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mybutcheredtongue · 7 months

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I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (see full series list here)

1993

You wake with a start later that night. Something feels off. The hairs on the back of your neck are standing up and your heart is beating fast, though you don't know why. You get out of bed, making for the tent exit. Minerva is still sleeping soundly in her bed, as quiet as a mouse. You pull back the tent flap and pop your head out, immediately met with a panicked sight. People are running and people are screaming.

You feel panic setting into your body, but allow yourself a deep breath to keep yourself steady before hurrying back into the tent to wake Minerva. She's already stirring, looking around for the source of the screams. You quickly gather up your things, throwing your bag onto your back and thrusting your wand into your pocket. You quickly pull on your shoes, lacing them up as quickly as possible.

Minerva does the same and the two of you leave your tent, glancing around as you exit. Your eyes have always been good in the dark, and you're just able to make out the shapes of people running into the woods, fleeing something chasing them. You can hear loud jeering and cruel laughter, bright bolts of light darting from wands of the pursuers. Then, there's a strong burst of green light that illuminates the scene.

A crowd of tightly packed wizards, moving close together with hooded faces, are marching slowly across the field. They have their wands pointed high in the air, and above them were four human figures being twisted and contorted into impossible shapes. Tents crumple, and a few even set fire as they're pushed over.

You watch on in horror as, lit by blazing tents, one wizard turns the female figure ahead of him upside down, forcing her nightdress to fall and reveal things that shouldn't have been revealed.

"That poor woman..." you mutter in utter horror. "That is absolutely sick."

Another wizard spins what looks to be a young child at an incredible rate high above the ground, the child's head hanging limply at his side.

Minerva gasps beside you.

"We have to do something," you say. "I can't watch."

You pull your wand out of your pocket, holding it at the ready. You cast your mind back to your time as an auror; before James and Lily were murdered and Sirius was captured. This was definitely a group of sick people, but you've dealt with sick people before.

Constant vigilance.

You try to ignore the horrible pit of dread sickening your stomach. Where's Harry? Is he alright?

You and Minerva run towards the dark wizards, along with plenty of Ministry wizards attempting to stop them as well.

"Don't let those Muggles fall!" one commands as he throws a spell at the hooded figure.

They're picking on Muggles? What Muggles?

As you get closer, you realise that the masks the wizards are wearing are awfully familiar. It seems to be made of metal with unsettling swirly indentations etched into it. The mouth looks like its been stitched over with thin strips of metal. The eye-holes are dark and foreboding and you feel anxiety churning in the pit of your stomach.

Death Eaters.

You point your wand at the nearest one, exclaiming, "Expelliarmus!"

"Protego!"

"Immobolus!"

The wizard straightens before toppling to the ground, immobilised. Beside you, one Ministry wizard is knocked off his feet and you run to his aid. His arm has been cut, a long line down the centre of his forearm. You pull him to his feet, saying a quick, "Ferula" and tapping his wound with your wand. Bandages wrap magically around his arm.

"Incendio!" a Death Eater yells, casting the grass in front of you on fire.

"BOMBARDO!"

A tent behind you explodes wildly and without thinking you launch yourself out of the way, landing painfully, but unharmed, on the grass nearby. You quickly get to your feet, just in time to see Mr Weasley deflecting a curse from the Death Eaters.

While he's busy with one, another fires a deadly spell at him and just in time, you yell, "PROTEGO!".

The spell bounces off harmlessly and Mr Weasley glances back at you for a split-second, a grateful expression on his face.

Then, something streaks into the sky over the woods. You watch as it takes on the shape of a smoky green skull, a serpent slithering out of its mouth. Multiple witches and wizards around you gasp, horrified.

The Dark Mark.

At that, the Death Eaters turn and see it too...and they all Disapparate. Even though you're distanced from the woods, you hear several shrill, panicked screams come from it. You know that the Mark has caused it.

The Muggles come tumbling to the ground and someone manages to cast, "Aresto Momentum!" and the victims' fall slows, landing gently on the soft grass.

"It came from the woods!"

At that, everyone bar the few that stay behind to tend to the Muggles, Disapparate and land in the woods, in a large circle. There's three people in front of you and you barely register what's happening when there's a chorus of "STUPEFY!" and the three duck low to the ground. The spells cross over their ducked heads, bouncing off trees and bounding into the woods, and you realise with a start that you recognise those three ducked heads of ginger, brunette and jet-black —

"Stop!" yells Mr Weasley. "STOP! That's my son!"

Quickly, you hurry towards the students, following Mr Weasley close behind.

"Harry — " you breathe, relieved to see your godson safe and sound. Well, thoroughly startled, but otherwise unharmed. You reach your arms out to hug him, before remembering the people around you and awkwardly pat his arm, doing the same to the others so it doesn't look like you're giving him special treatment.

"Ron — Harry — " Mr Weasley says shakily, "Hermione — are you alright?"

"Out of the way, Arthur," Barty Crouch says curtly. You know Barty Crouch S.R. well — he's the one who put Sirius in Azkaban without a trial. You feel your blood start to boil at the very sight of him.

Crouch's face is taut with rage as Ron, Harry, and Hermione stand to face him. Harry glances at you nervously.

"Which of you did it?" Crouch snaps. "Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?"

He's hardly being serious, is he? He doesn't actually think kids conjured that up?

"We didn't do that!" says Harry, gesturing up at the Dark Mark.

"We didn't do anything!" exclaims Ron, who is rubbing his elbow and looking up at his father indignantly. "What did you want to attack us for?"

"Do not lie, sir!" shouts Crouch, his wand pointing directly at Ron, looking like he's about to pop a vein. "You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!"

"Come off it, Crouch," you say. "They're kids, they'd never have been able to — "

"Where did the Mark come from, you three?" Mr Weasley asks quickly.

"Over there," Hermione says nervously, pointing into the dark, thick trees. "There was someone behind the trees...they shouted words — an incantation — "

"Oh, stood over there, did they?" Crouch says, turning his bulging, beady little eyes on Hermione, disbelief written on his face. "Said an incantation, did they? You seem very well informed about how that Mark is summoned, missy — "

But you've stopped listening, instead looking warily out into the dark woods, wand raised.

"We're too late," says a witch behind you. "They'll have Disapparated."

"I don't think so," says a man with a scruffy beard, one you recognise as Amos Diggory, Cedric Diggory's father. You've met him several times at parent-teacher meetings at Hogwarts. Nice man, very proud of his son. "Our Stunners went right through those trees...there's a good chance we got them..."

"Amos, be careful!" a few say warningly as Mr Diggory squares his shoulders and walks forward into the darkness. You watch anxiously, waiting for his reappearance.

Luckily, in the next few seconds, you hear him shout, "Yes! We got them! There's someone here! Unconscious! It's — but — blimey..."

"You've got someone?" shouts Crouch. "Who? Who is it?"

With the snapping of twigs, the rustling of leaves and crunching footsteps, Mr Diggory reemerges, holding a tiny, limp figure in his hands. Mr Diggory deposits it in front of Crouch, and with a start you realise it's a house elf.

You stare at Crouch, watching as his jaw flexes erratically.

"This — cannot — be — " he says jerkily, wide eyes staring down at the elf. "No — "

He moves quickly around Mr Diggory and strides over to where the elf was found.

"No point, Mr Crouch," Mr Diggory calls after him. "There's no one else there."

Crouch is having none of it, however, and you can hear he's busy rustling around, pushing bushes aside.

"But embarrassing," Mr Diggory says grimly, looking down at the unconscious house elf. "Barty Crouch's house elf...I mean to say..."

"Come off it, Amos," Mr Weasley says quietly, "you don't seriously think it was the elf? The Dark Mark is a wizard's sign. It requires a wand."

"Yeah," replies Mr Diggory. "She had a wand."

"What?" says Mr Weasley.

"Here, look." Mr Diggory holds up a wand, showing it to Mr Weasley. "Had it in her hand. So that's clause three of the Code of Wand Use broken, for a start. No non-human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand."

There's a sudden pop, and Ludo Bagman Apparates right next to you. He looks breathless and disoriented, slightly dazed, as he spins on the spot, gawking up at the Mark.

"The Dark Mark!" he pants, almost trampling the poor elf as he turns to your group. "Who did it? Did you get them? Barty! What's going on?"

Crouch has returned empty-handed. His face is ghostly white, a vein popping in his neck as both his hand and his moustache twitch.

"Where have you been, Barty?" says Bagman. "Why weren't you at the match? Your elf was saving you a seat too — gulping gargoyles!" Bagman spots the elf beneath him. "What happened to her?"

"I have been busy, Ludo," says Crouch, talking away in his typical jerky fashion. "And my elf has been stunned."

"Stunned? By you lot, you mean? But why — "

Realisation seems to dawn on Bagman as he looks up to the smoky green skull in the sky, down to the elf, and then to Crouch.

"No!" he says. "Winky? Conjure the Dark Mark? She wouldn't know how! She'd need a wand, for a start!"

"And she had one," says Mr Diggory. "I found her holding one, Ludo. If it's alright with you, Mr Crouch, I think we should hear what she's got to say for herself."

Crouch says nothing, and Mr Diggory seems to take this as approval. He raises his wand, points it at Winky and says, "Rennervate!"

Winky stirs weakly. Her big brown eyes open and she blinks several times. She raises herself into a sitting position.

She looks slowly, as everyone is silent, up to the Mark, and she gives a gasp, quickly followed by terrified sobs.

"Elf!" says Mr Diggory sternly. "Do you know who I am? I'm a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures!"

Winky begins to rock backward and forward, her body racked with shakes and sobs.

"As you see, elf, the Dark Mark was conjured here a short while ago," says Mr Diggory. "And you were discovered moments later, right beneath it! An explanation, if you please!"

"I — I — I is not doing it, sir!" Winky gasps desperately. "I is not knowing how, sir!"

"You were found with a wand in your hand!" Mr Diggory barks, whipping out the wand and brandishing it in front of her. Harry's eyes light up.

"Hey — that's mine!"

Everyone turns to look at Harry, you doing the same. You give him your subtlest eyebrow raise.

"Excuse me?" Mr Diggory says incredulously.

"That's my wand!" he says. "I dropped it!"

"You dropped it?" repeats Mr Diggory in disbelief. "Is this a confession? You threw it aside after you conjured the Mark?"

"Amos, think who you're talking to!" says Mr Weasley angrily. "Is Harry Potter likely to conjure the Dark Mark?"

"Er — of course not," Mr Diggory mumbles abashedly. "Sorry...got carried away..."

"I didn't drop it there, anyway," says Harry, jerking his thumb toward the trees beneath the skull. "I missed it right after we got into the wood."

"So," says Mr Diggory, his eyes hardening as he turns to look at Winky once again. You feel bad for the poor creature. It's obvious to you that she didn't summon the Dark Mark — why would she? She's a house elf! She wouldn't even know the incantation for it. "You found this wand, eh, elf? And you picked it up and thought you'd have some fun with it, did you?"

"I is not doing magic with it, sir!" squeals Winky, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I is...I is...I is not doing magic with it, sir! I is not making the Dark Mark, sir, I is not knowing how!"

"It wasn't her!" says Hermione, looking nervous to be speaking in front of all the Ministry officials and both you and Minerva, but still determined all the same. "Winky's got a squeaky little voice, and the voice we heard doing the incantation was much deeper!" She looks to Harry and Ron for support. "It didn't sound anything like Winky, did it?"

"No," says Harry, shaking his head. "It definitely didn't sound like an elf."

"Yeah, it was a human voice," Ron agrees.

"Well, we'll soon see," growls Mr Diggory, looking unimpressed. "There's a simple way of discovering the last spell a wand has performed, elf, did you know that?"

Winky trembles and shakes her head frantically, her ears flapping, as Mr Diggory raises his wand and places it tip to tip with Harry's.

"Prior Incantato!" says Mr Diggory.

You watch with bated breath as before your eyes, a much wispier version of the skull in the sky forms in the air between the two wands.

"Deletrius!" he shouts, and the skull disappears. "So..." he looks at Winky with a sort of savage triumph, revelling in his rightness.

"I is not doing it!" she squeals in pure terror. "I is not, I is not, I is not knowing how! I is a good elf, I isn't using wands — I isn't knowing how!"

"You've been caught red-handed, elf!" Mr Diggory roars. "Caught with the guilty wand in your hand!"

"Amos," says Mr Weasley loudly, "think about it...precious few wizards know how to do that spell...where would she have learnt it?"

"Perhaps Mr Diggory is suggesting," Crouch cuts in, cold anger evident with every spit of letters, "that I routinely teach my servants how to conjure the Dark Mark?"

The air stills and you feel the unpleasantness biting into you, making you want to Disapparate on the spot.

Mr Diggory looks terrified. "I — Mr Crouch...not...not at all..."

"You have now come very close to accusing the two people in this clearing who are least likely to conjure that Mark!" barks Crouch. "Harry Potter — and myself! I suppose you are familiar with the boy's story, Amos?"

Two least likely people? I mean, Harry, of course...but Barty Crouch? Bit of a stretch, he's the exact same as any one of you here — except he has a rather precarious case of his head being shoved so far up his own —

"Of course, everyone knows..." Mr Diggory mutters, looking like he wants the ground to swallow him up.

"And I myself, who have proclaimed profusely how I despise and detest the Dark Arts with all of my being?" Crouch continues, glaring at the red-faced Mr Diggory. "I don't understand how you could be placing so much suspicion on me, when the wife of a notorious Death Eater stands among us!"

Crouch's cold, beady eyes settle on you, causing heads to turn in your direction. Before, people hadn't really taken much notice of you, everyone was too busy with Winky and the Mark. A woman gasps as she recognises you, taking a fearful step back. You glance around at the faces. You're used to this — these expressions followed you everywhere you went that first year after Sirius was captured. Everyone knew your face from the papers, and they didn't like to see it.

Mr Weasley and Mr Diggory are both taken aback. They clearly forgot your face. It hurts you to see the worried, almost scared looks on their faces. These are the parents of your students, two people you respect, and they're looking at you like you just stabbed someone.

