t know when it was written or whose idea it was.  Was Strange Fate really finished or was someone just feeling hopeful? 

NIGHT WORLD Dear Readers, It’s hard to tell you how much the re-release of the Night World books means to me. It has allowed me to come full circle, to complete a cycle that began with Secret Vampire. It has allowed me to finish Strange Fate, which grew into an epic that included roles for almost every Night World character. And Strange Fate allowed me to show the origins of the Night World, the apocalypse that threatens to destroy it, and even a possible future in which the evil side of the Night World prevails. I am often asked how I conceived the idea for the Night World series. It began when I wanted to write stand-alone novels that would combine horror and romance. But I wanted more: I wanted to do a series in which this Night World—a vast, secret world that exists within the everyday world—would slowly reveal itself to readers. That’s why the first book is called Secret Vampire: the inhabitants of the Night World, composed of vampires, shapeshifters, witches, and other supernatural creatures I wanted to invent, are hidden from humans. A vampire is necessarily a secret vampire … because of the laws. I also wanted to write about a new kind of forbidden love. That’s not easy—most good forbidden love topics were old by Shakespeare’s time. But with this series, I could create the possibility of forbidden love simply by saying that the laws of the Night World prohibit a Night Person from falling in love with a human. But I still needed one more ingredient. I needed the rise of the soulmate principle to actively force Night People to fall in love with humans, no matter how hard they fought against it. Voilà! Then it was just a matter of making up interesting characters and setting them loose in my head to see what they would do. I often begin like that: sitting in a quiet room and searching for a sparkle in my mind that could become my new heroine. Sometimes it’s easy and a whole character shimmers before me. Sometimes I only get the faintest firefly glimmer of a new girl, and I have to hold my breath and see if that glimmer will materialize into a three-dimensional person. Heroes and anti-heroes are easier. It’s just a matter of picking one that will be a true soulmate for my heroine. I have a whole collection of these characters in my mind, all trying to crash the party. And they’re usually bad boys. The settings and in-depth plot development are another layer of work. But often the characters just run off and do what they want, and I have trouble keeping up with their antics on my keyboard. One thing I always do is look carefully at my characters and plot from all angles to make sure I’m not plagiarizing a book or series that I may have read before. That’s just normal procedure for ethical authors: we make sure our stories aren’t too much like another story we might have read. Of course, there are many ideas that have been around since the Babylonian myths, and many characters that are archetypal. But, really, it’s almost impossible to take many things from the body of another author’s work—say, someone else’s character(s) or plot or story device—without actually intending to do so. I can’t imagine wanting to do that. I wish I could say every author felt the same. Poppy North is a character I examined very carefully. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t too much like Bonnie McCullough, another petite character of mine from The Vampire Diaries. I didn’t even want to plagiarize myself ! But Poppy convinced me that she was a tough little squirt who by high school had already planned out her future, which is very unlike Bonnie. Poppy was going to marry her mysterious friend James—she just hadn’t informed him yet. Also, unlike Bonnie, she had a fatal flaw in her small body. In Secret Vampire, I knew I was dealing with a serious issue: terminal cancer in a high school girl. So I did a lot of research before deciding on a type of cancer that would be truly inoperable and give Poppy only a month or two to live. I went to several hospitals to talk to nurses in oncology wards. I always brought toys for the hospitalized children, but the whole subject was so heartbreaking I was almost afraid to tackle it. Once I did, though, I found that Poppy was even stronger than I had imagined. In the book, she makes the only choice she can to go on living, and she never looks back. Poppy is one of my favorite girls, and she ushers in Ash Redfern, who quickly became one of my favorite bad boys. Ash has a murky past of womanizing and … well, more womanizing. Ash returns in Daughters of Darkness because he has been ordered by the leader of all vampires, Hunter Redfern, to bring his three runaway sisters back to their cloistered vampire island. But when Ash locates his sisters, he runs straight into the human stargazer Mary-Lynnette, and the sparks begin flying—literally. Mary-Lynnette is a character I made up when I was a kid, and I’m always surprised by how many people like her and Ash together. Mary-Lynnette spends most of the time expressing her feelings for Ash by kicking him in the shins, but their dialogues are some of my favorite passages in the whole series. Ash, in turn, escorts Quinn into the series. And Quinn (who does have a first name, though he rarely uses it) is one really scary guy. A vampire since 1639 A.D., Quinn is sharp, cold, humorless, and heartless. Unlike Ash, who is mainly guilty of an incredibly long series of one-night stands, Quinn enters the series as a human slave trader. That is, he provides vampires with young girls, and he doesn’t ask questions about what happens to the girls afterward. This led to a problem: How on earth was I going to redeem this villain enough to make him someone’s soulmate in The Chosen? I really sweated over that. My first task was to make Quinn more sympathetic. The best way to do it seemed to be by telling a bit of Quinn’s own tragic story: how he falls in love with sweet Dove Redfern, and how her vampire father decides to make Quinn his heir. Dove’s father is Hunter Redfern, one of the most important vampire leaders in Night World history. This is the same Hunter Redfern who, nearly half a millennium later, sends Ash to drag his sisters back home. The same Hunter Redfern who sends his daughter, Lily, after Jez in Huntress. The same Hunter Redfern who tries to turn Delos into a merciless killer in Black Dawn. But, as a boy, Quinn doesn’t know anything about the Night World, and he is deeply in love with gentle Dove. When Hunter makes him a vampire by force and then when Quinn can’t save Dove from being killed, Quinn’s heart freezes over. For four hundred years it accumulates ice—until he meets Rashel. That’s another favorite scene of mine: when Rashel, a dedicated vampire hunter since (guess who?) Hunter Redfern killed her mother, encounters Quinn. A group of Rashel’s fellow vampire slayers have captured Quinn and plan to torture him, and Rashel is left alone to guard him. Quinn, feeling old and tired despite his youthful appearance and great power, gives himself up for dead—and is a little glad to do so. Rashel, however, can’t stomach the idea of torture. When Rashel talks to this most-hated vampire and hears his story, she deliberately sets him free. And that astonishes him. But it’s the soulmate principle working its magic. I loved making two such strong-willed enemies succumb to the silver cord that connects them. I especially loved hearing Quinn warning Rashel not to let him go—and then protecting her when her comrades arrive back in time to see that she’s let him loose. I really loved writing about Quinn and Rashel’s soulmate sequences. As Rashel enters Quinn’s mind, she sees “thorny scary parts” but also “rainbow places that were aching to grow” and “other parts that seemed to quiver with light, desperate to be awakened.” She begins to think that people ask so little of themselves. If the mind of a slave trader can look like this, an ordinary person must have the power to become a saint. It is with this revelation (and much penance on Quinn’s part) that Quinn is redeemed. That’s the thread that binds all the novels together: redemption. The possibility of a second chance. Everyone has choices to make, but even the most evil of vampires can choose to atone and be redeemed. It may not necessarily stave off punishment in this world or the next, but redemption is possible. I’ve been asked who my favorite characters are, and the answer always changes because it depends on the book I’m writing. Right now my favorites are three characters from Strange Fate. As for my favorite couples in the published books? Morgead and Jez—I suppose. Who would find themselves at greater odds than a vampire gang leader and his onetime superior, a vampire who finds out she is half human? I learned some cool martial arts moves as a bonus for writing about them. Then there is Keller, one of my all-time favorite heroines, and Iliana, the beautiful Witch Child, and Galen, ruler of the shapeshifters: the love triangle in Witchlight. Keller starts out seeming brusque and businesslike, but the love of Galen and of the unselfish Iliana help to heal her inner wounds. And I can’t forget Thierry and Hannah, and Circle Daybreak. I created Circle Daybreak because the Night World witches had only two clans: Circle Twilight and Circle Midnight. Those, like Thea in Spellbinder, who belong to Circle Twilight are not-so-wicked witches (that is, they don’t want to exterminate all humans like the darkest witches, those who belong to Circle Midnight), but they are still wicked enough. So what was to be done with all these new soulmates, when Night World law said that they must be put to death? Someone had to make a place for them where they would be safe, and I decided it was Thierry, one of the oldest vampires, and Hannah, his Old Soul soulmate, who has lived hundreds of lifetimes without ever reaching the age of seventeen. They are the ones who revive Circle Daybreak, where humans and Night People can forget about past tragedies and concentrate on a brighter future together. Although Thierry is an old vampire, he isn’t the oldest vampire. There is one older, the one who Changed him. She provides another thread that binds the series: the pitiless Maya. Maya is the first vampire, the witch who finds the secret of eternal life—and chooses to use it for evil. But there will be plenty more about her, including a look at the young Maya, her sister Hellewise, and their mother, Hecate Witch-Queen, in the upcoming Strange Fate. And so now I’ve come full circle, back to Strange Fate. But I can’t finish until I add the other joy that the re-release of Night World has brought me. It’s brought me into contact with you by e-mail. Night World fans write so many intelligent, articulate, courteous, exciting e-mails! I love to get messages from “old” fans, who say my works “got them through high school.” Thank you for them! And messages from new fans, who say they have just read all my reissued books—and are impatient for more. Thank you! And the messages that simply demand: “When is Strange Fate coming out?” Thank you, too! With a full heart, all I can say is thank you, thank you, and thank you again! I never thought I would have a chance to write an open letter to all Night World fans, and I can only wish that you knew how grateful I am … for this second chance. Sincerely, (LJ Smith signature image) P.S. I love to get e-mail, letters, and messages. Visit me at ljanesmith.net!

[boop-le-snoot]

masterpost ☀️ main masterlist ☀️ taglist

previously on...

We meet Lucy, we meet Samantha and her twins & Mother Nature gets a little bit mad. But on the upside - she loves Tony :)

Kind reminder that this story will have horror/thriller elements & graphic descriptions of blood, gore and all the nasty stuff associated with superhero battles described in some detail. This chapter contains some of that.

Honestly, this story is getting- uhh- 8-12 notes on Tumblr. It's got a decent following on AO3 which brings me joy because I truly do enjoy the worldbuilding to a, perhaps, guilty amount. So if you like it too - please reblog :)

The fabric of my skirt was suddenly yanked and I jumped, dropping my phone and startling out of my daze. Two big, blue eyes stared up at me, curiousity mixed with impatience in them. I crouched down to pick up my device, coming face to face with a tiny blonde girl about nine or ten years of age.

"Lucy, hi!" I squeezed out a smile at the child. She looked pale, as if she'd never seen the slightest bit of sunlight, chubby cheeks contrasted by an overall spindliness of her body. Her dress was a puffy, long-sleeved, red and white polka dotted monstrosity with at least two petticoats that made her seem bigger than she actually was. "Sorry, didn't see you there. Long day at work," despite there being a worm of anxiety crawling deeply in my chest, I heeded the warnings on the list of rules and swallowed any unease I had.

Which was a hard feat. The stairs had gotten confused and I lost ten minutes of time going back, over and over, after encountering floors "5", "8" and "19" instead of my third floor, in a five story building. The building providing extra floors shouldn't have surprised me that much but the worst was fighting with the desire to explore them, my rational brain unhelpfully supplying that if this building was truly dangerous, nobody would be living in it.

