#i can forgive the occasional 'wait what?' about the plot or some moments where characters are ooc but the episodes that stick out

[mybrainproblems]

so like. watching 11x23 after having watched the rest of the show and taking time to chew on what the fuck dabbnatural is all about is so interesting bc there's a certain framing of chuck dying in 11x23 that... i'm not sure if it was intentional by dabb or just the way the editing shook out (either option is insane) but at first chuck seems to imply that his death and the death of the world isn't the result of imbalance, but it's that amara killed him and is now destroying the world. but then we learn from amara that no, the sun is dying bc she hurt chuck to the point where he is dying and that without creation there is only the nothingness that is her nature. the sun dying is the result of her actions but it's not a direct choice, just a consequence that she didn't really foresee. she has come to love chuck's creations, why would she choose to destroy that?

and it just fascinates me. bc watching 14x20 immediately after it's kinda like... was this intentional? there's a certain element of 11x23 that feels like as much as chuck says he doesn't want to hurt amara, he doesn't necessarily feel regret about what he's done, only how it turned out.

which again, could just be that the takes used in editing biased towards a less remorseful vibe from chuck. we don't know if there were other takes where rob played chuck as more remorseful but that's what we end up with. dean asking if chuck wants amara dead and him saying that even after all this, no. but still lying by omission that the sun dying is something amara is choosing to do.

like idk there's just a certain framing of that reveal and the fact that it initially comes from amara that is like. yes, chuck is dying but he's putting on his best meow meow act. if he's gonna die it may as well be as he's comforted by the characters from his favorite show. he may as well snuggle in close and send dean out to one more act of violence; to kill his sister. but this time he doesn't hold the trump card, he can't force dean to act out the violence that he wants from him. he chooses the reprieve he's been given and when amara get sick of his shit, he goes right back to playing with his favorite characters.

after all, they gave him such a good show last time.

and then i just have to wonder... would chuck have died if amara was destroyed by the soul bomb? if chuck dies, then amara lives (presumably bc she's uninjured) but if amara dies... even if he's injured, does chuck die? we only have his word that he would and in light of 14x20 and everything in s15 we have to recontextualize everything chuck has ever said in light of one thing --

writers lie.

[phoebehalliwell]

I wonder how Chris’ relationship with his fam would shift if he (and Bianca obvi because in the good charmed in my head she’d not dead 😂) stayed in the past? Like he’s “born” in the new timeline but it’s not him (plot twist it’s Mel and now this Chris is the youngest!). Like he’s a Halliwell but he’s not, he didn’t get to live up to that legacy. Not to mention he’s almost as old as his parents (sorta) and everyone is so different from what he knew?

Like I can see Piper offering to let him stay at the manor but Chris declines. So when he gets his own place she insists on coming over and cooking him home cooked meals (they bond over it) and he gets back some of that childhood he never had. Plus Bianca getting to learn how to have a proper family and being adopted into the Haliwells as Piper slowly breaks down her walls with her sheer force of will (and food) 😂

Idk Bianca was such a waisted character and you have made me fall in love with her character again! !! 💖💖

i feel like as far as his relationship to his technical siblings i think chris would basically be an uncle like he and bianca would be like uncle chris & aunt bianca to the next gen but at the same time i think he'd still call piper "mom" and anyone who hears it would just go hey um what oh wait hmm oh hmmm because like. idk about about y'all but To Me that situation really reads like teen pregnancy (even tho there's less than a ten year age delta between him n piper i think if you're not close enough to know exactly what happened you're not close enough to know Both of their ages and do the math). i also think the name chris would now be off the table for the next gen (and i think it would be wonderful if mellie was born next!! bonus if she had a feature like blonde hair or brown eyes something that really screams This Isn't Chris) so we get melinda penelope and then a third kid which will just like. Also be a daughter bc i can. and you know what the daughter can be names patricia christina just as like a lil shout hey hey thanks 4 saving the world.

in regards to Specifically legacy / relationship to the halliwells, i think chris would continue to go by perry and only occasionally call on the halliwell name when it would like. have a really big impact to do so. i also think chris is more likely to live with victor than he is to live in the manor because like quite frankly. i mean a) the manor's crowded a lot's going on there b) constant demon attacks but c) i don't think chris coming from the dark timeline has ever felt wanted by the manor i mean obviously it's a seat of power there's the nexus and it has to choose u right that's kinda how it works right so i think evil wyatt really wanted the manor as his bc that really cements his place and i really thing chris tried to hold onto it like whatever it takes like not let the house fall to dark magic but i think he failed so. i think he's not like. a huge fan of the manor. or he thinks the manor isn't a huge fan of him. and then i don't think he and bianca would live in the same place off the bat but i think once them become Officially engaged again they probably move in together (okay you know what could actually make a quirky sitcom? chris and bianca living in the giant montana manor with richard. actually i would love to see that. besties. i love richard.)

and then bianca. 💞💕 my love. for starters, i think the girls would be just straight up fascinated with her because they have so few other witch friends (friends being used loosely here) like really the only other witch they know is like richard who like. i say this with love in my heart. is like a fuck up that's a big part of his character is that he's a fuck up. as opposed to bianca who really is like a master. i think paige would really be interested from bianca from like a craft perspective, i think phoebe, esp after having lost her powers, would be interested from a combat perspective, and i think piper would be really interesting in a "tell me about your mother" sense. i don't think bianca'd be able to touch the book of shadows at first. mainly bc i want the drama and the big emotional moment when she finally can, but i'm justifying his by her being a neutral figure so theoretically she can but like the book can smell all the blood on her hands so to speak it knows how many lives she has willing taken and is protecting itself accordingly. and then for what it's worth i think bianca really reminds piper of prue because like. she is so hard on herself. she has to be the best. and when it comes to chris, like she sees how protective she is of him and like how she'll totally go behind his back if that means saving him it's just her fierce loyalty coupled with like. no self-forgiveness. piper's really seen it before. oh hell u know what. chris and bianca live in suburbia with derek and they help raise the manticore baby. anyways. i really just want a scene where chris is doing something he's really tightly would he's like arguing with phoebe and paige he's like you know what fuck this where's piper maybe Someone Here will be able to see reason and phoebe's like bet she's gonna side w me but u can try she's in the kitchen and chris goes in the kitchen and bianca's helping piper cook and it almost just stops him in his tracks because it's like. they won you know? they actually did it? they got what they were fighting for. and now here they are and piper's in the kitchen teaching bianca family recipes and it's just like wow. : ). and then phoebe rolls up and chris is like right okay here's [situation] and piper's like i agree with chris and phoebe's like what the fuck and bianca goes mm no i actually think phoebe's right and chris is like hey what the fuck???

[steve0discusses]

The Fullmetal Alchemist Live Action Movie Part 7: More Philosopher Stones than their PC Farm Can Possibly Render

So last we left off, a bunch of weird stuff was happening. Mustang just set Envy on fire, Lust and Gluttony kind of walked up from stage left, and Ed and Hawkeye just broke out of bougie jail and barged through a chain link fence on some Jeep. Good thing Mustang is here to explain it all to us:

(FYI I am so bad at spelling homunculus. I don’t even know which way is real anymore.)

What is incredible about this movie is just how much everyone else already knows, while Ed knows freaking nothing. Also, if you know about homunculi, then you know about sorcerer stones, and you’d know about...most of the things in Fullmetal Alchemist. Assuming that Mustang, who can look at a homunculus tattoo and be like “yep that’s a homunculus” doesn’t know anything else is kind of a big leap.

This actor had fun. I legitimately enjoy the actor who plays Mustang, I really do.

Anyway, we do get a little bit more explanation at this point by going back to the part where Hughes dies and just...showing it a second time but with this extra  reveal:

(see Hughes die yet again under the cut because this movie did it not just once but twice)

It’s at this point that Hughes turns to the phone and in his dying breath is like “It’s lab 5, go to the old POW camp, at lab 5” but not only did I think that the person on the line was the general (Because Hughes originally said it was the general) apparently now the person on the line is...Mustang? And that’s why Mustang knew about lab 5?

Like it’s...it’s just kind of confusing. I know this plot because I’ve seen the anime, but if you have not seen the anime beforehand or read the books, you’d be so freakin up a creek right now about why we saw this scene twice, and why it was completely different both times.

To make things even more confusing, that whole Tucker side plot is so random, that not even our baddies know what is going on with that whole Tucker side plot.

Anyway we have to give Gluttony and Envy have to do something in order to make their presence make sense. Honestly Gluttony just needs to have a single line in this movie.

Just everything is that same shiny neutral Phong. Look at all that Phong. Like other parts of this movie are passable, this was just so hilariously overlooked.

And like I dunno if this was a teeth harness or not but damn. Damn that looks stupid from the back, hahaha. He kind of lumbers slowly after these 9 dudes (same extras we’ve seen everywhere else, ps—this is still just the same guys) and it’s not all that scary because like...they can easily outrun him. The only way you can die to Gluttony is if you trip and then take a nap for a little bit.

Mustang gets hurt and it’s kind of funny how they shot it. It was actually rough to cap because they have to do so many tricks to not show us exactly what is happening, so they rely on sounds, on zooming in on people’s shocked expressions, because they Do Not Have The Budget to do more than this.

I don’t remember if this happened in the anime, too. Like from this point forward everything is kind of like “can you spot the source material?” because it’s just become so jumbled at this point.

Ed, who as you can imagine is a bundle of emotions by default, suddenly gets really protective of his mean Dad although like...we’ve barely made Mustang seem like a Father. Hell, we’ve barely made Ed seem like a kid. Why would he get weird and conflicted now?

Just the awkward teenage energy that only occasionally stems off of Ed is very unpredictable.

This is a full grown man.

Finally, we make it to Lab Number Five, the correct one this time. It’s got an alchemy circle…

It’s got a ceiling full of...zombie corpses, if you squint real good because I have to shrink all these images (Yes, they fit in the zombie corpses, but could not fit in the North or Father or Ling Yao or like anything Armstrong) It’s got everything that we need to put that nail into that Fullmetal Alchemist coffin, but ran out of time to fully explain or do.

It’s even got Al!

Yep, this is happening now, this part of the show. Ed is just having a WILD TIME trying to keep up with it and so are we.

So apparently Shou could just turn Al “off” this whole time. This explains why Al was just chilling under a blanket for 36 hours, but like...doesn’t really explain how Shou can do this or why he is bothering to do it right now.

But we need Shou because...well someone has to tell Ed what the plot is and what he should be doing at this very moment.

(Winry is here too)

So, with the threat of Winry getting shot in the head, Shou Tucker demands that Ed make it impossible to do any magic, because magic is very expensive and hard to animate. I could be wrong...but I’m pretty sure he also took off his right arm in the show at some point nearish to the end...I think? Forgive me, everything before 2020 is kind of a haze in my memory.

PS him ripping his hand off with all these sparks everywhere gave me serious Star Wars prequel vibes that I can’t explain. Something about the CGI, something about this contrived mess was like “Ah, I’ve felt this insanity before...long ago in a simpler time” and it was kind of nostalgic for me.

GOL LOOK AT THAT.

This Mickey Mouse glove just hot chilling on that sparking end. Hahaha I love it so much!

Shou just...delivers one of the most important reveals, sending Ed on a bit of a spirit journey because the stones he’s wanted for so long are actually very bad.

As you can imagine, because Ed likes to freak out, he has a big ass freak out, to top all freak outs. This actor spent like sooo much of his time just screaming at the ground. Which, I mean this is a shonen, so that checks out.

I’m just letting you know in case you decide to watch this movie and you have some epilepsy issues--skip this part. Just skip it. I don’t personally have it, but like...they went kind of extra in this part.

Now unlike the show, this movie has like...no apology for Dr Marcoh. Freakin stabbed him through the chest and was like “I don’t care if it means we can’t have the original FMA ending I freakin hate this guy” and you know...good on you, movie. Dr Marcoh was a really bad person. Thank you for not even attempting to justify this godawful man.

This crazy ass fanfiction movie.

Anyway, Shou directs Ed to look 10 feet up to get the rest of that juicy content. That Juicy FMA DLC that was within eye distance this entire time but youknow...cropped offscreen so it just didn’t exist.

Can’t believe this wasn’t the FIRST THING you’d notice when coming into this room, since Ed has been hardwired for red stones for like 10+ years. But youknow.

Anyways, we’re getting a ton of visual elements from FMA, just checking off that check list here in the last 1/3 of the movie. But wait, it gets weirder.

What I love about this is that Shou tells us all of this stuff because I guess Ed asked for Philosopher stones once, and even Shou is like...heyyy I figured it out! But like...hell would anyone even want to do this though?

Because that’s what happens when you have Shou freakin Tucker reveal the big master plan when he is not the big master. Like this explains nothing about Father, about Ed’s Dad, about the homunculi, about the corpses in the ceiling, like there’s just no explanation, other than just –“hey! Look at this atrocity I found just now!”

There is actually a horror element to that, where you don’t need to explain everything if you’re doing horror. If this were a horror movie, this would probably...be fine. You could have a fully explained movie by just saying “they turned POW camp people into rocks and now the zombies are here!” and that would be fine.

But it’s just...that isn’t this movie. I had so many expectations. And honestly...I expected way too much from 1.5 hours of content.

So Shou pulls a gun on Ed, which makes sense. Ed is lookin to make stones, and if stones are made out of people—then it’s time to kill Ed. First thing that make sense in this movie, but I don’t know if it makes sense coming from Shou freakin Tucker who made it seem like he just wanted to kill Ed because Ed got him arrested that one time.

It may have been just the translation on my end but like...Shou’s reason for pulling a gun out here was a little nonsense. But Shou himself is already a little nonsense anyway.

So we say goodbye, for the last time, being honest—he’s fully dead—he’s not coming back—to Shou Freakin Tucker. You were a mess Shou. I won’t miss you.

And if I forgot that this guy comes back, I fully apologize ahead of time, but I am 99% positive that I remembered that this guy never comes back.

(He might come back.)

And then Lust is like “Hakuro why did you do that? Like what are you even doing???”

And everyone else is like “Oh, the General. Of course. Why didn’t I uhhh….see that coming?”

Because they had to condense a whole bunch of corrupt Generals for this movie into one character, and so I guess Hakuro took it for the team?

Also these guys are here.

Just every single person standing in this room is pretty confused, as you can imagine. No one really expects to open up Volume 2 of FMA and it’s accidentally printed the last page of the entire series.

Anyway, that’s all for this 15 minutes (It was actually a little short 15 because there was ton of caps) I’m very tired because I did this workout routine with bro that was like 300 squats and I don’t know what day it is. I wrote “update blog” in my bullet journal (because it’s January, so I’m bullet journaling) so I’m just gonna do that because I want to use this green sparkly jelly pen and cross off all of today. Mm. Satisfying.

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/fma/chrono

[suntumarchive]

A commission for @cafesotenbori ! Thank you so much~

Fandom/s: Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Character/s: Yoshikage Kira x gender- and appearance neutral victim Kink/s: Fearplay, vore CW: Graphic swallowing, implied fatal

Plot: Yoshikage Kira is an unmarried man, and he has no intention of changing that anytime soon. But sometimes, going on “dates” is a great way to get to know his freshly chosen victims... especially when he invited them over for “dinner”.

___

Dark, heavy rain clouds weighed down on the peaceful city of Morioh, and enveloped the buildings in a grey haze, as if they wanted to warn the inhabitants of the approaching storm coming in from the south. Occasionally, thick rain drops landed on the still warmed up asphalt streets, causing ghostly swabs of mist to creep up from the ground. The low rumbling of Kira’s stomach cut through the gloomy silence like a sword, and he checked his wristwatch for what felt like the millionth time. Did his date decide to just not show up in that weather? That would truly be a shame… He’d been looking forward to having them over for dinner.

Eventually, though, the man was pleased to see their silhouette in the distance, getting closer in a rather hasty manner. Clearly they wanted to protect themselves from the downpour, which would soon hit the area of Morioh where the villas were located. Yoshikage Kira gestured towards his house, and greeted them with a small chuckle.

“Looks like you barely made it in time!”, he made it sound like he was talking about the rain, but honestly, there was a slight sense of anger inside him about how late they were. Kira was someone who liked it when everything was tidy and smooth, and being two minutes late was something he personally couldn’t condone. He always made sure to arrive at least five minutes early. But in his 33 years of age, he’d very often experienced that other people weren’t living their lives the same way he was… and it made his fingernails itch for murder. If nobody else was going to do it, it was up to him to get rid of the vermin among humanity, and keep Morioh as beautiful and peaceful as it should be.

“I’m so sorry, my bus was a little late”, his visitor panted, and shot him a bit of an awkward smile as they approached his house with him. Kira knew he was obligated to forgive them, but he found himself staring at the wetness that was pooling on their forehead, debating if it was sweat or rainwater… would he have to wash them…?

“Please, no need to apologize… a few minutes don’t make a big difference, do they?”, Yoshikage smiled and took his shoes off before entering the building… luckily, his date was smart enough to do the same, or he’d have gotten pretty pissed off.

Just the thought of having them in his home made him pretty uncomfortable… Kira glanced down at his fingers, and noticed his nails had  already grown several millimeters from the stress. He felt disgusted… every time he let vermin into his house, he was extremely relieved once he erased them entirely. The unlucky person who happened to be the “vermin” Kira had laid his eyes on looked around his house with great curiosity, eyeing the furniture and decorations… Hm, surprisingly simplistic. The man was quick to gently pull them aside, and guide them to his living room.

“I’m so happy you made it”, he insisted.

“Please, have a seat while I prepare dinner for us.”

“Wonderful! Thank you, Yoshikage!”, the person plopped down on the couch rather loudly, making the office employee cringe inside. He hated being called by his first name by anyone but his father. Once again, his fingers began to itch, and he had to remind himself of why he was doing this… he had to stay calm if he wanted this to go smoothly. This kind of stress wasn’t good for him… Yoshikage needed to avoid anything that would cause him to lose sleep at night at all costs. He wanted his life to stay nice and quiet… inviting vermin to his house was the closest he’d ever get to committing risky murders.

But admittedly, he felt kind of excited thinking about the part that was still waiting for him… the best part of tonight. Dinner. He’d share an appetizer with his unwelcome date, mix a carefully prepared shrinking potion into their food, and have them as a little snack before the main course. He hummed to himself as he removed a wisp of blond hair from his face, and skillfully cracked open the top of the soft boiled egg he’d made before… Half of the still runny yolk was removed, and replaced with a few drops of the potion. Luckily, only a sip would be enough for his visitor to shrink to the size of a little mouse. Once again, he felt his stomach growl as he toasted the bread that he’d serve with it. Kira hushed his own belly and almost lovingly ran his hand across it.

Just be patient, my dear…

Before his visitor could snoop around his home any more, the serial killer brought the appetizer with the added potion to the table. He’d cut the bread up into even slices, and even brought a bowl for the shell, and a tiny spoon in the perfect size to eat the inside of the egg without spilling anything. His guest was pleased to see this, and chuckled lightheartedly.

