#and I just found out the nature preserve thing with drakes ending

[resetmypatientviolence]

From what I hear, it’s a fucking travesty that PB murdered TRR in the end. Literally everybody else’s headcanons are better and I’ll resort to fanfic as canon.

[karahalloway]

The Highwayman: Part III - The Highwayman Comes Riding

Fandom: TRR (Historical AU)

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: On a dark, moonlit night, a highwayman's luck runs out...

Masterlist: The Highwayman

Chapter Summary: Drake arrives, but it's too late...

Word Count: 4,100

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, physical violence, murder, grief, suicidal thoughts, main character death) Do not read if you are triggered by any of these things!

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: As with Part II of this series, this installment is also quite grim and dark. So read at your own peril. There is no happy ending. As before, I have made some changes to the original, but hopefully, these are for the better.

A/N2: This is my third and final submission for @choicesprompts January 2024 Song Rewrite Challenge. The song I chose to rewrite is The Highwayman by Loreena McKennit.

Part III - The Highwayman Comes Riding

The crack of a musket explodes out into the night.

I duck instinctively, pistols primed and itching to return fire...

...until I realise that the shot had come from the casement.

My throat constricts. "Harper..."

But she has vanished behind the plume of powder smoke that now obscures her window.

"Shit..."

I'd known something was wrong the moment I laid eyes on her. She'd been too tense, too still, sitting on that ledge, more akin to a doll than a flesh-and-blood woman...

...but I'd spotted the silvery gleam of the barrel too late, and now all hell has broken loose.

Fucking Beaumont.

I should never have let my guard down.

Heedless of the preservation of my own skin, I leap forward, fingers on triggers, desperate to reach her.

Another flash of orange...

...and my hat sails from atop my head as a bullet goes just wide of its mark.

I raise a weapon, volleys of lead peppering the thatch to my left and right...

...but I am quickly forced to confront the obvious.

I cannot risk it.

The darkness, in combination with the smoke screen being kicked up by the 'Coats flintlocks obscures my sight into the room, and Harper's location within.

And though I desire nothing more than to dispatch each and every one of Beaumont's whoresons to the depths of hell, the truth is that I'd be firing blind. And I wouldn't be able to live with myself if my bullet found Harper instead of a dragoon.

So, I have but one choice.

Flank the bastards.

Spinning 'round, I dash back down the length of the roof, bullets nipping at my coattails. Diving to the side, I return a pair of retaliatory shots in the general direction of the inn — careful to avoid the actual window — so the 'Coats are under no illusion as to the direction of my retreat.

Sliding down the thatch, I push off from the roof to land bodily atop the muck heap.

Not the most graceful of my escapes, I have to admit, but beggars can't be choosers. And I am pressed for time that I do not have.

Rolling off the pile of shit, I quickly sheath my spent pistols and lope towards the barn with sabre drawn instead.

Emile, the stable hand, had paid back my previous generosity by making me wise to the unsavoury nature of the guests that had descended on the inn. So, instead of hitching Drogon and the new palfrey up in a stall, I've taken the added precaution of hiding the horses out in the gorse.

But where I erred was thinking that the Greencoat patrol had sought the inn out for benign purposes. Because it sure as hell hadn't been me who'd plotted the course for them. In fact, I've always taken care to ensure that my tracks never led directly back to Harper.

Which begs the question... How the fuck did I end up walking into an ambush? With Gale strung up as bait?

My grip tenses on the hilt of my sword.

Someone had let the cat out of the bag. They must've. There's no other explanation.

Who? I have no clue. As there are a grand total of two souls who are privy to the secret that I frequent The Crown, and neither would betray me.

Not willingly, at least...

But, first things first.

Skirting along the shadow of the structure's perimeter, I arrive at the stable doors.

It appears quiet. But after being greeted by gunfire once already this eve, I am loath to take further chances.

Pinching up a handful of peddles, I toss them through the doorway. Only when no shots fire in reply, do I dare slip inside.

"Sir?" comes the hesitant query from within the shadows. "That ye? I heard musket fire an'—"

My sabre slices through the night. "Thought I'd be dead?"

The boy's countenance morphs into a mask of horror as the blade comes to rest 'neath his jaw. "Nay, sir! I'd never! I—"

"Care to swear on that?" I interject with a dangerous edge.

"On a tower of Bibles stacked on my parents' graves, sir!" Emile vouches with a tremble to his voice.

I assess the lad under the pale light of the moon. His face is ashen but his eyes glint with steadfast surety.

I lower my blade. "The 'Coats have Harper..."

The hand emits a gasp of disbelief. "Sacré dieu...!"

"...and I could use your assistance," I add, moving to the closest stall that houses a mount bearing Greencoat livery.

"Anything, sir," he proclaims earnestly. "Yerself an' Mistress Harper ha' always been good t' me!"

"Fetch a bag of oats," I direct as I grab the reins of the bay gelding. "And a length of rope if you have it."

"Right away, sir!"

While Emile sets about his task, I lead the Greencoat mount out onto the gangway. Reaching for the girth, I tighten it back up before slipping the bridle off and tossing it into the straw.

"The things ye requested, sir," huffs Emile, reappearing once more.

"Good," I approve, taking the sack of feed from him. "Now, help me lash this to the saddle."

Working in tandem, we quickly secure the decoy atop the horse. Shrugging out of my justacorps — on top of the retribution for Harper, that cunt of a Beaumont also owes me a new hat and coat — I sling the muck- and bullet hole-ridden covering over the sack to complete the trick.

"Think'll fall for it, sir?" asks Emile as he meets my eye from across the horse's neck.

"Better pray to God they do," I reply, slapping the mount on the rear to send it galloping out into the night. "Else this might very well be our last meeting."

Emile's throat bobs in consternation. "Best o' luck to ye, then, sir."

"Christ knows I'll need it," I accede, grasping his palm to press a gold ducat into it. "Now, make yourself scarce afore the dragoons show up."

With a quick nod, the lad disappears back into the gloom of the barn.

Withdrawing from the stables once more, I skirt 'round the far side of the building, careful to keep to the shadows. Hopping the low fence of the vegetable patch, I make my way towards the low door that leads into the kitchen.

Trying the handle, I find it unlocked. Pulling the heavy wooden door back, I slip warily inside.

The crash of boots above me confirms that the Greencoats have fallen for my ruse. But there is no guarantee that every last one of their dastardly lot plans to depart the inn.

Belvedere Beaumont may be a godless dog, but he is by no means a fool.

Which means I'll need to keep ahold of my wits... and weapons.

Pausing at the bottom of the short set of stone steps that lead up to the main hall, I spare a moment to quickly reload my flintlocks.

Slotting one gun back into my belt, I grasp the hilt of my sabre in one hand, and the second pistol in the other before ascending the stairs.

The hall is dark... and quiet.

Whatever patrons there may have been must've made themselves scarce upon the discharge of the first shot.

Honestly? I cannot blame them. I certainly would not wish to be caught on the wrong side of the dragoon's crossfire.

I clench my eyes shut. Please, let her be safe...

Moving through the hall like a ghost, I arrive at the main staircase.

Cocking my pistol, I proceed onto the first step with as much care as I can muster, even as every fibre of my body is raring to dash upwards as quickly as humanly possible.

Sticking to the wall, I inch my way slowly towards the second floor, flintlock before me, on guard for the faintest sound or movement.

Reaching the landing without incident, I am greeted by the wanton destruction left in the wake of the dragoon besiegement.

My jaw piques in ire.

This had been punition — pure and simple. The setting of a heavy-handed example to put the fear of God into the hearts of all those who may cross paths with Beaumont and his men.

A warning of what will befall those who dare defy the letter of the law.

I shake my head. I should never have involved—

A shadow moves in one of the rooms to my left.

Flattening myself against the wall, I sneak a peek through the doorway...

...and what I see roils my guts.

Robert Gale — the inn-keep — is hunched over the chest standing in front of the large, four-poster bed, his hands bound behind him, his shirt and hair matted with sweat. A dark puddle of blood pools at his feet.

Two 'Coats root through the things in the room, pocketing anything that catches their eye and fancy, sniggering amongst themselves.

A hiss of chagrin escapes me. "Putain de merde..."

There is punishment, and then there is persecution. And Harper's father is — without a shadow of a doubt — a victim of the latter. The extent of his wounds provides ample proof of Beaumont's abuse of his authority.

And I cannot allow myself to stand idly by in the face of this atrocity.

I step out of the gloom and into the doorway.

A floorboard creaks beneath my boot.

One of the dragoons glances up...

...but by the time his faculties have clocked the fact that I am foe, not friend, I have already splattered his brains onto the wall behind him.

His compatriot meets the same fate half a breath later, as he fumbles ineffectually for his musket, his body thudding to the floor as the second of my bullets also finds sharp and swift retribution.

Robert Gale's voice croaks out from the foot of the bed. "Ye should'a left them alone, lad..."

But even that simple act is too much for his broken body, and he starts to hack violently.

Taking three quick strides 'cross the room, I manage to grab the old man 'fore he keels over. "Easy now..."

He heaves a shuddering breath 'gainst my breast. "Now, we'll be strung up fer sure..."

"Nay," I counter softly, reaching behind him to loosen the bonds that secure his wrists. "You just lay the blame at my feet. Where it belongs."

Robert twists his neck up to regard me with bruised eyes and cracked lips. "Yer him... The Raven Rider..."

"Amongst other things..." I admit, lowering him as gently as I can to the floor.

The inn-keep hacks out a strained laugh. "Aye... I can see why she likes you..."

"Have you seen her?" I demand, shrugging out of my waistcoat to press it to the wound at his side.

"Nay," Robert replies hoarsely. "Not since they found the gold in her room..."

The icy hand of dread grips my heart. "Sweet Jesus...How the bloody hell did they even know where to look?"

"Théo..." comes the raspy confession. "He... He heard—"

I nearly choke on my own breath. "The window..."

We never closed the damn window...

Springing to my feet, I dash from the room, heedless of the sound of wood striking wood as my booted feet pound the length of the hallway.

How could I have let myself be such a careless fool!

Not only have I tarred the woman I love by virtue of our association, but I've unwittingly led the bastards right to her! And if they found out about the gold, then...

I cannot allow myself to even think on that.

Skidding to a stop in front of the last doorway, I throw myself inside...

...and skid to an abrupt halt as I lay eyes on the horror spread out before of me.

"No..."

The dogged denial slips from my tongue in a whisper.

But my lack of acceptance does nothing to assuage the merciless truth of the reality that assaults me like a thousand knives to my chest.

Harper lies prone in the moonlight, bound and gagged, her golden tresses soaked in the slick crimson of her blood.

"No... No..."

My feet carry me unthinkingly to her listless form beneath the casement — the window of which sits still ajar — and I crash to my knees at her side.

Grasping her by the shoulders, I pull her to me with trembling hands, praying under my breath, hoping against hope that it's a mere trick of the night, a cruel misjudgement, a sordid nightmare that I have somehow stumbled into, soon to awake from...

...but even though her skin still feels warm to the touch, no breath issues from her chest and those hazel eyes that once sparkled with magic and love now stare dully out into the night.

My nails dig into her flesh as my body bows over hers. "Oh, God... Please... No..."

But if the Almighty Lord hears my plea, He is either a heartless bastard or an impotent fraud because He ignores my beseeachment. And she remains unmoving 'gainst my heart.

"NO!!!"

The delegation roars forth from my chest with a force that is naked in its brutality. The heathen keen echoes out into the night as the bitter taste of anguish engulfs my throat and my soul shatters 'neath the stars.

I am too late. And she is dead.

Shot in the heart and left to bleed out on the cold floor like a dog. Alone. Without any assurances or prayer.

All because I'd allowed my heart to sway my head. Convincing myself that despite all my prior misdeeds, I could nevertheless steal a future for myself. A future I had no right or claim to. A future that was more akin to the spectre of a mirage than any flesh-and-blood destiny. A future that was doomed from the start.

Yet my covetousness knew no bounds. And blinded as I had been by the promise of the lie I'd weaved not just myself but Harper as well, I'd led us into the mire of disaster.

"It should've been me..." I rasp into her neck as anguish blurs my vision. "It fucking should've been me..."

I hear the floorboards strain behind me. But I care not. I have no words or sentiment left. And if it's one of Beaumont's enterprising men come to shoot me in the back? Well, then at least they'll be doing me the favour of putting me out of my luckless misery.

Because the knowledge that I have doomed the woman I love cuts deeper than any mortal knife could.

And I've lost the right to live anyway.

"Imma sorry, lad..." says Robert Gale, laying a calloused hand on my shoulder, his own voice cracking.

I shrug the gesture off. I don't deserve his pity. Let alone his succour. I am the one holding the body of his dead daughter in my arms. If anything, he should be setting on me to tear limb from limb in payment for my sins.

Yet, he does no such thing.

"Had I know afore tonight 'bout ye..." He heaves a hoarse breath from above me. "But I s'pose we all had our secrets... And I know it inna any consolation as of now, but we'll bury her 'neath the oak tree. Next t' her mother. That way ye can—"

"Them," I bite out through clenched teeth.

The old man shifts. "What do ye—?"

"She was with child," I grit, reaching up to pull the bloodied gag from her face.

Robert falls into deathly silence beside me.

"So, raise your hand," I tell him bluntly as I pull her eyes gently closed. "Beat me. Wring my neck. Kill me, for all I care. For this is the only opportunity I'll afford you to exact your just vengeance upon me."

"Ye must think very little o' me, if ye think I'd strike a grieving man," rebuts the inn-keep with a hint of steel. "Let alone one who loved my daughter so."

"Then you are a better man than me," I reply solemnly, leaning in one last time to lay a kiss on her lifeless lips.

"Imma'n older man," he corrects as I gently return Harper's head to the floor. "Who's stood where yer standin'. So, I can afford some clemency. 'Specially in this bitter hour."

"You might come to regret your choice," I reply, forcing myself back to my feet. "As I bring nothing but death. And our paths will not cross again after tonight."

"Where ye goin'?" comes the flummoxed query as I push past him.

I throw my reply carelessly over my shoulder. "To exact vengeance of my own."

"They'll kill ye, lad!" Robert calls after me as I stride from the room. "They'll hang ye fer murder! And her death will've been fer n—!"

"I'm a dead man anyway."

Without caring to look back, I let my boots carry me back 'cross the corridor to retrieve my weapons from where I'd left them in the master bedroom.

Reloading the pistols on the fly, I stash them in my belt and I beat a determined path back to the lower level of the inn and out into the night.

