#but you are still an unknown Creature entering their room at night and all cultural knowledge tells them you are there to hurt or scare the

[blookmallow]

see now i have even more questions about how the monster world functions if there are in fact still functioning scare companies (and it seems like laugh power hasn't really caught on yet) like, not only are they dealing with the need to create a massive cultural shift in the human world so kids won't be afraid of them, but like. it's not even a consistent shift. some kids are still getting scared by monsters. probably most kids are. so you now have to convince them you're not scary while they probably know another kid who has been tormented by monsters. and you gotta make them laugh

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Assassins

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord )

 The soft light of the morning dawn slowly filtered into the room through cracks between the lavish curtains. Streaks of light bounded off the polished gold detailing of the rooms furniture and made the room appear as if the very stars themselves had come to adorn themselves upon the walls. So bright were the reflections that it managed to find their way underneath several layers of bed sheets and directly into the face of ambassador Glifin.

Roused from his seemingly peaceful sleep Glifin slowly pushed off the sheets one by one and rolled to his feet. The loud thuds of his hooves touching the floor sent a shudder through the room as he stood and stretched out, his general grogginess slowly shaking off. With a loud yawn finally leaving his throat he rose and shambled over to his desk to begin his day’s work.

Tonight he was hosting a party honoring visiting royalty from his home world on Argon. The prince had decided he wanted to visit this miserable planet he had been stationed on, though why anyone would want to visit this world was beyond him.

Glifin’s posting on the human homeworld had been sold to him as a great honor but in reality it had been a means to keep him from continuing his political rise. On Argon he had been a senator whose mere whisper was enough to make generals and minor nobles quiver in fear. His star struck ascension didn’t go unnoticed however and just before he was to be elected into the office of Artock Supreme and reside over the entire senate the royal family had stepped in and given him the position of ambassador to humanity.

Within the spam of a solar month he was shipped off the throne world and sent to this backwater dump of a world; were he had to smile and feign sincerity to these miserable sacks of flesh all the while his political powerbase slowly began to crumble in the senate.

Now fully consumed by feelings of dread over his situation Glifin did not hear the sudden knock at the door. Only after several more knocks did Glifin look up from his paper work.

“Come in.”

The door slowly opened and Glifin’s aide Jafal walked in and bowed.

“My apologies for disturbing you at this early hour, but Mr. Robinson has arrived with your evening wear for tonight’s event.”

Glifin nodded and shuffled his papers back into his desk and locked it just as a new figure entered the room.

“Say what you want about Argonian fashion, but they do have such a wonderful sense of aesthetics when it comes to room decoration.”

A slim human emerged from the doorway pushing a small cart with a metal rod built in holding up two clothing bags.

“You have a problem with Argonian styles?” Glifin said as he rose to his feet and walked over to Robinson as he pulled out a tiny box device and casually threw it down on the floor. The moment of contact it sprung open and in an instance a large set of mirrors emerged from it giving an impressive view from all sides.

“Oh far be it for me to question ones culture, “ Robinson continued as he opened the first bag and stepped aside for Glifin to see the contents, “but some would consider the amount of dead mammals your people adorn on themselves to be a tad morbid.”

From the corner of his eye Glifin saw Jafal’s face redden from anger but with a motion from his ambassador kept his tongue still.

“I would find it surprising for a human to find anything morbid with the amount of toxins you willingly consume.”

Robinson flashed a brief smile and shrugged. “You do have me there; personally caffeine will most likely be the end of me one day, but we’re not here to talk about my eventual demise.”

“An end that will come much sooner if you continue to waste my time with idle chatter.”

Humanities incessant need for small talk and idle conversation was something Glifin had never come to terms with; and this human fashion designer was by far the worst example he had ever put up with. Part of him viewed it as a challenge to see how long he could endure before snapping the tiny man’s neck, and though such a moment would no doubt bring him great pleasure the other part of him realized that Robinsons work was well regarded among prominent members of society. Not just with other humans, but with other alien dignitaries who had embassies on the human homeworld. It had been surprisingly an ambassador from the Hive that had recommended the human’s services when it was suggested that Glifin update his style to match his new role.

Walking up to the first black bag that Robinson had opened Glifin inspected the wardrobe.

Inside was a finely trimmed suit of Rygonian Leaper fur of a dark blue with a sash of Haponi tongue and a dashing pair of pants metal grey Roller Worm hide.

It was custom in Argonian culture to wear the skin of that which you have killed, thus the outfit before him was a prime example Glifin’s traditions.

“A fine work indeed,” Glifin said as he ran his fingers across the material, feeling the roughness against his skin. “For a human” he finished as he turned and smirked at Robinson.

“With the effort it took to obtain the materials you requested I would say it is nothing less than an example a miracle performed before your very eyes.”

Glifin stopped his examination of the attire and looked at the human. “For a miracle you sound so…displeased with your work.”

Robinson crossed his arms for a moment and pouted as if considering his next words.

“My work is perfection, I can assure you, but a man in my trade is not just meant to listen to the specifications of their client but their intention as well.”

“And your point?” Glifin queried.

After a moment he outstretched his hand and casually gestured to the Argonian clothing. “Is this really the message you want to be sending?”

Glifin looked at the suit again then back at Robinson. “I don’t understand.”

“If you go to the event dressed like this it will send the message that you still value your traditions, but I worry that it shows a disconnect with your current situation; almost as if you are attempting to relive the past.”

“You would appear as an old war hero trapped in past glories that the other guests would acknowledge, but not make to engage in conversation.”

Glifin opened to rebuke the human but stopped himself as he pondered the man’s words. Robinson stepped forward to the other black case. “Now this,” Robinson said as he slowly pulled down the zipper revealing the contents, “this would make you not only the talk of the party, but would make you the talk of the after party all the way back to your homeworld were many people would no doubt be very much interested in your on goings.”

“Each piece has been designed by some of the most dangerous animals on this planet, and in some cases far more ravenous then anything back on your respectable homeworld.”

Robinson went about and pointed out the specific materials used one by one.

“The body is made from a powerful species that inhabits the various swamps and wetlands around the globe with jaws so powerful they could cut you in two with a single bite.”

“Each of the buttons along the coat are the fangs of the most poisonous reptilian creatures on the planet; each one capable of killing a human let alone an Argonia ten times over with a single drop of their venom.”

“Now the pants I am particularly proud of as they are the skin of the deadliest hunter of all the planets seas. They can smell fresh blood from miles away and commonly take on prey twice their size.”

Gliffin heard Robinson go through the list of creatures but his expression remained emotionless.

“Why would these creatures be any more interesting than my own worlds?”

Robinson smiled. “Because everyone from your world already knows about them and have hunted the same creatures for generations. Yet I would be so bold as to wager my humble shop that none of them have ever faced down the black eyed stare of a great white shark, nor wrestled the deadly crocodile demons of the swamps, and most certainly have been quick enough to pluck out the teeth of rattle snakes just as they lunge to strike.”

“Neither have I,” Gliffin said with a hint of disgust in his tone, “and you would make a liar out of me for saying so.”

“My dear ambassador, who but you could say what you do or don’t in your free time?”

Robinson leaned forward and whispered into Gliffin’s ear “I am no doubt sure many of your females would find the idea of a striking Argonian such as yourself sneaking off to go hunting the unknown for sport a rather attractive quality.”

Glifin looked at the new set of clothing and then back at the original set of traditional clothes. He went back and forth for several moments before finally settling his gaze on the traditional garments.

“Take these away.”

_______________________________________

The lights outside Robinson’s humble shop slowly went off one by one as he walked between the displays straightening out garments and folding tossed aside pieces customers had casually put aside when the door rang.

“I’m sorry but we are closed for the night.” Robinson said as he returned behind the counter with a stack of clothes.

The figure slowly approached the counter and took off their hat. Robinson looked up from the register to see the figure was a Rohanan; a species known for its gel like appearance yet could collect random bits and bobs to create a sudo skeleton and present themselves as humanoid.

“That’s alright,” the Rohanan said, “I am here to pay for a set I ordered for a….friend.”

“Then they are most fortunate to have a friend such as you then.”

Robinson’s smiling nature unnerved the Rohanan but nonetheless they placed a small envelope on the table and slid it across. Robinson placed a hand on it and tapped his fingers several times against the contents inside before opening it and spilling the credit chips on to the table.

“Is it satisfactory?” the Rohanan said, their nervousness building as the human finished counting the chips.

“Oh yes indeed; I believe you have paid in full for your order.” With a swipe of his hand the human pushed the chips back into the envelope and sealed it. “Always a pleasure to deal with such an honest and upstanding man such as yourself during such troubling times.”

Robinson leaned in towards the Rohanan, his expression shifting from smiling to one of mild concern. “I heard there was a most unfortunate incident up at the Argonian embassy several nights ago.”

“Several guests including the visiting prince and ambassador himself all died from poisoning.” The Rohanan confirmed.

“How gruesome!” Robinson said as he recoiled in shock and finished putting away the remaining clothes while he talked over his shoulder.

The Rohanan regarded the human for a moment before continuing. “The strangest thing was that the poison was not native to this world, but is most common in the Hagar system under Dovorian rule.”

“A most embarrassing situation I am sure considering the Dovorian and Argonian people despise each other.”

“Indeed; one might wonder how such a toxin came into contact with them.”

Robinson shrugged and turned as he finished placing the final shirt back into the display. “With all of those fangs, bones, and animal skins I would not be surprised if someone grabbed a tooth or two that hadn’t been fully drained of its contents.”

The Rohanan laughed and placed their hat back on their head just as they stopped at the door.

“You were worth every penny, assassin.”

“An assassin you say?” Robinson’s smile returned and he casually waved to the departing customer “You must have me mistaken for someone else, as I am but a simple tailor.”

[hungryflowers]

Let Me Fall in Love With You

RadioHusk Week Prompt Day 2: To Love a Dumbass

Chapter 2: I’d Fumble For You

Parties, different versions of entertainment, highly crowded venues with loud, obnoxious music was not Husk’s scene. The only silver lining that would come from being in public with a bunch of lowlives, worst of the worsts and generally unpleasant assholes would have to be the free tab on booze. 

So when Alastor invited Husk out for a night on the town, the old man thought it was going to be the same abhorrent experience of debauchery, raucousness, and vileness he grew to expect whenever he went out. In contrast what he was going to go and experience was something he never knew he wanted to feel in his time in this hovel of Hell. 

When he saw this ‘Radio Demon’ next, his eyes were stuck on the swanky suit he sported as he opened the door to his ratty ass apartment. 

“Darling you are not going to my party like this are you?” The grinning idiot gestured to his body, making the cat look himself over. 

“What party? And also, why the fuck do you care about how I look? I don’t even like being around you, so seeing me is already enough.” Husk snapped as his tail swished to showcase his physical agitation. 

“I care enough because you are my guest! I told every Sinner in my territory about you and me, so it is a given that if you’re my beau for the night, you must look the part.” He stepped inside the house, dark red velvet coat tails tipped in gold trailed behind him as he went into the male’s living space without any actual consent. 

“Beau?! I ain’t your fuckin’ beau. I ain’t nobody’s bottom boy! So get the fuck out of my house!”

“Please, Husker...”

“What the fuck did you just call me? Name’s Husk fuckface! Not Husker, not Husky, or some stupid shit like that! Husk!” He snarled at the pet name.

Alastor kept his gaze fixed on the cat the whole tangent. He became increasingly aware of the affect this feline was having on him. Golly, he wanted to get in it with the male for a great while, he wanted Husk to vent to him, or merely yell at him. What a way to thrive on his companionship. 

“Deeply sorry about that Husk, my dear. Now that you have concluded, may we get you all set for the special get together?” Alastor leant over the huffing, puffed up male. Husk was about to snarl again when something flickered up his wall. He screamed, body hiking high as a shadow swirled around his feet. 

“What the fuck is that?! What is it doing?!” The male hopped on the closest thing to get away from the black ick on the floor.

“My assistant. Don’t mind him, he just likes being in business that he has no involvement in.” Alastor tipped his head, waving his hand to dismiss the shadowy being. The thing shared the cutout physical form of the one it was conjured from, it lingering on his shoulder like a living attachment. Blue eyes squinted at the feline while skinny arms jutted out to grab at him with willow long fingers. The deer demon swatted the hands away, “Shame on you! Did I not just try to will you away? Off it now! Shoo. Leave this beauty alone.”

The thing frowned, even as Alastor held his grin. The puppy eyes not changing his mind in the slightest. An unsound huff left the creature as it faded out somewhere in the room. 

Husk went about pointing at the spot where it had been, a wobbly gargle of questions would have fallen from his frozen mouth but Alastor was already grabbing the cat up to have him prepared for the unknown event tonight.

After nearly snarling at the bastard to piss off for nearly an hour and a half, Husk was resigned to his fate. The demon made it hard for him to say no, let alone give him a physical out. He, maybe, could be able to endure a night with this grinning loon. What was the worst that could happen? 

“Ready, my beau?” Alastor bowed as he opened the door to his swanky looking car; a deep, cherry wine red mobile that kept to his aesthetic and intrigue. 

Husk’s chest rose in annoyance, otherwise not correcting the demon. He sat down on the posh, plump looking white leather seats. He didn’t feel like sitting in front with Alastor; not sure what he could possibly try. 

“You still haven’t told me about this party you have for me. Where the hell is it?”

“Oh! You’ll enjoy it! It’s quite a good time. And it’s a special surprise for you. I’m not going to just open up and tell you everything,” His claws went around Husk’s, raising it to his cheek to rub the fur there. The cat was fighting for his paw back when Alastor stated, “There is also unlimited alcohol, if that’s something you are into. What am I saying? Of course you are!!” He laughed as they pulled out of the driveway. 

Two words caused Husk to stop fighting for his paw: Unlimited. Alcohol. Maybe this Radio Demon character wasn’t as weird as he thought.

“You got wine?” Husk asked, short and simple. A faint smile coming to his face when Alastor nodded at him without looking, “Beer?”, Another nod. “Whiskey.” 

“Yes my dear. Everything and all types you can have and want! I never entertain guests with a dry party.” He snuggled deeper in the relaxed paw. 

There wasn’t much to be said after that, the cat demon sitting through the car ride, blood buzzing, chest at a rattle, fur feeling a little staticky. Perhaps this would be different.

Their arrival was around eleven at night, the allure of the blood moon added appeal to the not at all shabby joint they were at. Husk rolled down the window to listen to the sounds of an era that thrive on the songs of their time. Jazz music blew from trumpets and saxophones, scat man swayed to the beats they made on the fly. Each corner of the building glowed, more bathed in iridescent green lighting. Some came from lightbulbs in sconces, another light source were firelights in lanterns at the entrances. A black, intimidating oak door held all the liveliness on the inside. Neon words flitted in the cat’s vision; the words in bold cursive, the lettering swirling and winding over on another. He could make out the first word before Alastor put his hand on his shoulder, somewhat jostling him. 

“Let’s make our grand entrance shall we?” He hopped out the car, that Husk never knew had stopped, and opened the older man’s door to escort him out. 

“What the hell is this place?” Husk adjusted the oversized coat the deer demon gave him to cover up his outfit underneath, he felt like a dame on her first night out.

“Husker... this is my establishment for the most cultured, most affluent of us Sinners. A cabaret of illicit senses that must be sated by only the most delicious delights and decadences of the afterlife! Welcome to Lé VooDoo Parlóur. Isn’t it magnificent?!” He brought Husk in for a side hug that didn’t feel comfortable. 

“This rat house is your joint? Ha! I’ve seen better hole in the walls in the red light district.”

“Yes, but are they as ceaselessly classy as this?” He asked as he pulled up Husk’s chin to look better into his eyes, made softly golden by the effects of the lights.

Husk grumbled but thought of no other place that could be like this. He had only been to a jazz bar in Hell once, and the music was below shit quality. The booze was the only thing that kept him there, if not for the winking dandy damsel and drunk jack offs that tried to pull him from the music for a cheap thrill. He fancied himself a fella of cheap tastes and vulgar etiquette. 

“Fine, I’ll let you embarrass yourself by dragging me into this fancy hole. Lead the way.” Husk pulled on his coat as Alastor pulled on his arm to guide them to the imposing looking oak doors. On the french doors were weaved intricate spiraling patterns and odd runes that didn’t spell out anything in the cat’s language. 

Alastor knocked on both doors with a racking pattern. They waited for a moment when one came open. Husk could have imagined it came open on its own, but a graveling voice came from behind the door. 

“Password.” Very simple, too threatening.

“William. We’ve been over this. You know my knock. When you hear me knock, I enter. I don’t need a password for my own Parlóur.” The grin stayed in spite of the agitation fogging his tone. 

“Al? You’re more than forty-five minutes late. I should make you say the password just for that.” The grizzle soften a touch as a reptile demon, most likely a crocodile, pushed back the door. 

“I was getting my plus one ready. I did tell you I was having a guest,” His grin could not possibly get wider as he shuffled Husk closer, “William, this is my beau, Husk. Husk, William!” 

Husk did not want to shake the croc’s hand. It was only from reluctance he did anyways. 

“Nice. Get your ass in here. And you better apologize to your guest for waiting, Al.”

“My dear William. I owe them no such thing. The fact that showed up at all is the compensation they pay for entering my bar.” Alastor dropped his lighter over jacket to reveal his choice of wardrobe for the evening. He sported his dark red, much darker than blood, overcoat with golden stenciling over the chest, arms and shoulders. On his shoulders were long strings gold tassels, a black and red top hat on the top of his head, covering up the stubs he had as antlers. His bottoms were pinstriped and straight legged waist high pants that were tucked by a formal black undershirt. The top of his neck had been covered, showing off the black, red and gold bowtie that rest right atop it. 

A microphone stand was his choice in what Husk believed to be a cane of some sort. He looked over the gold laced coat tails of the demon’s long coat, the fabric dripping over his red and black pants. 

“Let me have your poncho, dear.” The words getting Husk out whatever weird trance he was swept in. He pulled it off to hand to Alastor. Very little adjusting had to be made for Husk’s wears for the night. From top to bottom, he was dressed in a dazzling, eye-catching red and white. Sitting atop his head, a top hat, red dominated with a silk white band laced around the felt, sat in between his ears. His suit jacket was of crimson everywhere except the lapels, a white waistcoat held him in snug yet loose, the fabric a sturdy satin. His lower half has pinstriped red, flowing pants that covered his feet, his tail swishing out in leisure. 

As they moved through the long halls the music became a touch louder. As did the conversations and laughter of a get together. He wasn’t sure what he would expect as the double doors opened.

The party was like nothing Husk had ever seen before. Let alone experienced since his time here. He half expected all kinds of raunchy, wild and vulgar manners to be presented here. What he got was a semi loud, not at all wild, flavorous swing of delights to all senses. Sinners were dancing, singing, laughing and playing on instruments all around. There was enough food and cocktails to go about to everyone. On a grand stage was a female, locks of silver, and a voice like sweet wine as he caressed the microphone like a lover at night. Her slim form was dripping from head to toe in rose red, the flowing material barely showing her ankles as she serenaded the crowd. 

They arrived as her song ended, the sinners extending her a roaring applause along with bouquets of cut flowers. She tipped in a humbled bow as she exited the stage behind a burgundy carpet. 

“Let’s get you to your seat. I have a special, private area just for the both of us.” He pulled him along as the announcer struck up a jazz band. The band was softer but played strongly. The song was more than enough for some Sinners to move out their seats with their partners for the evening. Husk barely resisted the urge to follow a fox demon in a green, short dress. 

Alastor took them behind a purple curtain to reveal a more private sector of the parlor. There had to have been at least a dozen velvet booths here. And Alastor sat him down at the one closest to a smaller stage. 

“Order what you want. It’s all on me dear. I’m going to let our guests know you have arrived.” Alastor didn’t sit as he moved away from the slightly nervous cat demon. The lights in the room were blossoming ripples of green and purple. He tapped at the marble table as he awaited a server to bring him some booze for the night. He made it a point to try and get plastered on a much free booze he could wrap his paws on. 

“S’cuse me. Ya’ll have any absinthe in here?” Husk asked over the light piano. 

The sever, a winged bat demon nodded, a smile coming to his features, “Sure. Do you want a cup or a bottle?”

“I can get a bottle?!” Husk couldn’t believe this was true. He’s always wanted to try that shit, but no lower tier liquor stores carried it, so he drowned on other things, “Then shit, I’ll have the whole bottle then.” He laughed. 

“Perfect, I’ll have that right out for you.” And then he was gone. Quite the night this would be.

The next time he saw Alastor again, the grinning shithead was on the stage. Why? Husk could not deduce. Or was just tipsy enough to not ask. But his ears perked up the demon addressed the small, private crowd.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, whether you be a Saint or a Sinner, please give me your attention,” Alastor spoke as he removed his velvet jacket to show off his red and black waistcoat. The spare creatures in the room acknowledged him, Husk being amongst them, “I have opened my long retired Parlor up for a very special occasion. And that is for a very special significant of mine that I have recently taken up as my own.” 

Oh! Oh Fuck! Oh shit! Wait, what the fuck?!

“Please listen to this very dedication that I proposed. He’s quite shy, but will come around. This is for you...”, ‘Don’t you fucking say it’. Husk’s brain roared in dread, “Husker.” ‘Motherfucker!’ Husk wanted to physically shuck the husky bottle of absinthe at the Radio Demon for just mentioning him. The feline put his paws over his head as the crowd awed and clapped for Alastor. He was going to fucking kill him! Once this was over, he was going to die. Again!

The band awaited for Alastor’s cue, a side glance and a nod, before beginning. The music came softly... fleeting in feeling as Alastor closed his eyes and began, 

‘A summer romance

Hasn't a ghost of a chance

I know But a summer romance Should have a chance To grow

Septembers nearly over

The weather will be here There won't be time to live and laugh and love again This yearIf you and I could linger Until that early snow

Perhaps this romance might find time to grow’

“Oh shit, oh fuck!” Husk gasped out in exasperation, wings going over his head as he listened to the lyrics. He locked eyes with Alastor a couple of times, the younger man’s smile going fond as he continued,’

‘A love that is happy and meaning Because uncertain and heeding When weather brings its promise of Spring and a brand new year to love him

I wish you would remember

I know you won't recall We have discarded This romance at all’

This bastard wasn’t being eccentric. Not going off like a madman about an apparent love confession. He was singing, not only singing... He was straight up serenading him. He continued the whole way through until the music and lyrics came to an end, and a loud applause and whistles followed. Husk drank from the bottle, a hard ass double, triple as it went down his throat. He couldn’t care to discern the taste; he just had to get piss drunk as fast as he could. 

“I hope you had a fantastic night! I know I sure did!” Alastor looked over at Husk, who was so drunk he ended up falling asleep on the ride home. It was well past one in the morning, so Alastor suspected that that was enough partying for one night. Alastor was so high on his new found feeling for this feline that he didn’t care about how the male cat cursed, swung and swore at him in his drunken haze. It would wear off soon anyways and then they’d make more memories. What a thrill!

The car came to a stop in front of the old male’s home, the slobbering cat too inebriated, and sleepy to move himself out of the car. Alastor tutted as he opened the male’s door and dragged into his home. He had to fish for the right key, but once inside it was smooth enough from there. And the cat demon still hadn’t awoke. He pulled him up so that he could try to make him walk up the stairs, which proved to be a bad idea. He ended up levitating the large, heavy beast into his filthy room; content to lay him atop the blankets.

“Goodnight beloved.” He pressed his face into the cat’s cheek before walking out of the room, rounding the staircase and left the home of his newfound romance. Or was it infatuation? Huh, he could feel stupid for things like these.

Husk woke up sick as fuck, some god forsaken gurgling coming up from his throat as he rushed into his bathroom, tripping over his own tail as he slumped against the toilet. He couldn’t recall he felt this kind of miserable but the absinthe being drained from his guts did make the dream of Alastor singing to him sound less real. He flushed his nasty contents before getting up. He burped, the smell foul as he headed into his kitchen. While he scampered for a meal, he found a paper letter on the coffee table by a wrapped box. He examined the parchment, sealed by red wax, then opened it. Inside the contents it read’

‘That song was the best, if not stupidest thing I offered up to you.

I intend to give you more than serenades at the blood moon, my Husker.

P.S I have a special treat for you. More to come,

   Alastor.

Husk looked over the letter a couple times before throwing it, going to the box to see what this idiot had in store. What he got was exactly what he was thinking of: A full course meal, breakfast wrapped up well, still steaming. ‘What the fuck?’ He mouthed out the though, but did not much else as he went to devour the food.

Was there coming back from this dumbass show of affection? Husk thought no. There was no way he could ever think differently of an idiot in love. He was beginning to assume he’d soon be one.

[kaioken16]

Welcome to the golden City (Mallek Week Day 2)

Day 2 fic prompt for @mallekweek, featuring an OC guiding Mallek through his first awakening on Prospit. Like the previous entry, there is a google doc link with certain text written like a pesterlog chat, the link is here. Please enjoy the read!

Word count: 1957 Rating: For everyone Characters: Mallek Adalov, OC 

Mallek burst into a nearby room, immediately shutting the metal door behind him and entering the lock code on the controls. His clothing was torn apart, bleeding from his forehead, his mouth and his arm which had the sleeve of his hoodie completely shredded off. Catching his breath as he had been running for a while, he leaned up against the door, and let out a sigh of relief. It was short-lived. All of a sudden, the sound heavy pounding on the door filled the room, along with the snarls and roars of a creature.

Mallek’s face was filled with panic, grabbing a small device out of his pocket, frantically pressing buttons before he stuck it to the door like a magnet. His gadget started beeping and then he quickly got away from the door watching the device emit a large electric shockwave. A roar of pain came from the other side, the device had now electrified the door. Whatever was on the other side, kept pounding but each time it was electrocuted, soon it attempts to enter the room became slower. Mallek braced himself in case it didn’t work, but fortunately for him, the heavy footsteps of the beast began to move away in another direction.

His heart was beating out his chest. Once he could no longer hear the creature, he just collapsed to the ground. Sitting there, he slowly laid back down, the adrenaline was going away. He hadn’t felt fear like, what was that thing? The cerulean then remembered he was talking to Zack before he was attacked. Slowly sitting up, he grabbed his palmhusk, opening his trollian, his thumbs tapping away on his screen.