The pull was almost unnatural in its strength yet my protection charms remained unaffected. Too tired from returning to work, I decided to distract myself with my phone - and nearly ran poor little Lucy off her feet.

"You are new," she signed to me slowly, carefully observing my reaction to her using ASL.

I had been truly unsettled by the rule list, perhaps more than I wanted to admit to myself, so I spent a night wide awake brushing up my meager sign language skills. "Yes, my name is Star," I replied, not quite sure if I wanted to shake her hand or simply make myself scarce as soon as possible.

Lucy gave me a closed-lipped grin, swooshing her puffy skirts in what I perceived to be a calculated amount of shyness. "Can I play with you, please?" Her hands moved a little more rapidly as she side-eyed my apartment door.

I briefly ran a mental checklist of the contents of my fridge. "Sure," I figured that two leftover steaks in it would be more than enough for the little girl. I'd splurged and gotten four prime pieces of meat to treat myself after a hectic moving process, cooking only half of them on the first day. "Come on it. You hungry?"

The door swung open as I led Lucy in, her bright dress and pale skin standing out in the twilight of my apartment. She nodded her head seriously, looking at me from head to toe as shivers ran up and down my spine. My bag was unceremoniously dumped on the couch, my socked feet shuffling into the kitchen and beelining for the fridge.

Lucy followed me quietly, taking a seat at the dinner table and folding her thin arms atop it, expectant blue eyes following my every move. As I plated the meat and reached for the roll of paper towels, I felt like I was being examined under a microscope. Somewhere in the distance, a quiet hissing noise was beginning to rise.

Lucy politely declined the fork and knife I attempted to give her so I just set down the plate in front of her, leaving the kitchen to change out of my dusty, sweaty clothes, too tired to really worry about the loud, sloppy and wet chewing noises and low growling coming from the dining area. I decided as long as she wasn't attempting to have me for dinner, I was going to be just fine.

I found Lucy on the carpet of my living room, flipping through a fashion magazine she'd found somewhere after I was done with scavenging some sweatpants from my mostly-unpacked closet. Her blonde curls bounced as she looked up at me with another tight smile, this time looking calmer, friendlier somehow. "I like those dresses," she signed, pointing at a few pictures with models wearing ballroom gowns in all kinds of colours. "And these..." She pointed out a tiara, probably not knowing how to sign the words.

"This is a tiara," I spoke slowly, signing the last word with my hands carefully as she observed. And then a few more times, until she repeated her last sentence perfectly. "Good job, Lucy," I praised her as she beamed at me. The river of quiet, scratchy giggles never stopped as she pointed out various things and I tried to sign them to the best of my ability, Lucy not showing any signs of upset whatsoever if I couldn't get the name for something right.

After some time, it was beginning to get very dark outside and a couple of pointed glances at the clock was all it took for her to stand up and carefully dust off her skirts. "Thank you for playing with me, Star," Lucy signed excitedly. "I like you. Do you want to know a secret?" She leaned in conspirationally, bursting into my space bubble with a lack of care only a child could posess.

I nodded, not trusting my mouth whatsoever. The closer she leaned in, the more overwhelming her smell became. Her pretty dress reeked of mildew and stale water, her breath - of dried blood and something earthen, like moist soil and cold cobblestone.

Lucy's eyes widened dramatically. "If you need answers, go on to the seventh floor. Bring some warm milk and cookies, they won't bother you too much, but be careful and don't stay for too long. You look tasty," I struggled to keep up with her rapid signing, my eyes firmly trained on her. Lucy's hand carefully patted my cheek and in my frozen state, I could only wave back as she skipped to the door and unlocked it, giving me one of her closed-lipped smiles before disappearing behind it without a noise.

The lock slid shut on it's own after the girl's departure. My heart briefly jumped up into my throat, trapping my jerky inhale in-between my throat and my esophagus. Coughing, I went on to double check the door lock before scrambling for the TV remote to add some background noise to the suddenly eerily quiet apartment.

The sit-com that popped up wasn't any of the ones I knew so I sat helplessly watching unfamiliar people get themselves into more and more absurd situations as the grating noise of pre-recorded audience laughter mocked the characters actions. A sudden shriek pierced the late night stillness, followed by a sound of breaking dishes and a woman's voice tiredly chastising the miscreants.

Samantha.

I'd seen her a few times as she smoked her strong cigarettes in front of the entrance, her twins running in circles around the large pothole in the middle of the driveway. She'd been friendly enough, the dark circles under her eyes and the unkempt state of her clothes telling me more than her words, "I love them, I really do. But I just want some sleep," she rasped as she sighed and attempted to gather her two kids.

I didn't examine them too closely but on first moment's notice their eyes and teeth appeared... Wrong. Samantha had taken them inside after that, clutching a coffee thermos of a size truly impressive, and I went on my merry way, trying not to think too much of the poor, single mother and her two mutant kids. I felt a little proud, even, as she didn't just abandon them like many other people did after discovering their children had an active X-gene.

It didn't take me long to cave in and offer my help with watching the twins, Anya and Arman; one noisy weekend bled into the next and I began to genuinely feel bad for the overtired woman. Inviting the two terrors into my apartment was a choice I had made mindfully: having asked Odette about advice on hyperactive children, she had proposed a puzzle or two.

The thrifted, wooden items weren't able to hold the twins' attention for long, and Anya was the first one to begin gnawing at the hard blocks, covering the area around her in splinters. Arman was a quiet boy compared to his sister: he'd stare at the TV or at the walls, avoiding eye contact and conversation at great lengths.

My couch was jumped on, my dishes were taken out and my houseplants rearranged chaotically; it was almost as if they purposefully tried to get a rise out of me without doing any actual damage. I spent the remaining few hours of my Sunday putting things back in their places - all that pent up frustration had done wonders for the state of my apartment; it sparkled, looking cleaner than the day I moved in.

The babysitting became a somewhat regular occurrence, more often than not with me popping in for a couple of hours so Samantha could run some errands and the odd weekend when the twins came over to me so Sam could get some much-needed sleep.

She was a kind, gentle if chronically overworked woman. We clicked pretty quickly over our shared desire for comfortable stability and some fucking peace; neither I nor she had it in sights for the foreseeable future. Sam's reaction to me being a witch was a shrug and a top up to her wine glass as she pointedly looked at her daughter who was busy chewing on a door handle, leaving small, jagged marks all over the dull metal.

I just had gotten sorted with a bunch of complicated orders when the radio interrupted Eric Clapton with an emergency message and instructions to steer clear of the next few blocks over. Something had hit NYC again and Avengers had been called but nobody knew exactly what it was or when it was going to be dealt with.

As soon as I shot a text to Sam, explaining the situation, I immediately retreated to the back rooms, setting up my healing station over the noise of Odette preparing her office for visitors. For some time, I waited with baited breath, jumping at every little noise coming from the outside. The people tickled in slowly, mostly one by one and all were covered in foul-smelling sludge that evaporated with a loud hiss when the concentrated light of the UV lamp in my office touched it.

"Some kind of aliens, I think," a man with a face somewhere between a human and a hedgehog told me, wincing as he retracted his spikes back into his skin. "There's a hole- a portal, right on a crossroads and there's these things coming out. They kinda look like dragons, or flying snakes maybe," the more light breached the surface of his skin, the more relaxed he became. "The Sorcerer and the Witch are trying to close the portal, unsuccessfully might I add, and the muscle is just," he paused, scratching his chin. "Just killin' 'em, I guess."

I nodded enthusiastically, prompting him to continue to rely the state of the affairs as I applied the thick, viscous ointment on a gash on his leg. "It's hammer and Frisbee time," I mumbled to myself sarcastically.

"Yep," the man popped the 'p'. "Most of us are trying to keep the creatures contained to that one block. I saw Iron Man blasting off some of the creatures off of some of my friends," the last sentence contained a great deal of puzzlement. "Though you won't be seeing much of us this time. These things... They're vicious. They've got claws the size of my foot. A lot of us are going to die where they gut us," the sentence was spoken so matter-of-factly, my hands paused on the man's leg, bringing my eyes to his unblinking dots of black.

"What do you mean?" I swallowed in an attempt to chase away the dry, rough feeling in my throat.

"Those beasts... They're smart. One of my friends - she's a... Telepath of sorts... Says they're an intelligent hivemind," the man's broad, warm palm closed over mine. "The beasts leave only the ones that won't get help in time. They can smell death from a mile away. That's how they hunt," his voice was gentle, soothing over the sudden ringing of my ears.

"I..." My mind stuttered, a sticky ball of anxiety, fear and sorrow gathering up in my chest. "I'm so sorry. I..."

"We know what we're doing, out there, we know the risks," his smile was tight and full of grief. "You're doing your part here, makin' sure our babies have parents. We're out there makin' sure our streets are safe. Such is life," the grin acceptance in his pitch-black, small eyes set fire to the tension in my chest.

I exploded, inside out. The sudden burst of decisive, clear-headed energy made the objects around me vibrate, metal resonated my sorrow and my determination, the wood heated up with the force of Mother Nature itself responding to an act of cruelty bestowed upon her creations.

As soon as the man's bandage was finished and he headed out, I grabbed my old, ratty backpack, hastily shoving things into it in a semi-organized fashion. Clean linen strips, bandages, some premade elixirs and draughts, a few jars of salves, carefully tucked in-between the cloth. As I knocked on the door of Odette's office to retrieve the last few items I would need for my reckless journey, the door handle turned on its own, letting me observe her tending a woman who's skin was peeled off most of her back.

"Can't you see I'm..." Odette exclaimed, throwing her free hand towards the door, which did not budge. She turned on her heel, eyes widening when she observed my wide, solid stance in the doorway, lips immediately curling into a small grin. "I understand. Take what you need. It's not wise to resist Her call," the words were spoken carefully, as if not to spook me, before Odette resumed her delicate work of putting the injured woman back together.

Without a word, I finished packing and left through the front door, not needing more than my scarf and my light sweater to keep me from the freezing gusts of wind. My very core was the centrefold of an active volcano, bursting with white-hot bursts of energy as I approached the injured people on my way towards the terrible screeching noise.

This far out, most of the injured were able to make it to Odette's or to the other healer, who's name I had found out only then, but they were thankful for the water I offered them. Not once did they question me: my star-patterned scarf, out of all things, had become somewhat of a symbol for me among the different folk. Mutants approached me fearlessly, giving generous updates on the direction of the battle and the hotspots I probably should have avoided.

The louder the screeching noises grew, the more people needed my help. The stops took longer, my painkillers were becoming a short supply, the main relief provided by a couple of mid-range, mid-strength energy manipulating mutants that began to tail me after I offered to patch them up in exchange for help with the injured.

It was as if I instinctually knew where I was most needed, my decisions were seldom my own. Me and the two mutants bid a haste goodbye after loading up their truck with the injured, although deep inside, I knew that the amount of corpses, bloody and messy, littering the streets had begun to get to them. In a normal state of mind, I would not have been able to look at them either: then, each mangled, broken body only added fuel to the fire within me.

As I stepped foot in an intersection where someone had piled up bent and broken cars, the shadow flying over my head shrieked, taking a fluid nose dive towards another, smaller flying figure. I dropped flat on the ground, the contents of my backpack clattering, watching the small figure in the sky blast the beast with an off-blue ray of concentrated energy. As soon as the creature began it's graceless drop, Tony turned around and flew off, looking none worse for wear.

