#also i await hangman anxiously

[wnightingales]

ZSJ?? bro Tony said this is the gauntlet

[justalonelyslytherin]

Legacies | Twelve

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Pairing: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Kazansky!OC

Summary: The Daggers return from the mission. Ana anxiously awaits their return to the base, hoping for them to be alright. Is she ready yet to meet the man that broke her heart so soon again?

Warnings: military inaccuracies, mentions of dying, mentions of parental death/parental loss,

Wordcount: 4.1k

If you enjoyed reading this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging. I don’t allow for my content to be copied, translated, or reposted on other websites/apps. I ALSO DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR THE USE OF AI IN ANY OF MY WORKS! Please don’t steal my work.

A/N:

Taglist: open, message me or comment to be added, will be put as reblog

Being back on base felt…strange. It felt different. So much had changed in so little time. Ana wasn’t sure if she was brave enough yet to look all those changes in the eye.

Nonetheless, here she was. Reminding herself that she wasn’t alone helped. Countless people were waiting for their loved ones and family members to return from the mission.

They all gathered under the roof of the hangar, where mere two weeks ago Ana had sat together with her colleagues, learning of their mission goal. Her stomach was in knots thinking about it. A queasiness had overtaken her.

It was the uncertainty of what awaited her. Would all of them return or would they find one less aircraft in the air upon their return? Would they bring home a coffin or would everyone be able to walk back, to fly back to base?

Contrary to all the civilians, the family members of her colleagues, Ana lacked their blissful ignorance of the mission parameters. She knew full well what they had gone out to. And knowing exactly how dire, how dangerous, the mission had been, she couldn’t relax. Not until she saw the nine jets return home safely.

“How long do you reckon it will take?” Penny beside her spoke up. The bar owner had eyed her long enough in silence, noticing Ana’s rising nerves.

“They should be here before the full hour.” Once more her eyes strayed to the airstrip in front of the hangar, still empty of any aircraft. Soon – hopefully – they would hear the loud engines roaring through the skies and see nine silhouettes drawing near. 

What if it weren’t nine? What if there weren’t thirteen people coming back?

“Everything will be alright.” Penny’s hand landed on her arm, giving a reassuring and comforting squeeze. It was a small gesture but one that meant a lot to her. Taking a deep breath Ana nodded.

“I just need them to be alright…” Quietening down she stared out at the long landing strip, navy personnel already there to assist in the landing of the jets. 

“Alive.”

“They’ll be. You know they are too stubborn for anything else.”

A huff, a barely there laugh, left her lips. It sounded strange but Penny was right. Bradley had too much spite and stubborn fire under his ass and Maverick liked to defy anything and anyone. Up and most death himself.

“Thank you,” with those words she turned towards Penny. Endlessly grateful for the woman, Ana grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “You know I’m happy for Mav and you.”

“You both deserve it. You’re exactly what he needed and I hope it will last this time.”

“I hope so too.” Penny’s voice was quiet, a small hint of doubt carrying in her voice.

The last time it ended it had been messy. Maverick wasn’t known for being the most steady partner. He wasn’t known for his great aptitude keeping relationships.

“I’d love to have you as an aunt.”

That made Penny laugh. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Amelia would agree. I’d make a great cousin.” 

Penny smiled down, brows the barest slanted, lips curled upwards. “She would.” She set out to add another thing, mouth already opening when a distant sound caught their attention.

Ana’s head snapped forward, eyes searching the blue skies. It was hard to see, the sun sat high. Yet the little dark spots on the horizon were unmistakable as they drew near.

The familiar-sounding engines roared in the wind. It felt both comforting and nerve-wracking for Ana. She’d gotten used to the sound. Over the years it had become associated with good things and happiness. Still, today those feelings were dampened by the anxiety brewing in her stomach.

Her legs nearly gave out as the shapes grew bigger. The small little blobs quickly gained in size, becoming more prominent and distinctive. All around her excited murmurs raised, the energy and anticipation of everyone grew as their loved ones were coming ever closer. 

Relief flooded Ana’s system as nine individual jets settled into formation. Any moment they would soar above the hangar to take a sharp curve and instigate the landing process.

The landing of the jets felt simultaneously incredibly fast and like time dragged. It felt like an eternity until everyone had taxied to their spots and was ready to climb out. An eternity in which Ana’s stomach had been able to settle, yet her heartbeat had picked up in speed. 

Then the canopies opened, all at the same time and the aviators started to climb out of their cockpits. She didn’t know where to look, or who to seek out first. Penny beside her grasped her hand, their fingers interlocking. Perhaps she squeezed her hand too hard, but it kept Ana grounded.

One after one the aviators climbed out of their aircraft and took their stand beside the hulking machines. Each of them saluted their assisting personnel in unison, receiving a small arrangement of flowers in congratulations for their successful missions. Ana remembered the high of coming back, how good and nice it felt to be appreciated like that.

Only a short amount of time and they would be free to go, officially released from their mission. First came pictures. With a beating hard she watched them gather in the middle between the jets, neatly lined up beside one another. A navy photographer ran around, taking pictures of them.

There was a pang of pain erupting in her chest. Under different circumstances Ana would have been standing beside them, lined up in her flight suit. Instead, she stood on the opposite side, watching her colleagues, her family, finish up.

She hadn’t been on this side of the exchange for years. There had been a time, in her earlier memories of life, where her father had still gone on deployments and she’d welcomed him home with her mother and her siblings.

The memory was even more painful. Her eyes started burning. Stubbornly she blinked away the threatening tears. She didn’t want to cry, she didn’t want for this moment to be dampened by her grief. 

Ana’s misty eyes swept over the line of aviators, looking each one up and down before they jumped to the next person. They all seemed fine. There were no scratches or bruises exposed nor any apparent discomfort displayed. Ending at the line with Fritz her eyes jumped forward once more, where Maverick now stepped out of line.

He came forward, walking down until he stood opposite the formation. From there on out Maverick addressed them. It appeared to be a short speech, a couple of words that only the aviators were able to hear. Ana’s eyes lingered on his back as he saluted, the aviators reciprocating.

The moment Maverick turned toward the crowd the aviators broke formation and began walking toward them. And with it once more Ana’s heartbeat sped up. Phoenix, Bob, and Rooster formed one cluster, walking together and quietly conversing with another. Maverick hung back until he and Rooster were walking side by side, Rooster now turning his attention toward the Captain.  

Ana had to do a double take. She couldn’t believe her eyes. It felt like a fever dream to see Maverick and Rooster walk side by side, calmly conversing. Did she imagine the faint smile on their faces too? Not long ago those two had been at each other’s throats. Bradley especially had reacted so poorly to their instructor and it had looked like he might never forgive Maverick. 

Stuck with staring at them in surprise, Rooster glanced ahead. Their eyes locked and surprise crossed his face. The lull in conversation from Bradley’s side had Maverick’s eyes move forward as well. Her godfather seemed just as surprised at seeing her there. 

Had they not thought Ana would show up? Because of her father? She was still grieving, stuck in the worst of it but that didn’t stop her from welcoming them home.

No, in fact, she couldn’t have stayed away. She felt trapped at home – in her childhood home – forced to be confronted with memories over memories of her time with her dad, of her childhood with him but also worst of all his last moments before he passed.