--snakeBytes [SB] began trolling GallantLuminescent [GL]-- SB: hey; SB: i’m back; SB: sorry about; GL: What happened?? You said someone was watching you and then you went silent. SB: no need to worry; it’s not a problem anymore; SB: turns out that someone was a something; SB: but i managed to get away from it; tested out the electrifying mechanism on the device; GL: What something?! Are you okay? Where are you now? SB: hey; hey; don’t worry about it; SB: i’m okay; all safe and sound; whatever it was = gone; SB: it didn’t like getting shocked so it gave up; GL: Okay, if you're sure then. But please stay safe okay, I’m glad that the defence system works, but don’t take any unnecessary risks dude. SB: likewise; you keep safe too; SB: anyway; changing the subject while i hide out here; go back to the discussion we we’re talking about; about that place called prospit; and that we could meet there?; GL: Yeah since we’re at different points across the universe and all that, I figured out that your lunar sway in the game is prospit like mine. GL: So, we can meet there in person. I’ll be waiting for you when you get there. SB: hold on; how exactly am i supposed to get there?; SB: you haven’t exactly explained the intrigue details of i’m supposed to prospit?; or what this place is exactly; GL: Since I have no idea when I’ll be able to visit Alternia. I thought that we could meet at Prospit. GL: As for how to get there… Don’t worry about it ;D GL: It’s a special place, I’ve already cleared your entry. GL: Just rest up, and I’ll see you okay. SB: this doesn’t make any sense; but you’re the kind to make up stuff like this; so, i guess i’ll see you later; SB: i’m gonna rest on the floor for a bit and make my way back to my hive later; GL: Alright. See ya soon.

Yawning, Mallek wiped some of the blood off his mouth. Turning his palmhusk off, the troll laid there. Zack wasn’t the type to not make sense about something. Granted he was an alien with a culture completely different to his own, but it seemed more like he was hiding something about this ‘Prospit’ place. But at this moment, all Mallek wanted to do was sleep. First things first, he needed to clean his injuries, he didn’t wanna bleed out in his sleep. It wasn’t a serious wound but he couldn’t be too careful.

Looking around this old storage room he was able to find a cloth, wiping the rest of the blood off his face and his arm. Mallek then wrapped the cloth around his injured arm nice and tight. He slumped against the wall, pulling his hood over his head and shut his eyes. Hopefully he wouldn’t wake up to the sight of that unknown creature midway through eating him.

As Mallek began to drift off into a slumber he thought more about Zack, and more about Prospit. His lunar sway? What did that even mean? Something to do the moon obviously. But it couldn’t be about Alternia’s own moons. So many questions, one was answered and five more popped up. He was gonna have to ask Zack again about Prospit, and how he was gonna get there exactly.

There was nothing but pitch-black darkness for the moment. There was no sound, and no light at first. But then through the dark, something was peeking through. A light. It started out small and in the distance. Then it got closer, moving towards him, and bigger. It was so bright, he had to cover his eyes.

Soon he was now surrounded by light, he couldn’t stare into it, the intensity was too much. Mallek’s eyes shot wide open, immediately he grunted in pain, shutting them back due to the bright light. What was going on? Did the lights in this room suddenly turn on? Slowly, he opened his eyes again, his vision adjusting to the brightened area.

Then he realized something was different. Why was everything yellow? This was a different room. No. he was outside now, but this wasn’t anywhere he had ever been before. Getting to his feet, Mallek stared around in disbelief at his new surroundings, looking down at his feet the floor was gold, tapping at it with his shoe. That’s when he noticed his pants, then the rest of his clothes, they weren’t the same things he had worn earlier. Bright yellow clothing, with a large crescent moon symbol on his chest instead of his sign. The only thing that hadn’t been altered was his shoes.

Looking around to see if he could spot someone, anyone at all to explain where he was. He ran further into this golden city, running up a set of stairs turning into another street. Mallek looked up, his confusion turned to awe and wonder. Instead of the purple night sky and twin moons of his home, it was pitch black, but in the center was a massive blue planet where the sun should be. Swaying his head to the sides, this couldn’t be real.

“Hey, stranger!” A voice, a familiar one called out to Mallek, his eyes scanning around to find the source of it. Turning around he saw Zack?! Floating down like a balloon before the troll.

“What? What? Zack. What’s going on?” Mallek was surprised to say the least, seeing his human friend in the flesh before, slowly approaching the other, his hands reaching out grabbed Zack’s face, squeezing his cheeks. He was real.

“Hey, hey, knock it off. I’m real. This is real. Sort of.” He said, chuckling to himself. Zack could see that Mallek still didn’t understand, he then took the troll’s hand.

“Come on, I’ll give you the full details of this place. But first and foremost… Welcome to Prospit.” Zack guided the other in a new direction, his last words made Mallek look around again in realization.

“Prospit? This… This is prospit.” The cerulean asked Zack who nodded to re-confirm. This strange city was the place the other had been telling him about.

The pair were now in one of the tall towers throughout Prospit. Inside was an exact copy of Zack’s room, or what he had described to Mallek during their many pesterlogs. Mallek was sitting on the window edge, looking out to the rather beautiful view on the city of gold. Zack was looking out of the window next to him, he had explained everything to the troll as best he could. He understood at least where he was.

“So basically… I’m dreaming right now. This isn’t my real body, but an avatar of sorts. My real body is still in that storage room, sleeping. This is one of the two kingdoms that are dream moons that players can visit with their dream bodies. But unlike a dream everything is real here.”

“Pretty much. There are only a few ways a person could get to prospit… Get a ship and travel here for an unknown length of time. Or be a player and awaken on your dream moon.” Zack stated with the latter being the easier method to get to prospit.

“And this is the kingdom of light… Prospit. And it’s opposite is the kingdom of darkness… Derse.” Mallek asked the other who nodded.

“You end up on either moon depending on your lunar sway. Yours like mine sway to the light, so we’re prospit dreamers.” Zack said as Mallek was still in a state of amazement at all this.

“So my mind and my soul have changed locations. This is beyond anything I could imagine.” Mallek was now examining his hand with his eyes.

“This way, no matter what part of the universe we’re in. Whether the cold vast region of space or the dark skies of alternia, were just a sleep away from each other now.” Zack smiled to himself, the faintest hint of blush over his face.

“This is awesome… So tell me what can I do here? Can I float around like you could earlier?” Mallek was excited to learn more about Prospit and what his dream self could do here.

“You can fly around the place, and you pretty much will some things into existence here. You can be what you’ve always desired for yourself on Prospit.” Zack explaining further to the other.

“For example, if your real body was crippled or damaged in any way like a lost limb. On prospit your dream body is free of those restrictions if that’s what you wish.” Zack said.

“Someone blind could see… A person confined to a chair can walk.” Zack gave examples of the benefits of the dream moon. Mallek could understand more why this place was special and why it was a place where a person’s potential dream could be a reality. To an extent.

“But time here moves the same as the real world, and if your sleep is disturbed somehow you’ll be pulled from here and wake up back in your original body.” Zack told the other, so eventually if his body was ready to awaken his consciousness would return to it.

“Well then. If our time is limited, let’s go!” Mallek, not being afraid jumped out of the window, imagining himself flying, his body became lighter as he now was hovering in the air.

“Whoa. This is fucking amazing.” Mallek spun around in the air. Zack grinning at the other dived out of the window, taking flight as he zoomed past Mallek.

“Race ya to the main tower!” Zack pointed to the tower in the distance. Mallek smirk readied himself, visioning it, and shot off as fast as a bullet with Zack playing catch up.

Back in reality, Mallek was fast asleep in the storage room, perfectly still. A big smile on his face, grumbling in his slumber. His mind millions of miles away at the kingdom of light with his friend.

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Just a thought I had, would like to write it (read it), but don't know how to.

You are a shapeshifting dragon guarding a princess in the castle. You are also a caretaker and guide of said castle. You are bound to the castle by magic in a metal collar around your neck and only way to break free is for the princess to be rescued. One day a prince come to rescue her and to slay the dragon. Only problem is that you fall in love with him. Shifted to your human form you approach him.

Thanks for the prompt submission @adaed5! I’m not sure if this is what you were looking for, but here is the story I came up with. I hope you enjoy it!

“What is this?” 

I stared at the shining, glittering metal coins in my hand, curious as to why the humans around me were paying it so much heed.

Phillip barely glanced in my direction before rolling his eyes, “It’s gold.”

“Gold?” I rolled the unfamiliar word around my tongue, trying to test it out. “What’s so important about this ‘gold’?”

He shrugged at my question, fairly uninterested in the conversation as he led me through the market, picking up objects and purchasing them with a smile for the vendors.

“It’s money, currency. It’s considered a valuable, rare metal. They make jewelry out of it sometimes. Wars have been fought over it.”

Staring at the coins with skepticism, I shook my head slowly, handing the coins back over to Phillip. “Silly humans, it’s not the most rare or even the most beautiful metal, why waste time and effort over it?”

“Not all of us think like you do, dragon.” He laughed at me, and despite his mocking tone I found myself laughing with him.

 I was a dragon.

One of the supreme beings, born of fire and magic, destined to live centuries, even millennia, before returning to the world’s flame. I was a young dragon, only several decades old. I had grown out of my lair, bored with the lack of other creatures. Crawling from the cave where I had been born, the light of the sun had blinded me, almost causing me to turn back. I am a dragon. I told myself firmly. I fear nothing. I left the safety of my home, and went to explore.  I had tried many forms, changing my shape was a gift of mine, a natural ability of a dragon. I flew with birds, crawled with snakes, I ran with wolves and swam with fish. Each fun and exciting for a moment, but quickly growing dull after a few short years.  Still I persisted, hoping to find a spark of interest, something that would call to me, give me a purpose.

All dragons have a purpose.

And then I came across a new, fantastic creature. One that varied greatly from beast to beast. Since taking its form, I had yet to lose interest in their ever changing presence.

Humans.

“Are you ready to go?” Phillip asked once he had completed his preparations. I nodded, tired of observing the market anyways.

I had met him during my third or forth year running around in human form. I had been masquerading as an adventurer, finding that this was the best way to explore freely without being questioned. Fortunately, adventurers seemed to be a rather odd group, even for humans, so my… peculiarities, from my inexperience with human culture, were overlooked. Phillip was a fellow adventurer, one that I had taken several quests with already. We were close, although our initial meeting hadn’t gone smoothly.

“You’re too weak.” Was the first thing he said to me, when I applied to join his group to take on a quest. I understood his concern. My human form looked frail, even compared to other humans. However, that did not mean I would let the insult slide. I was a dragon. I had my pride.

“I am stronger than you.”

Phillip raised an eyebrow. “Prove it.”

I did.

After regaining consciousness, the human agreed to team up with me while taking quests. It didn’t take long for him to discover my true identity. My odd gaps in knowledge regarding human culture and common sense were too obvious and strange to cover up for someone in such close proximity. Besides, it wasn’t like I felt shame or concern. I was a dragon, and I was proud.

A year had passed since that time.

After picking up supplies, we headed out on our quest. We entered a cave, thought to be a monster’s lair. The sources we received the quest from said that the creature was only active at night. If we snuck in during the day, it should be easy enough to kill.

Unfortunately, our information was inaccurate.

“Dodge!” I pushed Phillip out of the way, taking the full brunt of the Troll’s club into my chest. If I had been a normal human I would have instantly been crushed and died, but fortunately I was not. Instead, my human form was flung across the cace into a wall, knocking the air from my lungs.

I cursed as my body had a difficult time standing up, my arms bending under my weight, causing my body to fall to the ground.

A growl filled the room. The troll looked extremely awake and angry for a supposedly nocturnal creature. I was trapped between the wall and the monster, with nowhere to run.

“Dragon, transform and kill it!”

I shook my head at Phillip’s shouted advice. “I can’t, there’s not enough room!”

“Well, do SOMETHING or we’re going to die!”

“SHUT UP HUMAN!”

I wracked my brains as the troll walked closer, dragging its club on the ground. Its beady eyes were fixed on my struggling figure, a grin filled with large broken teeth spreading across its face as it stopped within striking distance. Drool dripped from its mouth, pooling on the floor near my feet. I tried to stand once more, almost making it before falling down again. This form had taken too much damage, even my strength as a dragon was not enough to force it to fight. I stared up at the creature that would cause my death, unresigned.

I am a dragon. A creature born of fire and magic. I can’t die like this. I WON’T die like this.  All dragons have a purpose, and I won’t die before I find mine.

I glared at the monster as it raised its club.

“Ugh, I can’t believe I’m doing this…AAAHH!” Just as the club was about to descend, Phillip muttered a few words and jumped on the troll’s back with a yell.

“Here!” Having distracted the monster, he tossed a bottle at me. I recognized it as a healing potion, a rare, expensive medicine. Normally I would resist taking something that would put me in debt, but desperate times… I chugged the contents in one go, standing up as strength filled my limbs once more. I stood up, just in time to see the troll throw Phillip across the room, where he struck the wall with a sickening crack!

“PHILLIP!” I called out, wanting to go to him to check on him, but unable to, obstructed by the troll. It smiled at me, looking forward to hurting something new, but seemed to shudder in fear when I smiled back at it.

It had forgotten. I was a dragon, and it was nothing more than prey before me.

I ripped the troll’s head off, still smiling.

Racing over its dead body, I knelt beside the still form of my human teammate. He was deathly still on the ground, his face pale, barely breathing. I rested a shaking hand on his forehead, letting my magic course through him.

He was dying. Bleeding on his brain, around his heart, into his abdomen. Too many injuries, all about to kill him. Broken bones, torn muscle, even if I stopped him from bleeding, he would never walk again.  He was too far-gone for potions, or healing magic. He would die. I clutched at my chest as a sharp pain coursed through it.  It was an unknown sensation, completely unrelated to any physical injuries. I was confused, upset, but in the midst of my agitation, a clear thought rose through.

I would not let him die.

I bit my finger, wincing as my teeth tore through skin. A drop of silver blood bloomed at the tip of the wound, and without hesitation I forced Phillip’s mouth open and dripped the blood in. He swallowed reflexively, and immediately his body started convulsing. Calm, now that I knew my blood was taking effect, I turned the man onto his side, and watched over his shaking form. Dragon blood had one of the most potent healing effects, but too much would rob a lesser creature of its life, and too little would be ineffective. Many had died from trying to steal what had to be rightfully given. Phillip would heal, he would live longer, be stronger, but he would live. As his body stilled, and his breathing evened out, I found myself smiling gently down at the friend I had made over this time.

“That is to repay you for the potion you gave me.”

Without it, I would have been unable to fight the troll, and would have died.

“… is that so?” a shaking voice replied, his eyes slowly opening.

I nodded. “A dragon always repays debts.”

He smiled, his overly pale face quickly filling with color once more. “Good to know.”

“I still owe you a favor, human.”

“What for?”

I shrugged. “You risked your life to distract the troll. Without that I would have died. Two favors, one repaid. What would you like for the second?”

“Hmm…” He thought it over. “I’m not sure, but I’ll let you know.”

“Don’t wait too long human, you all die so quickly.”

“Wow, so cheerful.”

We laughed at his words, and after a few moments of rest, we collected proof that we had killed the troll and made our way out of the cave.

“YOUR MAJESTY!”

A loud voice called out as we left the cave. Startled, we found ourselves faced with a large group of knights on horses, all with solemn expressions.  I looked over at Phillip, whose face was grim.

“Your address is wrong.” His voice was so cold it seemed to freeze the air around us. “It’s ‘Your Highness.’”

The man in the front shook his head. “No, my king, I’m afraid it’s not.” At some unknown signal, the knights dismounted and knelt before us. “King William is dead. Long live King Phillip!”

“LONG LIVE THE KING!”

At their resounding shouts, I glanced over at my friend with a bemused expression. “So you were a king?”

“I WAS a prince.” He corrected. “Impressed?”

I laughed. “Not really. You’re still human.”

“That’s what I thought.” His words seemed annoyed, but there was an amused light in his eyes.

The kneeling man was offended at my reaction. “You there, adventurer! Kneel before your king!”

I smiled at them, releasing my aura of a dragon, and the knights went from bended knee to groveling on the ground with terrified expressions.

“Dragon…”

“Fine, I will let them go, since they are your people. “ I retracted my aura with a frown. “Teach them to fear and respect dragons though.”

“Deal. I have to go to the Capitol, there will be much to do with the death of my father.” He hesitated and then added. “Would you come with me?”

I was tempted. Phillip was the first friend I had met since taking on a human form. I also still owed him a favor for saving my life. But after a few moments, I shook my head. “No. The city is too crowded, and i have yet to find my purpose. I’ll continue to roam freely here.”

“Understood.”

“I will come find you soon. Until we meet again you must think of how you would like my debt repaid.”

His smile was sad. “Of course. A dragon always repays their debts, right?”

“Right.”

After ten years I went to find him again.

He was older, didn’t smile as much. His eyes were slightly colder, although a happy light still filled them when I walked through the palace doors, a trail of angry guards running behind me.

“Don’t you know how to announce a visit a head of time?” His voice was dry, but there was a smile on his face. “Or at least, knock?”

I shrugged. “I’m a dragon, why bother?”

“… Sure, why not?”

I stood before the throne, ignoring the shocked expressions of the humans around me when I didn’t kneel. “How would you like my debt to be repaid?”

“You really don’t waste time, do you? Would you like to have some tea?”

I shook my head. “I’ll drink tea with you, human. After you tell me how you would like me to repay my debt.”

Phillip sighed. “I don’t know, dragon. Can’t you simply forget and come spend time with a friend.” His smile was self-mocking. “It would do me some good to have someone nearby who didn’t treat me like some kind of god.”

I snorted. “A god should be more impressive.”

“Exactly what I mean.”

“I’ll have tea with you, human king. But then I will leave. I have not yet finished exploring, have not yet found my purpose. Think of what favor you would like before I return.”

“What if what I want is for you to stay with me?”

“Then I will.”

“But it will be because you owe me, not because you want to?”

I nodded. “That is correct.”

A long sigh left his body. “Then continue to be free, dragon.”

“I will return, human. I will repay my debt.”

“Of course,” He muttered. “A dragon always repays their debt.”

Ten years later.

I returned. He still had no request.

“I’d like you to meet someone.” His smile was gentle, but his eyes were even colder than before.  He pushed  a small child in front of him. A small girl with golden hair and a wide, innocent gaze. “This is Milana, my daughter, she’s six years old this year.”

I nodded. “Human child.” I turned back to Phillip with a frustrated expression. “If you still do not have a way for me to repay my debt, than I will go.”

“Wait!” He reached out, hesitating, and then asked. “Will you at least stay for tea with me and my daughter?”

I thought it over, I was in no rush. “I will.”

We passed an afternoon reminiscing about our adventures.

I left, with a promise to return to fulfill my debt.

Ten years later.

I received a letter from the king, before I could even plan to return. Startled, relieved, I made my way to the castle to talk with Phillip.

“Dragon, you came!” He greeted me with a friendly smile, reaching out to grasp my hand, but I stepped out of his reach. His expression, his posture, his words… everything indicated he was happy to see me, an old friend. But something in his eyes made me hesitate.

His eyes… they reminded me of the eyes of the troll all those years ago. Dark, mad, taking joy in hurting others.

Perhaps I simply imagined it. I shook my head, trying to clear it of that thought. Only ten years had passed, could my friend really have changed so much?

“You sent for me, human?” I tried to keep my voice natural.

“Yes, my friend. I finally have a way for you to repay your debt to me!” He sat down, motioning for me to do the same. “My precious daughter, my Milana, who you met before, is in great danger.” Sighing, he looked out of the window nearby, as if weighed down by his responsibilities. “She has a wonderful magical power which strengthens and blesses the nation she resides in. It is with her help these last sixteen years that my kingdom has flourished. But as she comes of age, the competition for her hand has become a bloodbath. All sorts of greedy and unruly men wish to claim her, to use her powers for their own gain.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You wish me to kill these suitors then?”

“No, there are too many, and many are too important.” He sighed loudly. “I want you to protect her.” Bringing out a map, he pointed to an empty space. “I have renovated an old abandoned castle in the forest here. What I ask is that you guard the princess with your life, keeping her safe, and filtering out her suitors.”

“Filtering out her suitors?”

Shrugging, Phillip continued. “I plan to make a proclamation that only one who can defeat the dragon can marry the princess.”

The atmosphere around us grew colder at his words. “Not that I’m saying you can be defeated, dragon, but that when you find someone worthy of the girl, that you… pretend to lose.”

“Lose.” I tested out the foreign words, displeased with its taste in my mouth. “Sacrifice my pride as a dragon?”

“But then your life debt to me will be completed, I promise.”

This was a conundrum. If I pretended to lose to a mere human I would sacrifice my pride, but if I reneged on my life debt then what pride did I have to sacrifice? I nodded slowly. “I will do this.”

“Thank you my friend.” His face was relieved, but his eyes remained cold, as if staring at a corpse.

“If that is all, I will take my leave.” I turned to go, but his words stopped me in my tracks.

“One last thing!” Now Phillip looked embarrassed. “I trust you dragon, but my court… they were hard to convince.”

“…” I waited silently for him to complete his request, and he seemed even more uncomfortable with my lack of reaction. “To be honest… the only way I could get them to agree, is if you wear this:” He opened a nearby golden chest. I snorted at the vanity of the yellow metal he loved so much, but froze at the sight of the object within it. Hurt, I stared at him, the betrayal I felt clear, and he flushed with shame. “I’m sorry, dragon. I swear it is only temporary.”

“You would have me wear this?” My voice was filled with rage, but I kept my face calm. There was no reason to strike out, although every instinct urged me to

“It has only two conditions. You cannot harm the princess, and you must guard the castle until the princess is rescued.”

I looked into his eyes, but he didn’t flinch. I wanted to rage, to tear him limb from limb for his arrogance, his deceit, but I didn’t. This was part of my life debt. I would repay him, no matter what.

I reached down towards the disgusting object, my skin crawling as I made contact with the cold, dark metal.

It was a collar.

Crafted with dark magic, it was used to control slaves and magical beasts. Simple conditions could be woven into the magic, and only once these condition were met would the collar fall off. As I touched it, my magic coiled around the object, informing me of the conditions for its release. My gaze grew cold, but I stayed silent as I latched the metal into place around my neck. It was almost too tight, but at least the magic within it would allow it to grow or shrink with me when I transformed.

“With this favor, we are even.”

“Yes dragon, finally you will repay your debt.” He smiled as I did, but neither of us meant it. “Would you like to stay for tea before you go?”

I leapt out the window. “I only drink tea with friends.”

With that, I was gone, my suddenly appearing wings carrying me over to the abandoned castle where I would find my new home.

Two years later.

“YOU STUPID BEAST, WHY DID YOU DRIVE HIM OFF?!!” The princess screamed at me, her face red with rage.

I sighed quietly, reminding myself of my debt before forcing my voice out in a calm tone.

“He was an evil man, one known to murder the innocent and steal from the weak. I did you humans a favor by killing him.”

The girl was unappeased by my answer. “Idiot monster! He was a crown prince! It was a good match!”

“I promised your father to only lower my head to someone worthy of you.” I rolled my eyes, pushing away the thought that no one deserved to be trapped with her.

“I have been here for two years! TWO YEARS!” Pointing a finger at my face, she grinned cruelly. “Pretend to lose to the next man who comes, or I will tell my father to activate that collar around your neck.”

“The conditions for activation have already been set, human girl.” I smiled. “I cannot harm you, and you must be rescued before it can be removed.  Or are you saying that there is a hidden condition I don’t know about?”

My mild words scared her, her face paled and her eyes darted around nervously. “O-of course not! I’m just frustrated, dragon. You can ignore my silly words.”

I held back a sigh of disappointment.

She knew.

The collar was not what it seemed to be. Deep down, I hoped this unpleasant girl was innocent, unaware of her father’s evil schemes. However, from her words and actions just now, it seems she was a co-conspirator.

“I will go out to the town to buy food. Is there anything you would like?” I asked calmly, pretending to overlook her mistake.

“I want a husband.”

“Very well, I will see what I can find.” With a smile, I was out the door and headed for the nearest town.

 When I arrived in town, the man who tended the stall I bought food from was engrossed in conversation.

“You have to be careful, stranger, word is that there is a castle in these nearby woods with a monster living in it! It guards a beautiful princess, killing all who come nearby. The king himself has issued a proclamation that who ever kills the dragon can marry the princess! “ The shopkeep chatted with an unfamiliar male human, a worried expression on his face.

“Thank you for the warning.” The man answered with a broad grin, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. “Do you happen to know where the adventurer’s guild is?”

“I can take you there.” I stepped forward, curious about the new arrival.

The young man was tall, his dark hair tied back behind his head to keep it out of the way. In the thirty years of living amongst humans, I had learned to distinguish quality of equipment. This man was in the finest of armor, with a sword bearing the personal mark of a blademaster. It would take more than gold to purchase such, it took prestige and ability to wield a blade such as that. Why would such an important and wealthy young man come all the way out to this small village?

I smiled to myself. Looks, like the newest contender for the princess’s hand had arrived.

The human stood tall, his expression tinged with pride, as he looked me up and down.

“How would you be able to enter the Adventurer’s guild? You look weak.”

The surrounding villagers groaned, having gotten used to me receiving these sorts of challenges over the last two years. Quickly in the background money was already exchanging hands in a bet.

I refused to hide my pride as a dragon. “I’m stronger than you.”

“Prove it.”

I couldn’t help it, I burst into delighted laughter. He looked nothing like him, but this man couldn’t help but remind me of my first friend, of Phillip. Thinking of my last conversation with that human, however, my smile faded into sadness. Instead, I cracked my knuckles, wanting to work out some frustration.

“All right then.”

I knocked him out with one blow.

Once he had woken up, he gave me a self-depreciating smile and reached out a hand. I grasped it, helping him to his feet. “Wow, I really underestimated you!” His gaze was bright, lacking the greed and arrogance that the men who came after the princess before him had shown. “You’re an awesome fighter!”

“You aren’t bad yourself.” For a human. I added silently.

“Thanks!”  He paused and then reached out his hand again. “I’m Pr… I’m Robert.”

I shook it. “You can call me ‘Dragon.’”

He chuckled “Is that a nickname, a fighting title or something?”

“Of sorts.”

“Well, Dragon, let’s go to the adventurer’s guild!”

I introduced Robert to the guild, allowing him to register. He stated he wanted to get used to the surrounding area, and I volunteered to take a few quests with him. He was a bright, cheerful human, and I enjoyed fighting by his side. Often we would speak while traveling, learning about each other.

“What do you wish for in your life, Dragon?”

I looked up at the sky, touching the collar around my neck which was hidden under my clothes. “Freedom.” All dragons had a purpose, and that had become mine.

He chuckled. “What a novel answer, Dragon. Is someone forcing you to stay in this village against your will?” He cracked his knuckled. “Let me know, I can help you sort the villain out.”