“Oh, how cute! Thank you, Yoshikage!”

Once again, his first name... He dug his nails into his thighs as he sat down, hoping to prevent them from growing again this way. His urge to kill was almost unbearable at this point, and he found himself eyeing their throat, wishing to see blood gush out of it.

“Of course. I hope you enjoy. The soup will be finished soon.”

They seemed to be satisfied with that… Kira stared at their fingers as they broke the bread and dipped it into the egg… It felt like ages until they finally brought the slice towards their mouth and started eating. Yoshikage felt terribly on edge, like he was just waiting for something to spill… that would probably be what would cause him to spill as well.

“So, I take it you like to cook? Since you know, we could have just gone to a restaurant too! Not that I mind when you cook for me, don’t get me wrong! In fact, it’s nice to be here with you and not have to worry about the rain!”

“Please, be careful with the yolk, or you’re going to spill it all over yourself.”

Once again, the killer watched them drop the bread into their mouth… some orange liquid ran down their chin, which they quickly wiped up with their finger and sucked it off.

“You’re so prudent”, they chuckled, and began to dip more bread into their tiny egg… Kira could almost hear the shell cracking a bit farther, and the single drop of potion land on his table. He gritted his teeth.

“Careful. That’s messy.”

“Oh, ‘scuse me…”, and again… they wiped it up with their finger. There was a streak of yolk and potion visible on the wood of his table… Kira barely had the patience to wait anymore. Lucky for him, they’d swallowed enough of the potion for it to take effect at this point, and the blond man was delighted to see that their hands began to shrink.

For a moment, his date wore a confused expression on their face. Was it just them, or did the bread feel a bit bigger all of a sudden? And the egg? The entire table??

They looked over at Yoshikage Kira, and back down at their body. While watching the sleeves of their shirt growing longer and longer, they started stammering something the man couldn’t understand, but it made him chuckle. He had a feeling he knew what it meant.

“Oh dear… Looks like the main course is going to be served soon.”

“M-m-main- course-“

The helpless person desperately watched the world around them grow, including their date, who soon looked like a giant as he looked down at them with his sharp, blue eyes. Pretty soon, the poor soul was so tiny that their clothes pooled around them like an oversized blanket. Still confused, they attempted to squirm out of the fabric, but partly covered their body out of shame and fear when they saw Kira crouch down next to them.

“You’re bigger than I expected… I suppose I didn’t use enough of the mixture. But it’s alright. I can still swallow you with ease.”

Finally, it began to dawn on Kira’s victim. This guy…! They were the main course!!

“You lured me here because you want to eat me?!”, they squealed, and flailed about, trying to move away from him. How cute… as much as Kira wasn’t a fan of small animals, he always found it quite endearing when shrunken vermin was afraid of him.

“No, no. I didn’t lure you anywhere. You came here at your own accord, because you wanted to.”

“M-my people will notice when I don’t come home, you know?!”

“Oh, will they…?”, Kira chuckled lowly, the tone in his voice sent a shiver down his guest’s back.

“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll just have to eat them as well, wouldn’t you agree?”

The serial killer reached out for the still squirming, tiny person, and firmly grabbed them, leaving them no room to escape. No matter how much they squealed, kicked and bit him, he made it pretty clear that he wasn’t going to let go, and firmly pressed his continuously growing fingernails against their small form to remind them how easily he could kill them.

“Y-you wouldn’t dare to…”

“Oh… Believe me, I would.”

Yoshikage lifted them towards his face, and made direct eye contact with them for several seconds before he parted his lips. Terrified, the person in his grasp stared at his teeth, his wet tongue, and the saliva dripping from the roof of his mouth… When they felt his warm breath on their skin, they immediately began to squirm again. They’d rather be pierced by his nails, or at least crushed than eaten!!

“No, no!!! Don’t eat me!!”

“No? What a shame”, Kira cooed.

“I remember you saying you’d do anything for me…”

“W-what?!”

“Don’t you remember?”, his icy gaze made them shiver.

“You said you’d do anything for me if you could only go on a date with me a single time… well, here you are… we went on a date. And now it’s your turn to give me what I want.”

“I DIDN’T THINK YOU’D FUCKING EAT ME!!!”, their piercing screech hurt Kira’s ears, and he honestly couldn’t wait until they’d be silenced by the strength of his stomach… but no, not yet. He squeezed them a bit tighter, and lowered his fist towards his belly, forcing the tiny person to push their head against him.

“Shh… do you hear this?”, Kira was almost whispering when he asked that.. The poor soul in his hand had no choice but to listen to the noise coming from his gut. Constant bubbling vibrated against them from underneath his belly button, and with the aggressive churning from his audibly upset stomach, it blended into a terrifying mixture. Was this where they were going to end up soon…?

“You’re making me feel stressed…”, the killer continued, and lifted them back up towards his face, giving them a surprisingly calm look.

“I don’t like feeling stressed at all. It influences the quality of my sleep at night… I hope you’ll be quieter once my stomach takes proper care of you. Squirming makes me very gassy… I hate waking up from my own belches, it’s rather embarrassing.”

“You’re nuts…!!”

That response only caused Yoshikage to chuckle, once again forcing the poor thing between his fingers to look at his teeth…

“Is that really how you’d like to be remembered? Don’t you have any… nicer last words to say?”

“No…!! No, please, don’t do this!!!”

He liked the sound of that much better already… The more Kira lowered them down towards his mouth again, the more they squealed and squirmed, but they had no chance against his powerful grasp… or his strong jaws. It was a little uncomfortable to slip them past his lips, but once he bit down and his teeth shut around them like an unbreakable metal door, the poor soul in his mouth knew their fate was sealed, no matter how much they struggled and kicked. All it got them was more thick saliva that coated their body, more wetness they slipped on, and more liquid that brought them closer to the throat they feared so much.

“Please, Yoshikage, I love you-“

Their voice didn’t even reach the predator’s ears anymore… After tilting his head back, Kira gulped down audibly, and the tiny person in his mouth slid down his throat as if it were a dark, tight waterslide. The strong muscles of his esophagus continuously worked them down, past his heart and lungs, and down into his stomach, where they were immediately greeted by humid air and deafening noise. Several of their bones had been broken on the way down. The scent of death crept up their nose, and made them want to vomit… All they could do was desperately gasp for air, and kick the lining of Yoshikage’s stomach. But their panic only coaxed out a small, pathetic belch, which could easily be covered up by three of his fingers.

“Excuse me. Your panicking makes me feel a bit bloated”, he chuckled to himself. Not that they could hear him from out there… his voice probably just sounded like intense rumbling to them. Finally, the blissful silence he enjoyed so much settled in his home again… Well, besides his active organs getting to work underneath his shirt. He patted his belly, satisfied with his meal… Now Kira had a tough decision to make… would he let them suffocate? Or would he immediately crush them with more food?

[a-merman-not-a-guppy]

What I love about your Muses and You

A positivity post by me (Lena) with some commentary by my muses

MK:

You do an incredible job with all kinds of characters, and I love that you do a good balance of good and evil, but you also know how to find that gray area. I think working in that gray shady area is a lot of fun and you really pull it off. You come up with some wild plot arcs and you always find a way to keep people guessing (personally am thrilled about the polyamorous relationship. Nice one!)

Louie: yeah Lou’s been a real cool dude. A R T man. I may not be skilled, but he was always fun to learn with. Someday I’ll learn more. Ashley: Belle like is literally saving my ass with this job. Seriously my favorite person at the moment.

Avarick:

man I’ve always loved writing with you. We always clicked well with that, and I’ve loved all the characters you brought into the rp. I was so so so excited to see that you were coming back and that you wanted to bring RIKU! I couldn’t believe it! I loved it when we wrote horse buddies back in the day, and I’ve loved every other opportunity we’ve had to do stuff. I’m so so glad you’re back to writing with us.

Sora: =DDD RIKuUUUUU. I missed him so muuuuch. Roxas: yo who the f is this Riku guy?

Mckala:

You have always been the backstory queen, and I tip my hat to you. You do the level of research that always blows my mind. I just do not have the time or the energy for it, but you have all these lists, giant ass family trees, you know the works. It’s really impressive, and one can see the dedication that you put into your characters.

Louie: so Elena’s like a sick Crown PrincesS? That’s dope! When you gonna take back the kingdom man? Queen it uuup!

Finn: Adella’s always been nice to me when I would visit Ariel. She’s really talented.

Wilbur: (imagine a happier time) mum’s great! She’s always there if I need her to be, and while she won’t buy me everything I bloody want, she knows what I really need.

 Ashley:

honestly such a great person and great rper. I think the most memorable thing for me lately has been Ashley popping in occasionally when she thought I might be upset or bothered by something and checking in. Talking things out and venting together. She’s honestly such a great listening ear, I think we’re really lucky to have her in this rp. I may be slightly biased toward Ashlee T. and Ollie, but all her babes have nuance and I love them. Ashley: Ashlee!!! One of the only people in this world that matter!!! <3 We made it through some nightmares. Things look up from here babe. Wilbur: duuude Ollie I didn’t realize you were adopted too and it’s the coolest fact I got to know about you. It’s awesome to have someone to relate with.

 Pet:

I feel like we used to have a harder time connecting writing wise and things were awkward, and I’m so happy to say it doesn’t feel that way at all anymore. The things we’ve written have been so fun, and I feel like (correct me if I’m wrong), but I feel like bringing Chickaroo together allowed for us to start having more conversation and plotting and just. It opened doors in some way. I think it’s awesome because I love your writing and I love getting to connect with your babes more. As you know, Al has my heart now because he just does, and Barrel has also managed to steal my heart. But all of your babes are so great, and I’m glad that we’ve managed to connect better. I look forward to more time spent writing hilarious things like Dipper and Roxas at the bar, or Al teaching Arthur about the internet.

Louie: yo Al’s like the chillest boss I’ve ever had. He’s also the only boss I’ve ever had but still! Cool dude!

Roxas: Dipper’s a nice guy. I hope I can get to know him more.

Sora: Dipper is Mabel’s TWIN BROTHER =DDDD that’s SO cool!!!

Wilbur: duuude. Barrel is like the person I didn’t expect to ever care about in a billion years, but if anyone did anything to him...like...die.

Alex:

I feel like we also used to not really vibe and were awkward with each other, and I’m super glad that’s changed because you’re literally so cool and you send such fun stuff and we just have a great time! I love Nyx, you know that I have an appreciation of Arista from afar, and Haley is just...great. All your babes are. I’m so happy we’ve finally made that writing connection because it’s been so fun to talk to you and get your perspective on things. Ahh it’s great. Can’t wait to see what you come up with in the future.

Ashley: Haley was like...almost cool. It’s a shame she’s such a goodie goodie two shoes.

Dot: Haley’s a good dragon? What the hell? She seems okay, but I’m still not sorry I shot her in the foot. She totally deserved it.

Clarion: Nyx has been my constant companion for some time now. I’m so grateful for her presence.

Bee:

Bee my big bro, my wife, my partner in ridiculous here too. You’re such a great joy to write with, and I love the way you tell your stories. I’m still so impressed by your take with Hera, and how she is as a sorceress. That’s so damn cool! And of course you’ve got the lovely Marie who’s charming and vain and I love that about her. Marie is a gift, your writing’s a gift and I’m grateful you’re in the rp. Not to mention you and Chloe are our resident British experts and that’s great. Thank you for joining the rp and for bringing the perspective you bring. Look forward to more crazy storylines with you.

Louie: yo nerd! Just kidding, wassup Huey? You’re the best big bro a guy could have. Keep it real, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.

Fflewddur: Marie! My beautiful wife! Love of my life! The world must envy me for having the most amazing wife in the entire world.

Sora: Kristoff! Best roomie ever !!! =DDDD hope you don’t mind if my best pal Riku stays with us. Thnx dude <3 <3 <3

Becky:

I mean where do I begin. We’ve had such great stories and ridiculous teen hijinks and theatrics. It’s been such a good time. And of course, there are few people I’d be sure about doing a big plot like the one we’ve got going with Ashley and Roo, but we’ve managed it, and I think it’s been a really really fun story to tell. So thanks for taking that leap with me and letting us tell a ridiculous story together. It’s been awesome. Glad to have you in the rp.

Ashley: well, you’re an alright guy I guess Roo.

Bryer:

we’ve only really had a little bit of time to write together before with Dash, but it was super fun, and even just observing, I’ve loved seeing your characters on the dash and seeing where they’re at. Hatter’s awesome too. It’s great to have him around in the rp, and especially with such a different take than we’ve had in the past. Love the werewolf storyline, love to see it.

Chloe:

I feel like you’re a person after my own heart. Mitte often makes me think of my old Shego muse, and that just makes me happy because I just love the chaos that she brings. I love all of your babes of course, but that just makes her a bit more #1 in my heart. You’re also so chill to plot with and to come up with these crazy schemes. I mean remember how we sort of pitched Mitte turning on a bit of a whim and now here she is? It’s literally so good and you went with it and I just...ugh. I truly love it and seeing the growth. All your babes tell such awesome stories, and this just tells me I need to find a way to plot with you more when time/work allows. Keep up the good work. You’re kicking ass.

Anthony: what a brat. As long as this girl doesn’t cause me any more trouble though I suppose she’s tolerable. 

Dezi:

We haven’t been able to interact much writing wise, but I hope to change that someday soon/when time/work allows. Charlotte is honestly such a great character, and I think it’s awesome to see her and Tiana around, I think it’s the first time in a long time...if we’ve ever managed that before? I don’t know. It’s seriously so cool and I love reading your stuff together, and just Charlotte’s stuff in general. Keep cool and carry on writing a great babe. 

I wish I had things my muses could say but I don’t think I’ve had the chance to interact with Charlotte. Just Judy before ;-; Forgive me. I still think you’re swell.

Emma:

Boy do I love that you swooped in with your kids. Phineas, Tiana and Aquata are such dynamic characters. It blows my mind, truly. I love them all. I love how ready you are to plot and to throw out great ideas. Phineas has the kind of chaos energy that I love (obviously, as Louie is my chaos energy). You’re so chill with me trolling your babes on twitter, and a joy to write with. Thank you for coming back as well. I’m glad we’ve gotten the chance to write together. <3

Louie: duuuude we gotta do something crazy again soon? Operation dumbass commence? Jk jk Operation Too Cool For School.

Wilbur: what is with that twitter lady tho? Too old to be arguing with teens on twitter don’t you think?

Ginny:

Ahhh i mean we’ve done so many fun things and continue to do. With so many connections and stuff it’s hard not to! I’m so glad you rejoined as I have and that we got to bring these characters into the rp that vibe (and/or fight each other). To each their own. Our kids have an energy what can you do? I think your characters are all awesome, and I love seeing them on the dash. I love writing with them. Two besties, no wait THREE now with Kairi, isn’t that just wild? I love that best friend energy our babes have. Support it, thanks for writing all kinds of good things with me. You’re a gem.

Finn: I love you Ariel. You’re the best of friends. I’m so lucky to know you =]

Ashley: Ashle B!!! Babe you are a rockstar. You’ve kind of been the glue of our friendship I think. I love you babe. Stay true to you and kick some ass in college!

Wilbur: (in happier times) DADDD!!! Best dad to ever dad, person that gets me cool things. Coolest of dads. You rock.

Sora: ????!!! KAIRI???!!???

Hannah:

Hannah Hannah Bo Bannah Fee Fi Fo Fannah HANNAH...I couldn’t resist. You’ve been so great to talk to and write with and honestly it’s been so great to love our babes together and talk about BTS together and talk kpop in general. I’m so so so glad that we’ve gotten to know each other more over these last few months and stuff. You’ve really been so great, and our plots and characters are such a good time. So glad you got my brother, and my best friend. It’s awesome to have and to write with you.

Louie: DEWEEEEEEEEEEY. DEWFORD. DEWEYYYYY….hi.

Louie: TAEEEEEEE. Bro. my dude. Sorry I make memes outta you all the time. But in my defense...your face is kinda funny. Love u dude =]

Sora: Mabel!!! My GIRLFRIEND =DDDD you’re great! I love spending time with you and looking at hot boys! Speaking of...I have a friend you might think is hot…

Finn: Tae! Thanks for being so nice to me and allowing me to open myself up and get to know you. I’m so lucky that Nemo introduced us. You’re a really great friend =]

Jaby:

JABYYYYYYYYYY. Man we always had muses that vibed and our writing just clicked and that always brought me joy. I’m so glad you came back, because your characters are great, the stories you tell are great, and I really really missed having you around. I know we’ve both been busy lately with our own work stuff, but I definitely want the chance to connect some muses again, because I love your babes and you and I’ve been so happy to see you. Let’s figure something out someday when my schedule stuff evens out a bit better.

Jean:

you haven’t been in the rp long, but boy have you made an impact already. Lachlan is amazing!! Truly an icon and I’m so glad that you brought him in. And so glad that you’re here. We’re all lucky to have you. I really think you’re bringing in such a unique take and writing and it’s just awesome to see and to see Launchpad driving around, and driving people a little wild on twitter. It’s beautiful.

Louie: soooooo did you really nearly kill my bro?

Kiara:

We also don’t really have any interactions right now but that is a-okay because you are living a life doing the real life hero work. Truly I’m amazed by you, and I think we’re all lucky you’re around. I hope you take care of yourself and that you do get to enjoy that time to just write and love your characters. They’re all truly fantastic and I love seeing where you take them. Especially Georgette. I think her journey has absolutely captivated me.

Kit:

man you are awesome to plot with. The pirate au was such a good time, just brainstorming some ridiculous ideas. And your ladies are so truly dynamic and powerful and I am so excited to see where you take them. I don’t think we really have had much interaction besides the au, but I look forward to a day where life is less stressful and we can do some more stuff. That’d be great. <3 Keep doing you, you’re killing it.

Lauren:

Man I love your characters so much. Greg is such an icon on the board and otherwise. And I love pushing your characters buttons almost as much as I love agreeing with them. They’re just such joys to have around. Lol well I’m sure Roscoe would argue about that and be all Roscoe, but I’m glad to have him around. It’s been great talking to you and having debates over milk being a capitalist scam. I am glad you’re in the rp, and I continue to look forward to seeing what new things you and your characters bring.

Lauryl:

This go around of me rejoining the rp I feel like we’ve gotten a lot closer and that makes me really happy. =] It all started with a Jimin, how did it end up like this? It was only a...just kidding. I know exactly why. Nemo and your brilliant writing and his connecting with Louie drew me into this BTS zone and then before I knew it there was Finn and Lunch Squad and and and. The list really does go on because we’ve just come up with some really ridiculous and fun stories and it’s been great. Thank you for bringing Olaf and teaching me a lot more about aromanticism, for Atta and that sister bond that I am stoked about (reminds me we gotta do another thing for them that yes). I’m so glad we’ve connected more and that you are in the rp <3

Louie: Neeeeeeeeeeemo I have a crisis of boy things! CRISIS. WEE OO WEE OO chop chop and help me out. Also I’ve got cookies.