Harry is looking between you and Crouch, anger on his face when he looks at Crouch. He knows Sirius is innocent, and Crouch just insulted his godfather. Hey, and his godmother too! Harry can feel anger bubbling up in his veins, wanting to jump up and defend the both of you, but he's forced to sit and watch as the wizards and witches around you stare, their faces a mixture of different emotions — and none of them good.

"I am not a Death Eater, never have been, never will be," you reply steadily, not breaking your eye contact with Crouch.

"Oh? Yet you married one?"

You grit your teeth, trying your best not to punch Crouch. Will you ever hear the end of this?

"I am more than just my marriage, Crouch!" you snap. Stupid, stupid man. "When will you understand that I am a real human being with my own thoughts, feelings, motivations — and that I'm not a decoration only fit to blindly follow what my husband does!"

You're so sick and tired of being accused of something you would never do, something you would never be apart of — all because these prats put Sirius away without using their pea-sized brains, and were somehow outsmarted by a fucking rat.

How stupid do they have to be? You are not Sirius. Just by marrying him that means you must be guilty by proxy? What a senseless notion.

Harry wants to help you, he really, truly does. He wants to tell them all that Sirius is innocent, and so are you, but knows he can't. He feels bad. He feels like he's doing nothing, watching as you glare at Crouch, who just glares right back.

Crouch's nostrils flare and he opens his mouth to say something further but you couldn't care less, cutting across him quickly.

"Look, it wasn't me. First of all, I'd have no reason to because I am not a Death Eater — and secondly, I've been with Professor McGonagall the entire night. If I had conjured it, she would have seen."

Minerva nods beside you. "She was by my side the entire time, and I can assure you — she is no Death Eater."

You can see that Crouch is reluctant to argue with Minerva. She's a very well-respected figure amongst...well, everywhere. She's practically taught every witch and wizard in England.

"She — she was with us too," Mr Weasley says, giving you an almost imperceptible nod. He seems more relaxed now after Minerva has defended you. "Helping us against that group of Death Eaters."

You look to Crouch expectantly, arms folded. "Are you done? Can we get back to finding out who actually did this, considering we have the wand in question?"

Crouch is still fuming. "I — "

"I agree," Mr Weasley says. He turns to Winky, a kind expression on his face. Winky stills shrinks and flinches like she's expecting another shout. "Where exactly did you find Harry's wand?"

"I — I is finding it...finding it there, sir..." she whispers, "there...in the trees, sir..."

"You see, Amos?" says Mr Weasley. "Whoever conjured the Mark could have Disapparated right after they'd done it, leaving Harry's wand behind. A clever thing to do, not using their own wand, which could have betrayed them. And Winky here had the misfortune to come across the wand moments later and pick it up."

"But then, she'd have only been a few feet away from the real culprit!" says Mr Diggory impatiently. "Elf? Did you see anyone?"

Winky trembles violently, her big brown eyes looking feverishly from Diggory, to Bagman, to Crouch. Then she gulps and says, "I is seeing no one, sir...no one..."

"Amos," Crouch says curtly. "I am fully aware that, in the ordinary course of events, you would want to take Winky into your department for questioning. I ask you, however, to allow me to deal with her."

Mr Diggory's brow bends just the slightest, betraying his apprehension of this idea. Despite this, he says nothing.

"You may rest assured that she will be punished," Crouch adds coldly.

"M-m-master..." Winky chokes, her eyes spilling with tears as she hobbles over to Crouch, clasping her tiny hands together in a begging manner. "M-master, p-please..."

Crouch just stares back, so coldly that you swear you feel your body temperature drop.

"Winky has behaved tonight in a manner I would not have believed possible," he says slowly, eyes fixed on the sobbing elf below him. "I told her to remain in the tent. I told her to stay there while I went to sort out the trouble. And I find that she disobeyed me. This means clothes."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

→→ read chapter sixteen here!

→ all kinds of interaction appreciated ♡

sad to say I spent most of this chapter copying from the book 😔 would be better if crouch didn't talk so much 🙏

a massive thank you to all my taglist loves for all their kindness and support:

@wholelottalove05 @izuoyarmin @hyperspeedo @carpe000diem @jennifer0305

#sirius black #sirius black x you #sirius black x reader #angst #angst with a happy ending #fanfiction #harry potter #the marauders #hp #fanfic #wizarding world #hp fanfiction #marauders

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akumahoshojo · 9 months

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Castlevania I + II Fanfic: A Horrible Night's Dream (Chapter 1 preview)

I wrote this fic for @eboni-napalm as part of a Halloween gift exchange that started back in like... 2021 😱 After two of the roughest years for me ever (school/health/family/general RL problems all happening at once), I've actually been able to work on it!

While I'm still finishing up my final draft of the first chapter (fingers crossed I can do it before midnight!), I thought I'd post this preview of it here for tonight for any CV fans who might be interested in reading... and hopefully checking out the rest. It's the first 4 out of 8 vignettes to be contained in the completed first chapter, set in CV1 era for now.

Game: Castlevania I and II Pairing: Simon Belmont + CV2's "Mysterious Woman" (😉) Themes: Prophecies, Curses, Fighting Fate, Anachronic Order, Second Person POV, Experimental Style Content Warning: General themes of prejudice, non-graphic human sacrifice scene Thanks so much for your patience eboni-napalm-- I'm so sorry about the delay, but getting to work on this story has been rewarding and challenging in the best kind of way! 💗 Check out the story below!

i. now

To one who dreams the future, the present is the past. And thus all your remembered life has been a divided one, waking eyes on constant guard and inner eye fixed on time untold, like two-faced Janus in the body of a girl.

You've never been able to consider your nighttime visions a power, or even a gift: not when they've only come to you as you've lain helpless in the dark, bringing unwanted glimpses of a greater darkness in the world that encircles the realm of dreams.

And if some force beyond even that world can tear through the layers of time to give you a fleeting glimpse of what lies on the other side, then one lone human attempting to change the future’s design in response seems as futile a task as attempting to prevent an avalanche through the placement of a single snowflake.

But that's never stopped you from trying.

ii. then

To the citizens of Transylvania, he may have been a savior, but to you, he was no different from the rest of them—which placed him somewhere just above scum. And so, as all of Jova turned excitedly north to welcome their conquering hero home, you chose to remain alone in the wooded outskirts of town, where they'd told you your kind would always belong.

Simon, the latest golden boy of the Belmont clan, with a mane of golden hair and bags of looted gold to match, was already the stuff of legends. He'd journeyed alone only days before to Dracula's stronghold beyond the mountains, slaying its monstrous guards and unholy master in a single night and escaping just in time to watch the demon castle crumble at dawn. Stories of his triumph had already traveled down from the hamlets at the foothills and across the river from the town of Yomi, faster than the news of the Dark Lord's resurrection on the night the Black Mass occurred.

The night they’d shunned you for the last time.

iii. now

The future creates itself in the darkness behind your closed eyes. Your essence stares back from the depths of your mind.

Another vision, two-sided as always: fate's promise to you, and yours to yourself. You will fight it, the truest part of you swears, in the waking world where dreams can't reach, no matter what you'll see and see again.

It catches you off guard anyway.

As your mind's eye clears, the darkness that clouded it coalesces into a black sea, the crests of dozens of waves rising ominously from its surface. The light comes next—faint touches of distant moonlight and dancing candlelight, refining the indistinct sea of shadows into something all too real.

Hooded worshippers, lit by candles as black as their robes, fill the gutted remains of an old church. The church is dark, and the night outside is darker, showing through the shattered stained-glass windows like a void swallowing up the holy and the fair. Idols and relics, goat-headed demons and inverted stars and things you can't decipher, lurk just at the edges of the shadows.

But it's the thing on the altar that scares you the most.

Nearly shrouded in a tattered black cloak, it lays limp and motionless, sickly pale as any corpse—but with a countenance alert as any living man. Its face is twisted into a rictus of mad triumph, sightless eyes fixed on the crumbled ceiling above and a sky empty of stars, as if to mock, even now, whatever higher power watches from above. You're certain you've never seen it, through this eye or your outers. And yet, the longer you stare, the louder a primal alarm seems to scream from somewhere deep inside you.

Known and unknown, mighty and weak, living and dead—the thing’s very existence is a contradiction made flesh.

Clarity flashes across your mind in the errant glint of candlelight off a fang.

You know, now, what this thing is. Its—his—name is Dracula: scion of the dragon, the devil's very son.

His dark grip still chokes Transylvania as tightly in legend as it did in reality, even a century after his last death. Though the countryside has long healed from the scars of his prior reign, those like yourself, too well acquainted with the occult, feel their phantom ache to this day. It is the pain that springs up with each scornful word and every hostile stare, the chafing knowledge that anyone judged slightly less than normal will never be truly safe from a populace still cowering from even the memory of Dracula's shadow.

Your gaze focuses once more at a sudden shuffling among the faceless worshipers: a parting of the shadow sea. From the darkest corner of the church a maiden is borne, light as spindrift, through the crests. Her dress is pale, and her panicked face is paler. She seems almost to shine amongst the shadows that guide her onward, a lone spot of white nearly consumed by the blackness of the church.

A sacrifice.

As she nears the grim idol that lies in wait upon the altar, one of the encircling shadows shoves her roughly forward. She stumbles against the altar's edge, delicate hands bound tightly behind her back.

You are forced to watch, powerless as always, as present and future slip beyond salvation.

Another shift of the lurking shadows. A fleeting flash of metal. A torrent of blood from the maiden's lovely neck.

As the blood splatters on the leering corpse below, its fanged grin seems only to widen. And with a creeping chill of dread, you realize the thing on the altar isn't a corpse anymore.

The church darkens even more, beyond what seems possible, as the sky through the ceiling is choked by thunderclouds. The candlelight drowns in a shadow sea.

For a moment, you see nothing but blissful darkness, blessed oblivion—for a moment, you can nearly imagine what a normal night's sleep might be.

By the time a flash of lightning illuminates the church once more, Dracula is already gone—the monster loosed from its temporal cage.

You barely notice. You'd seen it, then, when the lightning struck, in what little you could view of the world beyond the church. The outlines of a cityscape all too familiar. The narrow curve of a waning gibbous moon.

Jova. Easter Sunday.

You still have time, you realize.

And, fate willing, so do they.

iv. then

It had been Easter then, the time of the town's yearly carnival. Those dull brick buildings had looked almost inviting, festooned with grand banners and colorful paper lanterns, as lively dances and celebrations went on in the market square. The scenes of joy and community, the swirls of music and laughter, seemed to sweep you up despite yourself, almost softening the heart their world had hardened long before. You were hopeful enough to believe the Lord's Resurrection reason enough for them to accept you, for that one day at least, to heed your warning and save their souls.

You were wrong.

No matter who you approached, no matter how you pleaded, the hatred you'd grown up with, inseparable as your shadow, blocked you at every turn. Maybe it was your clothes, or your accent, or just the fact you knew something they didn't, but whatever attempt you made, they judged it to be wrong. Your warnings, increasingly desperate, were met with insults from even the kindest faces in that celebration, insults steeled with the threat of something worse.

Liar.

Witch.

Unholy.

Unwelcome.

You'd finally turned your back on Jova when the stares began to linger a little too long, when the murmurs in the crowd began to overpower even the sounds of the festivities. You refused to add your own life to the number that would soon be lost.

And you'd tried, dammit. They couldn't say you didn't try.

If their blood was to be shed, it would not be on your hands.

You told yourself this as you left them all behind, the music growing fainter and the colored lights dimmer with each step you took into the engulfing darkness. They'd just shown they cared nothing for you, for even themselves, so why chance your life for them? You didn't care—you truly didn't care.

But when your prophecy came true and hell came to earth, you suffered with them all the same.

#castlevania #simon belmont #castlevania 1 #simon's quest #castlevania 2 #my fanfiction #castlevania fanfiction #castlevania ii #castlevania i #fanfiction

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batrachised · 1 year

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just reread the curious case of walter blythe................ i trust you with my blorboy. any other thoughts on him?

(referring to this post - highly recommend digging into the reblogs as well because there was a lot of interesting discussion!)

Thoughts on Walter Blythe? Do I have thoughts on Walter Blythe? My home-boy, my rotten soldier, my sweet cheese, my good-time boy? He's hard to analyze because the tears make it difficult to see the screen to type, but I will assuredly try my best.

Gah, it's hard to know even where to begin with Walter. Walter is difficult to poke at it in one sense, because (as I read somewhere once), he's more of an emblem than an actual character. He repeatedly represents WWI in the text, and WWI's impact on his generation. Like Emily, he seems to have a connection to a "second sight" of sorts, but unlike Emily, this isn't in your local neighborhood witch way - it's in a 'terminal and aware of it' way (to borrow the phrase from gogandmagog). Both Rainbow Valley and Ingleside mark him for death; a rather abrupt shift from the sunny childhood tone of the novels. What's more, this sometimes comes from Walter himself. In Rainbow Valley, he's the one to say they'll follow the Pied Piper, while also being the one to sense the horror flickering underneath the idea. In Ingleside, we have the shadow of his cross over his bed, breaking the placement of the story for a moment; it pops forward to a future Anne, looking back and wondering if that were an omen in her grief (a chilling vignette in an otherwise idyllic, literal 'tucking children into bed' scene). Then, of course, there's this poppy passage I'll never stop thinking about:

"Look at that wave of poppies breaking against the garden wall, Miss Cornelia. Susan and I are very proud of our poppies this year, though we hadn't a single thing to do with them. Walter spilt a packet of seed there by accident in the spring and this is the result. Every year we have some delightful surprise like that." "I'm partial to poppies," said Miss Cornelia, "though they don't last long." "They have only a day to live," admitted Anne, "but how imperially, how gorgeous they live it! Isn't that better than being a stiff horrible zinnia that lasts practically for ever?"

As posted before, it's a subtle foreshadowing of Walter's short life, while also referencing his fate - poppies are its enduring symbol of WWI.