Imagining his face if I told him that the villain he was looking for was the king of this nation, I laughed as well. “What about you, Robert? What is your dream?”

He smiled brightly. “I want to be a great king, just like my father! A wise ruler that people will thrive under! I want my people to be happy, to prosper!”

I patted his shoulder. “That’s a good dream.”

And so the happy days spent together continued.

“Dragon, can I tell you a secret?” After months of taking quests and exploring together, we sat at the guild, having a drink after a long fight that had lasted until evening.

“If you wish.” I had no wish to hear it, but I knew enough of human customs now to know I shouldn’t refuse.

“I’m not here to just be an adventurer.” Robert was drunk, he swayed slightly in his chair as he spoke, his gaze slightly unfocused. “Actually…” he looked side to side to make sure no one else was close enough to hear. “I’m a prince!”

I fought the desire to roll my eyes. He bore the royal crest of the neighboring kingdom on his saddle! Did he really think I hadn’t noticed?

Robert studied my calm expression, pouting. “You don’t seem surprised. Do you not believe me?”

“If you say you are a prince, I believe you.” I answered quietly. His face broke out into a wide smile.

“Thanks! You are a great person!”

I chuckled at his drunken compliments.

“But that’s not all my secrets.” My laughter was cut short at his next whisper.

“Robert…”

“I’m here to slay the dragon, and rescue the princess!” He was still smiling, but I was unable to smile back.

I felt a deep pain in my chest. We had not spent all that much time together, but over the last few months I had grown to respect him as a person. He seemed to lack greed and dishonesty, the traits that had made me despair of ever trusting another human again. We had laughed together, shared stories, guarded each other’s backs… it reminded me of a simpler time, before I understood the darkness underneath the surface of the human world, back when it was just me and Phillip. To hear him say that he would kill me, even if it was unknowingly, struck me silent with pain where I sat.

“If I kill the beast, and rescue Princess Milana, the king has promised me her hand in marriage, which will cement the relations between our two countries!” He grinned excitedly, his slightly red eyes staring off into the distance, but I simply shook my head.

“What if…” The tentative words were not like me, it caught Robert’s attention immediately, drunk as he was.

“What?! What’s wrong?”

“Do you really think you can kill a dragon?”

He puffed out his chest. “Of course! I’m the strongest!” He paused, wincing. “Of course, I guess, the second strongest, next to you. But still, I should be able to slay a simple dragon!”

No, you’re wrong, you’ve already lost to the dragon and just said that you were weaker…

I sighed. “What if the dragon wasn’t just a simple beast?”

“What do you mean? A dragon is a monster!” He rubbed his face, as if trying to clear his head.

“What if the dragon was like… you or me? Could talk, could dream, could hope…”

Could love. The words died silently in my chest.

His face grew serious. “If that were the case… then I would still kill it.”

My hearts hurt again. I rubbed my chest uncomfortably.

“Why?”

“Because if I don’t secure this marriage, my father will name my brother as his successor. I need the alliance from this nation to secure my right to the throne.”

“And this throne is more important to you than a living being?”

“It’s kidnapped a princess, it’s not like that monster is innocent.”

I laughed out loud, a strange, haunted sound. I suppose that’s right. I’m not innocent.

“What’s wrong?” He grinned uncomfortably, “Is this because of your nickname, Dragon? I won’t kill you, just the monster, I promise!”

A second burst of desperate laughter escaped my chest, it sounded like a sob of pain.

“Power, thrones, gold… humans like these things very much, don’t they?”

“Dragon…” Robert trailed off as I stood up.

“I know where the castle is. I will send you directions.”

“You- you do?”

“I do.” I reached out and patted his shoulder. “I wish you luck, friend.”

I started to walk away.

“Hey! After I defeat the dragon, and rescue the princess… you should come back to my kingdom! We can keep going on quests, adventuring just like we have before!” He grew excited as he spoke, but I simply shook my head.

“I’m sorry Robert, I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

“What?! Why?”

“Because I also have to pursue my dream. Goodbye, Robert.” With these words, I left him.

As I walked, the pain in my chest moved to my eyes, causing them to water. I cursed the weakness of this human form, running out of sight to transform back into my dragon body. As I flew away, I roared my pain out to the heaven’s suppressing my grief, and looking forward. 

I was a dragon. A supreme being of fire and magic. I needed no one.

I informed the princess that night that she would be rescued in the morning. She cheered, clapping her hands excitedly upon finding out that her future husband would be a prince.

I stared at her quietly, unable to suppress my curiosity.

“So we will part tomorrow, the collar’s restriction will be lifted. I will play my part, and my debt to your father will be paid.”

The human girl stared at me, her eyes widening as she realized what my words meant.

Would she speak up? This would be her last chance to speak out, to tell the truth about the collar around my neck, to reach out to the one who had protected her from villains, assassins and thieves for the past two years…

“Well, I’m going to go to sleep, Dragon. I wouldn’t want to be tired for my rescue!” She gave me a wide grin, avoiding my eyes, and scampered upstairs.

I stared after her, feeling a sense of disappointment

I flew away in the night searching for magic within the deep forests and lakes. Catching wind of a spark, I landed down within a clearing, standing just outside a fairy ring. 

“Mighty dragon, to what do I owe the pleasure?” The fairy queen stepped out, still dancing under the moonlight as if to a silent tune.

“I have come to make a trade.”

“Your kind rule over all that is magical and all that is not. You take what you want and give what you want.” Her tiny face was confused. “What can I trade with you?”

I let out a sigh, lowering my head until we were eye to eye. “I have been betrayed.”

“What…?” She trailed over, her silver eyes widening upon seeing the black metal around my neck. “Who in this world could collar you?”

“I put it around my own neck to pay a life debt.”

A long sigh came from the fairy queen. “What a waste of a life debt. If the human was smart he would have asked for one of your hearts, or a cup of your blood.”  Studying it closer she frowned. “The conditions of this dark magic…”

“Yes, to never hurt the princess, to only be freed upon her rescue…”

“But the third condition…”

I cut her off. “I’m well aware of the third condition.”

“Those bastards!” She cursed, crying glowing tears as she stared at the collar around my neck as if it were a noose.  “What can I do?”

I smiled. “I’ve spent many years among humans, I’ve studied them, lived among them… I know what they value most. I will make them drown in regret for what they have done.”

“But how?”

I handed her a jar, that glowed with an eerie silver light. She glanced at it, her face turning purple as she realized what it held.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”

“Shush. You only need to hold onto it.” I soothed the fairy with a laugh. “When the collar’s magic is complete, please return it to me. In return I will give you 3 drops of my blood. One now, and two upon completion.”

She shook her head. “I don’t dare take that high of payment this simple task.”

“Good, because I have two more tasks for you.”

We placed our heads together and planned quietly through the night.

“Dragon! Come out! I, Prince Robert, have come to face you!” A familiar voice called out from the castle’s entrance. I sighed quietly, even if I expected it, it was still painful to confront him like this. I spread my wings, lifting my dragon form into the air, landing in front of him quietly.

“What do you want, human?” I asked him.

He started, confused for a moment. “You can talk?”

I laughed bitterly. “I am a dragon, a supreme being of fire and magic. Did you think I was a simple beast?”

“N- No.” He shook his head. “Dragon or no, I have come to rescue the princess today.”

“And what if I release her without a fight?” I stared at him seriously, and he grew uncomfortable.

“Y- You can’t do that.”

“Why not?  If I release her, will you leave without my head?”

Robert paused, seeming to think it over, and then shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?” I knew his reasons, but some perverseness within me made me want to hear him say it out loud.

“YOU… you must pay for your crimes!” He turned red and stammered as he spoke, unused to lying.

I chuckled. “So you must slay the dragon to prove your worth as the future king. The princess matters very little to you.”

“No! I need the marriage too!” He stopped, clapping a hand to his mouth. “I didn’t mean…”

“It’s fine, she has not heard you. I will call her out now. “ I whistled a wind spell, opening the doors and lifting the princess to come to rest on the ground half-way between us. She looked hopefully at Robert, squeezing out a few fake tears.

“My hero!”

Her sweet falsetto caused him to smile at her. I watched them both, wishing to rub my chest which hurt.

“Human!” I called out, not having to fake my irritation. “If you have come to fight, let us fight.”

Robert nodded, notching back an arrow and aiming it at my chest.

It bounced off my scales and clattered to the ground.

I sighed. “You aren’t making this easy.” With that, I transformed into my human form.

Seeing me, he yelled, confused. “Dragon? Why are you here… this has to be an illusion!”

I smiled sadly. “I told you from the start to call me ‘dragon’ and you still did not understand?”

“You- you’re…”

“I am your friend, the one who has fought side by side with you the past few months.” I spread my arms wide, leaving myself open to attack. “I am also the dragon which guards the princess. To kill one is to kill the other.”

Robert retreated a few steps, shaking with shock. The princess saw his reluctance and called out. “Hurry up and fight that horrible monster!”

Monster? I saw him mouth the word as if confused.

“Don’t you have a dream?” I asked him quietly?

His eyes slowly cleared, and his hands steadied. The arrow was aimed at my chest.

“I’m sorry, Dragon.”

I smiled. “I won’t forgive you.”

He let loose the arrow, and it struck me between my upper ribs. I fell backwards with a groan.

“There, princess, I have saved you. Let’s go.”

“Wait!” She called out, angry. “Do you really think one arrow is enough to kill a dragon?!”

The both turned towards me, who had sat up, and casually pulled the arrow out. “I am too weak to continue, brave prince.” My voice was mocking, my eyes cold. “I yield, and declare you the winner. You may take the princess.”

Robert hesitated only a moment, and then nodded. “Then I will take her away, dragon.” He looked as if he wanted to say more, but held back. With his acceptance of his win, however, it was enough.

The collar around my neck glowed. I sighed with relief.

“What’s happening?” Robert was confused.

“I have been collared by the king to repay a life debt.” I laughed softly. “The first of the collar is that I could never harm the princess. The second is that I must guard her until she is rescued and only then would the collar’s magic be complete.”

“So you are free?” He asked with a hopeful expression.

“If only the world were so kind, isn’t that right princess?” I called out the young woman, who sneered at me from where she hid behind the prince.

“Milana? What does Dragon mean?”

“Yes, princess, do you want to tell him about the secret condition you and your father hid from me?” I paused, listening to the magic of the collar as it activated. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, you’ll see soon enough. “ I changed into my dragon form.

“What are you…?”

“I don’t wish to die in another form. I will die as a dragon.”

“Die…?” Robert was pale, he stepped closer only to be pulled back by the princess.

A bright light poured out from the collar, enveloping me. I felt its magic sink into my flesh, seeking my heart, to stop it.

The third condition.

When the princess was rescued, and the collar’s magic was completed. I would die. Only then would the collar come off and I would be free.

“Goodbye.” 

I was unsure who I was saying it to. Robert? The princess? Phillip?

I thought I heard someone cry out: “DON’T GO!” but before I could look in that direction, darkness over came me. The magic entered my heart, stopping it in place.

And at the foot of the castle, next to the prince and the princess he rescued… I died.

Pain.

Pain in my chest was the first thing I felt again. I tried to open my eyes, the light of the sun blinding me.

“Ouch.”

I blinked a few times, focusing on the tiny form in front of my chest, her hand buried deep within the flesh.

“Thank you Fairy Queen.”

She smiled and retrieved her hand. “You’re welcome, Dragon. We had a deal, after all.”

“Any problems?”

She gestured behind her back. “The human was noisy. The male one. He kept crying and screaming about how he betrayed you and deserved death. The female immediately started talking about draining your blood for her father. I assume that is why they wanted you dead.” She thought it over. “Should I kill them?”

I shook my head, wincing as the motion pulled at my open chest wound the fairy had just made. “No need.”

“DRAGON?” Robert cried out, tears on his face. He rushed forward, staring at me with wide eyes. “How are you alive? I thought…”

“That the magic of the collar had killed me?” I glanced down at the pieces of dark metal on the ground and let out a flame, melting it into a puddle. “It  did.”

“Then how are you alive?” The princess was upset.

The fairy laughed. “Foolish humans. All creatures know that dragons have two hearts. The magic only affected the one in the chest, while I had the second one given to me last night!” She pointed at my wound within a silver heart beat loudly. “It only needed to be replaced. “

“That’s enough, fairy.” I sighed as she used magic to close up the scales of my chest, hiding my heart from view. I felt safer without it exposed. “Did you do the other tasks I asked you?”

She grinned mischievously. “That I did, mighty dragon.”

“What did you…?” Robert started to ask, but stopped, as if unsure if he should continue.

“I will tell you, human.” I no longer called him by his name. He was no longer a friend, like Phillip or his daughter. “My time amongst humans has taught me much. You all spout ideals of love, and hope and light. But in the end, you care for only two things: power and gold.”

“I-“ He seemed to want to argue, but fell silent.

“I will simply take the things you love.”

Now the princess looked concerned. “What do you mean?”

The fairy leaned back, cackling with glee. “We took all the gold in the castle vaults! Every last piece! We rotted all the wood on your weapons, rendering your armies useless, and turned your thrones into dust.” She glanced at Robert. “Your kingdom too.”

The princess fell down, her face pale. “All of the gold is gone?”

“It belongs to me.” I smiled, “I have no use for it, but I will decorate my lair with it, and enjoy looking at something that you care so much for being in my possession.”

“But…”

“You are always free to try to take it from me, if you dare.” My smile turned cold. “But know this: I am a dragon. I will not be challenged lightly. I have been merciful, but no longer. If you come searching for your gold, be prepared to lose your life.”

“Dragon.” Robert whispered my name as if it meant something, his face sad. 

I spread my wings and lifted into the air, ignoring him.  Flying over the kingdoms, I let out roar after roar. It was a shout a joy, of being alive again. Of challenge for all who would oppose me.

Finally I came to my lair, the small cave I had been born in that had now been dug into an enormous cavern. I settled within it, looking with satisfaction at the sparkling golden pieces that decorated every inch of my lair. I made a nest among it, falling asleep within the piles.

I hoped they would try and take it. I looked forward to their attempts. 

I would kill them all.

I was a dragon. A creature born of fire and magic. I paid my debts, protected my pride. And now…

I was home. 

[wilwywaylan]

For want of a book...

Fandom : Les Misérables

Hogwarts AU, Bahorel & Feuilly & Jehan, kinda shippy, 4004 words

Written for the same prompt challenge on AO3 ! (so yes it’s on AO3 too !)

It's not very usual for Bahorel to find himself in the library. Okay, that doesn't mean he's ignorant or stupid, of course not. Some papers require an extended use of books, especially those pesky potions ones that had him slave on his parchment until the small hours of the morning, with the only company of a dying fire in the common room. But when he has the opportunity of not spending his time surrounded by dusty books, he takes it wholeheartly and grabs his broom to go and fly as much as he can. Nothing like the wind going through his hair and the feeling of freedom instead of being stuck inside.

But right now, sadly, he has one of those papers looming over his head. He's not late, not yet, but he's only half-done, and he can't remember to save his life what the effects of mandragora are. So as soon as he's done with his breakfast, he makes his way to the library, dragging his feet all the way. He tries not to look outside, at the sky so perfectly blue it looks painted on. It's a perfect day to fly, with a hint of breeze, and he can't go and enjoy it. There are even birds chirping outside and his fingers start to itch, he can almost feel the wood of his broom under his fingers, the wind going through his hair, and the sun, warmer and warmer as he goes higher....

The library door is cold and hard, breaking his reverie in little pieces. He knows he has to push it, set himself to work, kick his own ass, or he's going to fail that class and maybe his whole year, and he'll never hear the end of it. Not only his parents will be on his case day and night, but Feuilly will probably gloat like there's no tomorrow. Damn squirrel, with his brain full of stuff that breezes through exams like it's nothing while Bahorel barely passes. And of course he flaunts it. More or less. At least that's how Bahorel sees it, and he's sure he's right, Feuilly likes to rub in his face how he's more clever than him. Of course, Bahorel retaliates by rubbing in his face how Feuilly is as graceful as a log when put on a broom, and he can't get higher than three inches. Low blow, maybe, but he started it. Maybe. He doesn't remember, really. After all, it goes all the way back to their first year ; they started fighting for a stupid reason, and never really stopped.

Bahorel finds himself a spot at the end of one of the long tables, put down his stuff, and sits. And stares at the table. And stares. He knows he doesn't have all day, that he'll have to leave soon for dinner, and then his other homework (because of course, he does have other homework that he left on the side for too long, and will probably take out a huge chunk of his night), but it still takes him at least five minutes just to start. And he stops again after only a few words. No matter how hard he tries, he can't recall any useful information. They went over it during several lessons, but he must have zoned out. As he always does. What can he say, potions isn't really his forte.

But he needs a book, to help him. Which means getting up, finding where the books about the use of mandragora are, then localizing the right one that may give him the informations he needs, and then finding the right pages, and then arranging them in something vaguely coherant, and then.... Just thinking of it exhausts him, and he almost leaves, mandragora be damned. But he can't, not when his whole year hangs in the balance. So he slowly gets up and makes his way to the shelves.

He watches them intently, trying to see if there's not a glowing "Mandragora this way" sign somewhere that could guide him to the book he needs. But besides a few half-erased words painted here and there, no sign, no indication, nothing. He's alone to face this task. The novels he used to read as a kid come to his mind ; they were rife with explorators travelling to dangerous countries, and all those adventurers always used a native to guide them through the myriads of dangers awaiting them. He should have brought a native too, grab the nearest Ravenclaw and force them to come with him.

His mind toying with the idea of making his Ravenclaw guide carry his backpack, Bahorel enters book territory. And immediatly gets lost. There's no indication inside, just rows and rows and rows of leather-bound books, pressed together so tight you could barely pull them out without bringing all of them down on you. It's dark between them ; the few lanterns supposed to light the room are hanged way too high to effectively dispell the darkness accumulating between the high shelves. The more Bahorel advances, the more the atmosphere weights on him. The walls formed by the books seem to close on him, the thick air getting even thicker with the dust floating in the dying glow of the lamps. The leather swallows each and every sound, and the silence is almost deafening. Bahorel could be lost in the maze, hours from the nearest source of light, of air, of freedom... and he wouldn't know.

He turns left, hoping for an opening, or a map, something, but there are only more rows of books. He glances at his left, to see if he's getting closer from the shelf he needs. But the books seem to be about history ("The Great Goblin War of 1812", "Wands through Time" and "Influences of the Muggle Revolution on Laws and Regulations of the Wizarding World", who could read that ?). The ones on his right cover what seems to be Care for Magical Creatures, or at least that's what he thinks "Baby Dragons of Slovenia" and "Crests : an unknown menagerie" mean. But who knows. The only thing he knows is that he'll never find what he's looking for, and bonus, he'll probably stay here forever, unable to find his way, cursed to stay among the books until he dies and his skeleton turns to dust.

He's starting to think that maybe, he should swallow his damn pride and ask someone for help, maybe those first years looking at him and whispering, when he hears voices just across the corner. And not just some voices, but at least one he recognizes, sadly. Not even here is he free from Feuilly and his squirelly nuisance. Well, it's logical, since he's a Ravenclaw and therefore the most likely place when one could find them is in the library. But still, can't he really come here without having to endure his presence ? But the second voice is Jehan's, and Bahorel likes Jehan. A lot, in fact. He's smart, he's nice, he's not a know-it-all. And he has gorgeous eyes and long, beautiful hair that Bahorel would like to slide his fingers into, not that it plays a role.

He turns the corner and here they are, standing in front of a shelf, looking up. A lantern is shining on Jehan's beautiful hair, and Feuilly's too, bathing it in gold. It looks soft, on both of them, which is weird because Bahorel never thinks about Feuilly's hair. But right now, while they are standing side by side, they look strangely alike, with the same copper hair that curl at the ends and freckles dusting their faces and hands, and they are even wearing the same Muggle plaid shirts in gaudy colors. Almost like twins. Or siblings of different age, because Jehan is almost as tall as Bahorel.

- Hey nerds.

At the sound of his voice, Feuilly jumps and spins, and glares at him like he's trying to chase him away by the sole force of his will. Jehan just turns and smiles.

- Hello, Bahorel. What are you doing here ?

Bahorel bites down on the scathy answer, because it's Jehan and you don't want to make Jehan cry, even if the question is stupid. Some people say it brings bad luck. So he just shrugs and answers :

- Looking for a book, as you can see. You ?

- What do you think ? Feuilly says, through gritted teeth.

- Don't let politeness strangle you on the way out, Squirrel.

Feuilly scowls and growls, but doesn't utter another word. Jehan answers for him :

- We need a book about the emergence of tranformation potions during the XIXe century and how they were outlawed.

- And what do you need that for, exactly ?

- Just for our culture, Jehan smiles sweetly.

Bahorel is not reassured in the least by that smile, but he decides not to dwell on it.

- Oh well... maybe it should be somewhere around ? he says, gesturing vaguely towards the shelf.

Probably in the magical land of books that perfectly fit what you're looking for, he muses, trying not to laugh at "magical land" too much. But count on those nerds to find the weirdest books on this library.

- oh, it's not a problem, Jehan explains. We've already found it. But we have a small problem. It's there.

He points upwards. Bahorel follows his gesture, but all he can see is another row of books, undiscernable from the others he's seen on his way in.

- That one, Jehan insists. The red one.

There are several red ones, but the one that he needs is probably the one sitting a good two meters above their heads. Of course.

- Can't you just... accio it ?

- Wands don't work in the library, Feuilly answers in a tone showing clearly that he considers Bahorel an idiot.

- So what, Squirrel ? Climb.

Feuilly glares at hims and turns away. For a second, Bahorel thinks that Jehan is going to scold him, but he just frowns slightly.

- We tried.... well, not climbing, of course, but I tried helping Feuilly up, and we...

His voice trails off.

- It failed ? Bahorel offers.

Feuilly glances at him, and Bahorel notices the bruise on his cheek.

- Go on, laugh, the redhead growls.

Bahorel shrugs. There's a joke all ready about squirrels and falling from a tree that offers itself to him, but strangely, he doesn't really feel like taking it. Instead, he joins them, fists planted on his hips, and cranes his neck to look at the book too. It's innocent-looking, just standing on its shelf like any other book. It's even jutting a little, at least an inch, almost calling to be grabbed. Sadly, it's still way up above, at least one meter above Bahorel's grasp, if not more.

- Isn't there a damn ladder in that place ? he mutters.

- We tried to find one, Jehan answers, mimicking his posture. We couldn't find one.

- And trying to climb...

- Doesn't work, Feuilly completes. We tried. Everything.

- You tried to climb the shelf, you ? Bahorel asks, a little amused.

Feuilly shrugs, but there's the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. He's proud of himself for trying to climb the shelf. And here, Bahorel always thought he was way too respectful and well-behaved (but he'd rather use the word "uptight") to do something that was forbidden by the rules. And here he is, destroying his illusions. Bahorel tries not to smile too broadly at the idea of scrawny Feuilly trying to climb the shelves like a giant ladder. Instead, he looks at the book again.

- You know what ? he suddenly says. I'm going to be a good dude and help you.

Both redheads turn to look at him. Jehan seems curious, Feuilly vaguely hostile.

- And how you're gonna do that ?

- I'm gonna lift you.

Feuilly immediatly takes a step back.

- You're going to what ?

- C'mon, Squirrel, don't be shy. Or are you afraid ?

The accusation hits home. Feuilly may be level-headed most of the time, but after several years, Bahorel knows how to push his buttons. And an accusation of cowardice, from his archenemy, is the perfect starter. He marches to Bahorel, until they are almost chest to chest, looks straight in his eyes. The air gets thicker suddenly, and Bahorel finds out breathing has become harder suddenly. He tries not to show it on his face, and it's not easy, with Feuilly's eyes so close. They are icy, they are burning, they are huge, with little shards of gold shining in the warm brown, and Bahorel can feel the heat slowly climbing on his cheeks. He blesses the darkness that hides his blushing.

- So, Squirrel, he says, noticing with a hint of satisfaction that his voice isn't cracking.

- Lift me, is the simple answer.

Bahorel wants to discuss, bites back that he doesn't take orders, but he figures that it may not be a good idea. He bends down instead, interlaces his fingers to make a footstand. Feuilly watches him silently for a moment, probably trying to figure if it's a trap or a real offer, and if Bahorel is not going to propel him over his head.

Finally, he puts his foot in Bahorel's hands. Bahorel lifts him with ease, giving him the height he needs to reach the book.... almost. His fingers stop at a few centimeters.

- Godda.... Higher. Please, he adds like an afterthought.

- Can't. You're heavier than you look.

- Ha, ha. Very funny.

- I know.

Bahorel tries lifting him higher, but his arms start protesting. Good, now he's going to be sore too. He manages to give him two centimeters more. Feuilly stretches, the points of his shoes digging in Bahorel's palms. Painfully. He should have asked him to step on his shoulders. It would probably hurt less.

Jehan walks to him, and puts his hands under Bahorel's. With a smile, he pushes upwards, taking a little bit of the weight from his arms. Bahorel welcomes the relief with a sigh. They only won a little bit of height, but it seems to do the trick. Feuilly's fingers barely brush the book, but it's enough to hook one under the leather and pull.

The book doesn't move. Of course they are way too squeezed on that shelf, and it doesn't slide out easily. Feuilly pulls, and pulls again. Finally, a pull harder than the others is enough to dislodge it. But it's enough to break Feuilly's balance too. He waves his arms around, tries to grasp the shelf to break his fall, and he would certainly have managed if he was standing on a regular stool. But Bahorel's hands don't offer a regular support, and he falls down. Bahorel notices something is wrong when Feuilly starts stomping on his hands, but it happens too fast for him to do anything else than hold his arms out in an awkward fashion and brace himself.

He kind of catches Feuilly, without breaking both arms, which is a feat. But the collision sends him to the floor, hard enough to take his breath away. And one half-second later, Feuilly falls on him, effectively squeezing all the remaning air out of his lungs. He expects the book to smack him on the face, or maybe the whole shelf to fall on them, or hell, even the ground swallowing them both. But nothing moves and the world doesn't end, and no one comes to expel them on the spot for damaging a precious book. The only thing he can hear is Jehan's hurried step besides him.

He opens his eyes and gets up on his elbows. His ribs protest, but nothing seems too hurt around there. He'll probably have a bruise or two to remember this adventure. Maybe more since he can't breathe properly. But that's due to Feuilly still laying on top of him. Bahorel wants to push him away, but Jehan is already kneeling beside them, his brows furrowed in worry, and he doesn't want to look like a brute by slamming Feuilly head first in a shelf.