Finn: Nemo, I can’t believe how close we’ve gotten in so short a time. You’re one of my very best friends. I love you lots.

Finn: Hyung, you’re so warm and kind. I’m so lucky I know you.

Dot: did you drink water today Atta? You better not be going anywhere crazy without ME.

Lins:

You’ve just joined but I’m so stoked we’re already talking and talking about TORTALL of all things. Like WOW! I didn’t think anyone out there appreciated those books the way I did. It is so nice to be wrong, and to have a source to discuss my fave childhood books. It’s also exciting to have Eilonwy, and I’m excited to interact with her. <3 

Sav:

I know life keeps you pretty busy, but you push through and you bring your babes and keep steady with all of that and I think that’s really admirable. You’ve got the older gentleman muse energy and I respect that. I think it’s great that you have your niche. I myself have the teens as we know. I’m sorry we haven’t had much chance to interact, but I hope to improve that in the future. Especially with Seamus. That’s my rich uncle. I wanna do something about that when life gets less hectic. Either way, you’ve got great babes and you’re doing a great job. Take care of yourself lovely.

Louie: soooooo gonna buy me a motorcycle Uncle Seamus?

Sid:

man you’ve got a great bunch of characters and they’re all so different and dynamic and I love that. Ratigan is complex, and he was especially good fun in the pirate event I have to say. Truly loved the take we had on the ship and everything. He’s so great. I also love seeing Eric on the dash, and am excited to interact more with him cause I think he’s just groovy. They’re all groovy. I can’t think of any whimsical things to say but you’re doing awesome and your babes are great. Take care lovely.

Sierra:

I have not had a chance to interact with you or your Tod yet, but I look forward to the day where I can. Tod’s a great character, and it’s exciting to see that he’s come back. I know I saw him connecting with some of the other Swynlakers and I think that’s even better. Love a character with history, and Tod definitely has that. I hope you take care of yourself, and I’m looking forward to seeing more of Tod in the future.

[infinitehours]

From Dusk to Dawn, an Elder Scrolls Online short fic

Rivenspire spoilers and Daggerfall Covenant questline spoilers (specifically Stormhaven and main quest).  I did like the ideas behind the Rivenspire storyline, even if I did not always like the execution.  Author notes are first, then the story.  Leave a comment or reblog if you enjoyed! 

Author notes before the story:  I’m actually not done with this story.  It’s still got another part to it that I just haven’t had the inspiration to write yet.  

This is my character Elyssa.  She's the youngest of my line-up *(only 18), and that distinction is important.  Naive and more than a little too trusting. She's also probably the only one who would purposely go out of her way just to coax a bunch of vampires into letting her stay the night, if only for the "coolness" factor of getting to stay the night at a vampire castle.

Once upon a time, I had plot bunny idea of a conversation concerning my traumatized Vestige about Molag Bal. I say traumatized because...let's be honest here.  The amount of stuff the Vestige goes through is alarmingly dark at times. It wasn't until I got to Rivenspire that I recognized the perfect situation this conversation could take place, and that the Count's status as a vampire who received his vampirism directly from Molag Bal (only to turn around and embrace morality) added an extra layer of meaning here. I hope that explains why I did this in the specific way that I did.  That vampires, and their abilities, are they themselves almost representations of Molag Bal's whole concept of domination and submission.  I like that bit of symbolism.   I don't think this particular story would have had as much of an impact otherwise.

It's canon that there are different strains of vampires and that they can do different things depending on the strain.  What's not entirely clear to me is how those mechanics always work (because we don't always see them in game), so forgive me for making a few things up. Additionally, ZOS confirmed they were changing how the feeding animation looks to something "more traditional" so I'm assuming we're going to get people biting necks in the update. Which is a lot better than the weird ridiculous looking funnel of blood, if I’m being honest here.

(one of the other reasons I wanted to write this was to come up with an explanation for why the Count is kind of...irritated all the time, lol)  

Content warnings: A little bit of Molag Bal torture going on here. Vampire biting.   Otherwise I can’t think of anything.  