Going out for what felt like the first time since the funeral had been direly needed. And there was no way she wouldn’t have greeted them back. Not after a mission like that.

She threw herself straight into Maverick's arms once the two men had arrived before her, no longer caring if anyone around them would find out. Relief flooded her, seeing him back and in one piece.

There had been an instance at the funeral Ana hadn’t been sure if she’d see her godfather again after the mission. Maverick had seemed lost and empty, there had been a saddened but distinct determination in his eyes that had given her a dreadingly bad feeling.

Maverick's strong arms wrapping around her just as tightly and squeezing her against his chest brought her out of these dark thoughts.

“I’m so glad you are back,” she mumbled against his neck. Maverick's heart hammered in his chest so strongly Ana could feel it against her body.

“Thank you for being here,” she heard him whisper against her shoulder as Maverick gave her another tight squeeze.

His words carried a heavy implication, one deeper than Ana could understand at the moment. Similarly to her Maverick felt a great turmoil of emotion so soon after Ice’s passing. Seeing her at the base after it all, welcoming him back, felt incredibly moving.

She had always reminded him a great lot of her father and Maverick would be lying if he hadn’t recognized Ice in her eyes walking up to her. In this same glimpse of moment Maverick had felt Ice with them there.

After it was Rooster’s turn for a tumultuous hug. Ana flung her arms around his next, causing a small ‘oof’ to release from his lips. Bradley stumbled back a step, chuckling as he wrapped his arms around her too.

“Maybe I should go on more dangerous missions if it means you greet me like that.”

Ana huffed, feigning to release the hug and elbow him in the stomach.

“Like hell you will.”

Rooster looked at her with a smirk and pulled her back into his arms, so tight he was going to break a rib. 

“I’m glad you are alright.” It was this small, quiet confession that had Rooster look fondly down at her. 

“Me too.”

Jake should have felt happy, triumphant even, at returning. The second most exhilarating thing about his job, after getting to fly a jet every day, was coming home from a successful mission. Jake loved the feeling, loved the combined adrenaline and dopamine boost it gave him. To fly back in formation and land under the watchful eyes of everyone’s families.

Why then didn’t he feel like that now? Why didn’t it feel as good to come back now?

Instead of feeling euphoria, he could barely pay attention to their Captain’s speech. As much as Jake tried, the world around him seemed to blur to nothing, and Maverick’s words were reduced to background noise.

Hidden behind a pair of aviators his eyes were restless. Gathered in front of the hangar were a ton of people. All friends and family of his colleagues. He knew that Javy’s family had traveled here to welcome him back and so would certainly have the other families.

His wouldn’t be here. Neither his parents would await him shortly nor one of his sisters. And that was okay. It wasn’t sad nor was it bad.

They couldn’t make the trip on such short notice, which he entirely understood. He didn’t want them to rush here and he’d be seeing them soon enough. The moment he got some free time he planned to travel back to Texas to visit them.

For now, however, he was still in San Diego, standing in formation and listening – more or less – to Maverick’s speech. Just in time for it to end, Jake focused back on their Captain.

He looked fairly well considering that he survived his jet exploding, two crash landings, and a dogfight that he should have never been able to win.

Maverick had to be hurting, if not he’d be sore as hell. Jake remembered the one time he had to eject out of a jet. It had left him cursing under his breath for a week with the worst bruises and soreness of his life.

And suddenly they were dismissed, his colleagues left and right of him relaxing and falling out of formation. The group split off, path straight ahead forward to their awaiting guests. Jake hung back, briefly startled by the sudden end of it he was overcome with uncertainty.

Should he just walk past all of them, taking advantage to have some time to think, to be properly alone for the first time in a week in the changing rooms?

“Are you coming?” Coyote stepped into his line of vision, thumb pointing somewhere behind him. “Say hi to my folks? You know my ma adores you.”

If Jake were honest he didn’t want to. It was the last thing on his mind to do right now, the last thing he felt comfortable doing. There was so much going on, so many things he was still feeling and had barely been able to deal with.

“Yeah, alright,” he murmured, curtly nodding as his lips crookedly quipped up.  What would be a couple of minutes more to uphold his mask? He had been keeping it up nonstop for a week, some time longer wouldn’t hurt.

Javy’s parents were sweet, very cheerful people. Jake found himself less having to hold up a front. Somehow Mrs. Machado was always able to look right through him and see the truth lying beneath, even if she didn’t bust him openly. There was this knowing twinkle in her eye and the understanding softness of her lips when she looked at him.

Just like now. After she had taken Javy prisoner in a bearhug she’d discarded her son, focusing on the blonde. There was that softening that made Jake’s heartache. Suddenly he felt himself longing for the embrace of another person.

“It’s good to see you two back in one piece,” Mrs. Machado hummed as she enveloped him in an equally crushing hug. Javy’s mother gave incredible hugs, but Jake was biased. No one could come close to his mother’s hugs, which were the best in the world. 

It was quite nice to see them again, Jake had to admit. But his delight was dampened greatly by the many thoughts in the back of his mind. Similarly to his time on the ship, there was someone that wouldn’t leave his mind. Memories swooping over him. 

He felt guilty. Immensely so. His guilt was gnawing at him, slowly but steadily eroding his strength. Jake had barely had proper rest ever since the mission ended and even before that his nights had mostly been spent turning and tossing restlessly.

It was all because of her. He couldn’t stop thinking about her and the missing solution to his fuck up. It was haunting him. The reality of it all pushed down on him heavily, the longer he stood there the wearier he became. 

Coyote seemed to notice the growing exhaustion on him, he turned to his mother who had been continuously chattering, and said, “Ma, let me introduce you to the others. I’m sure Jake is exhausted. I am certainly and if he is feeling even remotely close to my exhaustion we’ll both soon be dropping dead to get some sleep in.”

Politely excusing himself after that, Jake quickly was on his own, carving his way around the groups of people, trying to avoid them mostly. He was barely paying attention to them, his focus was to slip away and be alone in the changing room before anyone noticed him being gone.

Eyes mostly cast downwards, only looking up to navigate between and around the people, Jake came to a sudden halt. Struck by the inability to move even one muscle, he was rooted to the place, feet glued to the tarmac.

His heartbeat quadrupled, reaching lightning speed it felt like he was about to explode. Any second now his heart would succumb to the velocity, exploding like a shooting star. With everything going on and even with Rooster and Maverick on the mission, Jake hadn’t expected Ana to be there.

Secretly, in the deepest most intimate part of his heart, he had hoped for her to be there. He’d accounted it to wishful thinking and to a hope that wouldn’t come true anyway. Now she stood here, just a few meters away.

Reasonably thinking – Jake had a hard time doing so – she was there for Maverick or Rooster or both of them. To a lesser part perhaps for the entire team. Would she be here for him too? He doubted it.

Unbeknownst to his guilty consciousness, Ana indeed was here for him too. Even if she didn’t admit it to herself, even if she wasn't aware of it either. Her heart had nervously beat for them all to come back home, safe and sound yet only three of them had predominantly been on her mind.