The crash of the door 'gainst the wall catches unawares the pair of dragoons that had been left to stand watch on the exterior. But by the time they turn towards me, I have already run both of them through.

Leaving the sods to bleed out in the mud, I plunge into the darkness rising before me.

The cold, winter air whips through my hair, stinging my eyes and my lips in sharp contrast to the hot blood slithering between my knuckles.

But I pay it no need. For I have but one goal. One mission.

To take every soul I can into the night.

Because death? It is all but assured for me. As whether I go by my own bullet or a Greencoat's, it is simply a matter of choice at this point. For I have no reason left to live.

My world turned to ash the moment she died. And there is nothing left to salvage.

Coming to a halt some ways off from the inn, I shoot a sharp whistle into the depths of the murk. A shadowy form raises its head from the gorse, and in the next instant, Drogon is trotting eagerly towards me, the new palfrey in tow.

"Change of plans, mon gross," I advise as he comes to a stop in front of me, breath steaming in the moonlight. "And I don't think you're going to like it..."

The Merèns regards me for a moment, as if sensing the shift in my soul, before letting out a world-weary sigh.

"You always were far too opinionated," I tell him dryly, reaching up to untether the palfrey from his saddle.

Turning the bay towards the stables, I give it a slap on the rump to send it on its way. With Harper gone, I have no further use for the horse. And Emile will ensure it is well cared for.

The stallion shakes his head at me as I swing myself onto his back. But I allow him no further opportunity for protest as I gather the reins in one hand, and point him north.

"Hue!"

Upon command, Drogon leaps forward, and the night becomes a blur as we fly across the moor, like an ill wish upon the wind, seeking our quarry 'neath the path of the stars.

I have no clue for how long we ride. The silvery eye of the hunter's moon casts an eerie pall over the land, distorting any earthly sense of time or distance as its lunar magic stretches shadows and swallows minutes.

Eventually, though, from out of the darkness and the mist appears a ghostly glow, bobbing on the brow of the hill.

"Beaumont," I growl, watching the company ride closer.

They must have caught the horse and realised the nature of the ruse they had fallen prey to.

But it matters not. The time for tricks and cons has passed. There is no more running... No more hiding. No more trying to cheat or contrive our fates. The last of the road has run out.

It is judgment hour.

Wrenching the flintlocks from my belt, I press Drogon forward, down into the valley, down into the well of our doom.

Yet a strange sense of calm blankets me as we draw level with the oncoming troop. Perhaps because my heart already stopped beating the moment I laid eyes on her. And this last, earthly act is merely a formality. Or, I'm so drunk on the potent potion of grief and bloodlust that swirls through my veins that I've become numb to all else.

Either way, I am a shadow of the man I once was. And welcome the sweet promise of release.

The reins slip from my fingers as I raise the pistols to sight my shot.

The figures of men and horses coalesce from out of the gloom, torches borne aloft.

I reach the edge of the sphere of light...

... and let the first shot fly.

The lead dragoon's eyes widen in surprise as the crack of flint 'gainst frizzen ignites the black powder in the pan, splintering the calm of the night.

The lead round explodes out of the barrel in a flash of smoke and fire, hurtling through the air to imbed itself in the soft flesh of the man's cheek, shattering teeth and bone as it goes.

The shock of the impact causes the 'Coat to jerk back on the length of his reins, pulling his horse into the path of its neighbour.

Taking advantage of the confusion, I fire another round into the heaving mess of bodies, catching a horse in the shoulder, causing it to throw its rider from its back.

Cries of horror and surprise rise up as the precisely stacked formation careens into itself, turning both man and beast into a maelstrom of panic.

Slinging the spent weapons into the night, I whirl Drogon back 'round, his hooves rearing into the air as he seeks to redirect the sharpness of his momentum.

Whipping my sabre from its sheath, a hellish howl erupts from my throat as I point the tip of the blade across the narrow divide in vengeful promise.

"BEAUMONT!"

A glint of gold flashes in the middle of the fray as my target snaps his head up at the sound of his name.

"Shoot him, you whelps!" screams the captain, grabbing for his own pistol. "Blast him dead!"

But I am already charging forward.

Shots crack out into the night as I bear down upon my mark...

...and there is but one prayer on my lips.

"I am coming, mon coeur..."

I am almost upon the wall of dragoons when I feel Drogon stumble. Another round pierces my gut a breath later. A third lodges in my shoulder.

But still, I urge the stallion on...

...until his knees give way in the face of the desperate volley of bullets and he careens into the mud, taking me with him, mere steps from my goal.

A thousand pounds of horseflesh crashes down on me, pinning my leg 'neath the weight. My sabre clatters from my hand to vanish into the tangles of the gorse beside me.

The back of my head collides with the ground, and I find myself staring up into the black expense above me, my body broken, my senses reeling.

Drogon lifts his head briefly, attempting to pull himself to his feet, before succumbing to the inherent futility of the exercise with a mournful sigh.

"It's alright, mon gross," I whisper, attempting to comfort the wounded beast lying atop me, even as my vision skips and my lungs struggle for breath as a familiar wetness drenches my shirt.

This is not the way I planned to go. But it seems I left what remained of my luck in that cramped room where my love had blossomed and then died.

Fitting, really...

A pistol clicks above me.

With the last of my strength, I reach beneath my shirt, where Harper's talisman lies coiled 'gainst my heart.

Twisting the damp silk 'round my finger, I close my eyes with a final exhale.

…look for me by the moonlight.

They say that in the depths of the dark — when the moon is high and full — that the sound of hooves may be heard, galloping 'cross the moor...

And though you may not glimpse it, a ghostly rider's there. Searching for his love, they say, who gave her life for his...

If he finds her, 'tis not known; but he made a solemn vow to her. And a promise bound in blood and silk, is a promise that must be filled...

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[lazywitchling]

Dabbler’s Week - research proposal edition

I say “Research proposal” because this isn’t so much going to be what I’d ACTUALLY use as a guide, it’s just the STRUCTURE I’d use to write the guide, and why I chose what I did. For a little background on what the hell is going on, see @asksecularwitch‘s post here.

Monday - Spellwork

What: A simple candle-and-petition-paper spell. Dabbler chooses what they want, but with the instruction that it is straightforward, specific, and tangible. The Drake-Meme format would be: “I want to increase my wealth” ✋ - “I want ten bucks in the coming week” 👈 The spell is written out exactly as performed, really hand-holdy, Do This, Then This, Next This, Finally This.

Why: Look, if I were brand new and gonna pick a “dabble in witchcraft for a week” thing, I’d want to start out doing some effin’ witchcraft. So we’ll start with casting a spell. It’s written super hand-holdy because at the beginning, you really just want some step-by-step instructions on what to do. Also a week is a good time frame to give a spell, and casting it at the beginning gives it a chance to manifest by the end of the week. And FURTHERMORE, it’s a surprise tool that will help us later...

Tuesday - Cleansing a Space

What: Dabbler picks out a space to cleanse, told that the space they choose will be made into a sacred space tomorrow. They will play music of their choosing (with a few suggestions to get them started, just so nobody’s floundering, aka “relaxing yoga music, or something loud and peppy, your favorite childhood song, a meme song that makes you laugh, etc.”) while they also mundanely clean the space.

Why: Cleansing is one of those Cornerstone Witchy Things that everyone talks about offhandedly, like “cleanse your space after this spell”, and giving the Dabbler a simple way of doing that is a good first tool to have in their bag. Music is freely available, and it’s customizable, and playing music while doing a mundane cleaning associates the Magical Cleaning with the Mundane Cleaning in their mind, so they get a sense of “clean vibes” as related to “clean space”. Sidenote: the space can be a shelf, a box, a corner of the room, whatever. Might have some notes in there about other things they can add to their cleansing, like the usual magical washes or sprays, lighting a candle, or whatever. Nothing too complicated at this point, though, we’re still taking baby steps.

Wednesday - Creating a Sacred Space

What: The Dabbler picks out items they already have on hand to create a sacred space in the area that was cleansed the day before (the shelf, box, corner, whatever). Sacred here meaning “Set apart; special”, not necessarily “holy; religious”. Dabbler is encouraged to decorate and arrange things until they feel it has the proper vibe.

Why: This is to encourage the Dabbler to think about the mundane things around their own home, and how those things can be magical just by Deciding That They Are. The idea is not necessarily to create an Altar, though it can also work as practice for that should the Dabbler later choose to have one. In my own practice, I don’t have a permanent Sacred Space, because it doesn’t really fit what I do or how I live. But I tried making some when I first started, and I think it was an important learning point. Now, when I feel that I DO need a sacred space, I’m able to whip one up with whatever is around, and I think that’s a great skill to have. It’s helpful to know and feel what “Sacred” or “Special” feels like to the individual, what it takes for you to really vibe with a space or setting. My spaces are more about reining in my hyperactive brain and creating a boundary for it to focus on, not about creating a holy circle of ground, but I know what that distinction feels like BECAUSE of the times I dabbled in creating sacred spaces. This is when your brain gets to learn what It’s Witchin’ Time feels like.

Thursday - Herbal Correspondences

What: The Dabbler goes to their own kitchen or garden and picks out three spices, herbs, and/or flowers (that they 100% know what they are). At this point, it isn’t necessary to actually gather them, just to write down what is easily accessible at that moment. They then check out the Wikipedia article on their chosen herbs, and build their own correspondence list from that article.

Why: “Whoa whoa whoa, Jes, why are you suggesting Wikipedia??” Oh easy. Because it’s accessible, it’s free, and it’s not witchy. Wikipedia gets a bad rap as a resource for a variety of reasons, but for what it does, it does well. It’s an encyclopedia, so it is by nature a surfacey resource. That’s okay. That’s all we need right now. Instead of googling magical correspondences of cinnamon and finding 1000+ lists that all copied from a copy of a copy of a copy of Crowley and then not knowing WHY that thing has that correspondence, the Dabbler is going to learn to make their own by starting a (very basic) relationship with that herb. Example: I was trying to research magical correspondences of base oils, but everything I found was one-word answers, most of which was “fertility”. Which was... entirely not helpful. So I set out to make my own. Specific example: I looked into castor oil (according to “magickal” sources, it’s correspondence is simply “protection”), but my mundane research taught me that it’s been used for hydraulic and brake fluids, used in food preservation, sold as a laxative, and historically has been used as torture and humiliation (with the laxative effect, I’m sure you can figure out exactly how). Well NOW we’re getting somewhere, because now I associate it with “getting things moving”, whether in a negative or positive way. Having the Dabbler learn to do mundane research like this helps strengthen their relationship with what they use, teaches them that they can research their own materials without needing another Witch (or an Amazon Lisa) to do it for them, and teaches them that they can use what they have on hand rather than consulting a magical list of things they don’t have and wondering where the hell they’re supposed to buy white willow bark.

Friday - Divination

What: The Dabbler will gather small trinkets that they already have and collect them in a box or bag. They then ask questions (possibly with the aid of a list of suggested questions?) and draw a trinket (or cast a couple, if they’re feeling adventurous!) and interpret.

Why: I love Tarot as much as the next witch, but it’s not always practical for the starting witch. And in my experience, I can be dragged just as hard by my trinkets as I can by my traditional tarot decks. Gathering trinkets is (again, as you’re starting to see a theme, I hope) a way to use what is already on hand. And after the Wikipedia exercise from the previous day, the Dabbler should have a little bit of practice in thinking about associations. The action figure their nephew left at their house can mean “lost” but it can also mean “found”, or it’s Spiderman and means “responsibility” or Wonder Woman means “truth”, etc.

Saturday - Crafting a Charm

What: The Dabbler will create a simple charm (most likely a protective one, but I’m not married to the idea). They’ll use their own skills to hand make something tangible, however simple it may be. Could be crafting a keychain using their beading skills, or embroidering a small design onto their jeans pocket, or as simple as wrapping a colored thread around a ring they wear. Whatever it is, it will be a thing that they make with their hands.

Why: We’re falling away from the railroad guidelines at this point in the week, and encouraging the Dabbler to start thinking on their own about what they can do. There’s still suggestions so they don’t get totally lost, but it’s far less hand-holdy than the first spell of the week. With two whole exercises about thinking through associations of things, hopefully they can start to come to conclusions on their own (”You know, I think I’ll hang a safety pin from the keychain, because that just Feels Right to me” or “This string should be blue, because that’s the color of my protective gloves at work”). And the second purpose of the charm is... it’s a tangible thing. It’s a souvenir. If at the end of the week the Dabbler decides that they had fun but witchcraft isn’t for them, cool. But maybe three years down the line, they find that keychain they made during Witch Camp Week, and they think “Oh hey, I remember doing that...” and perhaps it comes to them at exactly the time they need it and they decide to pick it up again. (Or they find it and go “lol that wasn’t for me” and chuck it in the trash. Failure is always an option!)

Sunday - Spellwork Redux

What: Get in losers, we’re casting the same spell again. Well, not the SAME spell, but the same sort. That candle spell from the beginning of the week? The Dabbler will now repeat it with similar purpose. BUT, this time they are to modify the spell somehow. Even less guidelines here now. Maybe they want to perform the spell in their sacred space. Maybe they want to cleanse before performing it. Maybe they want to sprinkle some herbs on the candle, or steep some herbs in hot water and use a brush to write on the paper. Whatever they do is theirs to decide.

Why: EXPERIMENTATION. Really, how often do any of us see a cool spell and then perform it EXACTLY AS WRITTEN? I don’t know about you, but I always always always have to modify it somehow, whether it’s to fit what I have, fit my paradigm, or just because personalization is important in my craft. Redoing the spell with a little bit of tweaking means the Dabbler gets to close off the week with a little more of that Witches Casting Spells stuff that they probably expected, but with a chance to see how they can change it now, how they can make it more suited to them, or how they think it might work better. Maybe it will work better. Maybe it will be worse. Either way is a result.

Conclusion - or the TL;DR

Guidelines at the beginning of the week, transitioning to more creative freedom by the end of the week. Heavy encouragement of using what’s freely on hand and easily accessible, rather than buying specialty materials that may or may not be helpful or ever used again (not to mention could be hella expensive). Some spells, because let’s be honest, some people just really really want the spellz. And mundane research, because it’s too often neglected even among the veteran witches.

[nikkyshows]

Day 29: Cave Scenario

Full Scenario: A cave with a grove hidden deep within it. Pinpricks of light cast the area in a low haze. There is the smell of loamy soil and copper. A step inside causes a low, almost unnoticeable at first, hum.

I like the vibe of this scenario! And not totally because I was able to add a dragon in. It’s a cool thing to start with and I think I did it justice.