Feuilly sits up, apparently unaware that he's using Bahorel as a giant cushion, then goes to get up. And immediatly falls back holding his leg, with a scream of pain that Bahorel echoes because he just fell down on his stomach again and that damn squirell is heavy. Jehan manoeuvres his friend around until he's sitting on the floor, then gently unties the fingers knot around Feuilly's ankle. He moves it gently, and Feuilly gasps in pain.

- I think it's twisted, he finally says. Did you land on it ?

- It hit the shelf, I think, Feuilly answers.

- Do you think you can walk ?

Feuilly tries to get up again, falls down again, luckily not on Bahorel anymore.

- No, he deadpans. I don't think so.

They both turn to Bahorel, who has sat up by now and is watching them. He doesn't know why he's staying, it's not as if they still need him, since the book came down with Feuilly. He should leave, go and do something interesting like finding his own book, and still he's sitting there. But it seems they are not down with him.

- I'm afraid you're going to have to carry me.

Bahorel is so stumped by his gall that it takes him two seconds to react.

- You want me to what ?

- To carry me. I can't walk.

- And why ?

He's already ready to fight back the accusations, to point that Feuilly wanted that damn book and some help and he got both, and he even caught him, it's not his fault he hit his stupid foot. In fact, he probably even saved his life. So why should he repay him ? But Feuilly simply nods towards Jehan.

- Jehan can't carry me and the books and the bags at the same time.

Oh. It's logical. Very logical. And so not agressive that Bahorel can't really refuse. Of course Jehan can't. He may be tall, and not weak at all despite being built like a twig, but he still has only two arms. Bahorel muses about it for an instant. Feuilly and him have been bickering and fighting for years, there's no reason he should help him. On the other hand, he did ask. Not really politly, but at least he didn't swear. And Jehan is watching him with those impossibly huge, mismatched eyes, and he can't really say no now, does he ? He kneels down beside Feuilly and mutters more than he says outright :

- Go on, climb.

Feuilly doesn't move.

- I'm not carrying you as a princess, just so you know. So climb.

The two redheads look at each other, and seem to decide that there's nothing wrong there. Feuilly finally moves, loops his arms around Bahorel's neck. It takes a minute to move him around without jostling his foot too much, but soon, he's perched on his back. Jehan grabs the book, their bags, and away they go.

The way to the Ravenclaw dormitory is quite long, and if Bahorel doesn't have too much trouble carrying Feuilly because, let's face it, he's not that heavy, it gives people far too much time to stare. And they do stare. Of course, they are probably wondering why he's carrying his archrival on his back and why his archrival is cuddling him. Because Feuilly is really, currently, actually cuddling him. He's holding Bahorel tighter than needed, his head is resting in the crook of Bahorel's neck, his hair tickling his neck, in a way that's absolutly not normal for someone who hates him with the burning passion of a few hundred suns. Bahorel should dump him on the floor, throw him away and let him deal with his leg and his book and the rest. But he doesn't. Instead, he just keeps walking, hoisting Feuilly a little higher. He's rewarded by the arms around his shoulders tightening a little.

Finally, after a flight of stairs that seems to take at least an hour to climb without falling over, Jehan gives the password, and they can make their way to their room. Bahorel is almost sure that Feuilly has fallen asleep on him. But no, he stirs when they reach his bed (it's his bed, Bahorel is sure, you just need to look at all the books scattered around, and the drawing tools stacked on the nightstand). Bahorel puts him down as gently as possible. Immediatly, Jehan fusses around him, fluffying the pillows, finding a cushion for his ankle and arranging his books and notepads around him. Finally, he settles beside him, his own notebook on his lap.

Bahorel just watches them. There's a pinch of something around his stomach, he doesn't really know what, and he's not sure he wants to look at it closely. Maybe it's jealousy rearing its ugly head at the sight of Jehan being so comfortable with each other. Or maybe it's due to seeing them together, at ease, caught in their little world of books and learning and knowledge, where he doesn't belong. They don't need him anymore. Or maybe it's just seeing them like that. There's something in the air, something heavy that makes it difficult to breathe. Like when Feuilly was looking at him, so close, but the feeling is stronger, ten times stronger. Suddenly, everything is so precise, turning into a painting, a carving, in so much detail that jumps at his face, pervasive, overwhelming, occulting everything. The light is so blinding, highlighting everything in sharp yellow, drowning the rest in thick shadows, dancing on their hair, turning it in short scraps or long strings of copper and gold. He can't move, he can't breath, and he can't look away from them.

Jehan looks up at him and smiles, and the spell is broken. Except that Bahorel's heart is still jumping wildly, and it's even worse when Feuilly looks at him too.

- So, guys, he tries, hoping that his voice doesn't sound too weak. I'll leave you to your books.

Good. Just hightail out of here before you do something stupid.

- Thanks, Feuilly mutters. For the lift. I owe you one.

- Don't mention it.

- Sure ? Jehan asks. Because we stole your time, took you away from the library, and you were nice enough to help us. If we can do something, you just have to ask.

Bahorel wants to play it cool, but that never did anything good for his grades. So he explains :

- In fact, I may need a book. About mandragoras. For a paper. I went to the library for one, but I couldn't find any. And then...

- And then we happened, Feuilly completes. Bring the paper. What ? he asks when Bahorel doesn't move. Do I have to take it myself ?

- I just need a book. I'm sure Jehan has one. (Jehan nods.)

- Sure. And your grades are stellar, we all know that. Come on. We'll help.

Bahorel wants to argue that for someone who hates him, Feuilly sure knows a lot about his grades. But as much as he doesn't want to admit it, he needs help. And he'd be foolish to not accept it when it's so freely given. So he takes his own bag and makes himself confortable. It takes a bit of adjustement, because as large as their beds are, they are still a bit too tight for two tall boys and an average one. At the end, they have gathered at least ten pillows on the bed, Feuilly is almost seated on Jehan, and his ankle is now mysteriously resting on Bahorel's leg. Jehan is passing around cups of tea he pulled out from seemingly nowhere. Books are open everywhere and they all have rolls of parchment on their laps. This is the exact opposite of how Bahorel likes to spend his afternoons, but Feuilly and Jehan are talking about plants, gesturing wildly while they get lost on details that mean nothing to him, Feuilly's arm and leg are warm where they are pressed against him, and he wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

“Crests : an unknown menagerie” comes from l’Homme qui Rit. Baby dragons of Slovenia exist and they are adorable :D (google “humanfish” for cute salamanders / axolotls)

[elven-oracle]

the siren, act i: serenity |p.p. /part 6|

[part one]��[part two] [part three] [part four] [part five] [part seven]

moodboard credit to @astral-parker

special thanks to @rainbow-marvel for always being willing to edit my thinGS!!!

to listen to the sea shanty i have drawn minimal inspiration from, click here

SUMMARY: When merchant ships start mysteriously going missing, Tony Stark enlists the help of Peter Parker to discover what could possibly be causing them to vanish from thin air. Unbeknownst to them, some mysteries go deeper than the sea itself.

PAIRING: Peter Parker x Siren!OC

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

Tony Stark was stuck in a ditch, and he was desperate to find a way out.

Inside of his lab was a creature. A creature. The little fucking mermaid. He had acted nonchalant in front of the kid when they had first seen her out on the ocean, but that was before he realized all of the complications that followed her. She was a political nightmare. Once he said a word to any person in government, she would be pulled apart at the seams. She would be pricked and pried at until the poor thing went mad and then thrown back into the ocean.

His ears were hot and his heart was racing as he stalked out of the room. He didn’t want to lash out on Peter any more than he already had, but the situation was so complicated it made his brain hurt, and it felt impossible to think clearly when he was with them. The thing could put a human into a trance just by opening her mouth. How were they supposed to know her intentions? Why hadn’t she tricked them into drowning already?

He liked to think he vaguely knew the answer to that question. Peter had some sort of connection with her, and she reciprocated. They mirrored each other’s looks of longing like two lonely teenagers - or what appeared to be teenagers - looking at each other across the middle school gym at a shitty dance. This dance was just about as shitty as it got. Tony had gotten two hours of sleep, was preventing two mutant kids from falling in love, and for all he knew Peter was asphyxiating as he rode the elevator to his bedroom.

For the millionth time that afternoon, he strayed from the idea that she was an evil being. The way she spoke about her own species was detached and disoriented. It reminded him of how he spoke about his father: there was no sense of belonging.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. is Peter still alive?” he just wanted to ease his anxiety.

Peter Parker is alive and in good health in your lab.

“Good.”

He exited the elevator and entered his room, where his bed had never looked so welcoming. Tony wasn’t particularly good at sleeping, but two nights in a row he had gotten less sleep than any normal human being got in one night. When he reached the edge, he crumpled into it, closing his eyes.

All he could see were the silver eyes of their mermaid. Their rare beauty was unmatched but simultaneously off-putting. Nagging at the back of his brain like a rock in his shoe was the reminder that he needed to tell someone about his murderous species of siren that was plaguing the Atlantic ocean.

He opened his eyes again, an idea flickering inside his brain.

“Call Rhodey.”

Calling James Rhodes.

It was a shot in the dark. Rhodey was a busy man, but when he had time for Tony he made it. The fact that it had taken this long to call his best friend was proof of how tired he actually was. The screen perched on a wardrobe across from his bed rang for about 30 seconds, and he was almost certain that he wouldn’t pick up.

Call to James Rhodes connected.

A pleasant surprise.

“Now what could you want from me now, Stark!” there was a hint of playfulness in Rhodey’s voice.

“Rhodes, I’m only calling to say hello!”

“With those bags under your eyes? Definitely not the case. Lay it on me, Tony, I’m all ears.” Tony sighed, knowing that there was no way he was ready for this, “I...know why the ships have gone missing.”

He lifted his eyes to see Rhodey’s face fall.

“You - what?”

Slight nausea had settled into his stomach, which his exhaustion probably contributed to. He wanted to explain further, but had trouble getting the words out. The actuality of the lives that had been lost was starting to sink in. Tony was the first to have confirmation that 64 people were dead. 64 families were about to have their hope obliterated.

“Peter and I...we got lucky. We found the cause of the disappearances.”

“Tony.”

His friend sounded hesitant. Almost as if he didn’t want to hear what Tony had to say. He knew he had to pick his words carefully; the mermaid was so tangible that it never crossed his mind that he would need to do a bit of convincing before anyone believed him. After pondering all the possibilities, he finally gave into deciding it would be best just to show rather than tell.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., show the live feed going into my lab.”

The camera switched from Tony’s face to a clear image of the lab. The creature was leaning over the side of the tank, bent halfway, staring inquisitively into the kid’s eyes. Their faces were barely inches apart, and the image struck a chord in Tony’s stomach, his heart rate picking up,

Still, it didn’t look like the kid was in any immediate danger, so he let them be.

“Tony what is that,” the words were phrased less like a question and more like a demand.

“She calls herself a siren. You know. Like from the Greek myths. She even speaks Greek as well,” he looked at his friend who obviously had his teeth clenched. The distressed look was not foreign. Just about every decision Tony made resulted in that look.

“Was it- was it just her? Are there more?” “There’s an entire species. She claims to be half human...” Tony wanted to continue, but it was such a long story, and he probably wouldn’t have done it justice, anyhow.

“What do you think we should do?” Rhodey looked just as mystified as Tony.

“She said…” Tony inhaled, “She said that they have their coordinates memorized. That any human vessel to touch the water past the coordinates are killed without question.”

“Could we technically consider this an invasive species?” “No. They’ve been there for centuries. Since fucking ancient Greece. Technically we’re the invasive species. Is there…” Tony sighed. What he was about to request was typical: it sounded easy in his head, but he had no clue if Rhodey would help him out.

“What is it. What’s the idea.” “I just want to change the trade routes, and nothing else. I’ll measure the coordinates myself. I don’t want to give the reason. I don’t want to cause mass mayhem because mermaids exist.”

They were in the ditch, and Tony could tell Rhodey didn’t know what to do, either. He hadn’t even heard her story from the source. Hearing her talk about it, or however it was she communicated, had brought Tony to pity the poor thing, and it wasn’t a result of her trancing capabilities. She sounded dispirited as she described her own culture. If she could change it, she would. Or for her sake, he hoped that was how she felt.

“They’re already working on new trade routes…” Rhodey sighed, “If you can find the coordinates...I can try and lure away from that direction. No guarantees. We’ll be lucky if that works.”

Tony felt some tension in his shoulders release. He knew he could always count on his best friend, but with this, he hadn’t been sure.

“Tony...you do realize that you are robbing the families of the truth.”

There was another chord played on his heart. He had thought about that the most. These people were holding on to the thought that their loved ones might still be alive, and he held the truth. He had the power to destroy their worlds. Rubbing his eyes, he deflated, lying on the ground.

“I’ve ruined so many lives, Rhodes.”

A few months ago, Rhodey would have argued, but Tony had made the comment so many times that there was no point anymore. He was close to burning out; helping people always seemed to come with a cost. For now, he wanted to protect those that he cared about the most, and that included Peter. His mentoring relationship with the kid was starting to grow into something more, and while he usually pushed away that type of connection, this kid made him want to embrace it. He saw a lot of himself in Peter, and if he could steer him in the right direction he would.

“Get me those coordinates and I’ll write a proposal for the trade route change. You’re lucky you got an inside source in the government,” Rhodey chuckled quietly, waved at the screen, and ended the call.

Tony requested to be shown the security feed from the lab again, zooming in on the kid and his creature. He turned the volume up, noticing that Peter was speaking. He was repeating his name and pointing to himself, probably with the desire to have her learn it. It was this ambition that had brought Tony to invite Peter on this mission. Peter liked science, sure, but the curiosity that drove him was what made him good at it.

Much to Tony’s surprise, he heard the creature speak. She said his name, in a broken and shaky voice. It was the voice of someone who had never spoken aloud before. Apparently, the technique she used for singing could not be carried over to spoken word.

She trusted Peter, and that was good. They would be able to rehabilitate her and hopefully find out more about this unknown species. Once they had established a mutual understanding of each other, maybe then they could reveal to the world that she existed.

He shut his eyes, listening to the duo say Peter’s name back and forth, Peter laughing gleefully. As Tony finally drifted off to sleep, he couldn’t help but smile at the thought of them. Two kids making a big impact on his life. It was the first positive force he had received after months of destruction.

With the idea of resting peacefully at the forefront of his thoughts, Tony let it take him into a dreamless sleep, hoping that he would wake up just as relaxed.

M A S T E R L IS T

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[elizabethrobertajones]

14x02 watching notes

I appear to be fully booked for the whole weekend through to Tuesday so this may be the only thing I post about the episode until then, hope you all are having as much fun as Cas will at the party he’s apparently gonna throw to prove he’s cooler than all the other angels.

-

*readjusts my beanbag chair from Professional Sloucher to Serious Typing Mode* It's 5:13am and I've been awake 45 minutes watching this thing download and paused the new Adventure Zone episode for this... Mittens assures me it's well-recieved, so I'll go ahead and assume we burned enough sage to ward off the worst of whatever happens to their episodes...

Or, of course, Speight is directing.

So, expectations are pretty nebulous, because at this point in the story I really don't have demands, hopes or fears, except maybe that Buckleming don't handle or if they do, don't maul having Dean back. I DO miss Dean. It's very possible if he showed up in this episode everyone loves it because Dean-o is back.

I've never voluntarily called him Dean-o before. I think Gabriel's influence over the season is contagious.

Speaking of which... *hits play*

-

Are we getting a recap of Christian Keyes getting smushed because he, also, is alive? (er, the vessel, I mean) It would balance out Nick a great deal but it's also almost too much to ask I feel

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14x01 recap: good, no sign of wirework. 14x02 recap: bad, everyone is levitating.

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Also hilarious - no recap whatsoever of the past episode, because we have entered the Buckleming AU. Which is either Speight's shade or Buckleming's hubris that they don't need no canon to tell them what to do.

-

Nice. Creepy. Good start, sir. 10/10 would immediately go over and try and play that cursed piano despite my fear I would die instantly.

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asdhdjsfkdsf the detail that Mikey took  his hat off and a dramatic shot of it sitting there with the same reverent detail as the other spooky things from the rest of the intro shots

-

Interestingly the vampire that Mikey is bleeding is presented in much the same way as Lucifer was in 13x21, left to just stand there and dribble essence from the neck which making small choking noises. This is either stuck pig imagery, or the suggestion from unknown powers that be directing this to suggest that the entire Lucifer concept is being bled dry by wringing Nick out of it too.

-

This isn't going to end well.

While he's doing that, I would like to ask if that's a smidge of his own grace, or if he went and found Metatron's or something.

It also is very reminiscent of Lucifer creating demons - experimenting and playing to create the worst of the worst. Alastair and Lilith had white eyes and Lilith could do some sort of evil smite. The first demon, and the only one we've ever seen do that. Fandom long headcanoned that Lucifer used his own grace to make her, and it makes sense in a weird way that as he gets more corrupt, so do his creations - from pure white-eyed demons to murky yellow eyes to red and pitch black. Also: get more stupid. Azazel is the best and smartest, and each YED we met, if we assume they're in age order... Asmodeus is so dumb as a pile of rocks that you have to assume Lucifer realised that whatever he did to perfect the recipe in Azazel was tapering off and the good good stuff was over, so no more YEDs before you find out what Asmodeus's little sibling would have been like. His next known canonical attempt to make a demon isn't using his own grace, but using the Mark of Cain to corrupt, er, Cain.

Mikey is falling into this exact same nonsense from the opposite direction of his brother, AU or otherwise - humans are bad, corrupt evil things are better because they're less complicated and as an angel, humans give me a headache. Michael seems at least to have believed that there were good people - if he could just flipping find them - and that if he smote all the sinners maybe some good people would be left. It's coming at the same conclusion from opposite problems - he has earnestly sought out the best in humanity and then ended up scouring even the worst like Kip and those killers he mentioned, and finally settled on monsters, Eve's corruptions of humanity into bloodthirsty creatures motivated only by hunger. And now he's playing with them and using his own power to corrupt them further.

-

PS: Eve is going to be SO PISSED

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That IS a very effective way to smite a vampire.

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He's very clean and efficient and while he's "getting his hands dirty" in the metaphorical sense, there's a very careful remove in the actions we see on screen, of him standing watching very impartially.

-

He also sounds a shade more Dean-ish in that quip, and let's just go ahead and assume that the quip unlocked Dean a lil, or else that being in this vessel so long is beginning to wear on Michael - the influence goes both ways, and it's like seeing Captain Holt from B99 crack and quip, except this is the lawful evil version.

Plus, the flippy flippy and all... He's getting comfortable. I bet Michael might have been able to do SOME cool flip with a knife but trust me, you're possessing the second most blade flippy guy on this planet, second only to his husband, so that's a full perk of being in the Michael Sword and nothing else.

-

No one has asked Cas how he feels about AU Bobby, which is weird because he and Bobby were BFFs back in the day.

Trust me, it happened off screen. Sometimes Cas flapped up smelling like whiskey and cigarette smoke and Dean would be like dammit did you just come from poker night with Bobby and I wasn't invited?

(True behind the scenes details from season 5)

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AUBobby wants a beach vacation as much as Dean does, though. Well, he wants to hunt by the sea.

-

Okay I never knew "veracity" could be used as a synonym for "voracity" but google assures me that people are literally just really lazy about it because I THOUGHT AUBobby meant voracity, but he SAID veracity, and I was like, why is he saying angels aren't known for telling the truth??? and then my other part of my brain that is more sensible but works slower caught up with the context... This language is stupid. I apologise to second language speakers for that line. It was said "veracity" but it means "voracity" because we are a garbage culture, as english speakers as a whole.

So yeah, angels aren't known for their partying, no offence, party!Cas.

This is now 2x between here and 13x20 that Cas has been directly accused of not partying, plus how he went to a party in 13x22 even if he stood stock still the entire time, so I have to assume that the rise of party!Cas is gaining narrative and symbolic momentum and we WILL see him kicking back by the end of the season.

"None taken, I tend to agree with you." TEND, as in, other angels are stuffy assholes who never party, but I, party!Cas, have stood with my arms by my side and a stoic expression, all through your welcome to paradise!earth party, so *I* am in fact, cool.

-

He misses those poker nights. Ellen and Jo taught him well.

-

AUBobby has a perhaps Jim Beaver-honed response to "it's Dean" when worrying about what's up with it. Or, of course, as much as he may have come to like the guy since the AU rescue, this was still a lil test of why they had to be concerned, leaving it to him as the one guy in the room who is still getting to know him, to say what is unspoken by everyone else.

-

Sam then prompts Cas to give us some clunky exposition on why he can't come, because Michael will sense him.

Buckleming, you literally are the ones who say Cas down in a chair and had him tattooed to ward him against angels. That was your thing. You did that. You.

It may be a sign of improvement that Cas is being left behind with specific explanations for why, but it's still hard to read Misha's expression as between Cas Is Sad He Can't Go Near Dean, which is crazy he's not putting up a fight and going anyway, and I Have To Say This Line To Explain It And They Don't Teach You How To Say Bad Exposition In Drama School.

"Yeah sorry"

This deserved at least 2 more lines of contention and scowling, or, of course, Sam proposing this to Cas on the spot, or Cas himself regretfully announcing that he had to do it to give them the best chance in a self-sacrificing way, then rationalising it with having to stay behind to babysit.

-

Cas just said Jack wasn't an infant. He's a year old. He's barely even a toddler yet. You really read that many parenting books and don't know that?

Okay yeah. Anyway lumping Nick and Jack together as charges to watch - a suggestion somehow that they're a joint burden? It demeans Jack to Nick's place, in the context. Cas hasn't actually had a great deal of on-screen parenting to Jack except like 2 nice moments basically bookending the entire time they've both been alive on the show in 13x06 and 14x01, and I'm going to have to chalk this up to a lil anxiety about bonding with the sulky teen Jack that it's something Cas now feels apprehension about. He's the father who's rarely home and clocked in the least time nurturing Jack directly, while Mary has a wild lead and Sam and Dean both also a good chunk of it, with Sam pulling weeks ahead of Dean, of course.

A sense of Dad Who Is Always At Work Forced To Bond With Child While Mom(s) Are Gone, to use some heteronormative tropes, feels like it's at play. The dad who is always away on business trips is forced to spend time at home over Christmas with the kid while the other parents are on a wild vacation to Florida... What fun scrappy bonding experiences do they get up to?! :D

Of all the tropes flying around, to stick to heteronormativity, Cas has always been "the father" to Jack while others around him waver between maternal roles or not. But even in the very start, he "completed" the parental "set" with Kelly.

Is that enough airquotes to be clear I support non-traditional family structures? :P

But it puts Cas also in a place of having some of these toxic masculinty types of fatherhood, of being away for work all the time and not putting in the work for the kid or being too eager to fight and sacrifice himself than to be there. Hard as he works to protect them all, his connection IS that of the guardian angel who watches over, the one sworn to protect, who most often talks about his bond to Jack under that obligation and that promise to Kelly, the sense of a duty to protect Jack, but very little in the way Sam especially fell hard on the side of "nurture" in the nature vs nurture debate and put in all the emotional labour associated with the mother in traditional parenting structures.

(This was good for Sam to do considering Dean had done it for him, and because Dean did it for him - being both mother and father - he's largely exempt and can dip in and out of how he parents Jack with impunity, given he had his moment about this in 12x22, days before Jack was born, and was therefore freed from character arcs grappling with it in the same way)

-

Cas is like "Nick is a MESS" same, buddy.

"He was housing, he deserves a shot at rebuilding his life" Sam is talking about himself here, which is weird because Nick was the topic of discussion a moment ago

I feel weird that Sam is admonishing Cas here, because Cas has not lain on the floor and thrown a tantrum about not going to save Dean, as ungrateful as he is being about babysitting Nick... it's making a weird conflict between Cas and Sam which is now veering into a philosophical argument about Nick, which makes me feel that if this is not just weird Buckleming dialogue issues where they find it hard not to write things as a conflict, Sam and Cas haven't had the rosy bro bonding time together while Dean is gone that it seemed, or that, like with Sam snapping at Mary about her optimism, Sam's in a Mode about this where he's on his last rag with everyone secretly because of lack of sleep. And Chief!Sam may also be struggling with being an authority figure among his own family, as every single one of them "outranks" him in age, parenthood, experience or scowliness, and Sam once described himself as "the least of all of you" meaning Bobby and Cas specifically of the people who in this room he'll find himself naturally deferring to. Sam's leadership is natural among the AU peeps but perhaps a struggle that with his family, he's still the leader, but there's no Dean to have the final word, and that in itself is an awful reminder, when he finds himself being the last word on a subject without Dean's input.

I have to assume this is like 5am and AUBobby showed up early to work to see Mary and the rest of the AU peeps aren't around yet

-

Cas then throws in the line about how all he can see is the supreme agent of evil, which is fuckin hilarious that it was Sam's trauma yesterday and we know angels are much more likely to relate to the glowy blob possessing a face, and anyway most of Cas's worst Lucifer trauma came from being POSSESSED by him, seeing him wearing Sam's face, or being beat up by Vince fucking Vincente. You only really ever saw Lucifer as Nick in 12x23 and the last few episodes of season 13, bar like one encounter back in 5x10. That is a very very recent association.

Unless, of course, he's still MIGHTILY PISSED that Lucifer killed off 2/3rds of his poker game and that's where his "supreme evil" trauma comes from.

Let's go with that.

-

Do you think Eugenie forgot that Lucifer was an hallucination in season 7, and also that Cas was dead during that?

(don't @ me about him seeing hallucifer in 7x17, he said in 7x21 that he stopped seeing hallucifer pretty quickly and I'm going with Edlund canon when in doubt :P)

-

"You talking about my dad again"

Jack. Hon. You have absolutely no relation whatsoever to Nick, except via whatever family line ties him extremely vaguely to Sam as a similar vessel of Lucifer. I don't even know how to describe where that puts him on your fucked up family tree, but trust me, you don't need to worry. Biologically, you are the son of an ex-president of the united states.

But yeah, snarky!teen Jack is here in full force. I'm not sure I'm ready to deal with the baby's angsty melodrama years :'D

-

Do you think

and I ask this hypothetically while full of dread that I am right

do you think Eugenie has forgotten that Jack is not Nick's biological son

-

Jack getting the good good framing of standing with his back to the war room, trapped in the library, as he's grounded. This central framing demands the eye to seek out wings, but in this case they're kinda furled behind him, if you see them as the dark shadows of the room beyond.

Of course the war room/library symbolism is always a thing, that action is the former, home the the latter, so this is clever to show Jack's desire, but also that he is stuck, and we see the bar patterned lights on the floor in the war room which are used as prison imagery. Jack's effectively locked out of the war room with a baby gate.