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

~~~~~~~~~~

“Difficulty sleeping?”  

Those were the first words out of his mouth the moment she stepped lightly into the study.  Even without turning around, even without her making a sound, he seemed to be keenly aware she was there.  It might have been unnerving if she didn’t know anything about him.  

“Nightmares,” was her reply, the shadow of a sad smile coming and going on her lips.  

He nodded silent acknowledgement as she took one of the carved wooden seats available.  For a moment, she watched him as he stood with his back to her; he was stock still, almost statue-like, save for the occasional instance in which he turned the page.  He wore a different set of mage’s robes than he did earlier.  It was similarly a deep, dark grey, but this one had a few threads of red woven in a delicate pattern across the length of it.

“I suppose it quite normal for a mortal to have those when staying in a place like this.”  

He said it flatly, and it was difficult for her to work out whether he was irritated at the idea or resigned to it.

“I assure you, my lord Count,” she responded carefully in turn.  “I’ve been having nightmares long before I accepted your very generous offer to spend the night.”

Platitudes.  That was surely the best way to handle a noble, undead or not, right?

“But if it is at all upsetting to you that I’m here,” she continued, hastily, “It would be a simple thing to pack my affects and travel to Shornhelm.”

He shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. I am not bothered.  And it is likewise too dangerous to travel the roads at this time at night.”

His eyes still never seemed to pry themselves away from his research as he propped open another tome on top of a large pile of books that conveniently reached his height.  

“Vampires hunt best at this time, I’m sure.”  she said, off-handedly, her fingers dancing through the length of her reddish brown hair that was now free of her usual, careful braid.    

“There’s no sun to burn our skin, and our eyes are much better attuned to the dark than a mortal’s.  The bloodfiends, who are nothing more than feral members of our kind, operate much the same.  So long as the people stay indoors and within the city walls, they should be safe.  But a lone traveler, even on horseback, may offer up a too tempting target for them to resist.  You’d be snatched in the gloom and none would hear of it until the morning.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that, though in her mind’s eye she played out a scene with her own mangled corpse lying by the side of the road.  Pale, glassy-eyed, bite-ridden and completely drained of blood.  She scowled at the thought, and shifted in her chair.

“It may not come down to that,” She said, her voice lacking the confidence she’d hoped for, “I’d say I’m pretty good at fighting bloodfiends; and, in fact, I’ve already fought some of them at night...”

“I don’t doubt that, Elyssa.  But is there any real reason to risk yourself unnecessarily? Stay here for the night, and I promise you can leave in the morning.  As early as it takes the sun to rise to the sky and offer you its protection.”

Her scowl deepened.  Did he think she was scared to spend the night at his home-castle-place-thing?  She knew that he was probably used to being a little bit defensive when it came to dealing with others (and that it was kind of her fault for somewhat insisting on staying to begin with), but he can’t honestly think she’d lost her nerve, could he?

“Count Verandis. I seem to have accidentally given you the impression that I’m uncomfortable here or that I desperately wish to leave if only you’d allow me.  Trust me when I say, if I was that desperate or felt like I was in that much danger, I would have already broken one of your pretty stained glass windows and JUMPED myself to freedom.”

She gestured towards the entryway.  “Although I’d probably just try the front door first. Something tells me you wouldn’t stop me, even if you do think it’s foolhardy for a mortal to be prancing about in the dead of night.”

He still didn’t turn away from his books, but from the angle of where she sat she could see the edge of his mouth twitching into, what she’d hope, was something akin towards a smile.  Or maybe that was just a trick of the light.

“I appreciate your consideration for my family home.  Stained glass is difficult to procure these days.”

She smiled at that (he HAD made a joke, right? That was meant as a joke, wasn’t it?), and adjusted herself so that she was lounging a bit in the chair.  Difficult to do, since the wood wasn’t exactly comfortable.  Her plain beige dress, what she usually wore to sleep, wasn’t padded enough to act as a cushion either.   She frowned for the third time that night, and straightened back up.  

“Do you want me to leave you to your studies?” She asked politely, just as the thought occurred to her.  It would act as an excuse to go back to the upstairs bedroom; one of the few rooms that actually had a bed in the entire castle.

“It’s not necessary.” He stated.  

She waited a moment.

“…May I ask a question?”

“If you insist.”  Again, in that flat, dull tone of his that never seemed to hold much emotion.  

“Are you always thirsty?”

This gave him pause, and she could see a few of his fingers ghosting over the latest text he held open before committing to turning another page.

“At some level, yes.  But if you’ve practiced for as long as I have and feed regularly, it’s barely noticeable.”

“So me being in this room for you is, thankfully, not distracting?”

“Your presence isn’t, no.”

Her eyes narrowed in on the back of his head. He was possibly, in a roundabout way, implying that her comments were distracting. It was another one of those statements that made it hard for her to figure out whether he was pissed off, slightly annoyed, or just bored.

“Would you like a bite?” She suddenly asked.

“What?” This time, he DID look up.  Even more, he turned to stare at her with something akin to surprise.

She sat to attention with a triumphant smirk. “Finally, a normal emotional reaction!”

And with that proclamation, his expression hardened and he returned to his books.

“I do not have time for childish endeavors, Elyssa.”  He said sourly.

“You just seem so….I don’t know. Detached.  Either that, or irritated at everyone all the time.  It’s hard to tell with you.  I think that may be the bulk of the reason why a lot of people may be uncomfortable around you.  It’s rather nice to see you actually have some…well…life left in you.”

“When you’ve lived as many years as I have, my child, and watched just as many of your friends age and die…short-lived humans, no less…people you’ve formed attachments to and cared for, again and again…You find ways of…removing yourself from all of it.  If only to ensure that it need not affect you as hard each time.”

Elyssa considered this.  “So…when you say you ‘care’ about the people of Rivenspire—“

“I do care,” He snapped his latest book shut and spun to face her. “I may not be able to feel as deeply as a mother who lost her first child, but I do care about what happens to the people of Rivenspire. I still remember what it was like to lose family, to lose loved ones, the depths of that pain.  Even if I cannot experience it fully for myself anymore, I remember enough to never wish it upon anyone else.  This is why I detest the idea of ever sharing this gift of mine; inflicting it upon others so that they would have to spend decades just learn how to control their despair enough to function.  Can you fathom, can you even imagine, the maddening realization that most everyone you love will soon wither and fade except yourself?”

He approached her at her chair, and though his voice still held that air of mild detachment, his glowing red eyes seemed to burn all the brighter with an inner light.

“You’re correct in the sense that I do have difficulties expressing this.  That I no longer have the capabilities to show others, in any genuine way, the measure of my desire to help.  Mortals rely so much on interpreting emotions through body language and tone of voice, and I am far beyond the point where I can easily weep in the presence of those who are weeping…or even do a decent attempt at trying.”

As he came to stop in front of her, he actually knelt to the ground. To her level.  Eye to eye.

“There’s a reason, in my belief, why the divines would dictate life to be so short and sweet.  Those of us who are cursed to live longer than normal risk…losing things in the process.  I often find myself wanting to socialize with mortals just to get some of that back.  A sense of personhood and direction.  Passions and strivings.  It’s truly remarkable to see reminders of how easy it comes to you.”

He carefully reached out his hand towards her cheek, as though she represented this.  As though she were a symbol of this very discussion.  Just as the tips of cold fingers brushed against her skin, she turned her head just a tad in an attempt to see it in her peripheral.  It was difficult to say whether he interpreted that as a flinch or he suddenly remembered himself, but he withdrew his hand again.  

“I apologize.” He said, getting up and returning once more to the bookshelves.  “I did not mean to touch you without permission.”

“What?  My cheek? That’s not a crime.” Elyssa replied, still trying to absorb everything he just told her.  

“Countess Tamrith would likely disagree with that assessment.”

“Countess Tamrith isn’t here.  And before you go back to your no-doubt riveting literature, I should tell you that I was genuine in offering my blood to you.”

He turned once more to her, an eyebrow delicately raised in questioning.  

“Is that so?  I believe the good Countess would now consider you to have committed a sin.” He asked, and his eyes stared straight at hers for a good measure.

For her part, believing that he was testing her resolve, she sat up straighter and met his gaze head on.

The room was silent for a moment.  

He took a tentative step towards her, and she was a little ashamed that the unexpected movement caused her to flinch. He stopped at the sight.

“We do not usually find people who willingly volunteer so soon after finding out about our condition. Are you sure?”

“Y-Yes.”

“You certainly do not sound it.”

Elyssa huffed out the breath she’d been accidentally holding.  “Well…it isn’t as though I get bitten by a vampire every other day.  I’m not sure what to expect.  Does it hurt?”

“It’s a bite, Elyssa,” And this time, she was sure those glowing eyes of his were laughing at her even if his mouth didn’t show it. “Pain is usually involved in those.  I can, however, promise that it is certainly not excruciating.”

“Well that’s a relief…I think.”

He carefully stepped towards her while she sat stock still and staring straight ahead.  For every moment that he moved closer, she grew more and more uneasy.

“Should I stand up, then?” She said, trying to distract herself from imagining the pain too much; she’d a bad habit of blowing things out of proportion.

“It would be much preferable if you remained seated...Else the dizziness may cause you to fall.  It may even be better if you were to lie down…”

“Sorry, but there’s no way you’re going to get me onto your dining room table.  That would just be too…”  She recalled to mind an earlier scene of stumbling upon them whilst they sat around a half-naked Dark Elf “….awkward.  Awkward and probably uncomfortable.  For me, that is.  No idea if you feel a hundred percent comfortable with people just casually laying on-”

Her spiraling commentary came to a screeching halt when she felt his hand rest lightly on her shoulder.  The very same shoulder twitched, of its own accord, and he removed his hand shortly after.

“That’s the third time you’ve flinched,” he accused.

“No it’s not!” She blurted out.  “That’s barely the first!”

“Elyssa…”

“I can do this!  I’m not a coward!” She insisted, finally turning to face him as he stood right next to her.

“Nobody is calling you as such.  But this is also not necessary, and I believe I made it quite clear that my household only feeds on the willing.”

“I am willing!  I just….I…” Her resolve withered a bit in the midst of staring him down.

His eyes glowing red and unnatural.  A sign, perhaps from the Divines, as to dangers that could lurk behind them.  The same kind of red eyes on the bloodfiends she’d been fighting ever since she came to Rivenspire.

“…I…I just need a moment,” she finished, knowing full well that it was an admission of defeat.

He sighed and walked back to his books.  “Go back to bed, Elyssa.  I need to focus on figuring out what Montclair’s next movements may be.”

She sat there for a few moments longer, but he was firmly encased back in his notes and didn’t turn around again to acknowledge her again.  The obvious signs that the conversation was over.

He thought she was just being childish.

It stung a little, the obvious disregard. Ignored and brushed aside so casually. It almost felt a lot like the time her papa had caught her ruining one of his prized books even after she promised she wouldn’t touch it.  Except this was pretty much a stranger, and she couldn’t discern whether that made it somehow worse.

The feeling, the blatant disregard, threatened to stifle the little study they were in, and it became too much for her to bear that she did decide to leave.  

Slowly taking the steps back upstairs to the bedroom.

She passed a dead mouse and thought idly about it; one of the things that Adusa had done to help the servants prepare the room for her was to take out a couple of live mice.  They didn’t get many guests, or so Adusa said.

But she wondered if the mice weren’t just the natural result of vacancy; the bite mark on this one suggested they were also kept around as a midnight snack.

She chuckled a bit at that as she crept onto the double bed.  The fresh sheets had been thoroughly washed with soap, she had been told, and seemed so very new that they did not even have the usual frayed threads at the end or faded patterns.  And they were just a little bit stiff.

The mortal servants didn’t stay here; there were additional rooms downstairs beyond the storage alcove.  This was purely a guest room.  ….And it almost felt fake.   Like the immortal Count of the castle had attempted to make something seem homely, only for it to just perceptively feel off.

Perhaps the room had seen such rare usage that it failed to ever take on the personalities of those who had used it.

It might have even just been the fact that there were three very obvious coffins resting in the main hall, visible from the guest suite balcony.

It wasn’t bad...it was just…

“Comfy yet, little sweetthing?” The Dremora playfully poked her with the end of a very sharp and very pointy rod.

Elyssa struggled yet again, but the bars of the humanoid shaped cage held fast.

Cadwell…

Lyris…

The Prophet…

The only three kind voices in that entire prison, and they were screaming in agony right behind her.

“What are you doing to them?!  Stop it!”  She cried out, trying, in vain, to turn her head to look at them.

“Now now.  We assure you, they’re being WELL taken care of.” The Dremora poked her again right at her collarbone.  “Just as you will be!”

The screaming behind her increased, as if to prove a point.

“But ooh. Oooh.  It seems you have a guest, sweetling.  Someone is here. Just.  To see.  You.”

More Dremora came, dragging a human alongside them.  The woman was pushed in front of Elyssa’s cage.

“….I asked you for help…” The woman said, tears falling freely as she looked up.  

A shiver went down Elyssa’s spine as soon as she realized she was staring at the face of Duchess Lakana.

“Y-your Grace…”

“I asked you for help…and what did you do?”  The Duchess pointed an accusing finger. “You left me!  You left me alone with that man, that murderer!”

“I didn’t…I didn’t mean to….I didn’t mean to, I swear.  I didn’t know it was him…”  Her eyes began to water up, a mirror of the Duchess’ own face.

“How could you?  You said you would help me!  Why didn’t you do everything you could? Why didn’t you stay with me?”

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry!”

“And you spared him!  You spared that monster!  How could you do that after he killed me?!”

“That’s enough of that!” The Dremora interrupted, prodding the Duchess to move along. “Put her Gracious Grace alongside the rest of them!  You’re starting a nice collection here, my little sweetling.”

And as soon as the Duchess was dragged out of sight, Elyssa could hear her start to scream as well.  

“Stop it!!  Let them go!!”  She rattled the cage as hard as she could.  

“Ooooh.  Making demands, are we? Do you truly think you’re in any position to save them? Look at you. You couldn’t save the Duchess.  You couldn’t save that family of that poor werewolf Duke. You couldn’t save your darling dearest father…”

The Daedra leaned right into her face, its teeth pearly white and crooked.  And the smell coming from its breath was positively putrid in an indescribable way that had no easy comparisons anywhere on Tamriel.

“…In fact, you can’t even save yourself.”

And with that, the Dremora rammed the rod straight into her shoulder, causing her to jerk back and scream.

Scream.

And Scream.  And fall back onto the…

….

…sheet covers…

Elyssa was shaking.  Her eyes darted back and forth as she ascertained that yes, those were indeed sheet covers.  She was in a room with a bed and nice looking wooden furniture.

In a room made out of stone.

A house.

No, a castle.

That’s right.  Ravenwatch Castle.

There were no Dremora in sight.  No screaming.  No water tainted blue with an eerie light.

No crags filled with bleakest rocks that spread out like daggers.

No distant tundras with nothing but dead plants the eyes could see.

No cages….

Elyssa took one, long, swipe of her hand against her brow, pulling away the sweat that had collected there.  She must have dozed off just then, only to be faced with yet another nightmare.

She tried to push it straight out of her mind and attempt to go back to sleep, but her legs demanded to wander.  That, and she was sure that if she closed her eyes again, the Daedra would return to haunt her.

Her feet took her back downstairs.  The shaking ever present in each and every one of her steps.  Soon enough, she found herself back at the study.  The doorway leading outside, the dining table, the whispering quiet of the night; it all gave the comforting confirmation that the horrors she’d just seen really were just dreams.

Adusa was out scouting the nearby towns and municipal villages.  Melina was out gathering supplies.  The mortal servants were likely fast asleep in their own quarters.  Gwendis was….well, Akatosh only knows where Gwendis went off to.   But sure and steady, Count Ravenwatch was still working in his study.  And the nightmare was fresh enough that she felt drawn to sticking around with the only conscious person she had easy access to.

The scratch of a feather quill paused only briefly as she stood at the threshold.

“Contrary to whatever you may believe, Elyssa,” The Count stated, never looking up. “The sun does not, in fact, rise every twenty minutes like you seem to do.”

Her shaking died down just enough to allow her the dignity of a glare in his direction.  Now she was convinced: the real reason people were uncomfortable around him had absolutely nothing to do with his status as a vampire.

“Bite me,” She seethed back at him.

She’d meant it as an insult.  A come back.  But she realized her mistake when he stopped writing to give her back one, long, unamused look.  Complete with an eyebrow raised.

“Did we not just have this conversation?” He said, turning to another page.

“I don’t care.  I’d rather have conversations all night long if it means I don’t have to go back to sleep.”

She started pacing a bit around the study’s doorway, if only to give her mind something to focus on and her legs something to do.

But as she made a few passes, she noticed he had stopped working and was watching her.  This time with a far more unreadable expression than the blatant apathy.

“What are your dreams about that has you so terrified?”  

“Coldharbour,” She whispered, just barely under her breath.  It must have been loud enough for him to hear her, because his eyes grew a little wider.

“You’ve…actually been there?”

The moment she stopped her pacing was the moment her shaking started up again.   She looked him in the eyes, but found she couldn’t stand to do that for long and had to look towards the floor.

She could hear him whisper something unintelligible; cursing, perhaps, under his breath in Aldmeris.

“You carry a much heavier burden than I initially thought.” He said, “You’re far, far too young for all of this…”

“I can help!  I know I can!” Elyssa insisted, “I’m not afraid of Coldharbour!  I’m not afraid of the bloodfiends!  I’m not afraid to get bitten!  I can prove it! You can have my blood; take it!”

It was supposed to be a reaffirming statement, but her protestations almost made her sound even more childish.

“Elyssa…” he spoke calmly.  Carefully.  “Why is it so important to you that you give me your blood?”

“Because you need it, don’t you?”  She said, frustrated.  She began her pacing again.

“That’s not the reason.”

“Because I want to be helpful!”

“That’s also not the reason.”

This time, she stopped pacing and got angry.

“Because if I don’t give everything I can, and something happened to you, or the High King, or the people of Rivenspire, it will be all my fault again!!”

She yelled it out, and her body feeling a little lighter as she did.  Even as her eyes had begun to water just a bit.

“There it is…” Verandis said softly.

And he left her a moment to go over to the cabinet by the door.

“One of the greatest strengths…” he said, and she could hear him fiddling with something. “…Of the Daedric Prince of Domination is not just in his talent to forcefully suppress a person’s free will or inflicting their greatest fears, but in his capacity for making them feel guilt.”

He returned with a glass of a deep red liquid.  “Physical pain may fade with time, but guilt has a habit of remaining.  What’s worse, it’s often the sufferer that fosters and grows it.  Is there any torture more perfect than that which the victim inflicts upon themselves?  Sit down, Elyssa.”

“What…?”  She glanced from him to the glass as he sat it down at the table between the two chairs in the study.

“If you still insist that I taste your blood, then I must insist that you sit down first.”

Her eyes grew wide a moment, but she clenched her fists out of resolve and held fast as she cautiously took the seat to the right.  He maneuvered the chair opposite to rest closer to her, taking a seat himself.

Her fingers were still trembling as she reached up and undid the top button at the back of her dress, but she hadn’t a clue whether they were trembling because of this or if they were simply leftovers from her fitful sleep.  It may have been both.  

“I don’t...need to take off my clothes completely, do I?”  She frowned in disgust at the thought. She hadn’t considered that part, but the Dunmer from before had been…well…half-naked.

“No,” He said, firmly.  “A shoulder is all that’s required.  Are you ready?”

She glanced at the filled glass.

“Do you always take a shot after you’ve already had a drink?” She joked weakly.

“The wine is for you, Elyssa.  I think you should drink at least a little of it when I’m done.  Now, are you prepared?”

Her hand reached up to pull down one of the shoulders of her dress, just enough so that her collarbone showed.  Her fists clenched and unclenched themselves as she rigidly held them in her lap.  If she were ever bitten by a vampire, this is what it would feel like….

Finally, she nodded.

A touch at her shoulder caused her to flinch again, but they were only fingers.  He was gently moving a strand of hair out of the way.

“Tell me.  I saw you speaking to Melina earlier and it caught my attention.  Did she find a particularly interesting rune?”

She brightened up a little at that.

“Oh!  Well not exactly; we were just talking about this one-ow.”

She was simultaneously a little irritated and a little grateful.  The skeever only asked her that as a distraction… and she actually fell for it.

Vampire fangs were apparently large enough that it felt a little like someone had just happily jabbed a pair of sewing needles into the tender part of her shoulder.  She’d had worse injuries before, but it wasn’t very pleasant either.

…And it was just a tad bit awkward.  For obvious reasons.    

Did the servants really do this on a regular basis?  

Just as she considered the pain, a wave of a new sensation came with it.  He was right; it did have the effect of making a person dizzy.  Dizzy and…a little hazy.  Perhaps it was the lack of sleep that she’d self-induced upon herself for the past couple of days, but she was actually starting to feel…calmer.

Numb.

After a few seconds had passed, it no longer hurt.  And she was no longer sitting up straight in the chair, but rather lounging.  The hard wood had suddenly felt a lot more comfy.

She could still feel him there.  It was hard to ignore his mouth (although she valiantly tried anyways, if only to make it a little less awkward), but she couldn’t really feel any blood actually going out of her (probably a blessing).  One of his hands helped to hold up her neck, and the other right at her upper arm to hold her steady.  It was just as well; the numbness had the effect of making her feel like a puddle of water.

She could also feel him pull away.  Replaced with the feeling of cloth at her shoulder.  Elyssa turned to look and found him softly pressing either a handkerchief or a napkin to the wound (for her sanity’s sake, she decided it was the former rather than the latter).

“That didn’t seem like much,” Her speech was a little slurred.

“Do you still wish to fight the bloodfiends while conscious? If so, then this is all you can afford to lose.  You already run the risk of injury on the battlefield.”

He motioned for her to hold the handkerchief there.  “It will stop bleeding in a moment.  How do you feel?”