So, in the midst of this repeated foreshadowings, we have actual child Walter. Extremely sensitive, bullied, a misfit, a misfit to the point that he doesn't even look like his family (a hop out of kin, as the book says), and someone who is ruled by fear yet has a iron moral backbone. He hates violence in all forms, and yet can savagely beat another child when called for. He's implied to have a gift for poetry that's exceptional, the same gift that leads to derision and confusion from everyone around him. He's asexual in the text, as the article I cite in the original post would say, never displaying an interest in women (besides one person suspecting he liked Faith) in a way unlike every other LM Montgomery hero. He's very earnest - see this passage from Ingleside, which is probably one of my favorites from LM Montgomery, just look at our helpful boy:

"Did you hear what happened to Big Jim MacAllister last Saturday night in Milt Cooper's store at the Harbour Head?" asked Mrs. Simon, thinking it time somebody introduced a more cheerful topic than ghosts and jiltings. "He had got into the habit of setting on the stove all summer. But Saturday night was cold and Milt had lit a fire. So when poor Big Jim sat down...well, he scorched his..." Mrs. Simon would not say what he had scorched but she patted a portion of her anatomy silently. "His bottom," said Walter gravely, poking his head through the creeper screen. He honestly thought that Mrs. Simon could not remember the right word. An appalled silence descended on the quilters. Had Walter Blythe been there all the time?

Then we have adult Walter, whose character focus has been tightened to the war entirely. Walter's arc as an adult is facing his fear of violence, but also, of himself - of not being good enough. Walter has been looked down his entire life for who he is, including by his loved ones (both Gilbert and Susan imply or explicitly state disapproval of Walter at different points, although Gilbert's is very understandable in context). Wrapped into this has to be the self-knowledge of what he was like fighting Dan Reese, and knowing that he'll be expected-encouraged-required to tap into that part of himself. It's a pressure cooker situation, with societal pressure, moral pressure, moral censure, and self-censure all thudding down on him at once.

And Walter goes, and Walter dies. His arc as the "other" is complete; his poem and letter to Rilla speak to a hope for the future; he even sees his death as a mercy, because he couldn't have lived after the things that he'd seen. Jem will come back to work as a surgeon and marry Nan; Nan will wed Jerry; Rilla be a mother and wife to Ken -- Walter will forever be "Somewhere in France."

A grim ending, but LM Montgomery is deliberate in highlighting its hope. Walter writes of the poets of the future, and his death is understood to be both a pointless tragedy and a necessary, noble sacrifice.

What interests me is how this changes in the TBAQ. This book...it's raw. It's just raw. There are notably moments when the importance of Walter's death is emphasized, and this importance is intertwined with a steady hope - see the following line from Gilbert...

...but repeatedly, it's raw grief. Walter's siblings rarely refer to him dying; instead, they describe it unsteadily as "when he went away." Anne especially - the main character of the series, a cultural cornerstone synonymous with optimism and joy - is a far cry from how we've seen her before. It's repeatedly mentioned that Anne has not been the same since Walter's death, and whenever we hear Anne speak after the war in this book, it's almost always--if not always--something downcast and hopeless. It's her children and her husband who are the ones trying to comfort and find meaning; Anne herself is broken. The book reflects the themes of Walter's arc in Rilla - his noble sacrifice, the violence of his passing, its inevitability as deemed by the text - but it is also a blunt, uncushioned statement that Walter's death left a wound that will never be healed. Unlike with other major character deaths in the Anne series - Matthew, Joyce, eventually Marilla - there is no acceptance here. Anne of Ingleside mentions how Anne still mourns Joyce, but that's one beat of many in her life filled with babies and laughter. Here, Anne's grief is the only one. Everything we learn about her in this book indicates that Anne is not okay, and will never be okay again. It's a picture of a woman so deeply sunken in her grief it becomes her primary characteristic. She finishes Walter's unfinished poems, she reads them aloud to her family, she is disconsolate in every paragraph, and the book ends with her finding a poem of Walter's he wrote on the front where he imagines viciously bayonetting a teen soldier to death, resulting in her saying she was happy Walter had never come back.

I'm getting offtrack from the subject of Walter here, but the point of these very rambling paragraphs is that Walter's inherent textual purpose is to illustrate the horrors of WWI. Normally, LM Montgomery's strength lies in the slice of life approach that deftly handles the reality of life's bittersweetness. With Walter's fate, it's just bitter. There's no uplifting message, or character growth--the characters are crushed (at least in TBAQ, vs in Rilla, where its tied to the defeat of evil and Rilla's arc as mentioned above).

This inherent purpose is impossible to separate from Walter, or at least very difficult [trust me, as someone who is writing a fanfic on a no wwi walter]. What would a Walter who survived WWI been like? Would he have been transformed into a darker version of Dean Priest? What about a Walter who never went to war at all? Would he have married Una? Would he have married at all? Was part of his tragedy realizing the reality of romance (ala Anne in Anne of Avonlea) too late, quite literally the night of his death? How would that play out if he had survived? If WWI had never happened at all? Would he have been a famous poet? Or was this only achievable through war and his Piper poem? WWI is the fabric of Walter's character, and so answering these questions - while definitely possible and reasonable - can turn into a bit of a guessing game. The implication in Walter's tragedy - in this sense, tragedy meaning what he himself lost with his death - is that he never achieved his dream of being a poet, and he never married Una/didn't see her until it was too late. This provides us with the implication of what his life would have been like if he had survived, but the war also serves as his mechanism for achieving them. Walter becomes a famous poet because of the war, and realizes his [??????] for Una only once he realizes his death is inevitable.

Then, as seen in the post you brought up, Walter's intended character arc inadvertently doubles as an unintended character arc of his sexuality. A lot of Walter's "terminal and aware of it" characteristics double as signals for the potential truth of his sexual identity. I think this is seen most sharply in the short story from TBAQ where Patrick, also unlike other boys, also censured by society, says he loves Walter with all his heart - meant to pair them due to their brushes with death, but the secondary reading here is inescapable. [i recognize they're related, but this was the time of cousin marriages so]

This post has become a sprawling behemoth, but it visually demonstrates my overall point: I think Walter Blythe is one of the richest and most complex characters LM Montgomery wrote. It's fun to tease out the other characters' beliefs and habits and depth, but Walter is a universe of implication and tragedy. There are endless questions to be asked here: what did Gilbert think of Walter, as almost polar opposites? How did their relationship change as Walter grew into a man? What about Walter's nephew, who is said to also love poetry? What sort of relationship would they have had if Walter had survived? How do you grow up dealing with censure from all sides? How do you grow up dealing with censure from all sides, and with a popular and well-liked older brother who is everything you are not? The war serves as a christening of Walter's courage and therefore his masculinity - how would Walter's struggles with his perceived masculinity have played out had the war never happened? Would it have taken international success for him to gain respect? What if he never did? How would Walter's capacity for savage violence have played a role in his life, if it all? Why is Walter so capable of savage violence compared to his siblings? If Walter had survived, would this part of him become more prominent? On the flip side, Walter is extremely sensitive to ugliness and violence - how would this impact his life if the war had never happened, because life inevitably brings this everyone's way?

Most importantly of all, can Walter as an emblem be separated from the thing he is the emblem of? What do you do with a symbol that loses its meaning?

In the end, Walter's character has the unavoidable tension of a tragic figure for the reader. His story compels us because of its end, and yet wanting to change the end is what compels us. Separating Walter Blythe from his death in the text is nearly impossible- but also irresistible.

#walter blythe #lm montgomery #this is very train of thought so apologies if you wanted something cohesive friend #and yes I did tear up #“somewhere in France” just GETS me

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icystorm86skytte · 8 days

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I will be returning to my hobby of writing as I am now in school and I’m taking math and English, reading and writing class. It will hopefully help me improve my writing skills. My grammar still is not great, but I’m going to continue a fic about Gil and Mayor Shelbourne called DISCONTROLLED. Before I do, I want to write a small fic about Gil’s thoughts on him becoming a werewolf like his dad but keeping it a secret. I don’t remember if I added this scene in my story the wolf within, probably not but it’s okay.

Ahem

Gil’s pov

I hurried home before it started. This entire process has been a nightmare. I was all alone. There was no one I could tell this to or talk to. This condition was extremely isolating and I have no idea how mayor dad got through it! I had so many questions in my head for him that I could never ask. When did he first transform? How long has he had this? Was he my age? Is this a genetic thing? My mind pondered endlessly over the countless questions that would never be answered.

I was so stupid to stay out later and go eat with some friends after school. I shouldn’t have, I can’t risk it all because I wanted some pizza! I thought to myself. The sun was setting and it would be dark soon. I felt so trapped in this dream I couldn’t wake up from. Of course, some people knew about my dad being a werewolf, but me? No one knows I am too. I’m not sure I want anyone to find out. Especially him. More than anything I wish I could tell him.

However I cannot knowing what he’s like. I’ve never been in a situation before where I couldn’t tell anyone something this serious. I flinched as I felt my body start to jerk. Those were signs of an approaching transformation. I couldn’t even find the words to explain how it feels. The first time it happened to me I was terrified! I didn’t know what was happening. If I recall correctly, it was one cold night with a full moon.

Gil’s flash back

I sat on the edge of my bed sweating and my muscles felt so swollen something felt so wrong. My body felt like it was being stretched in a way. I began to panic as a laid back down in bed, I felt as though I had just gone through the torture rack back in the Middle Ages. The full moon dimly lit my bedroom and I could see a little in the dark. I let out a yelp as I felt my wrists pulsing. What the? I looked down at my hands and nearly screamed. My veins looked as if they were popping out of my skin. I could feel them pushing up to the surface of my flesh.

I whimpered in both pain and fear as watched my wrists throb as my veins were pushing up to the surface of my flesh. I let out another yelp as I felt my skin being stretched, it felt as if it were going to be torn apart, but somehow it didn’t. I let out another yelp as it felt like someone was trying to tear me limb from limb. What was going on?? I really wanted to cry out for my mayor dad for help, but would he really help? He would just get mad more than anything. The sound of my cries sounded very similar to my father’s when he went through the pain of transforming.

Something was very wrong. It felt like my bones were breaking and being reformed. Restructured. The most painful part was in my face. I nearly screamed at that. My teeth ached horribly as I felt them reshape themselves. I just laid there, not knowing what was happening or what to do. My knees made a horrible popping sound as my leg bones hardened themselves, and I nearly doubled in stature, and tripled in size. The thickness in my bones quadrupled, in a way I felt so strong yet so weak from all the pain. My heart raced, I was sure I was dying.

I could see the veins in my legs pulsing out of my skin almost, it felt as if my veins would break in half! I panicked. I began to hyperventilate. If that happened I would bleed out! What if my arteries get torn?? But somehow they didn’t. I finally screamed as everywhere on my body was being stretched unnaturally. I squeezed my eyes shut waiting for the pain to go away. There were holes in the sheets of my bed and I didn’t know why. I was gripping them tightly with my fists but I felt large holes that were ripped through them.

I panted heavily as the pain finally began to subside. I looked down at my hands that were no longer hands. I saw long black nails and realized they were claws. Sharp claws. My hands had doubled in size, and were furry. I could see ginger colored fur, the same color as my hair. My senses were completely different. At first I didn’t know what was happening. I could hear everything. I could hear people talking yards away. I looked around searching for all the sounds not realizing how far away they really were.

My hearing was so clear, so indescribably perfect, as was my eyesight, and smell. OWWW! I yelped out as I felt a sharp pinch on my lower lip. Some blood had dripped from my mouth. I felt the inside of my mouth only to discover incredibly sharp fangs and teeth painful to even poke. No wonder I accidentally pierced my lip, these teeth could probably bite through wood! I sat up in bed and heard a thumping noise. What was that thumping noise? What was making that noise. It sounded like something was thumping on the bed.

Suddenly I looked behind me and gasped. It scared me at first, I looked to see something thumping up and down. I realized it was my tail.. I didn’t even realize I was doing that. Not until I looked behind me. Everything was so different with my new senses. It was as if I was in a whole new atmosphere. This is truly incredible, I whispered to myself. Wait until mayor dad- oh, mayor dad. Was that really a good idea? I then got on my werewolf feet and stood up for the first time. I opened the door slowly, and made my way down the halls. I looked in a large fancy mirror in the hallway. My reflection scared me at first but it was in fact me. I liked the sound that my clawed feet made against the tile.

There was my father’s bedroom in front of me, he was still sound asleep. Do I even dare? I asked myself. I slowly made my way into his room and stood beside his bed. I was about to wake him but then I decided against it last minute. No it wasn’t a good idea. He already thinks so low of me so who knows what he will think now. That’s what I get for opening up to him. No I have to go back to bed and try to figure out how to turn back into a human before morning.

I made my way back out the room but I was looking down at my clawed hands in amazement and not looking where I was going when I walked right into the bedroom doors. Oh crap— then my heart literally stopped beating for a second as my mayor dad sat up in bed and turned on his lamp. Thank goodness he still had his sleep mask on. He was also in wolf form but sleeping in wolf form. “Gil is that you?” He asked.

Uhh, yeah it’s me! I shocked myself with how my voice sounded. It was lower and sounded deeper than before. I could see a confused expression under my dads sleep mask. Why do you sound even more strange than usual Gil? Uhh no reason my throat just hurts, I responded in a panic. “Well go drink water or something, I already have to deal with the awful sound of your voice all day everyday, but this is just even more irritating which I didn’t even think was possible!” My dad scoffed. Yes mayor dad! I said softly. I made my way back to my room.

End of flash back

Gil’s pov

I felt my heart do a flip in my chest as I recalled that terrifying night. That was close. Too close. My mayor dad already thinks badly enough of me, if he finds out I’m also half werewolf it will be a whole new level of ridicule. He already loves to watch me fail, and if he knows how much I’m struggling with this issue it will only lead to more abuse and he would only think even more badly of me, but how long can I keep this from him? I finally reached home and went straight upstairs.

I was worried that mayor dad would start to get suspicious on why I wasn’t clinging to his side like usual. I always had to finish cleaning the mansion quickly before he got home. Or else he would make me do it when he got home and by then it might happen.. I hope not. All I knew was I that I had to tell someone about this as this was killing me to keep inside. Who could I trust though? Will I ever find the courage to tell my father?

#gil shelbourne #mayor shelbourne #cwacom tv series #cwacom tv show #cloudy with a chance of meatballs the series #cloudy with a chance of meatballs #fic #werewolf shelbourne #werewolf #werewolves

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definitelynotagentm · 1 year

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Dont You (Forget About Me)

When Mason met Jade Howard, he never expected her to be more than a fling. Until the moment he lost her forever and realised there had never been anyone who meant as much to him as she did.