-

"Let's move," Sam says, with a virile pump of his gun, leaving Cas and Jack to feel impotent at home.

-

Sam does not get the dick imagery often enough

-

Blargh Nick again. Hello fuckface. Listen, I just wanna say before we get into this scene, that I've almost universally seen Mark P eyerolled at but said "at least he's a really good actor so the scenes were really good even if he sucks as a person and we hate Lucifer". I do not agree. I think he's a ham who over-acts and it was annoying as Lucifer but by this point expected and had at least transitioned slowly, but seeing Nick do the whole routine of standing up from bed, and then blowing on his stab wound and wincing and fanning it? That whole thing was just... too much for me. Nick should have been still and quiet and sad, but as soon as he started doing that it harked back to Lucifer in 13x13 when he was cold and hungry and over-acting rubbing his poor empty tum tum and rubbing his freezing arms. What made Mark P so good in season 5 was that Lucifer had a slow, cold and STILL menace to him, that while he might have gestured widely and been violent, especially in his dramatic scenes he was still and menacing. That's all gone by now and he acted Lucifer as a clown, and fair enough as an acting choice I guess when this isn't my favourite character or actor, but now it's salt in the wound that Nick was supposed to come across sad and vulnerable, and instead of bestowing some gravitas on him and taking us back to the start and actually TRYING, Mark P fell into clowning as if he thinks doing these funny things is what his fans who are apparently out there want to see, and my stretched to breaking point lie I repeated to myself about "oh he's a good actor at least" shattered because he was just playing the fool again, over-acting as if to gain cheap sympathy points, when his stillness and sadness and NOT overacting was literally the only way to have pulled Nick off without it being annoying.

This is a cake and eat it, well Lucifer is dead but I'm still here, and now I will act almost exactly the same, kind of dealio and I'm pissed and not standing by that self-comforting lie any more because every single step of the Lucifer journey so far since 11 we've placated ourselves with various phrases and concepts to make it okay to do all this but keeping Nick around is where the story breaks and so too does my patience for forgiving it.

-

*Cas employs his Anti Nick Shoulders* I deeply approve of these shoulders

-

Could they not give Nick, like, a sudoku book or something? He is just sitting here wallowing in having been Lucifer.

-

Omg Cas is getting to use this to actually talk about himself. I'm actually liking this. Cas self-reflection is a wonderful thing. Everyone can relate to Nick, even if they hate it. Every single person will file in here and talk about themselves to Nick at some point or another.

Nick's like "why am I heeere" and Mr Giant Teddy Bear is like "I know right?"

-

Wait is Nick's son called Teddy? That was unfortunate mind-melding with BL I just did. *shiver*

Also hilarious: a chosen flashback to Nick holding a teddybear beside the crib and I swear to all that is holy that Speight is deliberately implying after reading the line "Teddy" that Nick said yes to Lucifer on behalf of his wife Sarah and this bear.

I can SEE his face making a note here about what flashback to cut to.

His sparkling eyes are reflecting off this screen so much I'm getting glare from it.

-

*Mark P cries a lot* There are a few little leaps in this conversation to get to the point too quickly but overall this wasn't a bad scene... Perhaps because Cas carried it enough with his sinscerity that Nick wailing was at least balanced and the directing matched the intensity of it all. Speight really is good at making things work and this was pretty brutal which means that the overacting is compensated for, and Cas inserted enough genuine emotion from an empathetic character.

It's all hovering unspoken about family where Nick does it for his wife, even if he regrets it now and feels like he has become a monster and is wracked with a guilt Cas can heavily relate to as it drove his season 12 early actions intensely, and his child. Cas also did it for family, and they give this definition of family where it could be anyone beloved in the family, so that platonic overlap is there between Cas and Nick's motivations. But implicit is that Nick's wife was the one that made him say yes, and Cas stands over Nick in much the way that Lucifer stood over him in 5x01 when appearing as Sarah. Cas is/was the wife in the scenario in a weird way to Dean, for whom he chose to be possessed to save from Amara, aka the monster that had come into the house and would kill his beloved ones in their beds.

-

Promo scene! Aw AUBobby and his rusty FBI skills.

-

The coroner talking about a spree killer harks to Dean's issues balancing being a serial killer with a saviour, as I talked about pre-episode with the themes connected to Dean being possessed by Michael, and channelling all the worst of him. In this case, the torture AND the wantonly killing vampires

-

God damn Mary's red suit is awesome though.

-

"neck wounds" I thought Mikey healed those? I guess I can see residual scarring on this body so maybe healing vampires isn't as neat as healing people, because corruption...

-

"Why is an archangel hunting vampires in the first place" HAVE YOU MET DEAN? This is how he blows off steam when he gets a HANGNAIL. You think being possessed by Mikey will stop him?

-

"Huh" Sam says. "huh," I say, because they actually did some Smart Detective Work to come to that conclusion and perhaps this is just because BL needed the next lead but we've never actually seen them ask this specific question about people coming to identify mystery bodies to find the next lead ever. And perhaps because even if it happens off screen it's a dead end in all their other cases, but this was still something BL wrote that put a clever concept in Sam's head, and I am at the bottom of the barrel with them when I'm complimenting them for not making the characters act like complete idiots.

The other thing is, this cuts out an entire scene of them in a motel opening a laptop and googling surveillance footage, and I don't know if they have been banned from writing the everyone sits around and googles the monster scenes, at least since they made Crowley pop in and google a photo of the president in 12x08, and then Dabb openly mocked them for it in 12x23, but it's a pacing GODSEND to have the characters act intelligent and ask questions that solve problems instead of relying on the magical answer box to tell them where to go next.

See again: low low low expectations. Whether it's Speight clean up work or they've been told off, this is great stuff, and files off a lot of the edges that make their episodes wearing on a cosmic, soul level, that between the weird content, they're also just clunky and poorly paced.

-

Cas n Jack sceeeene.

It's Jack's desk! I'm so happy!!

I asked hypothetically the other day on a promo pic and I'm so happy to see Jack has his own lil desk in the library. He looks like a kid doing his homework

my heart is swelling

with all the table meta - it's another thing where they've changed stuff around to give Jack a space, a place he calls his own in this large weird Bunker. That table had to be dragged from one of the side offices or store rooms and set up for him because it's never b een there before, but now Jack has an alcove of the library he calls his own and he can sit there and do his research... And the alcoves give a sense of an enclosed room space, something comforting and like... library womb like.

The Bunker has adopted him :')

It's so weird seeing a character in this show who habitually doesn't wear a ton of layers around the Bunker - he's been in a t-shirt with nothing over it in both episodes, grey. He's young, open, honest, but hasn't found his way yet, hasn't got a tribal colour scheme. No plaid, and has only worn beige and blue in neutral Cas colours, his main father figure in a sort of aspirational sense, even if Cas is the dad who's always out on work and not there to raise his son.

Jack's identified as human in 13x23 but in a way he is a homunculous - the concept of what was originally believed to be how babies formed in a sort of medieval/rennaisance time (perhaps still is by BL) that the sperm was a tiny weeny complete person and they just got put in the womb with no other input from mommy and grew there. There's definitely a weird shade of homunculous implications in how Jack's parenthood is talked of, and of course he was then born as a fully formed man, which is a sort of transliteration of this nonsense belief, but the concept that he practically was a small adult Jack and then a big adult Jack and at no point an actual baby. Even in the womb in 12x17 we saw him turn and stare at the camera, betraying a sort of primal intelligence, the idea of a bored god waiting in the womb to be born, learning and acting from within.

And only now is he sort of set up to stop being a baby and start being a man when it comes to handling adult intellectual stuff and he's not learning from scratch but is treated like he has a more solid baseline for the world around him these days. He's learned enough to join society, but not enough to have carved his place yet. It's a very strange cusp of growth, and perhaps a good metaphor for being a teenager, in a way: that you realise you have been very stupid up to this point but now you are very smart and ready to be an adult (except, unfortunately, adult peoples will look back at this unformed humonculous version of themselves with the greasy hair and poorly understood radical political opinions and whatever, and be like, WOW, I was an idiot.)

-

Oh my god are BL really going to keep writing Good Cas Lines this episode? This stuff where Cas schools Jack gently and lovingly with knowledge Jack has been up all night reading then Cas is like yeah this is stuff angels know from angel sunday school but I'll be kind about it and validate what you just read... Like, the lesson is the act of the research, more than the knowledge. It's up to Jack not to feel stupid that he did all that work and Cas was like, yeah. I knew that. I'm an angel.

-

OH MY GOD Cas is actually having the chat I wanted with Jack about how he felt when he lost his grace

*shoves a fistful of popcorn in my mouth*

Jack all hurr blurr you don't understand I want to go run to my room and slam the door because I'm a teen and I have just discovered human tragedy and angst, NO ONE IN THE HISTORY OF EVER HAS SUFFERED AS I HAVE

and Cas is like, *ruffles his hair* it's okay little buddy, I too was a homunculous in season 9, which Lizzy has a weird deja vu feeling she wrote about but would not for the life of her know where to find that because it was probably buried in watching notes

-

"what did you have left?" "well I had Sam and Dean... but I had something else"

me: *clutches chest, gasps, hangs on tenterhooks*

Cas: "I had myself"

me: FLAILS WILDLY

Sorry, this isn't very meta, I've just written so much on the nature of grace and of Cas, and whether he has a soul or not still, but he is very much talking about the time when as a human he had a soul and was "himself" without his grace, and though he felt the loss of his POWER he didn't feel a loss of his CORE SELF, of who he is (which is an ongoing question they're all answering about themselves, with Jack Homunculous Winchester as the main example to channel the others through). It's really important to me that Cas has this core self, this certainty of who he is beyond his duty, his grace, everything that is forced on him by Heaven, but that this part of him who he may or may not know is his soul is there and filled with, well... Cas's nougat centre. Because Cas has been playing THAT game far longer than Jack has :P

"The basic me. As Dean would say, without all the bells and whistles"

Dean is reaching through Cas to mock him for us when we don't have him in the room to directly accuse Cas of having a harp, and I love that Cas loves Dean so much that he lets Dean drag him for having bells and whistles (which Cas will take literally) even though he's not here.

That's true love.

-

They share what is possibly the grossest smile ever and I am going to weep to see all this fondness for each other and for Dean being expressed. Like, ugh, families loving each other and being all wholesome and sweet. What is this garbage.

-

"You know, Sam and Dean... they weren't born with their expertise" yeah because they're not fuckin homunculi

Cas is basically equating Jack to going back to the start that they had, a do-over on his life, that he lived his first year as a magical all-powerful baby, but in a weird way, losing his grace makes him more settled, gives him a chance to understand himself without his power and learn that he still has a core self, a soul with all the good stuff in it, and to begin again and learn things the slow way, but a way in which he will grow more naturally and take the lessons that are needed to form the real edges to a character that turn into maturity.

"They've been at it since they were children"

and so have you. filed under: ow.

Literally no one on TFW had a normal safe happy childhood free of monsters metaphorical or otherwise.

-

Anyway Cas then reminds Jack that he has to do things slow to be as good as Sam n Dean, and moves on to it's important not who you were in your past - because this fuckin one and a bit year old already has a gritty past - but who you are and what you will do with the FUTURE. And Cas still wholeheartedly believes in Jack because of Jack once showing him a vision of the future that they might have - the happy ending, world without monsters, all that jazz that Dabb era is eyeing up  hopefully.

-

Oooh Mikey's going to a partyyy.

That fuckin ring on his little finger. It's coded especially in media that he's either in a cult or gay. It's such a weird lil detail for Mikey to have added to the ensemble that I almost wonder if he smited a guy to borrow it wholecloth and took every detail. Though he's a fucking fashionista so maybe he can't resist adding a detail like this.

After all he wore dirty war-torn clothes for years in the AU, but even then had a sense of grandeur about it, an over-dramatic flair with the long coat that said that he dressed well, even for the scenario, and different, standing out from the rest of his minions.

Now he's here on paradise!earth, with all the tailors you could ask for, so he's going to dress like the lord of this planet it's begging for, in all the finery you can drape his fine sword in.

Sword does not approve of bowtie.

DEAAAN! HEY! I'VE MISSED YOU ILY

"GET OUT"

"I don't think so"

WOW, RUDE. There's rules about this, buddy!

"You can't!"

"oh but I can, because, see, I own you." It IS Michael who punches the mirror... I was certain it would be Dean, but it's Michael lashing out at his angry reflection, shattering the image of Dean. What a metaphor. In the Mark of Cain arc sometimes Dean looked at himself in shattered mirrors but it was a passive shattering. This is a statement from Michael that he can see Dean and he's shattering his entire self, refusing his right of consent - in a BL episode it's ironically hilarious so long as nothing else dub con happens, that this is the actually seriously applied good use of consent stuff. And Michael talking about owning Dean - it's that presumptiveness about others' consent that was Dean's biggest downfall in putting Gadreel in Sam, the cosmic karma lashing back out at Dean that he can't punt Michael out like Sam heroically punted Gadreel out, because Michael OWNS him. Dean is historically, cosmically, always for eons before his birth, been "the Michael Sword" - a true vessel with this guy's name inscribed on the hilt, and Michael has calmly taken full possession of his ultimate weapon, because well, why not.

UGH and then Michael takes control again by way of talking into the mirror and his reflection behaving normally because he's wrangled it back into control. A+ DIRECTION, SIR.

(Also because it's not Dean - maybe it's not so much a meta detail but the expectation might be that Dean would lash out at Michael BECAUSE he's angry and lashes out and smashes mirrors so many times, but he has no control to even move an arm to lash out... He's utterly trapped, just like Cas was tied to that chair.)

-

I love seeing Cas storming confidently around the Bunker running stuff while the others are out, being the one who is looking over Jack, taking the calls about their findings, and now dealing with Nick wandering in to angst some more. This is Cas at home and although it's still weird the AU peeps are ALL taking a day off coming into work after seeing how embedded they were in the hub, it's wonderful to see Cas here and without the AU peeps it is more cozy in the sense of being more like the home they privately kept.

-

Nick comes in like I WANT TO SOLVE MY COLD CASE THIS IS MY RANDOM DISTRACTION FROM THE PLOT

but then Cas puts his hand on his shoulder and he flicks back to Lucifer in an instant, trying to dissolve Cas in a panic from being touched. Cas is understandably completely and utterly freaked out.

And for all our talk of Rowena and Sam and their trauma from Lucifer, of course Cas has had a lot too even though I'm kinda eye-rolly about him talking about Nick as the face of all evil, of course this episode has been about his Lucifer trauma so far. It's really interesting to see Cas rattled by something because he is so solid most of the time - last episode he exuded "fuck you" from every pore for every moment except briefly when Jack was dragged into the room. But Nick has him on edge and now there's some Buckleming fuckery afoot with ongoing vessel issues, we're seeing the very strange visual of a Cas who is legit freaked out.

-

Anyway I really like how smooth this was, even with camera changes. Speight is really wringing excellence out of them, and the script, weirdly, and maybe because it's Nick so Eugenie is focused, is actually contemplative and full of interesting emotional conversations, which they often seem to blow off whatever the brief. Even with the dialogue hindrances, the real meaning and depth is being plumbed by the scenes as a whole.

-

So yeah, here is where I have to grudgingly say MarkP can play evil kinda well but also considering, again, FOUNDER OF THE AMERICAN CAPITALIST PARTY? This is his calling, and he is a caracture of the man who plays the devil.

And this is something rather scary and sinister about what's going on with him which genuinely is played with some of that season 5 gravitas, which is super weird to see because I have got so used to him being a clown, even in his previous episode.

I have to say, due to that, I give Speight a lot of credit because he's really, really good at his job.

-

"What went through your head just now?" I ask that a lot, and thanks for the reaction gif, Eugenie.

I need very little prompting to assume you are writing Nick and Brad is writing the rest.

Nick is a fine line of guilty and confused, and hiding his intent, either because he doesn't know, or he DOES. It's good. Credit where credit's due.

-

"Some of his influence still within you" it's CRUEL to give that line to misha.

Kinda meta that there's a cockles joke from an old JIB or something about "influence" as jizz and 13x21 and all the jokes about Gabriel's grace.

But we're getting to a 9x11 parallel in the structure of the episode, but Cas is left behind with Nick rather than Sam, and Sam gets to be out there looking for his brother... And of course Dean within Michael experiences a shattering greater than the Mark of Cain did to him...

-

"Lucifer may have inflicted more damage on your psyche" yeah no shit we were warning you he would have the Hallucifers

Cas does the most terrified slow shoulder touch ever - there's a real right shoulder wrong shoulder thing going on. Last episode he clasped Jack on the correct (left) shoulder, and this time he tries to touch Nick on the right and nearly gets smote, and then this touch is on the same, as he discerns what's wrong with Nick, and I get a mirror of 11x11 where Lucifer did the wrong shoulder touch to Dean, and have him the only inkling something was up with Cas, that Dean shrugged off because, ow.

-

Anyway white man has angst. Nick has the Hallucifers and he has to find out who killed his family. He's got like his entire own TV show premise of nonsense going on here and it's going to be crammed in between everything else.

Bet you anything real monsters did it

-

"And then what

Dude's got nothing to live for

we're so over these murdered wife revenge arcs

-

The old flipperoo of it being terrifying for a monster when 3 scary hunters bust in weapons drawn. The vampire has a terrible apartment and she didn't even get a new car - it's like she went from one crappy life to the next and the only thing that changed was she was now a miserable vampire. I'm sympathetic to her for now :')

-

Oh look how surprising, this side of the story is being 2x03 still - aside from AUBobby snarking that vampires "never do" anything wrong, in the position of one who never learned a grey area because lower Winchester exposure, the vamps are feeding on animal blood, and mourning the loss of their nest. This is another Lenore. Of course we started the episode with them in the morgue finding vampire teeth on seemingly human victims, as in 2x03, and the killer is the deadliest hunter in the universe - the heavily Gordon themed side of Dean which has been symbolised by vampires the whole time from Lenore to Benny...

-

OH this is the girl from the cold open. So I assume she's going to explain how she got away. We have to assume the cold open was several days ago - long enough for her to lie low, Michael to ditch all the vamps, AND for them to be discovered again and moved to the morgue and then for this branch of TFW to come out here. Which explains that Michael must have already moved on and be ready for his party in the present day, which is a stretch of time enough to form his next plan.

-

"I-if you let me go!" yeah AUBobby lunges at her when he assumes the conversation is over, because he never dealt with this before, but looks over to Sam now, and then Mary does.

We cut away before we find out if Sam decided her fate, so that current silence on the subject may be left ominous or may explain a lot about Sam when we find out whether he had her killed and has turned ruthless, or is still soft Sammy who dealt with Lenore and knows how it goes.

-

Mikey, what are you up to?

-

He's tapping Dean's charm but with a hint more of Jensen's whiskey smoothness in his voice than Dean's coarseness, so this is legally defined as assault.

This is horrifying. GIVE IT BACK.

I'm calling the police. Michael has made off with Dean's entire seduction routine to trap this monster, and I am horrified.

Weirder still hearing him just casually called Michael. Brrrr.

Ooh she's a werewolf. Somehow I hadn't managed to work that out in the glimpse in the promo and thought she was a new monster type.

I guess Mikey is shopping around.

-

Wow she really has prominent teeth. I wonder if that's a sexy trait in werewolves.

-

He takes a drink as he menaces towards her - he's still got that calm drifting through kinda attitude that Michael had even in the AU when he was Christian Keyes, and he's starting to have fun, which is really really bad.

I don't think Michael has ever had fun in his life.

He's like the perfect little kid who does well in all his studies then sneaks off and drowns the family cat in the back of the garden as an outlet.

-

"Now. Summon your master."

Is this the elusive Werewolf Alpha who survived even season 6 because the show just Could Not Figure Out What To Do With Werewolves until season 9

-

Nick  has an ENDLESS series of white shirts to indicate he's a sweet innocent dude now

because,  you know we have a hard time dealing with that

-

Nick is ranting like a privileged white man

I mean his family is dead, I just struggle with Nick for obvious reasons

and as soon as his mannerisms cross a line, he loses me again

-

He's kinda weird with Cas as well because he knows Cas, kinda, and he has to be 100% on board with all the nonsense, so he's just A Bloke dropped in this life now but casually chatting to an angel. it's weird. "You know what a cold case is, Castiel?" liike, he knows Cas doesn't always know stuff but he is also just going off on one.

I think poor Cas has decided since the Nickifer moment that he needs to spend more time actively watching over Nick, and once more is trapped with a ranting annoying man

this is his curse.

-

"But you're not dead. You have a second chance."

"you don't understand"

Ah, teenagers, such a problem :P

but seriously, this is hilariously the third converastion this episode Cas has been in where he directly relates to the very specific weird metaphysical problem that Nick or Jack is going through because there's literally NOTHING that Cas hasn't already been through. He might yet make an excellent therapist just because of how many weird torments he's endured.

-

Cas speaking with fondness of Jimmy :') Such a feeling of Jimmy being a good man who went to Heaven, and for Cas, raised as an angel like this, being in Heaven with your soulmate is the ultimate happy ending for good devout people - in 4x20 when he's still in Claire he tells Jimmy he served well and will go to Heaven like it's a reward, and despite everything he still seems to default to that, especially for the comfort of knowing this about Jimmy of all people, because of how directly responsible Cas is for destroying their lives, and knowing that at least they got this is a WONDERFUL coping mechanism for angels to tell themselves it's all okay, when they get the correct vessel with the proper permissions and they're a good and pious person who prayed for it etc etc.

Cas and Lucifer remain the only angels we've ever seen actually court their vessel properly, although it's implied Anael did similar. Most others have hopped right in without securing full and informed consent. Er, not that Lucifer does, but at least he has full and informed bullshit trickery, which, um. Is a thing?

-

Nick how DARE you call Cas a "stone cold bodysnatcher" who's no better than Lucifer. Jimmy is gone and Cas has had this vessel remade for him like six times since then. It's the Jimmy Model Vessel mk.VI, as sculpted by God or the Empty.

-

*sobs about Cas saying what happened to Jimmy was his greatest regret*

SUCH GOOD CAS STUFF this episode

-

The alpha werewolf is a white guy in a suit, surprisingly.

Michael, also a white guy in a suit, sits opposite him, and they're pretentious about their cognac.

-

"She thinks you're a god" that's the second time that's happened. He kinda liked it when it was applied directly to him but not an accusation of BEING Chuck, just that that's how he comes across.

-

Oh good he's just the leader of the pack, not the Alpha.

Still wanna know who that is

-

His sales pitch is about their purity in wanting to kill to eat to live once again. I find it hard to believe a werewolf with snooty opinions about alcohol who wears a suit like that doesn't have some human sins, but it seems that Michael is judging them by their monstrousness first, and waving aside their other habits in favour of the big picture of how they live their lives.

-

"Fully tested" you fucking liar

He's talking around the truth... It's fascinating watching him threading the line of judging people for sinners without falling into that himself.

-

I do wonder how he knows about wine unless his previous vessel did... or he's taking from Dean's pop culture and deadpan bullshitting it. Sorry, I'm still stuck on that detail. Character stuff always entertains me so much more than plot :P

-

"Believe me, it's an absurd dream" He's passively observed at least like 3 attempts to enslave the human race for food just in the last few years. He knows.

Mikey, you can't go around promising that, they know it doesn't work. Dick Roman couldn't pull it off, and you don't have his business acumen.

-

"Why be the huntED when you can be the huntER"

ANTI DEAN ANTI DEAN ANTI DEAN AAAAAH turning over EVERYTHING he works for

UUUUGH

-

Okay, Jack's wandered off and found his grandparents without a single warning and I am WOUNDED.

-

They seriously need to put more warning in for these things because ow ow ow ow ow

-

Oh my gooood he's named after Kelly's daaad

-

Look at these nice grandparents

-

"So you were like her intern" oh ne the intern jokes of last summer have come around and stabbed me

I repent

-

Oh NO nerdy little Kelly

this is awful

where is this episode coming from? I can't believe someone's managed to wrangle Buckleming into doing good stuff with everything so this is actually emotionally well-told

this is probably their best episode yet and i'm half an hour in

-

"We have a grandson!"

This is emotionally mauling me like an angry bear

-

"Jack kind of looks like her!"

*Jack attempts to speak from a lump the size of a planet in his throat*

*Lizzy types from within the bear's mouth, as it tries to stuff my down ITS throat*

-

NOUGAT GOT HIS HUG

-

Sam spared the vampire girl!!! YAY

-

She's called Lydia. You assholes literally used that name before for the Amazon Dean hooked up with

-

I can't believe Michael took the time to change his suit. He has a suit for business and a suit for meetings.

-

"the hunters" Oh that's cold. Dean, can you hear how he dismisses your FAMILY?

-

Oh nooo he metatroned her. This was a traaaaaaap and she was bait

-

Aww Lydia :(

-

He smites like Lucifer killed demons with his mind

it's so scary

-

How can Cas be mad at Jack I just nearly cried at a Buckleming episode

anyway he and Jack are having the equivalent I am your dad and I  set curfew, vs I am a grown up I can go out when I want argument for his teen son he's unfortunately not engaged with much.

-

"the only real family I have left"

Cas gets SO PISSED

I AM YOUR DAD, SON

-

But he pushes it down and asks if it helped because Cas is good and nice and loves Jack

-

Once Jack reveals that he looked like the weirdly photoshopped Kelly on a horse (oof) Cas gets mauled by the same Feels Bear and relents completely because he's legally not allowed to cry but he wants to

-

"I suppose there are worse ways to be human than to be kind," he says as speight exploits the fuck out of the bunker set, having them sit either side of the door between war and home, tables in the centre, them on the pillars flanking it. It's a wonderful image. I'd go into it more but I suddenly think I have no time at all

-

"So they're going to kill him," lil Hamlet of Nougat says all firmly, re: Michael

Cas switches gears from "this precious child" to "uuuh" immediately

-

"And if he doesn't leave?"

I can see Cas being that meme where everything is an action blur around his face to express deep horror as Jack keeps prodding worst case murdering Dean scenarios

-

Listen, when this little ball of damp feathers you call your son is joining in with the entire universe challenging you if you have the guts to see Dean killed for the greater good, you have a problem that EVERYONE can see

-

"Dean doesn't matter!"

*shock lines intensify*

"You're all so focused on trying to save Dean"

Yeah, he does the same for all of you.

This is the pier conversation from 11x14, but 1000x more intense.

-

Cas is like "?????????????? HOW DARE?"

-

Cas can not comprehend a world where Dean dies, but our lil Shakespearean hero is determined that it has to  happen because he WILL kill Michael, it's been put on his shoulders and he WILL DO IT DAMMIT.