“Rather nice…” She said with a slightly loopy smile.  But then she frowned. “Am I supposed to find it nice?”

“All vampires have some level of hypnotic ability.  Some use it to effect of creating slavish thralls.  Mostly, I suspect it’s there to ensure that any prey doesn’t try to escape our grasp.  For this reason, I think it tends to show up often in mortals who have been recently fed upon.”

Elyssa thought about Kallin and the almost eager way he introduced himself to her so soon after the Ravenwatch vampires had dined upon him.

“So…do you influence your servants to give you their blood?”

“I do not always willingly inflict this effect, Elyssa.  Think of it more as a side effect than something I always have a conscious command of.  Anyone I feed on could potentially feel like this.”

“But you have some control of your hypnotic ability, don’t you…?”

“I’m not sure what you’re asking of me.  Here.” He gestured for the handkerchief back and for her to fix her outfit.  

“If you’re implying that I somehow force or coerce my servants to give me their blood, the answer is ‘no’.  I made no such demands of them, nor would I need to.  There are plenty of people in Rivenspire of the unsavory variety; bandits, cutthroats, and the like for whom death would be deserving.   So it would be no trouble to us if Kallin should ever wish to seek employment elsewhere.  I would not stop him. Only ask that he keep the secret of our gifts to himself.  Not everyone in Rivenspire knows of our nature.”

She adjusted her dress back to normal after looking at the mark.  The wound had stopped bleeding; only two pinpricks of red against her skin to mark that anything had actually happened.

“I don’t oversee a prison here in my home.”  He said.

With it being so fresh in her mind, it was difficult to keep her thoughts away from her dream; the bleakness of Molag Bal’s domain and how it contrasted with the Count’s own castle.  In spite of the coffins (and questionable décor)….this was practically paradise compared to Coldharbour.

Then again…wasn’t anything paradise compared to that place?

“You should have a few sips of wine.” He said, interrupting her reverie.  

She nodded and took the glass, letting the liquid swirl within before bringing it to her lips.  It was a tad sweet, and something she must have needed because she took in a large gulp of it.

“The numbness is wearing off…” She said, contemplating the glass in her hand. “…And I have to face my dreams once more…I don’t want to go back to sleep and see Duchess Lakana again…”

“The Duchess of Alcaire…I understand that it was you who thwarted the Daedric plot behind her murder.”

“But I couldn’t save her!  She was so….she was so scared. And she said she was all alone there.  The soldiers wouldn’t even allow her to see most of the entourage that came for her from her father.  I said I would help her and then…then…”

She tried not to get too emotional by taking another large gulp of wine “…I should have stayed right next to her instead of running around…”

“We are all bound by our limitations, my child.  In your case, you cannot possibly be everywhere and save everyone all at once…”

“No.  But I could have made sure I brought her murderer to justice…”

She finished the glass and set it back on the table, balling her hands into fists again.

“…I let him go.  He looked so guilty…and his mind had been manipulated by Vaermina…I thought it was the right thing to do.  At least, that’s what I told myself at the time.”

Elyssa looked down at her hands, clenching and unclenching them, staring at them as though she’d hoped they would somehow provide a better thought process.

“Now I’m wondering if I was really right.  The Duke seemed a little bit angry at my decision…”

“He was likely grieving.”

“And the knight in question - the one who killed her? – he himself said that he felt guilty and deserved to die.”

“Those who feel guilt are not always guilty of anything.  And he, as a knight, was likely considering the strained political relations going on within the Covenant.  His duty to preserve the alliance may have weighed heavily on him to the point where he thought sacrificing his life should be a consideration.”

“But he seemed so…I don’t know.  He was acting so normal when I met him; when he supposedly was under Vaermina’s sway.  I have to wonder if he didn’t secretly want the Duchess to die after all…”

“Now you’re being a bit unfair.”

“But…He could have resisted.”  She said, finally.  “He must have been able to resist.  He should have tried.  He was acting so normal most of the time that he had to have some control of his senses. If he had put a little effort into fighting back, maybe she wouldn’t be dead.  Maybe I would have been able to stop him.  Or maybe I wouldn’t have even had to stop him.  If only he’d considered alternatives…He could have just kidnapped her instead, but no.  She just had to die!  He should have been punished for that...He should have died, and I should ha—“

His hand was at her shoulder again, and that numb feeling came back with such a vengeance that she had instantly slumped back into the chair.  Her anxiety laced rambling put to a halt with a slack jaw.

Her breathing steadied.  Her eyelids drooped.  Every muscle in her body had completely and utterly given in to a state of soothing relaxation.  

“Stand up, Elyssa,” he commanded.

A floating, freeing feeling washed over her as she did as she was told.  The room had gotten brighter, the hallway lighting almost dancing in front of her eyes.

“Come with me upstairs,” he commanded again.

And she felt compelled….no, she felt like it was wonderful to move forward.  He followed behind and caught her by her arms to direct her around the dining room table.

They walked, slow and steady.  Elyssa was sure that if she hadn’t been held by the mer behind her that she’d fall flat on her face.  The numbness took all anxiety away….to be replaced completely with contentment and a calm sort of happiness…It was the most relieving feeling in the world.  

“Molag Bal,” He said, “Would certainly love to have you convinced that weakness is a sin.  That people with weaker wills, much like the knight you speak of, deserve to be punished and tortured.”

They began to ascend the stairs, and Elyssa swayed a bit.  She had been trying her best to focus on walking, but the comforting numbness was making her a bit sleepy.  Besides, her feet and legs appeared to find themselves all on their own, without any effort on her part.

In the back of her mind, there was some measure of concern that something was wrong here.  But any attempt at trying to grasp what exactly was amiss slipped right out of her thoughts.  

“But we all have our weaknesses, Elyssa,” Count Verandis continued.  “There is not a person in all of Tamriel who is devoid of them.  For me, it is the sun.  For you?  Right now, it is your generous acceptance of others who are different than you; the trust that you easily form with strangers in spite of how unusual they may be or, in this case, whether or not they are a vampire.  Acceptance and compassion are very much virtues to be exalted, but in the hands of the wrong people they can become weaknesses to be utilized against you.”

They reached the top of the stairs and made their way into the guest parlor.  Each step forwards made her feel like a leaf on the wind; dancing across the floor as though her body was lighter than air.  The furniture danced alongside her, swimming in her vision.  She heard every word that he said (in fact, it held the bulk of her attention, as if she couldn’t ignore him even if she tried), but finding a response was difficult as she couldn’t formulate the thoughts to say anything.      

“I am grateful for your trust, Elyssa.  Far too many have unfairly scorned or judged us for our condition without ever trying to become acquainted with who we are as people.”

He stopped her just as they reached the table.  She frowned with disappointment; she wanted to keep moving around.  It felt nice.  

“However, imagine for a moment,” He whispered lower, closer to her ear. “How disastrous this would be if I had a more destructive desire.  What would happen if we had met on a dark, lonely night and I had no code of conduct to dictate my thirst?  I would beckon you, entrap you just like this.  How easily you would come to me, following me out of sight of any living person who might help you. Can you imagine what I would do then with such a feast all to myself?  This feeling, this enthrallment, would be the last sensation you ever felt; helpless to do anything as I gorged myself on your life’s blood.”

Fingers appeared at her throat, ever so gently pressed against her skin, against the pulse beating there.  And almost automatically, she found she had lifted her chin even more to better allow them.  She felt a tinge of fear break through the numbness; fear of the mer at her back, at the way her own body rebelled against her wishes to expose her own throat… and a growing, frightening consideration at the back of her mind that he might, just might, take the offer.  In spite of whatever he may have said about their feeding habits before.  

“Tell me,” He said, “Many members of my kind would insist that they have the right to feast on mortals because their prey is weaker than them. Would it be just and proper for me to rip your throat out all because you are powerless right now?  Do I have the right to murder you just because I can?  Because I’m stronger?”

A small bubble of panic managed to sober her up enough to try and wiggle free.  But the movement was half-hearted; she still did not feel like she had complete command of her body.  Even though he did not hold her very firmly, her little movements seemed insufficient to loosen his grasp.  Attempting to maneuver limbs felt like trying to wade through dense tar. And as the words died in her throat before they had the chance to pass her lips, she was met with the horrific realization that she was trapped at his whim without so much as the ability to scream.  

She had never been so terrified of him before that moment.

He removed his hand from her throat to grasp both arms in an attempt to hold her steady; her struggling had given her an awfully dangerous sway that threatened to cause her to hit the table.  Or the floor.  Whichever unfortunate hard surface she reached first.

“It’s all right, Elyssa.” He said, his voice kinder. “I give you my word; your life is safe within my home and among myself and my household.  I’ll release you very soon, I promise.  Relax now, or you’ll hurt yourself.”

As if that was also command, a new, fresh wave of numbness and calm settled in, and she felt too exhausted from her last struggle to resist it.  It took over once again, and the world went fuzzy.

“Sit down,” he commanded, releasing his grip on her arms to pull out a chair. And she obeyed, taking the offered seat.

He went to stand before her with crossed arms.  They remained like that for several minutes before she began to notice that she had feeling back in her legs.  The calm was dying down.  Her fingers could twitch at her will.  Her arms now moved unimpeded.  And with her newly re-acquired control of herself, she immediately proceeded to do the thing she wanted to do the most:

Look up and glare at him.

(Punching him was actually the first option, but she was tired and felt that it required more effort than she thought he deserved)

“How are you feeling?” He asked, unphased by her expression.

“Pretty pissed.”

“As well you should be.  But recognize that it is my fault for exerting my power over you.  It is not your fault that you hadn’t the strength to resist back.  You can’t hold yourself responsible for my actions or the actions of any others…Just as you should not hold other people responsible for the actions of Vaermina.”

Her glare lessened as she contemplated this.  “Do you…suppose that was a taste of what Sir Hughes felt?  The same sort of influence he may have been under?”

“I cannot guess what sort of Daedric magic Vaermina used, but I can almost surely guarantee it was potent.”

She was silent for a moment, unsure of how to respond. So she looked down to fiddle with her fingers.

His demonstration made an impression.

“Never doubt that you made the right choice to spare that knight’s life,” He said, softly.  “He was not a cultist, nor did he willingly implore Vaermina for any of this; she forced her influence upon him by taking advantage of the little bits of doubt that we all experience when it comes to change in our lives. No mortal deserves death all because they were weaker than a Daedric Prince.  If we should go by this logic, then all but a potential handful should be summarily executed right here and now.”

“…Yeah.”  Elyssa sighed, avoiding his gaze. “I think a part of me realizes that.  That I don’t actually blame Sir Hughes, I just…”

“…You still feel a little guilty because you happened to be there.  And you’re desperately trying to look for an excuse to assuage that guilt.”

“Yeah,” She winced to hear it aloud, but he had put it very succinctly.

“Her death wasn’t your fault, Elyssa. You cannot hope to control what a Daedric Prince decides to do; you can only hope to try and stop them.  Even then, such foes are so formidable that it isn’t a guarantee that you will be successful.”

He leaned against the table. “I would consider it impressive that you were even able to save the poor soul manipulated by Vaermina.  He may be punished in exile, but that is a far better, far more appropriate fate than what the Daedric Prince of Nightmares had in store for him, I can promise you that.  I don’t think I need to remind you that Daedra often treat mortals as toys, and are known to mercilessly toss aside those that have passed their usefulness.”

“I guess…” She sighed again, gaze transfixed to the floor in front of him.  But then she remembered what had just happened, and she snapped her head back up to glare at him. “I’m still angry at you, though.”

“And I apologize that I frightened you.  I do regret that.  Make no mistake, it is wrong to affect people’s minds in such a way, and I apologize for that as well.  But I thought it would give you some perspective as to what it feels like to be influenced in such a manner.  At the very least, I would hope that it proved to you how difficult it is to escape.”

“How do you escape?”  She had a terrible thought pass through her head about having to face a much more sinister vampire who would use this technique.

“Different strains of vampirism, different capabilities.  But in this particular case, there were several factors working against you.”

He gestured to her.

“First, you had allowed me to feed off of you, which, I believe, actually helps with this.  Second, you trusted me.  At least, enough to stay the night without any discernible fear for your own safety.  I was able to take advantage of that to exert a much more potent sway.  If you recall, you had regained some ability to fight back the moment I lost that trust and started to frighten you.  Unfortunately, you had, by that point, been under my control for a bit too long that it was difficult to break through.”

“So…Feeding, length of time, and trust.  Did I get that correct?”

“For my particular type of vampirism, yes.  You’ll likely meet many others whose abilities operate under a different set of rules.  It does, however, take no small amount of effort to inflict such hypnotic influence, so it is doubtful that you’ll meet very many opponents who would consider using it against you in the heat of battle.”

She nodded.  “That’s comforting a bit…I think.”

Silence settled over them.

This time, it was Verandis who sighed.

“I cannot speak for the Duchess,” he said, “But I am quite familiar with both the High King and his brother, the Duke of Alcaire.  And I can assure you that neither of them would want you to be this distraught over Duchess Lakana’s death.  Especially not to the point where it is affecting your sleep.”

“Yeah, about that.  I still really don’t want to close my eyes.  So do you have anything you need that I can help with?”

“Blood loss and exhaustion doesn’t strike me as a particularly brilliant plan for fighting off blood fiends.”

“I can’t.”  Elyssa stared him straight in the eye, trying to keep the twitching of her mouth from grimacing too much, “I really, really can’t do this.  I can’t go back to sleep right now; it’s just going to be the same nightmare again.  Like it was yesterday.  And the night before that.”

He stared back at her without comment at first, but eventually uncrossed his arms to head towards his alchemical table in the corner.

“How about,” He said, “I brew you a sleeping draught.”

“But—“

“You needn’t drink it if you don’t want to.  But I’ll leave it here with you, just in case.”

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Is this going to be like the last potion you made for me, where I wandered about in your memories?”

“No memories.  Just a typical sleeping potion.”

Her nose rankled at the undesirable scents and burning smells that were already coming from the station as he worked.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I didn’t really mind stepping into your past.  It was kind of fun being someone else, actually.  Just not sure I’d want to do it on a regular basis, because it was also kind of disorienting.”

“Considering everything you’ve told me, I believe we shouldn’t have a repeat of that.  I’m already beginning to regret what little I’ve shown you; I think you have enough worries without me adding more of my own to your pile.”

She could hear sounds of him pouring liquid into a container, and soon enough he approached her with a bottle of something blood red.

He held it out for her and she reached for it, but his grip held fast.

“Please look at me, Elyssa.”

Her blue eyes looked up to find contemplative red.

“Never let Molag Bal win by accepting his ideology,” He said, resolve in his expression. “Believe me when I say, he would cherish such a submission from you.  Weakness is not a sin…and the powerful should always strive to protect, not abuse.  Remember that.”

She nodded slowly in response to the seriousness in his words, and he released the bottle to her grasp.

“….Vampires fall under the realm of Molag Bal, don’t they?” She asked, holding tight to the vial, “To the point where I even heard that Coldharbour is where their souls go when they die.  Is that one of the many reasons why you have an honor code?  Not just to be a good person, but to fight back against him, even if a little bit?”

The flickers of a very sad smile tugged at the edges of his lips.

“…Have a good night, Elyssa.  May your dreams bring you a much-needed and well-deserved rest.”

And with that, he left her to go back downstairs.

She stared at him as he went.  And stared at the potion he left her when he was gone.

After crawling back to the bed, she pulled out the stopper to take a little sniff of the concoction.  It smelled awful, like most potions do.  And she winced as she pulled back to take a tiny taste of it.

Fortunately, the taste wasn’t half as bad as some of the magicka brews she’d had before; this one only had a faint note of rotting eggs and cabbage, instead of an overt one.  That was an improvement.  

After much staring and much consideration, she held her nose and downed the rest of it in one swallow, smacking her lips with a sour expression as she finished.

But the taste lingered, and soon enough she crept out of bed to go back to the parlor. Rustling through the pantry next to the alchemical vials was a bottle of unopened wine.  She silently gave a prayer of thanks to the Divines that bottles of wine were so readily available in a house full of vampires just as she popped out the cork and took a long swing of it to try to drown out the disgusting rotten eggs.

With the taste gone and her thirst satiated, she made her way back to the bedroom.  A wave of dizziness and exhaustion had quickly crept up on her, and she mumbled her discontent under her breath; apparently it was a very, very potent sleeping potion.

Just before she came upon the bed, all the furniture in the room performed perfect backflips.

Her whole world spun around…

…And faded to black.  

[pantherlover]

Rosemary and Rue Re-Read: Part 8

Here’s part 8!  As always: possible spoilers up to Night and Silence!

Chapter 15

“Toby, don’t be dead, don’t be dead.”  It sounded almost like Tybalt’s voice, too distorted and far away to really tell.

Here’s the first time that Tybalt saves Toby’s life!  Welcome to the rest of your life, Tybalt; no one can ever say that you weren’t given adequate warning.

LIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLLYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Oh, I miss her so much.  I will hold on to the likely delusional hope that she’ll come back until the series is over.  (SHE WASN’T EATEN BY THE NIGHT HAUNTS, OKAY?!  THERE’S STILL A CHANCE!!!!!)

I wonder how well Lily and Amandine knew each other.  There had to be a reason that Lily was the only person from Faerie that Amandine introduced Toby to.

I kind of want to see the AU where Toby worked for Lily and not Devin.  I doubt she would’ve been injured less, but she might’ve been better at putting herself back together again.  Plus, you know, she wouldn’t have worked with Devin.

What was the reason behind cursing Lily too?  I know that if she’d been free she would’ve been able to send for help, but if Simon ‘put up walls’ around her fiefdom, shouldn’t everyone in the fiefdom have been affected?  Why was Lily the only one forgotten?

Also, it’s super heartbreaking to think that Lily’s people forgot her for 14 years, and then only got her back for like, 2 years before she died.

“Really, October, there wouldn’t be any need for this sort of thing if you would just stop jumping in front of bullets.”

This could be Lily joking about Toby being shot at the moment, but it kind of felt to me like Toby had actually been shot before?  Which makes me so curious about cases she’d had before she was turned into a fish.  Were they fae cases?  Were they human cases?  How many times has Lily needed to patch Toby up because she thinks ‘self preservation’ is what you use to make food last longer?

Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh of all of Toby’s allies that she had before the pond, Lily’s the only one that she’s completely honest with.  I!  Love!  Them!  So!  Much!!!!

Chapter 16

It’s really nice to see someone fussing over Toby, and to see Toby letting them; she’ll let Tybalt/May/Quentin force her to eat occasionally, but I don’t think she sits quietly and obediently follows orders from anyone other than Lily.

“People have been trying to kill you for as long as I’ve known you; it seems to be a normal part of your existence, and I’ve grown resigned to that fact.”

What did Toby DO before she was put in the pond?!

Also, given that Lily’s known her since before Toby even joined Faerie, does that mean that Evening has been sending people to try to kill Toby for that long?  Or does Amandine possibly have other enemies we don’t know about yet?

“Your mother will not forgive me for your death... I think you might be surprised by what she would do.”

What does Lily know about Amandine that she’s so sure about that?

“I pushed myself to my feet and followed her, pausing to take my bloody clothes from a Puca with dragonfly wings and white-blind eyes.  She looked familiar, like someone I’d known once, but I didn’t ask.”

Possible character that will become relevant later?

I keep forgetting that the book’s supposed to be set around Christmas; I live in Alberta, and apparently a setting doesn’t register as ‘winter’ to me unless someone’s dealing with a surprise snowfall at inconvenient times.

Oh, man, Julie.  Re-reading this introduction is so sad now, because Toby’s so happy to see her!  And it’s going to go so badly so fast.

Julie also has the lovely distinction of being the reason Tybalt dislikes me so much.  We had quite a few hostile encounters during my time in the Summerlands, most of which ended with him reminding me that he’d be happy to gut me if it weren’t for my mother.  When we grew up, Julie followed me out of her uncle’s Court and all the way Home - the first Cait Sidhe to pull that kind of stunt.  Lucky me, he decided to blame me instead of her, because I was the “smart one”.

So this paragraph brings up a lot of questions for me: when/where did Toby and Tybalt ‘encounter’ each other in the Summerlands?  Did Tybalt have a lot of contact with Amandine, even if he didn’t with the Torquills?  I kind of doubt tha Julie would’ve been the first Cait Sidhe to ever temporarily abandon Court to go try out other things; did Toby mean that Julie was the first time someone in Tybalt’s court had done that?  Also, Tybalt calling Toby the ‘smart one’ - that says a lot about Julie’s decision making skills, and none of them are very flattering.

Thin blood is a social stigma in Faerie.  It’s isn’t enough to ban you completely.  Some of Faerie’s greatest scholars and magical theoreticians were thin-blooded: it gave them the ability to see us for what we were, but at a distance, and that made them stronger than most people can understand.

I wonder if this is going to come up as a plot in the main series?  There’s a short story about the Luidaeg helping the merlins in a war against Faerie so that Oberon would step in and create the hope chests, plus Marcia talked about being thin-blooded in Night and Silence; with mortals possibly becoming a bigger part of the plot in future books, I think a merlin is going to show up at some point.

The Cait Sidhe don’t fall in love often; mostly, they get involved in short, torrid affairs that don’t mean anything to either side, and they never fall in love with changelings if they can help it.

Admittedly, we don’t see Toby have a ton of interaction with the Cait Sidhe?  But what we DO see makes me think that this is, uh... not strictly true.  Not just from Tybalt!  Tybalt’s friend in Portland who’s name I can’t remember is so in love with his wife, that he plans to step down and let his daughter take over being Monarch of their Court when his wife is old enough to need to be taken care of.  Which makes me wonder if the above quote is what Amandine thinks; we know she thinks of shapeshifter fae, considering her comments about Tybalt in The Brightest Fell.