Warnings for blood and fighting, though it’s not super graphic. Happy reading!

*****

Gryff leads the small party behind him into the maw of the cave. Teela, the most timid, shudders as she steps in, muttering something about walking into the dragon’s mouth.

She was half right.

They were walking into the dragon’s den.

Or, if you believed some old world theories, they were walking into a primordial dragon’s corpse. They were massive things and there were tales of their descendants making nests in their bellies. That the primordials had turned to rock when they perished, left partially preserved in the earth that bore them. Some parts of them break away, lost (the head, the tail, the legs), but the torso, the gut where they had held their fire, always remains.

If the tales are to be believed, then it made for a perfect dragon’s den.

The path is straightforward, Gryff’s torch bouncing off the walls which seem to soak up the light like something living. They walk for a few hours, moving quietly. Their footsteps try to echo down the rocky corridor. The path never dips down. They’re still on ground level.

Eventually, they come to a clearing. A grove in the middle of the cave.

Pinpricks of light shine through the ceiling of rock and moss, the stone crumbled enough to show air and the moss thin enough to allow lances of light to strike through the cover and warm the cavern. Dragons liked the dark, but they liked warmth, too, and this was a perfect and rare compromise. The air reeks of loam and cooper; bitter gold.

There’s a pile of trinkets on the far side, jewels and gold and raw ore. Rich silks are lying on the floor, some fresh and brightly dyed and others dull.

Gryff scans the area, sees nothing.

He steps into the grove.

Immediately, he hears a low, quiet hum in his ears. Actually, he feels it. Thrumming his bones like a too small tavern with too many bards at once. It’s a buzz he can’t quite hear, but is acutely aware of.

Gryff holds up a hand. He digs the torch into the ground, soft, but firm. His cohorts follow his lead.

Teela casts a quick lighting spell, a fiery orb that hovers above her. It casts enough light for her to see, for Gryff to better scan the walls of the cave. It appears empty, but it isn’t.

Something is here.

He inches a step forwards, muscles bunched with tension. There would be a surprise attack, most likely, but it wouldn’t be a surprise if he could spot the damn thing.

All he sees is the vertically ridged walls.

If he squints, he thinks he can see the impressions of ribs. Or maybe he’s looking too hard.

It didn’t matter where they were. It mattered that there was a beast they had to slay and they didn’t see it.

“Anyone have eyes on it?” he murmurs, so softly that the empty rock room doesn’t echo them.

He turns his head back and sees shaking heads. Teela doesn’t look timid right now. She’s squinting, practically glaring, at the walls of the cave.

Her eyes turn to his and even in the darkness, there’s a spark of fear in her eyes. She points her chin forwards, mouthing something he can’t read.

Gryff looks. The pile of treasure is there. He squints at it. There’s nothing else hidden behind or beside the stack that he can see. Why did Teela point him this way? It was just a pile of gold. Just…

Oh.

It was the dragon’s treasure. It’s hoard. A collection it will kill to keep.

It’s not the smartest plan, but it’s the only one he has. He makes a hand motion for the others to stay.

He inches closer. The humming gets louder as he does, a deep resonance to it that makes his hair stand on end. Danger, his body whispers, turn back.

He pulls his sword from his scabbard and lifts his shield arm, the only barrier he has. He hopes it slows any blow enough to keep him breathing. He keeps moving closer.

Anticipation hangs heavy in the air, thrumming like the hum buzzing under their feet.

Teela snuffs out her light. They don’t know which kind of dragon this is, if it’s a drake that can see in the dark or a wyrm buried under their feet. Every sound seems louder under the blanket of darkness.

He can hear his teammates breathing. Teela, soft. Juler with a shake to it. Biff with quick pants he’s trying to muffle. Dessa  trying to hold her breath.

Gryff gets closer.

The hum stops.

He freezes, adrenaline forcing him to hold his breath. He keeps his ears peeled and doesn’t turn his head to search the room.

He tightens his first inside the shield. Wills his senses to strengthen enough for him to be able to leap out of a dragon's path.

He takes one more step forward.

A slight breeze begins to drag against his skin, a movement of air that doesn’t come from wind, can’t come from wind because they are in the earth, enclosed.

The scent of sulfur pierces his nose.

The dragon roars fire just as Gryff leaps to the floor. He feels the wavering of hot air slice above his back.

Teela murmurs something (a spell?) and the battle begins.

The dragon blurs out from its position pressed against the wall to lunge at Gryff, the man who had stepped too close to the dragon’s treasure. He rolls out of the way and the talons of the beast sink into the ground a foot away from his head. It roars. The cave shakes.

He leaps to his feet and stabs at its neck. It whips its head to the side and he misses. Biff slams his blessed war axe into its tail.

It howls.

Once, it was said that that sound was the ruining of entire kingdoms. Now it is just a screech of pain.

They all spread out. Dessa yells for a distraction and Gryff provides. He bellows at the great beast before him and it turns, golden eyes glowing in the low light.

He hears the tink of metal hitting scales, the hiss of magic, the growl of fire sparking.

The dragon spits out another wave of flames that Teela deflects with a spell. Gryff glances at her, to his right, and sees the sweat beading on her brow. Biff is somewhere around the dragon’s hide and he doesn’t see Juler. Dessa is to his left.

She manages, somehow, through a move Gryff doesn’t see, to break off the tip of one of its horns. She’s the sweetest looking of the bunch, blonde haired and blue eyed and the shortest of them. She is one of the deadliest women to breathe.

They stand point around the beast, whoever is not at its head lunging for gaps between its impenetrable scales. They chip at the weak points, spending more effort in dodging then attacking.

It bleeds.

They fall into a rhythm. They grow accustomed to the light and to the exact points of weakness that make the dragon tremble.

Juler sits hunched on the side, testing a theory with Lükon rope. It is not merely made of fiber, of plant intertwined. It has barbs of FairySteel in it, and is made from the weaving of vines found miles under the surface. Fairy weapons (rare as they may be) tend to be quite fatal. Surprising, considering the race’s peaceful nature.

But FairySteel was known to be unbreakable. Even to dragons. And when woven into a rope like it has, it makes for a perfect restraint.

He has it tied to a harpoon and waits for what feels like too long before the dragon flares its wings in defense and he has a clear enough shot to shoot. The harpoon (specially made for this purpose) cuts through the gossamer with ease.

The screech is ear piercing.

It feels as if the world is falling out of existence under their feet.

Everyone takes their chance. While the dragon turns to bite the rope, to rid itself of this new lasting pain, everyone lunges forward. The rope does not break under the dragon's teeth (the barbed hooks sink into its gums before it truly bites down) and everyone lands a hit.

It recoils against the rope, the roar muffled and Gryff almost feels bad for the creature. Almost.

He slays it with a sword to the throat.

It falls still and silent.

He wipes a splatter of purple blood from his face. He waits, tense, for the creature to reawaken. It does not. He moves the few steps he needs to be in front of it.

Golden eyes are open and dull. Clouded in death.

“It is done,” Gryff says, and he doesn’t even notice the sword fall out of his grasp, the bone weariness in the words. “Koriad is safe.”

The prince is avenged. They have been successful in their task.

As proof, he takes the scrap of silk dyed Koriad emerald with the crest of the king emblazoned in silver. It is all that has survived of the second prince. Maybe his crown lies in the pile of riches, but they were not hired to find the crown. Someone else will come to pick through and take the things of value.

Gryff sighs. He slips the fabric into the hidden compartment of his shield. He feels tired. They’ve been searching for this cave for weeks. They’re all exhausted.

“Gryff,” Teela stumbles closer and catches herself with a palm to his arm. The appendage shakes. She points to the tower of treasure. “Look.”

Something about the seriousness in her voice makes him listen.

He doesn’t see anything strange. It looks like what he imagines any hoard to be.

“What?” he pants, his lungs throbbing under his skin. His heart beating against his ribs.

She releases him to walk closer. Dessa squints at something and gasps.

“Here,” she says, pointing at something oddly roundish. Something that isn’t glimmering under the little bit of sun there is.

Gryff steps closer. He gets a better look. His face pales.

“A dragon egg,” he whispers.

It’s a pale yellow that had blended into the gold and copper of stolen trinkets. He thinks he sees little cracks in the surface and he doesn’t know if the egg is beginning to hatch, or if all dragon eggs look a little cracked.

He glances at the fallen form behind him — a mother, or what was about to be one.

He feels the stab of guilt pierce his stomach. He swallows it down. “Juler,” he calls, to the craftiest of them. “Do you think we can haul this to the castle?”

Juler looks at the egg, touches it with his palm. “I think so.”

“Let’s get on our way then.” He tears his eyes from the new life that will either be slain or imprisoned. “We have a gift for the king.”

*****

I actually really like this piece and I hope you all do too. I fought with my internet for literally two hours to get it up. That’s why it’s late.

[jason-todd-deserved-better]

Vampire AU - Tim Drake x Reader Headcanon

A/N: And I’m back, in under a month and with a Tim Drake story! So hell must be freezing over, but this story was inspired by @write-it-motherfuckers with this prompt.  (If you guys haven't checked them out, then I suggest that you do because they are amazing and if you're in a rut then reading their prompts will definitely help!) Either way, I hope you guys like it and let me know what you guys think! Love y’all!

Warning: There is a good amount of violence and death, plus graphic depictions of messed up stuff (a whole lot of gore). So if you don’t like that stuff, then please do not read. Please stay safe.

Summary: You bring home an injured bat, but all isn’t as it seems and you may have an issue on your hands when you accidentally bleed on the little guy.

Animals have always been deeply ingrained in your heart of hearts.

You were raised in a household that respected any and all animals, with your parents being park rangers, this was a given.

Also, the fact that you and the rest of the family had a bit of wolf blood in there mixed up as well.

Though only a couple of people in your family could even change, your father included.

You and your siblings, on the other hand, didn’t have that ability.

It wasn’t really an issue though, your parents loved you all the same, and your dad had no problem with that at all.

Plus you got to ride on his back in wolf form when you were little, and that was a lot of fun from what you could remember.

You had a relatively normal childhood though, and it was as peaceful as it could get.

Everyone has to grow up though, and for college, you decided to go to Gotham University, much to your parent’s displeasure.

But your mind was set, and that’s where you went.

At first, it was a hard transition, to be surrounded by forests, then to steel buildings that were higher than any tree could ever get.

Plus they weren’t lying when they said Gotham was a crime-ridden city.

You usually didn’t have to worry about the supernatural creatures around you, as your scent was one of a Were’s, and no one wants to mess with a Were.

As long as no one knew that you couldn’t turn into a wolf than you would be fine.

It was the normal humans that you had to worry about though.

Which means the odds of getting mugged were still very high.

Your parents knew this, so they gave you a small can of pepper spray

And even if you had to use the pepper spray, it would suck for both you and your assailant as your sense of smell was also enhanced because of your wolf genes.

But if you needed it, then you’d use it.

Time passes though, and the next thing you knew is that you were graduating relatively soon and you had a lovely internship at a recovery center/veterinary hospital on the edge of Gotham.

You absolutely loved the place, it was almost your home away from home as it was tucked into a wooded area that could still be considered Gotham, but was far enough for the trees not to be surrounded by concrete.

But because it was kinda in the woods and also a makeshift recovery center (Gotham really sucks in nature preservation, in literally all aspects.), you’d get all different kinds of animals like owls, deer, bats, and even wolves funnily enough.

Tonight was a rough night though, as people were running in to get help for their animals as some villain was going around and destroying everything in its path.

Basically, you guys were packed with injured dogs and cats, while also housing the already sick animals.

But your day wasn’t over as your boss, Jules, runs in with a small bat bleeding in her hands.

The older women put the bat on the table, and you were quick to help her patch them up.

“Found the poor thing outside by my car,” Jules says, disinfecting the various cuts on its body. “He was probably hit by shrapnel from the attack, funny how he made it here though,”

“Well at least you saw him before we closed for the night,” You say, pulling out the gauze and bandages.

Jules nodded her head in agreement, “You have no idea, Sweet Pea.”

She was very much the old grandmother type, and she had taken great care in making sure that you and the rest of the staff were well taken care of.

Plus no one would want to get on her bad side as there would be a couple of hexes coming their way as she was one of the elder witches of Gotham.

Yeah, no one messes with Jules.

Once you guys finished working on the injured bat, you guys went to put it in with the rest of the animals, but there was an obvious problem.

The whole building was loaded with animals, wild and domestic.

You hear Jules tired curse next to you. “Well looks like I’ve got to take this little guy home,”

Immediately you didn’t like that, she had been working all day and all you could tell that the past day's events were wearing her down.

“Hey don’t worry about it Jules, I’ll take care of him,” At first she was about to say no, but by the look you gave her, she knew that you wouldn’t take no as an answer.

“You sure you can handle it Sweet Pea?” She asked. “I know you’re just as tired as me,”

“Of course, we used to take care of these guys all the time back at home,” You say with a smile. “Plus Jules, we wouldn’t want you to get another familiar,”

With a slight laugh, she hands over the bat and pinches your side jokingly. “Oh you kids are gonna be the death of me, either that or a house is gonna fall on my head,”

“Hey, you said it, not me,” You laugh at her joke, being careful with the bat in your hands.

And with that, you guys closed the shelter and were on your separate ways home.

While driving to your apartment though (You made sure that your building was nowhere near the destruction before you left.), you kept smelling something odd in your car.

It wasn’t a bad smell, but it was one that you’ve never been in contact with.

Only did you realize it was the bat as it traveled with both of you to the hallway of your apartment.

“Okay my dude, you kinda smell,” You mutter, unlocking your apartment door. “Well can’t really worry about that now, can we?” You say placing him in a shoebox that you had lying around after you laid a hand towel over the bottom.

The funny thing is, was that he didn’t really fuss, not when Jules had him, not in the car ride home and not now as he gazed at you.

You found it weird, but you chalked it up to the stress the little guy had already gone through.

You didn’t see the expression on its face when you said it stunk, like who are you to talk? Your smell wasn’t human either!

After putting him in the box, you went to the kitchen taking the tiny bat with you, and placing him on the counter.

Pulling fruits out of the fridge, your main goal was to see if you could get him to eat anything, which would be an excellent sign for the little guy.

Pulling out a knife, you started going to work on half of a banana, when your hand slips and you nicked the side of your finger, blood beginning to trickle out of the wound.

Cursing, you pick up the box and head to the bathroom, trying not to get blood on the little guy as you jogged to your bathroom where you kept your first aid kit.

You placed the box on the bathroom counter, a couple drops of blood falling on the face of the bat.