(later)

-

Cas did not have this in the parenting books

-

"Do you think he'd want it any other way?"

"no but i love him"

-

I can not BELIEVE Jack got a flounce off stage left and Cas is the one left shook

damn, kids are hard

-

Nick has also wandered off to meet some relatives.

Cas is the worst at keeping his chickens in the coop

what was he doing

lying on Dean's bed sniffing the pillow

-

Oh dear, but it's the neighbour who as this conversation goes on I'm starting to assume was the one who killed his family.

Is he gonna go all Lucifer on this guy?

-

Uhoh, bulletproof werewolves

man I am gonna miss my bus if anything else happens

-

Mary saves AUBobby <3

-

Hi Deanchael, come to torment this poor family

You know you coulda brought Cas because he knew you were here the whole time anyway

-

DEAN! HI!

That was a really cool move Dean.

"Sammy"

<3

-

"It's me"

Unless it's NOT

-

"He just left"

"why"

"i don't know. I don't know!"

me too bud

-

Hey look Nick killed the guy with a hammer

What a surprise

-

Welp now I have to take my 3rd choice for bus to yoga but I finished and now I will be gone all weekend byeee love you yell about this later <3

[thecryptidofbravo]

Visiting Friends, Lessons Learned, Part 1

“Roving Amongst the Redwater”

Notes by Dr. Marta Carpools

At first glance the entrance to the Redwater Complex, or the Hold as the inhabitants call it, is particularly unassuming. A small outcrop of reddish brown stone that, if you happen to come close for some reason, opens into half again the width of a medium sized caravan with two people walking on either side, a bus could fit with some room to spare, though if driven very carefully. The descent is almost immediate, and it is only after you have entered the otherwise spacious tunnel that you notice it is not a natural occurrence, but one very cleverly built, with smaller tunnels splitting off like blood vessels up towards, you realize, the nearby farmland that is, apparently, not as abandoned as it seemed while passing. Of course, if you’ve made it this far, you know the land is very much inhabited.

Two kinds of people enter this territory nowadays: Ones who know the Redwater are here, and those who do not. Of the former, it is either friends of one of the Clan members, like ourselves (we being myself and my mentor, Dr. Metro), or those who heard the call of safety under the surface of the world. Of the more numerous latter it is, at best, on accident, at worst a band of ner-do-wells

Regardless of which you are, you will not be alone in this area for long, I have discovered. It was not half an hour after crossing the south-eastern border on the map (provided by friends within the Black Diamond Trading Company) that two figures trotted up to us from the west, in the direction of the lake north of what was once Bravo.

They moved with a predator’s grace, and I was reminded strongly of the gorehounds I’d seen at the Iron Harbor. I will blame their covered forms for my immediate instinct to depersonify them. I had once thought Wandering Eye’s layers of scarves and leather were impressive, but I realize now that is the look of a lascarian who has spent much time above the surface, and has, however little, adapted to the light. These figures instead wore the full regalia of people accustomed to darkness below ground and moonless nights, layers upon layers of cloth and metal covered leather, hung with hardened leather leaves and small metal trinkets I knew enough to recognize as Memories and Clan marks. It made them seem less living being and more a moving statue. It was impossible to tell build or shape looking at them, and if it weren’t for one being a head and shoulders shorter than the other I’d be inclined to believe they were twins, or some cloning experiment of the Darwins.

I have been interested in these people since learning about them from the aforementioned part-time resident of Bravo, Wandering Eye, or as I have learned since visiting him in the Sunless Garden, ‘Gangarani’eygr’. I will continue calling him Wandering Eye so as to avoid any accidental insult. As such, I hope to make as accurate a description as possible of what I witness within their territory.

With that in mind the two figures cut an impressive portrait, the afternoon sun throwing their shadows long over the sparse grass and rocky sand. They each carried a shield and spear, though the taller had a sword strung on his back, the shorter several knives strapped to her (I would learn later it was a woman) clothing.

The shields were small, by Bravo standards where one could easily be used as a door. Still, the ovals of wood and scrap metal was tall enough to cover shoulder to knee, nearly as tall as myself, though I am by my own admission, not the most gifted in height. Each was carved and painted in whorls and glyphs, their true meaning a mystery to me even now, though I might assume they were ownership marks, or religious in origin, if I knew less of their culture. I am told that while the Runner sect, as I have learned they belonged to, does not have as extensive a glyph system as the Keepers to which I have become marginally better acquainted, they still guard it closely and have many symbols they consider important.

The spears were 3-4feet of a dark hardwood, though I could not tell you the species (perhaps cedar? Oak? I am less well versed in flora than anatomy, unfortunately.). They seemed burnt black, yet glistened like volcanic glass. I am unsure what process is used to create this effect, but it is striking nonetheless. The tips were worked metal, a long blade with a flat front edge, and a concave back, still sharp. I have done my best to recreate the design below:

We stopped as they approached, and Metro made sure his weapons were secure on his belt before holding his own shield to the side and raising his other hand to show he meant no harm. I did the same, for all I lacked any weapons to secure. They showed no response while they closed. I felt the distinct impression they wouldn’t have reacted had we leveled any manner of defense against them. We were strangers here, they were the ones to be afraid of, though there were only two of them. It was then I remembered some old wisdom from back home:

‘For every lascarian above ground, you can be certain a half dozen lurk somewhere nearby, hidden, waiting for the signal to join their friend.’

I will admit I felt a shiver of trepidation at that thought, the kind I was learning well out here in the world beyond the Killscout compound. However hospitable Wandering Eye had seemed in town, I remembered well first meeting him, and the eyes of a hunter he hid behind his glasses. I felt the same look from these two, though perhaps it was my imagination at the time.

Within Bravo, where they were outnumbered by almost every other strain of post-humanity and generally well behaved, where stories of a pack overrunning a caravan and leaving only chewed bones behind were more joke than serious worry, I think it was easy to forget lascarians are some of the most dangerous creatures living in our shared world.

That fact was very clear to me as the two split and circled us, one to the back, and the other to the front. The shorter spoke in heavily accented speech and after a terse moment we were being escorted towards the north.

Our journey through the entrance described above was largely un-notable, beyond those things already noted. We crossed paths with a few other Redwater at the entrance, and I was surprised to see a slow and small, but steady stream of other strains moving about the side tunnels with lascarian guides to destinations unknown.

Following their lead, the taller of our escorts split down one of the tunnels while the shorter continued with us, stopping briefly at a small chamber to remove their outer layers and head-gear. It was here I discovered our escort was a lascarian woman named Whispering Storm, who was by happy coincidence an old friend of Wandering Eye, and had heard our names from him. Her partner, the silent Blood-of-Oaks, had returned to their patrol group while she sorted out getting us access to the Hold.

While I am not an expert on lascarian physiology to know whether the Redwater are typical of their strain, I admit surprise at the variance I was seeing among them.

Wandering Eye, for example, is a towering man with broad shoulders and midsection, bearing the long arms I have generally associated with such individuals of his strain. His bearded features are rounded, though they bear some of the raptor like qualities of the greater lascarian community, especially in the eyes and brow. His teeth of course are quite standard for the species. On the rare occasion I have seen his head uncovered I’ve noted his close cropped hair, and the slight downturned point of his ears, a trait I hadn’t associated with other lascarians and thought previously to be perhaps an individual mutation of some sort.

By contrast, Whispering Storm, though she too bore the eyes and ears of our mutual friend, was a more slender and well-muscled figure, of decidedly average height. Her hair was dark, a blue tinged black I’m not positive was natural, and long, though the sides of her head were shaved and its length was kept in thin, beaded braids gathered behind her head. I noticed a few Memory trinkets were woven in among them.

Both were of course paler than the fairest strain born above ground, almost corpselike, in fact. Whispering Storm, however, though she also bore the nearly familiar facial marks of a Redwater Clan member (three wavy lines over the right eye, a half circle and line over the left), was a study in culture all on her own; her skin, as she changed into what was apparently more common garb for meandering through the Hold, was seemingly covered in scarring, some of which appeared to be done intentionally, even artistically, and the ink of many tattoos, giving her the appearance of a sketchbook sewn into a living creature.

I’m unsure exactly how much of her skin was modified in such a way, but most of what I saw, and I saw much of it, seemed to be. The clothing she changed into was, I admit, more comfortable looking than my own (though I’ve never felt particularly burdened by them), however I felt some small desire to wrap a blanket around her lest she catch a cold. I suppose I should acknowledge she seemed wholly unaffected by the chill I’d begun feeling in the air as we moved further under the earth.

Metro and I exchanged glances, I noticed a slight blush on his cheeks and he averted his eyes from mine while she placed her knives around the form fitting, dark brown leather harness that made up a significant percentage of her new shirt, the rest consisting of a very soft looking linen that left her shoulders, back, and midriff bare. Her legwear had also been exchanged from the unbleached, durable fabric she’d worn above ground to a deep green pair of pants that looked to be of similar material as her upper garment, tucked down into the boots that seemed the one piece of clothing she had not replaced.

During this time I should not fail to mention she had attempted small talk with us, and I discovered she was quite friendly, especially compared to her partner. She kept up a dialogue with us, somewhat less effective than intended due to her unfamiliarity with the language, and continued asking questions and answering a few of our own even as we departed and continued on our way.

I cannot verify the distance from our changing room to the great Gate, but I can say it was many steps, and at least two surprisingly sharp turns. The side tunnels gradually became smaller, and fewer in number, and the main had ceased to appear like a natural opening of rock, instead squaring off at the corners, creating a smooth floor and ceiling. The torches that had lit the early stages of the journey became fewer and far between, casting our path in shadows. It was almost surprise when I realized the sounds of echoed footsteps had grown beyond our own, and I saw my first glimpse of the Gate.

It was a massive thing, a wall of stone and metal, reach across the fill width of the tunnel, and almost to the ceiling, several times my height at this point. I saw figures moving at the top, and in the center was a thick metal door, currently open, and seemingly built to slide sideways rather than inwards or outwards. Through it, and beyond, opened a cavern that stretched to the left into darkness, though I could make out the shapes of a few caravans, mostly pick-me-up trucks and iron horses, though at least one larger ride was present.

Passing through the Gate was a simple process, there being only a small crowd in the area, and most were waved through without issue. Whispering Storm called out to one of the guards in their native tongue, and he nodded, replying with an air of routine, and a few minutes later we found ourselves moving through the entry cavern, and on a stone road, moving deeper into the cavern, where small buildings seemed to grow out of the rock walls. Almost immediately two things became apparent:

One, this place was far larger than the current population could fill. There was no shortage of individuals, most lascarian, though I saw plenty other faces blended into the populous. Hundreds currently wander the underground center of Redwater culture by my estimate, and yet there seemed to be room for hundreds, several hundreds, more. For every building I saw signs of life (a candle in the window, polished tools on a workbench, or just the lack of feeling empty) there were three or more that I was surprised didn’t have boarded windows and an inch of dust on the steps.

Secondly, the city exuded a sense of age that made no sense for a home built within the last year, as I’d been told it had been. It wasn’t just the scope of the Hold, though it was in part the feeling a year could not have been long enough to build such a place. The subtle differences in certain blocks, how buildings grew together, and the shape of them, all felt as though I was walking through an oldcestor history book.

I stamped down on the unease I felt, as we roamed the streets behind Whispering Storm. I told myself I had no idea what determined lascarians in large numbers could accomplish. Wandering Eye had said once that the Holdlings outnumbered the other sects combined twice over, and their very purpose was to build and maintain their home. I still could not shake the feeling of age the place held, though it lessened somewhat as I began to see signs of scaffolding and incomplete buildings the more turns we took.

Perhaps it is only that they build their home out of the bones of the earth that causes the sensation.

My introspection was cut short as we rounded another street, and came to a junction of buildings that moved into a new part of the Hold. The ceiling was lower here, coming almost to the roofs of the buildings, where it did not replace them entirely. The streets began twisting on themselves, creating alleys and alcoves of dwellings. In the distance I was able to make out the shadows of three larger structures, the size of warehouses, just a bit taller than the rest of the buildings. They seemed identical from the vague look I could get, and faced different directions. The effect walking through this new area of the Hold left me feeling somewhat claustrophobic, I confess.

At asking what this place was, Whispering Storm answered we had entered “Ward-way-air-stad”, and at the looks on our faces I suppose, added “Keeper District” a second later.

I commented about the feel of the place, and she nodded, with a slight smile, replying that the Keepers like tunnels. I suppose that makes sense.

Lascarians like tunnels, everyone knows that.

Three turns and a small hill (there are hills underground, I have learned) passed us, and we entered a small lane. On our left was a slightly larger building that created the last turn, on our journey. It seemed empty but had the feel of a temporary state, as though it was normally inhabited. To our right small homes broke up the wall of the cavern.

Small lamps were hung from the places the buildings met in this part of town, and unlike the torches and candles of the earlier parts of the Hold, the light pulsed a pale blue color. I paused to examine one and discovered they weren’t lamps at all, but small, glass covered, stone planters full of mushrooms and moss from which the light came from. Small insects darted about the light-gardens, themselves bursting in tiny sparks of gold and green intermittently, sometimes taking flight towards one of the other holders.

At the end of the alley we found a surprisingly idyllic scene: a dwelling facing the street, built into the back wall of the cavern as it bent left. Between the building and the one closest to its right was a small elevated slab, from which a simple fountain emerged from the cavern rock. Over it was a wooden framework, hanging with more moss and mushrooms as grew in the lamps. Underneath it all, at a small table sat Wandering Eye, writing in a leather bound book.

He stood as we approached, and smiled. I almost didn’t recognize him uncovered by scarves or hat, I’m embarrassed to confess. He, too, was dressed simply and comfortably. In light brown trousers, and only a draping green vest, which fell to his knees but left his arms bare. It was the first time I’d seen him uncovered so, and I was surprised at the number of scars that mottled his skin, though unlike Whispering Storm, none of these seemed to be done intentionally. Most prominent was the burn on the inside of his left forearm, a wound I recognized from two weeks past, when we were in Bravo for the last time together.

Before Metro or myself could reach him, Whispering storm moved forward, and pulled his head down to hers, touching their foreheads together and whispering something that sounded like “essayo”, before promptly hitting his shoulder hard with the back of her hand and unleashing a stream of words in their language while gesturing at the aforementioned arm.

Wandering Eye took it in stride, and waved her off with a few quiet words and a gestured at the two of us. She mad a noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl, a sound I realized in that moment I’d heard often from our mutual friend, and marched into his home while he stepped up and pulled us both into a hug, motioning to the seats around the table he’d been sitting at, to join him.

We’d only just sat and begun to exchange pleasantries when Whispering Storm reappeared, throwing a bandage roll at her Clan-mate, and glaring at him as she took a seat at his side. He picked it up from where it had bounced off of him and made a quick hand gesture that she gave a satisfied nod at.

Marta Marta

-

“Marta?” Wandering Eye asked for the third time, with no little amount of amusement in his voice.

The small rover woman jerked her head up from where she’d been scribbling in her notebook, then looked back long enough to scratch out a line before closing it with a smile and turning her attention to the rest of the handful of individuals in the room.

“Yes! Sorry! I wanted to get everything written down before I forgot,” She blurted out.

He waved the apology aside, with a freshly wrapped arm. “Do you want tea?”

[cacophony-eg]

I know your OT3 is Allura/Pidge/Lotor but could you maybe do a little dabble with Pallura? Please, It would be really nice to have some Pallura fluff right now, maybe something about their time in the hospital at the end of season 7?

(Sure this sounds cute)

Allura walked through the drab white walls of the hospital. Her feet practically on autopilot towards Pidge’s room after spending an earth Movement in this place, ever since the second quintant in the place they allowed her to visit the other paladins during the days. Thanks to her biology she was healing faster than most of her fellow paladins.

So every day she always made sure to spend time with Pidge; Allura was more than familiar with how hard it could be to get Pidge to rest and still for any length of time, and do so without Pidge sitting on a computer or fiddling, breaking apart or putting together some kind of device or another. The staff was practically encouraging Allura to spend time with the overactive tech genius, Allura seeming to be the only one that knew how to make the girl rest and relax for any decent amount of time.  

Allura also knew the greatest Danger to Pidge’s health next to the Galra empire and Haggar’s creations were the short girls own boredom. Back in the castle of lions, Allura had stumbled upon one of the only sure-fire ways to keep the green paladin resting, during the early stages of their unspoken… relationship.

Allura knocked on Pidge’s door, pausing as she heard some strange ruffling of sheets, followed by scratching and scrambling against the tiles floor, that very much didn’t sound like Pidge’s footstep. The animalistic rumble followed by a high pitch burst of noise on the other side of the door made Allura practically jump away from the door instinctively sliding into a fighting pose, ready for the unknown creature to come busting through.  

“It’s okay Allura, Bea Bea’s just excited” Pidge called from the other side, the genuine amusement in her voice wasn’t hidden in the least.

Allura took a moment to straighten herself before slowly opened the door, greeted with the medium-sized canine of the holt families, patiently waiting on the other side wagging its tail as it stared up at her expectedly.

“Pet her or she’s going to think she did something wrong,” Pidge said, mirth shining in her eyes, and lingering in her smirk.  

Allura looked between Pidge and the dog, reluctantly bending down and petting the creature twice on the head that just made the animals tail wage faster.

“How did you know it was me?” The taller women questioned as she stood back up and approached the bed.

“You yelped” the shorter girl replied, her smirk only growing with amusement.

“I did not” Allura defended, only causing Pidge to laugh.

The princess blushed and avoid eye contact with the other women as her arms slide under the green paladin’s frame, lifting Pidge with ease. Allura carefully began moving them around so she could sit on the bed with her back against the propped up top and Pidge nestled on her lap, with her fluffy mess of golden brown of hair resting on her chest.

Pidge claimed her chest made a great pillow during one of their first times cuddling and it had become a habit to have her head rest thair ever since.

Allura jerking her feet closer to them as an unexpected fuzzy guest joined them on the bed laying down near their feet.

“Relax Allura Bea Bea’s super sweet” Pidge assured, rubbing the dog’s side with her unbandaged foot through the blanket that now covered them.

Allura noticed the pup stayed mostly on the side with Pidge’s good foot, so guess the dog had some intelligence and consideration for others but she still preferred mice.

“I thought Bea Bea only came here when your family was around,” Allura questioned wrapping her arms around the shorter women’s waist holding her snuggly against her body.

“Yeah, usually…” Pidge slowly nodded, the lack of elaboration had Allura a little worried wondering what Pidge was holding back. “I couldn’t sleep last night… my mind wouldn’t stop, so Matt got permission to bring Bea Bea in so I wouldn’t be alone” she explained.

“Why…” why hadn’t Pidge asked her to keep her company last night, Allura wanted to ask but was worried what the answer might be. They hadn’t had much time alone since they defeated Lotor, and she rather not think about the complicated time before that when Lotor was leaking into their relationship, the two of them growing attachment to him, easing him into their undefined relationship only for him to….

“Allura?” Pidge questioned quietly, feeling the princess’ arms tighten around her waist.

Allura brought herself back to the moment, shaking away her previous thoughts, her long fingers caressing Pidge’s side to ease Pidge’s worry and ground herself “I was wondering why you didn’t ask me?”

“Oh-” Pidge replied softly humming, the hum always a signal that Pidge wasn’t finished and was just thinking. Allura had accumulated and memorized a library of little gestures the green paladins expressed. Pidge was just so expressive, the princess was almost jealous of having so much emotional freedom, having no need to hide them outside of battle.  

“It was because they were mostly about you” Pidge admitted, holding onto Allura’s arms as if she was worried the taller women would pull away. “Yesterday afternoon when my family was visiting my mom talked about getting a Family photo, one that included Matt’s Girlfriend, N-7.”

Allura remained silent, resting her cheek lightly against the top of the smaller women’s head not sure where this was leading; was Pidge afraid Colleen would find out about their… attachment to each other or did this ‘family photo’ had a special meaning in their culture she didn’t understand, or- Pidge was shaking.

Allura softly kissed the top of the other woman’s head, her lips brushing over her soft hair. Her long fingers gently rubbing small circles against her side and up over the top of her hip, trying to ease Pidge’s nerves.  

“Would you be okay for me to introduce you to my family… as my girlfriend?” Pidge asked keeping her eyes staring down at her lap.

Allura chest felt like it would burst with a warmth that suddenly flooded into her, she understood enough about earth culture to know this was a significant step in their relationship. To finally have a defined title to what they had, instead of letting it stay lingering in the air, not  and on top of that, for Pidge’s request to bring their relationship out, past just their fellow paladin’s knowing, for her family to know was surely a sign that Pidge had every intention for them to stay together for more than comfort during these trying times of war.

The lack of reply made Pidge curl into herself “I know you’re so important to the universe and I understand if you want to keep yourself free for political reasons-”

“No Pidge, stop” Allura fumbled out her words hugging the smaller women tightly, her heart hammering in her chest swearing she could also feel Pidge’s heart through the green paladin’s back.

“I would be honoured to be called your girlfriend, to be introduced to your family as such” Allura assured placing a kiss on the shorters girls head than another on her cheek “I just hope your brother isn’t too shocked from the revolution”

Pidge’s body shook with laughed, any tenseness for before washing away with her giggles.

“I think he will just be proud one holt sibling managed to date the altean princess’ “ Pidge replied twisting in Allura’s hold to better face the taller women.

“Date?” Allura questioned, puzzled over the word, “as in the little fruit” She had tried her best to understand as much as she could about Earth.

Pidge smiled and lightly shook her head “no, it’s just human term that means we’re in an official courtship with each other” Pidge tried to explain, trying to convert the term to the Altean equivocate.Allura smiled raising a hand to gently cup Pidge’s soft cheek, “I felt we have been doing so for some time now” she replied.

Pidge blushed her eyes widening some, quickly nodding in agreement “I was just never sure and was scared what would happen if asked, it was easier to just hope for the best than getting the answer…and learning I was delusional” The smaller women sighed leaning into the Princesses.

“Prephaps communication; the verbal kind, is something we should work on in the future” Allura suggested, her thumb gently caressing Pidge’s cheek, leaning down, their lips softly pressing against each other. It was far from their first kiss together, but it was the first as official girlfriends and felt all the more special just for that. The princess would have lingered in the kiss for as long as possible but pulled away hearing a large squeak and squawk.

Allura pulling away from the kiss looking down at Bea Bea unaware the pup could make such a sound.

“Heh looks like we don’t have to tell Matt,” Pidge said, with a nervous smile, Allura fallowing the shorter women’s gaze and saw Matt standing in the doorway frozen looking as if his mind had crashed and needed time to reboot.

“Well, he should know better to knock before entering a ladies room” Allura replied with a huff, Pidge softly laughing, leaning against the princess.

Matt’s girlfriend standing behind him rubbing his back trying to bring him back to reality.

(Sorry couldn’t help but sneak a little of my OT3 in, but I hope you liked it.)If you can, please help keep my creative juices flowing with Ko-fi!: ko-fi.com/cacophonyeg

[illumynare]

Destiny Fic: who is the lamb (who is the knife)

Summary: This is Eris Morn: every time, she says, "I will." (aka the Eris/Toland arranged marriage AU)

Pairings: Eris/Toland.

Notes: Also available on AO3.

This is Eris Morn: every time, she says, "I will."

She is a newly-Risen Guardian when the call goes out for volunteers to join the host, to fight at the Mare Imbrium and retake the Moon.

Eris barely understands the Light, but she knows it has her loyalty. She knows it needs protecting.

At the Mare Imbrium, she starts to understand the Dark.

Eriana-3 asks her if she will help seek vengeance.

Eris did not know Wei Ning. Did not know any of the thousands slaughtered at the Mare Imbrium.

But she knows Crota. She saw his sword, his power, his darkness.

And she knows Eriana. Loves her, as she loves the LIght.

So she says yes.

They are infinitely deep below the surface of the Moon. Vell and Omar and Sai are all dead. Toland is—unknown, lost in the echoes of Ir Yût's song.

When Eriana asks her if she will take the sword, use Hunter stealth to kill the son of Oryx while Eriana uses Warlock strength to make him kneel, Eris says, "Yes."

"Ikora," says Zavala, eyebrows drawn together, "are you sure this isn't some sort of . . . Hive mockery?"

"I don't think the Hive have a sense of humor," says Cayde. "I was on the Moon a week ago, and there was this Wizard—I had the best pun, but all she said was—"

"Enough, Cayde," says Ikora. Her face is composed, distant. "Savathûn's emissary says they consider marriage an . . . appropriate metaphor."

For the sword logic. Ikora does not say the words; nobody else in the room would understand them but Eris, who stands at the edge of the room, hands clasped over wrists, heart fluttering against her ribs. 

While Eriana joined the Thanatonauts, seeking an echo of Wei Ning—while the rest of the City rejoiced in Crota's death—Eris and Ikora had poured over the scraps of Toland's notes. They had sought knowledge and preparation. They had found nothing but rumors.

Now those rumors are come to life with Oryx and Savathûn. The terrifying Taken King who has broken the power of the Awoken, infected the whole system, and threatens to overwhelm them completely. And his equally dark sister, who wants him dead and will assist the Vanguard in accomplishing it. 

For a price.

Of all their fireteam, Eris and Eriana were the only ones to return from the Pit. It was a cruel and bitter fate, yet Eris had always suspected there would be more to pay.

She hadn't expected this.

"I don't know," says Cayde. "Metaphors are pretty funny—"

"We can't sacrifice one of our Guardians this way," says Zavala, his voice solid and determined as the walls.

"We can't order it," says Ikora, grim with knowledge of their doom. "But if she volunteers—"

There's a crash from outside, and then Eriana storms into Underwatch, fire crackling at her shoulders and her fingertips. She's tall and bright as she was at the Mare Imbrium, as she was facing Crota in the Pit, and for a moment Eris drinks in the sight.

"You cannot allow this," says Eriana, and though she is not in Radiance yet, she is a pillar of Solar light. "Eris belongs to the Light—I will not let you—"

Ikora meets her gaze, chin high, all the chill majesty of the Void in her eyes. "We have given her no orders."

"You have asked," says Eriana.

They have not done even that. They have only told Eris what danger threatens all the Guardians. And in that moment, when she knows that Eriana will mourn and rage for her, Eris at last is sure.

"I will do it," she says, moving from her silent place in the room's shadows. "I will marry Savathûn's emissary." 

Cayde is not so foolish as he pretends, nor quite so useless. He finds Eris that evening.

"Y'know," he says, leaning against the doorway, "there's ways to get you out of this."

Eris considers him, the light in his eyes, the sunset gleam reflected off his carapace. He means it. He would do it for her, though they have never been friends, and she values that.

