#and yet on death's door despite not getting the revenge he was seemingly willing to do anything for

[egoarc4de]

need to talk in the tags abt bcs for a second ...

[princepokemon]

I’m BACK. Again. 😨 Between my VERY long trip away from home and school, it’s been hectic but hopefully I can get back to posting semi normally again!

Figured I’d start out with a dump of DnD doodles from my last campaign featuring my favorite boy, Mani :)

Anyway, Mani! He’s a tiefling merchant who doubled as the group's pack mule. His travelling companions were Benny the gnome archeologist and Rahm the goliath Vagabond. 

I had a great time with my friends but unfortunately our DM dipped mid campaign and I haven’t played for some time.

Here’s the character background/motivation piece I had to submit for anyone who’s into that kind of stuff. It’s sloppy but it gets the job done lol

—-

Fear is a powerful motivator. Fear of failure and death, fear of beasts and blood or the fear of being known; Manok Rhodara has molded his entire life around fleeing it.

Born into a small family of laborers in a very large city, he spent his younger years watching his parents trapped in the endless cycle of poverty. They’d toil away with seemingly no end in sight yet he still longed for something greater. Nevermind the nobles that paraded around in their carriages adorned with jewels, the simple merchant walking the streets with a full belly and spare coin was something he could wrap his brain around. His elder sister Nefaria had mocked him for his ambitions, but he kept his head down and did his best to observe the shopworkers he admired, emulating them in his precious free time.

Dreaming and doing are two different things however. His mother, a talented painter, had never successfully sold a single painting. Manok would watch her weep in their room after a day of fruitless peddling; tears muddying the beautiful discarded landscape. No one wants to sully homes with the work of an impoverished devil kin. He held out hope that the world outside the city walls didn’t hold these grudges. A fateful afternoon with his father would quickly extinguish these thoughts though.

He had so often felt the stares of disdain from the other races that he rarely acknowledged them anymore but that day he remembered them feeling particularly sharp. As they strolled through the city making their usual stops to resupply, Manok pleaded with his father to visit the local jewelers. The shopkeep was a shrewd elf who had recently lost his apprentice and Manok was confident he could wrangle a position if he could just get his foot in the door. 

Relenting, his father agreed on the condition that they never step foot in the store again if the master rejected him. Though unimpressed, the shopkeeper miraculously agreed to start training him as an errand boy after some smooth talking and a bit of pitiful begging (until he could find a “suitable” replacement he’d said). In the owner’s words, “Put a hat on and you could pass for an elf. If you keep that tail hidden and your mouth shut you might have a chance at doing this right.”.

An unusual victory was quickly dashed by an unusual misfortune as an insidious bystander took advantage of the irregular pair, swiping a handful of gems and planting a few on his father. It wasn’t long before the situation quickly devolved into a heated shouting match with police in tow and that was all it took to throw his family’s life out of kilter.

The remaining Rhodaras were scrutinized by the law after his father was branded a thief and thrown in prison. Stall owners rejected their goods and they were banned from many parts of the city. The places they could walk freely, judgmental eyes followed their every move and attempted to imprison them over minor insurrections. His sister swore revenge while his mother fell into a deep depression. Confused and scared for his life, Manok did the only thing he felt he could do. Run. So he did.

He ran for weeks and weeks stowing away on boats and picking through trash. In the forests he drank rainwater and foraged familiar plants and bark he could recognize from the markets back home. He didn’t know the full extent of his travels until he was much older but he had trekked an entire continent away to the Forest Islet.

It was there deep in the woods untouched by man, that he stumbled upon a grand weeping cherry and the fae within it: Punella. It had been decades since a sentient soul had wandered their way into her mystical grotto and even longer since she had formed a pact. A glance at his sniveling face was all it took for her to pity the boy enough to reveal her form and administer her guardian test. Three simple trials to expose his true nature. He was reserved, studious, observant and very afraid but when the kind-hearted dryad offered her guidance, he recognized a great opportunity and never looked back.

He would maintain responsibility for her grotto and in exchange for his dedication she would grant him knowledge, magic and, most crucial of all, companionship. He spent the following years learning the arts of crafting and deception while honing his hunting skills. By the time he could truly call himself ‘self-reliant’ he was nearly 17 and his thirst for knowledge was full throttle. 

His favorite of all was illusory magic, creating baubles and trinkets to decorate his camp and make him smile. What started as a hobby grew into something marketable and it wasn’t long before he was imbuing attractive charms into delicate crafts he made from the surrounding forest. Even his patron was impressed.

The woods had their own charm, but camping in a shabby hut he pieced together haphazardly had gotten old long ago. To really make a change, he’d need materials he couldn’t find surrounded by the trees. For materials he’d need someone to supply them and….. money. After some gentle encouragement, he hatched a plan to try his hand at the market once. 

Once he mustered up the confidence to venture out, he traded pelts for books. Many, many books. He spent months pouring over encyclopedias and cultural commentaries. The main subject of his study was covering elves. He knew some of their mannerisms from his time in the city but his end goal would have him immersed in their lifestyle. His time in the city taught him that tieflings are easy victims and if he was finally getting the chance to delve into the world of commerce, he was going to do it right. He didn’t need to be perfect immediately but he had to appear legitimate enough to sell enough junk to build an adequate home.

With that, the life of Manok Rhodara was snuffed out and the adventure of Manolari Nym began. Despite spending his early teens isolated in the woods, he was able to appear warm and personable to the closest neighboring townsfolk. It wasn’t long until he developed a rapport with the local craftsman and was regularly completing projects with them during his trips out from the woods. He would never stay long and his mysterious nature prompted some rumors but somehow, impossibly, the world he’d dreamed of was within his grasp.

On cold nights he thought back on his time with his family and wondered what he could have done differently. He remembered the despair and panic; He remembered how he abandoned them to escape it. But he was happy now. His days with Punella were carefree and her gentle presence was a gift. The guilt could be aching, but Mani was willing to live that and far greater if it meant keeping what they had built together.

Life is a lottery with impossible odds. If you’re lucky enough, you might get to draw again. How far would you go to protect that second chance?

[tarithenurse]

All is fair in Love & War - 16

Pairing: Loki x reader Content: Probably a lot of spelling/writing errors as my brain doesn’t work, but I still wanted to post. And then the usual like pining, angsting, caring, scheming, wanting revenge, bad eating manners (nothing detailed), daring stunts, maybe cursing, death. Might have forgotten something. A/N: I’ve taken the liberty of tagging people who seem to follow, but if you do/don’t want a tag pls let me know. Tags at bottom of post.

16. In the dark of the night

As the columns loom above you, stretching toward a grey sky as they hold up a triangular façade decorated with scenes of the miracles attributed to that faith. It is not the religion that was practiced in the village you grew up. There, the focus was on very practical faith in the sense that prayers were sent to any deity willing to grant a good harvest or protect the miners from accidents. The temple in which darkness is shattered by candles and colourful fabrics is a place for big miracles which explains the steady stream of people coming and going. You recognize the tired expression on their faces, the desperate hunger in their eyes. It is not the first place you visit, and each holy sight held the same subdued sadness. Hopelessness.

“Lady [Y/N],” someone addresses you softly, “what brings you here?”