She was standing there with Maverick, Penny, and Rooster, hugging the latter one tightly. Watching them interact made his heart constrict in pain and a wave of spiteful jealousy grow in him. If only he could hug her like that. Perhaps he should have felt bad watching them like a creep, but he couldn’t divert his eyes.

And then their eyes met. Maverick and Penny stepped away from the small group, embracing and talking on their own. Then Rooster left too, making his way toward the hangar. It was then Ana looked around coincidentally directly in his path, their eyes crossing. It was as if her eyes had been looking out for him, instantaneously locking onto him without swaying.

There they stood now, both staring at each other. 

Ana fiddled with her fingers in front of her, chewing on her bottom lip. A part of her contemplated taking a step forward, to walk up to Jake. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The world around her had dwindled down to him and her. Ana wouldn’t have noticed had the world ceased to turn.

Not to be fooled by any of it, there was a tension between them, stretched so tightly its power was able to crumble mountains. Their staring match was maintained even as Jake slowly walked closer. He took careful, well-calculated steps toward her never breaking eye contact yet ready to walk by her if she were to turn away from him.

She didn’t. She felt bound by his piercing green eyes, tethered to the very ground by an invisible glue. There was this unexplainable conundrum in the expression of his eyes that Ana couldn’t describe. He was a mystery to her.

She didn’t stop looking at him, watching with silent eyes as Jake stopped in front of her. Only a couple of steps separated them. His view had never once wavered from her even as he had to dodge the odd person in his path. They were so close if she were to reach out her arm her fingers would graze the front of his flight suit.

Ana wasn’t sure if she wanted that. If she wanted to touch him, to be even closer to him than now. There was this unexplainable desire to hug him.

In the end, it was the both of them initiating it without thinking. Ana took a step forward, prompting Jake to pull her toward him. He caged her into his arms, pressing her against his chest. Quickly they were entangled in one another, hands tightly gripping fabric, they were holding on for dear life.

“I’m glad you are all back safely,” Ana whispered against him, her hands briefly tightened their hold on him. The fabric of the flight suit was rough under her fingers but oh so familiar. It sent a shiver down her spine in more than one way. 

Jake nodded, sighing softly against her. His nose rubbed against her shoulder, halfway between burying his head there and resting his chin on it.

“Me too,” he told her quietly. It was the softest she had ever heard him speak. There was an unfamiliar shake in his voice, something akin to vulnerability if she were to describe it.

They were lingering, holding onto one another as long as they could. It was then that something shifted in Ana. There was still a lot between them, many things unsaid and unresolved. 

Truly she was glad he was alright but the deep hurt hadn’t gone. He’d hurt her more than anyone before had. Perhaps more than the loss of her father even. Jake had ripped her apart with his words, broken her in a way that the unshakable and confident Ana had ever been before.

So under his embrace, she started to tense. Her fingers weaved into his flight suit tightened once more. Not out of relief but out of anger. Anger that slowly rose. It was so unfair how he had treated her, how closely it had affected her. Her eyes became glassy with tears.

“Gho–” … “–Ana,” 

She pulled away at once, creating urgently needed distance between them. Stumbling back a couple of steps her hands balled to fists. Jake looked at her inconsolable, dread and terror in his eyes. In another scenario, it might have had her feel sympathy for him. Now it only fueled the fire quickly growing inside her.

She wasn’t yet ready to talk about what had happened. She wasn’t yet ready to listen to him. Shaking her head, her breath came out in short bursts, voice quivering as she spoke.

“No…”

“You don’t get to call me that. Not now. Not after what you did.”

Jake wanted to apologize to her. So bad. He was sorry for the things he said at her father’s funeral, for the way he had acted. Truly.

All mission long he had wracked his brain to come up with something to say to her. And now they stood in front of one another again. Here and there he could have said something but she didn’t want to.

He wanted to say something still, but nothing he came up with sounded even remotely good enough of an apology for her. There was no way he would be doing it half–assed. She deserved the whole deal, even if Jake didn’t yet know what that would be.

Ana looked outright mad at him. The tears threatening to pool in her eyes and her balled fists spoke of something more than just anger that was motivating her and he understood. She had all the reason to feel like that and she had even more to give him a piece of her mind. If she intended to do so now, he would gladly have her do it.

“Ghost!”

If they hadn’t separated already, they’d done so now as Fanboy’s shout disrupted the tension between them. This time it was Jake who stumbled back a step or two, watching as not only Fanboy jogged up to them but also Payback and Phoenix.

“Hey,” Ana mumbled quietly as the enthusiastic WSO stopped beside her beaming.

“It’s so nice that you are here!” Subtle as he was, Fanboy quietly positioned himself between her and Jake, pulling her attention entirely away from the blonde.

Jake could only watch as Payback and Phoenix did the same, essentially forming a half-circle around Ana, cutting him off from her view. It was unfair, even though he deserved it.

“I’m glad you are all alright and back,” he heard Ana speak, Payback laughed and grinned at her.

“That’s gotta be celebrated.”

“We are planning to gather at the Hard Deck tonight to celebrate the mission.”

“We’d be happy if you joined but we understand if that’s not something you aren’t comfortable with yet,” Phoenix butted in, the calmer voice contrasting the excitement of the duo. 

Ana felt somewhat overwhelmed both at the attention of them all and the sudden invite. She had come for Maverick and Rooster mainly and hoped to avoid the other’s for some more time. How had they reacted to the news? Her secret was out now and she wasn’t sure if Jake had been the only one taking it badly. But they all seemed friendly, not angered in any way.

Ana found herself nodding slowly, “I’ll see.” It was a hesitant yes but one they took with no qualms, happy for her to even consider it.

[augustinescruelsummer]

coruscant culture | the mandalorian

pairing: the mandalorian x f!reader

synopsis: the mandalorian has to drop off a bounty at a bar in Coruscant, and takes Grogu’s mother with him. little to his knowledge, she knows a thing or two about how to deal with the scumbags of the Coruscant streets.

wc: 2.1k

an: currently in my star wars era, but trust me this won’t be a regular thing. i’ll be back writing for hangman tomorrow! i just wanted to write a lil star wars thing for my fav tin can and character of the franchise.

The hefty Mandalorian grunted a string of curses under his breath as he dragged the knocked out bounty into the Razor Crest. He knew the heavy bounty could wake up soon, so it was imperative that he was frozen in carbonite as soon as possible. Mando knew that if he woke up it would be easy to subdue him again, but he didn’t want you to have to see that. 

The bounty melted easily into the carbonite and Mando sighed as he closed the doors to the freezing chamber, and his thoughts turned over to you instantly. What had you been doing without him? Were you able to entertain yourself? Was the kid sad when he was gone? The Mandalorian knew the kid was far from sad when he was gone, because you somehow managed to keep him happy almost always. Mando was not excited to make the journey into the downtown district of Coruscant with you on his arm, but he knew it was more risky to leave you unattended in the ship at night here. Fortunately, he would rather you be eye candy for street rats than turn up dead in a burglary. Quite a romantic, he is. He made his way into the kitchen of the ship, finding a note saying you had gone to the market with the Child. Mando tried to shake his feelings of anxiousness away, knowing you were plenty capable of keeping your own self and the kid safe. While he waited for your return, he chose to take a quick shower in the fresher and attempt to clear his cloudy head.