All of a sudden there was a heavy weight on your chest, and your vision was filled with black and red.

Yelping, you immediately fell back, expecting to hit the back of your head with the end of your shower when at the last minute you were stopped by hand cupping the back of your neck, saving you from the fall.

Feeling his strong body press up against yours, you see a torn up mask revealing a blackened eye, with the remnants of a shredded mask.

“Thank you, I really needed that.” He says, an embarrassed smile on his face.

He lifts you up and pulls away, you noticing the insignia on his chest as one of the ones you’d see all the time on the news.

But that doesn’t stop you from yelling out, because blacked out eyes mean one thing.

You had a goddamn vampire in with you in your bathroom.

Which causes you to lash out, throwing a shampoo bottle at his head.

“AH HEY!” He yelps out, more out of shock than real pain but you were completely freaking out, “I’m not going to hurt you!”

“Holyshitholyshitholy-” You were trying to find other things to throw but were stopped when your arms were pushed to our sides and held there.

“Please stop, I promise I’m not going to hurt you,” He says slowly, you notice his eyes turning more human, revealing that his irises were an icy blue.

Even the wounds that he had were starting to close, most likely due to the blood that was smeared across his lips.

“Shit” You shakily say, finishing the thought you had, now too scared to move.

Slowly, he lets go of your arms, making sure that you weren’t going to start throwing things at him again.

“Yeah, you’re right about that,” He says starting to back up, only to collapse when he puts weight on his right leg.

On instinct, you go to catch him because well you’re a decent person who acts before they actually think.

There was an alarm going through your head, but you ignored it as you pulled him out of the bathroom and towards the couch in the living room.

Plus Red Robin was one of the good guys right? You thought.

With a grunt from the both of you, you dropped him on your couch.

He was heavier than he looked, and you weren’t strong like your dad or any other wolf you knew.

Tim wasn’t focused on that but your heart rate was going crazy, he picked up on that.

“Um your hand is still bleeding,” He motions with his head, regretting that as he felt the world tilt in that second.

You glance down at your hand, seeing a small stream of blood dripping all over the place.

Cursing you go back to the bathroom and quickly taking care of that, then coming back to the living room where Red Robin was looking a little better but still was looking a little sick.

“Are you okay?” You ask him.

“Yeah, just need a little while for the world to stop spinning,” He says, eyes closed.

“I-Is that normal for a vampire?” You ask, your nerves getting to you.

Plus you only knew the bare minimum on vampires.

“Meh, I got hit pretty hard so it’ll hurt for a while, it’ll go slower because it was only a couple drops of blood I got.” You stiffen at that. “Don’t worry though, I’m not going to take any more from you.”

You let out a soft sigh of relief.

He opens his eyes slowly, ”Thanks by the way.”

“Well, I’m not going to say no problem, but you’re welcome I guess,” You say, glancing at your cut hand.

“I’m surprised you didn’t change though, most other Weres would tear me apart the second I changed back.”

Okay time for damage control, no one needs to know that you can’t morph.

“I prefer not to turn any time I’m scared, then it’s harder to control myself.” You say, knowing that was the reason why your father never changed when scared.

“Mhm,” He mumbles. “Gotta love those animal instincts…”

“But turning into a bat can’t be that bad, no carnal rage, just to fruit.” You state.

“Yeah, and the occasional moth as well.” Okay now that sounded gross, plus poor moth.

“Oof,” You cringe. “That kinda sucks.”

He laughs at that, “You have no idea.”

Red Robin stayed in your apartment for a while, until his wounds were healed and he wouldn’t fall out of the sky because the world would continue to spin.

It wasn’t the last time that you saw him though.

Every once in a while, while sitting in your living room, either watching TV or working on homework, you would see a flash of red in the corner of your eye.

Sometimes you’d catch him and wave, causing him to shyly wave back then fly off into where ever else he needed to go.

It almost became a routine as you’d see him do this at least once a week.

Eventually, you were starting to get tired of this though, and he could tell so as he was about to leave, he was surprised to see you get up and open the window you saw him through.

“Okay, enough of the staring contests, do you want to come in?” You call out.

A boyish smile grows on his face as he turns, flying in through your window, settling on your couch before turning back.

But then his nerves hit him like a brick. “Hehehe… Hi.”

“Hey,” You say, rolling your eyes as you plop down next to him on the couch. “Now what would you rather watch, Brooklyn Nine-Nine or Jane the Virgin?”

And that is how your friendship with Red Robin started, with a couple episodes of Brooklyn Nine-Nine.

Either way, time flew by and graduation passed in the breeze but you stayed in Gotham, as Jules demanded offered to hire you full time (She was worried about the bat incident, but you reassured her that you were fine even if it turned out to be a vampire.)

So everything was going pretty well for you, and you couldn’t be happier.

But you were in for a rude awakening.

You had a day off, so you spent that time cleaning your apartment, as it was getting cluttered and you couldn’t keep living this way.

All was well until a large hole was blown into the wall of your apartment and you were thrown across the room from the impact.

You barely had time to moan your discomfort as you were brought up by the collar of your shirt, choking you as you were lifted up.

With blurry vision, you see the face of the Scarecrow, and the next thing you knew, there was a sharp green gas filling your vision.

Your heart was racing as you processed that it was his fear gas, a choked out yell escaping your lips as you heard his demonic laugh.

Then all of a sudden you weren’t in your apartment anymore, now you were in front of the animal hospital.

You saw the fire start at the far corner of the building, but it was gaining ground quickly, so you dashed inside.

Getting burned wasn’t on your mind, but the animals inside and when you ran in you could pick up the smell of burning flesh.

It made your stomach recoil, and you ran towards every cage, kennel, and room.

What you saw in every one of those rooms couldn’t ever be unseen.

The burnt remains of the dogs and cats you were taking care of, the smell burning your insides while the smoke burned your lungs and eyes.

You weren’t sure if you were bawling more from the smoke or the sick animals that were in your care.

You got your answer as you ran down the hallway.

The smell started to change, it was still a burn but it made your insides curdle, and you could feel bile coming up your throat.

In there you saw a large mass, curled up in the middle of one of the kennels.

Even though the body was grotesquely chard, you knew it was Jules.

You would know her everywhere.

A horrified sob leaves your burning throat, covering your mouth you turn away, not being able to process what you were seeing.

But in the kennel, you were now facing yanked out a horrified wail from you.

In there was your family, huddled together but were very dead, your father in wolf form trying to cover the rest of your family but failed as they all were burned.

All the strength in your body left, your knees collapsing under you, and you were ready to go with the rest of your family.

Curling into yourself, you sob feeling the flames lick at your skin, searing away your very being.

But it all went dark, and everything felt numb to you.

Lifting up your head slowly, your tear stained eyes look up, and all you see is darkness around you.

It might be dark, but you could feel him nearby.

“R-Red?” You choke out, your eyes looking all over for him.

“You could have saved them you know.” His voice was cold, colder than anything you’ve ever heard escape his lips.

Your eyes continue to water, “What-”

“If you had turned, you could have saved them all” You see his silhouette in the distance.

“Red, I-I can’t-” All of a sudden there was a hand at your throat choking you of air.

“You’re useless, you can’t do anything on your own,” His grip tightens. “The sad thing is, that's all you want to do, but poor and weak little (Y/N) can’t do anything.”

He lets go of your throat, dropping your body hard on the ground.

Coughing, you feel the tears continue to pour down your face, “Red, why-”

He grabs you by the throat again, “But you aren’t completely useless, oh no.” You can see the points of his teeth grow, his eyes turning black. “You’re blood is still pumping,”

And with that, he attacks your neck, biting down into the flesh and going straight through to the artery.

You felt his teeth stab into you, a red flash of pain going through your very being.

You felt yourself slipping away into nothing, the dark encompassing you until you finally slipped away.

That was the end of it all, you thought.

But your eyes fluttered open, now blinded by artificial and sterile light.

It took you a couple moments to take in the lights, they were still too bright, but you could now see the rest of the room.

From what you could tell it was a hospital, from the thin tubes connected to your arm to the inclined bed that you were on.

You didn’t notice the body next to you until you felt someone softly grab your hand.

If you could have jumped three feet in the air, then you would have, but you were clearly drugged up on pain meds.

You’ve never seen him without his costume, but you knew his smell anywhere.

And you instinctively put a hand on your neck to feel for a bite, remembering everything from your dream, but not finding anything.

Then you remembered what happened in your apartment.

Fear gas.

None of it was real.

Your family was okay, and you were alive.

Holy crap you actually survived that.

“Well, I’ll try not to take offense to that…” He says squeezing your other hand softly.

Letting out a little chuckle, you slowly put your hand down. “Well, I’m alive so deal with it,”

“I couldn’t let you die, (Y/N),” He says, glancing down in shame. “I would have done anything to prevent you from going through that.”

“I-I know, Red,” You say, gripping his hand a little tighter.

“It’s Tim,” He says, glancing up at you.

Oh wow.

He actually gave you his real name.

“Tim?”

“Yep, that's my name.”

“Wow, I thought I’d never see the day.” You laugh slightly.

“Well, you almost didn’t so it’s best to do it now before I don’t get another chance to.”

Squeezing his hand, you get the courage to give him the only secret you had.

“Since we’re clearing out the air, I got to tell you something too,” Courage don't fail me now you think, “I can’t turn.”

A momentary confusion falls across his face, then he made sense of your words.

“Well that makes sense now,” He smiles slightly, “I was surprised when you didn’t bite my head off that first night.”

Rolling your eyes you smile at him fondly, “There now we both know each other's darkest secret.”

“Meh,” He shrugs. “Some are darker than others.”

With a laugh, you lightly smack his side. “Whatever Tim.”

He chuckles, rubbing his side and lays his head on your wrist that he put on the bed, kissing the inside of your wrist.

With that display of affection, blood rushes to your face, causing him to let out a loose smile.

You guys grew closer after that, it only seemed natural that you guys would get together after this.

It took a little while, but in between moving you to another (much safer) apartment in the city, and keeping your family at bay. (Your dad was pissed, he was ready to tear off anyone’s and everyone’s head off because no one messes with his little girl. It was mostly the wolf talking though.)

So with many weeks of video calls and the “are you alright” texts, your life went back to normal.

Well with the addition of a certain vampire boyfriend of yours, that was new.

Heck, there was even a massive moment of deja vu when there was a bat you had to take in because it was overcrowded in the center.

You just finished getting the little thing to eat when your window was opened, and Tim climbed through, still in costume.

When he sees you, he has to stop and look at the scene beforehand, because what?

“She’s just a normal bat, Tim, Jules made sure,” You say, your focus on the bat.

He shoulders relax, and an embarrassed laugh escapes his lips, “Yeah I knew that,”

“Uh huh, sure you did,” You laugh, getting her comfortable in the towel covered shoebox before walking up to your boyfriend, amusement on your face. “Plus, she doesn’t stink like someone I know.”

“Oof low blow there babe.” He says, a fake pain in his voice, only to be followed with a chuckle when you pull his mask off.

“I’m sorry,” You apologize in a seductively sweet tone. “Let me make it better.”

“Oh please do,” And with that you kiss him, pouring your soul into it, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[thecarteradministration]

Road to nowhere. || October 3rd, 2019.

He didn’t know why but something told him the right idea was to not make the cross country flight back home and instead, opt for staying in the west coast. Cousin Benny’s house had always been open to him if he wanted to go there to spend a few days and in reality, it was what Ethan needed. Bringing himself in Encinitas was honestly the best idea he could’ve come up with because there was one simple truth that he was trying his best not to acknowledge:

He needed to get away.

What was he getting away from? Everyone. Everything and everyone that was around him. It wasn’t a “get my ass off the grid” deal; more so it was him needing that hard system reset and trying to find some form of outlet for him to do that. The benefit of Smackdown moving to Friday allowed him the opportunity of just sneaking away like a thief in the night to Southern California before any obligations he had to fulfill. Provided he was going to actually be used at Smackdown as opposed to just being another body.

Which is why when he was asked by his cousin if his “tall babe that looks like she could behead me without using her hands” was coming with him, Ethan tersely responded with “nope” and kept it moving. Why? Because he wasn’t going to get grilled by a family member about any of this. Nor did he want to in the first place. Wasn’t really something he wanted to have hanging over his head given...well, everything else that was hanging over his head.

The first day was, like most, a breeze. He was able to just lay around, do nothing even though he was freezing his ass off. The second day, however, was when most of his intrusive thoughts started creeping in and at the worst possible time—seemed like a true pattern in his life: having shit timing when it came to his thoughts and feelings and actions.

At what was going to seemingly be a new renaissance for the world of professional wrestling with everyone feeling as though they were going to finally have a chance at making something of themselves and grabbing that much talked about but never seen “brass ring”, Ethan found himself in a consistent purgatory that made him question everything about his life and career. And it had been that way dating back to January, maybe even earlier if he was pressed on it. For several months straight, he felt his will to be the good little soldier the company needed him to be deteriorate. The needing to eat shit and learn to like it being lost on him because of some perceived slight that was being held against him by the higher ups (wow, does that sound fucking familiar).

He was hollow. Numb. If this was a television show, he’d be standing in a hall while the entire world went by him in fast motion while he was at regular speed. And he fucking hated that. As someone who prided himself on being the best, it stung him to not be in the pack with people who were ascending. It hurt his ego that he was told constantly that he was at the bottom and was meant to stay there until God knows when. But worst of all, it hurt him to feel like he couldn’t possibly share any of this with people. Even his closest and dearest friends.

They say in the world of standup comedy that the funnier and more outgoing a comedian is, the more they’re suffering in silence behind closed doors. Their need to make people laugh and smile comes from a place of shutting off that part of their brain that tells them they’re a constant failure and that the world would be better off if they were obsolete. Similarly, no one is going to listen to the guy who has everything when he says he’s suffering. No ones going to take him seriously. At least that’s how Ethan felt.

He had the looks, the body, the cars, the big house in the nice neighborhood, the bank account that made people drool, the gorgeous wife that everyone most likely still believes he doesn’t deserve. All of that—it doesn’t buy him any currency with people when it comes to stripping the veil and saying “hey, I’m fucking emotionally drowning over here and I need a life preserver”. To him, he didn’t want to burden anyone with his problems given they all have more important shit to deal with in their lives than him bellyaching about his. So he sucked it all up and internalized it—that nasty little habit he found himself returning to after abandoning it for some time.

And that was partly why he felt he needed to spend a few days physically away from everything and everyone. The internalizing was bringing up feelings toward people he didn’t want. And thus, he just needed to find a way to shake them loose. Which is why he found himself at Torrey Pines State Natural Reserve. Whenever he was staying in Encinitas, he always found time to hike along the trail, it was therapeutic in many respects.