It is a temple priest, wrapped in the faded blue signaling his position within the order. The skin is lined as a result of caring for too many too long, and the hair on the part of his skull that has not been shaven is greying, making you think of plants withering in dead soil – too stubborn to die, yet malnourished. Most importantly, however, is the kindness radiating from him as if it could heat the air and welcoming anyone wishing to approach him like you do know.

Röskva is trailing behind you, keeping an appropriate distance to maintain the role as handmaid and mistress, but you know she is listening in on every word. Why should she not? No one in Midgard knows that she speaks their language.

“Father…?” You hesitate, feigning uncertainty in how to address the man, and he nods in approval. “What would a visit to a foreign culture be if the guest did not learn of every aspect.” Again, the slight not urges you on. “The holy houses of my homelands are of importance to us…yet I dare say not even the biggest temples see such a traffic as this.”

Sighing heavily, the father beckons you to follow. “Our people is…despite what you may hear at the palace…” As if tasting the words carefully before spitting them out, he chews on his tongue and lips for a moment. “The people suffers. War brings losses and casualty, that’s the nature of strife…but as oth-other problems are added and there’s no relief…where else can they turn to than the gods?”

“Hope, guidance and solidarity is food for the soul.” Take the hint.

He scans the corner of the temple aula where he has brought you. “What we need’s real food though. Clothes. Medicine to treat the illnesses that come with deprivation and poverty.” A fear flickers in his gentle eyes. “This war’s claimed to be for the people…the people win nothing, and the enemy’s false!”

“So…it is as I feared…” You do not have to act sad although it is a struggle to hide the victorious feeling surging through in the veins at the priest’s words. “If only someone could restore peace and care for the people…”

Leaning in conspiratorially, there is no hope in his face. “Several people have been deemed fit for the latter…the problem lies in the former part of the challenge.”

…

The tiny bottle gleams in the candlelight, the liquid within seemingly absorbing any light passing thorough the tinted glass which makes it appear like the Void itself. You have to handle it with care, never once removing the thin leather gloves that have been treated with wax. Just a few drops. The contents could kill everyone in the palace if mixed into the wine, but no…such a tactic is too risky because sometimes the servants enjoy a sip in secrecy. Thankfully, there are safer ways.

…   LOKI’s PoV   …

A new snowstorm rages, keeping the brothers inside the sheltering walls of Utgard. While Thor is enjoying the steamy bath facility and mulled wine while joking with all the servants, Loki has retreated to a painfully familiar room. This far from the kitchens, the keep is quiet. No voices or (because of the Asgardian brother) warbled singing is chasing away the winds’ howling or the echoes of memories, conversations spoken when the mood was bolder.

There is an uneasiness that has taken root in Loki’s heart the last hours, a restless worry that distracts his actions and guides every thought to the south where he knows he cannot go. Hands fold and unfold the grey shawl that used to hold the soothing scent of his little mortal but now smells of nothing else than wool. Maybe a bit of pine needles. Looking to the dresser, he sees that new twigs have been placed in a jug of water without his command – the servants have found their own ways of honouring [Y/N]’s memory and one of them is to not abandon the room as if it were out of use. This will not be her chambers when she returns. When. It is a small word that somehow has become incredibly powerful, causing Loki to cling to it because it is the only bastion against the dreaded “if”.

…   READER’s PoV   …

It has taken some planning and sweettalking to arrange for all of the Vanir in your company to be occupied elsewhere tonight. None of them are without at least three Midgardian witnesses. Although Röskva was visibly distressed at the knowledge of why it is necessary, she still went peacefully with a few of the maids under the pretence of teaching them how you want your meal the next day. Likewise, the men have gone to train in the barracks where it is certain that plenty of the castle’s soldiers will see them.

In other words: you are on your own.

Black clothing, soft leather shoes, the belt with tools of your new trade. All of it is fitting snuggly, giving you a sense of comfort as you sneak through the empty paths within the castle walls. Up and up you go, the directions memorized and tested several times to minimize the risk of mistakes, the time it takes to get from one place to the other…and to ensure you know how to hide from any possible pursuers. Crouching behind the shift in the wall, you fight down an eager to hurry. Take the time needed…wait for the snoring.

By the time you slip out from behind the pink and white panel to land silently on the marble floor, it once again makes sense to you why the king and queen of Midgard sleep in separate chambers: that woman is noisier than a rockslide! Still, the racket she produces now is nothing compared to her shrieks when she found out the servants took the discarded food and distributed it among the poor on their way home. Apparently, the queen would have preferred the waste to be burned or left to rot while the rats gorged themselves than see the hungry fed in the dead of the winter. The thought alone makes your fingers itch and shake with anger as you slip on the gloves.

There hinges on the door are perfectly oiled, granting you a silent entry to the bedroom where a single oil lamp is turned down low under the mother-of-pearl cap, illuminating the canopy. A cocoon of silk obscuring the target until you pull it aside slowly, carefully. And there lies the queen in her “peaceful” slumber. Ha! There lies the wicked witch…but even that analogy does little to steel your nerves as you pull out the vial and twist the cork out with shaking hands.

…   LOKI’s PoV   …

None of the food or drinks are tasteful to the host although Thor thoroughly is enjoying the feast. One would think that being a prince, raised in the Asgardian court, would provide a strict set of table manners…in fact Loki knows that it is not for the lack of Frigga’s patience that the older brother still eats as though he has starved for days. Normally it would bother the Jotun king immensely. Not tonight.

I should have left right away. Of course, the winter weather is not a deterrent for a Jotun, but it is for a mount. Traversing half the country (or what feels like it) on foot will take longer than waiting for the storm to pass and then ride. If only Heimdal…angrily pushing the thought aside, Loki drains his glass while considering half-heartedly what curses to cast upon the Keeper of the Bridge, his brother, his mother, anyone who has a hand in creating the distance between him and [Y/N].

Who would have thought that a simple mortal could gain such power over him? Hundreds of years have passed where he answered to no one and nothing but his own (sometimes questionable) conscience, where he did as he pleased without concern for the days to come. Much of that had already changed when Loki learned the truth of his origins, causing him to seek revenge on slights be they imagined or real, but that too is naught but a shadow compared to the responsibility and the connection he feels with this unassuming woman. The love and joy she has brought him is far too precious to lose.

Love is a wicked game. And still…Loki never plays a game that he does not intent to win.

…   READER’s PoV   …

The rattling sigh is still echoing in your ears as a ghost’s clamouring accusation when you reach a narrow window at the end of a darkened passage. The air is cold and crisp, caressing your face as you lean out to spot the balcony above that has been reduced to a black silhouette against a starry sky. Like icy crystals. For a few seconds, it is possible to imagine that you are watching the winter night from a different window, and it calms your thumping heart a fraction.

Rough rope skitters through your gloved hand. Upwards in a steep arch until the distant clink sounds, causing you to freeze with the stomach in a knot and pricking in down the back of the legs from fear that someone will have heard and come running. But nothing happens, and the delicate task of securing a grip with the tri-hook can commence.

It takes far too long, it seems, before you swing your legs over the balcony railing and allow yourself to lie flat on the cold stones. Sweat cools on contact, sending shivers through your leaden limbs. Or is the shaking from the exertion? It hardly matters right now, and either way it is a blessed distraction as your mind has somewhat quieted while you were dangling over an impenetrable darkness. Down below is the moat, dug to allow the nearby lake’s waters run around the castle’s perimeter as an extra fortification, but the water may as well have been a world away, invisible and only present in the mind. A sigh whispers by your years. Just the wind, nothing else.