It was odd to come to a planet like this for a bounty hut, but where money was Mando came. He personally was a big fan of the planet and the flashing lights were a nice change to the usual deserted feel of his hunts. He had read a multitude of stories about the days when Coruscant housed the senate and the Jedi Temple, and a piece of him wished he could have been present during that era. A big piece. The culture of Coruscant had changed rapidly when the Jedi Order fell and the wrath of Darth Vader clouded the sun of the galaxy. Nonetheless, the beauty of the planet was unchanging, but the people within it were the pollution.

It had been a simple hunt, someone who ‘forgot’ to pay their debt. The poor soul would be coming in warm, but Mando was still awaiting your arrival before he could officially begin the turn in process Usually, he would never take you to the drop offs, but he also wasn’t a fool. You were safer with him. He crumpled your note up in his gloved hands, tossing it in the waste bin with a harshness. The Coruscant market during the day was filled with watchful guards, so he was trying to be optimistic. Mando knew you wouldn’t have ventured out unless it was completely necessary, but he still couldn’t help but feel angry. You knew how nervous it made him when you went out on your own.

He sat and stewed in his anger until you got home. When you arrived, he was getting all his affairs in order for tonight’s drop off. “Hi, Mando!” Your soft voice greeted him, an instant contrast to the tin can’s glum body language. You dropped your market bag on the table, and Mando’s face softened when he saw you. He could never stay mad at you. Grogu was perched on your hip, decked in his own dark brown robe you had personally made him for cold winters. His ears poked through the holes you had made in the hood, and the Child extended his hands towards his father. The Mandalorian melted on the spot, instantly taking the green fellow into his cool hands.

“Are you sure you would like me to go tonight?” You asked Mando, a certain edge in your voice. The man recognized it as fear, but yet he didn’t know why you were scared. He would keep you safe. He would always keep you safe. He put the last of his negotiation papers on the stack and met your gaze. Your hair was pulled into a simple side braid, little hairs unintentionally falling out onto your face. You wore a light tan robe with the hood pulled down, and Mando tried not to get caught staring. His face heated up when you snapped your fingers in front of his face, snapping him out of his trance. He stuttered before reassuring you that, of course, he wanted you there.

“I’m going to make the baby dinner before we leave, and if need be he can eat on the way.” You told Mando before trotting off into the kitchen to begin preparing the kid’s meal. The Mandalorian watched in awe as you cooked all of them dinner, and tried not to let his oglign be too obvious. You and the Child had an instant connection when you met the pair, and even Ahsoka had confirmed the strong bond. It was an odd thing to find, but ever since then you had taken on the kid’s motherly role. Ahsoka had informed the Mandalorian that it was probably due to your strong presence with the Force she had sensed.

–

THREE MONTHS AGO

“Is that a rare thing?” Mando asked, trying to sound disinterested. In reality, he was bubbling with the fact that the kid was going to have a hot mom. Ahsoka pondered for a moment, walking with Mando along the pond. She turned back and locked her gaze on you, watching as you fed the Child soup and told him about all the things in nature. Grogu managed to pick up a rock with the Force during Ahsoka’s thinking, and you squealed in pure delight. “Mando!” You cried with pure joy on your face as you pointed at the kid. “Look at your baby!”

Mando began to laugh, the sound filling Ahsoka’s ears. It was a sound she never thought she would hear. The bounty hunter was always cold and precise with his words and actions, never breaking his facade. She considered making a comment on your relationship, but eventually decided to let it be. A smile overtook her own face as she watched you encourage Grogu to keep trying after the rock flopped onto the soil. “If she was older, she would have been a Jedi. I sense it,” Ahsoka said while taking a deep breath. “Grogu needs her. He needs to have someone to connect to the Force with him until you find Luke.” Mando winced at the thought of giving his kid up, but let the Jedi continue.

“Perhaps,” Ahsoka began before stopping herself. She cast a glance at the tin man, who was still watching the green furball and its parent. She began her thought over. “Perhaps Luke would want her to stay.” Mando instantly wheeled on Ahsoka, a flare of uncontrollable jealousy appearing in his chest. “It would make the most sense,” she continued, not even attempting to be defensive. The cunning woman completely ignored the glareful stare Mando was shooting, and began walking back towards you. “Maybe he could train her as well.” The Mandalorian did not respond, instead falling into step. His heart constricted at the idea of having to give you and the kid up to some hotshot Jedi.

“Alas,” Ahsoka started after a moment of silence, a cheeky grin on her face. “I can sense you aren’t keen on the idea of losing your lover, no?” Mando stopped in his tracks, and Ahsoka could sense the eyeroll he was doing under the helmet. She kept walking, not even daring to look back at her friend. “Just an observation,” she smirked before pulling the hood on her robe back as she approached you. The kid had since fallen asleep in your warm arms, and you were packing his things up. “Don’t let the kid make you cut your conversation short,” you told the pair, more addressing Ahsoka than Mando. “This little guy just gets tired after the Force takes hold of him.” You lifted the kid into your arms as you stood onto your feet, wiping the dirt from your knees. It was quiet between the three of you, but the sounds of birds chirping in the distance filled the void.

“Well,” the Togruta smiled while clasping her hands together. “I think you know what you need to do, Mandalorian. I wish you the best.” She turned her attention to the Child’s caretaker fully and grinned, “And, may the force be with you.” You swallowed at the intensity of the comment, knowing she probably sensed your presence with the force. You nodded your head and began walking back towards the Crest without waiting for your Mandalorian. He soon fell into step with you, but if he noticed a change in you he didn’t inquire.

–

The Child snacked on some to-go food you had prepared while you made your way through the streets of Coruscant. It had gone downhill since you had last been here, and you could tell even Mando was beginning to regret his choice on bringing you and the Child. He had stayed strikingly close to you the whole journey, even placing a hand on the small of your back when he deemed you strayed too far. Mando stopped in front of a large neon-lit bar and nodded his head. “This is it,” he said, trying to sound as confident as he could. He noticed your expression change at the location, and you were suddenly turning pale. “Are you ok, mesh’la?” He asked, concern filling his voice. You ignored his question, instead choosing to begin walking into the bar.

The entrance of the infamous Mandalorian made heads turn. Mando walked with a bold sense of cockiness, instilling fear on those who even glanced at him for a second longer than he deemed necessary. And the people who dared to even stare at you for more than a moment’s notice? They would cower when he glared at them from the helmet. He kept his hand on his blaster holster, the other limp by his side. The sound of his heavy boots clunked through the bar, which didn’t help in being discreet. You walked silently beside him, taking notice of the familiarity of the bar. Grogu twitched in your arms, before mewling and settling into your shoulder. Mando pulled back the curtain of one of the back rooms and a group of mismatched species sat in the booth. Women were draped over each of the four men, except for the Rodian sitting in the center.

“My Mandalorian has arrived,” The Rodian announced to the table with a gleaming sense of arrogance in his voice. Mando didn’t speak, instead pulling up a hologram image of the bounty being placed at the group’s warehouse. “My payment?” He inquired after the Rodian silently hummed at the image before him. You could sense the fear in the man, even though he was heavily attempting to cover it with arrogance. He was doing a good job. He waved his hand around in the air, almost dismissing the idea of Mando getting his payment. You cringed at the action, knowing that was more than enough to get the Mandalorian riled up. You were correct, as his dominant hand instantly began to reach for his spear.