Throughout the hike he kept thinking about everything he was feeling. How he couldn’t help but feel personally slighted by the fact that everyone he was called up with had, at some point or another, been able to dig their hands into something tangible during their time on the main roster while he did nothing. Even Lars, whose sordid history was constantly shoved in your face whenever you saw his ugly mug grace your television screen, made some sort of impact before the God decided to make his knee explode. Either way, Ethan uttered the sentiment “fucking Lars” seemingly as an exasperated expression as to how he felt.

He thought about the guys who had been called up after, the fabled NXT 4 of Johnny, Tommaso, Ricochet and Aleister. How they were all given the ball and ability to call their own plays it seemed to much acclaim and success. Or how Nikki and Alexa’s blossoming friendship paid off in their once unlikely pairing turned into Tag Title success. Or how his own best friend, Drake “Rockstar Spud” Maverick took the 24/7 Title and turned it into his ultimate goal, providing people with laughs and moments they could fondly look back on. And how all of that twisted the knife deeper and deeper within him, the competitive side of him outweighing the compassionate side, aided by a little thing called bitterness and resentment, which reared its ugly head worst of all when it came to the most unlikely of target.

But he knew it wasn’t totally fair to anyone for him to feel this way. It wasn’t fair to Johnny, poor innocent Johnny, that Ethan felt the way he did at the man’s cult-like success. It wasn’t fair to Nikki and Alexa for him to feel subtle acrimony as he watched them ascend to success. It wasn’t fair to Spud for Ethan to feel slighted by him due to the fact that he took the ball and ran with it in the most hilarious of ways. And the kicker, it wasn’t fair to Allysin for Ethan to have a twinge of  jealousy and resentment whenever he saw news of her success.

That last one stuck with him. That last one fucked with him. He wasn’t supposed to feel that way about his wife, the woman he swore to love, honor and cherish. To be fair to him, he was immensely happy and proud of her for everything she has done over the last year since returning from such an injury that put her career in doubt. So much so that he admired her success. But that resentment and jealousy he felt was more a product of his own failures and shortcomings. He wanted to rule the world beside his girl, two people taking over and being unbridled tyrants draped in gold, and for him to not hold up his end of the bargain felt like he was letting her down. Showing that the man she loved was a failure and in some respects, holding her back. And it sucked.

It sucked that he was plagued with such feelings toward the people he would consider as friends. It sucked that he couldn’t revel in his best friend’s star turn within the company. It sucked that part of him felt bitterness toward his own wife’s success, no matter how brief that feeling lasted within him. And all of it was why he needed to physically not be around people for the last number of days.

And as he reached the area overlooking the vast portion of the trail, he paused for a moment to take it all in. There was a calming effect, the air seemed crisper, a cool breeze wafted over him. It provided him with a moment to take in everything before him and just free his mind.

He thought everything was going to be different this time around. That the years away from the company would’ve at least aided him in squashing any of the previous preconceived notions about himself that were evident during his first go ‘round with the company. That everything that he did in the five years prior to his return would translate into something good upon the return. He didn’t think it would lead to this; his desire to continue on fighting being literally beaten out of him and filling him with a kind of morose feeling every time he got on the plane to leave for the next loop.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he stared at his lock screen for a few seconds before it vanished, a picture of himself and Allysin from their vacation last year in Punta Cana, where he wished he was now than mentally trying to prepare himself for another seemingly unfulfilling day at TV. He let out a deep sigh, lowering his head as he felt the sun beating on his back, acting as yet another thing he had to shoulder—he was use to it. If Impact taught him anything, it was that all the ills of the world were easy for him to carry even if it wasn’t the healthiest of things to do.

Thumbs flying by quickly, he pulled up his text messages and made a B-line to the conversation thread for himself and Allysin. Everything he attempted to type, be it benign or meaty enough to spark a deeper dive by his wife’s sniper-like scope and intuition, was quickly erased. He’s been known the say “the best text messages are the ones I don’t send”. Rather than bring up any suspicion or go in for a conversation he’d rather have face to face, he opted for a quick “I’ll be home Tuesday, I love you” before hitting send and shoving his phone back in his pocket.

Clearly, he needed to talk to someone rather than bottling up everything within him. Maybe his therapist would be in by the time he got home next week. Maybe he could pester Spud to stop his ongoing search for the 24/7 Title and have a talk with him. Maybe he’ll talk to one of his friends or even have Allysin play motivational speaker and snap him out of it. Maybe one day he’ll actually have that meaningful conversation with someone about his issues.

...but as he went down the trail, he knew that today just wasn’t going to be that day.

[pikkish-moved]

A screenshot of the ask, in hopes that this time, it’ll let me put in a read more:

The problem is, most of the characters seem like quite stable people, mentally, including Olimar and kind of maybe Louie, so I don’t see any of them going insane easily. And Olimar and Louie, for both AUs, happen to be in extreme and supernatural situations, which is kind of an exception to a resistance to an effect on sanity.

But, regardless, I did my best here with what I was able to come up with!

(A warning in advance for deaths, some body horror, more deaths, a lot of delusional thinking, more deaths, and oh, can’t forget, more deaths.)

(EVEYONE dies here.)

(Except for, funnily enough, the president.)

In which slacking is not permitted

Where were they?

The president swatted aside a large leaf, forging on in his search for his two absent employees.

A heavy impact, shattering a spray of dark red, a choked gurgle.

Negligent! Irresponsible! That’s what this was. Leaving him unprotected in this forsaken wilderness. And that might be excusable, were the two of them searching for treasure, but he knew they weren’t. No, he was certain they were just loading off somewhere, laughing behind his back.

A thousand small voices, crying out in unison,

He would tan their hides when he found them! Slacking like this, didn’t they know there was a debt to pay off? He’d teach them to work for their money, he’d fire them! Then see how much they like sitting around doing nothing!

Crying out in agony as one of their own, their leader from the sky,

Grumbling, the president paused, leaning against the trunk of one of the enormous trees. There couldn’t have been something he was forgetting, was there? Something Olimar had told him, some plan or something…

fell to the ground, gasping for air, finding only poison, and his own blood.

Or…?

The president’s own shuddering breaths, eyes wide, staring, staring, unable to look away.

No, no, they were around here somewhere. He knew it!

Meeting the eyes of the beast, it’s bloody jaw.

He just had to find them.

He just had to run.

In which the war hero faces old problems

(Gotta admit, idk if Charlie’s really going insane, here. I headcanon that, having been in some wars before, he’s got an incredibly strong resolve. But I did all that I could think of!)

Charlie was not smart. Not comparatively, anyway. He couldn’t fix a ship’s stabilizers with only a screwdriver and a handful of zip ties. He couldn’t take a plant and know how to make it grow, know how to make it flourish. And maybe he knew what a fruit was, or what the cosmic drive key was, but he sure as heck couldn’t say which fruit was higher in piktamin U or why the ship wouldn’t run without the key.

No, Charlie was not smart, and his scientific intelligence was not why he was made captain of this mission.

It was because he was a survivor, a fighter. Because he could get only a glance of a battlefield before charging in, and still come out alive. He wasn’t scientific smart, but he was street smart, and that skill is why he was chosen for this.

It was his only mission, here. Keep alive. Keep all of them alive.

His only mission, and he, Captain Charlie, decorated war hero, had failed it. He was here to protect them, that was all, and he had failed to do so.

He had dealt with loss before, of course. He had seen friends die, sat beside squad mates as their breathing had gotten shallower. But this- this was different. It was one thing to stand in uniform, saluting the departed beside five, ten, twenty of your teammates, all going through the same struggle.

It was another thing entirely to stand alone, in the silent bowels of a ship a million, billion miles away from home, staring blankly at the two occupied medical cryostasis pods, because that was the only place you could think of to put the bodies so they wouldn’t rot.

Because he had recovered the bodies. He had to. He couldn’t just leave them. He had fought tooth and nail to get them back. He couldn’t just leave them there to be eaten. He had to take them back to their families.

...And that was it, then. The end. This mission was over. He was going to go home.

He was going to go home alone.

And so it was, with a sigh, that he eased himself into the Drake- oh, stars, he’d have to tell Drake that Alph was dead- into the Drake’s cockpit, letting his hands rest on the navigational controls. He just had to set a course back to Koppai.

He just had to-...

Charlie had never been great at piloting ships, or navigating. And the Drake, with all its complex technology meant for the expedition, had been even more confusing. He had been given instructions, of course, and at the time they had seemed so clear. But now, he looked at the buttons, the switches, the dials and gauges.

He could hear Alph’s voice, explaining it all. So excited, telling Charlie what each thing did and how it worked, thrilled to be talking about something he loved. Yes, Charlie could still hear Alph’s voice. But he couldn’t hear the words. None of the instructions, nothing. He had no idea how to navigate back to Koppai.

...It was okay, though. He could figure it out. He had to. He had to get them back home safely. He had to get them back to their families.

He had already failed this once. He couldn’t do so again.

So he managed. He plotted a course. Set the Drake on it. Took off.

And then he sat there, as the ship flew. He just sat there, in the seat. He had nothing to do. Nothing he could do. Nothing he could’ve done, his sole point in being on this mission, and he couldn’t do it.

He sat there until his stomach ached, growling, empty. So he got up, and made his way, stiff, oh so stiff, to the juice storage fridge. There wasn’t much juice, there. They hadn’t been able to get much. But that was okay. He was a soldier; he’d lived on slim rations before. He could do it again.

His hands shook as he poured himself a glass of juice. Brittany had always been the one to divide it up. She had always been so careful, measuring things to the last drop. She would’ve made sure the jar Charlie was holding wouldn’t have emptied so quickly. She would’ve made sure-...

He stiffly moved back up to the cockpit and slumped down in the seat again. Eventually he dozed off, but his dreams were simply the same thing, shuffling through the silent ship, from the cockpit to the fridge and back again and back yet again. And when he woke, his stomach was growling again, so he went once more to the fridge, shuffling through the same refuse that had been left out from some night previous, not yet cleaned up.

Charlie set the rim of the jar to his mouth and tipped back his head, but his throat was still dry, and his stomach still growling, and his head still light, and his legs still weak. And then he collapsed to his knees, then curled up on his side amid the empty jars on the floor.

How, how?

He had only been here for a day or so- only a day or so. Only a day or so, he said to himself, running a hand through his uncut, full head of hair. Only a day or so, curled up on the floor, only a day or so, drifting in space, maybe towards Koppai, maybe not.

Only a day or so more.

In which Brittany is annoyed

(This one is… short. I didn’t know what else to do for Brittany aside from the usual “kills everyone and either becomes creepily okay with it or torn apart with guilt” storyline.)

Brittany had long since become convinced of Charlie’s incompetence. The man was a moron, not worth the juice he drank to stay alive. He spent more time flirting- trying to flirt- with her than he did doing actual work. He needed to stop messing around and actually pay attention for once, otherwise he might-...

Oh, now there was an idea. She could… trip him up a little. Throw him for a loop. Get him to realize he had more important thing to be doing- like self preservation- than hitting on her.

It didn’t have to be something big. Just something little. An unfortunately deaf ear to a call for help. A trip, a stumble, where her foot just happened to fly out in front of his, and on this uneven ground, who knows where he might end up?

Yes, just a little incident, just to get him to pay attention to something else.

Just a little incident.

Certainly not something big. Certainly not something really dangerous. Certainly not something that could get him killed, really killed. Brittany was not a murderer. No, she wasn’t. So certainly, not something like a misplaced bomb rock, knocking him back in the blast, into the sandbelching meerslug’s waiting mouth. No, no, nothing like that. Because Brittany wasn’t a murderer.

And here she was, walking alone, back to the ship, not a murderer. The bomb rock truly had been misplaced, pure coincidence that it had knocked Charlie back at that angle.

And when Alph asked where Charlie was, Brittany looked him dead in the eyes. “He didn’t make it. The slug got him.”

Alph gaped. “Wh-What? But- what will we do now? How- we can’t keep going without-“

“Alph. I’ll be leading this mission now.”

In which Alph is a little too eager a mechanic

An excerpt from Olimar’s notes on the Man-At-Legs:

"The Man-at-Legs has a gentle disposition, and as a member of the arachnorb species, it has no natural enemies. It is particularly difficult to understand why this species would develop such awesome offensive capabilities, leading to rumors among the scientific community that it was the machinery that approached the arachnorb and proposed the symbiotic relationship."

✿✿✿

“What a fascinating creature!”

Alph couldn’t help but marvel at the ingenuity of the thing before him, even as he hid behind a pile of rocks. Where it had come from, he didn’t know, it had simply scuttled out of the bushes and started firing on him and his pikmin. But despite the danger, he was awed by the creature. It seemed to be a perfect mix of a living being and a machine! And despite the danger, Alph wanted to see it closer.

Already, a plan was forming in the back of his head. When it reloaded, he would run forward, and weigh it down with a few rock pikmin. Then he’d climb up on top of it, where he could get at it with his screwdriver (because, of course, no self respecting mechanic would ever be caught without an omnitool equipped with a screwdriver). Because, despite the danger, knowledge like this was so incredibly valuable. A perfect combination of flesh and metal! He could hardly begin to imagine how such technology would benefit Koppai. He just had to get up there and see how it worked!

So between the bursts of fire, he charged forward, a rock pikmin already in hand.

All of the Koppaiates’ suits were equipped with biomonitors, and, in an instance of extreme danger, were capable of automatically transmitting an SOS signal to the others. And it was only shortly after Alph charged forward that both Charlie and Brittany got the notification. Something was wrong with Alph, horribly, horribly wrong. He wasn’t responding to calls. His suit was punctured all the way through in multiple places. He was losing blood and bleeding internally. He was going into cardiac arrest. He was dying, dying.

Brittany and Charlie took off sprinting for the location Alph’s signal had come from, but by the time they got there, it was too late.

He was still conscious, still aware. He could feel them, the wires that had suddenly ripped through his body, fusing to his muscles. He was well aware of the stuttering stop of his own heart, his sudden reliance on the power fed into him, directly from the cable that had punctured his gut. And he could feel the other minds, the computing power and the survival instinct, tapped to his own brain via a fine wire woven into the nerves in his spine. He could feel them sifting through his knowledge and memories even as he trudged through the seemingly endless data files of ceaselessly roaming the planet.

And as the figures approached him and his new symbiote hosts, he could feel the body move, the projectile weapon readying to fire on these potential threats. And he could feel the fear, the nervous fear, despite their power, we’ve got to stay safe.