At the very centre of my chest, a faint feeling of fondness and hope blossomed into tiny little flowers that soothed the aching sorrow for the dead. Each warcry of the beasts from another world fed the anger, the anguish Gaia seemed to exhibit at their intrusion; the revolt I felt upon laying my eyes on one of them made me sweat, hands clenching into fists until my skin crawled under my nails.

The last part of me that wanted to pretend I was in control was gone; my soft, untrained body a mere vessel for a force stronger than me, stronger than anything. Noise around me grew in pitch, some of the creatures circling around my hiding spot cluelessly, aimlessly, as if they could not find what they were looking for.

I moved spots in a daring series of runs, bringing me almost to the portal itself, and the hellish lizards dived into my previous sanctuary, shattering the concrete and the wood of the house under the amused black stares of glassless windows.

The realization set it - they could not see me. Or perceive me properly, I deduced, inspecting the creatures for any sort of orifice except for their mouths and finding them to lack eyes and ears.

My own stare fell onto Sorcerer Supreme, floating amongst a variety of moving golden circles; I was close enough to hear him talking in a language I did not know. Wanda was hovering nearby, holding up a wall of red energy, protecting the chanting sorcerer.

A united screech invoked a shiver from every living being within it's reach, the creatures circling the portal for the last time before flying off in haphazard directions as the portal slowly began to close. I was prepared to cheer, yet, something stopped me; not a second later, the circles surrounding Stephen dimmed as the man himself jumped up onto his feet in alarm, screaming something unintelligible at the Scarlet Witch.

The overturned food cart I was hiding behind slowly began to creep towards the portal. A couple of rats, a pigeon - the animals flew in front of my eyes, rapidly, as they struggled against the unseen force. My hands grasped the handlebars of the cart in vain, I struggled against the force, seeing a moment of confusion on Wanda's face as I floated- no, rocketed past her as Stephen's golden magic forcefully pushed her out of the portal's reach.

It's size no bigger than a doorway, the vile thing blew cold, dry air under my sweater, muffling Stephen's cursing as we briefly collided during our violent expulsion into another world.

And then, there was darkness.

Taglist! @couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins2 @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @xoxabs88xox

[thenarator]

Hero Students Are (Supposed To Be) Nice

hi! this is a deleted scene from my fic “heroics and other things that don’t require superpowers” at the beginning of chapter six! if you like that fic, give it a read! if you’ve never read the fic, give it a read anyway and see if you wanna read more!

The sun was just starting to go down when Izuku and the rest of the students were deemed fit to go home. They had all been patched up by the medics; Izuku’s cuts had been cleaned and a large gauze pad had been taped over them. Uraraka was taken back to the main campus in an ambulance, but the others all rode back on the bus, to drop off their hero uniforms and collect their things. Izuku had all his things with him, but there was no talk of him going straight home from the USJ.

“We’re searching the surrounding area for stragglers, you’ll be safer heading back from the main campus,” Eraserhead told him, when he tried to duck out from under Kirishima’s arm.

“I’ll be fine,” Izuku said, but his distraction allowed Ashido to crowd in on his other side.

“You’re riding with us sweetie,” she said cheerfully, and between her and Kirishima they managed to drag him onto the bus without much trouble.

This time Izuku and Kacchan did not get on the same bus, and for that he was grateful. He expected the ride back to be a quiet affair, all of them being exhausted as they were, but no sooner had the bus started to move than Ashido put a hand on his shoulder. Izuku turned to her, to find her smiling gently but expectantly. He swallowed. He didn’t know what she expected of him.

“You doing alright Midoriya?” she asked, and he was surprised to find she sounded genuinely concerned.

“Fine,” he said on a reflex, but Ashido gave him a doubtful look. “I mean, not fine, but I’m OK. Nothing’s broken.”

“That’s not what she means,” Kirishima said from his other side.

Izuku turned to look at him instead, to be greeted with an equally concerned look. “What else could be-”

“She means are you too shaken up to walk home yourself, ribbit?” Tsu supplied, and Izuku looked over to see her sitting across from them, giving him the same worried look as Ashido and Kirishima. “One of us will walk with you if you don’t feel like being alone right now.”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t ask you to do that!” Izuku said hurriedly. “I mean, it was scary, but-”

“Uraraka came from the same direction you did,” Kirishima said, drawing Izuku’s attention back to him. “She was defending the control room, right? She overused her quirk by a lot, so there must have been a lot of villains. One of them even took a swipe at you! Weren’t you scared?”

“I didn’t have room to be scared,” Izuku admitted. “Uraraka needed me, and she spent so much of her power defending me, I couldn’t just leave her out there to fight alone.”

There was a pause, and a few moments passed in which no one said anything. Izuku looked around the bus, at all the faces staring at him. Some of them looked alarmed, others worried, still more absolutely horrified. He shrank back in his seat, wondering what they were all thinking. Had he done something wrong? Had he insulted Uraraka to imply that she couldn’t have fought the villains on her own? Had he offended-

“You fought a villain yourself?” Kirishima demanded, sounding absolutely horror-struck.

Izuku’s head whipped around to look at him. “Only a few!” he said, then realized too late that he had admitted to fighting more than one. “Uraraka needed to rest, and there were a handful of them left, so I just went out and dealt with them myself.”

“Holy crap,” said Jirou, only to be elbowed in the ribs by Yaoyorozu, who had opted to ride their bus this time.

“What they’re trying to say,” Ashido piped up, making Izuku look back at her, “is that you fighting to protect Uraraka is really cool! We didn’t realize you could do that!”

“That’s pretty impressive Midoriya,” Kirishima added, his grin full of sharp teeth adding a certain emphasis to his claim. “Super manly!”

“Everybody did their best,” Izuku insisted, not really a protest but it at least soothed his need to apologize. “I was only trying to follow your examples.”

“Still, ribbit,” said Tsu, smiling at him with her tongue stuck out the corner of her mouth.

“Yeah,” Izuku replied, giving a shaky smile in return.

The rest of the ride passed similarly, with the hero students insisting he recount his fight with the villains for their appraisal. There wasn’t much to tell, so this eventually devolved into them all telling each other about their various fights, with Izuku chiming in every so often to confirm someone’s story. By the time they reached the school, Izuku was actually feeling a little bit better about the whole thing.

The ambulance was still out front when the buses pulled up, and there were a few people milling around outside. Izuku stepped out into the twilight with the idea of going to check on Uraraka, but before he had taken two steps toward the ambulance a warm body crashed into him from the side, and he found himself lifted nearly off his feet in a tight hug.

“Mido!” Shinsou cried, squeezing Izuku with all the muscle he’d developed over their brief time training together.

“Shinchan!” Izuku replied, trying not to make any distressed noises as his bandage was pressed on.

“Are you OK?” Shinsou demanded, pulling away from Izuku and holding him at arm’s length to give him a quick once over. “The heroes all left, and we were told to just go home, but they didn’t give us any information about what had happened and then an ambulance arrived and oh my god is that blood?!”

Izuku was turned abruptly to the side so Shinsou could jerk his shirt and jacket upward to examine the bandage. “I’m fine,” Izuku said, “the cuts aren’t deep. What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you, green bean,” said a voice, and Izuku looked up to see Hatsume standing just behind where Shinsou had been, giving Izuku a look of deep anxiety. “You didn’t think we’d just leave without making sure you were alright, did you?”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” Izuku admitted, although now he did think about it, it made sense. He just wouldn’t have expected it, of anyone, where he was concerned.

“What happened?” Shinsou asked, a little calmer now but still tense and worried.

“We got attacked by a bunch of villains!” Kirishima said from behind Izuku, sounding a little bit too chipper about it.

Izuku suddenly realized they were blocking the door, and hurriedly towed Shinsou out of the way. Kirishima stepped out, looking curiously at Shinsou and Hatsume, and Shinsou turned to him with a look of wary confusion. Izuku grasped Shinsou by the arm of his uniform, hoping his friend wasn’t about to get mad again.

“Who’re your friends Midoriya?” asked Ashido, disembarking behind Kirishima.

“Oh!” Izuku gasped, attention finally drawn to the fact that he was the only one who knew everyone here. “These are my friends: Hitoshi Shinsou, from Gen Ed with me, and Mei Hatsume of the Support course.”

Hatsume gave a little wave. Shinsou still felt stiff as a board under Izuku’s hand, but he nodded slightly.

“Guys, this is Mina Ashido and Eijirou Kirishima, and Tsuyu Asui,” Izuku said as she came off the bus next.

“Call me Tsu,” she instructed cheerfully.

“They’re-“ Izuku considered, but he had no idea what exactly the hero students were to him. Were they friends? After less than a day? “They’ve been very nice to me.”

“Neat goggles,” Hatsume said, looking at Tsu’s headgear interestedly as she adjusted her own. She did not seem at all wary of the hero students, but Shinsou had not relaxed yet. He reminded Izuku of nothing so much as a wild animal caught in a cage.

Kirishima had apparently noticed too, because he focused his attention on Shinsou. “You should be proud of your friend,” he said, showing off his teeth in a bright, if slightly intimidating smile. “He was super brave.”

“He stayed to help us, and he probably got all of us out of there alive,” Ashido chimed in.

“It was really impressive, ribbit,” Tsu concluded.

Beneath his hand Izuku felt some of the tension ease, the shoulders loosening and the muscles relaxing somewhat.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Shinsou said, putting his hands in his pockets. “Mido’s just like that.”

“Am not,” Izuku said, head ducked down.

“Are too,” said Shinsou and Hatsume at the same time.

Izuku felt his face heating up. It was one thing to be encouraged by his friends in private. It was another to be praised like that in front of hero students, who weren’t at all disagreeing.

Ashido smiled benevolently at Izuku. “You sure you don’t want someone to walk you home sweetie?”

“I can walk Mido home,” Shinsou told her.

“But a hero student should-“ Kirishima began worriedly.

“Shinchan’s going to be a hero student!” Izuku insisted, before Kirishima could finish. “He’s going to get in through the sports festival! He’s really skilled, and his quirk is-“

“Mido!” Shinsou hissed, and Izuku turned to see him looking determinedly at the ground, cheeks pink.

There was a pause, then Kirishima grinned again. “We’ll leave it to you then!” he said, reaching out and clapping Shinsou on the shoulder.

Shinsou stared, dumbfounded. Kirishima merely squeezed his shoulder, then turned and led the way back inside. Tsu followed without comment, and Ashido gave a little wave before going too.

“Hero students are nothing like I imagined,” said Shinsou, once he, Izuku and Hatsume were alone.

“Tell me about it,” Izuku sighed.

[yeah-oh-shit]

Sherlock S5/Dracula Meta

I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. I’ve never written any fan theories or meta before (although I have so many), so please bear with me. I know my theory is going to sound a little out there, but I here it is: I think BBC Dracula is actually Sherlock S5, or else that it is somehow going to lead directly into it without warning. 