Cayde understands what she does: the strength of the wolf is in the pack.

And that's why she must do this.

"Wish me joy," she says.

If the Hive have marriage rites, they have not shared them.

Guardians, as a whole, do not either. They are raised from a thousand different years, their minds and hearts molded to a thousand different customs. Those few of them who do marry, make their own ceremonies, or adopt one from the hundred cultures living in the City.

For Eris, Eriana researches. She learns everything that Eris and Ikora know of the sword logic. She compares human rituals, and guesses at what period Eris might have been born in. She considers, of all the customs Guardians have used, which ones might be most appropriate. She writes the ceremony they will use.

(She whispers to Eris, late at night, "You can kill him if he displeases," and Eris tells her not to include that disclaimer in the wedding vows.)

On the day they have agreed, the sky boils with darkness. The Tower is cleared of civilians, and most Guardians.

Savathûn does not directly enter their territory. She is too dread for their geometry. But her emissary comes, a horned creature veiled in shadow, with three bright eyes gleaming from his personal darkness.

Eris feels as tiny and alone as when she first saw Crota. But Savathûn's emissary is nothing beside the Son of Oryx; and this time, she has a hope to save her fellow Guardians.

She holds out her hand.

He takes it. Dry, cold fingers wrap over hers. She shivers, but the touch is not unpleasant.

Ikora stands between them, the power of the Void in her shadow, the Solar fire kindled in her palms, and she says, "Do you, creature of Savathûn, take this child of the Traveler to wife, against the Darkness, against the Light, against all terror and all time?"

"I do," says the emissary, his voice dry and rough, and a shiver runs down Eris's spine.

"Do you, Eris—" asks Ikora, and Eris does not hear the rest of the words. She is hearing her own heartbeat, the pulse of her blood; she is remembering when she crouched in the shadows of the Oversoul Throne, letting Hunter stealth slick over her bones, and she raised a sword of Darkness to strike a blow for the Light.

"I will," she says.

There are three cups of wine that each of them drink. There are three drops of blood that each of them shed. And there are three circuits they walk, hand in hand, around a fire.

There are three doors that close behind them, and then they are alone together: Eris, and her new-wedded husband.

"What are you?" she asks him finally.

"Are you so very dull?" he asks, his three eyes gleaming from the shadow of his face.

And finally, she knows him.

There was a time that Toland said to her, You don't understand the Dark, LOOK UP AT THE SKY—

There was a time that Eris said to him, You don't understand the Light, LOOK DOWN AT THE DEEP—

They both found proofs, after. They both became everlastingly sure of their allegiances.

Before the Pit, they could argue and love each other still. After, they could only regret.

Now they are met together under one roof, one alliance.

Slowly, gently, Eris traces her fingers across his face. Pulls back the gauze that wraps his scars. Sees the three eyes glowing green, and the oozing seam where Hive chitin meets once-human skin.

"What did Ir Yût do to you?" she asks.

"She harmonized me," says Toland. "Retuned me. Honed me, for the whetstone of Savathûn." His fingertips tickle at Eris's chin. "And you, what sharpness have you found?"

The only answer Eris can make is a kiss against his lips, is fingernails dragged down the side of his face, drawing liquid shadow where (from a human) she might have drawn blood.

"Understand," she tells him, as she bites his skin, as she claims him, "before you are Ir Yût's, before you are Savathûn's, you are mine."

Toland kisses her collarbone and says, "Only if you kill Oryx, dearest."

"We are going to land a Guardian on the Dreadnaught," Eris says to Ikora and Cayde the next day.

[thegooiest-blog1]

The Forgotten City

The Forgotten City

   Silence, undisturbed and imposing

fills the cold, cyclopean stones.

Each door, a portal enclosing

a mystery in the city's old bones.

  Carvings into blackened stone,

made by inhuman, alien hands

chills the body to the bone

with pictures of unknowable lands.

  The dwellers, gone and forgotten

amidst the ebb and flow of time.

Their bodies, now gone and rotten

amidst the ancient dirt and grime.

  Deep beneath the earth it dwells

this lost city, unknown to man.

Hidden well by rites and spells,

a city before humans began.

  Their silent treasures left,

their culture all but lost

These blackened halls bereft

of life, at times steepest cost.

  A sudden crack breaks the silence

some unknown force from above.

A thundering of explosive violence

caved in a section with it's shove.

  “It's here, it's here, we've found it!”

come cries from up on high.

Ladders fall into the pit

like tethers to the sky.

  Slowly do the intruders descend

into the ancient, forgotten tomb.

At the bottom, they attend

to their fellows as they enter the room.

  “Those books were right after all!”

One is heard to exclaim

Others stare blankly at the sprawl

like moths gazing at a flame.

  They start off with the workers,

and then they get the gear.

Some men do speak of lurkers,

but they are dismissed as fear.

  “There isn't time to waste,”

says the leader of the group.

“we must explore with haste

to be the frontline research troupe!”

  With the basics in their packs,

a small, hand-picked group sets out.

They leave the light upon their backs

with headlamps to show a route.

  What started as a minute tour

turns well into an hour.

“We've seen that arch right there before,

as well as that same tower.”

  The group slows down their trek,

eventually to a halt.

The leader stops to check

the time inside this vault.

  “Don't tell me this things broken!”

He taps his watch with a frown.

A fit of curses are spoken,

before he throws the timepiece down.

  “Whats the time, good men?

My watch decided to go dead.”

The others pull their own out then,

and they repeat what he had said.

  Far off in the ancient tomb,

a hulking beast then stirs.

The malformed, sleeping doom

could hear the invaders.

  It gurgles and clicks and crawls,

with staring, sightless eyes.

The abandoned city halls

echoed with dismayed cries.

  The sound of the chatting tour

as they had stopped to rest

made the ancient beast secure

of each and every guest.

  It stayed silent, although eager,

to the darkness it did cling.

The men grumbled about their meager

amount of rations they did bring.

  The hulking thing drew closer still,

smelling the scent of prey.

Closing in for an easy kill,

it stayed well out of light's way.

  “Did you see that?!” a worker cried,

his headlamp aimed far off.

“Something's giant, scaly hide!”

The leader answered with a scoff.

  “Oh calm yourself, there's nothing here.”

The leader did calmly proclaim.

“Trust me, there's nothing to fear,

this place is dead , all the same.”

  The monstrosity had circled them,

thrice now it had gone clockwise.

At this point it did then condemn

the group to their demise.

  Conversation turned to screams

as the horror jumped into view.

Some phantom out of horrid dreams

made their worst nightmares ensue.

  It howled and bellowed in fury,

taking four of the seven right then.

The other three left in a hurry,

leaving the gore of their own men.

  The beast found the first while he ran,

pouncing and tearing in twain.

The second in a shorter span,

leaving him broken and slain.

  The leader of the troupe had gone,

running to the guiding light

He had the hopes to call upon

the rest of his crew's might.

  “Someone, anyone, help me!”

The man did then cry out.

His lonesome echo did decree

there was no one left about.

  They had left running at the screaming

his other would-be supporters.

He hoped that he was dreaming,

but there were still six dead explorers.

  The ladder had been pulled away

as had been all the ropes,

leaving him the hunter's prey,

and shattering his hopes

  The leader paced about,

not accepting his demise.

He let out an angry shout

and shook his fists up at the skies.

  He finally stopped in his terror,

seeing the terrors blind eyes.

He stood there, regretting his error,

awaiting his gory demise.

  The beast did not move ahead,

it stood at the edge of the light..

The leader, now full of dread

could tell he had only 'till night.

  The two stared at one another,

as the light moved, so did the beast.

The man felt his fear start to smother

him at the thought of its feast.

  The light began to fade away

the man knew he was no more.

As soon as the sun gave way,

the creature strew his gore.

  The intruders now gone, it departed

back to it's ancient bound slumber.

The city, still lost and uncharted,

it's buildings unknown in number.

  Silence, undisturbed and imposing

fills the cold, cyclopean stones.

Each door, a portal enclosing

a mystery in the city's old bones.

[the-master-cylinder]

The Library SUMMARY In the frame story of the film, H. P. Lovecraft (Jeffrey Combs) learns of a monastery where a copy of the Necronomicon is held. Having been a regular there for his research, he sets up an appointment, his cab driver told to wait outside. Taking insult when the head monk calls his work “fiction”, Lovecraft insists that all his writings are true. Requesting to read the Alchemical Encyclopedia Vol. III, Lovecraft steals a key from another monk and flees to the cellar where the Necronomicon is being held. Unknown to him, a monk has seen him. Unlocking the vault where the book is held, the door closes behind Lovecraft unexpectedly, making him drop the key down a grating and into the water below. As that happens, one of the seals is opened.

Lovecraft sits to read and record what he is reading. It’s not specified if he sees visions of the future through the book, or if the book contains future accounts. It’s likely the stories will come to pass, and for the Necronomicon have already passed, alluding to the Necronomicon’s timelessness, as all the stories take place well beyond the 1920s.

Lovecraft is confronted by the head monk, who assures him that all will be fine if he opens the door. Lovecraft admits he dropped the key. Furious, the monk warns Lovecraft to replace the book, but the author is attacked by a monster in the water beneath him, and the last of the seals opens up. The head monk reveals himself to not be human at all, as he begins stretching his body through the bars to enter the room, and Lovecraft uses a sword in his cane to defeat the monster in the water.

Gathering his things and grabbing the book, Lovecraft begins to depart, being caught by one of the monks who warns him of the foolishness of his actions, telling him he will pay for his misdeeds. Lovecraft then escapes to the taxi and orders it to leave, and it leaves unpursued.

DEVELOPMENT/PRODUCTION Originally envisioned as a small linking device tying the movie together, the story was fleshed out further by Yuzna and writer Brent Friedman as shooting progressed. The result is an Indiana Jones-flavored tale in which H.P. Lovecraft (Jeffrey Combs) visits a secret room in a library, where he sneaks a peek at the Necronomicon and starts to read its various tales. In the process, he unleashes some wicked forces that will stop at nothing to dispatch those who have disturbed its resting place.

Optic Nerve’s Vulich took on that challenge. “I like the idea of doing these subtle makeups anyway, and it’s kind of rare for us to get a chance to do something like this, so we jumped at the opportunity,” says Vulich. “Having worked on Re-Animator, Jeffrey may have been concerned at first about the makeup being too outlandish or heavy. When I started to tell him it would be very subtle, he kept on saying, ‘I like this word “subtle.”

Turning Combs into the reclusive writer was a “weird task,” according to Optic Nerve’s Everett Burrell. “First of all. hardly anybody knows what Lovecraft looked like. Very few photos of him have been published, so we had to dig around a bit.” Burrell’s partner, John Vulich, did the makeup, “which was basically a chin and a nose. You could only do so much. You couldn’t make him heavy, or he would look fey. People are so used to seeing Jeffrey in the RE-ANIMATOR films that it’s a nice change.”

Combs appreciates the way Vulich’s makeup helped capture some of the real character, who was altered for the purposes of the film. “I don’t think we were necessarily going for a dead-on, ‘Wow, look-that’s him!’ appearance, but at least we wanted to attempt a resemblance, for the hard-core fans,” the actor explains. “I tried to incorporate elements of the real H.P. Lovecraft, but because of the way the script was written, my characterization wasn’t the way he really was. So that’s why the makeup was a little more important; otherwise, I could have gone in there and just been myself without any alterations, but I wanted to do something that would at least harken back to the real guy.”

The end result Involved allowing as much of Combs as possible to be visible in the makeup, in order for his charismatic personality to shine through. Jeffrey is a known actor, and we didn’t want to diminish that aspect of it,” says Vulich. “We wanted people to know it was Jeffrey, yet still give it a Lovecraft feel.”

Screaming Mad George creation in which Lovecraft rips a librarian’s head open only to reveal a monster inside remained from principal photography, while the reshoots added more creatures to spice things up.

“Essentially, we were just trying to show a monster down in the pit to match a shot of a tentacle coming up through a grate that Optic Nerve had done,” says John Foster, who co-supervised the show with Buechler for MMI (Magical Media Industries). “We made it look like a Cthulhu variation-it’s basically a creature with some tentacles and a lot of eyes.”

Steve Johnson was also called in to create the “wall safe monster” that emerges from the library walls where the Book of the Dead routinely rests in peace. “It was basically a hand puppet operated by four people, explains Johnson of this creation, which resembles a huge hand with teeth in the middle that is capable of flopping and bending in unnatural ways. “There was a webbing material around the slots where people would place their hands in it to operate it. Then we had silk bags filled with methylcellulose on the fingers of each of our hands which had about 20 teeth attached to them. So it was this very mobile mouth that could stretch and get really big and then condense and constrict down. We kept it very simple, but also made it really come alive.”

This wasn’t the creation originally intended for the segment, according to Johnson, who went back to the drawing board to rethink the final incarnation before shooting commenced. “The end result became more simple and direct,” says Johnson. “It was a non-linear creative process which I’ve been leaning towards lately. The first creation we did didn’t move in the right manner and the stuff didn’t look alive. So we came up with a new technique and approached it a different way. When you do that. sometimes you end up with a better product.”

CAST/CREW Directed Brian Yuzna

Jeffrey Combs as H. P. Lovecraft Tony Azito as Librarian Brian Yuzna as Cabbie

The Drowned SUMMARY Edward De LaPoer, a member of the De La Poer family, is tracked down in Sweden after inheriting an old, abandoned family hotel (the name of this character is the only resemblance of this segment to lovecraft’s story The Rats in the Walls). Left a sealed envelope from Jethro De La Poer, he learns of his uncle’s tragic death. Upon a boat trip return to New England, a crash on the shore killed Jethro’s wife and son. Distraught, Jethro picked up a copy of the Holy Bible in front of several funeral mourners, tossed it into the fireplace and announced that any god who would take from him is not welcome in his home. That night, an odd fishman arrives and tells him he is “not alone”, then leaves behind an English translation of the Necronomicon. Using the book, Jethro brings his family back to life. However, they are revived as unholy monsters with green glowing eyes and tentacles in their mouths. Feeling guilty, he chooses to commit suicide by casting himself off an upper floor balcony.

Edward, distraught over a car accident years before which killed his wife, Clara, finds the Necronomicon and performs the ritual to revive her. That night, Clara arrives and asks to be invited in. Edward apologizes for the accident. Clara begins to regurgitate tentacles from her mouth, and in a panic, Edward pushes her away. Clara angrily attacks, but Edward, with a sword taken from a nearby wall, cuts her. She turns into a tentacle leading underneath the floor. Drawn underground from the injury, the creature below destroys the main floor and rises, a gigantic monster with tentacles, one eye and a large mouth. Edward cuts a rope holding the chandelier, jumps to it and climbs to the ceiling. “Clara” again tries to restrain him, but Edward destroys a stained glass window, the sunlight driving her away.

Edward pushes the chandelier rope free from the pulley, the pointed bottom piercing the monster in the eye, presumably killing it. Now on the roof, Edward has avoided the same fate that Jethro had years before, and decides to live.

DEVELOPMENT/PRODUCTION Part of the appeal of adapting Lovecraft, according to director Christophe Gans, is the author’s very precise mythology, which he wanted to adhere to as much as possible. “He’s created a mythology where there is no heaven or hell,” explains Gans. “He was trying to go beyond the dream world, beyond the appearance. If we can see that, we can explain the success of Lovecraft. He really is one of the great authors who predates the post-acid culture.”

In fact, he was so determined to bring his specific vision to the screen that for his 30-minute segment, he had nearly twice the amount of storyboards usually required. “You could flip the pages of the story. boards and watch the movie.” explains FX consultant Tom Savini, who worked with Hadida on the upcoming Killing Zoe before reteaming with him on Necronomicon. An admirer of Savini’s work, Gans had hoped the esteemed goremeister would do a major chunk of his segment, but because of time constraints and a lack of prep time following Killing Zoe, Savini opted to hire his former colleagues at Optic Nerve to help out.

Heading up the FX team on this segment was Optic Nerve’s John Vulich and Everett Burrell (the latter has since left the company to focus solely on computer-generated FX). “Christophe wanted to approach this stuff with real striking imagery. going for the feel of a Maria Bava film mixed with a classic Hammer aesthetic,” says Vulich. “The trick with this segment was trying to come up with really disturbing setpieces, but also creating effects that were beautiful yet horrifying. There are a lot of contradictory images, which I think works well in the horror genre.”

On the set. Payne as Edward is visited by his beloved Clara. Ford has been made up to look pale and sickly, and Vulich has airbrushed intricate, soft-looking veins over her naked body. It’s an appealing sight to Payne’s character, who is nonetheless unsure how to react. With lightning flashing constantly outside the set window, the whole sequence has an eerily sexual feel as Ford slowly crawls toward the distraught Payne, seducing him with an impossible sight-the watery resurrection of his wife.

“We wanted to make her horrible, but in very subtle ways.” says Vulich. We put these white, pasty veins on her because Christophe wanted to make her look like a marble statue. She also had this weird tubing stuck to her back, since the water god Cthulhu keeps his victims on a sort of tentacle to use them as puppets. So we have this scene where she’s writhing on the ground in this pseudo-sexual position. Even in dailies, it kind of made you queasy to watch it.”

Another Optic Nerve creation was a Cthulhu minion that visits Jethro one rainy night. It was originally conceived as a simple character appliance, but Vulich ultimately opted to sculpt an elaborate fullhead mask. “We came up with this fish monster that’s sort of a henchman and definitely a homage to Lovecraft’s Shadow Over Innsmouth,” the artist reveals.

The zombie attack by the ocean victims, which was to be spearheaded by Tom Savini. “There was once a scene where we would see Cthulhu controlling all these people with his tentacles, and all the shipwreck victims would come back and Bruce Payne’s character would have to fight them, recalls Tom Rainone. It was cut out of the film early on and almost came back at the last minute, and it would have been classic Savini. Brian, Samuel Hadida and Savini sat down to figure out what they were going to do, and Savini just went off on an excellent tangent about how to do it in the easiest fashion. This would have been a pretty neat scene, but they finally cut it for time and budget reasons.” – Tom Rainone

Optic Nerve was deep into working on the first season of Babylon 5 and couldn’t come back to do all the necessary additions and reshots, so Bart J. Mixon landed the job, working under the banner of Bart Mixon’s Monster Fixin’s (he has since formed ME.FX with longtime collaborator Earl Ellis). These tricky reshoots included a full-body appliance for actress Ford as Clara turns into a long, veiny, tentacled mass from the waist down. This was the most appealing segment, because it wasn’t so much redoing things that didn’t work but adding to what was already there,” says Mixon. “The show happened relatively quickly. and therefore the techniques had to be down and dirty. We set Maria up through the floor with this tentacle makeup. She wore a long wig in the film which was nearly 6 feet long, so we were also able to design the effect around our limitations, using the hair to hide any seams we might have had.” A second stage of this makeup followed as Clara rises from Cthulhu’s watery pit to convince her beloved Edward to join her in briny bliss. Additionally, computer-animated enhancements were an integral portion of these two gags.

Mixon also provided a one-eyed Cthulhu monster that rips through the hotel floor and tries to pull Edward down. “The basic design was two skulls fused together at the eye sockets,” the artist explains, “Christophe saw this image in some photo collages created by J.K. Potter, and we extrapolated the design from that. We used it as a foundation and built upon it. You can still kind of see the twin skulls, but we added tentacles and various other factors onto it.”

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Further additions to this segment included a flashback insert shot of a little boy who looks up at Jethro to reveal glowing green eyes and a squid like mass squirming out of his mouth. Newcomer Todd Rex recalls sculpting this creation without the aid of a lifecast and only a blown-up still frame of the young actor to work from. “It was a 112-hour week and very little money.” says Rex, who also worked with Spectral Effects Studios’ Sam Greenmun on other blood gags and minor FX throughout the extensive week of reshoots. “The puppet looked pretty good. considering it was just a rubber head with a giant syringe in its back filled with squids and goo.”

CAST/CREW Directed Christophe Gans

Bruce Payne as Edward De Lapoer Belinda Bauer as Nancy Gallmore Richard Lynch as Jethro De Lapoer Maria Ford as Clara Peter Jasienski as Jethro’s son Denice D. Lewis as Emma De Lapoer Vladimir Kulich as a Villager

The Cold

SUMMARY Reporter Dale Porkel is suspicious of a string of strange murders in Boston over the past several decades. Confronting a woman at a local apartment building, he is invited in only to find the entire place is very cold. The woman he has confronted claims to suffer a rare skin condition which has left her sensitive to heat and light. Demanding the truth or his story runs as-is, Dale is told the story of Emily Osterman’s arrival to Boston twenty years before.

Emily had supposedly taken residence in the apartment building, and told by Lena, the owner, not to disturb the other tenant, Dr. Richard Madden, a scientist. Her first night, she is attacked by her sexually abusive stepfather, Sam, who has tracked her down. Running away, the two struggle on the steps leading to the apartment next door. Dr. Madden opens his door, grabs Sam’s arm and stabs his hand with a scalpel. He falls down the stairs and dies. Emily is bandaged up and given medication. That night, Emily is awakened by the sound of drilling and she sees blood dripping from her ceiling. Heading upstairs, she finds Dr. Madden and Lena mutilating Sam’s corpse. She passes out, to awaken later in her bed with a clean ceiling. Dr. Madden assures her that it was all a bad dream.

The next day while job hunting, Emily sees two cops with flyers asking for information about the murder of Sam. She confronts Dr. Madden, and he comes clean: though Sam was already dead from the fall, Dr. Madden claims he would have killed Sam regardless for what he had done to Emily. Dr. Madden reveals his copy of the Necronomicon to Emily and explains to her how he learned of its information on sustaining life. In the greenhouse, Dr. Madden proves this by injecting a wilted rose with a compound to revive it, claiming that as long as it is kept out of the sun, it will never die. The two have sex, with a distraught and angry Lena spying on them.

That night, Lena threatens to kill Emily if Emily will not kill her, as Lena is in love with Dr. Madden, a feeling that has never been returned. Emily flees, only to return months later. Upon arrival, Emily finds her boss from the diner in Dr. Madden’s apartment, struggling to avoid death. Lena stabs the man in the back, killing him. Lena insists on killing Emily, but Dr. Madden will not allow it. The two struggle, destroying lab equipment in the process. The resulting fire injures Dr. Madden severely, and without his fresh injection of pure spinal fluid, feels no pain as his body disintegrates before he dies. Lena shoots Emily with a shotgun in revenge. Emily announces her pregnancy, and Lena, feeling a loyalty to Dr. Madden, saves her.

Dale suspects the woman he’s talking to is not Emily’s daughter, but Emily herself, having contracted a disease from Dr. Madden during intercourse. Emily reveals he is right, and that she is still pregnant, hoping one day that her baby may be born. She also reveals that she has continued murdering for spinal fluid, and chooses to keep a supply stockpiled. Dale realizes his coffee has been drugged as an aged Lena approaches him, brandishing a syringe.

DEVELOPMENT/PRODUCTION The segment to be filmed was “The Cold”, directed by Shusuke Kaneko. The story focuses on creepy scientist Dr. Madden (David Warner), who has a special secret for eternal life that a young woman (Bess Meyer) soon discovers.

Screaming Mad George Unused Melting

Screaming Mad George, who was responsible for the main FX involving Dr. Madden’s meltdown, was interested in doing it in a totally different way. “We created a radio controlled head with skin over it that was made out of gelatin, but not as flexible,” George says. “We wanted to have the makeup melt on the inside in increments instead of strictly on the outside. It was a subtle effect, but it was only shot from one angle and there was no coverage. It became difficult to cut together later in editing.”

“From the beginning, I talked with Brian about conceptualizing what is melting in ‘The Cold’ and why he is not undergoing the typical meltdown we’ve seen before,” says George. “So I experimented with it and tried to have the skin remain on the outside and have the insides melt and ooze out. It looked pretty good, but when we shot it, the camera was only pointing in one direction and they had no coverage on anything, so it became a problem in the editing to cut it together. So all there was this dummy moving and melting a bit, and because the outside didn’t dissolve, it was much too subtle.”

For “The Cold,” George was also unavailable, so Mixon provided additional FX to Dr. Madden’s meltdown, taking it a few extreme steps forward. “This effect ended up being the single goriest thing I’ve ever done, and it was a refreshing change of pace since at the time I was working with the Chiodo Brothers, and they were heavily into character puppet stuff that had a cartoony, fanciful edge to it,” recalls Mixon. The goal was to make it the sloppiest, drippiest, grossest thing we could, with pus foaming out of the body for no reason and eyeballs collapsing out of the head. We threw whatever we had in there to make it as grotesque as possible.”

Filling in for the absent Warner was actress Dinah Cancer, who was disguised by extensive makeup. “She had been in this corpse suit for 18 hours on Fright Night 2 and wasn’t eager to do that again, but I assured her it was only heads and hands,” says Mixon.

The result was a very bloody scene whose over-the-top nature so impressed Yuzna that he started coming up with other gags to throw into the sequence. “Todd Masters had this chest appliance lying around, so at the last minute. we did a quick shot Brian wanted where we rip open the character’s chest and see the ribcage, and there are hunks of foam and organs inside.” Mixon recalls.

CAST/CREW Directed Shusuke Kaneko

David Warner as Dr. Madden Bess Meyer as Emily Osterman Millie Perkins as Lena Dennis Christopher as Dale Porkel Gary Graham as Sam Curt Lowens as Mr. Hawkins

Whispers

SUMMARY During a pursuit of a suspect known as “the Butcher”, two police officers, Paul and Sarah of the Philadelphia Police Department, are arguing over their failed relationship and the coming baby. The argument leads to a crash, flipping the cruiser upside down. Paul, having unbuckled his seat belt in the argument, is knocked out and dragged off by an unseen person. Sarah unbuckles herself, breaks the window and exits the vehicle. Unable to call for backup, she follows a blood trail alone.

Inside the old warehouse, Sarah follows as Paul is taken down a service elevator. Sarah trips on a rope and falls through to the floor, saved from impact by the rope around her ankle. The rope breaks a second after. As she gets up, she finds a man in glasses, Harold Benedict. Insisting he is merely the landlord of the warehouse and the Butcher is a tenant, he offers to lead her to him. Downstairs, the two are shot at by Mrs. Benedict, a blind old woman. Sarah, sick of getting a run-around, takes the shotgun and orders the two to lead her to the Butcher. Mrs. Benedict indulges in gossip first, insisting she’s not really Benedict’s wife. She also claims the Butcher is an alien. While searching for the Butcher, Sarah makes her way to a cavern filled with bat-like creatures and other monstrosities, but the Benedicts pull the ladder from the hole, leaving Sarah trapped. As Sarah ventures through the cavern, she starts to become scared, even promising to keep her unborn child. She later sees Paul, but he has already been eaten by the bat-like creatures that inhabit the cavern. His brains are needed by the bats to reproduce. The bats then begin to corner her. She later wakes up on a table where Mr. and Mrs. Benedict are seemingly trying to feed Sarah to the alien bats.