And wasn’t that what Charlie always said? To stay safe, and watch each other’s backs?

So, voice hoarse and weak, coughing on his own bodily fluids, Alph agreed for the sake of his friends’ and hosts’ safety, and gave the command to fire.

[camillemontespan]

the interview [drake walker x mc]

So I wrote this a while back (actually before I joined Tumblr) and it’s been festering in my document folder.  I thought I would share just because?  It sort of links up with the rest of my fics, except for the mention of the assassination attempt at the palace. It’s a different style of writing than I do usually, I read a lot of Vogue and Red so I hope I’ve managed to show that this is from a journalists POV? It ends abruptly because I gave up on it after a while.  p.s is it tragic that I made a magazine cover to go along with it? 

@jovialyouthmusic @pug-bitch @drakesensworld @moonlightgem7 @tacohead13 @sirbeepsalot @katedrakeohd @ifyouseekheart @notoriouscs

NOTE: They say in the interview that they were ‘just friends’ first and they ‘didn’t sneak around’ which the journalist believes as they’re so convincing, but we all know that’s not the case, am I right?!

                               ********************************

‘At the end of the day, we’re just a normal couple thrust into this world together.’

When Trend suggested that I spend a week with the most famous Duchess in the world right now and shadow her, I laughed. I didn’t expect her to agree to it and I certainly didn’t expect to be sat opposite her a few days later for breakfast. But here we are. 

if you have been hibernating under a rock this past year, I will summarise. Camille Montespan, the Duchess of Valtoria, married Drake Walker a year ago. The Duchess - though she tells me to call her Camille- was originally plucked from obscurity when she met the King of Cordonia on his pre-bachelor trip to New York. In a perhaps ridiculous turn of events, she was taken to Cordonia to compete with other noble women for his hand in marriage. Instead, she found herself falling for his best friend, Drake, and turned down the King’s marriage proposal to be with him instead. She and Drake married at the Walker family ranch in Texas  (no media presence was allowed) and the King honoured them with their own duchy. They are now the Duke and Duchess of Valtoria.

Camille bursts out laughing when I relay the timeline to her. ‘Oh my God, it sounds like a cheesy Hallmark movie!’ She apologises for the laughter, wiping at tears that have formed. ‘It’s just… that is exactly how it played out and it sounds ridiculous whenever someone summarises it for me. I lived it but it is still so strange to hear it from another perspective…’

This morning, I am sat opposite Camille to have a relaxed breakfast out on the terrace, which overlooks the mountains of Valtoria. Drake is running late but will be joining us soon. Camille is wearing a cashmere grey sweater, ripped blue jeans and a pair of TOMs plimsolls. Her dark hair has been pulled up into a messy bun.  She looks like one of my friends who I grab brunch with back home, not a Duchess. She had even made sure that it’s just her speaking to me with no PR or assistant hovering around. It is honestly refreshing. Camille pours me a cup of coffee. ‘Do you take sugar or milk? Just sugar? Or just milk? Or even just black?’

I tell her one sugar and a slug of milk, commenting most people I interview tend not to offer. She tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear and blushes. ‘Well, I did used to be a waitress… also, it’s rude not to ask!’

It’s hard to believe that Camille used to be a waitress in New York, working overtime and trying her hardest to earn tips so she could afford to rent her studio apartment. Despite her casual outfit and hairstyle, she exudes an air of elegance. Her posture is straight and she makes eye contact when speaking, her voice clear and confident. Clearly, her time at court when she was vying to win the King’s hand rubbed off on her.  I am about to ask how married life is going when the man in question enters the terrace. I stand up to greet him and he shakes my hand, smiling broadly. He apologises for being late, ‘I was finishing a call with Liam.’ He means the King.  Drake is tall, broad shouldered and rugged. His dark hair is tousled and he is wearing a blue denim shirt which is open over a white vest, jeans and boots. He looks like he should be outdoors chopping wood. Drake throws Camille an apologetic smile and leans down to give her a soft kiss. He settles himself into a chair beside her. ‘Sorry, please carry on,’ he tells me, smiling warmly. I feel positively gooey with his eyes on me.

‘How is married life treating you both?’

The couple look at each other, smiling. ‘I love it,’ Drake says first, surprising me. I have been told he is this brooding and silent type, but so far, he is proving this wrong. ‘It’s crazy to think we’re at this place. We are together, married, united… our own little family.’ He places a hand on Camille’s stomach and the couple beam at me. That is the other reason for my article. Camille and Drake are expecting a baby.

The couple announced the news two weeks ago. The media frenzy was relentless. Everyone wondered how the Duke and Duchess would cope with their own duchy and a new baby all in the space of a year. ‘People tend to think we’re going to fail,’ Camille says quietly. Drake squeezes her hand and I realise what makes them work. For them, it is Drake and Camille vs the world.

Camille apologises for her admission. ‘It’s just that we have had to deal with everyone’s eyes on us.  Many people -mostly nobles- are waiting for us to trip up, to prove that we’re just commoners who don’t deserve our place in Cordonia. That we made a baby quite soon, as if it was a mistake…’ she trails off. Drake sighs. ‘We constantly expect to be met with criticism because that’s how it’s always been,’ he finishes.

He is right. Ever since Camille arrived at court, the media made sure to follow her everywhere, trying to find moments when she was wearing the wrong outfit to a court event or if she addressed a noble incorrectly. She was expected to learn all about Cordonia’s traditions and take part in their national games to prove she was worthy of the crown, with many nobles hoping she would fail. Drake was part of the crowd at court. His father had been part of the Royal Guard, so Drake, despite not being a noble, was a permanent fixture at court and King Liam’s best friend. ‘I never fit in at court. I still don’t,’ he admits. ‘I will never see the point in having all the different types of cutlery at dinner or the tiny finger food they serve at parties. I can’t stand champagne.’ He gives a smirk and looks down. ‘I’m much happier when I’m outside,  hiking, fishing or camping.’

Camille takes his hand and smiles at me, the past awkwardness now gone. ‘We’re trying our best to make our lives as normal as possible.’

Their routine entails waking up early to have breakfast out on their balcony - the terrace we are currently sat in is only for guests. The balcony juts out from their bedroom so it is a private space for them. After breakfast, Drake calls King Liam to discuss matters while Camille sets herself up in her office, answering emails and making appointments to meet with the citizens of Valtoria.  I ask her how she is finding this sudden change in career path. She considers her answer.

‘It’s a monumental shift… I’ve never felt such enormous responsibility before. I often worry that they might realise how bad I am at this and will be sent packing.’ 

Luckily for her, the public adores her. They see her as one of the people because she is. They see a genuine woman who wants to do right by Valtoria and prove that she can help. She tells me that she has five public appointments a day. Those appointments vary from visiting hospitals to cheer up sick children, meeting potential charities to add to her charity list and meeting with the governor of Valtoria to discuss policy. She also hosts an open house every Thursday from 1pm-4pm, whereby the public of Valtoria can visit her actual home and discuss important matters with her. An open house hadn’t been done in 200 years, until Camille asked the King if she could start it up again. ‘I enjoy meeting the public, it’s nice to get to know them and work together to make things better.’

As an added touch, if a commoner visits the open house with their children, Camille makes sure a box of toys is laid out in the Garden Room so that the children can play and not feel bored while their parent talks shop. It is a hint of the kind of mother Camille might become, making sure that even her young public are looked after.  I ask what Drake does while she is doing all of these things. She grins. ‘He goes out and meets with farmers. He wants to keep the natural beauty of Valtoria with its rivers and trees, he hopes to make sure that the land is preserved.’ Drake nods and joins in. ‘I want to make sure the farmers are growing their best produce and that the animals are well fed and keep producing. I’d like to see Valtoria prosper, perhaps make large parts of it into conservation areas.’

I ask Drake how he is finding being a Duke. He winces. ‘I still can’t get my head around it. I’m still that guy who stands in the corner of the room at a ball, not wanting to dance, not wanting to eat any of the fancy food, I just want a drink…’

I have to ask the all important question. Camille was at court to win the King’s hand but she decided to be with Drake instead. How did that even happen?

‘I’ll be honest, I barely saw Liam,’ Camille says. ‘He was always busy with other engagements, he had to meet other noble families and get to know the other ladies. Often, I would be on the sidelines since I didn’t know anybody apart from the Beaumont brothers or Hana Lee [fellow suitor in the competition and her now best friend]. Drake was there because like me, he was always on the sidelines too.’

Drake takes her hand. ‘When I saw Camille trying her best to make it up through the competition, I worried she would lose sight of who she was. I wanted to be there to keep her grounded.’

Camille blushes. ‘It definitely worked.’

I ask if they had a first date while the competition was still going. They both take a moment to think. ‘Well…’ Camille starts.

‘It wasn’t a first date as such. More a visit to the local bar where we could hang out, just us two and get away from the court,’ Drake answers.

‘We played a drinking game!’ Camille whispers, winking at me. Which one?

‘Never Have I Ever,’ Drake groans. ‘Such a terrible game.’

‘Shut up, you so enjoyed it!’ Camille protests, smiling her mega watt smile again. More hang-outs like their drinking game occurred. It becomes clear that the two of them are peas in a pod. Best friends wrapped up in a marriage. Camille is even partial to a glass of whiskey - ‘my kind of woman,’ Drake smiles. Before long, the two of them were sharing private moments but not once ever blew their cover. ‘We weren’t sneaking around!’ Camille says. ‘Just if the two of us were alone and wanted to hang out, we did. There was nothing else to it. He was my friend first.’

‘It’s true,’ Drake says. ‘At first we were distant then became closer as friends. I could open up to her which I’d never been able to do before with anyone. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. She just got me. We are both the same.’

I bring up the event that made worldwide headlines. A year ago, the court of Cordonia was hit by an assassination attempt. Camille was in the firing line but Drake took the bullet for her, injuring his shoulder. At that point, Camille had still been in the running to marry the King and when the world read the story, they did wonder why Drake had jumped in front of her.

Drake shrugs. ‘I loved her. I had been pushing away those feelings but when it came down to it, I never wanted to see her hurt or taken away from me. Instinct made me dive in front of her.’

I ask her how it felt when she saw Drake had been shot. ‘It was terrible. Time stood still. I saw the bullet coming towards me and Drake’s body moving to block it. When he was down on the floor, I shielded him with my body-’

‘Did you?!’ Drake asks. Camille nods. Drake stares at her.  ‘I didn’t know that. I barely remember being taken out of the palace. I didn’t know you shielded me after…’ He’s gone very pale. His hand grips hers and Camille strokes his hair. ‘It’s okay. I was fine.’ 

Again, it is Drake and Camille vs the world.

[nikkywrites]

Day 29: Cave Scenario

Full Scenario: A cave with a grove hidden deep within it. Pinpricks of light cast the area in a low haze. There is the smell of loamy soil and copper. A step inside causes a low, almost unnoticeable at first, hum.

Dragon! I am honestly surprised it took this long for me to do something with one because dragons are awesome.

Warnings for blood and fighting, though it's not too graphic. No changes.

*****

Gryff leads the small party behind him into the maw of the cave. Teela, the most timid, shudders as she steps in, muttering something about walking into the dragon’s mouth.

She was half right.

They were walking into the dragon’s den.

Or, if you believed some old world theories, they were walking into a primordial dragon’s corpse. They were massive things and there were tales of their descendants making nests in their bellies. That the primordials had turned to rock when they perished, left partially preserved in the earth that bore them. Some parts of them break away, lost (the head, the tail, the legs), but the torso, the gut where they had held their fire, always remains.

If the tales are to be believed, then it made for a perfect dragon’s den.

The path is straightforward, Gryff’s torch bouncing off the walls which seem to soak up the light like something living. They walk for a few hours, moving quietly. Their footsteps try to echo down the rocky corridor. The path never dips down. They’re still on ground level.

Eventually, they come to a clearing. A grove in the middle of the cave.

Pinpricks of light shine through the ceiling of rock and moss, the stone crumbled enough to show air and the moss thin enough to allow lances of light to strike through the cover and warm the cavern. Dragons liked the dark, but they liked warmth, too, and this was a perfect and rare compromise. The air reeks of loam and cooper; bitter gold.

There’s a pile of trinkets on the far side, jewels and gold and raw ore. Rich silks are lying on the floor, some fresh and brightly dyed and others dull.

Gryff scans the area, sees nothing.

He steps into the grove.

Immediately, he hears a low, quiet hum in his ears. Actually, he feels it. Thrumming his bones like a too small tavern with too many bards at once. It’s a buzz he can’t quite hear, but is acutely aware of.

Gryff holds up a hand. He digs the torch into the ground, soft, but firm. His cohorts follow his lead.

Teela casts a quick lighting spell, a fiery orb that hovers above her. It casts enough light for her to see, for Gryff to better scan the walls of the cave. It appears empty, but it isn’t.

Something is here.

He inches a step forwards, muscles bunched with tension. There would be a surprise attack, most likely, but it wouldn’t be a surprise if he could spot the damn thing.

All he sees is the vertically ridged walls.

If he squints, he thinks he can see the impressions of ribs. Or maybe he’s looking too hard.

It didn’t matter where they were. It mattered that there was a beast they had to slay and they didn’t see it.

“Anyone have eyes on it?” he murmurs, so softly that the empty rock room doesn’t echo them.

He turns his head back and sees shaking heads. Teela doesn’t look timid right now. She’s squinting, practically glaring, at the walls of the cave.

Her eyes turn to his and even in the darkness, there’s a spark of fear in her eyes. She points her chin forwards, mouthing something he can’t read.

Gryff looks. The pile of treasure is there. He squints at it. There’s nothing else hidden behind or beside the stack that he can see. Why did Teela point him this way? It was just a pile of gold. Just…

Oh.

It was the dragon’s treasure. It’s hoard. A collection it will kill to keep.

It’s not the smartest plan, but it’s the only one he has. He makes a hand motion for the others to stay.

He inches closer. The humming gets louder as he does, a deep resonance to it that makes his hair stand on end. Danger, his body whispers, turn back.

He pulls his sword from his scabbard and lifts his shield arm, the only barrier he has. He hopes it slows any blow enough to keep him breathing. He keeps moving closer.

Anticipation hangs heavy in the air, thrumming like the hum buzzing under their feet.

Teela snuffs out her light. They don’t know which kind of dragon this is, if it’s a drake that can see in the dark or a wyrm buried under their feet. Every sound seems louder under the blanket of darkness.

He can hear his teammates breathing. Teela, soft. Juler with a shake to it. Biff with quick pants he’s trying to muffle. Dessa  trying to hold her breath.