It is time to focus on the task at hand and you push yourself onto your weak knees and from there to your feet although in a crouch. The metal of slender lockpicks tick against each other as you set to work, and a surge of pride warms you moments later when the lock clicks, allowing your access to king Gorm’s private chambers.

Hidden between the drapes, you take in the surroundings for the first time and are pleased to see how accurate the servants’ descriptions have been. A wardrobe with painted carvings and bigger than any single piece of furniture you have ever seen, the chaise lounge full of fluffy pillows all of which is standing next to an actual glass table with golden legs! And that is not even the half of it…but by then your eyes are glued to the shape partially visible through the velvet canopy’s crooked drapes. Already the little vial with the dark poison is resting in your palm.

There is no raging battle in your heart this time. Maybe there should be. Perhaps you have grown evil, becoming one of these individuals that you have taken upon yourself to rid the world of and shying no means to reach whichever goal you deem appropriate. This isn’t for my sake. It is a weak argument and you know it. Standing here is a direct result of the life you have lived and the sufferings you have seen. Of course, you could have decided to remain safe and sound in Utgard while pretending all is good…but then you would have had to live with a lie and a burdened conscience. If I was still here, I’d want someone to save us from the tyrant. So is that it? Are you a saviour?

Frustrated, you push the thoughts away. I’m pass the point of no return. Instead you call forth the hard memories of losses and pain, of hunger and suffering, of the carelessness with which Gorm and his noble fellows spend the lives of the people as if they are cattle for slaughter. And now there is no doubt. Stowing the tiny bottle in its padded pouch, your fingers curl around the handle of the long, slender knife. Dying in his sleep is far too kind for the man sleeping in the bed across the room.

The soft padding of feet is swallowed by a plush carpet. No reaction to the rustle of the curtains can be seen or heard as you study the king’s face with its content little smile and the speckle of drool at the corner of the mouth.

A leather-gloved hand clamps over his mouth the second you plunge the blade in between his ribs. Startled, bloodshot eyes meet yours. The exact moment realization hits the king is obvious, and now the little smile is on your lips, your face hot with rage and pride.

“Before you die,” you whisper to his face, causing him to pause his struggles at the difference in your voice, “know that I once fought for you – now I know better.”

...

[sasorikigai]

Ask me top five of anything || @desxderium​ || accepting 

I’m also going to include the obvious and ramble about them (as usual), because I have no self control. 

1. Hanzo Hasashi; Your typical anti-hero gone astray to becoming a reformed hero after he realizes that his fate had been entangled in the machinations of Quan Chi. The moment I fell in love with his character was when in MKX, with the aid of Kenshi, he severs his ties to "the darkness" and is leading an effort to rescue and train orphans stranded by the Netherrealm War, forming a new Shirai Ryu in the process. 

I absolutely love the trope he goes through, for a revolving door moves in a circle and so does Hanzo’s character in terms of morality. A villain decides to give heroism a try (for whatever reason) and switches sides but then goes back to being a villain and back again (through the time disruption). This phenomenon works the other way, as well. A hero loses perspective and becomes a Well-Intentioned Extremist (Scorpion’s persona), and then comes back from the edge again. He's done it before — why not do it again? The long-term result is the same either way — the character in question will switch sides often enough that, in the long run, he doesn't have a side. I love the neutrality of Hanzo’s character, yet the roaring rampage of revenge does not consume him any longer and that the fact of his growth is what makes him one of the best characters ever. 

My favorite part of the storyline, by far, is witnessing Hanzo's reaction in that ‘tea party’ with Sub-Zero, which is not only remorse for the pain he's caused Kuai Liang in killing his older brother Bi-Han (the elder Sub-Zero), but also because he threw away his one chance to restore his wife and son. The sheer amount of self-disgust in his voice is palpable.

Scorpion: (having witnessed evidence of Quan Chi's guilt in exterminating the original Shirai Ryu) Harumi... Satoshi... Sub-Zero: Had I known of my clan's complicity in the Shirai Ryu's extinction, our history would be different. Scorpion: I killed your brother because I thought he... Sub-Zero: Quan Chi is responsible for Bi-Han's death.

2. Kuai Liang; I love the duality he wears, the badass vibe ("I will freeze your very soul," "I destroy whom I please!" and "You will know the sting of winter.” And of course, who could forget the Lin Kuei's badass creed? “Be as stealthful as the night and as deadly as the dawn.”) with the heart of gold. He’s THE best Sub-Zero to ever hold the mantle of the Grandmaster, despite having started out as a silent assassin in II/9, but when the Lin Kuei becomes interested in cybernetics in 3/9, he splits because he disagrees with the methodology. From 4/X his character evolves greatly and becomes one of the most morally aware characters of the series, even taking over his former clan to lead them in a more righteous direction.

I also love the fact that his name, Kuai Liang, can translate into "fast ice," or more prosaically, "quick freeze." Considering his abilities and the fact that he's a Chinese Cryomancer, this is likely intentional even in-universe (which I especially love, because that name just sticks to me as a ‘cyromancer.’). He is one of the most good characters in the MK universe and the fact that he’s able to endure so many hardships, going through excruciating transformations. And he still holds that innocence, that naivety because he was forced to act much older than his age ever since Bi-Han and him were kidnapped to the Lin Kuei, only to be raised into mindless assassins and kill even the innocents. Unless it’s dark magic, his heart would never be corrupted or shattered beneath the unbearable weight of the world threatening to collide into him. I absolutely admire the fact that he’s phlegmatic and stoic, but could crack a joke (mostly through puns) and being ever so snarky. 

Sub-Zero: The Lin-Kuei are restored, Shang Tsung. Shang Tsung: I sense this is no amicable visit. Sub-Zero: How perceptive, sorcerer.

3. Hannibal Lecter; He is a quintessentially affable evil character, as he does genuinely have sincere regard for the other characters he interacts with. The events of the first season can be seen as the doctor's efforts first to make Will into his friend and get him to quit profiling in order to ensure he never captures Hannibal, and then deciding to betray Will and make him an enemy, because otherwise Will would ultimately capture Hannibal. Allowing Will's encephalitis to cloud his mind could similarly be seen as pre-emptive self-defence. He seems to display genuine regret for Will's incarceration and Abigail's murder, evil though he might be. Of course, in keeping with the source material, this is left deliberately ambiguous... and I also love the fact that he may be the most complex and enigmatic character in the cinematic universe. I absolutely love him also as the anti-villain, because he’s so subverted. The first season was crafted to lull the audience into developing a fondness for him before really springing the duplicity and mind games and worse, and eventually clarifying his depraved motives for what were earlier seemingly, possibly well-intentioned actions.

4. Anthony Edward Stark, aka Iron Man; As easy as it often looks to be Tony Stark—the success, the money, the endless array of awesome gadgets—the question of who, exactly, Tony Stark is as a person is more difficult to pin down. From movie to movie (and often even within a single film), no other character goes on as transformative a journey as Iron Man. The character arc, with the notion of a powerful man sunk beneath ever-agglomerated hubris, and from mocking Steve Roger (Captain America)’s valorization of nobility, that’s precisely what Tony does at the end of the Infinity War; from being in-denial of his panic attacks and personal traumas without having much compassion for the others to work with them to willing to work with others, humble about the scope of his abilities, and comfortable in his own skin for the first time since his first appearance—is what makes for such a fascinating journey indeed. 