The Roane are gentler cousins to the Selkies.  They aren’t as inclined to vengeance, and their magic is innate - they’re shapeshifters, like the Cait Sidhe, not skinshifters like the Selkies.  They’re also practically extinct.

Okay, so first off: Roooooossss I’m so sorry honey, you deserve so much better.  Second: that quote sure is a watered down version of the history between the Selkies/Roane, isn’t it!  That’s an interesting note about the Selkies being the more prone to vengeance than the Roane; given their history, you’d think it was the other way around.  Unless the vengeance thing was something that changed about the Selkies in later books? We’ve met a few Selkies now; I don’t think I’d say any of them are prone to vengeance.  (Now, if Toby had said the Merrow are prone to vengeance, I would believe it 100%)

And Tybalt’s second time saving Toby’s life!  He’s catching on quick; I’m impressed.

Tybalt killing the Redcap leaves me with a lot of questions - that seems like a very clear violation of Oberon’s law, but no one mentions that?  I know that Oberon declared that the Cait Sidhe ruled over themselves, with no interference from the Divided Courts, so Cait Sidhe killing each other for succession reasons is okay, but surely killing a member of the Divided Courts is a huge no-no?  Unless Redcaps aren’t part of the Divided Courts?  Or the Redcap being an assassin meant that he’d violated Oberon’s law, so whoever killed him would’ve been justified and it wouldn’t be considered a violation?

Tybalt and Toby’s conversation after the Redcap is very... tender, almost?  He’s being very gentle with her - and Tybalt admitting that he’d been waiting for her to leave because he wanted to make sure Toby was okay, and Toby thinking ‘oh, it’s just because of our agreement’ is probably the first time I went ‘really, Toby?  Really?’

So, Toby mentioned Tybalt and Evening’s relationship to each other earlier in the book, but I’m actually more interested in Tybalt and Lily’s relationship - how did they even meet?  Was it just because of Julie, or have they known each other for longer?  They seem to hold a lot of respect for each other, which is a little surprising considering they’re a cat and a water spirit.  Tybalt knows how to enter into Lily’s domain; has he visited before?

I turned back to glare at him.  “Don’t you care?”  I demanded, gesturing toward them.  “I care more than you’ll give me credit for.”

saldfjsdlkjfsdfj  there’s something about that line that just hits me, but I can’t figure out a way to really articulate it.

That’s it for this recap!  As always, feel free to come talk to me about things!

[reddeaddenial]

I love your writing, can you do one for Micah kinda like the other one you wrote on him? Except make him realize his mistake and have a happy ending? I just like to imagine deep down Micah would fall in love. 💗

Micah x Reader Part 2

[Part 1]Word Count: 2158WELP THIS WENT LONGER THAN I MEANT. lol Ok so I tried my best. It got very out of character so please forgive me. It was a bit hard giving this man a heart I hope you understand lmao And I also apologize for the weird ending. If I didn’t cut it off somewhere I would have kept going cuz I have no chill lol

Things were uncomfortably tense at the new camp in Beaver Hollow. Dutch was changing into someone you barely knew and camp was becoming divided, always at each others throats for one thing or another. You for the most part tried to quietly stick to your guard watches and your tent, not that anyone else cared much. They were all wrapped up in their own drama and didn’t have the time or energy to put up the pretenses of friendship and family. Well except for maybe Arthur. The poor man was clearly sick and fading quickly into a shadow of the gunslinger you knew mere months ago. Added with the stress of constantly being hunted and running off to do chores for Dutch, you rarely saw him now.

But you did see one face in camp nearly every day. Ohhh boy did you see Micah fuckin’ Bell, marching around, giving orders like he’s the shiny new second in command. At least that’s how he acted in front of others. He got whatever was needed doing in camp. But when he was alone or no one was looking at him, he would watch you across the way. This unreadable face, but his eyes… You knew his eyes. And they always looked like some scolded puppy looking for reassurance.

Like hell you would. You were done caring about Micah Bell. Or you at least tried to convince yourself you were. Saying one thing was fine, but emotions were choosy about how long they lingered in your poor troubled heart.

You missed him. His teasing smirk and his pretty eyes. You missed messing with that stupid hat of his, pressing it over his eyes and sneaking a kiss after he fixed it. You missed the crude and rough banter you tossed at each other.

You blamed him of course. You fell hard and those fond memories and soft feelings still had your heart in a vice, even after all that drama back in Lakay. You blamed yourself as well, for being so weak as to fall for such a man, a man who should be impossible to love. Yet here you were, back at square one…pining, just like he said. Ugh. What a mess this was.

Micah had… surprisingly followed your words. He didn’t talk to you, kept his distance, never put a hand on you… It was surprisingly respectful for someone like him. But of all times he now had to show respect… Dammit you hated this. You couldn’t find it in yourself to hate him after all the cruel things he said… But you were still mad as all hell. And if he regretted what he had done, even a little bit, you weren’t going to give in. He needed to come to you! You have long grown tired of crawling back to Micah Bell.

It was with great irony after all this self reflection, you had discovered a letter in your bedroll two nights later. Strange. It was addressed to you, but you never wrote to anyone outside of camp. You had no one out there, so why would you get a letter? Maybe it was a note from someone in the gang? You didn’t recognize the writing at all. Letters elongated, tightly snug together to a nearly illegible degree, words every other sentence scratched out in hurried frustration. But as you made it out, things began to fall into place…

Y/N,

You never said I couldn’t write you, so humor me for a moment. I’m so- I’ve done lots of thinking. That’s all I’ve been doing since Lakay. Thinking. Of- You always said I never did enough of it.  Maybe…You’re right. I reckon I can indeed make a fool of myself as you so kindly have reminded me during much of our time together. But I’ve been more than a fool this time. I’ve been blind. Blind and scar dealing with too many problems at once. I took it out on you. I didn’t know how much I was until I was looking down your gun. In that moment I realized something. I didn’t want t-  I’ve chan - I need to -There’s something I’ve been thinking about, that I think would be better fitted in person than a piece of paper. If you can- Tolerate me for a few moments of your time. I’ll be to the West of camp by the river till midnight. Please- Hope to see you there. 

-MB

….

God dammit this was stupid. YOU were stupid! But this was the exact type of sign you were quietly hoping for. Hmph, Hope.

That’s what got you into this mess to begin with. You’d think you would have learned your lesson by now but here you were, quietly making your way down the hill to the river bank. But what could you say? You were curious! Never in your time in the gang have seen Micah pick up a pencil and write, let alone a letter! He put enough effort to be somewhat of an apology and that had you wanting to hear him out, and wring a real apology out of his throat.

“Micah.” You say to the man as you approached the bank of the river in the evening twilight. His back was to you, watching the water, the occasional fish rippling the surface to catch a bug of some sort. Micah turned around the moment he heard your voice. “Y/n…”

You frowned getting a better look at him as you took a few steps forward. He looked exhausted. And serious. His face was strained, like the weight of everything was starting to sink in.“You look like shit Mister Bell.”

That broke the mask of stoicism, huffing a slight laugh and a half smile. Good. You could work with this. You hoped. There you were with the damned hope again.

“Yeah well, I feel like shit Y/n. Ever since Guarma really. And can you blame me? Everythin’s been going to hell.”

“No kiddin’. But I’m guessin’ you didn’t weasel out of my demands I laid down just to tell me about the obvious. Writin’ a letter Micah? Huh, Guess you can be smart when ya wanna be.” “Not where it counts ‘parently.” The blonde outlaw rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the grass by his boots. “You know me… Shit Y/n, you know me more than I know me sometimes. Talk is not somethin’ I’m known to be good at so just… listen ok?”

Well this was surreal. It was a side of Micah you sometimes caught glimpses of when the two of you talked alone. The side that wasn’t constantly antagonizing or plotting. This was… straight up honesty. A scary concept for the both of you. But you kept your mouth shut and nodded, wanting to hear him out. “I am not a good man. I never will be. I’ve done things. Killed things. People. Ruined lives. And I felt nothin’ for ‘em. I still do. And I don’t regret none of it. I’m not. A. Good. Person.” Micah sighed and folded his arms over his chest. “But you make me wanna be.”Your heart stopped at those words. Your breathe stopped. Time stopped. Who was this? Was this real? Was he drunk? Micah carried on, not taking notice of your inner struggle. “You try to see me under all the bad. Finding things about me I never knew was even there. This silver linin’ in everything. Reeling me in when I go too far. Callin’ me out when I get too wrapped up into myself. You’re changin’ me Y/n. Didn’t noticed till I was off on my own with the boys in Guarma. I was back to my old shit and I realized how much I changed before. You… I.. Well as you would say, like the fool I am, instead of trying to understand it, I wanted to run from it. So I.. I said things. So many nasty things to you Y/n. I regret every single one of them. I am, to the bottom of my heart and soul, if I still got any.” You listened intently, focused on every inflection of his tone. There was so much he was trying to say in so little words. Yet it was the most you’ve ever heard him say about what he was feeling and thinking. Typical Micah. You couldn’t help but be awed though. He was a very prideful man, such a massive change in character to his old ways. You knew he was serious about this. Very. But you still had to be sure. “So… You want me to forgive you Micah?”“No.”

Now that shocked you. “No?”

“No. I just wanted you to see in person how much I regretted my actions. But mostly because I need you to-.. I need you to cut loose from the gang and get out of here.”

“….What?!” “Look at me Y/n.” Micah stared right at you. Those pretty eyes you oh so adored that were normally so closed off and wary, were now so open and… vulnerable. “Things… are only gonna get worse with the gang. Bad things are gonna go down and I just don’t want you gettin’ mixed up and killed in all of it. I may have… done something bad before I got to Lakay. Real bad. Stupid. Looking out for myself as usual. I’ll deal with my mistakes as they come. But you don’t need to be punished for it too.” “Micah… What did you do?” “Too much. As usual. But enough of that. Here.” he fished the inside of his jacket and pulled out several hefty stacks of bills. “Not like anyone else is using this anymore. Take it and just leave tonight while everyone’s asleep.”

“Wait…You’re the one who smashed the tithing box.”

“Guilty.” “You stole all the money?!” “Like I said. No one was using it. Have you seen how people been actin’? Why are you acting so damn surprised, you know me.”

“I do…” You looked at the money in Micah’s outstretched hand and gingerly took it. “I… also know that I would never stop caring about you. Wanting you. Hell, I love you Micah bell. I never stopped, like the fool I am, despite everythin’, I damn well never stopped.”

Micah had that same look of shock on his face as he did when you pulled a gun on him during your spat in Lakay. Disbelieving. Denial. “You… You can’t mean that Y/n. I’m not.. Good for you.”“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t mean Mister Bell, I can feel what I damn well please! And I feel that I love you! Accept that as fact.” You had closed the distance between each other, bringing a hand to the side of his face. Micah near reflexively leaned into your touch.

“So I guess you wouldn’t be horribly offended if I reciprocate?” You couldn’t help smiling at that, leaning in to kiss Micah. Your Micah. This was probably the closest you’d ever get to the man saying ‘i love you’. But you enjoyed a challenge. You’d wrangle it out of him in time. Time. That was all they needed. And they wouldn’t get it staying here. You reluctantly pulled away from the kiss, stroking Micah’s cheek gently. He was so different when no one was around, looking at you so gently. “Micah.. Run with me. Let’s take this money and leave.” “Leave!? Y/n, I can’t…Dutch-”

“Yes. Yes you can. Since when has that ever stopped you from doin’ what you want? Forget Dutch. He’s gone crazy anyways. Leave with me. We have some money, and it’ll be easier to get out west if it’s just us. This gang has.. Has condemned itself ever since Blackwater. It’s dyin’ Micah. Let’s not die with it. Please, leave with me. We’re both survivors, we can easily live out there, together.” Together. 

It seemed those last words were all that it took for Micah to consider it seriously. Together. Yes, together you were a force to be reckoned with. Together, you both could survive. After a long pause, eyes distant in thought, Micah took your hand from his cheek and covered it with his own. A look, one you knew when he was up to no good. A smirk, that cocky attitude that made him think he could get away with anything.

“I’ll get the horses ready. You pack what we need.” His answer had you grinning from ear to ear. You gave him a quick kiss and made a dash up the hill back to camp, wanting to get the hell out of here while you could. Your heart was pounding with the thrill of leaving, leaving with Micah. Your Micah. Together you two could survive it all. And lord help anyone who ever got in either of your’s way.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, LIA! You’ve been accepted for the role of CAESAR. Admin Minnie: You blew me away with this app, Lia. I loved the vision you have for them and the prose that so perfectly fits the character; but more than anything, I was drawn to the level of detail and thought that was so clearly put into Chiko. Not only did it speak volumes of your passion for Chiko, but I could see clearly see how Chiko came to become a legend. The small headcanons, the translated phrases — all of it made Chiko so real to me as I read your application. I can’t wait to have my heart broken and troubled by your Chiko on the dash! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Lia

Age | 21

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | I would say a 6/10. I’m a fulltime student, but I’m pretty good about getting my replies… eventually. I also try to actively plot as much as possible.

Timezone | EST

IN CHARACTER

Character | Caesar / Tamura Chiko

What drew you to this character? | Julius Caesar is someone I’ve always been fascinated by, in art, literature, and as a historical figure. He was a man who put all of his faith in his own ability to be great— and many may even argue that it was this pride that led to his own assassination. But no one can deny Caesar of the immense impact he had on the world. He was successful at being immortalized, just as he believed he would. I honestly was super excited to hear we would be getting a Julius Caesar, and although I was initially too intimidated to apply, I finally decided to go for it. There is something about Chiko and how deeply he believes in himself that I was drawn to. I also love how his personality is more nuanced than I anticipated. Occasional gentleness is not something I had expected from a Julius Caesar figure, but in my eyes, that makes him that much more incredible. Chiko is a force— and he isn’t volatile or prone to depravity like many who roam the streets of Verona. He wants power but not solely for the sake of just having it. He wants influence. His interest in the mobs has more to do with his potential influence and what he has to offer to them. There is no one really quite like him in Verona— and I am very much interested in seeing how his presence will affect everyone.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

1. CHIKO FT. THE MOBS— As of now, Chiko is merely feeling out the mobs, he hasn’t yet determined whether either would be of any interest to him. He isn’t interested in joining persay, as he has already loaned his soul to one man, and does not plan on doing so again anytime soon. He wants the mobs to take interest in him, to recognize his own brilliance and how easily they could profit off his potential. But I am very much interested to see how exactly Verona will react to his arrival, and whether they will be intrigued or threaten by his rather extreme ambition.

2. CHIKO FT. INVESTMENTS— I want Chiko to began investing his money in different places, and to potentially have different alliances with all sorts of people. When you’re as brilliant as him, you don’t limit yourself to a single pursuit, and instead spread your ambitions into multiple roots. He may have lost his money once but he’s very much capable of flipping his money into various sources.

3. CHIKO FT. THE DRUMS— The fire never quite left him, he only restrains it, for the sake of himself and the world around him. I wonder what would happened if someone sent Chiko over the edge (This has only happened once before, so it would it something drastic for this to occur). But I would love to explore his inner darkness. This is something that I believe the mob would ultimately benefit from as well.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Of course.

IN DEPTH

In-Character Para Sample:

(translations are at the bottom)

1. He determined his mother had never truly loved him and how could he blame her? You have those eyes— those fryktelig*, ondskap* eyes. O-Oh my poor beautiful boy, she would slur into his feeble body, the thick scent of vodka practically radiating off of her. It is because of his parents that he cannot stand the smell of liquor. This drew nothing but alarm from him at 6 years old, but as they grew older, they hadn’t a choice but to acknowledge it. Chiko was the product of a volatile mixture— his father, Kono Noburu, was a hitman for the Yamaguchi-gumi* clan and an attack dog to the clan’s kumicho, Kenichi Shinoda, just as his own father was to Shinoda’s own father, and so on. His mother, Katrine Bjorklund, was the daughter of the Norwegian mafia boss, Svein Bjorklund, and his Swedish-born wife, Elisabeth Bjorklund. The pair of them had crossed paths when the Bjorklund’s found themselves in Japan for business, a week long fling that had not been meant to amount to anything more. A few months later, a very pregnant Katrine would arrive at Kono’s doorstep, and from that day on, the two had been forcibly linked.

2. How selfish Chiko had been for wanting a sibling— a tactless desire from which no good could come. A union more chaotic did not exist, not since the marriage of Hera and Zeus. Katrine, who had shown little interest in the union, did not spend a moment with Kono in which she was not terrified. He was everything like her father, and though Kono had done everything in his capacity to make Katrine more at ease, nothing truly came of it. She could no longer stand the sight of him and eventually, he would return these sentiments— only overcoming their differences when they made love. Though it was never love being reciprocated, but a concoction of anger, terror, and disgust— which in the  Noburu household, made for a gratifying mixture.

3. Do you know the most moronic mistake I ever made was, segare*? their father demanded as if the 11-year old Chiko were somehow capable of drawing such a conclusion. Falling for a whore. Not a woman, but a whore. I fall into her trap each and every foolish time when all she’s ever done is offer me falsehoods. Whores are always acceptable for fucking, but seeing them as something more is when you’ll run into some trouble. So I beg of you, segare, do not taint our lineage further with the blood of a whore. Learn from your father’s mistakes. I am not sure how much more our blood can withstand. He appreciated the moments in which his father spoke candidly with them, as this was the closest thing to parental bonding that they would ever get. Though he would grow to resent and denounce his father’s misogynistic tirades against his mother, the effects of such teachings had their lasting effects. His sweeping mistrust of man would make his lovers few, and his affections fickle, as well as the prioritization of his own ambitions overall. 4 . You were the most beautiful baby I laid eyes on, min blomst*, his mother crooned to him one day. To think something so beautiful could come from such desolation. It was a mockery— why would Kono and I deserve such a beautiful boy when only ruin would become of him? Just as his father’s drunken denunciations had etched themselves into his brain, his mother sullen tirades would stick with him as well. Especially as he grew older, and began to liken his father more and more. There were times where her eyes would gloss over and she would attempt to “extract the demons from inside of him,” or so she’d explained after attempting to claw his eyes out. When he woke up short of breath, with a pillow plastered against his face, is when he officially began sleeping with his door locked. It has been this way since he was 16 years old.

5. He was freshly 17 when it happened. 17 years old and forced to face the depravity that permeated through every inch of his being. Chiko had never seen a dead body before, but it was not the body that exasperated so, but circumstances of his death. It was the fact that his father looked upon them and their mother absent of any and all remorse. He had been purposeful in his decision to kill the man in their house, Kono’s own way of sending some sort of message to Katrine. It was the fact that Katrine had betrayed their father, and continued to do so time and time again. He could not have cared less about what she spent doing in her pastime, but he could not overlook her absence of loyalty. And so he damned their name. He damned the gods and the universe and all who he felt were responsible for his being born. He had not asked for this life— but he would no longer allow his parents’ corruption to devour him so. He was gone that very night, without as so much as leaving a letter.

6. “You,” Chiko says in a low growl, his eyes in the direction of his bloodied, wreaking father. For once— his father was silent— quieted by Chiko’s rage burning throughout his body. “I will never be as cruel as you. Even if it means I bottle it away and lock it without a key. You didn’t have to do it in front of her. Even she did not deserve that.” He turned slowly to his mother, disappointedly, but without sympathy. She clutched at legs almost pleadingly, but he shook her away. “I could care less about what you do in your free time— you are my mother, and I could never pass judgment for something like that. But I can never respect a person who betrays their family. That, I can never forgive.” He looked between the both of them— disgusted by how self-involved they were, to the point where they forsook their own potential and ambitions. “How pitiful the pair of you are. You ruined each other. But you will not ruin me. I will not waste my potential as you two have. They will remember me, but not by your names. I am a product of you two, but I will not be tainted by your depravity. So have at each other all you want. That is no longer my concern.” He looked at them disappointedly, before making his way to the stairs, careful not to step in the pooling blood.

Translations & Info for various words used: fryktelig= horrible; ondskap = evil; Yamaguchi-gumi = the name of a notorious yakuza clan; kumicho = the Japanese equivalent of a mafia boss; segare = my son; min blomst = my flower

Extras:

***Just a drabble from the perspective of a lover***

You were permitted snapshots of his brilliance, acquired in bits and pieces, but still, he kept you at a comfortable distance. Comfortable for him, that is. For you— it was never enough. A moment with Chiko is never enough. He’s someone who allows minimal viewers into his inner workings, making him all the more enticing. But the spontaneity of it all— the sudden bursts of passion are what keep you around. Seldom people exist who so skillfully render their own passion into the framework of another. Creativity surges through your flesh, and you are reminded of what it is like to be someone’s muse with each continuous eruption of pleasure. How exhilarating it was being left at the discretion of Chiko’s brilliance. The living canvas in which he enacted his hopes and dreams, his deepest desires. You believed in each and everyone, and truthfully speaking— how could you not? With him, all horizons felt closer, the distance between you and the stars felt lesser.