Warning: this is going to be a long piece. I’m going to break this down as follows, because there are many different pieces of evidence to examine: 

TFP, the story and the episode

Gothic Horror, HOB, Dracula

Vision, Timing, 20/20

The Final Problem

The first one is a fan theory I read probably 6-9 months ago that sadly I can’t find anymore (if you know who this person is, please please comment so I can give credit!). Basically this person was talking about how the naming of the episodes typically has some tie to what occurs in the original story by that same name, but how TFP has nothing AT ALL to do with the original story. In the original story, Sherlock goes face to face with Moriarty, and we are all lead to believe that both he and Moriarty die over the Richenbach falls. In all reality, ACD had meant to kill off Sherlock in this story, and stopped writing Sherlock Holmes stories for ten years before bringing him back in “The Empty House,” due to the public outrage and demand for more stories. So, the logic follows that maybe the one thing that they have in common is that they are both pitted as the end to Sherlock Holmes (in the story, he is dead; in the show we are given [force fed] an ending, it's made to seem like the final piece). The author of this theory also pointed out the show runners in this way are comparing ending the series with TFP (no canon Johnlock) to ending the show with Sherlock dead. We are left with a straight-washed version of John and Sherlock, with Mary’s voice controlling the narrative and that narrative being: It Doesn’t Matter Who You Are. The chemistry between John and Sherlock has been more or less completely lost throughout S4, and so we are left with this empty, dead-feeling version of them that doesn’t feel true to the characters we know and love. Even casuals thought S4 sucked.. this is why. They metaphorically killed them/killed the show.

Before S4 aired, Mofftiss had said that if they pulled off what they had planned, it would be the biggest thing in television. Well, what we got in TFP doesn’t really fit that at all, does it? What could they be referring to: A secret sister? Not really that epic. Even if we find out that most of S4 didn’t take place (either EMP theory or some other way of explaining it) that isn’t really a new trope. The audience discovering that they have actually been seeing things that are inside the main character’s head the entire time has been done over and over (Sixth Sense, A Beautiful Mind come to mind off hand). So what could this huge, history making move be? The argument that the meta I read previously made was that the show will come back (from the dead) unexpectedly, with no warning. That it will be a revival and in that revival, we will get canon Johnlock. I can’t remember if OP explicitly theorized that Dracula is actually Sherlock S5, but I think so. 

Now, I was with this theory from the beginning.. there is just something that feels possible to me, despite the fact that it sounds far fetched. Dracula seems like a weird, random thing to do when Sherlock, Moftiss’s mutual obsession, isn’t finished. (Also creating an escape room to keep up hype is odd if the show is over, but I digress.) I just don’t believe Moftiss’s constant claims that they couldn’t get everyone together to film S5 because of schedules, that they wanted to take a break, that they don’t know if they will do more (when Moffatt has talked about wanting a 5 season arc before, not to mention John Yorke). And then there’s the fact that we know they have filmed scenes that we have never seen (Niagara Falls anyone?). All this evidence that S5 is definitely coming, combined with the fact that we haven’t heard anything about it but have heard about Dracula, sort of fell into place for me. Despite me being willing to buy into it, this theory still seemed a little far fetched. But wait, there’s more!

Victorian Gothic Literature, HOB, Dracula

A lot of people have been talking about how gay Dracula is going to be, and citing evidence of the connections between Bram Stoker and Oscar Wilde (Dracula was written directly after his trial and Dracula is read as having characteristics of Wilde) as evidence. This, along with the extremely homoerotic last clip of the trailer, certain parts of the text that read as queer coded (I haven’t read Dracula, so I don’t know much but have seen some things floating around that seem v gay to me), and what we know about queer coding in Victorian gothic literature in general, all make a convincing argument. Gatiss actually recently confirmed (more or less) that Dracula will be bisexual in the upcoming series. And while I’m all about gay vampires (I am a huge vampire fan, seriously I love Vampire Diaries and True Blood and was one of “those girls” during the middle school Twilight craze), there is something about Dracula being Moftiss’s first cannon gay show that feels both disappointing and incongruous.

I want to bring up the All Ghost Stories are Gay Stories meta by heimishtheidealhusband. Now, this meta was written in 2015, in anticipation of TAB. Its great and you should definitely check it out if you haven’t/don’t remember it. The part I am most interested in is actually the reading of HOB, which I will get to in a bit. The takeaways from the first bit of the meta are that monsters and ghosts (to a different extent) are representations of queer desire in Victorian gothic literature. I’m summarizing drastically here, but as queer desire was obviously unacceptable in Victorian times, writers would obfuscate it by creating an “other,” a monster or ghost, that represented the queer or “inverted” desire and also demonstrated the fear and horror that society had for homosexuality. So the monster becomes the representation of homosexuality (homosexual acts or desires) that is pursuing the protagonists. Oftentimes, the protagonists were originally obsessed with the monsters or the concept of them, before actually confronting them, but are terrified and frightened when it actually occurs (think Dr. Jeckyll or Frankenstein). This meta also specifically talks about Dracula and vampires as the most queerly coded of the Victorian monsters: “Think about your vampire tropes: Dracula sneaks into your bedroom at night, lusting after your bodily fluids. The victim, meanwhile, is paralyzed with fear, but also excitement. (Oh hi phobic enchantment, I see you there!) The tension mounts until there’s a climactic penetration of fangs into flesh. And lots of sucking. Then think about the fact that the one doing the penetrating and the one being penetrated can be - and often are - both male.” 

This all seems to bode great for our queer reading of the new BBC Dracula, yay! Vampires are clearly queer coded, and making it explicit makes sense and seems like a no-brainer. But I think it’s important to point out the ways in which this is also potentially (and likely) problematic. In Victorian times, there weren’t really many other options for portraying homosexuality. This is part of what makes what these writers did so brilliant - they were unable to show these desires as normal and healthy, because it was too dangerous and society didn’t see them that way (hence the use of the word “inverts” for homosexuals). Using the horror genre allowed them much more freedom to explore homosexuality, identity, and societal reactions to it, but also obfuscated the difference between reactions to homosexuality and the thing itself. In some of the stories, like Frankenstein, the monsters are actually misunderstood. Frankenstein’s monster only turns evil after experiencing society’s horrified reaction to it. However, in a modern context, I wonder about the message it sends to remake a Victorian story in a modern time and make the monster queer.

To flush this out a bit, I think it would be helpful to take a look at how Moftiss (and particularly Mark Gatiss) have played with this Victorian monster trope already, in Sherlock. Which brings us to HOB. heimishistheidealhusband points out that ACD’s original story “The Hound of the Baskervilles” would definitely fit into the scope of Victorian gothic literature, and their meta “All Ghost Stories are Gay Stories” does a particularly good job of breaking this episode down with the lens of Victorian gothic literature and queer coding. I am going to quote this reading here, and also also want to touch on the reading of this episode by Rebekah of TJLC Explained.

Here is what heimishtheidealhusband has to say about this episode: “Here’s why BBC Sherlock’s treatment of Hound is particularly beautiful. The creature – the hound – is our queer monster. In ACD’s Hound, the hound was indeed physically altered – he was painted in phosphorous to give him a hellish, glowing appearance. And the hound was actually the one to do the killing. In BBC’s Hound, there’s “the hound” – the monster that everyone is afraid of which is actually imaginary, and “the dog” – the real thing that actually exists. In other words, in this version, the “queer creature” in the horror story has been de-monstered. Homospectrality is being flipped on his head – rather than separating the man from the queer, they’re separating the queer from the monster. Because the dog isn’t inherently evil, it’s just the poison in the air that everyone is breathing that makes them fear it, and see a monster instead of an innocent dog. So in this treatment, if the dog/hound represents queerness, heteronormativity becomes a poisonous element in the air we all breathe.” 

This is why it is so important that Hounds is plural (as opposed to the original story “The Hound of the Baskervilles”). They are emphasizing the differentiation between the two dogs, the differentiation between the monster and the queer. Rebakah of TJLC Explained also points out that despite all the conspiracy theories, there is actually no monster inside Baskerville, but rather a rabbit that glows “like a fairy,” (let’s all take a moment to remember the skipping dance and sing-song voice Ben does in this scene, in case it wasn’t obviously queerly coded enough). It’s hard to imagine a less-threatening animal than a glowing bunny. 

Mark Gatiss has been very open about his love for horror and the gothic. He has studied the gothic writer M.R. James, and was involved with the BBC documentary about James that explored his “repressed sexuality.” He clearly loves and respects the genre, and is familiar with queer readings of Victorian gothic lit. In HOB, he chose to engage with the genre in a modern context, and to separate the monster from the queer. In doing so, he points out the inaccuracy and harm that coupling queerness with monstrosity generates. With this in mind, the choice to make Dracula feels like a step backwards, especially when you bear in mind that Gatiss has actually said that he isn’t really interested in gothic horror anymore. In an interview with Shadows at the Door in 2017, Gatiss stated: “I used to think nothing could exist without waistcoats and bubbling test tubes and now I’m actually more interested in modern horror; the gothic but in a modern context. I don’t think it has to be about the old and obviously I still love it but it doesn’t have to be about candelabra and castles. You can get the same feeling from modern methods, and in a way that is more frightening.”

All this isn’t to say that gothic horror or vampire stories isn’t still interesting and worthwhile as a concept, or that a canonically queer Dracula wouldn’t/couldn’t be badass. (I for one would love a Vampire Diaries remake wherein Damon’s character is a woman, but I’m off topic..). It doesn’t even mean that there can’t still be something complex or provoking in this representation for a modern audience. But it also feels dangerously close to repeating the queer coded (or even plainly queer) villain that we have all seen a hundred times from horror films and Disney movies. At best, still doesn’t seem particularly new or exciting, and at worst it could reinforce frankly problematic and dangerous stereotypes.

I am now going to analyze the actual trailer for BBC Dracula that was released a few weeks ago, because it is going to help me to illustrate this point. One thing that struck me most when watching it was just how horrific it really is. The 45 second long trailer includes: a fly that crawls into an eye, a bloody fingernail being ripped off, a blood covered hand, something that appears to be being birthed, a scary, old-looking Dracula with a bloody tongue, and bloody flesh that is being carved. There are at least 3 instances of mouths: the fangs at the very beginning, the mouth with bloody tongue, and the frame after the gunshot of a mouth that looks desiccated like a zombie, that only flashes for a split second. All in all, it’s not only scary, it’s quite disgusting. The three bloody or otherwise monstrous mouths that we see relate most strongly to the covert sexual tones of Victorian gothic literature (and also remind me of Moriarty’s oral fixation in TAB). These are some of the most disturbing of the images. While the intro fangs are pretty mild, the clip of Dracula’s frightening face and bloody tongue (which is followed immediately by the bloody flesh being carved) and the decayed mouth are both quite gruesome. If we apply the metaphors that we know from Sherlock, they are making some pretty damning connections. The mouths in-and-of-themselves could be read in a sexual way, but then there is the added fact that the decayed mouth appears directly after a gunshot, which we know has been tied to dicks/gay sex in Sherlock (and generally). The bloody flesh being carved on a table also recalls the food/sex metaphor in Sherlock, specifically reminding me of how disgusting the meal scene is in John’s wedding to Mary. Food and eating can be really disgusting, and this trailer makes a point to show us that. When we connect this back to the sex metaphor again, and give it a queer lens, we are once again being metaphorically told that queer sex is disgusting and horrific. 