Most importantly, Tony’s desire to build a family in his personal life, in his work, and the inevitable overlap between the two. The ultimate outsider, the one who used to look down on everyone, is now just trying to get the band back together and I believe even in the most heroic death of all, Tony has achieved them all. 

5. Darth Vader, aka Anakin Skywalker; The one who was strongly believed to be the Chosen One of the Force by the Jedi Order and developed from a lowly slave on Tatooine to a hero of the Clone Wars, but his promising career tragically did not last when his personal demons lured him into turning to the Dark Side and becoming known as Darth Vader. What’s most remarkable about this character arc is the fact that never do we see Vader’s face beneath the mask, but we can feel his anguish. It’s a transformation anchored by physicality and vocalization alone and I find that most unique and most difficult. Also, what makes Darth Vader so special to me is the depth of his character as he went from hero to villain to hero. 

[icannotbeforsaken]

The You’re Mine Saga: Pt. 1 (Hannah’s POV)

Hannah hummed quietly to herself as she dug through a box she had just gotten out of the storage closet. Whilst her darling husband was hard at work with the rest of The Pack, helping Carla build her dream dance studio downtown, she had decided to pull out a box that she had hand painted herself using her two favourite colours, pink and blue. And in a lovely lilac shade, she had hand painted the lyrics to the song You're Mine by her all-time favourite band, Disturbed. It should be no secret that this box contained an array of photos, movie ticket stubs, concert ticket stubs, and other memories that she and Ned had created over the four years they had spent together... So far, anyways... It was a chilly Los Angeles day in December of 2014 when the man who would eventually become her soulmate had entered her life. At the time, she was staying at Lily Stone's mansion in a private, gated community in the Hollywood Hills. Hannah, along with a group of her friends, were taken there for shelter after a man who went by the monicker Diesel 10 had come bursting into The Old Iron, during which time it had been booked for close friends and family of Alfie and Ashley in celebration of their upcoming Christmas Day wedding. Hannah, George, Thomas, and Buster were in the middle of a song when the front door of the pub seemingly burst off of its hinges, and nobody at that moment knew what type of horror they were about to be subjected to... Wielding a barbed wire baseball bat that he had oh-so-affectionately nicknamed Pinchy, Diesel screamed at everyone to line up and get on their knees. He was there for a very specific reason, and that reason was revenge for his deceased wife and daughter. He wanted to know the whereabouts of Lily's parents, Burnett and Lady, and that he wasn't leaving until he knew where the fuck they were. He knew that everyone in the pub were friends with Lily, but, none of them had ever met her parents a day in their lives Lily's excuse was that they were always out of town on one of their luxurious vacations. Burnett had come from a wealthy family, never having to work a day in his life. Despite his wealth, Burnett Stone was a kind, gentle, and humble man who would give you the shirt off of his back. But, it was later found out that Lady was a very powerful Goddess. Her powers included resurgence, teleportation of herself and others, telepathy, as well as uphold the link between the regular world and a special, spiritual world. If that link is broken due to Lady's death, it would be the end of humankind. Diesel had learned about this link while he was visiting Duncans's tattoo shop, where he had overheard Lily communicating with her mother via their telepathic link, and apocalypse be fucking damned, he wanted revenge for his beloved girls... It was after everyone had settled down a bit that Lady had told them the story as to why Diesel wanted her dead so badly. She did give them a warning, since the story was going to be gut wrenching, especially after they had just watched their friends and loved ones go through such unspeakable horror only mere hours before. She didn't want to scar everyone even more, but...nobody cared in that moment. All they wanted to know was why that man chose to attack them in the manner that he did. Injuries. Deaths. Horror that still haunted many of the people who were there that fateful night... But, that's a story for another time... It was a few days after the attack, and Hannah was quietly sitting on the living room couch with Thomas. Regardless of the shit they put each other through during their drug and alcohol fueled "romance," Thomas always has been, and always will be, like a brother to her. They were watching the first, and original, A Nightmare on Elm Street movie, when there was a sudden knock at the door. Lady had mentioned that it was okay if anyone had wanted friends or family over for extra comfort, under the condition that she and Burnett were notified first. They wanted the name and a photo of the person who would be coming over, as well as an estimated day or time. If plans changed, they were to be notified of that, as well. Everyone knew that they were only asking them to do this as an added safety procaution due to the event, and they happily agreed to the conditions. And, since pretty much everyone else who was staying at the mansion were either at work or busy doing other things, Hannah had decided that she was going to answer the door and ask whoever was there what droid they were looking for. In a polite way. Duh... She excused herself from the couch for a second, telling Thomas that she was going to answer the door. She was always good at getting unwelcome people to amscray if need be, and she was more than willing to do so if this whoever - or whatever - was an unwelcomed guest. She sharply inhales as she unlocks the door, before swinging it open. And she was met with the most beautiful specimen of a man she had ever seen in her then twenty five years of life... Standing in the doorway was a man she had never seen before. He stood at a cool 5'10" from what she could tell. He was clad in a faded, black Rush t-shirt, faded blue jeans, and black high-top Converse sneakers. He had shoulder length dark brown hair that had some hints of silver, and the most beautiful shade of green eyes she had ever seen. Her brain must have blue screened for a moment, because the man at the door chuckled and said... "Hey, Sweet Cheeks. I'm here to see Alfie. Is he back from work yet?" Sweet Cheeks. He fucking called her Sweet Cheeks. Jesus H. Christ on a fucking unicycle...Hannah was in love. She had absolutely no idea how this guy knew Alfie, but, she didn't give a fuck in that moment. She manages to collect herself, before telling the mystery hunk that Alfie was indeed home from work and that she would go and fetch him. She tells him to stay outside for now, due to the safety precautions, before turning around and screaming "ALFIE!!! THERE'S SOMEONE AT THE DOOR FOR YOU!!! IS HE THE DROID YOU ARE LOOKING FOR?!" Hannah could hear the mystery hunk laughing behind her. Dear Odin, he had the laugh of an Angel. It wasn't long until Alfie came sprinting down the stairs, and his face lit up the second he saw who was at the door. Judging by that reaction, this was the droid that he was looking for, but, that was confirmed even more when Alfie had gently shoved past her to give mystery hunk a great, big Bro Hug. Ashley wasn't far behind her husband to be, asking him who was at the door for him. Alfie beams proudly, before turning towards her and saying "Baby, this is Ned! He works with me! He was just on vacation visiting his family in New Jersey! Come and say hi!" Hannah had decided to stand back a bit while Alfie introduced his darling fiancée to his coworker. She stood at the bottom of the staircase, lost in her own thoughts as she stared at Ned. She didn't know what it was, but, there was something about him that caused her to feel an instant attraction to him. And she knew in her head and in her heart that he was her definition of a perfect man...and she didn't even know him! Well... Not yet, anyways... She was still standing on the stairs when Alfie finally allowed him to walk through the door. He must have noticed that she was there, because he looked right over at her and smirked. The smirk caused her heart to drop into her asshole, and it took everything in her power not to physically swoon. Ned then looked at Alfie, and asked him in - well, from what she heard, anyways - the most seductive and orgasm inducing tone... "Hey, Alfie...who's the gorgeous lady with the pink hair?" Alfie side-eyed Hannah for a hot second, and she could see the animosity glistening in his eyes. Alfie has had it out for her ever since her past relationship with Thomas, because he blamed her for his struggles with drugs and alcohol. Thomas was already down that road before they had gotten together, and even Vivian knew that, but...Alfie didn't give a fuck. He pretended to be civil with her for Thomas' sake, but, Hannah could see right through his bullshit façade. But, instead of making a snide remark, he just smiles and says "Oh, her? That's Hannah. She's a family friend. Why don't you go say hi to her? I'm sure she'd love to meet you..." Hannah's heart stopped for a solid second. She wasn't a shy girl by any means. Never was. But...there was no way in Asgard she'd be able to talk to Ned. One thing about her was she always became incredibly awkward whenever she felt even the slightest bit nervous or intimidated. She knew there was no way a guy like him would ever like a girl like her... 5'2" in height. Pastel pink hair. Multiple tattoo's. There was no fucking way he'd ever give her the time of day. Ned looked like the type of guy who would enjoy the company of someone like Isobella, another member of the construction team known as The Pack that Alfie worked for, who is also the oldest daughter of their boss, Miss Jenny. Isobella was a fucking bombshell of a woman. 5'6" in height. Blonde hair. Gorgeous blue eyes. The same belly laugh inducing sense of humour her mother had. But, she was about to be pleasantly surprised by what was to come next...