The Rodian's eyes widened and he quickly shouted, “No!” It was a meek sound, and you could tell his fear had caught the rest of the group off guard. He then melted back into his facade and made a longshot to try and restore his arrogance and dignity. “How much for the woman?” He asked charmingly, a group of snickers arising from the comment. Your face ran hot as the Rodians shot you a wave, flipping an Imperial credit up into the air. “Come on, Mando,” he faked exasperation, “Let me take her off your hands. I don’t need the kid.” You could feel Mando’s anger from here, but the last thing you wanted was for him to start a fight in this bar with you here. You ran a hand up his arm in an attempt to comfort him, and smiled when he relaxed under your touch.

“Ah, I see,” the Rodian sneered as he watched the contact between the two of you. “You want to keep the whore for yourself, eh?” The comment was a low blow and even you knew the wretched man was doing it just to see how far he could push the Mandalorian before he broke. You didn’t want Mando to break, because it would expose his weakness. The kid and you. In a swift motion, the long and threatening beskar spear was pulled from its position on his back. It was lodged against the Rodian's throat before you could even blink, and you watched as the rest of the group cowered in horror. You glanced down at the child, and when seeing the fear in his eyes, you reached out to Mando. “Your child is here,” you remind him calmly as he pushed the spear farther against the throat of the man. Mando softened at your words and pulled the spear back, not daring to glance at you and Grogu.

“All of you give me all the credits you have, now!” Mando barked at the group, the spear still sitting menacingly in his large hands. They all scrambled to empty their pockets, and the Rodian made a show of pouring them out messily. He glared at you as he did it, the action not going unnoticed by your Mandalorian. “Leave my lady alone,” he snapped, and grabbed the Rodian's wrist. He snapped it and a cry of pain left the group’s leader. “Mando!” You chastised instantly, knowing he forgot the presence of the child. Deciding that you didn’t want to take anymore unnecessary shit from the creepy Rodian, you made a show of using the force to drag one of the circular credits into your hands. You smirked as you handed it to the child to play with before pulling your hood back. “I believe we are done here,” you told the Mandalorian, knowing his expression was flabbergasted under the beskar. You began to walk out of the back room, not waiting for your Mandalorian. You knew he would follow wherever you came.

“So, you know a thing or two about Coruscant culture apparently?” he asked, a teasing tone to his voice as you guys made your way back to the Crest.

“Something like that,” you responded, shifting Grogu in your arms adoringly.

[taigastyle]

Can I give a more thorough analysis of this now that I’m like. Not watching him right in front of me?

Sure.

The duster is an early aew call back. It didn’t have his little wing but that’s very similar (if not the same? will have to look at pictures) to what he was wearing pre Last Call. With the undershirt it’s also serving such Cleaner vibes and the choice of a black shirt I’m betting was an on purpose choice.

Like the Bucks he came out the face tunnel but with his cronies from when he was A Heel. Per the laws of Kenny hair though it’s dark there’s blonde peeking through and his hair is more Natural than the Artificial Dark hair colors Kenny would tend towards. But it’s still more dark than light.

Along with playing with ring rust (the early spot where he shrugged at the bucks after just Barely hitting the spot) and his injuries (oh! his knee!! his shoulder!! checking on his Hernia™️ after the match) there was a lot of fun storytelling with him and Dragon Lee and I’m anxiously awaiting the post-TV videos of the Bucks and Kenny saving an unmasked Lee from Andrade and Rush.

There was so much !! The gear he went with, not anything new but an older pair, god everything was masterfully done. The harder spots to show that twinkle (like the star on his gear) of what’s to come. But protected (even though he hit the OWA the bucks had to hold back the other two members of the team to get the win)!

And a final note: commentary. They put over, specifically verbatim, that Kenny was the Last Person the Bucks called for this match. Kenny always chooses them but The Bucks Never Choose Kenny has been the aew thread. The nod for Hangman to dethrone Kenny was the closest to a Bullet Club Betrayal we ever got. But whether that feeds into Heel!Kenny or Injured!Kenny storylines will be so interesting

God damn I can’t wait to see where this goes. I’m so happy he’s back!!

[cowboyshit]

Did you see Tony Khan spill the news in his press conference?

Baby Hangman is due this summer! 💙

OH!!! FINALLY I CAN TALK ABOUT THIS SHFKGL ive known for a little while but I found out by COMPLETE accident and felt absolutely awful because it was very clear that it wasn’t anything that was being publicly announced and it killed me that I couldn’t just blip the knowledge out of my brain so I’ve been trying to forget while also anxiously awaiting for some announcement so that if I DID slip up, it was when it was when word was officially out

AND now that it has.... I’m so, so, SO happy for him and his wife!!! I bet they’re so excited 🥺

[scarloott]

When Merriment’s Done

by: me (scarlett)

cw (i rly hope these are done right! i’m so sorry if not): religious trauma, death/dying, blood, body horror, ambiguity/unresolved

It’s quite long, clocking at 3k words, when it was meant to be a short poem or couple paragraphs, so it’s under the read more.. i rly hope u like! <3

(also lmfao i’m really discrediting my authorship with these crappily phrased forewords but n e way on with the show)

I was guided in by the hand, my skin bristling at the gentle grasp of an immaterial touch - like the phantom limb of another person. I wanted to ask who they were, what I was doing there, at that… was it a church, even now, when any trace of a God had been flushed out by dark? I supposed I’d find out soon enough: I followed. The air grew oppressively cold as I passed through the gate, entering this being’s domain, like the very matter of the air turned from atoms to needles, all stabbing my skin, leaving me perforated; I didn’t much like the thought of that, and I shuddered, pulling my coat tightly around my shoulders, creating something resembling a chrysalis that did little to shield me from the frost, but just enough to make it bearable. My breath seemed to freeze in mid-air, turning to tiny shards that freckled my face in red. I looked over my shoulder, to the outside, and saw it melting away into nothingness - a black darker than any I could have comprehended, that demonstrated in no uncertain terms the boundaries of this space: ahead, also, I could see the dark, consuming the unoccupied land at the far end of the cemetery. Houses surrounded the domain, but these too were consumed - I tried my best to ignore the nagging thought of their occupants’ fates.

The cobblestone path, although worn by repeated footfall, was well-kept. The being walked a few paces ahead, its gait reeking of certainty: it knew I had nowhere else to go. It didn’t even stop to invite me in, entering the church’s vestibule, a narrow corridor leading into the main chamber, with doors to the left and right. These were shut. That may have been a blessing.