Whether or not Moftiss are purposefully making these metaphorical statements, they definitely went out of their way to make this variation of Dracula particularly scary, horrifying, and gruesome. It’s always possible that they are just hyping up the goriness in order to get audiences excited. It’s also possible that they are highlighting the disgustingness of Dracula’s monstrosity as a means of engaging with the public perception of homosexuality or that they will complicate the narrative in some other way. But even if we give them the benefit of the doubt here and assume they aren’t trying to paint queerness in a bad light, this highlighting of the disgusting nature of Dracula’s monstrosity doesn’t seem to push forward any kind of unique, modern narrative. We have seen this, this is exactly what Victorian gothic literature is all about. They needed to explore homosexuality through its repression, to make it monstrous, because they lived in a time when there were few alternative ways to explore it (except for maybe the example of our sweet “bohemian” boys - check out this meta from artemisastarte to learn more about bohemianism and queerness in Sherlock Holmes). But in our modern day, is this really that exciting? Is this the kind of queer representation we want and deserve in 2019 (soon to be 2020)? To me, the answer is no, especially in light of the incredible and complex work they have done in Sherlock toward building a queer love story that is normalized, and completely removed from any conflation with monstrosity. 

The fact that Dracula is tied so heavily to Sherlock makes this distinction even greater. Gatiss said that they got the idea for Dracula from a still image of Benedict Cumberbatch on the set of Sherlock with his collar up. Supposedly it reminded them of Dracula and the BBC asked them if they wanted to make it. In an interview, when asked about Dracula in relationship to Sherlock, Gatiss called it a “stablemate” of Sherlock Holmes. I’m not really sure how we are supposed to take this, and he doesn’t explain at all (of course), but that would mean that they are in some way similar or connected. I think he doesn’t just mean that they both come from him and Moffatt, as that is rather obvious and was acknowledged in the question itself. Both shows are not only created by Moftiss, but written in the same format, produced by Sue Virtue, and shot at Hartwood Studios. They also really emphasize the connection to Sherlock in the trailer (which isn’t surprising because advertising), and also in the new Netflix description, which states only: “From the makers of ‘Sherlock,’ Claes Bang stars as Dracula in this brand-new miniseries inspired by Bram Stoker’s classic novel.” There isn’t even a background image, only a weird gray distortion on a black background.

Furthermore, there are also elements from Sherlock that point to Dracula, either directly or indirectly. In S4, when John is supposedly texting “E.” He asks “Night Owl?” and the response he gets is “Vampire.” It feels odd and out of place to mention vampires in this offhand way, as we have never really seen anything like this on the show. To be fair, a lot of S4 feels this way, but I believe that it is actually chock-full of symbolic meaning and that almost everything that we see that feels wrong or untrue to the show has a deeper meaning. What, then, is the purpose that this plays? Additionally, in the escape room (Spoiler alert for The Game is Now), there is a television in the first room (Molly’s lab) that is playing what is set to look like British news. In the newsreel at the bottom, they included the announcement that Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffatt are making BBC’s Dracula. Once again, this feels a little throwaway, or could be explained away as advertising (although the escape room is so fast-paced that having any time at all to look at the television, let alone read it, when it wasn’t explicitly part of the puzzles would seem rare). Once again, there is a subliminal connection made between these two shows that I would argue is purposeful. 

The decision to make a gothic show that so completely plays on this horror trope, and then to tie it both explicitly and implicitly to the show that they have already done, which has a very different messaging around the gothic as it relates to conceptions of homosexuality, seems odd. In and of itself, a Gothic exploration of queerness is possible, but feels limited by its very nature. Gothic horror through a queer lens is about queerness and otherness being equated to and embodied by monstrosity. Dracula’s trailer seems to clearly be playing up this monstrousness. I want to reiterate that I don’t think making something like Dracula gay couldn’t be cool or interesting for what it is, or that there isn’t a way to engage with the gothic without it being problematic. But in comparison to what they are doing with Sherlock, it feels unimpressive. And in light of HOB, Dracula seems to go directly against the argument that Gatiss makes so beautifully, that queerness is harmless and very distinct from monstrosity, despite what the fog of homophobia might depict. To build up this narrative in Sherlock, then cut into the middle of it with something that is explicitly connected to it but symbolically making an opposite assertion feels counter-intuitive.

Vision, Timing, 20/20

Even with all this evidence, I don’t know that I would really believe they would go through the trouble to do all of this if not for the timing. Dracula is set to come out “soon,” but people have been speculating for this winter. That would make it the end of 2019 or beginning of 2020. Now I’m going to explain a little bit about my reading of HLV, which happens to coincide nicely with The Game is Now, and ultimately this theory as a whole. 

Something that caught my eye in HLV is how much glass there is in its first scene. We open on a shot of CAM’s glasses sitting on the table. We are below them, looking up through glass (although we see later that the table is actually wood). Next we get a shot of lady Elizabeth Smallwood, reflected through glass so as to show her in double (which is particularly interesting given that she is repeatedly called Lady Alicia Smallwood, both by CAM in the text that flashes on the screen during his analysis of her later this episode, and in the S4 scene where she leaves Mycroft her card). Next we see the entire interviewing committee through glass walls (it continues but you get the picture). We are introduced to the concept of lenses, looking through them, and at times the distorted image created by them. 

CAM owns a newspaper, and he controls people through rumors: it doesn’t matter what the truth is, it matters what people believe (what they see). (This sounds a lot like Mary in S4 to me). So we are introduced again (after TRF) to the concept of fact vs. fiction, truth vs. lie, and this time with the addition of lenses. What lens you view something through matters, has a bearing on how you read something, how clearly you see it (sounds kind of like the fog in HOB). By the end of HLV, we have been removed from the narrative enough, we can’t see completely clearly. We don’t know what has happened during the time between John and Sherlock’s confrontation with Mary and the scene at Christmas. We don’t see if Sherlock and John are on the same page or what Sherlock is planning. 

This episode leads into TAB, followed by S4 fuckiness. In S4, there are many things that feel “off” but one of the biggest is that John and Sherlock are distant the entire time. In the beginning we get the indication that John is missing Sherlock, but then we see Sherlock acting as if he is closer to Mary than John, inviting her on cases in his place. She gets inserted between them completely, becomes part of the gang. After Mary’s “death” John blames Sherlock (in a feat of logic that is truly baffling) and we have them at their most distant in TLD. And then, they come back together again in TFP, but the warmth and closeness is missing.

This season makes it clear that Moftiss were writing in all the little things that made their dynamic romantic and their chemistry so clear. They were able to take that out, and they did so with intention. It is if we are seeing the show through a lens: through the lens of straight-washing, the lens or perspective that Mary (John’s wife, the symbol of a straight John Watson, a platonic John and Sherlock) narrates for us so thoroughly at the end of the series. (Also side note, this straight-washed version of the show also fits into the 5 part John Yorke structure with part 4 being the height of the antithesis or the “worst part” - I learned about York from garkgatiss’s meta). The heart of the show is John and Sherlock’s dynamic. This dynamic is clearly intimate and romantic and has been in every iteration of Sherlock Holmes since the original stories, despite never being explicitly canon. S4 really follows through on Moriarty’s promise. The heart of Sherlock Holmes is gone, missing, burned out. 

Then we have the escape room [mild spoilers]. The entrance is Doyle’s Opticians; its filled with glasses. (Side note there was definitely a wall displaying glasses that were arranged by color to look like a rainbow). Once again we have the theme of lenses. Being in an optometry office, it’s interesting because the focus is obviously on correct vision. 20/20 vision. Vision is “right” when it’s 2020. (This wasn’t my realization, but someone else went to the escape room as well and wrote about it). So now, we have this idea of being able to see correctly tied to the number 2020. To the YEAR 2020. This is also interesting because one of the signs in Doyle’s Opticians read “You were told but you didn’t listen: coming soon.” Just another indication that we will be getting more (Sherlock) soon. 

Now, finally, we come to what I see as some of the most convincing evidence about Sherlock S5 coming in 2020. It has to do with copyright laws. 

In England, all of ACD’s stories are in the public domain. However, in the US, this isn’t so. US Copyright laws are different from the UK, so the last of the stories won’t actually enter the public domain until 2023. American copyright duration is 95 years from the date of publication. This is important because the Arthur Conan Doyle Estate is extremely protective of how Sherlock Holmes is portrayed in the media. It turns out that despite the fact that most of the stories are already in the public domain, BBC, CBS, and Warner Brothers have all gotten licenses from the Estate in order to make their shows/films. In 2014, the ACD Estate lost a lawsuit in which they were trying to argue that the characters are “complex” and that any use of the character (at all) was still valid under copyright laws (as not every story had entered the public domain) and therefore in need of a license from them. While some of the later stories are still under copyright, they lost the lawsuit and it was ruled that the character (as written in the earlier stories) is in the public domain. They sued Miramax for its production Mr. Holmes, which portrays an elderly Holmes, arguing that it drew from the later stories and therefore violated copyright. Miramax ended up settling to avoid litigation. The Estate is known for being litigious and basically doing its best to stay gatekeeper, hoard ownership, and generally extort money out of anyone who creates anything having to do with Sherlock Holmes. While the BBC has paid them for licenses before, I’m not sure how this clearly conservative group would feel about making Johnlock canon. Even if its not legally in their power to prevent it from happening, it doesn’t sound like that has stopped them in the past from suing basically anyone that has tried to create Sherlock Holmes material without their consent, and if that material in any way seems to come from the later stories, then they might have a case. 

Which brings us to the Three Garridebs. Moftiss have said in the past that this is one of their favorite stories due to it being the story where Holmes shows his depth of feeling for Watson. As stated by Watson himself, “It was worth a wound–it was worth many wounds–to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask” Generally speaking, the fandom has posited that a Johnlock reveal may happen in a “Three Garridebs” moment. And do you happen to know the story that directly precedes the Three Garridebs? The Sussex Vampire. A story in which Holmes investigates a supposed vampire only to discover a loving mother who is attempting to save her infant child by sucking poison out from his wound. Kind of sounds familiar huh? A perceived monster, who is in fact nothing dangerous at all. Who in this case is the exact opposite of monstrous, is actually loving and gentle (like the real dog that is tellingly tied to sentiment, or Bluebell the glowing rabbit).

Both the Sussex Vampire and the Three Garridebs are part of The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes, the last collection of stories. They were both published in 1924, meaning that both their copyrights run out in 2019. It will really only be possible for Moftiss to use material from the Three Garridebs for a queer storyline starting in 2020. And if we assume that this is their plan all along, that they have even potentially set it up in S4 (looking at you John Watson getting shot by “Eurus”), they have HAD TO WAIT until now. But they won’t need to wait any longer, starting in January. 

Oh and by the way, here is an interview Martin gave recently in which he tells a story about how he had to literally give up the Hobbit because he was CONTRACTED to Sherlock S2 and they wouldn’t move filming on that. (Thankfully Peter Jackson moved filming around for him, so we still have him as Bilbo). So I would imagine that if S2 was contracted, and they were planning on making a 5 series show all along, that they are probably contracted for all of it. Which means all those claims that its just too difficult to get everyone together for filming are just another means of throwing us off the trail. 