[enixamyram]

OUAT ReWrite: 7x22 - Part 2

Not necessarily this chapter but I do want to remind everyone that this is a rewrite based on my personal opinions. I’m keeping some of my own bias out of it and focusing on fixing the bad writing and awful story telling that I felt was a major problem. You might not necessarily agree with my changes but I ask you to keep an open mind and read my explanations at the end of the chapter to understand my thought process.

Thank you and enjoy! :)

Chapter Two: Killian, Rumple & Henry in The Snow Globe

  Every direction they looked, there was a flurry of white snow acting like a thick curtain between them and the rest of the open space. It clung to their clothes, their hair and skin and left a chill that reached through to their bones, causing them to stumble and shiver with stiff joints and tense muscles almost immediately, even when temporarily standing still. At first glance they couldn’t see anything but the snow slapping against their faces and eyes, causing them to cringe and blink, before Henry began a desperate charge forwards, wrapping his arms around himself and calling out for his wife and daughter. After all, where else could the three of them be but with his family, trapped in the snow globe WishRumplestiltskin had created for them.

  “ELLA!” Henry shouted over the rushing sounds of the blizzards attempt to drown him out. “LUCY!”

  “Where the bloody hell are they?!” Killian called, his teeth chattering in between each word, his jaw and tongue fighting to work against the bitter cold.

  “Wait…” Henry shouted suddenly, pausing and squinting ahead. “I think I see something!”

  Without waiting for the other men to look at whatever it was he could see, Henry began charging through the thick snow at his feet and towards the shape in the distance. It was dark, making the shape stand out even while the frozen water continued to rain down atop of it and as he and the others drew closer, Henry felt his excitement growing along with the shape until the sight gradually cleared enough for all of them. It wasn’t long before Killian and Rumple – who had originally followed more from desperation than belief that there was actually anything there – also saw what Henry did.

  It was a small cabin like house; dark brown wooden structure and was smaller than they originally thought, like it might only have one or two rooms hidden within its snow covered walls. There was no light coming from the building, but despite that, Henry knew his family must have taken shelter inside, while Killian and Rumple just knew that they could hide away from the worst of the storm and be safe from the intense and chill that was gradually working on sending them all into an eternal sleep. Though none of them knew what they would do once they were safely inside and reunited with one another, they knew that least they would survive long enough to try and figure it out.

  Unknown to the others, Rumple was constantly attempting to use his powers to aid them the whole way to the cabin. At first, he had tried magicking them to the cabin in an instant puff of smoke, but when that failed he tried clearing the way at their feet instead to make walking easier, and when that also failed, he tried focusing on simply warming himself. But no matter what he tried, nothing worked. He couldn’t even make the slightest of snow flakes fall in a different direction, even when he paused to stand still and glare at it for a few short seconds. He might have even hovered for long, had the others not finally noticed his hesitation.

  “Weaver!” Killian shouted, glancing over his shoulder even as Henry ignored them and rushed on ahead. “What’s the matter?!”

  Rumple shook his head in response. He couldn’t explain it, not now at least. He was too frozen to think clearly, his lips turning blue and his feet had passed the point of being numb, making each step a nasty risk as if he were learning to walk for the first time. When he managed to struggle onward, it took all his energy not to fall over, and even then he swayed dangerously from one side to the other, like he was a drunk fool out for a night of bingeing, staggering as much as Henry and Killian did ahead of him.

  And then, by some miracle they made it. The house was within spitting distance. They all picked up speed at the promise of the warmth from the strong building ahead and rushed the last few steps inside, huddling together as they reached the door and barging in without hesitation. They were greeted with an immediate wave of dull heat that was only slightly warmer than the cold air outside, but still that, and the lack of snow on their faces, was enough that it almost made them collapse to the floor with relief.

  However, rather than doing anything like that, they forced themselves to stay upright. They all knew if any of them actually dropped down, there was no guarantee they would be able to get back up again. So instead they just slammed their feet on the floorboards, shaking their shoulders and brushing the last few clinging pieces of snow from their heads and faces as best as their number fingers would let them, doing whatever they could think of warm themselves further.

  “Daddy!”

  “Henry!”

  A pair of voices chimed after one another, almost as soon as they entered the building.

  Without hesitating Henry stepped forward and greeted his wife and daughter just as they threw themselves against him, ignoring how icy cold he felt – not that they were doing much better. Before Henry and the others had come in, the two of them had been doing what they could to give some warm life to the cold dark fireplace by the wall. But despite their best and constant effort, they couldn’t get so much as a spark from the splintered pieces they had managed to gather together.

  For a moment the three of them held onto each other, clinging as Weaver and Rogers hovered by the closed doorway, giving them their moment together. Lucy was pinned between her mother and father, feeling like it was the happiest place on earth despite everything else that had happened to them and was extremely disappointed when they pulled away slightly so Henry could press his forehead against Jacinda’s, shutting his eyes and enjoying this moment as much as they did, all the while he was conscious of the fact that his daughter’s cheeks felt almost as cold as he did.

  “I knew you’d save us!” Lucy said, looking proudly up at him.

  Henry felt a pang of guilt, knowing he hadn’t saved them at all. In fact, he’d all but doomed them by getting the author’s pen for WishRumple and WishHenry to use against anyone they pleased. Yet here Lucy was, gazing up at him with those same adoring eyes that made him feel like he’d let everyone down all over again.

  “Yeah, uh,” Henry said, rubbing Jacinda’s shoulders, unwilling to admit the truth. He needed them both to stay hopeful right now. Things were not over yet. “Let’s… Let’s get you warm first, okay? Let’s see if we can’t find some blankets or something…” He trailed off, guiding them towards one of the only other rooms the cabin held for them.