****some drabbles involving their parents***

It is from your father that you learn PRIDE. Refuse to accept anything less than immortalization, he tells you time and time again. Refuse to settle for anything less than greatness. It is that very pride that guides you in your pursuits and for that you are thankful. Nevermind that it was your father who was always the source of such pride. It was your father’s own superior blood he spoke so highly of. He assured you that you would be fine, despite the blood of a traitorous whore pervading through your veins. But he neglects to teach you the horrors of pride in excess, and how dangerous the world becomes when one wallows in their own excess. It is from him you gather your FURY, a demon you’ve been taming since your youth, dreading the chaos that would potentially ensue. You’ve always hated purposeless chaos. You know what you are capable of, you know of the depravity that is nestled between your skin and bones. Your own greatness becomes less of a pursuit and more of an ultimatum for yourself. The path was always singular for you— your own immortalization or dying trying.                        

                   “I could be well moved if I were as you.                         If I could pray to move, prayers would move me.                                But I am constant as the Northern Star,                      Of whose true fixed and resting quality                              There is no fellow in the firmament.                   The skies are painted with unnumbered sparks;                      They are all fire, and every one doth shine;                              But there’s but one in all doth hold his place."        

     —Julius Caesar, right before his assassination, William Shakespeare

It is from your mother you learn TENDERNESS. You were her greatest accomplishment, her most exquisite creation. Beauty illuminated her horizons, her worldview merely a concoction of her own distorted realities. Chiko with his plush hair and lofty cheekbones had been nothing short of perfection, and for this reason alone, he earned her fickle devotions. Though their outward beauty remains intact, Chiko’s features would be bound to darken, to sharpen, the resemblance almost uncanny. They were every part their father, but they would develop their mother’s HEDONISM, the pursuit of her own realities in which Kono did not exist, as she clawed for his ruin time and time again. Katrine would often get this look about her, identical to the look she would give to their father, and Chiko knew that her devotion had met its limits. But the devastation was not shown, his shield of ALOOFNESS practically impenetrable.                    

                 “A coward dies a thousand times before his death,                              but the valiant taste of death but once.                  It seems to me most strange that men should fear,        seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come.”                                      —Julius Caesar, William Shakespeare

It is from both parents you inherit AMBITION. Both Kono and Katrine clawed for domination, the struggle for power ultimately driving their son and world away. They prioritized their own ambitions over their own child— and it is for that reason Chiko will never have children. Selfish people are better off without kids. That way, their priorities can continue to be aligned with them and them alone.

[douxreviews]

Legends of Tomorrow - ‘Egg MacGuffin’ Review

"I’m sorry that our first date got ruined by Nazis."

The Legends of Tomorrow episode title game is really on point this year.

Forgive me in advance if this is overexplaining, but I'm not entirely sure how well known the terms are and it's going to become relevant in a minute. If you already know the terminology better than I do, and I'm sure many of you do, I beg your indulgence.

A 'MacGuffin' is the term for a plot device that exists solely to provide motivation to the characters in a story. The example that's most often cited at this point is the titular Maltese falcon statue in The Maltese Falcon. This is a subtly different thing than 'phlebotinum,' which we discussed a few episodes back. Generally speaking, phlebotinum is a made up thing that facilitates the character's journey, for example, polyjuice potion. A MacGuffin is a made up thing that motivates the character to make the journey, for example the sorcerer's stone. Or philosopher's stone if you live in a country where the publisher wasn't afraid of accidentally teaching children the word 'philosopher.'

The real takeaway is that Legends of Tomorrow has now given me an excuse to explain both of those terms, and regularly allows me pretentiously discuss semiotics, and is therefore the best thing ever broadcast. But I digress.

The genius of this week's episode title is that the golden egg that Nate and Zari are looking for at the Adventurers Club is unequivocally a MacGuffin with no significance of its own beyond that (at least this week).  In fact, part of the plot of that storyline explicitly involves Nate and Zari questioning exactly that point, and they come to the conclusion that it is a MacGuffin that Sara planted just to give them an exciting first date. Which is clever because it isn't a MacGuffin within the story we're watching, but it absolutely is a MacGuffin from the outside perspective, and you know it might actually be possible to be too clever about these things. Whatever your personal tolerance for post-modern narrative gameplaying, I really enjoyed it.

Now, in the past I've complained a bit here and there about the fact that the Legends' reduced number of episodes in a season often makes them condense what could be two or three episodes worth of plot into one. I'm not sure if I've just gotten used to it or if they're getting better at it, but I've really begun to enjoy the fast, breezy clip at which these episodes move. Nate and Zari are really just doing an extended Raiders of the Lost Ark homage, and a nice zippy pace is essential for that kind of romantic adventure fiction. The Ark of the Covenant itself, while we're speaking, is another classic example of a MacGuffin. I'm certain that was not coincidental.

In any case, I think I'm pretty well sold on the Zari and Nate romance, and I think it's down to one particular moment in this episode. When they realize that Sara has set them up on a romantic mission, Zari offers to call it a night and return to the ship, and Nate says, 'Or we could see where this mission takes us.' What he's clearly really saying is, 'Hey, I'm open to exploring whatever this is going on between us if you are, but there's no pressure.' I don't seem to go a week without mentioning how refreshingly adult the characters on this show are.

In fact, part of why the aforementioned fast and breezy pace felt so appropriate this week all around is because the show has romance stories on its mind. We have Sara and Ava, thankfully post-argument, making an effort for one another in the little ways. We have Mick and Charlie at Romanticon, attempting to cash in on Mick's authorial alter ego, Rebecca Silver, without actually having to reveal himself to his fans. Which is so completely on brand for both of them that I loved every second of it. God bless Mick, both for actually caring about his fans and for being willing to admit the fact when pressed.

Then finally we have my current relationship on the show, Ray and Nate. I realize I went on a bit about this last week, but I just can't say enough about how great their friendship is. Thank you, whoever on the writing team made the decision that Ray would give up his soul to Neron in order to save Nate's life, as opposed to Nora's. Neron said he would make Ray kill someone he loved in order to break him, and the show went with Nate as that person. Is it possible to platonically 'ship a couple? Because I am totally team Palmwood.

That was an unfortunate first attempt at a couple name. Please leave alternate suggestions in the comments.

Which leads me to the painful part. There were a number of little clues as to what was coming for Gary, but I really only noticed them in hindsight. When Sara is discussing who the murderer could be in book club, she mentions that it must be the dogwalker because of his pent up frustration and being treated like a doormat. The shot transitions from her to the next scene halfway through the line, which means we're hearing her but looking at Gary. The subplot about Vincent the Adventurer's assistant is basically a mirror of Gary's position. And Gary is clearly crying in the bathroom – a thing that he had just told us he often did – when Ray calls him and he drops everything to go help.

Gary Green, on paper, should not work as a character. He should come across as a caricatured doofus, occasionally good for a comic relief moment. But Adam Tsekhman invests him with something undefinable and real, and he just fundamentally works as a tragic figure despite all the reasons that he shouldn't.

Also, whoever planned out that Gary's nipple returning from Hell would be the final temptation that makes him give in to Neron is a mad genius and should be our leader now.

Everybody remember where we parked:

The Waverider did some proper time travel for the first time in what feels like ages and took most of the team to the Adventurers Club, 1933, in order to retrieve that golden egg. Mick and Charlie, meanwhile, take the jump ship to Romanticon, 2019. Gary uses his time courier to flit between 2019 and the Waverider, and Neron and minion-Gary appear to lift Damien Darhk's old time travel stone from Constantine and use it to leave for destinations unknown.

Remember when time travel seemed like an exclusive and exotic thing?

Quotes:

Sara: "Honestly, with Neron gone, catching fugitives has never been easier. I thought it was gonna take all week."

Zari: "It was that awkward, huh?" Sara: "Even the mummy thought it was awkward."

Nate: "Excuse me, my good man, could you point me to the nearest facilities? I have an urgent need to… uh... relieve my bowel."

Nate: "Wait. Trip wires. This is going to require one of us to squeeze through these trip wires, maneuvering our bodies in unexpected ways." Zari: "Are you asking me to do that?" Nate: "No, I’m asking you to hold my coat."

Ava: "Honestly, I usually just drink rose and let Mona go on and on."

Gary: "I may not be a master of the dark arts, but I am an intern of the dark arts."

Ava: "Were you guys about to hook up?" Zari: "No. no, no, no, no." Nate: "It was definitely on the table."

Bits and Pieces:

-- This show just doesn't do misunderstandings for dramatic effect. Nora immediately told John that Ray was possessed as soon as she woke up. Neron repeatedly goes out of his way to clarify that he's the one doing evil things, not Ray, even when it would really be in Neron's best interest to let the Legends think otherwise, thus driving them apart. That might be the thing I appreciate most about the writing.

-- It seemed odd at first that Mona didn't already know about Mick being Rebecca Silver, but on reflection it makes sense.

-- Loved the Garima cosplay at Romanticon.

-- How many books has Mick had time to write by this point? I mean, I suppose time travel would help with that, but I lost track of how many different titles they mentioned. I particularly liked Raw Hides.

-- Mick's final speech to the con about how all anybody really wants is to feel a connection was a lovely piece of writing, well performed. And a hell of a good underscoring to what was happening to Gary at that moment.

-- I get why they didn't do it, but it would have been smarter for Charlie to have shape shifted into a neutral third party to portray Rebecca. That said, I adored the Rita Skeeter vibe she had going on with her outfit.

-- Outside of the Rita Skeeter vibe, we also had phoenix feathers and a dragon egg. I'm sure there were a few other Harry Potter nods that I missed beside those. Anyone?

-- And speaking of the egg, it's a neat bit of long term plotting that what was just a MacGuffin this week is clearly set up at the end to be relevant to a different plotline later.

-- It's entirely in character for John Constantine to be rude and speak to Gary like that in a moment of stress, but the whole sequence of events felt sadder to me when I thought about the considerate way that he sheltered Gary's feelings last week.

-- I've noticed that they've gotten into the habit lately of consistently leaving someone on the Waverider to 'Quarterback' the mission. That's not only hugely useful for splitting up the characters and facilitating different schedules, it's also a really sound battle tactic.

-- Note added after the writing of this review.  Apparently 'Egg MacGuffin' is the official name of this sort of thing as cited on tvtropes, and not an original pun coined by the writers here.  Ah, well.  Still a clever title for how it was used here.

I loved this episode from beginning to end.  How can we only have three more left?

Three and a half out of four, and the only reason it's not higher is I suspect I'm going to need a higher number to go to in the next few episodes.

Feel free to mention your favorite MacGuffin in the comments.

Mikey Heinrich is, among other things, a freelance writer, volunteer firefighter, and roughly 78% water.

[jaynaneeya]

History Repeats Itself

Okay, so I originally intended this to be my entry for the Shipwrecked Five contest, but I got kind of carried away and it was ending up way longer than I originally intended, so I didn’t get it finished until now. Honestly, I don’t even know if it’s good anymore, and it’s about 7500 words, but if you want to read my unnecessarily long conspiracy theory tying together the Shipwrecked Comedy Cinematic Universe, here it is. Spoiler alert for Poe Party, Kissing in the Rain, American Whoopee, and The Case of the Gilded Lily

Revenge was so close he could taste it. The lifetime of dreaming, scheming, plotting; it had all come down to this moment. Struggling with all his might, he could feel his enemy’s strength yielding, the blade of the ax inching toward his throat. In just a few seconds, Edgar Allan Poe would be dead, and Eddie would be on his way to Canada, where he planned to spend his remaining days contentedly stringing along both Brontë sisters. This was his final thought before something hard struck the side of his head, abruptly ending his life.

What happened next was a mistake. Lenore found another psychic ghost summoner to bring back Edgar’s friends, but she inadvertently summoned everyone who had died in the house that night. From the moment he was conscious of it, Eddie hated being a ghost. He had thought his thirst for revenge had been all-consuming in life, but at least then he’d had other things he needed to focus on, like eating and sleeping and working. In death, he had none of those distractions. This wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d been able to exact his revenge on his killer, but Edgar was now surrounded by ghosts, most of whom were in that state because of Eddie, and if preventing him from hurting Edgar made him unhappy, they were determined to dedicate their afterlives to doing just that. At least, that was how Mary Shelley put it, and the others readily agreed, when they forced him out of the house.

He stole one final glance at Annabel’s face before his departure. She didn’t look angry like the others. She looked – he searched for the word as he glided away from Poe’s property – hurt. Betrayed. True, she had always loved Edgar, had only chosen Eddie because he seemed more respectable. Eddie in turn had only chosen her because she was close to the poet, and thus would be extraordinarily useful in his diabolical plot. But for the first time it occurred to him that they could have been relatively happy together. She might be secretly pining after Poe, and he would be secretly thirsting for revenge against disgusting hacks who called themselves writers, but they could have suppressed these urges and chosen to live in comfort, pretending to be normal, contented people.

“What am I thinking?” the ghost asked himself aloud. “I managed to kill seven authors! I wouldn’t trade that for anything!” And then it hit him: he would never have managed to maintain the charade, but Annabel would have. Even though he had strangled her with his own hands, she had been the stronger person.

Thoughts like these haunted him for weeks as he wandered aimlessly around Baltimore. When he could stand it no longer, he found a psychic and begged to be un-summoned.

“I-I beg your pardon?” the psychic stammered.

“Send me back! I was summoned by accident, and I want to die. Let me move on!” Eddie pleaded. He tried to shake the psychic by the shoulders, but he hadn’t quite gotten the hang of becoming corporeal and instead fell straight through the psychic, who sighed.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that, sir. Only you can determine when you move on. Once all your remaining unfinished business is complete, you should simply be able to…slip away.”

Eddie furiously struggled to his feet. “But I can’t finish my unfinished business! They won’t let me kill Poe! Isn’t there any other way?”

“If you can’t finish your unfinished business, the only other way is to forget about it completely…I’m sorry, they won’t let you WHAT?!”

“Never mind,” he mumbled. “How do I forget about it?”

The psychic looked quite wary, but replied, “I believe some manage it by moving on to another century.”

“So you’re telling me I have to wait at least 100 years before-”

“Oh goodness no! I mean, just travel to another century.”

“What do you mean? How do I just…ghosts can time travel?”

“Sure, why not?” the psychic shrugged. “Some do it constantly. It’s one of the few advantages to being dead, I’m told.”

“But how does one travel through time?” he asked. The question had barely left his lips when his surroundings disappeared. He could see nothing but molten lava. The earth had just been formed. “That was easy,” he marveled.

What was harder was controlling when he traveled to. He could jump eons by simply thinking about time travel, but initially he always ended up in random times. He encountered several terrifying creatures from either the distant past or distant future – he was never quite sure which was which – and occasionally humans wearing strange clothes, often speaking languages he didn’t recognize. None of this particularly interested him. Eddie had never cared for anything that he couldn’t control. It wasn’t helping him move on either; all he could think of was that he had unintentionally done H.G. Wells a great favor by killing him.

Eventually, he found himself in a time during which the world seemed to consist entirely of giant slugs. “Oh, good, I’ve hit a new low,” he commented to one of them, which continued slowly gliding without acknowledging the ghost that had just appeared next to it.

“My dear Lenore, did you hear someone speaking?” asked one of the last voices Eddie had ever wanted to hear again. He threw himself flat on his stomach, hoping the slugs would block him from view.

“Who cares? Let’s get out of here, it’s disgusting!”

“Do you think the slugs can talk?” the first voice pressed.

“Listen, H.G., this time traveling is great and all, but I hate it here. Haven’t we made 100 trips yet?”

“Nearly. This is our…” Eddie heard the sound of notebook pages being turned. “…97th. Only three more randomized travels and we’ll be able to control it! All we’ll have to do is think of a year and poof! There we’ll be!”

“Good, let’s move on to our 98th. I’m getting slime on my dress.”

Silence returned. Eddie stood up. He was covered in slime, but this felt like the first productive trip he’d taken. Unlike H.G., he didn’t know exactly what number he was on, but at least he knew that eventually he’d have some control over when he went.

After that, he thought of a year every time he traveled. At first, it was clearly wrong; he thought of 1700 and ended up surrounded by machines that hadn’t even been invented in his time, then 1900 and came face-to-face with a dinosaur. But then, at last, he thought of 1850, and ended up in surroundings that looked familiar. He found a newspaper stand. The date on the paper was August 22, 1850. He couldn’t resist; as passersby stared, he gave himself a slow clap.

After a few trial periods in various eras, Eddie decided to settle in the year 2010. Safely in a different millennium from his own time, surrounded by humans who essentially looked and talked like those he was used to, seemed like the perfect environment in which to forget his unfinished business. He was unpleasantly surprised to learn that none of the authors he’d killed had been entirely forgotten, but while most people had heard of them, it seemed that relatively few had actually read their work, so he could easily avoid hearing about them. Best of all, it was a time of many distractions. He took to haunting various electronics stores; when they closed, he would turn on a device and play games all night, trying not to think about how his revenge had failed.

He had passed through a few years in the normal way before he admitted to himself that it wasn’t working. The games weren’t distracting him. As he played, he always found a way to pretend he was killing Poe. He tried to tell himself that as Poe was long dead by now it no longer mattered, but he couldn’t convince himself this was true. Eddie could forgive Edgar for killing him – it was self-defense, after all – but he couldn’t forgive him for winning. Eddie was supposed to emerge from that night triumphant, and Poe had snatched that victory from him. No matter how many games he dominated, Eddie was never going to recover from that humiliating defeat at the hands of a liar and a thief (just like every writer) who was too pathetic to ever leave his own house.

One day, late in 2013, he was wandering outside aimlessly, thinking that perhaps he should try a different century, when he heard something that completely changed his afterlife.

“Edgar, you can’t. You can’t be here.”

“Just listen, Annabel.”

Eddie turned. There they were: the couple he hated with every bit of ectoplasm that composed his ghost. But was it them? It certainly looked like them, and yet, somehow, they seemed…different. Edgar obviously could have changed in appearance after Eddie knew him, but Annabel…she should have looked exactly the same as the night he’d strangled her, but she had definitely changed, somehow. As Eddie gaped at them, they kissed, and he suddenly realized that they were standing in the rain, even though it wasn’t raining, and that’s when he noticed the film crew.

“That was beautiful! Cut.”

The rain stopped, and Edgar and Annabel broke apart awkwardly. It wasn’t them. They were actors, making a movie. Eddie was impressed by the casting; they greatly resembled the original people their characters were based on. Then it began to dawn on him that perhaps he could have his revenge after all. The trifling facts that these people had nothing to do with him and that the real Edgar Allan Poe would never suffer even if they did barely troubled Eddie. He’d killed a bunch of unrelated authors because of something William Shakespeare had done to his ancestor centuries earlier. This was no different.

Before he was asked to leave for ruining a shot, Eddie managed to overhear enough scraps of information to start him off on his new quest. The actors were named James Rochester and Lily Thomas, and it was their last day of filming on this movie. They had clearly worked together before, but they did not seem to be on very good terms personally. Nevertheless, they were going to start filming their next project in Los Angeles in a couple of months, during which time Eddie vowed to spend learning everything he could about filmmaking.

When the next James and Lily film started shooting, Eddie was part of the crew. He’d invented a resume that he didn’t think fooled anyone, but it was a low-budget film and he was working for free (ghosts had no use for money, after all), so they were happy to have him. But his plan to get close to the stars didn’t go very well; they were too busy snapping at each other to pay much attention to anyone else on set. At first, Eddie found it immensely satisfying to watch the people he saw as Edgar and Annabel constantly fighting. Then he actually started to like them. Edgar and Annabel had been such pushovers; James and Lily were both strong and sassy, which Eddie admired. But as filming progressed, he noticed that they seemed to be softening toward each other. Their insults had lost their zest; they seemed to be fighting out of habit rather than dislike.

On their next film, it was even worse. They were nice to each other, and once when they were kissing, they didn’t immediately break away when the director yelled, “Cut!” A few weeks after filming wrapped, Eddie heard that Lily and James had started dating, but they didn’t have any future projects lined up. After that, he didn’t have any direct contact with either of them for several months.

The bus station was almost deserted. She sat alone, staring into space, not even pretending to play on her phone. He had never seen anyone look more dejected. He forced the triumphant grin off his face and approached her.

“Excuse me, but aren’t you Lily Thomas?”

She glared at him. “Don’t tell me you’ve heard of me.”

“I worked on two of your films. I’m Eddie De Vere. I don’t really expect you to remember me.”

“Oh, now I do. Sort of.” They both knew she was lying, but he sat down next to her anyway.

“So, where are you going?” he asked.

“Away from here.”

“Still acting?”

“No.”

“Still seeing James?”

She started, then narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you asking me all these questions?”

He did his best to look uninterested. “Just making conversation. Last time I saw you, you were still acting, and it seemed like you and James were together.”

“James and I had a misunderstanding, and the entertainment industry and I had a falling out. That’s why I’m leaving. Now I don’t want to be rude, but will you please leave me alone?”

Having orchestrated both the misunderstanding and the falling out, Eddie was well aware of this. He had followed her to the bus station merely to gloat. But he didn’t find it nearly as satisfying as he’d anticipated. He wanted her to go off on an angry tirade, abusing her jealous ex-boyfriend who had thrown her out based on unfounded rumors, and berating the film industry for unfairly blackballing her. But instead of boiling with anger at the injustice of it all, she merely seemed resigned. She was prepared to move on with her life, perhaps ultimately to find happiness. After all his hard work. Eddie wouldn’t stand for it. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