The nave was stunning. The church - although blatantly Protestant - hadn’t entirely forgotten the flair of the Catholic church and, compared to the dark outside, was almost preferable - almost beautiful. The pews, constructed from brown-stained wood, were cushionless - there was a certain penance in this place, even beforehand, and it manifested in the littlest of things: uncomfortable pews; a slight, almost unnoticeable slant of the floor that tended to cause issues for the elderly - particularly those confined to wheelchairs, whose brakes may just so happen to deactivate mid-service, and they may begin to slowly - almost unnoticeably - roll away; and in the archaic - or rather, borderline nonexistent - lighting: the only sources of light were natural - now not an option - and the candles scattered sparsely around the hall. Electricity was a force unknown in this place - not that it mattered nowadays. If there even was a “now” anymore. Or “days”. In the opposite corner to the antechamber, there was a walled-off rectangle - another room, of function unknown to me. Beside it, at the front of the nave, was the altar, depicting a robed man on a cross - I assumed it was a depiction of Jesus. A long, two-pronged spear protruded from its side, leaving long, scarlet trails that - I suppose - were the statue’s blood. I snorted, quietly. “Subtle,” I said, into the void. The word resonated from wall to wall, rising to a crescendo as it reached the rafters, which groaned under the strain of this new disturbance. I didn’t expect a response. I suppose that’s why I got one.

“Subtlety doesn’t… work well in places like these,” it replied, the sound emanating from everywhere around me, and yet not reverberating. It simply remained in the air, stagnant and unmoving, and slowly decayed in its own fashion. I supposed it spoke sense, but it was hard to be scared by such a human response. The being continued walking as it spoke, as the being was not the same as the voice, but they were linked somehow. If I could figure that out, perhaps I could sever the connection. If I could sever the connection, perhaps I could escape, although I knew not what I would escape into… if anything.

“I wouldn’t even try it,” the voice said, matter-of-factly. “We’ve done this twelve times already. Give it up.” This shook me. I hadn’t considered it, but I had no knowledge of anything preceding my entry to the churchyard. Of course, I’d known about the houses, but… was that a memory? Or just an invention of the being? It could read and wipe my mind… surely it could implant thoughts too, I briefly despaired: I was truly, inescapably, trapped. Twelve times, too… does that make this the thirteenth? The Christian mythos holds a certain scorn for the thirteenth of anything, a deep-rooted superstition thanks to the thirteenth disciple, the thirteen knots of a hangman’s noose, the thirteen steps of the gallow… Perhaps this thirteenth repetition spelled bad luck, but I feared that such bad luck was my own - not that of the being, or of the voice.

I stood before the altar, enraptured as it began to shake. Well, shake wasn’t the right word: I am not sure that it moved at all, but it seemed to fluctuate as though something within were trying to break the surface, as though trying to turn the whole structure inside-out. It was while staring at this ever-shifting altar that I realised my initial assessment of the nave’s lighting systems had missed a crucial element: the pulpit itself radiated with a certain imperceptible luminescence, as though ultraviolet, and yet it clearly sufficed to illuminate the hall, as I had found may way forward without much trouble.

The being kneeled next to me, its head bowed, its palms together in a cruel mockery of what once could have been seen as prayer. I wish to bring pen to paper, to commit to some permanent record the aspect of this creature, and yet… I simply do not know. Picture it as a pitch-black humanoid figure, or as a servant of Cthulhu, or as Jesus himself - it makes no difference. Words proved an insufficient medium to elucidate this creature’s appearance. It appeared, and it was present, and it taunted me in a voiceless manner, whilst the voice it lacked berated me from all sides. I knew not what was expected of me so, in an imitation of the being, I too knelt; I clasped my hands in my own form of prayer and anxiously awaited the ritual. 

In a moment, and for but a moment, my senses were alight: I could smell freshly brewed coffee turned sour by off milk, the scent of the outside world shortly after rain, the decay of flesh, and innumerable things I could not attach to any firm memory; I could hear the screams of the damned, some knowing - and calling in hoarse, tortured moans - my own name, the awful sounds of violence and of gunfire, the sobs of a new widow; I could taste dirt and naught else; I could see naught but white, though the oils coating my eyes played tricks with my perception and told me I was being buried alive during a war, my widow crying over me, while it rained out-of-date coffee, and I was being condemned to Hell. Then the first leg of the ritual was over.

“You can’t leave this place, but I won’t stop you trying. Why not explore while I prepare myself?” the voice suggested. The being was still praying. Resent growing, I left the being to its sick machinations and thought to explore the rooms behind the closed doors. The door that had been to my left when I entered stood open; the one on the right was shut. I favoured the latter, and found it unlocked, although the handle was icy and it was difficult to release my grip after. The door - a towering thing of solid, heavy wood - creaked on hinges unfit to bear such a load, and shuddered open, releasing a breath of frost onto my face. I recoiled - too far, clearly, for I found this great door closing once more, and another closing before me: the one which had before been open. The lock clicked shut as I found my bearings and began to look around. It was a stone room made from grey bricks, whereas the church proper was made of some reddish, sandstone-looking mineral. The only window in the room was narrow and high-up, and barred as though a prison cell. In the corner opposite to the entrance stood a toilet with a pull-chain; another corner housed a wash basin elevated only a foot above the ground. Affixed to the wall above was some sort of electronic boiler, although a note affixed spelled in red marker pen the words “OUT OF ORDER. DO NOT USE.” Mould had begun to spread from a damp corner of the note, so the words now looked more like “OUT OF   ER. DO NOT    .” The room was barren but for these few features. I was not looking forward to the second leg of the ritual, so I attempted to leave. To my surprise, the bolt of the door allowed itself to be opened, and the door swung open with a great zeal. I stepped back into the vestibule, where the being awaited me.

“It wasn’t a prison, exactly,” the voice explained. The being moved toward me and I stepped aside, but it didn’t register my presence. It closed the door of the room I had left and reached into the door itself to bolt it shut. “The townspeople had suspected the vicar of pedalling lies for some time. They loved his God, but his means… they missed their children. They locked him in there, made him wait out the forty days and nights to prove his holiness. Of course, he withered away, and they never found their children - their location died with him…” The voice laughed: a smug, self-assured noise that somehow toed the line between laughter and wheeze. “In a sense.”

“And the other door?” I demanded. The being was heading back toward the altar.

“Another time. We have so much work to do.” The being turned left at the altar, and entered the room I had noticed earlier, which obstructed the view of those on the far side of the church: in a way, blocking them from God. It was clear my role was to follow; I did so without protest.

This room was carpeted, although the carpet was the sort that scratched you and gave no illusion of comfort, and when you pressed flesh to it for more than a minute or so it would leave vibrant red marks where it had suppressed your circulation. Another slight discomfort in a place designed to punish Man for the original sin and offer conceits of redemption: another nail in the coffin of humankind.

In this room we again knelt in prayer, heads bowed as we faced a coffin teetering precariously on a comically undersized table. I could not see the name engraved on its face from my prostrated position, but I had no doubt it was my own. As we knelt, I heard the creak of hinges - the coffin opening, likely autonomously. I daren’t open my eyes - not yet. Something got out of the coffin, swinging its legs over the cusp and landing neatly between myself and the being. It walked around for a while, leaving the room and returning what felt like millenia later. It then clambered into the coffin, slamming the lid behind it. I knew now to open my eyes, but when I did I was met by a face mere inches from my own, with yellowing eyes, jet-black skin, and a red, rotting gouge where its nose should have been. It had no mouth, but it had teeth: some, at least, for most must have simply withered away, and those it did have were brown and smaller than human teeth, and all molars. It smiled at me in a childlike manner when we locked eyes and, although I knew better than to recoil, I couldn’t help but jump when I saw it. It grabbed me by the shoulders and… I suppose it kissed me? I spat on the ground, but something bit into my tongue and I felt it writhing, like a… like a… 

“I’m sorry about the,” 

Like a… 

“Maggots,” the voice said once again. “Just thought it’d be funny.” I spat again, although I knew it wouldn’t dislodge the creature as it crawled down my esophagus. I simply wished to show my hatred to the thing. The being had entered the coffin, taking place of this new, somehow worse entity, which followed me around with its sepia-toned, bloodshot eyes that seemed ready to bulge and burst and pop from its formless head. An attempt made by this new version of the being to attain some form resembling humanity, although it had gone… poorly, to say the least. 