  Rumple let out a slight quiet groan, still wrapping his arms tightly around himself and willing his magic to warm him through. But still nothing happened. And the forced concentration he used was beginning to hurt as much as when he had broken his own ankle to escape the ogre wars. He really wasn’t used to feeling cold at all anymore, or the bitter pain on his skin where the icy layers momentarily refused to be brushed aside or thaw.

  He let out a sharp breath, catching the attention of Killian still waiting by his side. “I don’t understand.” He frowned at him. “Why are you cold? The Dark One doesn’t get cold.” He should know, he spent centuries trying to find a weakness for the other man, only to fall short each time before he had finally set his revenge aside in order to raise Alice.

  “I don’t know…” Rumple groaned and he truly didn’t. He didn’t understand how any of this was possible. His magic was back now, his abilities returned when the curse was broken. Yet now… He felt almost mortal, or at least as close as he could seemingly get.

  “I do.”

  They looked up to find Henry hovering in the doorway, looking back at them with the same guilty expression he wore when they found him with WishHenry and the pen. “I…” He hesitated, shaking his head. “I’m sorry I… Before you guys got back… Rumplestiltskin already used the pen for something.”

  “And what was that?” Rumple demanded.

  Henry swallowed, looking down at his feet and then to the side at the floor, then everywhere he could but at his grandfather. “To… Make it so you could feel pain. Pain but not die. And to take away your magic.”

  “Can he do that?” Killian frowned. “Won’t taking his magic also take his own?”

  “Not if he makes it temporary.” Henry paused, finally looking his grandfather in the eye. “I am so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault, Henry.” Killian said.

  “No. It is. I’m sorry.” Henry said, one last time before he swallowed back whatever he was going to say next, turning and rushing from the room, back to his wife and daughters side.

  After Henry departed, Rumple turned slightly towards the window – though it was pointless since the snow storm was still coming down too heavily for him to see anything outside the ice covered glass – and hugged himself tightly, no longer just for warmth. The weight of what WishHenry did with the pen was now fully pushing down on him. Not only would he never find his way back to Belle, but now he could suffer as much as anyone else along the way. And his way was never ending. While others may suffer before death, he would never get a chance at that sweet release. There was no end for him now. Only suffering. A toy for WishRumple to play with whenever he felt in the mood for it.

  “I can’t stop him.” Rumple mumbled, mostly talking to himself. In fact he forgot anyone else was in the room until the pirate spoke up and reminded him.

  “From doing what?” He asked.

  “Well that’s the question.” Rumple noted grimly. “You see, he’s me. But with the darkness unchecked by the love of Belle, he will use this new power to hurt anyone he can. And drag us all into the darkness where he wallows.”

  “Seems like wallowing is something you have in common.” Killian growled, turning and stepping away, trying to walk out some of his frustration in the cramped space.

  “Excuse me?” Rumple frowned, squinting slightly at the seemingly uncalled venom from his once cursed partner.

  “I’m sorry that you can’t be with Belle.” Killian said, rounding back on him sharply. “But you’re not the only one who’s suffered loss. I may never fix my heart- I may never be together with Alice again. But I’m not giving up.”

  With that he turned away, glancing around the room in search of something that might give him some kind of inspiration as to what to do next, but there was almost nothing else in there with them. In the end, he let out a frustrated growl and stormed from the room, pushing back out into the snow storm without hesitation against the harsh winds pushing him back. Killian didn’t bother to glance back, letting the door swing shut behind him and leaving Rumple to stare to the spot he had once been shivering on.

  Rumple was gawping after the other man in shock. Even after everything, he was still fighting, but then would Rumple have been any different if he still had a touch of hope left in him? He spent centuries finding and training Regina to cast the Dark curse in order to be reunited with Bae, and went to extraordinary lengths to find his way back to Belle every time they were separated.

  And now he was… What? Going to just give up? Sulk for eternity? Just stand to the side and whine while his evil half tore apart the lives of everyone around him? And it wasn’t as if he didn’t care about any of them. Henry was still his grandson who had already let down one time too many, and he wouldn’t be fooling anyone if he said Alice meant nothing to him. If he just gave up now, then their misery was as assured as his own. Rumplestiltskin, and even the early years of Mr Gold, could probably have done that, but Weaver… No. He couldn’t do that to Henry, Alice, Robin, Lucy… To everyone.

  Taking a breath, he glanced towards the backroom. He couldn’t see Henry or his family, but he imagined them curled up together in a corner, wrapped together in a single blanket they had managed to find, just trying to make it through long enough to get out of here alive and plan their next move. But they wouldn’t get away just by hoping for it, despite what some people back in Storybrooke might believe. They needed to act if they wanted to escape and stop WishRumple from causing taking away any other happy endings than he already had.

  With those thoughts in mind, he made a choice. Whether it was a good one or a bad one didn’t seem to matter anymore. At least he was doing something.

  So Rumple hunched his shoulders slightly, holding the coat closed with one hand to keep in what little warmth he had left while the other pulled out his dagger from where he had it tucked into his belt by his hip. It was no longer any interest of WishRumple now that the Guardian threat had been dealt with. It probably wouldn’t do much, but just holding it in his grip gave him the extra boost of comfort and courage he needed to push out into the snow after Killian.

  After all, if any of them were going to die today, then they might as well keep fight until the cold and bitter end.

  Pun most certainly not intended.

To Be Continued...

So, again, apart from adding a few minor details to the story there was only really one thing I changed in this scene and that was what WishRumple did to OriginalRumple. Though I did also fill in some blanks, such as explaining WHEN he did it.

1. I know Rumple's death still wouldn't lead him to Belle since he's still cursed, but I felt making him mortal gave hope that he might still find his happy ending somehow. All in all it just seemed pointless as to why WishRumple would do that. I mean why risk it when Rumple was just as miserable being forced to live an eternity alone anyway? Also, taking away his magic confused me because again, it's made clear there is some connection between their Dark One magic so I changed it to a temporary taking instead.

2. I know the series does a lot of telling rather than showing but at least the way I wrote it, we had Henry explain exactly when WishRumple did this. Like, having Rumple say "my wish self did this" was so annoying because I was just sitting there, shouting at the screen "when the hell did he do that?!" so yeah, just a lil added detail I felt wouldn't have taken them very long to include if they hadn't been half assing the finale as much as they were. (3.? Not to mention having Henry actually apologise to his grandfather. Like, it bugged me how he officially apologised to Killian and Regina but not Rumple in the last episode. Call me bitter but Rumple was screwed the most in that moment.)

[themusingsofjericho-blog]

You’re Mine (Pt. 1)

Relationship Backstory For:

@FeistyLilRocker 

@ClumsyIsNed   

Hannah hummed quietly to herself as she dug through a box she had just gotten out of the storage closet. Whilst her darling husband was hard at work with the rest of The Pack, helping Carla build her dream dance studio downtown, she had decided to pull out a box that she had hand painted herself using her two favourite colours, pink and blue. And in a lovely lilac shade, she had hand painted the lyrics to the song You're Mine by her all-time favourite band, Disturbed. It should be no secret that this box contained an array of photos, movie ticket stubs, concert ticket stubs, and other memories that she and Ned had created over the four years they had spent together...

So far, anyways...