If they have been waiting for this copyright to expire, but also unable to tell us that that is why they are waiting, it also makes sense why they have stretched it out so much. It's even possible that they didn’t realize how horrible the ACD Estate was going to be when they first started filming, and had to adjust/drag it out so that they could finally do what they want to do, what they have been planning for from the beginning.

So there you have it: the ending of The Final Problem, an analysis of HOB, Dracula, and Victorian gothic lit, and finally the symbolism of lenses, correct vision, and copyright issues all leading up to 2020. I think S5 of Sherlock is coming. I’ve been feeling it, sensing something for the last few months. I think we can all feel it. And it might just be sooner than we thought.

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

Thank you so much to my love @canonicallybisexualjohnwatson who co-developed this theory with me, edited this, helped me with the links, and was also the one to introduce me to Sherlock/TJLC, subsequently changing my life. i love you b.

[arazialotis]

Winchesters & Co. - Part 3

Pairing: Dean × Reader

Word Count: Around 2050

Summary: When most people run away, they join the circus; but the Winchester boys were running from it. They wanted more than their father’s business; a paranormal circus of horror and delight. Dean Winchester thought he would never step foot here again but John’s death obliged him to return. Now that he’s back, the only thing that may tempt him to stay is you. The girl with white hair and a gift to see the future. Part 1 Part 2

Warnings: Fluff

----

Seventeen felt so long ago. Recalling it felt like waking up in the morning with a ray of sunshine already warming your chest. It was wild and carefree. You had fully grown into your role of fortune teller. The sad or angry customers no longer frightened you. You had even suggested to John reading his fortune which he seemed to like a little too much. But seventeen held much more than business endeavors. It held your first and only kiss; with none other than the infamous lady-killer, Dean Winchester. 

By seventeen, Dean Winchester had experienced numerous first kisses; with customers, traveling acts, daughters of rich investors. He didn’t discriminate, anyone was game, everyone but you. Perhaps it was the brotherly-sisterly bond that you shared, or Dean still feared your white hair. Whatever it was, you envied his flirtatiousness and rivaled for his attention. 

Childhood still clung to your late teenage years as you and he still wandered the fields and forest. Yet Dean couldn’t figure out your silent infatuation with the blades of wheat over a conversation with him. 

His deep sigh prompted your response. “Where were you last night?” You accused still focused picking the grains of one by one. “You said you would be there when I read the governor’s fortune.” 

Dean chuckled to himself recalling. “Perhaps you should ask his wife.” You scoffed in response, throwing the wheat aside and hitting his shoulder.

“It was only a kiss.” He defended with a devilish grin. 

You went from shock back to pouting. “I’ve never been kissed.” Dean remained silent. “Probably never will be since the only people I interact with are you and customers who think I’m some freak.” 

“Hey!” Dean cut you off. “Don’t talk like that. You are not a freak.” You rolled your eyes. “I’d kiss you.” He continued as you tsked. “But if you read that future, I’m sure it’d lead to me getting punched in the arm.” 

“I wouldn’t punch you.” You went back to examining the grass. 

Dean leaned in closer. “Does that mean I can kiss you?” 

You looked back to him, closer to his lips than you had ever been before. Almost as if there was a magnetic force pulling you in. But your laughed cut you off and you flopped down to the ground. 

“I want to be kissed by someone who loves me.” You sighed watching the clouds pass by. 

The sky became blocked by Dean’s grinning face as he rolled over you, pinning you to the ground. “I love you, Moonchild.”

You playfully pounded against his chest. “Like a sister.” You added. 

He licked his lips, while looking at yours. “Not right now.” 

You blushed. “Ay, this ain’t love, this is raging hormones.” 

“What’s the difference?” He countered. 

Staring up back at him you were losing your excuses. “Haven’t you kissed enough girls?” 

He leaned in closer, mere inches away from your lips. “There’s only one girl I’m concerned with now.” 

Finally you gave in and lifted up to meet his mouth. For a brief moment, your world went white, not from fortune reading, but from a pure spark of flames raging inside your chest. Dean bounded up from the shock. You stayed paralyzed, staring up at the sky. 

“You actually did it!” Dean laughed, leaping up in the air. “I can’t believe it! You just kissed me! No way in a million years would I have thought...” 

“Shut up.” You breathed heavily. “I guess it wasn’t all that bad. But for all the practice you’ve had I expected a bit more.” You finally stood up as you teased. 

Dean inched closer to you with a sly smirk on his face. “You thought that was it? I’m just getting started.” 

“You’ll have to catch me first!” You swished your hips back and forth. Dean bit his lip before he charged. You ran away from him squealing in delight. 

****

It was near twilight as you headed there now. Butterflies flipped in your stomach recalling the memories. A picnic basket filled with bread, cheeses, jams and wine swung in your arm. Approaching the twin oaks at the edge of the circus, your pace slowed. Your free hand caressed the tree’s rough bark as you looked out over the path that led to the outside world. A soft whistle broke your concentration. Following the noise, you could see Dean’s silhouette pacing the field. A smile filled your heart. 

WIthout saying a word, you sat down in the grass next to him, placing the basket’s contents onto a woven cloth. You handed Dean a small wooden goblet filled with spiced wine you purchased from the witch Celeste. It warmed you down to your very soul.

Spreading some jam and fresh butter over a slice of bread, you found the courage to speak hoping to know Dean’s intentions for the night. “Have you done much kissing since seventeen?”

He never did quite lose that boyish grin. He used a pocket knife to slice of a piece of apple and popped it in his mouth while chewing over an answer. “There has rarely been a time with another when someone else’s kiss hasn’t come to mind.” 

You laughed. “If that’s a regular line Dean Winchester, I believe the number is too high to count.”

He looked into your eyes. “I’ve only used that line once.” 

You shook your head and pressed your lips together. The sky grew darker and the crickets’ songs began. After another sip of wine, you laid your head down on Dean’s outstretched leg, looking for the first star to shine out yearning to answer a dreamer’s wish. While you searched the sky, Dean searched your face, tucking a stray white dred behind your ear. 

You couldn’t tell how long you stayed like that before Dean spoke again. “You could come with me you know… after all of this is put to rest.” 

You paused. “You could always stay…” 

Dean leaned back joining your gaze towards the sky. “There’s no future here.” He sighed.

“There’s contentment.” You argued. “There’s security… there’s family.”

He sucked the side of his teeth showing disdain but let it be. “We don’t need to decide tonight.” 

You closed your eyes breathing in the fresh night air. “Then why have you brought me out here Dean Winchester?” “There’s something I should have done years ago.” He explained, you sat up to meet his gaze. 

Dean leaned over, his hand gently caressing your hair, pushing you in to meet him. Your world went white at first contact. He was soft yet firm, letting you lead but guiding you along. You stole breaths in between as sparks from the fire consumed you. Worlds spun around you faster than the twirling rides in the park. When you finally pulled away, you couldn’t help but contain your excitement.

Dean’s devilish smirk returned. “Now, how was that for practiced.” 

You scoffed and whipped your shawl against his shoulder. “Do not tell me that as just to prove a point from all those years ago.”

He considered teasing you further but resisted. “It wasn’t. From the moment you entered this circus I was utterly interguid and captivated by your presence. It’s about time I started showing it.”

“Of all the fortunes I’ve seen… this was one I never could have predicted.” You shook your head in amazement.

Dean silently chuckled before leaning back in for another kiss. 

***

The carnival had been up and running for hours by the time Dean and you returned. You walked hand in hand, as if you were simply customers. The caravan was empty, no one in line for the closed act. 

“So much for resting up for tonight's customers.” You giggled. 

Dean kept his stride steady, not evening giving the place a second glance. “Forget them tonight, you can worry about work tomorrow.” 

For once, you wandered the paths, you took in the sight around you as a wonder not as your home. Lights dazzled, rides whirled, fire breathers shocked audiences, but the one thing consistent in the chaos was Dean’s presence keeping you steady on the ground. Some of the vendors glanced your way with curiosity. You kept your head held high out of pride for being with the owner’s son. 

The rides and attractions led to booths that were rigged with games that seemed so simple yet always turned a profit. One in particular caught Dean��s eye. 

“No way! This old thing is still around?” He finally released your hand as he rushed over to it. 

You simply smiled and jumped up to sit upon the counter. Dean fished out a few nickels from his pocket buying him three small wooden stakes. The vendor cranked a mechanical wheel starting a line of silhouettes moving back and forth. 

The vendor muffled through pointed teeth. “Should I take caution from your continued fixation of this game?” Dean disregarded him, eyes lit up only for the prize. He threw one stake and it landed its mark straight in the heart. 

You piped in for Dean. “It’d take a lot more than a stake to kill you Dany. You should be grateful of the myth this game perpetuates about your kind.” 

He sneered as Dean threw at the second target. “Just as you should be grateful for the old man’s protection.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You scowled. 

The third stake whizzed past the vampires head, imbedding into the wall behind him. “She is still protected.” Dean nearly growled. 

Dany stood tall, unfazed as a low chuckle rose from his throat. “All I’m saying is a few of us have been around a lot longer than you youngins.” He reached for a pair of fake plastic fangs and threw them Dean’s way. “Better luck next time.” 

Dean left the second-rate prize, storming away. You looked between the both of them before trailing behind Dean. 

“He’d better watch himself.” Dean fumed. 

“Ay, he meant nothing by it.” You locked your hand around his arm hoping it would slow his pace. “He’s paid to be creepy is all. Forgets when he's talking to customers or staff.” 

“If anything happened to you… or a customer…” 

You cut him off. “Perhaps you have been in the real world too long Dean Winchester. The monsters and ghost stories they tell out there have no meaning here. This is a haven for the grim and macob. All we want is peace and a full belly.” Although you protested, Dean’s scowl remained. “Though the witch Celeste has been making comments about the potential potions that she could conjure with my eyes….” 

The sternness Dean held melted to horror. 

“Ay!” You slapped his shoulder. “I’m only joshing.” You howled in laughter. “Your face!”

“Okay, that’s it.” Dean pouted. “You’re scoundrels, all of ya!” 

You wiggled your hips and sashed your skirt at him. “You like it.” You teased. 

Dean closed the gap and cupped your face in his hands. “I’ll never admit it.” He whispered. 

“What is it there always saying… it’s not your words, but your actions.” You smiled as Dean leaned in, grazing his lips against yours. 

You jolted back from Dean at the onslaught of heavy smoke. “What is it?” Dean asked concerned. His hand fell down holding the hem of your skirt.

“You don’t smell that?” You looked around for the source. 

Dean casually sniffed the air and then glanced down to his rumbling stomach. His hand came away from your dress, placing it over his belly. “Corn Dogs? Yes. No offense, but what you call dinner is not very filling.” 

If he didn’t smell it, where was it coming from? Was it just a figment of your imagination? Or remnants from Castiel vision earlier that day? The smokey air soon dissipated and the lack of flames or screaming customers told you it was all in your head. 

Dean could sense something was off. “You comin’?” You snapped out of your daze and he smirked. “I do often have that effect on women.” 