~An alternative ending to book 3 with original scenes, written from Mason's POV.

Wordcount: 6,313 Rating: M

You can also read it on AO3.

—————

A summer storm rolled dark clouds over the small town of Wayhaven. An ominous clap of thunder struck the ground nearby, and for a moment the sky lit up.

In the shadows of the night, a tall man made his way through the graveyard. His long, wavy hair clung to his freckled face, soaked from the rain. He held a bottle of cheap champagne in his right hand and a single crimson rose in the other.

As another flash of lightning illuminated the deserted cemetery, he stopped. The man bent and added the flower to the sea of bouquets on the recently closed grave. His shoulders slumped as he let out a deep sigh.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

A loud pop followed and the man took a sip from the champagne. His face twitched as he reluctantly swallowed.

“I still don't know why the fuck you like this shit.”

He chuckled to himself, but fell silent as reality set in. The one he longed for would never defend her drink of choice again.

Mason set the opened bottle down among the flowers. “You don't mind if I drink from the bottle, do you?” He asked, but the memory of her doing just that was enough of an answer.

“In your defence, we still don't have any suitable glasses back at the warehouse,” he said with a huff. “Although they'd be useless anyway, since we're leaving Wayhaven now that…”

A lump formed in his throat and his eyes began to tear, mixing with the rain on his face as he collapsed. He fell to his knees and read the gravestone over and over, wondering when this endless nightmare would end. Desperately wishing it was just another bad dream.

But it wasn't. It was real. This nightmare was his new reality.

Jade Howard, aged 31 - in memory of our beloved daughter, friend and sweetheart.

—————

Ten years later…

The last of the sunlight cast long shadows across Wayhaven Cemetery. A fresh layer of snow crunched under Mason's shoes as he made his way to the grave he had not visited in a decade. The cold winter afternoon sent shivers down his spine. Thanks to his overly sensitive skin, Mason never enjoyed the cold. On top of his many layers of clothing, he wore a beige scarf. It wasn't an item that matched his usual attire, which consisted of dark clothes made of heavy materials, but this scarf was an exception. It belonged to her .

When the temperature dropped, Jade Howard wore this scarf every day. Now, years later, so did Mason. The simple piece of clothing felt like a comfortable blanket, a way to be close to her. But the sweet scent of her perfume washed away with time, and now it was just another slowly fading memory.

He brought a single crimson rose and a bottle of the cheap champagne his beloved had loved so much, just as he had on his last visit. The cemetery, like Wayhaven, hadn't changed a bit in the last decade.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

He said as he placed the flower on Jade's grave. It's the only flower there this time. The horrible sight of a lonely gravestone sent a wave of anger down Mason's spine.

“Seems like I'm the only one who still gives a damn, eh?”

Deep down he knew that was not true, that his absence was part of the reason the grave was lonely. It wasn't his fault; Unit Bravo had been forced to leave Wayhaven shortly after Jade's death, which meant that Mason had lost his home in more ways than one.

“It's been... a while since I've visited,” he continued, knowing damn well that it had been a decade. “I'm sorry 'bout that…”

He leaned against Jade's gravestone and began to fiddle with the champagne bottle. He popped the cork, sending a loud bang through the cemetery. Ten years later, Mason still didn't like the taste of champagne. But she did, and that was all that mattered.

“I suppose you can blame your mother for that.” Mason sighed, a frown creasing his face. “We moved around more than ever before. You'd have liked that, I guess... Remember when you said you wanted to leave Wayhaven to explore the world? Well, it's no fucking fun without you.”

He put the bottle down on the gravestone and took a pack of cigarettes from his studded leather jacket. “Sorry, I started smoking again,” his gut twitched with guilt as he lit one of the cigarettes and took a long drag. The smoke in his lungs temporarily numbed the feeling of frozen needles pinching his skin, but it returned as soon as he exhaled.

—————

Ten years earlier…

The sun was rising over the warehouse. As the sunlight crept over the tops of the trees, the birds began to chirp. A deer grunted somewhere in the distance, and an owl hooted in response. The forest was slowly waking up, just like the rest of Wayhaven.

Mason could tell from the clear skies that it was going to be another disturbingly hot day. He couldn't wait for autumn, or at least the rare two weeks when he was somehow able to cope with the ever-changing temperatures.

This time, however, it was not just the weather that was bothering Mason. The number of missing Agency employees and random Wayhaven residents was worrying him. There were trappers lurking all over the city, but they always escaped whenever United Bravo got too close. And then there was the damn bird man, who would stop at nothing - not until he had her .

A shiver ran down Mason's spine as he finally decided to light the cigarette that had been hanging from his lips for hours.

“Oh, sorry, I didn't realise you were up here.”

He turned to the warm sound of Jade's voice. She was dressed in a revealing workout set, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Her cheeks were flushed and her heart was pounding. Mason was not sure if that was because he was the one causing the reaction, or if she had actually just finished a workout.

“It's early,” he commented. “Shouldn't you be in bed, sweetheart?”

“Couldn't sleep,” she said, sitting down beside him. “I was in the training room and tried to do a bit of sparring with Nate, but I could tell he would rather talk me through the nightmares than fight me.”

“You should've asked me,” Mason said with a grin as he ran his eyes down Jade's toned body. Her tight gym clothes hugged her body in all the right places. “Especially with this on.”

“Oh... Um... Than -I mean... I'll keep that in mind for next time…”

Even if she had not admitted it yet, Mason knew that Jade liked his attention. It was far too easy for him to make her blush, to make her stumble over her words. It was a game between them, one he was slowly winning — although it was no longer just the game that piqued his interest.

Mason and Jade were drawn to each other like magnets. No matter what happened, every look, every touch, every conversation seemed to bring them closer together. Unfortunately, they could also push each other away with the same magnetic force.

Mason didn't understand why, but his pheromones affected the detective when they shouldn't. The first time he used them around her, they gave her an instant migraine. It confused him at the time, but he soon realised it happened every time. The effect scared him enough to never use them again... but unfortunately, using pheromones wasn't always a choice.

Just the other day he was reminded that he wasn't always in control. Mason knew he should have cleaned his crystal sooner. Waiting just made the damn thing an unnecessary danger to himself and everyone around him.

But leaving Jade behind for a few hours was inevitable if he wanted to clean it. Mason wasn't comfortable with that, so he put off the cleaning as long as he could. Too long.

When Jade took him to the local antique shop, Mason broke down. The part of himself he had tried so desperately to keep hidden came out in full force. Surprisingly, he didn't regret it. It was then that he realised how the simplicity of Jade's embrace seemed to calm his hyper senses. If only for a minute, her touch could somehow replace the crystal, allowing him to stay in control and think clearly.

Clear about everything that was not her , at least. For someone who had never had any understanding of his own emotions, Jade was surely the cause of a lot of them.

Attraction. Excitement. Desire. Concern. Yearning. Despair. Worry. Fear. Trust. Anxiety. Longing. Worry. Worrying again. More longing. Always worried.

Why did everything have to be so god damn confusing?

Jade rested her head on Mason's shoulder as they both stared at the rising sun in silence. Her hand was close to his, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. For a while, lost in thought once again, he stared at the closeness of their hands.

The veins on her freckled hand pulsed, slightly dilated by the summer heat. He could hear her blood pumping in a steady beat, the sweet scent of it dangerously tempting.

But the temptation was dulled by Mason's concern for the woman beside him. The faded remnants of the bruises that covered her skin, inflicted by the birdman's attack, were a grim reminder of the ever-present danger.

“Maybe it's not a good idea... considering I'm still healing from the Annunaki attack and you're not exactly…”

Mason's attention snapped back to Jade's words, unsure of what she was referring to. It took him a few moments to realise that she was still talking about her combat training.

“I'm not exactly what?”

Jade just looked at him uncertainly before standing up. As she stared down at her feet, he could hear her heart beat a little faster. From the way she shifted her weight from one foot to the other and swallowed nervously, he could tell she was searching for the right words.

“I guess…” she started, but stopped to turn her back to him. “Just... maybe I shouldn't get so close to you while you're still so... confused ... about... us.”

And then she walked away without looking back. Leaving Mason and his confusing thoughts alone.

—————

Mason took another swig from the bottle of champagne, each sip making him wish that the sparkling liquid would start to taste better in some way.

“I should've known back then,” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe in a way... I suppose I did... I imagine everyone knew except me.”

He sighed and took another sip of champagne. In the short time he had been at the cemetery, the blizzard had intensified. Mason pulled Jade's scarf tighter around his neck, trying to ignore the cold wind that pricked his skin like thousands of tiny needles. No matter what the weather was like, Jade deserved his attention.

It didn't take much to convince Adam to take a detour to Wayhaven. After all these years, no member of Unit Bravo had really processed the detective's death. Then again, none of his teammates had loved the detective the way Mason had — he was sure of that.

“I found this,” he said as he pulled an old iPod shuffle out of his pocket. “Would you be surprised if I told you this damn thing disappeared because of Nate?”

A chuckle escaped his lips. “He thought it was some sort of early model, agency battery or something - not sure what he expected from the earphones though.”

Mason turned on the iPod, which was surprisingly still working after years of collecting dust in an Agency storage. The only reason he had found it was because he had helped Nate find something that used to be on display in their old home.

Years ago, while living in the Warehouse, Jade had lost her iPod after returning from a run. She never left the house without music and made quite a fuss about losing it. Nobody knew, or wanted to admit they knew, where it was. Now, years later, he found the damn thing in a cupboard that used to be in the living room of the Warehouse.

“Nate just put it away because he had no idea what the hell it was,” Mason went on, shaking his head in disbelief. “You can bet he felt guilty about it once he did.”

Mason's finger hovered over the play button, wondering what the last song Jade had listened to had been. He had never been a fan of music, at least not that he could remember, but he made an exception for Jade.

“Funny, really…I always assumed it was Felix who stole it to put the crap he was listening to on the damn thing.”

Knowing that he could hear the music without the earphones, he pressed play.

Slow change may pull us apart when the light gets into your heart, baby — Don’t you, forget about me.

Mason's brow furrowed in a sad frown as he listened to the lyrics. Suddenly he understood them much better than the last time he had heard them: sung by a drunken Jade at Laycott’s Bar and Grill.

—————

Ten years earlier…

I’m at Laycott's Bar and Grill with Tina and Verda. If I’m not back in an hour, please come and rescue me.

Remembering Jade's friends would have been a lot easier for Mason if he'd paid attention to them in the first place. Fortunately, there weren't that many people in her life. He soon realised that she was talking about Bobblehead and the Doctor (or whatever he was) from the Wayhaven P.D. Jade would not appreciate those nicknames, though.

Even if she had tried to hide it from him earlier, Mason knew that she was glad that Tina had dragged her and Verda down to the local bar for a night out. Jade deserved a night of carefree fun, her life shouldn't be filled with threats and potential complications.

Surprisingly, Mason heard nothing from her that night. An hour passed slowly. And another. And another. And another. When midnight struck, Jade was still AWOL.

How long do bars actually stay open in this shithole? Mason wondered as he walked down the road towards the town square.

The forest was silent, and Mason couldn't help but wonder what dangers lurked in the shadows. There would certainly be trappers and rogue supernaturals. Werewolves. Actual wolves... no, the United Kingdom didn't have wolves... right?

Still, Mason knew the world was dangerous, especially for a human with mutated blood and a massive trapper's bounty on her head. So. Much. Danger. He scowled, wondering when and how he had started to act so much like Adam — looking for signs of danger wasn't something he usually did.

Jade had hugged him earlier that day. Accidentally, but it was a hug nonetheless — and Mason didn't mind. Maybe he even enjoyed it. Miraculously. No overwhelmed hyper senses, not even the tiniest fraction of pain. He just felt her warm embrace, her soft touch as she caressed his skin. The warm, spicy scent of her perfume: tobacco leaf, pink pepper, rum. The steady but loud beating of her heart acted like a soothing white noise.

Mason was so caught up in his own thoughts about Jade that he didn't even notice that he had already made it to the centre of town. Just like every other Wayhaven resident, it seemed. The town was busy, alive. Everyone had made their way to the local bar that night, and Mason soon discovered why: Karaoke.

“A round of applause for our very own Detective Howard!”

“Oh fuck no,”

Mason muttered to himself as he entered the bar, just as a new song began to play. He made his way through the sea of drunk and screaming people.

This couldn't be a worse situation for a vampire with extreme hyper senses. A vampire who had now found the woman he so desperately needed and wanted to protect, standing on the bar with a microphone in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other.

“Won't you come see about me? I'll be alone, dancing, you know it, baby. Tell me your troubles and doubts giving me everything inside and out and—”

He grinned at the sight: he had never seen Jade so... carefree before. She was a terrible singer, but no one else seemed to mind as she sang the lyrics to the Simple Minds song loud and proud.

Mason slowly approached the bar. Jade was attracting a lot of attention, which could prove dangerous. Even though he didn't feel any immediate danger, he was close by just in case.

“Mason!”

He turned at the high-pitched call of his name. Bobblehead came running towards him, two shots of tequila in hand, and the Doctor followed close behind.

“What are you doing here?” She asked as she pressed the shot glass into his hand. “Jade told us you hate crowds and... well, anything fun, really.”

“She's right about that,” he replied coldly, his face twitching at the sharp and pungent scent of the drink.

“Then drink up, buddy.”

Figuring it was probably the only way to shut her up, Mason reluctantly agreed.

“Don't you forget about me. Don't, don't, don't, don't. Don't you forget about me.”

“She's amazing, isn't she?” Verda said, elbowing Mason to his side. “It took some convincing to get her up there, but it's been a long time since Jade has let herself go like that.”

Mason wasn't sure if he agreed with Verda's statement. Her tone was off. Way off. But the doctor was right. For probably the first time since he'd met her, Jade looked like she didn't have a care in the world.

She let her hair down. Her silk blouse was unbuttoned much lower than usual, revealing the red lace bra she wore underneath. The alcohol made her cheeks flush a bright pink, a warm contrast to her pale complexion. Jade ran her hands through her messy blonde locks, eyes closed as she memorised the lyrics.

“I've never seen so much desire in one look — the way you look at her could set this bar on fire.”