Gryff gets closer.

The hum stops.

He freezes, adrenaline forcing him to hold his breath. He keeps his ears peeled and doesn’t turn his head to search the room.

He tightens his first inside the shield. Wills his senses to strengthen enough for him to be able to leap out of a dragon’s path.

He takes one more step forward.

A slight breeze begins to drag against his skin, a movement of air that doesn’t come from wind, can’t come from wind because they are in the earth, enclosed.

The scent of sulfur pierces his nose.

The dragon roars fire just as Gryff leaps to the floor. He feels the wavering of hot air slice above his back.

Teela murmurs something (a spell?) and the battle begins.

The dragon blurs out from its position pressed against the wall to lunge at Gryff, the man who had stepped too close to the dragon’s treasure. He rolls out of the way and the talons of the beast sink into the ground a foot away from his head. It roars. The cave shakes.

He leaps to his feet and stabs at its neck. It whips its head to the side and he misses. Biff slams his blessed war axe into its tail.

It howls.

Once, it was said that that sound was the ruining of entire kingdoms. Now it is just a screech of pain.

They all spread out. Dessa yells for a distraction and Gryff provides. He bellows at the great beast before him and it turns, golden eyes glowing in the low light.

He hears the tink of metal hitting scales, the hiss of magic, the growl of fire sparking.

The dragon spits out another wave of flames that Teela deflects with a spell. Gryff glances at her, to his right, and sees the sweat beading on her brow. Biff is somewhere around the dragon’s hide and he doesn’t see Juler. Dessa is to his left.

She manages, somehow, through a move Gryff doesn’t see, to break off the tip of one of its horns. She’s the sweetest looking of the bunch, blonde haired and blue eyed and the shortest of them. She is one of the deadliest women to breathe.

They stand point around the beast, whoever is not at its head lunging for gaps between its impenetrable scales. They chip at the weak points, spending more effort in dodging then attacking.

It bleeds.

They fall into a rhythm. They grow accustomed to the light and to the exact points of weakness that make the dragon tremble.

Juler sits hunched on the side, testing a theory with Lükon rope. It is not merely made of fiber, of plant intertwined. It has barbs of FairySteel in it, and is made from the weaving of vines found miles under the surface. Fairy weapons (rare as they may be) tend to be quite fatal. Surprising, considering the race’s peaceful nature.

But FairySteel was known to be unbreakable. Even to dragons. And when woven into a rope like it has, it makes for a perfect restraint.

He has it tied to a harpoon and waits for what feels like too long before the dragon flares its wings in defense and he has a clear enough shot to shoot. The harpoon (specially made for this purpose) cuts through the gossamer with ease.

The screech is ear piercing.

It feels as if the world is falling out of existence under their feet.

Everyone takes their chance. While the dragon turns to bite the rope, to rid itself of this new lasting pain, everyone lunges forward. The rope does not break under the dragon’s teeth (the barbed hooks sink into its gums before it truly bites down) and everyone lands a hit.

It recoils against the rope, the roar muffled and Gryff almost feels bad for the creature. Almost.

He slays it with a sword to the throat.

It falls still and silent.

He wipes a splatter of purple blood from his face. He waits, tense, for the creature to reawaken. It does not. He moves the few steps he needs to be in front of it.

Golden eyes are open and dull. Clouded in death.

“It is done,” Gryff says, and he doesn’t even notice the sword fall out of his grasp, the bone weariness in the words. “Koriad is safe.”

The prince is avenged. They have been successful in their task.

As proof, he takes the scrap of silk dyed Koriad emerald with the crest of the king emblazoned in silver. It is all that has survived of the second prince. Maybe his crown lies in the pile of riches, but they were not hired to find the crown. Someone else will come to pick through and take the things of value.

Gryff sighs. He slips the fabric into the hidden compartment of his shield. He feels tired. They’ve been searching for this cave for weeks. They’re all exhausted.

“Gryff,” Teela stumbles closer and catches herself with a palm to his arm. The appendage shakes. She points to the tower of treasure. “Look.”

Something about the seriousness in her voice makes him listen.

He doesn’t see anything strange. It looks like what he imagines any hoard to be.

“What?” he pants, his lungs throbbing under his skin. His heart beating against his ribs.

She releases him to walk closer. Dessa squints at something and gasps.

“Here,” she says, pointing at something oddly roundish. Something that isn’t glimmering under the little bit of sun there is.

Gryff steps closer. He gets a better look. His face pales.

“A dragon egg,” he whispers.

It’s a pale yellow that had blended into the gold and copper of stolen trinkets. He thinks he sees little cracks in the surface and he doesn’t know if the egg is beginning to hatch, or if all dragon eggs look a little cracked.

He glances at the fallen form behind him — a mother, or what was about to be one.

He feels the stab of guilt pierce his stomach. He swallows it down. “Juler,” he calls, to the craftiest of them. “Do you think we can haul this to the castle?”

Juler looks at the egg, touches it with his palm. “I think so.”

“Let’s get on our way then.” He tears his eyes from the new life that will either be slain or imprisoned. “We have a gift for the king.”

[mhsn033]

11 of the best music videos from lockdown

The coronavirus pandemic has introduced about chaos for the song trade. Gala’s had been cancelled, albums had been postponed, venues possess closed and hundreds of session musicians are out of labor.

Quarantine and social-distancing restrictions possess also shut down most song video shoots for the reason that originate up of March.

Just a few of us saw the writing on the wall and scheduled assist-to-assist video shoots comely before the lockdown started. Others had been forced to opt up ingenious.

The earlier few months possess viewed an explosion in home-made, self-shot, DIY, hand-though-provoking and Zoom-basically based mostly song videos. Just a few of them possess even been price looking at – which is to hand in an generation when YouTube views depend in opposition to chart positions.

Here’s a collection of the extra executed and taking part clips we now possess viewed.

Most expert iPhone video: Evanescence – Wasted On You

Evanescence had been placing the finishing touches to their first album in 9 years when the lockdown struck. Rather then scrape the complete lot on retain, the community told followers: “We promised you a weird album in 2020 and we can also now not let anything cease us.”

That intended filming a video for his or her comeback single, Wasted On You, in their properties, with each of the five participants expressing the loneliness of isolation.

“Pulling this off had a queer region of challenges,” director PR Brown tells the BBC. “We region out by discussing the vary of emotions we are all going by. From there, we quiet a listing of day to day existence routines that will presumably presumably well be gargantuan to opt up on camera. I worked up a breakdown of angles, lighting fixtures and tips of straightforward programs to film. Oh, and all of it, every shot, modified into once filmed by the band and their households on an iPhone.

“After we starting having a take a examine the photos it modified into once resolute that even in the event that they had been hundreds of miles aside, they had been each going by identical things. I started building an edit and seeing these conditions play out repeatedly and linked them together to show their reports.”

Not like a style of lockdown videos, the video feels polished and expert, without sacrificing any of the underlying emotion. Or now not it’s subsequently been nominated for an MTV Award in the “easiest rock video” class

Most effective exercise of a deserted automotive park: Haim – Develop now not Wanna

Haim started off the lockdown by giving dance tutorials on Zoom. Just a few weeks later, they filmed the video for I Know By myself on a basketball court – all positioned six toes aside – after discovering out the choreography remotely.

That video straight away impressed the follow-up – a goofy stroll by the automotive park of the Los Angeles forum, with the sisters elbowing each diversified out of the manner to claim pole scrape.

It arose from the meme “Haim invented walking”, coming up from the truth a style of their videos impartial the band striding down the streets of LA.

“Danielle and I concept it modified into once silly how half of the feedback [on I Know Alone] went, ‘The put’s the walking?'” says director Jake Schrier. “So we concept we would possibly presumably presumably well possess a runt of fun with the expectation that Haim has to jog it out in every video. And we also all esteem A League Of Their Receive, which has that gargantuan scene of the sisters stroll-racing till they each originate up working.”

Schrier disbursed along with his frequent crew, shooting the clip in natural mild on an iPhone mounted on “the $150 gimbal my dad obtained me for Christmas”. The band nailed it on the third take “and then the sun went down”.

Most effective animation: Tinie toes Tion Wayne – Moncler

“We’re aggressively opening our budgets to originate definite of us possess sufficient funds to carry in animators,” Atlantic Records’ senior vp of A&R Jeff Levin told Rolling Stone last month.

Or now not it’s straightforward to leer why – though-provoking videos possess a stage of flair and polish that home-made efforts are prone to lack, which is why artists like Billie Eilish and Dua Lipa possess harnessed the format.

But Tinie Tempah’s video for Moncler edges before them, attributable to its witness-popping color palette and subject matters of positivity and interconnectivity.

“The Moncler video modified into once intended to be filmed in some queer location genuine as the sphere locked down – which sucked for the distinctive manufacturing however modified into out to be an infinite different for me,” says director/animator Robert Ordinary.

“There had been these pictures circulating of of us crowded around their windows having a look out at the sphere, so I made up my tips it will most likely presumably presumably well be of the second to impress Tinie having a look out his possess window, connecting along with his mates by process of hologram skills. It modified into once a factual turnaround so I worked a style of 18-hour days.”

Ordinary says he developed a “nearer working relationship” with Tinie than most diversified artists, even in the event that they had been communicating remotely.

“He despatched me so many factual tips and most made it into the video,” he says. “No 1 being the inclusion of his pooch, Pablo.”

Most effective Zoom choreography: Thao and The Safe Down Preserve Down – Phenom

Oakland-basically based mostly band Thao and the Safe Down had been one among the most critical acts to harness Zoom in a song video, and they region a regular that’s stressful to beat.,

Dividing the cloak into a three-by-three grid, Brady Bunch-style, they choreographed an dread-though-provoking dance routine that ripples all over each of the panels. At one level, Thao and the eight dancers invent a Frankenstein-style physique. In a while, a tumbler of water is poured out of the guts frames into the mouth of the dancers below.

The video came together in lower than every week, and modified into once shot in one take after five hours’ rehearsal.

“Obvious dance moves had to be adjusted to leer factual in Zoom’s gallery seek and didn’t translate in the event that they had been too chaotic,” Thao told The Verge. “We found that the moves had to be indubitably neat and determined and simple. I had to be the focus and if too mighty modified into once going on you wouldn’t know exactly the put to leer.”

Most effective awards impress performance: Megan Thee Stallion – Ladies In The Hood / Savage

There had been several award reveals and revenue concerts right by the pandemic, however none of them matched the measurement and ambition of June’s BET Awards.

The ingenious team if truth be told outlawed the duration of time “digital performance” because of “it straight away put the ride in a field,” says BET’s head of specials and song programming, Connie Orlando.

“We had to regulate our pondering and step out of what we had executed in the past,” she provides. “As soon as that clicked, the inquire wasn’t, ‘How attain we attain last one year’s impress?’ It modified into once, ‘What does the impress leer like this one year?’ There modified into once an infinite freedom in that simple shift in methodology.”

In preference to lo-fi performances from of us’s kitchens, BET equipped budgets for clips that had been most frequently extra like mini-movies.

Many selected to replicate the deaths of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor, as neatly as the ongoing Murky Lives Subject protests, with grand, political performances by the likes of Beyoncé, Alicia Keys, Public Enemy and DaBaby.

But Megan Thee Stallion stole the impress with a desolate tract-region, Enraged Max-impressed performance of Ladies In The Hood and Savage.

The video modified into once staged with the again of a “Covid-19 taskforce” who ensured security rules had been taken into tale – however the viewers had been left unaware.

“Megan is such an improbable artist, so ingenious, so talented,” says Orlando. “It took a style of planning and meetings however in the give up the performance is so anecdote you contain now not even peep that everybody modified into once socially distant, it’s most likely you’ll presumably presumably well presumably also very neatly be comely blown away by her slaying the cloak.”

Most effective celeb voyeurism: Drake – Toosie Jog

One among the fun of lockdown has been peeking inner celebrities’ properties and judging their curtains. There’s even a Twitter tale devoted to ranking the living rooms of the rich and grand (Barbra Streisand obtained seriously high praise for her cushions).

Music videos possess also fed our voyeurism, with Ariana Grande, Justin Bieber, Sheryl Crow and Jessie Ware among the artists throwing originate their doors for a musical version of Thru The Keyhole.

But Drake took the gauntlet with the video for Toosie Jog, which follows the neatly-known person around a Toronto mansion that’s it appears to be like that the measurement of the British Museum.

Alongside the manner, Drake showcases his collection of basketball jerseys, an array of song awards, an Andy Warhol painting of Mao Zedong, a flashy wide piano and an incredible indoor swimming pool.

It all ends with a fireworks display for one, which is potentially the saddest thing it’s most likely you’ll presumably presumably well presumably also possess got ever viewed.

Most finest evocation of the existential angst from which we can by no methodology move: Jessy Lanza – Over And Over

Riding up and down a deserted escalator is the stuff of most kids’ dreams – however amidst the alienation of lockdown, the act of lonely repetition becomes infinitely extra despair.

That is the mood Canadian alt-pop artist Jessy Lanza captured completely in the video for Over and Over, which modified into once shot early one Friday morning in an empty mall in downtown San Francisco.

“Jessy had the tune enjoying on headphones and did four takes going up and down the escalators,” remembers Lanza’s partner and collaborator Winston H Case. “When I picked the take – which happened to be the second take – I put markers on the clip the put I concept I’m capable of also regulate the timing to toughen the moments to appear extra synchronized with the song.”

Case says working from one locked-off shot modified into once “therapeutic” in comparison to the painstaking course of of piecing together a favorite song videos. And Lanza found the video shoot restorative, too.

“I modified into once anxious of escalators as a kid so I’m chuffed to possess arrive this some distance,” she says.

Cinéma Vérité Award: Twenty One Pilots – Level of Grief

Level Of Grief modified into once written as an immediate response to the pandemic, with singer Tyler Joseph expressing his emotions of dread and hopelessness to his better half and their newborn daughter, who arrived comely weeks before the lockdown.

The video is basically a “making-of” – exhibiting the two participants filming and recording their respective substances, then posting the implications backward and forward on a flash drive.

Those sequences are interspersed with homely clips of Joseph and drummer Josh Dun spending time with their companions and decorating their homes with flashing lights and fluorescent stars – undercutting the tune’s anxieties with a message of hope and positivity.

Proceeds from the single went to again reinforce the band’s facet road crew. And there is a gargantuan joke at the give up, too…

Most ingenious exercise of inexperienced-cloak: Phoebe Bridgers – Kyoto

First and foremost, Phoebe Bridgers modified into once attributable to plug to Japan to shoot the video for Kyoto – however that obtained cancelled after she neglected her flight attributable to a flat tire (handiest joking, the total shuttle modified into once cancelled attributable to the pandemic).