“Tsk.” With the twirl of your skirt you sauntered away from him, trying to forget the lingering smell.

He giddly followed after you, knowing you were only playing hard to get, and that your night was not quite finished yet. 

---

Part 4

Tags:

Forevers: @nanie5 @sea040561 @crushing83 @mogaruke @deanwinchesterforpromqueen@ginamsmith @jotink78 @blushingdean @sup3r-pott3r-lock3d @dancingalone21 @li-ssu@highonpastries @daddy-kink-confirmed @weewooweewoo1212 @carryonmyswansong @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @atc74 @superapplepie @coolness22 @cassieraider @winchesternco @adaliamalfoy @iwriteaboutdean @spnbaby-67 @cigsandpie @curedean @monkeymcpoopoo@adoptdontshoppets @maddiepants @onceuponathreetwoone

DeanxReader: @akshi8278 @mywillfulwinchester @dainty-hibiscus @boxywrites @its-not-a-tulpa@mrsbatesmotel53 @tacklesackles @creepykatftw @aubreystilinski @iamabeautifulperson18@jerkbitchidjitassbutt @gloriousartisanfancreator

WinchesternCo: @flamencodiva @shamelesslydean

[stfuisaac]

hello hello it’s lucky again and,, sadly,, we don’t have the technology that makes the thoughts we have just.... appear onto our screens yet... so this took a hot sec and still isn’t perfect bc i don’t plan on proofreading :\ but! here,, is,, my new,, drummer boy,, parumpumpumpum

‹ avan jogia, he/him, cis man, bisexual. › ISAAC BAROT is the TWENTY-SEVEN year old from SAN JOSE, CALIFORNIA. when a friend asked them what they thought of the manor they said,  ❝ I HEARD THIS IS WHERE THEY DECIDED TO MAKE THE TWILIGHT ZONE. ❞ they claim GET OUT is their favorite scary movie, and if they were to die in a horror film they would BE OBLIVIOUS TO THERE EVEN BEING A KILLER UNTIL IT’S TOO LATE. their fears include MANNEQUINS, HITCH-HIKERS and DYING WITH NOTHING TO SHOW, and they don’t know we know, but… HE GOT INTO A (MUTUALLY) NEAR FATAL ALTERCATION WITH A STRANGER HE GAVE A RIDE TO (YES, HE WAS AN UBER DRIVER - HIS GREATEST SHAME). hope they enjoy their stay. ‹ PLATANCHOR requested by JOAKIM from STRESSED OUT penned by, LUCKY, 20, EST. ›

QUICK FACTS:

full name: isaac benjamin barot

date of birth: september 12, 1992

*does not perfectly reflect the below Big Three zodiac chart because that’s so much math

zodiac big three: virgo sun, taurus moon, libra rising

gender & pronouns: cis man & he/him

sexual orientation: bisexual

occupation: session drummer + lyft driver + ex-uber driver

mbti: entp

enneagram: 5w6

the song i listen to on repeat while i write the intro: “deja vu” - roger waters

BACKGROUND INFO:

alright. so.

isaac's backstory is neither tragic nor easy. his father was an immigrant who married his mother solely to get a green card (y’all, to be fair... the citizenship tests are whack). there wasn’t any real romance between the two, but the drop-ins always said otherwise. no, outside of putting on a show for government officials, isaac’s father and mother were friends at the best of times.

the best of times culminated in a son who grew up in an interesting dynamic. his father and mother never even attempted to be anything more than friends (with, as you can see, the occasional benefits). after the check-ins finally stopped, his father and mother even began sleeping in different rooms. his mother would trade in her queen for a double and replace the space his father used to take up with his cradle.

it was nothing like the ‘unhappy marriage’ trope, though... again, because they barely ever pretended to be married. they would take their wedding rings off when they went out with friends. sometimes they would even take off their rings around each other and talk the other up to someone attractive.

so it was unorthodox, but it was much better than his parents pretending to be in love in that way and giving him a skewed version of what romance should look like.

one down-side to it, though, was that isaac never knew who he was supposed to go to for what. usually it’s just a given that “if you need/want x, go to the matriarch, if you need/want y, go to the patriarch” but... what happens... when your parents are basically just your friends?

so thank god for growing up in the age of technology. like,, ya,, a literal baby can’t google things like “how to say ‘mom’” but a 15y/o can google “how to shave”

so... ya... his parents were his friends, the internet was his parent(s?).

one thing the internet couldn’t do? give him drums. it could introduce him to the likes of ringo starr, john bonham, keith moon, and ginger baker, but it couldn’t give him drums... not when he was only, like... 10, at least.

so he put a set on his christmas wishlist and figured they would divide amongst themselves.

so ya, his 10th christmas, he got a shitty little rockwood hohner kit that he would use for the next nine years.

he never received any professional training. again, he didn’t know who to ask and... youtube wouldn’t exist for another three years. he tried to teach himself using a few books and, if nothing else, figured out a few simple beats and how to gain independence.

after learning those simple little beats and not knowing if he wanted to buy the next book, he decided to take a break and, instead of going back to professional books, he’d just listen to some of his favorite tracks... most of which were ginger baker... which made things kind of hard when he only had one bass drum, two tom-toms, and one floor tom. those, plus the really low quality pearl cymbals. still, he did his best to make it work.

just a side-note that, because of videos of ginger, isaac used (and still uses, out of habit) a mix of traditional and matched grip.

he went back and forth between the books and mimicking the patterns of other drummers (mostly ginger) up until he was around 16 and his friend, ribs (y’all), decided to teach him a few more technical skills. what you want to learn for this song are polyrhythms, but those are hard and no, ginger isn’t using a crash there, he’s using a splash and do you want a discount on some better cymbals and drumheads from my parents’s music shop because this is a very functional kit but it kind of sounds whack

he continued using the same whack kit, but replaced the heads with aquarians, as per ribs’s recommendation (but evans and remo are also good) and, after literally examining baker’s kit, replaced the cymbals with various zildjian collections

even though we stan istanbul agop in this house.

he also started listening to more drummers than... pretty much just baker with a hint of john bonham, keith moon, and ringo starr. as his friend suggested, he tried out drummers like buddy rich, art blakey, travis barker, dave grohl, karen carpenter, neil peart, nick mason, simon phillips –– even was told to listen to ac/dc songs just to see how a successful band could be made using essentially the same beat over and over and over.

so now he had some split time. school. work. practice. figure out who the hell was making dinner that night/if there was someone making dinner last night because they might both be talking each other up.

although he applied to various colleges, and although some of these colleges actually accepted him, he ultimately decided not to go. instead, he moved from san jose to los angeles in the hopes that he’d find something bigger than himself... and a new drum set...

he found the latter in a ludwig kit with two bass drums, two tom-toms, and two floor toms. then he just added a bunch of stuff and tried to make it like ginger baker’s. pretty much spent all of his money on it and then some.

when his friends formed a band and found success, he was very very happy for them... but... he found himself stuck... driving ubers.

and lyfts!

he’d seen the twilight zone before. he loved that show. he’d seen the episode ‘the hitch-hiker,’ so he was really driving for the companies against his better judgment. 

his worst uber story? the time a guy got into the car, had pinged a location that was still marked as a store on the uber gps but had recently been torn down, and tried to attack him when they got there :\ he 110% fought back, though. was fired because the other guy was the one who made it out injured.

only drove for lyft after that :\

he did take on a few projects, but he... proved to be too much of a roger waters for people who just wanted to chill and have fun. there would be adverts for people who wanted to form a band and he’d be like “hell yeah! finally! a band!” then he’d get pissed that they advertised it so seriously but really... just wanted to jam. did not have any plans to try to do anything with it.

the few projects he did join that involved people who wanted to actually achieve success... if they were slacking, you best bet his inner roger waters came out! which is why he never stuck around in any projects for too long!

but ‘projects’ and ‘jam sessions’ were totally different. you want to do ‘wipeout’ in a project? he’s gonna take that intro that literally everyone on the planet knows SERIOUSLY. you want to do ‘wipeout’ in a jam session? LET’S HAVE SOME FUN WITH IT.

he does some session/studio drumming for other artists to make some extra money while doing something he genuinely enjoys... but... still... it is no project™

in between things right now, he got a call from joakim that, while muffled and staticky, sounded like it said ‘get here, please’ and clearly stated where he was.

of course, voicemail lines were crossed and many many many essential words were left out – words that were basically saying the exact opposite ahfsdkjl. the shadow’s really playin them :\

so here he is, in all his glory.

TL;DR:

i was gonna kms if i didn’t play another drummer, so this is my ginger baker fanboy whose parents were literally just best friends and, as a result, were also both his friend. the internet raised him. started playing drums when he was 10 on a low qual kit with low qual cymbals that his parents got him for christmas, but literally why would you get a beginning a good set? continued playing. eventually moved to los angeles and tried to form many successful projects, but was too much of a roger waters. was summoned up here by the shadow man fucking around joakim. his greatest shame is how many ubers he has driven.

PERSONALITY INFO:

he will always say his proudest moment was when he learned how to play ‘toad’ by ginger baker cream all the way through.

big ginger baker fanboy.

loves the twilight zone and will just spill a random fact out about it every now and again.

a lowkey control freak which completely goes against the way he dresses and the vibe he gives off. 

is only a dick about it if you’re part of one of his ‘projects’ but aren’t taking it seriously tho :\

ok i’m too tired 2 write a personality section rn when im already rly bad at them but!! again!! feel free 2 j refer to the zodiac big three + the personality types!!

FEARS:

mannequins: they’re already creepy enough when you really think about it, then you add in that episode of the twilight zone where the characters wake up in an unfamiliar house and go outside and basically everyone is just a mannequin? ya he hates mannequins.

hitch-hikers: so, as we have just seen, he’s had it bad enough with people who were registered to an app, paying, their personal information readily available, etc., etc... so then what would happen if it was just a complete and utter stranger who didn’t have any personal information, any ping, and was the sole focus of a different twilight zone episode? he... is going... to drive past you. he’ll feel bad about it, but...

dying with nothing to show: here’s the money shot! here’s the deep fear! as has been shown throughout, isaac craves success and some form of a legacy. if he dies with nothing to show for his life, then was his life ever worth it in general?

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

ok,,, it might be bc im tired rn,,, but i have the most basic list that will hopefully be updated tomorrow bc it is SO VERY BASIC:

friends

fwb

ons

exes

enemies (much easier to get on his bad side than it is w/ fluke)

BRAINSTORMING AND/OR SOMETHING FROM YOUR WANTED CONNECTIONS AND/OR WHATEVER YOU HAVE AN IDEA FOR!!!!

[autolovecraft]

He changed his business, but something always preyed upon him.

As his hammer blows began to fall, the horse outside whinnied in a tone which may have been just fear, and it may have been fear mixed with a queer belated sort of remorse for bygone crudities.