Mason snapped his eyes back to Verda, who looked at him with an amused smile. The Doctor seemed to be waiting for an answer, but Mason had no intention of giving him one.

“Go Jade, Wooh! ”

Tina's high-pitched voice snapped Jade out of her self-induced trance. She audibly gasped as her green eyes locked with Mason's grey ones.

“As you walk on by, will you call my name?” She continued to sing, but with much less confidence than before. “As you walk on by, will you call my name?”

Mason turned to face the bartender, trying his best to ignore the burning gaze on his back. There was no need to drag Jade away from the spotlight, she may have been drunk, but she wanted to sing herself. She enjoyed the attention. It would have been selfish to take it away.

"Who knew the detective had it in her?"

Mason's attention snapped to the other side of the bar where two men were practically drooling over Jade. He didn't like the way they were undressing her with their eyes - it was too primal. He knew that look better than anyone, but seeing it used on Jade made him boil with rage.

“I bet you a tenner I’ll get her to suck my co—”

Mason didn't even realise how fast his feet had dragged him over. He let out a low growl that had the men turning around in an instant.

“You got a problem, mate?” One of them snapped.

“I bet you a tenner that you’ll lose that small cock of yours if you force yourself onto the detective,” he growled. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“Yo man, we didn’t mean—”

“Get out.”

Mason growled again as he rolled up his sleeves. The two men exchanged a worried look and hurried off without looking back.

“ When you walk on by… And you call my name… When you walk on by…”

—————

Mason chuckled at the memory of the bar as the song stopped. He turned off the iPod and folded the earphones neatly around it.

“Remember how you begged me not to tell the others about the karaoke show?”

Even though Jade was having fun, she was kind of embarrassed that she had let herself go too far. Being a detective meant she couldn't have that kind of fun anymore... or so she kept telling herself. Mason didn't agree, he enjoyed seeing that wild side of her... he just wished she'd let him see it more often. In these dark days, that was the side of Jade Mason he longed for the most.

“I can tell you now that... that…” he hesitated before continuing.

Mason took a deep breath to let the fresh, cold air enter his system. The warm comfort of Jade's scarf brought his thoughts back to him as he bent to place the iPod in front of her headstone.

“I should have kept you close that night…”

—————

On that dreadful night…

“Is it so bad that I don't want you to go alone?” Mason snapped, a wave of anger mixed with worry washing over him.

There was no way he was going to let Jade go to the auction alone, even if it was the most logical option. The other option was to work with her mother. In retrospect, that would have been the safest option.

She didn't want to work with Rebecca. He understood that — she loathed the woman who dared call herself her mother.

But it was dangerous. Far too dangerous.

“These people want you dead, sweetheart,” his shoulders slumped and he took Jade's hands in his. “Please, please don't do this... there will be another—”

“I have to do this, Mason,” she pleaded, a single tear rolling down her cheek. “I have to try and save these poor people…”

Mason brushed the tear from Jade's cheek and tried his best to fight the sudden urge to cry himself. He couldn't remember another time when he felt so full of emotion, so scared . At least not like this.

“They're already lost, sweetheart.”

“Then give me a reason not to go,” she argued. “A real reason.”

He swallowed reluctantly and stepped back. They locked eyes and Mason crossed his arms over his chest. “You know I'm…”

“I don't think you are, sunshine .”

“What do you want me to say?” He argued. “That I’m recklessly, headlessly in love with you?”

Jade copied his stance, crossing her arms over her chest and dropping her eyes to the floor. He could tell by her rapid heartbeat and sharp breathing that his words stung more painfully than a bee.

“It’s going to be all heartbreak, sweetheart,” He snapped. “Blissfully, painful and insanity.”

“Then why…” she murmured.

“Do you really think I could manage without you now?” He sighed and they both fell silent.

“Maybe I don't understand how you make me feel,” Mason said quietly, breaking his defences to take a step forward. “Fuck the auctioneer, fuck the birdman, fuck whoever…”

Mason cupped Jade's face with both hands and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Tears were now streaming from her eyes as she stared back at him.

“Just fucking make sure you come back to me.”

“Mason…” she whispered back.

Her hands moved to cup Mason's face and her gaze flickered between his eyes and lips.

Mason had lost count of how many times he had tried to kiss Jade. So far, none of those attempts had been successful. He wanted to have fun and she wanted more.

She made it very clear that she wouldn’t let anything happen between them unless he went all in — the very thing he never did or wanted to do. One night of fun and run: that was his thing.

But meeting Jade changed everything Mason thought he knew about himself and what he wanted out of life. It turned out that he knew absolutely nothing: this woman was more confusing than the concept of life itself.

And now she stood pressed against him, her hands caressing his cheeks and her tearful eyes locked on his lips.

“Jade, I—”

Jade moved her hands to the collar of his shirt, tiptoeing and pulling Mason down towards her. Their lips were so close that Jade's breath felt hot on his lips. The warm, spicy scent of her perfume was now mixed with a hint of spearmint toothpaste.

He leaned in carefully, giving Jade the opportunity to pull away if she wanted. But this time she didn't.

Jade's lips brushed against his, the touch so soft that Mason wondered if it was really happening. His questions were answered when her hands moved to the nape of his neck, pulling him even closer.

Mason wrapped his arms around Jade's waist, pulling her as close as she'd let him. He wanted to savour the moment as long as possible, fully expecting it to end as quickly as it had begun.

But Jade had no intention of pulling away. Instead, she parted her lips to let her tongue flick across his lower lip. Mason moved his right hand to cradle her cheek, deepening the kiss that exceeded all of his expectations.

The tension that had been building between them for months finally exploded. The sparks between them shot into the sky like fireworks on New Year's Eve. They moved gently, but with so much passion.

Mason felt completely consumed by Jade's kiss. The sound of the others arguing in the living room, the hoarse croaking of the ravens on the roof of the Warehouse and the dripping of the leaky tap in the bathroom — suddenly everything fell silent.

Time and space froze, there was only them.

A faint gasp left Jade as they parted. She stared at him with wide eyes, her cheeks flushed red and her heart beating faster than Mason had ever heard it. Maybe he wasn't as flustered as she was, but he was pretty sure his heart was beating just as hard.

With the brightest smile he had ever worn, he brushed his thumb across Jade's lower lip. For a moment he felt nothing but peace — but then he remembered that Jade was about to walk into a trapper's auction, risking more than just her life.

“You better get back to me tonight because, hell, I want to do that again.”

—————

A tear rolled down Mason's cheek as he thought back to the memory of the kiss he shared with Jade.

The only kiss they had ever shared.

Or second, if you counted the time she kissed his forehead after the trappers had almost finished him off in the sewers... fuck, of course that doesn't count.

Despite a decade passing by, Mason knew no one would ever be able to replace the affection Jade gave him.

Still, he remembered every time their hands brushed together. Every time he stood so close to her seat that their thighs touched. Every time she smiled. Or chuckled. Or laughed. Or, rarely, cried with laughter.

He remembered it all.

Those were the moments he ended up treasuring more than the kiss — but every time he thought of them, the happy memories were overshadowed by sadness and pain and most of all: guilt.

—————

“As promised, our final lot of the night: the blood of Ethan Murphy's vessel.”

Mason pushed his way through the crowd of supernaturals who had come to the trapper's auction. If he could, he'd beat each and every one of those assholes to such a point that the Agency would have no choice but to lock him up for good.

Ethan Murphey's vessel... that was all Jade meant to Anwir and these damned souls. Not to Mason. To him, she was everything, and he would have to do whatever it took to save her.

There was hardly any light in the dark room, which made it easy for Mason to hide in the crowd. All eyes were on the stage at the moment, but it wouldn't be long before someone noticed that he was the only one without any gold embroidery on his dark clothes.

“I’m sorry, are you telling me you’re trying to sell something to these people based on rumours and stories alone?”

Mason's heart sank as he heard Jade's desperate attempt to free herself. Seconds later, the trappers gagged her mouth and the sweet, seductive smell of her blood filled the room as Anwir cut her skin to prove how powerful Jade's blood was.

“No…”

Mason pushed harder, he had to get closer. Saving Jade was all that mattered, and knowing that every supernatural in the room was now out for her blood made that almost impossible. Everywhere he looked, people licked their lips and their eyes grew wide.

Anwir began the auction, followed by black bidding paddles shooting into the air faster than even he could keep up with.

He knew there was only one way to stop the bidding: join in — and win.

“And what if we’re not interested in her blood?”

Magically enchanted lights descended upon him. The people around him began to whisper and the auctioneer stood on his toes to find his gaze, but Mason only had eyes for one.

“Why? What do you want?” Anwir had answered him, but Mason had barely heard his words.

“Every inch of her. If she’ll allow it.”

He didn't mean it to sound like an innuendo, but the sudden whispering of people fanning themselves with their paddles made Mason seriously rethink his words.

Still, he meant every word he said.

And so did Jade — he knew that the moment he was finally close enough to meet her eyes. She looked terrified, though a wave of relief seemed to wash over her as she knew he was getting closer.

“And what are you willing to give for all of her?” Anwir's voice cracked with excitement and he snapped his fingers. Without hesitation, the trappers threw Jade to the edge of the stage.

He wanted to lunge forward in anger, but instead he concentrated on her. Leaning against the edge of the stage, he gazed longingly into a pair of eyes as green as Jade's name suggested. His brow furrowed in concern as he traced the shape of her face with his index finger, then pulled the gag from her mouth before cupping her cheek.

What am I willing to give for all of her?

It was such a simple question, yet it was his answer that finally brought some clarity to his almost permanent state of confusion.

“More than I thought I would ever give for anyone.”

He replied without taking his eyes off Jade, who had remained silent throughout the exchange. For a moment everyone froze, there was only them .

“I’ll give you more for the entirety!”

A silver-eyed supernatural shuffled close, its paddle held as high in the sky as it could reach.

It was enough for Mason to tear his eyes away from Jade. Another wave of rage ran down his spine, his fangs almost cutting his own lip before he growled: “What the fuck did you just say?”

“I… This is an auction. The highest bidder—”

Mason lunged forward, hovering dangerously over the supernatural. "If you are the highest bidder, I can tell you exactly what will happen to you." The supernatural swallowed anxiously and hesitantly took a step back, still holding the paddle to the sky. “Drop it.”

With the stubborn supernatural out of the way, Mason returned to Jade. He could not remember if he had ever felt so worried about her.

“Wait!” The auctioneer snapped, now locking his eyes with Mason. “Don’t I know you?”

Mason didn't have to answer the supernatural when a violent crash announced the arrival of the rest of Unit Bravo, accompanied by Unit Alpha. The Agency's presence caused immediate panic throughout the room.

People began to rush out of the room, knocking over anything in their path. The poor bastards knew they were in the wrong, they all wanted to find a way out.

This was the moment Mason had been waiting for, the perfect distraction to get Jade away. To get Jade to safety. The others would take care of themselves. Backup was on its way, probably already waiting outside.

But Mason waited too long.

The moment he turned, Jade was pressed against Anwir's chest. He pressed a sharp blade against her throat with enough force to make Jade wince in pain.

Overwhelmed with emotion, Mason wasn't sure what to do for a second. He was angry, frightened and worried all at the same time.

Jade's eyes grew wider than Mason had ever seen them before. A drop of red began to trickle down her neck.

“Now, I’m sure we can come to some kind of beneficial arrangement—agh!”

Jade tried to fight back. She stomped her foot on Anwir's, trying to make him let go. But Anwir wasn't impressed and tightened his grip on the panicked woman.

“Ethan Murphey was right, his vessel is a bit feisty …” he laughed. “It's a shame we didn't get to spend more time together.”

Mason's vision blurred as time slowed before his eyes. He was too late — pools of red running down Jade's neck as her body limped to the floor.

In a flash, the auctioneer was gone, and Mason did everything he could to ignore the overpowering smell of her blood. He leapt onto the stage, cradling Jade in his arms and doing his best to stop the bleeding.

She struggled to breathe, her eyes filled with panic as she stared at him. She tried to reach out to him and say another word, but then everything fell silent.

“No... Jade, NO!”

Her eyes became misty, her hand fell to the ground... and her heart stopped beating.

Jade Howard was dead.

—————

“I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart…”

Mason didn't even notice that he started to cry. Or that the snow had stopped falling. That the birds had gone completely silent. The world was as frozen as it'd been for ten years.

“I should have…”

Guilt washed over Mason. Not just for failing to save her, but for everything.

For treating Jade like crap for months, just because he was too stubborn to accept that he might find out he could feel something for her. How he didn't just admit that he was in—

None of it mattered anymore, there was nothing left.

Mason let the tears stream down his face as he finished the last of the cheap champagne he had brought to his lover's grave. For once, he let himself feel everything .

It’s like he told her all those years ago: All heartbreak, blissfully painful and insanity.

And it was all his fault.

“Police — Hand’s up!”

Mason was so caught up in his own feelings that he didn't even hear another person approaching. He turned on the spot and looked straight into one of the Agency's new shiny electric guns.

“Mason?”

The gun dropped, revealing the familiar face of Bobblehead . Detective Tina Poname, also Wayhaven's current human liaison, stared back at him, eyes wide.

Her mid-forties suited her well. Her once deep brown curls were now streaked with grey. Fine lines appeared around her eyes and mouth. The result of a lifetime of laughter, Mason guessed.

For he didn't know the detective well, but he knew that she was always annoyingly happy... except now.

“I-I…” she stammered. “I’m sorry…”

“It’s fine, I was—”

“It's fine,” she cut in. “I'll understand if you need a moment.” She looked down at the empty bottle of champagne in his hand. “You wouldn't happen to have another one of those, would you?”

“No,” he shook his head.

“It's all right... Knowing her , she appreciates the sentiment.” Tina replied with a small smile.

Mason nodded, not sure what to say next.

“I didn't think I'd ever see you here…” she admitted, her brow furrowed in concern. “I didn't even see you at the funeral... Nate said…”

“I was there.” He argued. “I just... I couldn't…”

“The cigarette buds…”

Tina's eyes drifted to a tree in a dark corner of the cemetery. It was the very tree Mason had hidden behind during the funeral. It had been close enough for him to hear every word of the ceremony, but far enough away to avoid unwanted... or rather, any attention. He didn't want it. Not from Unit Bravo. Not from Rebecca. Certainly not from anyone else.