Again I found myself unoccupied. The creature - an entity distinct from the being and, in turn, from the voice - seemed intent on following me, nigh-on mirroring my actions as though my clone. I shuddered at the mere thought. Does it mean to take my skin next? This, of course, solicited a greater shudder, and I resolved to get a move on; I wished to get away from that… thing.

My return to that right-hand ingress was met again with an icy reception, although I came this time equipped with the mental fortitude to put off the cold. I stepped in, untroubled - or, at least, untroubled by the chill. I was very troubled by the creature, which visibly shivered. If it weren’t so disturbing, it may have been comical: the creature’s head bounced around, its neck visibly - and audibly, with a squeak like an unoiled chain - stretched and deformed; its teeth knocked about, moving all over its face and disappearing under its shadowy… it would be remiss of me to describe what it possessed as flesh.

This room was narrow - more akin to a corridor, which boasted little detail but for a narrow stone staircase that quickly twisted out of view. The steps were high - uncomfortably so - and extremely short and narrow: far too much so for me to fit much more than tiptoes on the step. My unwanted companion followed with a detestable ease. I considered pushing him. My hand must have slipped, for I oh-so-accidentally did so and my arms passed through its pathetic face as though it weren’t there at all. I fell, rolling comically down the tight, spiralling staircase until I reached the bottom, landing on my face. The taste of copper filled my mouth, and one of my teeth clattered across the room in leaps and bounds, landing at the feet of the being. It bent down to pick it up and walked past me, still unaware - or perhaps simply ignorant - of my presence, to hand it to the creature, who accepted it gladly and placed it in the centre of its face, roots pointing outwards, as though it were a carrot nose on a macabre snowman.

“Do you like it?” enquired the voice, but I hardly heard. I sprinted through both the being and the creature, clambering up the stairs like some quadrupedal relative to the tarantula, passing closed doors I knew better than to try. A frenzy overtook me - a burning desire to escape the being, and to cause harm to the creature, for I hated them both equally. I turned the final corner - or perhaps the first, for the staircase was a tight spiral - I emerged to a round room containing a single, enormous brass bell at what I assumed was the apex of the church’s tower. The creature and the being had both beaten me in my ascent: the former now stood, staring expectantly at me, boasting my tooth in the centre of its face and grinning its malformed, decaying grin that bore so deeply into my soul and evoked such primal fury; the latter - the being - stood by an opening, overlooking the darkness, and paid me no heed. I fell to my knees; the creature mimicked me. I cried out; the creature did the same. I stood again, and walked toward the bell… The creature made no move to imitate me and instead watched, content or, perhaps, curious. A cord of interwoven metal hung down from the bell’s inside, with a handle a similar brassy shade to the bell itself. The darkness rumbled in trepidation as I gripped the handle, and I felt the world around me grow a little darker. Now the creature came to join me, and I made no effort to push it away. I knew that ringing the bell would kill me; I hoped only that it would kill the creature too. As we stood, the dark spreading like a cancer onto the churchyard, swallowing the ground and the grass and the graves, I stared at that creature, so pitiful in all its aspects: its stance was weary, leant to one side on a stunted leg that was forced to carry the bulk of its massless weight; its sinister smile malformed and misarranged, as though an abomination of Man trying to play God, and falling short in every manner; its tooth nose was rotting already, and would soon be consumed; its eyes were weary and lonely. I noticed it drawing close to me, and felt the maggot in my throat stir once more, as though it were compelled by the creature’s proximity. I tried to bite down, to prevent whatever may happen, but the worm tore from my throat, escaping back into the open, expectant mouth of my counterpart. After all, for all I hated it, it was but an extension of me: my shadow.

The voice was gone, its source consumed perhaps by the sea of darkness which began to shatter the stained glass windows of the nave. I could have sworn I heard a scream from the altar; I was glad I heard nothing from the coffin. The darkness rose further, swallowing the church’s roof, and the acid in my throat mimicked it, dripping through the hole bored by the maggot and melting the ground below me.

Praying - praying for perhaps the first time in my life - that I had made the right choice, I - and, by extension, my shadow - rang the bell, as my orifices were flooded with the darkness, purging me.

Then, perhaps, was I clean.

[leominster1941]

Leominster History – Victorian crime and punishment – public  execution – Hereford Gaol – murdered woman – cider houses

Continued…..

William Hope murderer executed in 1863

A really interesting story written in the Hereford Times about an execution. It is extremely detailed and an excellent piece of social commentary of the time. One assumes it must have been a leading story for the whole of Herefordshire for several months. Hundreds of people attended the Execution from Leominster. Many of them walked to Hereford.

In addition to the constant visits of the chaplain he had been -visited frequently by the Rey. John Von, who continued his kind attendance on Monday and Tuesday. The chaplain was also assisted in his painful and anxious duties on Tuesday evening by the Rev. j. S. Partridge. The attention paid by the convict to their instructions was most satisfactory, and his humble and subdued deportment gave them ground to hope that he was at length truly penitent. He joined heartily and earnestly in the prayers which were continually offered up with him and for him, and confessing himself to be the chief of sinner's, declared his sole trust and confidence to be in Christ Jesus. Early on Wednesday morning he was again visited. by the chaplain, who was joined an hour later by the Rev. J. S. Partridge, who remained with him till half-past seven. From that time he continued reading and praying with the chaplain, till he was summoned by the governor to prepare for the last sad scene.

He submitted with the utmost calmness and composure, and the mournful procession took its way from the hall to the scaffold, the chaplain walking before the prisoner and reading the sentences, " Man that is born of a woman." Arrived at the foot of the drop, on the roof over the gate of the prison, he knelt down and joined in with the chaplain for about two minutes, who then shook hands with him and took his final leave. With a firm step, and unbroken composure, the unhappy man then ascended the few steps leading to the drop praying audibly to the last with great earnestness, " Lord Jesus have pity upon me," " He' died in the full comfort of the  Lord, receive my spirit." many sins were forgiven. Hope  indeed, though at the eleventh hour, a penitent and pardoned sinner. We understand that he has left behind him several letters to his friends and to the clergyman of his parish, strongly expressing his penitence and most earnest warnings against which had led to his own untimely end, particularly the public-house and beer shop.

On Tuesday evening the roadway a spot was visited by a large number of the inhabitants of the town anxious to see the erection of the gallows,  from 9 to 12 o'clock at night some three hundred people remained on the spot, and a row of them even remained there all night in order to get a place from which a good view could be obtained.