It was a chilly Los Angeles day in December of 2014 when the man who would eventually become her soulmate had entered her life. At the time, she was staying at Lily Stone's mansion in a private, gated community in the Hollywood Hills. Hannah, along with a group of her friends, were taken there for shelter after a man who went by the monicker Diesel 10 had come bursting into The Old Iron, during which time it had been booked for close friends and family of Alfie and Ashley in celebration of their upcoming Christmas Day wedding. Hannah, Ned, Thomas, and Buster were in the middle of a song when the front door of the pub seemingly burst off of its hinges, and nobody at that moment knew what type of horror they were about to be subjected to...

Wielding a barbed wire baseball bat that he had oh-so-affectionately nicknamed Pinchy, Diesel screamed at everyone to line up and get on their knees. He was there for a very specific reason, and that reason was revenge for his deceased wife and daughter. He wanted to know the whereabouts of Lily's parents, Burnett and Lady, and that he wasn't leaving until he knew where the fuck they were. He knew that everyone in the pub were friends with Lily, but, none of them had ever met her parents a day in their lives

Lily's excuse was that they were always out of town on one of their luxurious vacations. Burnett had come from a wealthy family, never having to work a day in his life. Despite his wealth, Burnett Stone was a kind, gentle, and humble man who would give you the shirt off of his back. But, it was later found out that Lady was a very powerful Goddess. Her powers included resurgence, teleportation of herself and others, telepathy, as well as uphold the link between the regular world and a special, spiritual world. If that link is broken due to Lady's death, it would be the end of humankind. Diesel had learned about this link while he was visiting Duncans's tattoo shop, where he had overheard Lily communicating with her mother via their telepathic link, and apocalypse be fucking damned, he wanted revenge for his beloved girls...

It was after everyone had settled down a bit that Lady had told them the story as to why Diesel wanted her dead so badly. She did give them a warning, since the story was going to be gut wrenching, especially after they had just watched their friends and loved ones go through such unspeakable horror only mere hours before. She didn't want to scar everyone even more, but...nobody cared in that moment. All they wanted to know was why that man chose to attack them in the manner that he did. Injuries. Deaths. Horror that still haunted many of the people who were there that fateful night...

But, that's a story for another time...

It was a few days after the attack, and Hannah was quietly sitting on the living room couch with Thomas. Regardless of the shit they put each other through during their drug and alcohol fueled "romance," Thomas always has been, and always will be, like a brother to her. They were watching the first, and original, A Nightmare on Elm Street movie, when there was a sudden knock at the door. Lady had mentioned that it was okay if anyone had wanted friends or family over for extra comfort, under the condition that she and Burnett were notified first. They wanted the name and a photo of the person who would be coming over, as well as an estimated day or time. If plans changed, they were to be notified of that, as well. Everyone knew that they were only asking them to do this as an added safety procaution due to the event, and they happily agreed to the conditions. And, since pretty much everyone else who was staying at the mansion were either at work or busy doing other things, Hannah had decided that she was going to answer the door and ask whoever was there what droid they were looking for. In a polite way. Duh...

She excused herself from the couch for a second, telling Thomas that she was going to answer the door. She was always good at getting unwelcome people to amscray if need be, and she was more than willing to do so if this whoever - or whatever - was an unwelcomed guest. She sharply inhales as she unlocks the door, before swinging it open. And she was met with the most beautiful specimen of a man she had ever seen in her then twenty five years of life...

Standing in the doorway was a man she had never seen before. He stood at a cool 5'10" from what she could tell. He was clad in a faded, black Rush t-shirt, faded blue jeans, and black high-top Converse sneakers. He had shoulder length dark brown hair that had some hints of silver, and the most beautiful shade of green eyes she had ever seen. Her brain must have blue screened for a moment, because the man at the door chuckled and said...

"Hey, Sweet Cheeks. I'm here to see Alfie. Is he back from work yet?"

Sweet Cheeks. He fucking called her Sweet Cheeks. Jesus H. Christ on a fucking unicycle...Hannah was in love. She had absolutely no idea how this guy knew Alfie, but, she didn't give a fuck in that moment. She manages to collect herself, before telling the mystery hunk that Alfie was indeed home from work and that she would go and fetch him. She tells him to stay outside for now, due to the safety precautions, before turning around and screaming

"ALFIE!!! THERE'S SOMEONE AT THE DOOR FOR YOU!!! IS HE THE DROID YOU ARE LOOKING FOR?!"

Hannah could hear the mystery hunk laughing behind her. Dear Odin, he had the laugh of an Angel. It wasn't long until Alfie came sprinting down the stairs, and his face lit up the second he saw who was at the door. Judging by that reaction, this was the droid that he was looking for, but, that was confirmed even more when Alfie had gently shoved past her to give mystery hunk a great, big Bro Hug. Ashley wasn't far behind her husband to be, asking him who was at the door for him. Alfie beams proudly, before turning towards her and saying

"Baby, this is Ned! He works with me! He was just on vacation visiting his family in New Jersey! Come and say hi!"

Hannah had decided to stand back a bit while Alfie introduced his darling fiancée to his coworker. She stood at the bottom of the staircase, lost in her own thoughts as she stared at Ned. She didn't know what it was, but, there was something about him that caused her to feel an instant attraction to him. And she knew in her head and in her heart that he was her definition of a perfect man...and she didn't even know him!

Well...

Not yet, anyways...

She was still standing on the stairs when Alfie finally allowed him to walk through the door. He must have noticed that she was there, because he looked right over at her and smirked. The smirk caused her heart to drop into her asshole, and it took everything in her power not to physically swoon. Ned then looked at Alfie, and asked him in - well, from what she heard, anyways - the most seductive and orgasm inducing tone...

"Hey, Alfie...who's the gorgeous lady with the pink hair?"

Alfie side-eyed Hannah for a hot second, and she could see the animosity glistening in his eyes. Alfie has had it out for her ever since her past relationship with Thomas, because he blamed her for his struggles with drugs and alcohol. Thomas was already down that road before they had gotten together, and even Vivian knew that, but...Alfie didn't give a fuck. He pretended to be civil with her for Thomas' sake, but, Hannah could see right through his bullshit façade. But, instead of making a snide remark, he just smiles and says

"Oh, her? That's Hannah. She's a family friend. Why don't you go say hi to her? I'm sure she'd love to meet you..."

Hannah's heart stopped for a solid second. She wasn't a shy girl by any means. Never was. But...there was no way in Asgard she'd be able to talk to Ned. One thing about her was she always became incredibly awkward whenever she felt even the slightest bit nervous or intimidated. She knew there was no way a guy like him would ever like a girl like her...

5'2" in height. Pastel pink hair. Multiple tattoo's. There was no fucking way he'd ever give her the time of day. Ned looked like the type of guy who would enjoy the company of someone like Isobella, another member of the construction team known as The Pack that Alfie worked for, who is also the oldest daughter of their boss, Miss Jenny. Isobella was a fucking bombshell of a woman. 5'6" in height. Blonde hair. Gorgeous blue eyes. The same belly laugh inducing sense of humour her mother had. But, she was about to be pleasantly surprised by what was to come next...