“We got a call from a local about a suspicious person lurking around after closing,” Tina changed the subject.

“We've had problems with... grave diggers…” She swallowed and took a deep breath. “It's the first time since... well, all of this, that the agency suspects it's supernatural.”

“A supernatural?” Mason asks, wondering how much danger there was still lurking in the shadows of Wayhaven after all these years.

“The Agency seems to think it's an Aswang,” she continued, but paused, seemingly searching for the right way to ask her next question.

“I wonder…” She continued, pausing to take a deep breath. “Do you think Unit Bravo can help?”

Mason swallowed at the question. Part of him never wanted to return to Wayhaven, but another part felt it was his duty to stay.

She would want him to be here. For her, he would have done it without hesitation. In a way, he felt obligated to do exactly that.

“I guess…” Mason looked up at Tina and nodded before continuing. “Let's meet in your office in an hour. I'll call the others.”

Mason had to stay — for Jade.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #twc fanfic #twc mason #mason x mc #twc detective #fanfiction

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lurkinglurkerwholurks · 1 year

Text

Little Thieves

First posted: August 1, 2018

Focuses on: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, and Cassandra Cain

Tier: In the bottom half, for sure. I'd say bottom fourth, but it's been around long enough that's it's gathered at least some hits and kudos.

This is my "behind the scenes" series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Thoughts below the cut.

Another BatFam Week entry. I don't remember if this one had a specific origin, beyond a general melange of other fics that dabbled in AUs and/or Jason and Cass being twinsies.

The first time Bruce saw the little thief, the brat was three tires into the Batmobile and working on the fourth.

Piqued Bruce is always funny to me. Outwardly he's stoic, inwardly he's an emoji factory.

As always (for me), the logistics were the tricky part—thinking through how Bruce could have met Jason without Cass first, how they could've followed their original path to a point before it needed to deviate sharply but still make sense. I don't like fics that don't make sense.

He turned toward the door and spoke as he stepped out into the hall, “Turn right out of the door, take the first staircase you see, and then turn left through the swinging door. Dining room’s right there, can’t miss it. See you in fifteen, Jason.”

I had to sit and mentally walk through how I "saw" the Manor in my head. Do you know how much I hate doing that? Spaces are my bane. Don't describe spaces to me, I won't picture them.

When Bruce checked on Jason in the night and found the window open and the guest room empty, he was only a little surprised. He was more surprised by the thanks carefully printed on the paper left in the center of the bed atop a neatly folded pile of clothes.

You know what I love, though? Baby Jason. He's a hypervigilant and traumatized kid, but he's got manners! He knew Bruce didn't mean him any harm and didn't have to give him dinner but did anyways.

“That’s not food. That’s packing peanuts and caulk disguised as food.” Sometimes the line between Bruce and Batman was thinner than even Bruce himself realized.

Bruce and Batman... Bruce and Alfred...

And that was when the absent tire iron came whistling through the dark and struck Bruce in the back of the knees.

Cassandra Cain in any universe is a ballsy little firecracker.

What Bruce saw next was a head of short, spiky black hair, its face turned away from him.

Figuring out what Cass might look like in this universe was fun. Keeping feminine hair, even in a chin-length bob, didn't seem practical for multiple reasons. But a boyish hack job, maybe done by Jason? That made sense.

It felt like a track skipping in Bruce’s head. One second he was lurking in a dark bathroom; the next, he was in a fluorescent-lit exam room, looming over Jason’s prone body.

Sometimes my vision physically judders when I'm mad enough. I figured seeing a child—one he knows—beat to a pulp would do that for Bruce, but worse.

Bruce took another step forward, then stopped as his armor tapped against the knife leveled at his abdomen. He looked down. The other child stood between him and Jason, a serrated blade the length of their hand lifted to block his path. Their eyes locked on Bruce’s, dark and determined. The left half of their face was speckled with a fine mist of blood, the color counterbalancing the angry bruise on the opposite cheek bone.

Cassandra Cain. Ballsy. As. Heck. no matter the universe. She absolutely would have gone for Bruce's face if he'd pushed it.

“And that one,” Leslie continued, pointing at the silent one, “dove in to the scrum and pulled him out.”

I love the way I wrote them. It's very Kaz and Inej but with sibling loyalty and without the emotional constipation.

“Can she hear me?” Bruce asked, when Jason didn’t answer. Jason nodded. “She’s not deaf. She just doesn’t talk.”

That, though, that's Angels in the Outfield. Wonderful movie.

“Are you sure this is a wise idea, Master Bruce?” Alfred asked as they watched Leslie’s headlights pull up the long driveway. “No. But I’m sure it’ll be fine, Alfred. What could happen?”

I literally had A Plan. I knew how I wanted to deal with their arrival, with them figuring out Bruce was Batman, Dick, their teen years, "Death in the Family", all of it. Alas.

#fanfic bts brain dump

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dragonmuse · 1 year

Note

Was rereading the series (again) and got to wondering: did Stede and Eddy ever talk to Pearl the engineering student Stede met at the strip club about a new trap door?

(hello June 2022! I hope you still care at least a little about this answer, if not I hope it still serves for a spot of amusement for everyone else. This takes place roughly a month after Eddy and Stede's wedding.)

“Are you sure you don’t need another flash light?” Stede was asking the hole in the stage.

“No, I’m good!” A voice trailed up. “In fact, I think...”

There was a heavy ‘bang’.

“Are you all right?” Stede wrung his hands.

“Yep! That was just everything falling into place. Hold on, let me tag your mattress here back over...”

“Do we have a ghost?” Eddy laughed, posting up against the stage. She had been reconciling receipts in Stede’s...well their office now. This sounded far more fun.

“I’ll introduce you momentarily, dear girl,” Stede was peering down worriedly despite assurances.

A head popped up out of the hole. She was a striking woman, very pointed chin and high cheekbones. Her hair was cropped short, bleached blond, a pretty contrast to skin the same shade as Eddy’s.

“It’s locked in place. Do you have a sandbag or something we can test it with?”

“We have a bag of rice around somewhere,” Eddy put in. “From Roach’s risotto class. One of those real big ones.”

“That should do it.” A hand with a meticulous manicure and a grease stain reached out to her. “I’m Augusta. You must be Eddy.”

“I am,” she leaned forward to shake her hand. “You’re the performer that Stede connected with at his bachelor party?”

“I’ll say,” she laughed. “I was doing some of my best work and he was all ‘I own a club just like this, do you like working here?’ One of the chattiest clients I’ve ever had. Then he showed me a photo of you like three times.”

“Did he?” Eddy laughed, glancing at Stede, who didn’t look the slightest bit embarrassed.

“You were on my mind,” he just said blandly. “In any case, should we test her work?”

“Sure, I’ll get the rice.”

It was fun to watch the bag disappear into the darkness and the door no longer made a horrible noise when it swung open, so really it was a win all the way around.

“Good workmanship,” Eddy decreed. “What do you know about pulley systems?”

“Enough to get by,” she grinned.

The fix to the stubborn left curtain only took a few minutes and she did it on the spot. Stede went into the back to write a check for her and Eddy got her a glass of water.

“Thanks,” Augusta took it with a sly smile. “So that’s going well? You and him?”

“Has been,” Eddy agreed. “Did you think it wasn’t?”

“He was really cute, that’s all,” she took a sip of water. “But you know, sometimes that kind of thing is kind of one sided. You see all sorts of things sometimes.”

“It’s not,” Eddy shrugged. “I love the hell out of that man. No idea why they even took him to a strip club, not really his scene, but he seemed to have a good time.”

“Well he was until he fell asleep under Zeus. He was pissed,” she giggled.

“...who is Zeus and why have I not heard this before?”

Augusta left a few minutes later, check in hand, business card left behind for potential future work.

Eddy turned on her husband with bright eyes.

“What?” Stede asked warily.

“I heard the funniest thing just now. About a god and a man who does not seem to respect them.”

“Oh no,” Stede groaned. “I thought when you didn’t see the Instagram picture, I’d been spared.”

“There’s a photo?” Eddy lit up even more, delighted by the prospect.

“Oluwande took it. It apparently got a number of likes and comments,” Stede flushed. “I’d had a lot to drink, dear girl, and it had been a long night.”

“Show me,” Eddy demanded. “Right now, I need proof.”

“You’re a monster,” Stede scolded, but he was already taking out his phone.

The photo was priceless, Stede’s head back, totally knocked out while a very annoyed looking stripper stared down at him incredulously.

“You’re amazing,” Eddy wheezed. “Oh fuck, I love you so much. You were almost murdered, weren’t you?”

“I did tip him,” Stede snorted. “Once I roused.”

“I think the problem is that you weren ‘roused, golden boy.”

“Well it’s not my fault he wasn’t very good at his job!”

Eddy’s laughter rang out to the rooftop and eventually Stede even joined her. Later, at home, she found the post again and left a like and a comment.

‘Great wedding gift. 10/10.’

#leda house and the kraken verse #ficlet #stede teach bonnet #eddy teach bonnet

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venromanova · 1 year

Text

stormy nights ￫ chapter one.

MASTERLIST.

PAIRING ￫ Natasha Romanoff x Maria Hill SUMMARY ￫ Nick Fury sends Natasha and Maria on a mission together, in Venice. Needless to say, they do not get along working with one another. Despite their deep hatred for one another, nothing stops them from flirting and teasing each other, leaving the other in a constant state of frustration. WARNINGS ￫ swearing; mentions of murder; mention of guns.

“No!” Natasha bolted awake, sitting upright in her bed. “Shit…” she mumbled under her breath. Looking over at the clock beside her bed, she saw that it was blinking “3:55 a.m”. The redhead buried her head into her palms as she attempted to forget about the nightmare that had plagued her dreams for years.

The rain outside hit the window roughly as Natasha sat in bed. She attempted to slow her erratic breathing. After years of dealing with the same nightmare, she still could not manage to calm herself down. It was a rare occasion for her to do so, it was even rarer for her to not dream of that horrible night.

As lightning struck, Natasha’s room was lit up faintly, a glow of bluish light appearing for a moment before disappearing, leaving her in darkness once more. Natasha pulled herself together and got out of bed. In the dark, she changed into some workout clothes, grabbed her phone and walked out of her room. She kept walking until she reached the training room. Once she entered the room, she flicked on the lights, the brightness blinding her for a moment until her eyes adjusted to the light. The redhead began her usual daily workouts, trying deeply to forget about the nightmare.

—

Around an hour later, the training room’s door opened. Natasha turned toward the door and saw Maria walk in. The two women made eye contact for several moments until Natasha sighed and rolled her eyes, turning back to face the punching bag. She continued her steady punches against the bag, ignoring the brunette who was on the treadmill not too far from her.

After a while of the two working out, both their phones buzzed. Natasha walked over to the bench where her phone was sitting and she picked it up. There was a message from Fury, asking for Maria and her to meet him in one of the meeting rooms.

Maria shot Natasha a short look, clear annoyance on her face at the thought of them being assigned on a mission together. They gather their belongings and take a short walk to the meeting room together in silence.

—

Once they entered the room they noticed Fury already sitting there, flipping through the files in front of him. “Good morning agents, I apologize for the early meeting, but I need you both to surveillance in Venice,” he began to say as they seated themselves. He slid two folders across the table to them, they both opened the folders and began to skim through them.

Inside the folders were blurry pictures of a blonde girl wearing all black. Natasha squinted at the image, attempting to make out the unknown girl’s face. Aside from the photos of the blonde girl, there were several pictures of different crime scenes and reports from said crime scenes. All of the victims were S.H.I.E.L.D agents or informants. “There has been a series of murders happening in Venice, as you can see from the photos,” Fury explained, “it seems as though these homicides are related to the Red Room.”

Natasha’s face expressed something, at the mention of the Red Room, that Maria could not quite place. “How is that possible?” Natasha said abruptly, “Barton and I took down Dreykov years ago, the Red Room is no more.”

“I do not understand it either. All I know is that these killings are the same as the widows’ kills,” he sighed, understanding Natasha’s frustration. “This is why I need you on this mission, Agent Romanoff. You know more about the widows than any of us.”

Maria watched Natasha out of the corner of her eye. The redhead bit at her bottom lip in unease, the mention of the dreadful place that she grew up in bringing back unwanted memories. She stared at the papers in front of her, seemingly lost in thought.

Fury’s voice brought Natasha out of her daze, “I need the both of you to be ready to leave by this afternoon,” he said, gathering up his papers from the table. As he left the room, Maria glanced back over to Natasha. When she noticed Natasha’s gaze already on her, she looked away, gathering up her papers.

“What?” Natasha said, clear annoyance in her tone. The redhead began gathering her papers while shooting Maria a stern look. Maria ignored her and left the room, only for her to be followed closely by Natasha.

As they walked through hallways, Maria got increasingly infuriated by Natasha. She stopped abruptly, causing the redhead to bump into her. “What’s your problem, Romanoff? Why are you following me?” Maria questioned angrily, turning her head to look at the other agent.

“No reason to be so self-absorbed, Hill. I’m not following you,” she replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “In case you have forgotten, both our rooms are this way. I am simply heading to my room to pack.” With that, she walked off, leaving Maria standing there. As she walked off, she added an extra sway to her stride. Maria rolled her eyes as a silent response to the redhead's action.

—

Both women packed the essentials for their mission, as well as some extra things to keep themselves occupied. Natasha hated surveillance missions. She hated being cooped up in a room for weeks to months, with another agent. Usually, that other agent is Maria.

Despite them both constantly going on missions together and being partnered for tasks, their hatred for one another never failed to cease. In fact, the hatred only seemed to get stronger. Yet, neither one could give a valid reason as to why they hated the other so much.

—

Once they were both ready to leave, they headed over to the jet and hauled their things inside. All of the other equipment needed was already inside. The two women began the long journey to Venice, neither one speaking to the other.

Maria flipped through the case file while Natasha piloted the jet. Neither of them spoke for the majority of the flight. Aside from when Natasha called out to tell Maria that they were almost there. Maria just hummed in response.

What felt like minutes later, they landed. The two women grabbed their bags and left the jet. They walked a little way to reach their hotel.