Early this (Wednesday) morning large numbers of pedestrians from Leominster, Kington, Bromyard, Ledbury, ., came into town.  About seven o'clock the sun rose forth brightly and by eight o'clock the number of people in front  of the gaol and along the street amounted to 9000. Thy were composed principally of country labourers and mechanics, while we noticed several of the tradesmen of the town. We should think that one-fifth of the crowd were women and girls—from the old woman of threescore years to the child of eleven and twelve—and we noticed females, with children at their breasts, among the most anxious of the crowd.

Some minor amendments to the numbers watching to those given earlier in the report. Note many had walked from Leominster to Hereford to see the hanging. The crowd, on the whole, behaved well, still there were one or two fights, which were quickly stopped by the police ; and at interval the rough portion of the crowd amused themselves with the unfortunate culprit, and heartless . Jokes respecting by groaning and hissing. People were busy among the multitude distributing tracts and papers, and Mr. Chandler, city missionary, and another gentleman, Mr. Kirkman, secretary to the London Mission, held religion services close outside the gaol, and their exhortations were listened to with much interest by large numbers.

Many were drawn to executions other than to witness the event. Some would have produced pamphlets or leaflets describing the William Hope and his evil deed, often with sketches. These were sold to the onlookers. Religious groups in the hope they could gather a few more members from those looking on. Others of course as with football matches simply turn up to cause trouble. The local inhabitants were had the blinds  down of all  the houses opposite and in close proximity to the gaol, and the front gardens of the houses immediately facing the gaol were barred with boards which prevented the mob going into St. Peters burial emend by the presence of members of the city police force, and the grounds in front of the governor's house were protected by the presence of police.

Our mother continued the tradition of closing your curtains when the dead departed their homes to the hearse. It was a sign of respect. While  awaiting the appearance of the unhappy culprit to the drop two or three females fainted and they had to be carried away. Precisely at eight o'clock the tolling of the bell notified  to the crowd the starting of the prisoner from the cell, and its mournful notes fell heavily upon the ear, causing many present to shed tears, whilst a general silence pervaded the thousands congregated together. All eyes were anxiously directed to the scaffold, and  a short time P.C. Mallard and P.C. Price,  with Hope since his  made their appearance and took up their position in front of the gallows. Shortly afterward one of the turnkeys followed on to the scaffold, but in a moment he again descended, for the purpose of assisting the unfortunate man to the drop. He looked sick and wan, and it was apparent. On being placed under the drop he took a look at the crowd beneath him, and then holding up his head he looked for a moment towards the town. The hangman asked him if he ball anything to say to the crowd. He immediately replied ".No, thank you." Smith then put the noose round Hope's neck and firmly fixed the knot beneath the ear. He next put on the white cap and with shaken hands with the prisoner, descended. Hope seemed to say something to one of the turnkeys, and on the second turnkey asking him a question. In a few momenta the bolt was drawn and the soul of Hope wait launched to eternity. The drop was it long one and directly the body fell Smith, the hangman, secured the legs (which were not tied) and held on, soto prevent any struggling on the part of the unfortunate man.

There were  convulsions of the limbs and twitching’s of the hands, which were tightly clasped. In about three minutes Smith let the legs go and the body hung inanimate in the air.

Most a the crowd remained still a few minutes on the spot and then dispersed. The police arrangements were admirable. The city force was under the command of Supt. Davies and Inspector Griffiths, while the county force was under the command of Supt. Wagon and Sergeant Cope. Directly the bolt was drawn a lot of sellers produced from their pockets a profusion of bills containing “the last dying speech and confession of Hope.The unfortunate man, at the 'tensest of his executioner, yielded up his arms to be pinioned, but first of all feelingly shook hands with the chaplain, the governor of the prison, and the officials, who had been in attendance upon him, and thanked them for their ministrations.

It was a painful and touching sight as the culprit cast his last imploring look upon those around him, while Smith, who had produced a sort of cord from his pocket, bound the culprit's arms just as a butcher would hobble a pig. The bell tolled, the chaplain commenced reading the portion of the, burial alluded to below, and the procession, mournful and slow, moved out of the prison into the yard, and thence up the flight of wooden steps towards the first platform, the prisoner walking, with a firm step, but audibly praying. On reaching the first platform the procession halted for a minute, and the chaplain and the prisoner (who knelt) prayed most fervently to God to have mercy upon his soul. Here the chaplain and the Under-Sheriff (who was much affected), linked with the unhappy man, who was then accompanied to the scaffold by the Governor of the prison, the executioner, and two of the turnkeys of the gaol.

For those non English speaking readers the turnkeys were the gaolers, which I am sure was obvious.

The unfortunate man never ceased praying loudly for mercy. Immediately on reaching the drop Smith quickly hurried the maid round the prisoner’s neck, and then proceeding to place the cap over his face, but paused, and said. In a gruff voice, would you like to say anything to this multitude I" he prisoner -answered firmly,” No ' but let them take warning by my case. Oh, God have mercy upon my soul!" His last words were, "Lord Jesus, receive my soul. The executioner motioned the turnkeys from the side of the culprit, and as soon we they had stepped from the platform he suddenly pulled the bolt with a sharp click, and the platform fell with it tremendous crash that shook the nerves of the most courageous, while at the same Moment a deep groan of horror and execration swelled throughout the vast assemblage, like the moan of some distant sea!

Despite everyone knowing what was going to happen we know it would not make the shock of the drop any less. We are told that several women fainted. Thus perished the unfortunate William Hope. The body was allowed to hang for three-quarters of an hour, and was then taken down and brought into one of the offices of the gaol, where a shell awaited it. Here the body was divested of its clothing, and Dr. Bull being in attendance, examined the neck and found the vertebra had not been dislocated. Deathbed resulted from strangulation. The eyes had scarcely become fixed, the body was still warm, and as it was moved; to be placed in the shell a hollow sound came up the throat from the breast, and made us for a moment start at what seemed to us at the moment as the knell of a passing soul.

Dr Bull after hanging summations tells us that William Hope probably took several minutes to die by strangulation and not the instant death resulting from a snapping of the vertebrae. As we came out of the gaol the crowd had nearly cleared off, the gallows had been removed, And the executioner was seated in his gig at the side entrance to the Governor's house, unobserved and unrecognized, except by a few who had scrutinized him closely in the gaol. Smith had driven over from Dudley in his own vehicle.

We omitted to mention in an earlier part of our report that the prisoner told Dr. Bull that his conclusions drawn from an examination of the unfortunate girl all given in evidence, were remarkably correct. We believe also that Baron Channel characterized Dr. Bull's evidence as masterly, and subsequently sent for him and thanked him for his lucid description of the post-mortem examination. The following particulars kindly supplied to us, and may be relied upon as authentic. It is very likely the body had already been sold to those developing medical science. Dissection was a common ending for the body.

Since Sunday last a marked change was observable in the spirit anti demeanour of the convict. The reserve he had hitherto maintained gave way to better feelings: and having made an explicit confession of his guilt to the High Sheriff, Wm. Bridgman, s Esq,, who visited him on Monday, he appeared from that time to be earnestly preparing for his approaching end. THE END.