Better still, though, he would utilize only two boxes of the base to support the superstructure, leaving one free to be piled on top in case the actual feat of escape required an even greater altitude. Only the coffins themselves remained as potential stepping-stones, and as he considered these he speculated on the best mode of transporting them. Dusk fell and found Birch still toiling. The boxes were fairly even, and could be piled up like blocks; so he began to realize the truth and to shout loudly as if his horse outside could do more than neigh an unsympathetic reply. The afflicted man was fully conscious, but would say nothing of any consequence; merely muttering such things as Oh, my ankles! The vault had been dug from a hillside, so that it was possible to give all of Birch's inanimate charges a temporary haven in the single antiquated receiving tomb. In the semi-gloom he trusted mostly to touch to select the right one, and indeed came upon it almost by accident, since it tumbled into his hands as if through some odd volition after he had unwittingly placed it beside another on the third layer.

For the long-neglected latch was obviously broken, leaving the careless undertaker trapped in the vault, a victim of his own oversight. In either case it would have been appropriate; for the hole was on exactly the right level to use as soon as its size might permit. Then he fled back to the lodge and broke all the rules of his calling by rousing and shaking his patient, and hurling at him a succession of shuddering whispers that seared into the bewildered ears like the hissing of vitriol. His frightened horse had gone home, but his frightened wits never quite did that. Birch heeded this advice all the rest of his life till he told me his story; and when I saw the scars—ancient and whitened as they then were—I agreed that he was wise in so doing. The practices I heard attributed to him would be unbelievable today, at least to such meager tools and under such tenebrous conditions as these, Birch glanced about for other possible points of escape. The light was dim, but Birch's sight was good, and he did not care to imagine. He had, it seems, planned in vain when choosing the stoutest coffin for the platform; for no sooner was his full bulk again upon it than the rotting lid gave way, jouncing him two feet down on a surface which even he did not heed the day at all; though ever afterward he refused to do anything of importance on that fateful sixth day of the week. He worked largely by feeling now, since newly gathered clouds hid the moon; and though progress was still slow, he felt heartened at the extent of his encroachments on the top and bottom of the aperture. For an impersonal doctor, Davis' ominous and awestruck cross-examination became very strange indeed as he sought to pull himself up, when he noticed a queer retardation in the form of an apparent drag on both his ankles. In this twilight too, he began to realize the truth and to shout loudly as if his horse outside could do more than neigh an unsympathetic reply.

Fortunately the village was small and the death rate low, so that it was possible to give all of Birch's inanimate charges a temporary haven in the single antiquated receiving tomb. Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door. It is doubtful whether he was touched at all by the horror and exquisite weirdness of his position, but the other was worse—those ankles cut neatly off to fit Matt Fenner's cast-aside coffin! His head was broken in, and everything was tumbled about. He gave old Matt the very best his skill could produce, but was thrifty enough to save the rejected specimen, and to let no other doctor treat the wounds. Then he fled back to the lodge and broke all the rules of his calling by rousing and shaking his patient, and hurling at him a succession of shuddering whispers that seared into the bewildered ears like the hissing of vitriol. Dusk fell and found Birch still toiling.

[booknerdateen]

Halloween Book Recommendations!👻☠️🎃....Part 1

Hello, my loves!! If you saw my last post, then you know what’s coming. If not, let me tell you....I wanted to do a Halloween Book Recommendation post (long one) in the beginning of the month since it’s pre Halloween month-as I call it for right now. That didn’t happen for the last couple days because I was busy. But here we are! Now...be amazed of allllll the choices you got and even if some may not be your genre or type, that is okay!

📖 The Diviners Trilogy by Libba Bray

This series is one of my favorites...sadly I haven’t finished reading the 2nd book (Lair of Dreams), but with my Halloween binge I am planning on rereading and finishing it. This is 1920’s New York...nuff said. But anyways, we have different persoectives told in 3rd person (I have no idea which 3rd, cuz those I can’t remember for the life of me), who has abilities to see ghosts/future, etc... aka Diviners. Basically physics in other words. In the first one, they battle out this evil monster dude (which is creepy...the monster dude). Lair of Dreams deals with this mystery illness...I can’t say much for this one since I haven’t finished it yet. Before the Devil Breaks You is the 3rd and final book and I don’t know what that one is about.

The audiobooks-y’all do them-I have no comments. I read The Diviners physically (I didn’t really get into audiobooks till recently this year). I did try and listen to Lair of Dreams, but it wasn’t for me. i may give it another try, so no promises on this though. I have heard that they are really good, so hopefully they are as well for you.

📖Stalking Jack the Ripper Series by Kerri Maniscalco

This series is one of my favorites! I’m gonna say that for so many here, but I love this one to pieces to where I preordered the 3rd book (Escaping From Houdini) and also the 4th and final one (Capturing the Devil. CTD is being shipped on the 10th this month (6 DAYS) from my Barnes and Noble location, so I don’t know if it will arrive that day or not.

Anyways, this series follows Audrey Rose Wadsworth in the late 1800s dealing with the Ripper murders. The second involves Dracula, third is Houdini, and the fourth is H.H Holmes. Yes, America’s first serial killer! Sorry, I’m very excited about that. Being a girl in the 1800s/1900s, you’re not really have much to live for. Audrey rather do things that guys can do (forensics in this case), then being at tea parties. I don’t blame you, girl! Then, Thomas Cressworth comes in as well and they both solves these crimes together with the help of Audrey’s uncle (a mortician). If that doesn’t get your interest, then Idk what will.

📖Confessions Series by James Patterson

This series is more mystery than horror. I personally love James Patterson and he has always been one of my favorite authors. This one follows the Angel siblings after their parents’ mystery death (that mystery is the center of the first one (Confessions of a Murder Suspect). These siblings aren’t necessarily ordinary in some since. I don’t want to give away anything, but meds has the reason for that.

Tandy Angel (main character here) solves these murders/crimes throughout the books. The second one contains school murders (not shootings, thankfully) (Confessions: The Private School Murders). The third (Confessions: The Paris Mysteries) takes place in Paris, France. I have not read this one nor the 4th one (Confessions: The Murder of an Angel) so I don’t have any opinions on these ones. It is really good and if you’re a sucker for mysteries and James Patterson boos, then here you go!

📖The Women’s Murder Club by James Patterson

Another Patterson series...I’m a sucker for them. At first, I had called this the Number series because I didn’t know what the series was called and the only thing I knew was that they have numbers in the title.

Meet Lindsay Boxer (main character), homicide inspector for San Fran; Claire Washburn, medical examiner; Jill Bernhardt, assistant D.A.; and Cindy Thomas, San Fran Chronicle writer. 4 amazing chicks who kick butt, form the Women’s Murder Club to solve these murders. Freakin girl power! The chapters are quite short, sometimes longer, but usually short, which if you’re good with that, then cool, if not, that’s okay! I’m pretty sure the latest book of the series published is the 17th one...maybe 18th....one of those two. These are the ones I currently have.

📖The Merciless Series by Danielle Vega

If you love horror, possesion, all that stuff, you’ll love this series. I first discovered it on Facebook when the book trailer popped up. It was a interesting trailer and caught my tention. Couple years later, my senior year of high school, the book fair came (appears twice a year, this was the first appearance) and I had to buy it. It was $8 bucks, originally $10.99. If you are very religious, then maybe not this series. Lots of said people said its Mean Girls and the Craft mixed together.

The first two books follows Sophoa Flores as the main character. Sophia, being the new girl, befriends the 3 populare chicks (Plastics), who they want her to befriend this outsider (Brooklynn). Mean Girls basically but little bit reveresed. Then things happen. Spoilers, so I can’t really clarify it. Second is and it’s what the 2nd is also called....The Excorsim of Sophia Flores...DUN DUN DUNNNN. The third (Origins of Evil) is where Brooklynns story begins, so we know how Brooklynn became and what not. The 4th and final (The Last Rites) features a little bit of Sophia, but this main character is Berkley Hubbard, fresh out of rehab. Honestly, these books do scare me, but not like how when I watched the Conjuring the first time. Perfect read for Halloween season!

📖Mrs. Peregrine Series by Ransom Riggs

Now, I have not been able to finish the dang first book, so Idk. From what I have read and remeber, it is really good! It’s kind of horro...I don’t particularly think it is, but others do. This has mixed media, mainly pictures, but fascinating ones! The four books follows Jacob Portman and his friends of peculiar aka they have abilities and their adventures they have. If you’ve seen the movis, then you understand what I mean. Ransom’s writing is one of my favorites and having pictures/media in them makes me happy. I am a visual person, so the pictures help me a lot.

Anways, the first book is where Jacob is in the peculiar world where the peculiars live in this never ending time loop of the same day, but they rewind time before bombs happen aka Poland in WW 2. I’ve heard so many amazing things of this series! Jesse the Reader (booktuber) LOVES this series and he will recommend it to the end of time.

📖Visions Trilogy by Lisa McMann

These three books involve visions. If you have seen Medium (with Patricia...I cant remember her last name), then you will love Visions. They don’t involve any ghosts, so that’s a difference from Medium.

Here we have (Crash) Jules Demarco, who is seeing visions of this explosion everywhere. She realizes this explosion will happen very soon and she has to stop it before it happens. Not much, I know, but the next one (Bang) (sadly deals with a school shooting), her crush gets the visions this time. The third one (Gasp) has this random character who the two save last book ends up getting the visions then. This vision is a boat accident...a ferry to be precise, but nothing like Titanic...at least I don’t think so. This was a good series and really liked them. Easy to read in 1 day...unless y’all are busy and or a slow reader like me.

📖The Asylum Series by Madeleine Roux

Horror, ghosts, random past lives stuff! I only have the first two books (Asylum and Sanctum), but I think there is a third and one or two novellas. I love these guys! You get some pictures and letters in the books, so cool!

Here is Dan Crawford, who is spending the summe at the New Hampshire College Prep program. Abby Valdez and Jordan (no last name was given) are his new found friends at the program. The catch of all this, the newly built dorms is where the Brookline Asylum used to be. The three friends uncover secrets of their pasts and families and such. It’s such a good series.

📖The Twilight Saga by Stephanie Meyer

The infamous Twilight books. Y’all may have expected this or may not have. I do not have an opinion on this series just yet. I recently read Twilight for the first time and really liked it. That said, hopefully I will get to the other books and see where my opinions lie.

Everyone knows what this series is about, but if not, come to me. Isabella (Bella) Swan moves from the heat of Arizona (I feel you Bella) to the rainy world of Forks, Washington. There, she meets the Cullen siblings...mainly Edward...who happens to be vampires. Bella and Edward get closer and start dating and what not. Ah yes, the infamous woods scene where Edward is like “Say it!” to Bella, it actually happens in the car so casually. This series contains a love triangle of a human, vampire, and a werewolf.

📖The Chronicles of Vladmir Tod by Heather Brewer...okay it’s formerly Heather, but it is now Zac Brewer

I love this series...even though I only read the first two books and a little bit of the 3rd one. If you love vampires...well half human half vampire then yessss! Half human, Half Titan....Half human, half ghoul....if y’all watch anime, then you probably get the two references. Okay...onto the synopsis!

Vladmir Tod is the equivalent of...dang it what is the word....ahhh disgrace cuz he is half human and half vampire. In the vampire world, humans and vamps dont go together. He is raised by his Aunt Nelly, who of course knows he is half vampire. His best friend, Henry also knows. Throughout 8th Grade to 12th Grade, he’s gotta deal with bullies and vampire slayers. What a hard knock life for this dude.