—

Once they had made their way to their shared hotel room, the two women quickly walked to opposite sides of the room from each other. Maria placed her luggage on the bed and began taking things out and neatly placing them in the drawers to one of the dressers. Natasha, instead, placed her luggage beside her bed and left it there. Maria eyed Natasha carefully, watching as she sat on the edge of the bed and scrolled through her phone.

“I can feel you watching me, Hill,” Natasha said, interrupting the silence. Natasha got up from the bed and made her way around to the other side of the room. Maria backed up slowly as the redhead approached her until she bumped the dresser behind her. Natasha’s hands rested themselves on the dresser, trapping Maria. Their faces were mere inches apart. The brunette took a steady breath in and turned her face away from Natasha’s.

“Not so keen on looking at me now, are we, darling?” Natasha taunted, moving one hand off the dresser to grasp Maria’s chin. She turned her face so that they were eye-to-eye once more. Maria tried pulling her face away from Natasha, but she only tightened her grip on her face.

“Fuck you, Romanoff.” Maria pushed the redhead off of her, and Natasha only laughed in response.

Before she could say something, a noise coming from outside startled them both. Maria turned around and looked out the window. Natasha came up beside her and peered outside as well. “Is that-” Maria started, watching the woman on the street below them.

“Yes, it is. Come on,” Natasha cut the brunette off, grabbed the gun that was sitting on the edge of her bed, and rushed out of the hotel room.

The two women quickly rushed downstairs, hoping they would still be able to locate the blonde that Fury had tasked them to find. They notice her turning a corner not too far from them and they begin running towards her.

Natasha gets there first and grabs ahold of the blonde's arm, turning her around abruptly, and holding the gun close to the blonde’s head. A look of shock passes over her face as she looks at the unknown woman.

“Yelena?!”

#natasha romanoff #maria hill #blackhill #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #marvel #stormy nights #stormy nights chapter one #venromanova

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zombiequeenblog · 1 year

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So I've only seen a few things with Vincent Price, but your posts and tags always really make me want to watch more! Which movies of his would you recommend the most?

Oh, I'm so glad! I am quite a new fan girlie of his, there are others here who know way more about him than I do, like the lovely @ilovemesomevincentprice of course!

The more I learn about him the more I absolutely adore him, and though I haven't seen all of his work yet what I have seen has been absolutely delightful!

Dragonwyck (1946) black and white period drama based on the novel which is very good as well. Every farm girl's dream of marrying a handsome and wealthy landowner and going to live in his manor in 19th century New York. Vinny is so very dashing, and not quite the hero (that sneer!) and there is a beautiful ballroom dancing scene out on the balcony. The Cardinal catches Mouse reading this novel on his bed in sadglo after the disastrous dinner party lol.

House on Haunted Hill (1959) black and white horror film. Campy, creepy, and fun, with a very sexy dysfunctional marriage, and some delicious hair-pulling. There is a 1999 remake where Geoffrey Rush plays a hammed up version of Vincent Price which is also worth a cheesy watch, though it can't hold a candle to the original. Also, how do I become a cigarette?

Tales of Terror (1962) horror trilogy based on tales from Edgar Allan Poe. Some incestous vibes, comedy, and beautiful ladies swooning in terror. In my favourite tale, there is a star of a black cat and Vinny as a delightful wine taster, and lover (almost Terzo-esque). Also a horrible wtf dream sequence lol.

The Haunted Palace (1963) horror film with wonderful Poe and Lovecraftian vibes. I just want to live there with him, in his candle-lit mansion. And be assaulted in my bed in the middle of the night. I think I deserve that.

Twice-Told Tales (1963) another horror anthology, based on the works of Nathaniel Hawthorne (he wrote The Scarlet Letter). More incestous vibes, blood, and Vinny throwing a pretty lady to the ground! He literally slaps in this film, I don't know if he's ever been more handsome.

The Comedy of Terrors (1964) horror comedy film which is an absolute delight! So good. Vinny is an absolute jerk in this, a real dick, a bastard, yet somehow you can't help but love him! Another cat (orange this time), Vinny in a waistcoat, and sexy strangulation.

The Masque of the Red Death (1964) horror film with more Poe vibes. Vinny is very Cardinal in this, he plays a literal satanist! What I would give to be taken up to his castle, and persuaded to share in his unholy faith! So much sexual tension here, it's maddening.

The Great Mouse Detective (1986) I had to include this animated mystery adventure sherlock film because it was one of my favs as a little girl and I didn't even know that Vinny voiced the villain! A rat, no less! In a black suit and cape! There is also a cat, lol. Vinny performs two songs in this, and he's delightful, I just love it!

Vincent was so talented, and seemed to impart a sensual depth to every villain, making them much more interesting than any hero could ever be. He is so very Cardinal Copia-esque, in his looks and in his mannerisms, so my love for him just feels natural. A wonderful man, who played wonderful characters flawlessly!

Sic transit gloria mundi.

#vincent price #ask box #cardinal copia #thank you #sadglo #i need to watch more of his films #and i want to get the cookbooks he made with his second wife #i hope i got the gifs accurate for the right films lol #it's late and i am very tired #wish I had him to tuck me in

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eenkleinleven · 2 years

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cant wait to hear your thoughts about the play!! know i am living vicariously through you and i hope your emotional recovery is going well!

Oh, I won't ever be okay again. It was great. A woman in the audience had an episode of vasovagal syncope in the first hour of the play because of the blood. She almost staggered onto the stage and they had to pause to get her medical attention. Majd got to ask "is there a doctor in the audience?" And the luckiest man alive got to get up, and say "I am". I was so tickled by that. Is this not the sort of thing doctors aspire to do?

Because my brain is rotted like wooden support beams after a decade of flooding, I thought "he's certainly going to be comfortably situated in his Andy oats for the rest of the night".

Here's some other things that struck me, though.

In no particular order:

Ramsey Nasr does a great job of capturing the fact that Jude is sort of adorable. There were moments where I was caught off guard by it and thought to myself: "ah, that's cute." In the adoption scene, when he hugs Willem, he actually like... really wrapped himself around him. Like, a real leap of a hug.

The little kisses everyone gives Jude on his head! Oh, my heart!

Hans Kesting is so good at what he does. A terrifying presence on stage. Particularly as Dr. Traylor, but there is a palpable cruelty to the way he plays Caleb. Like a housecat batting around a baby bird.

Another thing: during the car scene, he tilted the light at each rotation to make sure everyone in the audience was momentarily blinded.

Oh, god! The Greene St scene with Caleb was a real shock! The whole room was bathed in this horrible (good horrible) white light. Even I felt a little exposed.

Another "oh, god" moment was during the moment with Caleb showing up at Greene St and forcing Jude to undress and Jude calls out to Ana and asks her to take his watch. Something about that made me sob.

There was a moment where Ana was watching--I believe--Willem and Jude having sex, if memory serves. And while, you know, I could say more important things about that, the only thing that came to mind was this:

JB was so... Flamboyant. Sort of this:

I noted that they changed his dialogue to deprive me of something I thought was funny which is that they made him Syrian, which makes sense! But White JB is funnier.

They had someone other than Steven van Watermeulen playing Harold. I'll say this: highly effective. Absolute law professor energy. The long strides, pacing around the stage, the tone of voice, the expressions! All perfect. I felt the urge to prepare myself to think about the commerce clause and standing, and if that doesn't speak to his performance, then what does?

The ending of the play really got to me, because Harold walks out into the audience and looks at the stage with us before it goes dark. I wept!

I may just be a sucker for string accompaniments, but they managed to make the air thick with tension at times.

When Jude cut himself and the screens would dissolve into a bright, hazy static, I found that really immersive.

The burning scene was an interesting one for the audience. When he lit the match, people *gasped*. To see that bright light flickering, almost imperceptible, from inside of the sink as Jude recites these rapid-fire free association memories, it is just *devastating*.

I might be a softie, but it really tugged at my heartstrings to see Jude crying. I really felt for him. All throughout, really, I often found that I could only think: it's difficult, isn't it? It's difficult to know what to do, and even harder to do it.

Certain instances of the blocking (i.e. where everyone is standing on a stage) were downright electric. Moments where, say, Jude, Harold, and Brother Luke would be standing like points on a diagonal line struck me as genius. The staging of past-present was just so neat. Lots of spatial triangulation.

I forgot that Ramsey Nasr was in the opera adaptation of Death in Venice (also ITA), so the clarity of tone in his singing was unexpected, and thus, all the more beautiful.

Oh, and one last thing: in the scene where Willem dies, there's this instant where Jude is hugging him, and as he pulls away, Jude held onto his cardigan for just long enough before letting go.

#een klein leven #a little life

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kristinakyidyl · 2 years

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s1e9 Trailer

So, in my ongoing quest to get better at guessing things and also for fun, the e9 trailer!

As per usual, this WILL CONTAIN BOOK SPOILERS. At the end of e8, Viserys died (I got that right! Even the bit about seeing Aemma, although not in the way I thought.). The next episode is called "The Green Council". In the book, when Viserys is discovered dead, Alicent hides it and gathers the small council. During this council they decide to crown Aegon the Elder, creating him Aegon II Targaryen. And, yes, he's just as much of a piece of shit in the books.

We start with a dark, empty, cold throne room. A huge contrast to how it was warm and lit up for the welcome feast for Rhaenyra's wedding - although likely still as violent. However, this scene is lit in a way that feels cold and empty. Just as when Aemma died, so too does Viserys's death bleed life out of the Red Keep.

Next, we have the three usurping assholes. As I mentioned, when Viserys dies, the Greens keep this information to themselves. They don't even allow the Silent Sisters to tend to the body (this is probably the purpose of showing them this week - so we can see the immediacy and purpose of their work.) and it begins to rot...well, you know, more than when he was alive. :P Instead, they call together the small council, and that's what we're seeing here. They've been dragged out of bed and into the room, and the balls are on the plates, and so it's in session, and the small council is being informed of the King's death.

Look at Alicent. She looks horrible. She looks so unhappy to be there whilst Otto and Crispin look unbothered. Her grief here appears to be genuine. It appears that she's feeling the weight of everything...her husband's death, what she thinks is going to happen, the decision she has to make...all of it.

Next shot is a Kingsgard cleaning his sword. I'm assuming it's Criston, but it's meant to symbolize the upcoming war in the trailer. I think what it actually shows is swords being cleaned before another shot we see later on that is from Aegon's coronation.

Alicent saying "he told me he wanted Aegon to be king" to someone, presumably her dad. She's crying here, so it's likely this is right after Viserys is found. I'm not sure how seriously I think she's going to take Viserys's last words, but it looks like it's her turn to make some really bad decisions. Whether she does that because of his last words, her father's influence, her own ambition, or a combination of those is more what I think we'll find out.

These next two shots are likely of the same scene, and I've circled what was pretty much the only hint as to what they're looking at. It's a Kingsgard. This is clearly after the scenes in the actual green council, because those happen at night and this is a daytime scene. My guess here for these two is that it's Aegon's coronation, although it seems like the crowd here is moving quickly and is either upset or scared about something. Maybe they're excited. I think possibly upset though because in the book it says that the dragon pit was chosen as the coronation site d/t the strong, defensible doors. Maybe the city riots when Aegon usurps Rhaenyra.

Next we have another pair of scenes, and this shows some people kneeling and bowing to Otto and others standing. I am assuming this is part of the event where Otto rounds up all the Black supporters and either jails them or beheads them. So those who remain standing are unwilling to swear to Otto and Aegon. Lord Caswell will be among them. I'm sure someone better at identifying actors can do better than I can with telling who these characters are. Like I know I've seen that guy on the bottom, but I can't remember who he is.

Now we go back to that meeting of the Green Council right after Viserys's death, and we have Otto saying "This door remains shut until we finish our business". We'll come back to this in a second, because there's more shots from this scene.

This is a shot of Aegon - crown on his head - in the foreground, Aemond in the background, and Crispin's arm to the right. The voiceover are the last two words of the previous sentence, implying that "our business" is crowning Aegon. A side note, that I'll get into at the end - Aegon isn't crowned with Viserys's crown, he's crowned using Aegon the Conqueror's crown, as it hadn't yet been lost in Dorne at this point. The reason I know that's Crispin's arm is that it's Crispin that physically crowns Aegon at the coronation, which is another reason why book readers can't stand the guy.

Now, this is where the trailer starts to get interesting. This is Otto saying "no one can known who you are or what you seek", to a man whose identity I don't know (But my best guess is Arryk Cargyll.). However, given his previous shady dealings with Mysaria, I think that that storyline is going to bear fruit. What is he seeking, you might ask? I think it's one of Aegon's bastards (he's known to have had several.). More on that later when we get some images of a tow-headed child. It also could be when Otto tells the Kingsguard to summon the Small Council. Seems like "seek" is odd phrasing for the small council tho.

This is the next scene, presumably the same man leaving Otto's chambers. I'd thought maybe it was Crispin, but he doesn't have a moustache. Arryk does, though. So if that is a member of the Kingsguard, it's probably him. For clarity: Arryk and Erryk Cargyll are twins on the Kingsguard. Arryk stays with the Greens, and Erryk goes to the Blacks.

As I was writing this blurb for the next one I think I figured out what was going on. I'm think this is Rhaenys (I know it could be Rhaenyra, but she has Rhaenys's fairly distinctive hairstyle.) trying to get into Viserys's room to say goodbye to her cousin the morning after her vigil over Vaemond's body. When she can't get in, she is immediately sus. There's always been some confusion over how Viserys's crown is smuggled out, and so I think maybe Rhaenys finds the door locked, asked someone why it's locked, and figures out about the green council. She then finds someone - I think Harrold Westerling - and they leave KL.

The next two images are from different parts of the trailer but they should be taken together. The first is Talya accompanying some scared looking royal nurses (IE, the kind we're constantly seeing around the kids.) and an equally scared looking tow-headed child to the black cells. The second is said child in the black cells. Now, initially I was confused by this. I *thought* he might be one of Aegon's bastards, but I was kinda confused as to what he was doing this early on, and this kid is too old to be Gaemon IMO. However, since I'm a little late on this week, I saw on Twitter that he is Gaemon Palehair. He's a minor character towards the end during the Targaryen pretenders before the Hour of the Wolf that is put forward by whores in Flea Bottom. He ends up being spared on account of being very young (like...6?), and becomes food taster for Aegon III (Rhaenyra's Aegon.). He...really has no purpose in the larger war, and dies later on when someone tries to poison Aegon III. So I still think it's weird that he's being rounded up and put in the black cells or even present this early on, but I'm less confused as to his identity now.