To now not be outdone, the singer jumped in front of a inexperienced cloak and took a digital tour of the nation, performing over inventory photos of Kyoto scrape and the Fushimi Inari-taisha shrine, before flying over Lake Biwa and defeating Godzilla by shooting lasers out of her eyes.

The tune itself is set impostor syndrome – written after Bridgers toured Japan and felt she modified into once “living any individual else’s existence” – and the artificiality of the video emphasises that sense of detachment, without getting too bogged down in sentiment.

Most effective fan participation: Tove Lo – Matteo

Be wide awake when almost every song video had a scene the put the most critical character woke up from a nightmare? Successfully in 2020, the identical is getting your followers to lip-sync to one among your songs.

You know the format: There would possibly be a precocious kid, any individual dancing a bit out of time, a mum duetting with her daughter, and some man who’s realized the chords and makes a immense impress of it.

Tove Lo’s clip for Mateo by hook or by crook manages to swerve the total clichés, partly because of she obtained extra than 1,000 submissions (the observe is a fan licensed from her 2019 album Sunshine Kitty), and partly because of her left-field mark of pop appeals to an audience of misfits and outsiders.

“So mighty of the earlier few months has been about what can now not occur,” she acknowledged. “Doing the quarantine karaoke field modified into once a manner to quiet connect with my followers and provides everybody something to safely attain whereas locked down

“[I was] so chuffed to leer all of your faces and locations, makes me feel like we’re together whereas aside.”

Most effective claymation: Duval Timothy – Slave (toes Twin Shadow)

Duval Timothy’s haunting, piano-driven tune Slave explored the song trade’s stressful relation with sunless musicians. At its centre is a sample of Pharrell Williams discussing the programs that file labels stress artists to give up the rights to their very possess song.

The song video, which Timothy created with the artist Max Valizadeh, takes that belief a step extra – depicting an audio file that becomes sentient, before managers and labels opt and multiply it.

“After I created the story, we spent every week together each working with plasticine to contain the characters and settings for every shot: The labour-intensive course of of rising a cease movement animation echoing the story being told,” Timothy tells the BBC.

“Many artists which possess famously spoken out about the significance of artists proudly owning their masters and possess also equated parts of the song trade to slavery much like Prince and Nipsey Hu$$le are depicted on the height of the mountain which I climb to be a half of them in the give up sequence,” he provides.

“The story is an adaptation of my possess ride of the song trade and in 2019 I purchased assist my masters.”

Note us on Fb, or on Twitter @BBCNewsEnts. Even as it’s most likely you’ll presumably presumably well presumably if truth be told possess a fable suggestion electronic mail leisure.news@bbc.co.uk.

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[childbled]

Drake found himself traveling along the path of the forest of the local preserve that many Englishmen took trails to hike or jog upon. The night skies were clear tonight. Showing a visible crescent moon. No clouds were in the starry sky. The one thing Drake loved about coming to this specific forest in England is that no one barely came here or none at all came at night. Pure silence here. Make way for the distant crickets. The native owls that hooted combining such a beautiful song. Drake hoped to leave behind the town he lived in to just get away from the cold streets. The cold hard ground of the town alleyway. His eyes focus above him. The skies still the same. Perfect. His bare feet travel along the soil collecting onto his soles. Autumn would soon come and come it would. Even at night, it’s already bloody cold. It rained at night, too. Which; would soon threaten to fall later in a hour or two.

Drake knew he had to hurry his pacing or he’d end up getting soaking and freezing to death.  That is absolutely the last thing he wanted  He needed to keep moving.  Drake tucking his hands into his sweater. Drake felt the rush of a shiver travel up his spine, climbing all the way to the top of his head and spreading down to the rest of his body. His body is slowing, body exhausted. He shakes his head hard trying to stay awake. He needed to stay awake. Drake glances around trying to find a position where to rest. Or at least find a place to sit down for a good five minutes. Maybe more.

The forest is vastly growing bigger with each step the eleven year old takes. His head building a weight from the exhaustion. This last week had been surely his worst insomniac spree. He barely got two or three hours of sleep. He didn’t have anything better to do. It’s just better to sleep at night like normal people should. The cold and his nightmares are keeping him awake. Even here; the brisk air the mainly the thing keeping him awake.  So; trudge forwardth he must. Drake decided to take a small detour and hop over a rope that would lead down  a hill away from the path. He’s been in this forest plenty times before. It was nothing out of the ordinary. Drake decided to make his way forward to a specific part of the forest that had a old, hollowed rock that he could hide under. 

Cracking twigs under his food baring a wince since it did hurt under such a fragile body. Drake wanted nothing more then to be out of the rain. The rain will be cold tonight. It is autumn after all. Much time of traveling along the location of his mini home, he arrives to it. Nothing special about it. Old rock that must’ve been hundreds of years old, moss covering the top trying to reclaim it. Nature wanted England back. But; the humans would not let nature take back her prize. Cracks placed upon the sides. That being his doing after some... time of alteration and nightmares did the trick. Gave it meaning. Gave it a personality. Drake shrugged his shoulders sliding down the tiny hill on his bottom stumbling towards the Medium size rock that would hold only one person. Child sized. It’s mainly meant for him. No one else knew about this part of the forest but him. He wanted to keep it that way. Drizzle began to pelt against the child’s hoodie and hair. It’s time to take shelter. 

Sliding under the hood of the towering rock, placing his bottom against the cold soil and grass. Shuddering for a moment. Letting him adjust. Minutes, passing into more minutes as the drizzle began to turn into rain. Hitting against the hood of the rock with little “taps” noises. The soil drinking the rain water to soon evolve into more grass to continue it’s conquest to claim it’s territory. Something about rain lulled Drake. He’s not got much to comfort himself with. Might as well be Nature itself. Drake found the will to try and sleep tonight. Nothing would hurt him, right? Laying himself down on his side huddling into a fetal position, watching the pellets of rain pummel against the ground. Time to try and get rest. Closing his deep blue hues, he finds the strength to finally lay himself to sleep...

The night seemed to pass on rather well. The rain continued falling down onto the ground in a repetitive manner. Drake slept soundly on the ground. It’s cold, but it’s much softer then sleeping on the concrete of the sidewalk or alleyway. His eyes trembled in his sleep. REM movement, as they’d call it. He’s not experiencing nightmares for once. But; his body felt uncomfortable all of a sudden. A charge in the air that stood all his hairs on end. Sending a shock wave of goosebumps to all around his body. He’s cold, sure... but this is something different.  Drake stirred away. Not fully; but his mind becoming conscious to the surrounding area. His body charged much warmer. Something isn’t right. Until it smacked the answer right in front of him. 

The air charged with unbelievable energy that it made sense what was coming. In the sky, it screams. Louder then anything Drake has ever heard of before. The child shot straight up in a groggy fit holding his ears to the screaming. Until; it landed with a sudden boom that shook the earth. Drake opened his eyes once more. His bedroom eyes from the rude awakening of such a noise did stagger him. They do catch a odd smoke in the air. It must’ve been a meteorite! It had to be! He’s heard stories of his mother telling about stars that fell onto the earth. This must’ve been it. Drake just had to see what was going on. 

Climbing from out of the hollow out rock, he follows the smoke in the sky. He could see it clearly now since the smoke it fresh and it’s a light grey. Must’ve meant the rock was burning.Drake could just trail it down and he’d find the rock. He’s going to be amazed that something from outer space actually landed on Earth. Drake hustling down the path down  further into the forest shuffling along tall grass to his upper ankle height. Probably being bitten by bugs right now, but he could care less! He’s that excited.  He could only wonder what kind of rock it was. Or if he was able to move it with his powers. He didn’t really want to touch it, but; he might. Just out of curiosity. What else did he have to lose? The burning smoke grew closer, and closer, and closer arriving at his destination.

It didn’t seem like much. The grass is burning and the rock is smoking. That’s for sure. Drake cautiously approached it. Unsure what could’ve came with it. It did come from outer space, right? Drake swallowed the lump in his throat. Grabbing a tree branch and with what might he could snapped it from the low tree with leaves attached to it. Rustling about in his grip. Drake approached the rock, looking at it. It didn’t seem like nothing special either. The rock was oddly shaped. In a sorta spherical shape. The edges and crags of it sharp and it’s exterior steep. Drake then proceeded to poke it with the stick. It’s leaves automatically catching on fire from the burning rock. Drake bleated in surprise throwing it over the rock onto the soil which the grass already was burned to leave it burning. At least the rock is casting a beautiful orange on the surrounding area.

Drake’s glad it has stopped raining at least. The rain was getting on his nerves as it were. Soggy and wet the ground is now. He’d wipe it off in the morning when he went back to sleep onto the medium sized rock if he could find it again. Turning on his heel to return to the rock to sleep again. He notices a little blotch on the ground. He isn’t sure if it’s just the wet mud, or just him. He tilted his head. His eyes widened his shock when the little blob had veins or something within it. He saw it, and he could've swore it stared right back at him. He continued to watch the medium sized blob begin to swell in size. Unsure if he should run or just watch it all night. The answer being given for him when the blob began to scoot at him at a rapid speed which surprised Drake.

Stumbling backwards falling onto his back in a pained yelp since he hit his head rather rough. The pain would be momentary compared to the brown blob that charged at him. Drake could only watch this unfurl. The blob climbed on top of his chest staring right at his face collapsing into his chest. In that sudden moment. Sheer cries of pain radiated the sky. God; the pain he’s never felt before. What the hell was it?! Drake felt his body twist and compulse into positions he’s never thought possible. The sheer pain being so great. He blacks out from it falling limp onto the ground. There he lay beside the burning rock. Alive, but barely... He move not the entire night. The pain gone as soon as he fell unconscious onto the ground. The sky itself changing and charging with energy shaping him...

WAKE UP

....

WAKE UP, LITTLE ONE.

Drake gasped holding his chest sitting upright breathing heavily. Drake squeezed the tears from his eyes sliding down his cheek and onto the ground. He glances around quickly. He’s here. In the medium sized rock where he had been sleeping originally. Dew droplets fell from the hood of the rock falling onto the ground. It’s u=quite muddy outside.  Was it all just a bad dream? A nightmare? That pain. It felt too real. But; he’s here in the rock again. So, he just ruled it out as just a nightmare. 

WE ARE NOT A ILLUSION, DRAKE

Drake’s body instantly shot up hitting his head against the rock groaning in pain. Drake bent his body down and moved himself from the rock looking around. “Hello? Who’s there?” His English voice called out, echoing the air.  I AM HERE. Okay, this is frightening Drake out. Drake arched his arm picking up a stone from the ground. Only medium sized. Flinging it over his shoulder. “Show yourself!” AS I HAVE SAID, I AM HERE. IN YOUR HEAD~ “W-Wha..? Ho-How are you n’ m’ head? Who are you?” The voice goes silent for a moment. WE... DO NOT GO BY A NAME, DRAKE. WE ARE YOUR SYMBIOTE. YOU ARE MY HOST, CHILD. 

Drake is so confused. Where did he acquire this thing in his head? Why was it in his head? What made his so special to be a host? But; in that moment, the voice in his head answered him. WE HAVE SEEN YOUR MEMORIES CHILD. WE NEED EACH OTHER. YOU NEED SOMEONE TO PROLONG YOUR LIFE. AND WE NEED YOU AS OUR HOST TO SURVIVE. AFTER ALL, POOR MOMMY AND DADDY WOULD WANT THAT. It knew... about the accident. Then it’s true. It’s really in his head. He’s just not crazy. Just to prove his point further, his chest began to ink and bleed through popping out a little brown head. Drake’s heart instantly skipped a beat. It’s the same blob that attacked him, wasn’t it? Scraggy white eyes and sharp rows of teeth. Drake felt a shiver run up his skin.  If Drake didn’t have a reason to be scared, he sure did now. The head purred. Drake fell back to his bottom, jaw hinged in a jaw drop

SCARED? WHY SHOULD YOU BE? AFTER ALL, WE ARE YOUR PROTECTOR, DRAKE. ISN’T THAT WONDERFUL? He wouldn’t exactly call it wonderful, more as a sudden approach to being taken over. Yet; if this... thing says as it were. Then, he’d go along with it. Nights do get lonely. And this head thing would be his only companion. Looks like this thing is going to be stuck with him. Drake sighs in defeat. “Alright... I guess M’ stuck with ya. Not loike I hada choice anyhow. Well, since yur apart f’ me r’ somethin’. Yur gunna need a name.” DON’T LET IT SUCK. Gee, not to put pressure on himself. Drake stood up striaght staring right at it’s shiny white eyes. “Hmm... How about Quake?” SUCKS. “...Pulse?” OKAY, BUT WE DON’T LIKE IT. “How abou’ Tremor?” IT’LL DO. Good that Tremor was so decisive. Way to put pressure on a kid. Looks like he had a name now. Drake felt it rolled off the tongue. 

Now that he’s bonded with Drake, now what? Tremor frowned. WE SHOULD HEAD BACK INTO TOWN. WE ARE HUNGRY. “Nah loike I gah all th’ money n’ th’ world, Tremor.” Tremor growled. THAT IS WHY WE STEAL, DRAKE. YOU’VE DONE IT BEFORE. “Yeah, well I hate doin’ it because it’s breakin’ a law, n’ I usually dun’ have th’ energy t’ steal. Mistah Vevero usually supplies me with food.” Tremor grew closer face to face to Drake. Making even Drake uncomfortable. WE DO NOT HAVE THE TIME TO WAIT AND BEG, CHILD. WITH MY STRENGTH, WE CAN EAT ALL WE’D LIKE AND WE’D HAVE A FULL STOMACH. JUST TRUST US, DRAKE. Drake didn’t. But he figured Tremor wouldn’t leave him alone until they did get food. 

“Alright, well, les’ jus head int’ town n’ figure ou’ a plan. OH! An’ tha’s another thing, you CAN’T show yurself like the way y’ did with me. I was already freaked ou’ by you. Think how ah whole crowd f’ people would react.” MMMM... FINE. WE JUST WANT TO EAT. It’s time to head back into town. Drake knew he were hungry too. But he didn’t really want to steal. So; he’d just see where this would lead for now. The head popped back into his chest with Drake feeling around it. It wasn’t wet or sticky. It felt like dry clothes... okay that’s weird. But not as weird as being taken over by some weird slimy blob thing. Drake allows this time to make his way from the forest to head back home. Home to the alleyway and the town he called home.