Sarah suddenly wakes up in a hospital. Her mother and a doctor (who resemble the Benedicts) rush into her room. Sarah was forced to have an abortion as a result of the car accident earlier, but her mother insists that she will be forgiven if she forgives herself. Sarah wants to see Paul, but Paul is brain dead and turns out to be in the very same state that he was found back in the caverns. Sarah screams in terror in spite of her mother’s pleas to not scare the baby. Sarah does not understand what her mother is talking about, as she thought the baby had to be aborted. Her mother opens her blouse and reveals that the baby is inside the womb of the alien-bat creatures. Sarah is even more scared especially after removing her bed sheets and finding out she has lost half of one of her arms. Suddenly, the hospital setting changes back into the cavern. Sarah is still on the table, about to become a meal for the alien bats. Harold wants to leave but Sarah still has the keys.

“This became a sort of existentialist horror show, which is a very bizarre way of approaching a genre film,” notes Todd Masters, who handled FX duties on what may be the most viscerally intense and surrealistic story of the bunch. More “symbolically figurative than literal,” the most prominent creations were the monster puppets dubbed “turkey birds,” which bear suspiciously vaginal slits in their centers out of which the creatures talk.

“They also had beaks that came out of the mouths and were essentially chain-driven with electric carving knives,” says Masters. “They had little blades that moved back and forth and a fluid sucker you could actually drain liquids through.”

Ultimately, the pressures of having little time to conceive these creatures resulted in Masters having to cast the birds out of a reliable but very heavy substance called Skinflex, which made it more difficult for the operators to control them. “The plan was not originally that they were going to be suspended by puppeteers as they were, so ultimately they looked like these big floppy birds,” says Masters, who crafted various versions of the creatures, including one which had eyeballs and a brain in its belly and another with a fetus growing inside.

“Since the budget was cut at the last minute, we originally planned to shoot the puppets basically as shadows, Masters continues. “We were always told we wouldn’t see them that much, so we didn’t have to worry about putting much money into making them animatronic, but we still needed them to be flexible. Brian wanted to leave some holes in the rough cut as well, so he could show investors what was missing in order to get more money for reshoots and have time to create better payoff shots.”

As for “Whispers.” Masters returned to pick up where his company left off, doing a few more shots of the “turkey bird” puppets and a wide assortment of blood gags as well as a couple of stop-motion flying puppets created specifically for this shoot. “We ended up filming these animated shots of them flying around the room and blending into the walls,” recalls Masters. “I was leaving for Africa the morning after we wrapped. so I didn’t even see what the shots looked like until I came back.”

CAST/CREW Directed Brian Yuzna

Signy Coleman as Sarah Obba Babatundé as Paul Don Calfa as Mr. Benedict Judith Drake as Mrs. Benedict

“This is the Necronomicon I wanted to do for Sam Raimi in ARMY OF DARKNESS, but that one had to look something remotely like the one in EVIL DEAD II, which had a sort of twisted face on the cover. I stuck with the same kind of design but on a much bigger book. It turned out fairly interesting, but it was not the book I wanted to do for Sam. I wanted a more ornate version. This one is a bronze skeleton over an animal skin cover, with embossing and engraving on the bronze.” – Anthony Tremblay (Production Designer)

DEVELOPMENT/PRODUCTION In 1992. director Brian Yuzna came up with the idea of creating an anthology film franchise using the book as a linking device to tell various H.P. Lovecraft-inspired stories, each helmed by a director from a different country. With financing in place, Necronomicon went before the cameras in spring 1993, but a funny thing happened on the way to the screen. Despite receiving release overseas, the makeup FX-heavy movie seemed as if it had been left for dead as it waited for an American distributor to pick it up.

“My producing partner on the film, Samuel Hadida, was determined that we could get a nice theatrical release out of this picture.” Yuzna explains. “I believe that because the film was a trilogy and distributors felt it was a bit uneven, Sammy could never land a good enough deal. It’s hard to get theatrical distribution for these movies anyway, so the film just sat around.”

Written by Brent V. Friedman, Necronomicon features tales loosely inspired by the HPL short stories “The Rats in the Walls,” “Cool Air” and “The Whisperer in Darkness.” Originally intended as a low-budget direct to-video entry, the project slowly evolved beyond that as international financing started trickling in and each director’s input expanded the production. The film now promises to be the largest FX extravaganza to come from the independent arena in quite some time, though a theatrical release still hasn’t been ironed out.

“I was brought in to rewrite three stories scripted by Lisa Morton and make them scarier, but in the course of doing so the whole project changed,” Friedman explains. “Everything got upscaled. Instead of doing a simple horror film, everyone thought that we should get a little arty here and do something different. All the boundaries got completely expanded when more money came in-for better and for worse.”

Necronomicon has been Yuzna’s pet project for years. He’s always secretly desired to create the ultimate Lovecraft movie, with faithful adaptations of his stories, but as the film went through development he admits that it eventually became only “loosely based on Lovecraft.”

Bart was called in during post production to punch up the melt down of Dr. Madden in the “Cool Air” sequence.

“We realized it wasn’t going to work, and we needed to just make a movie, Yuzna says, while Friedman adds, “We tried to keep the spirit in there, but it’s tough because we really have three different visions of what Lovecraft is about. It’s good because each interpretation is so unique and varied. At the same time, it’s going to be hard for people to see what my concept of Lovecraft was because when I wrote them, there was an underlying theme of my vision of Lovecraft and three people have interpreted that, so it’s kind of diluted.”

“Having three directors is like making three separate movies,” says Yuzna. “However, there are also three different cultures as well. Shu Kaneko doesn’t speak any English and Christophe has never directed a movie before, so it’s been very difficult from that position.”

The film is broken into four separate features: “The Library”, “The Drowned”, “The Cold” and “Whispers”. “The Library” segment is the frame story, which begins and ends the movie.

CREDITS/REFERENCES/SOURCES/BIBLIOGRAPHY Fangoria#135 Fangoria#143 Fangoria#159 Imagi-Movies v01n03  

Necronomicon: Book of Dead (1993) Retrospective The Library SUMMARY In the frame story of the film, H. P. Lovecraft (Jeffrey Combs) learns of a monastery where a copy of the Necronomicon is held.

[yes-bennett-street-gallery-blog]

Box of Zombie/Armageddon/Apocalypse fiction these are all in good used condition. See scans for books. Free shipping.

World War Z : An Oral History of the Zombie War

We survived the zombie apocalypse, but how many of us are still haunted by that terrible time? We have (temporarily?) defeated the living dead, but at what cost? Told in the haunting and riveting voices of the men and women who witnessed the horror firsthand,

World War Z

, a #1

New York Times

bestseller and the basis for the blockbuster movie, is the only record of the plague years.

"The Crisis" nearly wiped out humanity. Brooks (son of Mel Brooks and author of

The Zombie Survival Guide,

2003) has taken it upon himself to document the "first hand" experiences and testimonies of those lucky to survive 10 years after the fictitious zombie war. Like a horror fan's version of Studs Terkel's

The Good War

(1984), the "historical account" format gives Brooks room to explore the zombie plague from numerous different views and characters. In a deadpan voice, Brooks exhaustively details zombie incidents from isolated attacks to full-scale military combat: "what if the enemy can't be shocked and awed? Not just won't, but biologically can't!" With the exception of a weak

BAT-21

story in the second act, the "interviews" and personal accounts capture the universal fear of the collapse of society--a living nightmare in which anyone can become a mindless, insatiable predator at a moment's notice. Alas, Brad Pitt's production company has purchased the film rights to the book--while it does have a chronological element, it's more similar to a collection of short stories: it would make for an excellent

24

-style TV series or an animated serial. Regardless, horror fans won't be disappointed: like George Romero's

Dead

trilogy,

World War Z

is another milestone in the zombie mythos.

Alice in Zombieland

They were indeed a queer-looking party that assembled on the bank-the birds with draggled feathers, the animals with their fur clinging close to them, and all dripping wet, cross, and uncomfortable. All of them were covered in Alice's now cold and congealed blood, which made them even tastier looking to poor hungry Alice.

When little Alice follows the Black Rat down into the gaping darkness of an open grave, she falls and falls. And soon finds herself in an undead nightmare of rotting flesh and insanity. Venturing further into this land of zombies and monsters, she encounters characters both creepy and madcap along the way. But there's something else troubling poor Alice: her skin is rotting and her hair is falling out. She's cold. And she has the haunting feeling that if she remains in Zombieland any longer, she might never leave.

Can Alice escape Zombieland before the Dead Red Queen catches up to her?

Dead of Night: A Zombie Novel (Dead of Night Series)

A prison doctor injects a condemned serial killer with a formula designed to keep his consciousness awake while his body rots in the grave.  But all drugs have unforeseen side-effects.  Before he could be buried, the killer wakes up.  Hungry.  Infected.  Contagious.  This is the way the world ends.  Not with a bang…but a bite.

Patient Zero: A Joe Ledger Novel

When you have to kill the same terrorist twice in one week there's either something wrong with your world or something wrong with your skills... and there's nothing wrong with Joe Ledger's skills. And that's both a good, and a bad thing. It's good because he's a Baltimore detective that has just been secretly recruited by the government to lead a new taskforce created to deal with the problems that Homeland Security can't handle. This rapid response group is called the Department of Military Sciences or the DMS for short. It's bad because his first mission is to help stop a group of terrorists from releasing a dreadful bio-weapon that can turn ordinary people into zombies. The fate of the world hangs in the balance....

The Zombie Survival Guide: Complete Protection from the Living Dead

The Zombie Survival Guide is your key to survival against the hordes of undead who may be stalking you right now. Fully illustrated and exhaustively comprehensive, this book covers everything you need to know, including how to understand zombie physiology and behavior, the most effective defense tactics and weaponry, ways to outfit your home for a long siege, and how to survive and adapt in any territory or terrain.

Top 10 Lessons for Surviving a Zombie Attack

1. Organize before they rise!

2. They feel no fear, why should you?

3. Use your head: cut off theirs.

4. Blades don’t need reloading.

5. Ideal protection = tight clothes, short hair.

6. Get up the staircase, then destroy it.

7. Get out of the car, get onto the bike.

8. Keep moving, keep low, keep quiet, keep alert!

9. No place is safe, only safer.

10. The zombie may be gone, but the threat lives on.

Don’t be carefree and foolish with your most precious asset—life. This book is your key to survival against the hordes of undead who may be stalking you right now without your even knowing it. The Zombie Survival Guide offers complete protection through trusted, proven tips for safeguarding yourself and your loved ones against the living dead. It is a book that can save your life.

The Zombie Combat Manual: A Guide to Fighting the Living Dead

During a zombie outbreak, 98% of individuals will have to destroy an undead opponent without the aid of a firearm. Will you be ready?

The Zombie Combat Manual

is a comprehensive guide that demonstrates how anyone, from seasoned fighter to average citizen, can become an effective warrior in the inevitable battle against the undead.

With detailed illustrations and firsthand accounts from zombie combat veterans, this manual provides readers with the information they need to emerge victoriously from a close combat encounter with a walking corpse. Now is the time to learn how to survive a hand-to-hand battle against the advancing army of the undead - lest you fall prey to their growing ranks.

Day by Day Armageddon

Once on the fringes of horror, the “zombie apocalypse,” has become one of the most buzzworthy genres in popular culture. Now, in

Day by Day Armageddon

, J.L. Bourne delivers an intelligent, gripping thriller that will leave both new and die-hard zombie fans breathless--perfect for fans of

The Walking Dead

.

Sporadic news reports indicate chaos and violence spreading through U.S. cities. An unknown evil is sweeping the planet. The dead are rising to claim the Earth as the new dominant species in the food chain.This is the handwritten journal depicting one man’s struggle for survival. Trapped in the midst of global disaster, he must make decisions; choices that ultimately mean life, or the eternal curse to walk as one of them. Enter if you will into his world. The world of the undead.

Day by Day Armageddon: Beyond Exile (Book 2)

The first book of Day by Day Armageddon took us deep into the mind of a military officer and survivor as he made a New Year's resolution to start keeping a journal. The man kept his resolution and brought to us the fall of humanity, day by day. We see the man transition from the life that you and I live to the prospect of fighting for his very survival against the overwhelming hordes of the dead. We see him bleed, we see him make mistakes, we witness him evolve. The highly anticipated sequel to the bestselling underground cult classic, Day by Day Armageddon begins where the first novel left off. BEGIN INTERCEPTArmies of undead have risen up across the U.S. and around the globe;there is no safe haven from the diseased corpses hungering for human flesh. But in the heat of a Texas wasteland, a small band of survivors attempt to counter the millions closing in around them. INTERCEPT COMPLETE Day by day, the handwritten journal entries of one man caught in a worldwide cataclysm capture the desperation--and the will to survive--as he joins forces with a handful of refugees to battle soulless enemies both human and inhuman from inside an abandoned strategic missile facility. But in the world of the undead, is mere survival enough? The Enemy (An Enemy Novel) In the wake of a devastating disease, everyone sixteen and older is either dead or a decomposing, brainless creature with a ravenous appetite for flesh. Teens have barricaded themselves in buildings throughout London and venture outside only when they need to scavenge for food. The group of kids living a Waitrose supermarket is beginning to run out of options. When a mysterious traveler arrives and offers them safe haven at Buckingham Palace, they begin a harrowing journey across London. But their fight is far from over—the threat from within the palace is as real as the one outside it. Paul Is Undead LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, IT'S TIME TO REALLY MEET THE BEATLES. For John Lennon, a young, idealistic zombie guitarist with dreams of global domination, Liverpool seems the ideal place to form a band that could take over the world. In an inspired act, Lennon kills and reanimates local rocker Paul McCartney, kicking off an unstoppable partnership. With the addition of newly zombified guitarist George Harrison and drummer/Seventh Level Ninja Lord Ringo Starr, the Beatles soon cut a swath of bloody good music and bloody violent mayhem across Europe, America, and the entire planet. In this searing oral history, discover how the Fab Four climbed to the Toppermost of the Poppermost while stealing the hearts, ears, and brains of smitten teenage girls. Learn the tale behind a spiritual journey that resulted in the dismemberment of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Marvel at the seemingly indestructible quartet’s survival of a fierce attack by Eighth Level Ninja Lord Yoko Ono. And find out how the boys escaped eternal death at the hands of England’s greatest zombie hunter, Mick Jagger. Through all this, one mystery remains: Can the Beatles sublimate their hunger for gray matter, remain on top of the charts, and stay together for all eternity? After all, three of the Fab Four are zombies, and zombies live forever. . . . The Mammoth Book of Zombie Apocalypse! A collection of stories on a single theme: worldwide calamity has lead to an outbreak of zombies! Disaster and chaos reign, and over the course of a year from initial outbreak, the stories recount planes full of zombies, travel restrictions too late to save Europe, and zombies come to LA. Written to appear as factual accounts, these zombie stories will have your blood running cold! Clever, gruesome, poignant and pacy. * Financial Times * Compulsive reading. * SFX Magazine * An innovative, collaborative venture. * The Bookseller * Clever, gruesome, poignant and pacy . . . creator and editor Stephen Jones marshals the talents of a score of noted genre authors, eliciting contributions that play to the strengths of each . . . it's hard to avoid this book's clutches - much like the shambling corpses that fill its pages. * Financial Times * Kudos to Stephen Jones for making it happen. * Black Static * - The the Enemy Hunted Book The Hunted is Charlie Higson's sixth terrifying installment in the thrilling The Enemy series The sickness struck everyone over fourteen. First it twisted their minds. Next it ravaged their bodies. Now they roam the streets - Crazed and hungry The others had promised that the countryside would be safer than the city. They were wrong. Now Ella's all-alone except for her silent rescuer, Scarface - and she's not even sure if he's a kid or a grown-up. Back in London, Ed's determined to find her. But getting out of town's never been more dangerous- because coming in the other direction is every SICKO in the country. It's like they're being called towards the capital and nothing is going to stop them . . . In the penultimate book in The Enemy series, the survivors' stories cross with chilling consequences. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: The Classic Regency Romance - Now with Ultraviolent Zombie Mayhem! The New York Times best seller is now a major motion picture starring Lily James and Sam Riley, with Matt Smith, Charles Dance, and Lena Headey. Complete with romance, heartbreak, swordfights, cannibalism, and thousands of rotting corpses, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies is an audacious retelling of English literature’s most enduring novel. This expanded edition of the beloved Jane Austen novel featuring all-new scenes of bone-crunching zombie mayhem begins when a mysterious plague falls upon the quiet English village of Meryton—and the dead are returning to life! Feisty heroine Elizabeth Bennet is determined to wipe out the zombie menace, but she’s soon distracted by the arrival of the haughty and arrogant Mr. Darcy. What ensues is a delightful comedy of manners with plenty of civilized sparring between the two young lovers—and even more violent sparring on the blood-soaked battlefield. It’s the perfect read for literature lovers, zombie fans, and anyone who loves a reanimated Austen. Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters From the publisher of "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies" comes a new tale of romance, heartbreak, and tentacled mayhem. "Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters" expands the original text of the beloved Jane Austen novel with all-new scenes of giant lobsters, rampaging octopi, two-headed sea serpents, and other biological monstrosities. As our story opens, the Dashwood sisters are evicted from their childhood home and sent to live on a mysterious island full of savage creatures and dark secrets. While sensible Elinor falls in love with Edward Ferrars, her romantic sister Marianne is courted by both the handsome Willoughby and the hideous man-monster Colonel Brandon. Can the Dashwood sisters triumph over meddlesome matriarchs and unscrupulous rogues to find true love? Or will they fall prey to the tentacles that are forever snapping at their heels? This masterful portrait of Regency England blends Jane Austen‰Ûªs biting social commentary with ultraviolent depictions of sea monsters biting. It‰Ûªs survival of the fittest‰ÛÓand only the swiftest swimmers will find true love! Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: Dawn of the Dreadfuls (Pride and Prej. and Zombies)

[sending-the-message]

The Campbell's by moonring_

I’ve always been proud of my granddad. He’s still alive, on an Irish farm that overlooks a small mountain. Every summer we bond by trekking up and down this mountain (which he owns might I add, no trespassing), and after every small ruin of a house, he loves to tell me the stories of who lived there, if he remembers them, what they did and how they died. As a teenager I loved these stories, I was always so interested in social history and how the old Irish folk lived. To top off the little annual cultural trips, (and what used to keep me up at night), he told me ancient stories the superstitious old folk once believed. These included orally passed down tales of fairies, ghosts, the banshee, and other creatures; of people offering their things to the fairies in order to be left alone and playing cards with the devil in a bet for their own souls. My story begins about one particular ruin up this mountain – the Campbell house, situated at the very top in between two bending oak trees. What I was simply told about it was the Campbells’ lived there during the time of the Great Famine (1840s); they had 10 children that all grew up and left for England or America in search of a better life, and were never heard of again. The parents then died, and the house left to the elements because they couldn’t find relatives. Now here it stands as a few crumbled walls nearly 170 years later. No Campbells have been in the area since, the neighbours have all died and that’s all we’ll ever know about them.

Right? Wrong. I needed to know more, I felt there was more to the story than this. You know when you just get a creepy but alluring feeling about a place? I had that. All other ruins had something more to them; an untold tale, a character. A naughty maid sleeping with the master of the house perhaps, or a fairy’s curse put on the family due to theft or disrespect for the ancient creatures. But this ruin was too old for any living person to know its secrets. Nothing was left of it bar old stone walls and crags in the ground where potatoes were grown, but I felt in my heart its untold mysteries needed brought to life. So this summer I went alone up the mountain to explore myself. I parked my car at my granddads place while he was away and began my journey. He always gets very uneasy when I go for a walk around the area alone (although I’m 21), but I guess he’s just protective of his granddaughter. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, and I’ll be back in time before he comes home. It took me nearly an hour to walk through marsh land, barbed wire and sheep shite before I reached the enchanting ruins, but I soon began exploring the place. I really didn’t know what it was I wanted to find, but I looked under every rock, beside every wall to find some clue of the mysterious Campbells. And what did I find? Nothing. What did I expect really, there’s been no habitable life bar sheep and cows on this thing for 150 years.

As I was ready to give up and go home (my hands were freezing and wind was cutting my face), I noticed the Brannigan ruins opposite the Campbell ruins, and thought what the hell, may as well make a day out of it. This house was much better preserved, as relatives of the Brannigans had lived here right up until the 1950s. It still had a tin roof and some things inside, like an old stove, a teapot, a shoe etc - all typical things you’d find in an abandoned cottage. The place inside was much darker because it actually had a roof, so I took out my phone and started looking through all the cool little creepy things inside. As I looked at the beams above (must have been a thatched roof before it was tin), I noticed some papers wrapped up in cord perched between the beams and the tin. It was very high up, impossible for me to reach and hardly noticeable, but I began to get very excited thinking it was old photos or letters. I grabbed the table at the side of the room and bringing it to the middle, I got on top of it and was just able to reach the pile of papers. Lots of dust fell in my face though and I dropped them on the floor. When I had wiped myself down, I noticed I had really hit the jackpot.

Inside the folded up newspapers lay a diary. What better way to find out social history than a diary! I grabbed it and took it outside into the light, and running over to the big oak tree by the Campbell ruin, I opened the cord and read a story that has changed me ever since. This was no Brannigan diary, but the diary of Martha Campbell, wife of James Campbell, mother of 5 girls and 5 boys. This biography was a tale about their livelihoods, their downfalls, and their deaths. I thought Irish folklore was nonsense, but these letters still haunt me and made me question what is real and what is not.

I don’t have time to write out every single entry, and to be honest they’re not all exciting, not the first ones anyway. They start off as normal but they end, well, I’ll show you. The famine years were clearly hard:

June 5th, 1845

Praise the Lord my 10th child is born and I am well. He is named Henry James Campbell, a blessing to us and our home. Mr Campbell and the children are busy digging the first of our potatoes, and I pray to God they are healthier than the ones last year – a good to a half of them bad. We cannot starve for another winter, not with a new mouth to feed. My sister Bridget is off to England to find work, and my heart grieves for her well-being. She has not yet seen my new born and the likelihood is she never will. The twins cry because they are hungry and there is no consoling them. They have nightmares that we are cursed never to grow fresh food again. I wish they would stop with their terrible imaginations, it puts us all in an ill humour. The priest will soon be round with bread and stout to ease our suffering, but he has many a rounds to do as the towns folk are also poor and starving. Mrs McCullough tells me the fishermen are catching naught. We are heavily relying on this new batch of potatoes to fend us from death’s door.

But the Campbells had something dark stirring. There was only an entry every couple of months, but the entries during 1854 really sent shivers down my spine.

  December 15th 1853

Three years have passed since I buried my first born Thomas, but I feel he is still with me. I hear knocks on the walls and doors at night, I have dreams of him staring in through my bedroom window and the twins suddenly scream at the corner of the room and run crying. I have seen shadows in the field and I think of him. I feel he is protecting us. Mr Campbell does not believe me and thinks me wicked for imaging a ghoul like figure when there is only the living, a heaven and a hell. I have begun reading my Bible more often and I keep my Bible close at hand for two purposes. I often lose it then find it turned upside down or thrown across the room, but I also keep it for solace sake. I feel Thomas is playing games with me, he always loved to play. I will light a candle for him this Christmas.

  February 9th 1854

Now he believes me. Thomas has returned praise be to God. Although his presence gets louder and I now feel him constantly. The other children are too frightened to share a room with me, but I tell them they should not be frightened of their eldest brother. They say they see a cloud of darkness around me and I speak in an unknown language in my slumber. They have such wild imaginations, children. Thomas did frighten them once but I shouted at him for it. He sometimes hisses from the corner at them in the darkness and claws them while they sleep. He makes figures of wolves with red eyes and a handful of snakes in the bedsheets. He is awfully jealous for my attentions but all my children need disciplining. Even Mr Campbell is uneasy when spending time with me and would rather work in the fields. Does he neglect all his children? His firstborn son? I am content that all my children are returned home, why can my family not be.

  March 23rd 1854

He is thirsty. He is thirsty and he wants blood. But I love all my children. Why not me? I am his, he wants me to himself. He whispers to me at night. I cannot sleep for my mind is awake to his whisperings. My child. My dear. I long for death. My children long for death. They suffer. They suffer in an unprofitable world. I could ease their suffering. With a pillow. With a knife. Thomas will be with me always. The rest would never leave if I soothed them. If I eased their pain. I am almost convinced. I am a mother and my duty is to protect all my children. From the world. From themselves. From me. Oh Lord into your kingdom I commend my spirit. Show me the light for all I see is darkness and death.

  June 2nd 1854

They are gone. My children. Mr Campbell conspired against me and they are gone. They are banished from me and all I do is weep and pray. He sent them away to the farthest place from me so I may die with a broken heart. He says I am unfit, I have invited a spirit to harm our family and I am possessed with the devil himself. What lunacy, he should be tested not I. I still have my Thomas about me but my living darlings, they are departed for the sea. I tried to ease the twins of their sufferings. And my dearest Henry, he saw. He was ashamed, he cried. But I was doing the Lords work. For heaven is the goal, not this life. My darling angels all in heaven. With Thomas. Oh glory be to God in the highest! But now my heart will never mend and my wailings never cease. They are gone into the world to suffer, when I offered them rest. Thomas still whispers to me at night, and the Priest will not enter the house unless he is guarded with holy water. He empathises with Mr Campbell, he says I am mad and doing the devils work. They know nothing. They are not mothers. They will rue the day they took my babies from me.

  August 7th 1854

Tonight. Tonight I am a widow. Mr Campbell is not my husband, he is an imposter to sever Thomas from me. This I will not allow. My last child he will not take. The banshee will cry her terrible wail and I will be free.

  Here the entries end, and I was thoroughly freaked out. I ran over to Brannigans and put the diary back where I found it. I didn’t need to know the untold mystery. It should remain untold. My guess is the Brannigans found the murder scene at the Campbells and the diary, and took the diary to be kept and never found. I’ll never know what happened to Martha and to be frank, I don’t even want to know. I’m too disturbed. Maybe the neighbourhood know the secret and refuse to tell it, maybe my granddad even knows. But what I know is, I sure as hell will never come back up here alone. Some past mysteries should be kept in the past.