In any event, I think Otto sends Arryk out to get him, and finds him via the connection to Mysaria. IDK why Otto wants him or cares, but I guess we'll find out. Maybe a stand-in for Jaehaerys during Blood and Cheese?

This is a well-dressed woman in one of the black cells, with a guard walking past her door, and what looks like fire outside? Could just be the light. Anyway, due to the cutout in the dress on her arm and the hair over the shoulder, I think it's Talya. Probably in the cell with Gaemon. So it's fairly likely that Aegon finds out that she's been spying for Mysaria, or possibly that Mysaria gives her up because Mysaria has been loyal to Daemon all along. In any event, it seems like she is locked in the black cells when Otto cleans house of the Black loyalists.

Alicent rubbing her temples and saying "what of Rhaenyra?" during the green council, so it seems she might not be as set on her course as is otherwise implied. Or she at least has enough remaining care that maybe she doesn't think they should be hiding Viserys's death from her. Maybe she just wants to know how they'll handle her, idk.

Next we have a Kingsguard with a satchel over his shoulder and a smaller, slighter figure next to him. The guard has long, brown hair, so it's probably Erryk Cargyll with Viserys's crown, escorting Rhaenys to safety. She's grabbing his hand, probably telling him to run, so honestly either a riot breaks out in KL or they're rushing to the dragon pit for the coronation and these two are trying to disappear in the crowd. I'm not exactly sure, but there's a lot of shots from this scene in the trailer, including those ones I posted above of the KG on a horse and the rushing crowd. I'm leaning more and more towards riot.

This next one I genuinely have no idea and so I'm submitting it to you guys for guesses. It's small figure being blown backwards into a hole of some kind by fire and explosions, so I think dragonfire. I lightened it as much as I could without it becoming nothing but artefacts. I'll be honest, my brain immediately read the objects in the foreground as dragon eggs and this as the pit, but I don't think that's right. It doesn't match up at all. So what do you guys think? The cloak isn't helpful bc there's a few people wearing murder cloaks in this episode.

Larys saying to Alicent "I've found out something you should know". At the last two words, it switches to the shot of the child I posted above. Now, there were rumors in the books that some of the bastards, like Trystayne Truefyre, were by-blows of Viserys, even tho it's way more likely that they either weren't Targ bastards, or they were Aegon's and Daemon's. But maybe Larys is the source of those rumors, and he's deceiving Alicent here and telling her the kid in the cells is Viserys's. He might have nothing to do with the kid, but the cut implies that he does. Plus...he's the shady one, so, makes sense.

Ok, again, this one is a bit confusing to me. I am adding it in case you guys have suggestions. If this were any other show, I'd think this was two kids in a paid fight (followed by people are either winning or losing bets.). It's obviously someone small hitting the other person and making that blood, but I honestly have no idea. Maybe an atmospheric shot for something more important happening at this establishment? Someplace belonging to Mysaria? That person getting punched looks like they have targ hair, but who knows...

Aemond in a murder cloak he borrowed from his hero Daemon. IDK what he's doing here, but I have a feeling it's during the chaos seen earlier in the trailer. He might be out looking for the missing crown and the missing Kingsguard. And in shot 2, it seems that the person whose back is to us is, indeed, the missing Kingsguard. I don't think he's going to die here, because he shows up on Dragonstone with the crown later on in the trailer.

Crispykins threatening Harrold Westerling with the murdered Beesbury (who was Team Black and then murdered during the Green council for it.) slumped over behind him. Some people theorize that this is when Harrold dies, but I don't think so. He seems to be in that picture of the Black Council, so it's unlikely he does. I'm pretty sure he's in the background of Viserys's crown being presented to Rhaenyra in this shot from the weeks ahead trailer:

Turns out the only reason Crispy wasn't willing to be Alicent's thug last episode was the fact that Viserys was standing right there. This is gonna be the episode where show watchers find out why book readers hate this guy so much.

Beesbury, who is telling Alicent it's treason to put Aegon on the throne - which it is - and then being murdered for telling the truth. Pour one out for the only person in that room with ethics.

This is Aegon's coronation, hopefully in the dragonpit with Sunfyre nearby bc I want to see Sunfyre. Such a shame that one of the biggest shits in this story has one of the coolest dragons.

This one is another confusing one. Erryk and Arryk together, so this is before Erryk goes to the Blacks, and out of uniform. I think it might be wherever that fight takes place? So maybe I'm right, and that is a fighting ring added for atmosphere for whatever's taking place with the twins. I'm thinking maybe the sequence of events is Otto assigning them the task of retrieving this bastard right after the Green council but before informing anyone of the treason, they go to this fighting ring to get him, and then he's returned to the castle and put in the cells, then Erryk leaves. Although I have a feeling that their confrontation with Aemond happens on their way out of this place, and maybe instead of it just being Erryk in that scene, it's also Arryk, and it ends up being 2 v 1 and that's how they win.

This next one is one of the twins chasing down someone who is probably a really rough-looking Aegon inside the sept (the ring of candles that Rhaenyra and Alicent prayed around is in the next shot.). In the books he says he doesn't want to be king, and can only be convinced when Alicent tells him that Rhaenyra will kill him and his siblings (almost certainly untrue; Rhae lets *Alicent* live.), so this is probably him trying to outrun his responsibilities. Actually...now that I'm thinking about it, maybe Otto *wasn't* sending the twins out to get the bastard, maybe they're being sent to find *Aegon*, who is drunk in whatever tavern or hidey-hole that fight is happening in. I wonder if he makes more of a protest than I'd been thinking he would about taking the crown.

The conqueror's crown!!! It's missing the rubies tho. =(

So that's this week's trailer. TBH it's a lot of shots from a few scenes, so I get the feeling that tons happens in this ep. ^_^ Should be fun!

#hotd #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #got #game of thrones #house of the dragon #house targaryen #westeros #asoiaf fandom #targaryens #hotd spoilers #hotd trailer

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snowbellewells · 2 years

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Whumptober Fic, Day 3 “Shot to the Heart”

Okay, so this is a little different for me, but I am so stuck and continually second guessing myself on my @cssns22 fic’s second chapter that I decided to try something else completely to break me out of that stalemate. Here’s my first attempt at one of this year’s @whumptober prompt fills: Day #3 ~ Gun to Temple. It drops off in a sort of intentional clifhanger, though maybe another prompt will resturn to it later in the month, who knows? I feel energized having completeed something after nearly two months, so here’s hoping someone else enjoys it too...

Thanks to those who sprinted with me last night in the Discord. For what it’s worth I imagine this happening somewhere in the Underworld arc, but diverging when they run into Cruella, intent on revenge...

Also on AO3, if you prefer...

“Shot to the Heart”

by: @snowbellewells

The sound as the hammer cocked echoed horribly in the room, seeming to reverberate endlessly. Emma froze where she stood, afraid even to blink or draw breath. They hadn’t been quick enough, and now she felt the cool, steel barrel of the compact - almost pretty - little handgun Cruella pressed to her temple.

With intense effort, Emma barely trembled as the taller woman moved in closer to her side, a sinister sneer on those blood red lips and eyes evilly lit with malice. The villainess nearly crooned in satisfaction as she twisted the pistol against Emma’s skull, relishing the moment. “Oh, kitten, you are in trouble, aren’t you? Did you really think you could come down here, still living, and leave again without my catching up to you? When you cut me down in my prime?”

Savoring the power no doubt, Cruella traced the muzzle down Emma’s cheek, under her chin with a vicious jab that made the Savior flinch in spite of herself, before bringing it back to rest against her temple once more. “Darling, surely you aren’t that naive…” Tsking, Cruella shook her head mockingly, lips pursed in a scoffing sort of pout.

While Emma hardly dared respond, biting her lip against it in fact, their enemy’s words caught Killian’s attention where he was several steps ahead of Emma, nearly to the door. Whirling to take in the scene, he had no such compunction, a roar of both anger and anxiety tearing from his throat as he took a step back toward them. “You threatened her son, you witch!” he accused, the ire in his words snapping across the space between his Love and the woman who held her, even if his gait did pull up short at the sight of Cruella tightening her grip on the gun, her finger practically caressing the trigger with restless anticipation.

“Ha!” the bitter hag cackled, her entire face displaying just how unhinged she truly was, accentuated even more by the weird frame of her still perfectly coiffed and completely two tone hair. “You noble types, so easily able to delude yourselves that your actions are justified when you resort to unsavory methods. A different standard than the rest of us,” she sniffed haughtily, her sharp talons of pointed nails digging into the skin of Emma’s neck as they clenched with the passion behind her words.

Emma could see Killian gritting his teeth to the point that a muscle twitched spasmodically in his jaw, his right hand flexing open and closed again at his side, while she knew the hook at his left itched to tear into her captor - as he would anyone who dared touch her with an unkind hand. The only thing holding him in place was a fear that movement from him would prompt Cruella to fire the shot she held at the ready. What Emma realized all too well, that her that pirate might not admit to himself, was that Cruella didn’t intend to be placated or talked down from this standoff. She had nothing left to lose, and didn’t care what happened to her once she got her revenge on Emma for ruining her wild spree in the land of the living above.

Swallowing hard, Emma tried to catch her pirate’s eye, to make him listen as she prepared to speak, even with her heart already sinking, knowing he would never do what she was about to ask of him. Still, she had to try. They didn’t have much time. Hades had given them one chance, one shot to possibly restore life to Killian’s not-yet-resurrected body so he could return home with them. She could already feel the tremors in the stone beneath her feet, and if the plinth holding the bit of ambrosia crumbled before they reached it, Killian would still be trapped down here, and all of this would be for nothing. She wasn’t going back without him. Not now… she couldn’t! Even if it meant -

“Just go, Killian! Please,” she practically begged, the tear that she just managed to hold back from running down her cheek still audible in her voice, despite her best efforts. “You have to get the ambrosia. It’s the only way.”

His eyes widened in disbelief, shocked that she could even think of trying to convince him to carry on and leave her in peril, an enemy poised to snuff out her life. She was his only light in a world that had been nothing but darkness for so long. Shaking his head, his response confirmed what Emma had already known. He might regain his physical life, but if Emma died in the effort, his soul would remain lost here forever.

He didn’t move an inch.

And somewhere deep inside, Emma loved him even more for it. Though she cursed his stubborn determination and lack of a single self-preserving instinct, his devotion once again overwhelmed her in its completeness. After a lifetime of being left behind, sacrificed for the benefit of others, all alone, his refusal to do the same never ceased to amaze her.

But they couldn’t afford it now. Cruella would not be dissuaded, and there was no reasoning with her - they’d learned that while she was still alive. The woman was a true psychotic - no regular person’s morals or qualms to rein her in, no empathy to make her resolve weaken or regret change her course - and that had been true even before she roamed the Underworld just looking for a way to snatch back what she felt had been stolen from her.

As if feeding on Emma’s distress and her fear for Killian - even if she was the one with a bullet aimed straight for her brain - Cruella laughed harshly, entirely too loudly, in Emma’s ear. “What a shame! Your pretty pirate doesn’t seem to be listening to you, Savior.” Her birthright title sounded like the filthiest of curses when spat on Cruella’s tongue as it was. It would have been maddening, the satisfaction the woman found in their pain, if Emma weren’t so frantic to get Killian to move, to save himself, to make sure he reached their goal before it vanished.

Desperate to end the stalemate, Emma tried a new tactic, forced a bravado she didn’t feel as she replied, “He rarely does, but then, I’m sure you know as well as I do, the ones who drive you crazy are the most fun.” She tried to glanced sideways enough to catch Cruella’s eye, either to throw the woman off her game, or at least gauge her next move. Pressing on, she forced an almost boredom she was far from feeling into her tone. “Look, Flapper Queen, I know you aren’t backing down. We both know you intend to settle a score here. So, if you’re gonna shoot me, just do it already. Then maybe Jones over there will get a move on a-and save himself.”

It was the barest wobble of her voice, but Emma cursed it all the same, the emotion showing in her inflection for a second and risking giving her entire gambit away. Killian’s eyes widened at the mere suggestion, though he held his ground. Still, he couldn’t help the breath that escaped him, “Emma, no love, don’t even think it.”

Unfortunately, the villainess latched onto Emma’s slip the second it happened. Emma trembled more then, when the other woman’s focus shifted, than she had even when the gun first touched her head.

“Well, well, well, darling,” the devilish diva cooed, her voice low and oozing false sympathy, tapping the muzzle against Emma’s temple carelessly and making it impossible not to flinch, even being Cruella’s target was no longer her first concern. “It really is all too delicious…”

Emma tried to ignore the woman’s toying with them, to turn all her focus onto urging Killian with her eyes, trying to warn him, needing him to get out of harm’s way.

Cruella continued as if mulling over something she had already decided. “You ruined everything for me, just when I was finally free, finally allowed to enjoy being my mad, bad self. All the fun and mischief I could have had… you ended that. It can’t be undone. It seems only fair that you feel the same pain.”

Even before it happened, Emma had the horrible sense of what was coming. The witch had grasped what would truly ruin her life - what couldn’t be righted or recovered - and set her twisted sights upon it. It felt like a fraction of a second between the muzzle being lifted from her skin and Cruella leveling the gun at Killian. Emma tried to lunge for the weapon, to call out a warning, but she seemed weighted down with shock and horror. For all that the woman had played with Emma interminably before taking action, when she finally made her move, it happened in a millisecond; decision made and bullet shot out of the gun.

Cruella’s aim was horrifyingly true. When the bullet struck Killian’s flesh and he fell before her eyes, the burning, staggering pain that ripped through Emma’s body was more devastating than being shot herself.

Tagging: @whumptober @cosette141 @hollyethecurious @jrob64@kmomof4 @cocohook38 @killian-whump @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @anmylica

#whumptober2022 #no.3 #gun to temple #captain swan #cs fic #gunshot wound #angst #ouat 5b divergece #shot to the heart #whumptober prompt fic #cs one shot

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