[ricardosousalemos]

The Notorious B.I.G.: Life After Death

Life After Death, The Notorious B.I.G.'s second and final full-length studio album, which also serves as his first posthumous release, begins where its predecessor, 1994's Ready to Die left off: with the narrator dying from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. The blast comes courtesy of a large-bore cartridge from a high-powered revolver, while his best friend and confidante—played by label boss and possible svengali, Sean “Puff Daddy” Combs—listens in disbelief, possibly willing him back to life, possibly imagining an alternate reality where Christopher Wallace remains alive.

Ready to Die, Biggie’s previous album, also began with heart-pulling cinematic flourishes, featuring a decade-spanning montage that played as a mini saga telling the tale of a small-time street thug who was raised in a dysfunctional home and turned into a formidably successful rapper. But where the first album started with a feeling of hope arising from the muck and mire of urban poverty, Life After Death announces itself in much starker fashion.

The proper arrival of this album comes on “Somebody's Gotta Die,” a pure revenge tale. It begins sometime within the last record’s timeline, with Big “sittin' in the crib dreamin' about Learjets and coupes, the way Salt 'shoops', and how to sell records like Snoop,” when a fellow small-time drug dealer and jailmate informs him that a mutual friend has been shot for robbing a crack dealer in a most ruthless manner (“pistol whipped his kids and taped up his wife”). Big's reaction is immediate: “Is he in critical? Retaliation for this one won't be minimal ’cause I'm a criminal; way before the rap shit, bust the gat shit—Puff won't even know what happened.” We’re settling into a bloody noir, complete with well-developed minor characters harboring demented pathos and subtle foreshadowing—all this before any hints of a radio single.

This feat of storytelling is repeated two more times on the first disc of this double album alone. On “Niggas Bleed,” Big is a bagman sent to secure a large drug transaction, but his greed has him thinking about a double-cross: “I kill them all, I'll be set for life,” he imagines. He decides to call up his friend—a flashy and hard-hearted cutthroat from the Southwest who was once featured on America's Most Wanted—to partake in a heist that involves a female Puerto Rican hotel worker who used to be drug boss, and a Jamaican with long dreadlocks and a taste for Asian women. It’s a tour de force—a time-shifting tale that devotes a whole verse to the backstory of a murderous misfit straight from an Elmore Leonard short who substitutes kerosene for gasoline because “fuck it, it's flame-able.”

But “I Got a Story to Tell,” the recount of an after-hours creep with an NBA player’s girlfriend that culminates in physical assault and robbery, may be the most absurd tale of the bunch, because it's reportedly true. “Story” highlights Biggie’s gifts as a raconteur. Inside his braggadocio, cars are colored with verve: a “cherry M3” BMW, a “marine blue 6 coupe” Mercedes, a “champagne Range” Rover. For his fictional tales, names and locales are doled out like characters in hardboiled pulp fictions: “Arizona Ron from Tuscon,” “Gloria from Astoria,” and “Darkskin Jermaine” who “nearly lost half his brain over two bricks of cocaine, getting his dick sucked by Crackhead Lorraine.” But, when it comes to the truth, he's shy on specifics. No names, no states, no boroughs, or other signifiers are mentioned. When pressed by his friends as to the identity of the cuckold, he brushes it off: “One of them 6' 5” niggas—I don't know.”

Double albums tend to be overblown, self-indulgent cash grabs, but Life After Death warranted the approach. Beginning with the 1994 Quad Studios shooting of Tupac Shakur in New York City, the Notorious B.I.G—along with Combs, Shakur, and Suge Knight—was at the center of a multifaceted rivalry. It was a struggle between N.Y.'s Bad Boy and L.A.'s Death Row records that surpassed label affiliation to become about coastal loyalty, arguments about commercialism vs. art that spread from the music industry to the public, whispers of motives and allegiances ran from the streets to the urban criminal underworld. Big easily had more than one album's worth of material to talk about.

Not only did he have more drawn on, he had more ways to talk about it than anyone else. More than anyone one else in rap ever, Big was able to break language and bend syntax to speak about things in ways that were unforeseen yet seemingly unavoidable in hindsight: “At last, a nigga rappin' 'bout blunts and broads, tits and bras, ménage à trois, sex in expensive cars, and still leave you on the pavement,” he rapped on the No. 1 radio single “Hypnotize.” He continued: “Condo paid for, no car payment. At my arraignment, note for the plaintiff, 'Your daughter's tied up in a Brooklyn basement.' Face it: not guilty—that's how I stay filthy.”

Big was a master of flow, sounding unforced and unlabored over a bevy of pristine, hi-fidelity maximalist beats that seemed to always bow to his intent. His voice was that of a gentle giant; a sumo ballerina who could deashi and pas de bourrée, henka and plie. Few terms in any tongue can capture the way Big was light on his words while heavy on thought. He made his slams look like pirouettes even over the most grating pop moves like “Mo Money Mo Problems,” which showcased Combs' predilection for turning ‘80s R&B hits into ‘90s rap tunes—a push and pull between producer and artist that remains unmatched in hip-hop to this day.

This infamous tug between Combs' pop predilections and Big’s gully tendencies is all over Life After Death: the way the sequencing goes from the Herb Alpert-sampling “Hypnotize” to DJ Premier's Screamin' Jay Hawkins chop on “Kick in the Door” to a boudoir ballad with the R. Kelly-assisted “Fuck You Tonight” to black glove tough talk with The Lox on “Last Day” to lavish ballerism on the René & Angela remake “I Love the Dough” with Jay Z. It's a wrenching of the ridiculous that Big wins at every turn by being on “that Brooklyn bullshit” on “Hypnotize”; by making “Fuck You Tonight” unprofitable without a heavily-edited radio version; by squeezing so many words and skillful mispronunciations and imagery like wearing precious stones “in beards and mustaches” into “I Love the Dough.”

Despite being 24 cuts deep, the album never wears on—the quick twists, deep moods, dark humor, and mastered artistry more than hold your attention. But, still: Like even a good movie, you're ready for it to end when it ends, and it climaxes with songs that deliver on the promise of the era of conflict (and death and rage and extremism) that surrounded Big in 1997. Due to his assassination 20 years ago on March 9th, the last three songs—“My Downfall,” “Long Kiss Goodnight,” and “You're Nobody (Til Somebody Kills You)”—were never enjoyed by the public at large while Big was alive. Today, it's almost impossible to hear them as anything other than war songs for the dead and those about to die. These numbers are both a declaration of intent and pauses for remorse; clarion-song and elegy alike, heavy instrumentation for the trenches and pews, all hymnals of well-earned paranoia and odes to a dawn of violence.

And, though the ending is undoubtedly full of salvos from a reluctant warrior, there's a glimmer of hope that says that the young heart of Christopher Wallace from Bed-Stuy—not the Notorious B.I.G. from Bad Boy—was still beating beneath all that armor. On “You're Nobody,” he's mingling with “thorough bitches” who rode around in a fruit-colored two-door Acura and—in a telling, but coded move—he hearkens back to the determined aspiration of his breakthrough hit “Juicy,” rapping his perceived future into existence: “As my pilot steers my Lear,” he drops seemingly apropos of nothing but rhyme and boast. But, looking deeper, further back, past the blood on his friend's sneaker from the opener, you recall how this all began:

He was sitting in the crib, envisioning Learjets, visualizing coupes, lusting the way Salt “shooped,” and wanting to sell records like Snoop Dogg. Big may not have been around to see it, but he saw it before it happened. He created an alternate reality and lived it until his death and after.