“No. Honestly. I’ll be fine. Life just sucks sometimes.”

“I think it’s a tremendous waste of talent for you to quit acting.”

“It would be a tremendous waste of time to try to keep acting after everything that’s happened.”

A light bulb turned on in Eddie’s brain. “What if you tried to keep acting before everything that’s happened?”

Lily considered his face carefully. When she realized he was serious, she started to inch away from him. “That’s okay, I-”

“You don’t understand! I can time travel! I’ll take you back to the Golden Age of Hollywood, and you’ll be a sensation!”

She stood up. “I just remembered, I’m at the wrong bus station.” She grabbed her suitcase and started to run away from him.

“Wait!” he cried, jumping up. Taking a running leap, he dove through her, landing on the ground in front of her. She couldn’t stop in time and ran straight through him before she stopped dead, then slowly turned to face him. “I’m a ghost,” he said unnecessarily.

“I noticed.”

“I can time travel,” he added, standing up.

“And you can take me with you?”

“Yes.” He didn’t know if this was true, but it was worth a try. It wasn’t like he cared if anything bad happened to her.

She raised an eyebrow skeptically. “And why exactly do you want to help me?”

“It’s the only way I can move on,” he invented. “I have to help someone find happiness. Otherwise I’m trapped as a ghost forever.”

She still looked suspicious. “Why?”

“How should I know? I don’t make the rules! Are you coming or not?”

Lily thought about it for a few moments, decided she didn’t have much left to lose, and said, “Okay, take me to early Hollywood.”

He grasped both her hands tightly in his, screwed up his face in concentration, and thought about them both traveling through time. Her gasp told him something had happened. He opened his eyes. The bus station was gone; they were on a deserted street, lined with a few scattered cars.

“I don’t believe it!” she cried. “Where are we? I mean, when?”

“I was going for 1940, but the cars look too old.” He supposed the timing was less precise when someone else tagged along.

Lily pointed to a movie poster on the building next to them. “The War. That came out in 1923. We must be around then.”

“Want to try making it in silent pictures?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Why not? If we fail, we can always try a different era, right?”

“I guess…wait, what do you mean, ‘we’?”

“You’re trying this experiment with me, aren’t you? You weren’t planning on letting me fend for myself in a strange year, were you?” she added, somewhat suspiciously.

“Oh, no, of course not,” he lied hastily. “Let’s both be silent film stars. How hard can it be?”

Extremely hard. Even from its earliest days, Hollywood has always been about connections, and since everyone working there in 1923 was born after Eddie’s time and died before Lily’s, they had none. Eddie wanted to offer to forego wages like he had done in the future, but that wasn’t going to work for Lily. He couldn’t understand why he wasn’t just abandoning her. That would certainly complete his revenge, and then he could move on with his afterlife. But, much to his own disgust, Eddie actually wanted to see how she would fare in this unfamiliar world. So he stayed.

They started working as extras. Their combined wages were barely enough for Lily to survive on, but she didn’t seem to mind; she was constantly marveling about how inexpensive everything was. Most importantly, they had their feet in the door. Eddie was greatly impressed to observe that Lily was almost as good at schmoozing people as he was, and although it took time, eventually they started to land slightly larger roles. They decided to adopt new names; Lily became Minta Monroe, while Eddie went by Johnny Busterfield. They appeared in several mildly successful comedies and a couple of dreadful dramas, but they were having fun. Eddie grudgingly admitted to himself that he was starting to like Lily, and he enjoyed being around her so much that he almost forgot his ambition to make her as miserable as possible. Almost.

Then came what looked like their big break: a new teen comedy with a huge cast was announced. Minta Monroe and Johnny Busterfield murdered their auditions and landed key roles, alongside such big names as Buster Keaton, John Barrymore, and Slim Sockwillow. Eddie thought Slim looked an awful lot like both Edgar and James, but Lily didn’t seem to notice any resemblance to her ex, so Eddie decided it must be all in his head. He also could have sworn he’d seen most of the other actors before. He told himself that this was probably because they’d been in other silent movies he’d worked on, but deep down he knew the truth: he was still seeing images of the lives he’d ruined everywhere. But he pushed away these thoughts and plunged into the project.

The picture was to be called American Whoopee. Eddie had far more fun making it than he’d ever had in his life or death, but his enjoyment was nothing to Lily’s. She managed to convince the director to add a bunch of references to future teen comedies, simply for her own amusement. Minta Monroe was hailed as a creative genius. Eddie enjoyed sharing in her private joke too much to care that his plot to ruin her life was backfiring horribly. He started to notice that it was getting harder to stay solid; perhaps he was finally on the brink of forgetting his unfinished business and moving on to the other side.

American Whoopee was almost finished filming. Eddie was reading the newspaper, enjoying a rare afternoon off, when he heard a knock at their apartment door. He answered it, to see Slim Sockwillow holding a bouquet. “Hiya, Johnny, is your sister in?”

Eddie was bewildered. “My-”

“It’s okay, Johnny, I told him our secret,” Lily interjected, hurrying to join Eddie at the door. “Sorry, I meant to tell you I have a date with Slim this evening. You don’t mind, do you?”

Eddie liked Slim. They’d worked very closely together on this film and were constantly making each other laugh. But as he contemplated the young man holding flowers outside his door, Eddie didn’t see Slim; he saw Edgar Allan Poe, holding a pet rock.

Slim’s grin faltered. “Say, Johnny, I know how you feel; I have two kid sisters myself. But I promise to have her home at a reasonable hour. We’re just going out for a bite and a dance. Unless…unless you have any objections,” he added, quivering under Eddie’s hostile glare.

“I don’t care if he does,” Lily asserted, pushing the fuming, completely corporeal Eddie out of the way and taking Slim by the hand. “See ya later, Johnny,” she called, slamming the door behind them.

The newspaper Eddie had been holding immediately turned into a crumpled ball of fury. The one and only thing that could have ruined his contentment had happened. His alternate Annabel had fallen for this Prohibition-Era alternate Edgar. The fact that Eddie actually liked them and didn’t mind if they were happy was immaterial. The horrible night he’d almost forgotten about replayed in his head over and over as he paced around the apartment, interspersed with new images of Lily gasping “It was always you” in Slim’s arms.

After what felt like weeks to Eddie, Lily finally returned from her date. “Fine time to get home!” he spat at her the moment she walked through the door.

She had the audacity to laugh at him. “It’s only 8:30, and I can’t believe you’re jealous.”

Eddie was completely taken aback. “I-what? I’m not jealous, I-”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Oh please. Eddie, you’re a great guy, but I mean, you’re dead. You can’t honestly think you and I could have a potential future together.”

“I don’t- That’s not why I-” he stammered.

“I’m sorry about the brother thing, but he asked me if I was living with you, and I thought he’d be more likely to believe ‘Yes, but he’s not my boyfriend, he’s my brother’ than ‘Yes, but he’s not my boyfriend, he’s the ghost that brought me here from the future.’”

Eddie found his voice. “Exactly! You’re from the future! He’s old enough to be your great-grandfather! That doesn’t bother you?”

Lily shrugged. “Not really. We’re the same age now, and besides, I really like him a lot, and we had a great time, and we’re going out again tomorrow night, and if you don’t like it, you can go haunt somebody else!”

Eddie didn’t like it, but he had a better idea than haunting somebody else. The following day, he managed to sneak away from set long enough to make a few important calls from a phone booth around the corner from the studio. The day after that, American Whoopee’s final day of shooting, several papers reported some dreadful rumors about the film. It was said to be “filth” created to “corrupt the minds of young America” whose cast was “entirely comprised of drunken rabble-rousers who eagerly flout the laws of the land”. Each day that followed brought news of a new scandal involving either the film itself or its cast. By the time the trailer was released, the studio had received hundreds of angry telegrams, and after seeing the trailer, the public took to the streets to protest. Naturally, the film was never completed, and almost the entire cast (with the exceptions of Buster Keaton and John Barrymore, whose reputations had remained unsullied) were fired from the studio, with almost no hope of being hired elsewhere.

Lily was furious. “I can’t believe my life has been ruined by rumors AGAIN!” she fumed. “If I ever find out who fed the media those ridiculous lies, I will literally kill them.”

“Yeah, this sucks,” Eddie agreed, suppressing a smirk. “You want to try another era?”

“What I want is a drink,” she muttered.

“So that’s a yes?”

She sighed. “I guess. Hey, you couldn’t bring Slim along too, could you?”

Eddie managed to hold his temper. “Sadly, I can only time travel with one living person. Are you okay with that?”

Lily wasn’t sure she believed him, but she nodded and let the ghost take her hands. Eddie thought of the mid-Cretaceous period, reasoning that no Edgar look-alike could exist where there were no humans, and that even if he ended up a few decades off, that wouldn’t make much difference. But when they’d completed their journey, the world didn’t look nearly different enough. The streets looked essentially the same as the ones they’d just left, although there seemed to be a lot more homeless people around.

“When were you trying to go to?” Lily asked.

Before Eddie had to answer, a shabby-looking man approached them and said, “Hey, brother, can you spare a dime?”

Eddie reached into his pocket and found a quarter. “I’ll give you two bits if you tell me what year it is.”

The man eyed the coin hungrily, but with a trace of suspicion. “It’s 1934. You a Rockefeller or something? Nobody just gives away a quarter.”

Eddie handed over the coin and turned back to Lily as the man hurried away. “Sorry, I guess we didn’t go very far. Why are you smiling?”

“Because Prohibition ended in 1933 and I can get a drink here!” She hurried into a nearby bar. Shaking his head slightly, Eddie followed her. He was starting to think he would never succeed in making her miserable.

The bartender greeted them cordially. “Welcome to Bixby’s Lounge. I’m Bixby. What can I get you, and why are you dressed like a flapper?” he added, eyeing Lily’s outfit.

“Oh, just had an audition,” she replied casually. “I think I blew it though,” she added. “I’ll have a dry martini.”

“You’re okay staying in 1934 for a while, I take it?” Eddie asked when Bixby had busied himself with other customers, as she drained her martini glass.

“Sure, this is about when we were trying to go the first time, remember? Talkies should be easier for me than silent films. We better think of new names, though. I like the sound of Vivian Nightingale, what do you think of that?”

The name made him uncomfortable. He couldn’t place it, but he thought it was vaguely connected with that horrible night at Poe’s house. “That sounds familiar. Wasn’t that the name of an Oscar Wilde character or something?”

“Not that I know of. I’ve never come across it before. But I think it suits me, don’t you?”

The familiarity of the name still bothered him, but he shrugged it off. “Sure.”

“What will you go by?”

“Eduardo Dantes,” he decided, determined not to let anything distract him from his revenge from now on.

Once again, Lily and Eddie started as extras. This time, however, Eddie did everything in his power to prevent them from booking auditions. They got a couple of bit parts, but nothing that would gain them any recognition. But Lily was more resourceful than he’d given her credit for. After a few years of almost constant failure, she managed to finagle two invitations to a party for producer Roger Haircremé. “If we make a good impression on him, we’ll have this town in the palm of our hands,” she told Eddie.

Eddie accompanied her to the party with plans of creating the opposite of a good impression. As if she had read his mind, Lily suggested they split up as soon as they arrived. “If he sees us together, that might hurt both our chances,” she reasoned.

“You mean it might hurt your chances,” Eddie muttered, but she had already disappeared into the crowd of stars. She was beating him at his own game, and it hurt his pride more than he wanted to admit.

“Cigarette, sir?” asked a voice at his side.

He turned to say “No, thank you,” to the attractive cigarette girl, but before she walked away, he noticed her nametag. “Wait! Your name is Lily Thomas?”

“Almost. It’s actually TH-omas.”

It took Eddie a moment to digest this. “Wait, really?” When she nodded earnestly, he said, “I used to know someone named Lily Thomas.”

“Oh, well she can’t be any relation. The TH-omases and the Thomases have completely different origins. I’m from Minnesota.”

“Really? What brings you to L.A.?” he asked, though he thought he knew, and if he was right, he could still manipulate the evening after all.

“I wanted to be an actress, but it’s a lot harder than I thought it would be. I thought maybe if I could meet Roger Haircremé…”

“There he is right now!” Eddie exclaimed, spotting him across the room. “Here, I’ll hold your cigarettes, why don’t you go up to him and turn on the charm? Just don’t tell him who you are; he’ll never know.”

Eddie expected her to be suspicious, but she immediately did as he suggested. It worked perfectly; Roger had eyes for no one else the entire evening.

As the party was winding down, Eddie finally found Lily Thomas (not TH-omas) again. “How did your evening go?” he asked her, waiting for her disappointment.

“Fine,” she replied. “Hey, Bill, come here, I want you to meet my brother.”

Eddie froze, preparing for the worst, but the man named Bill looked nothing like Edgar. “Nice to meet you,” Eddie sighed with relief.

“Bill’s a director,” Lily explained. “He thinks I’d be perfect for the lead in his next picture, and he wants me to audition for him tomorrow.”

“That’s great, congratulations,” Eddie managed.

“You can head home now if you want. Bill will drop me off later.”

Vivian Nightingale booked the lead in Bill’s new film, and in his two films after that. Between the second and third, they got married. Annoyed as Eddie was by her success, he knew that Lily didn’t love Bill, and so could never be truly happy. It was almost enough.

Then the inevitable happened. Eddie was having a drink at Bixby’s Lounge when he heard a familiar voice ask for two fingers of scotch and limited eye contact. There, a few seats down the bar from Eddie, was the Edgar Allan Poe lookalike of the 1930s.

Eddie nearly panicked, but he calmed himself with the knowledge that Lily hadn’t met this one, and probably never would, if his anti-social demeanor was any indication. Still, just to be on the safe side, when the Poe doppelganger had left, Eddie asked Bixby if he knew who he was.

“Ford Phillips, private investigator,” Bixby said. “Why do you ask?”

“I thought he looked familiar. He’s not an actor?”

Bixby laughed. “That man hates show business and everyone involved in it. Personally, I love show business, but he’s one of my best customers, so who am I to complain? I’m Bixby, and Bixby never complains about customers.”

“Say, Bixby,” Eddie began slowly, an idea forming on how to keep an eye on this Phillips, “I notice your floor show is a little thin, and I could use a job. Think you could use me?”

“How good are you with puppets?” Bixby asked immediately.

This was not the response he’d anticipated. “Excuse me?”

“I love puppets. If you can do a puppet act, you’re hired.”

“Can you provide the puppets?” Eddie asked.

“Of course. Bixby’s got everything.”

“Then I can come up with an act,” Eddie agreed.

Ford Phillips came into Bixby’s at almost exactly the same time every night, but he never talked to anyone except Bixby. When Lily asked to see Eddie’s act, he told her to come several hours before Ford would be there, and he made sure to hurry her out before he arrived. Still, Eddie had a lingering fear that the more famous she became, the more difficult it would be for even someone who hated show business to avoid seeing her, and if Ford was indeed the Edgar he appeared to be, Annabel’s face could easily change his opinion of actresses. Eddie needed to interfere with Lily’s career yet again. But how?

The answer came with the following morning’s headline: “WILHELMINA VANDERJETSKI WEDS HOLLYWOOD MOGUL!!!” Underneath was a picture of Lily TH-omas, and the article detailed her wedding to producer Roger Haircremé, as well as glowing reviews of her first starring role, in a film which had just been released. Roger was quoted as saying, “Willie’s a breath of fresh air in this tawdry town. I was about to leave Hollywood before I met her, but as long as she wants to star in my films, I want to keep producing them.” So Eddie had done something right at that party after all.

Eddie prided himself on his ability to manipulate people, and Bill turned out to be even more of a pushover than he’d anticipated. It was almost too easy to convince him to switch to Roger Haircremé’s studio. Bill willingly signed a contract on behalf of both himself and Vivian Nightingale. The wife of the director didn’t stand a chance against the wife of the studio head, and Lily TH-omas beat out Lily Thomas for role after role after role.

“She’s not even that good of an actress, and she has to be the stupidest person I’ve ever met!” Lily vented to Eddie. “If I could work for a different studio, I might stand a chance, but that moron I’m married to thinks Roger’s the best producer out there. If it weren’t for that stupid contract-”

“How is dear Bill?” Eddie asked, thoroughly enjoying himself.

“Ugh, don’t ask. If I didn’t need his money, I’d divorce him in a heartbeat. What a bore. Luckily, he’s not the only man in the world.” Eddie couldn’t believe his ears. Had she managed to meet Ford despite all his efforts? But then she added, “It’s too bad I haven’t met anyone like Slim in this decade. I can’t find out what happened to him either. Man, I miss the internet.” Eddie started to relax, but she went on, “I’m thinking about finding another job, to save up for a divorce. Bixby’s seems like a good gig for you. Do you think he’d hire me too?”

That was the last thing Eddie wanted, but she wasn’t to know that, so he just shrugged and said, “It’s worth a try.”

When he got to work the following day, Eddie told Bixby, “Listen, I heard Vivian Nightingale was going to ask you for an audition, but I’m not sure she would be the best fit for your place.”

“Why not?” Bixby asked.

“I mean, she’s a film actress. I just think she’d seem out of place in a lounge.”

Bixby had a strange look on his face. “Well, I didn’t think so. She sang so well at her audition this morning that I hired her immediately.”

Eddie’s heart sank. “Oh. Okay. Well that’s…that’s good then. She’s more versatile than I thought.”

Somehow, Eddie managed to keep Lily offstage whenever Ford came in. This was made more difficult by Bixby, who seemed to want Lily and Ford to meet. Eddie noticed that Bixby’s manner had gotten much colder toward him since Vivian Nightingale had started singing there, but he didn’t give it too much thought.

Then Wilhelmina Vanderjetski hired Ford Phillips to find out who was blackmailing her, and her rival Vivian Nightingale was an obvious suspect. So Ford and Vivian met. And even when her name was cleared, they stayed in touch and became friends. Eddie was beside himself with rage.

“Four different men in five different states?” Bill repeated. “How is that even possible?”

“Trust me, it’s possible,” Eddie insisted. There was silence on the other end of the phone. “You still there, Bill?”

“Are you sure? That’s not the Vivian I know.”

“Sounds like you don’t know your wife at all. I thought you had a right to know. But you didn’t hear it from me,” Eddie added hastily.

“I understand. Thanks, Eddie.”

That evening, Eddie was distracted during his puppet act by a loud argument from Vivian’s dressing room. When he was finished, he knocked on her door and called, “You’re on in five minutes, Viv!” A moment later, she burst through the door, slamming it behind her. “Everything all right?” he asked innocently.

“Bill found out,” she fumed. “And what’s more, he has the gall to be angry about it. It’s all well and good for him to run around, but as soon as I do the same thing…”

“You married a misogynist in the 1930s. Shocking.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m going to sing, and then get drunk. He’ll calm down eventually.”

Eddie waited for Bill to emerge from the dressing room, but he didn’t. Vivian finished singing, and another act started, but still, no Bill. Finally, Eddie knocked on the door. “Bill? You okay?” He opened the door. “Look, buddy, I know it’s tough, but…” He stopped abruptly. Bill was dead. He had ripped the cord off the blinds covering Vivian’s window and hanged himself. “Oh, buddy,” Eddie groaned disappointedly.

This hadn’t been part of the plan. Bill wasn’t supposed to kill himself. But it suddenly occurred to Eddie how to use this to his advantage. He stole the suicide note, which simply read, “I can’t go on, knowing you don’t love me.” Next he untied the cord from the rafters and positioned Bill’s body on the floor. Then he went to see a movie at his favorite theater where the ushers recognized him, to give himself an alibi.

As Eddie had anticipated, the death was deemed suspicious enough to warrant an investigation, with the widow as the prime suspect. As Eddie should have anticipated but didn’t, this prompted Lily to hire private detective Ford Phillips to launch his own investigation. With the help of his sidekick, Fig Wineshine (who Eddie thought bore a nauseating resemblance to Lenore), Ford was able to prove that Bill had committed suicide, reasoning that his body could have fallen to the floor between his death and his discovery, and that not all suicide cases involved a note. Vivian Nightingale was not going to jail and was no longer married, and Eddie waited in trepidation for the thing he most dreaded to come to pass.

About a year later, it happened. Despite booking a few film roles, Vivian and Eddie were still primarily working at Bixby’s. After their last set of the night, Eddie was about to leave when he heard Lily tell their boss that she was taking a two-week vacation the following month.

“Where are you going?” Eddie demanded.

Lily actually blushed. “Well, on my honeymoon, if you must know.”

“You’re getting married again? To whom? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Calm down, Eddie. I’m marrying Ford Phillips next month, and I didn’t tell you before now because I knew you’d get upset and try to stop me. But Ford isn’t like Bill, or any of the others. He has a tough exterior, but he’s kind and genuine and intelligent, and I think he’s my last chance at happiness. You told me once that you needed to help me find happiness. I stopped believing that a long time ago, but please don’t prove me right.”

Eddie was startled. He stared into her eyes, trying to discern how much she had figured out.

“Absolutely, take as long of a honeymoon as you want,” said Bixby, making both Eddie and Lily jump. “And congratulations!”

“Thank you, Bixby!” She hurried off to change out of her costume. Eddie gaped after her, wondering how he could possibly win this time.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it.”

Eddie turned to see Bixby glaring at him. “I don’t know what you’re-”

“Drop the act, Eddie, I know who you are.” To Eddie’s shock and horror, Bixby put his hand through the bar. He was a ghost, too. “That’s right,” said Bixby. “I’m not Bixby.”

For the first time in his crazy, mixed up afterlife, Eddie considered the possibility that he had lost his sanity. “Who are you?” he asked.

“I used to be known as Constable Wesley. I helped arrest the Brontë sisters, but I never caught you. When I died, I was forced to return as a ghost until I brought you to justice. I travelled through the centuries until fate brought us together here. I’ve been keeping an eye on you. I notice you seem to have lost some of your murderous tendencies, since apart from almost allowing an innocent person to be executed for a murder that wasn’t a murder, you haven’t gotten close to murder since you’ve been here. But if you try anything more to ruin the happiness of this person you plucked from the future because of her resemblance to Annabel Lee, I will be forced to make the rest of your afterlife a literal hell.”

Eddie’s head was spinning so fast he had to sit down. “How do you know all that?”

Not-Bixby poured himself a drink. “I’m Constable Wesley,” he replied simply, toasting himself.

Before Eddie could fully appreciate how completely stymied he was, the door to Bixby’s burst open, and a man stormed in.

“We’re closed,” Constable Wesley announced casually, as though he hadn’t just revealed himself to be a time-traveling ghost.

“Where is she?” the man demanded. “Where’s Vivian Nightingale?”

“I’m right here, Edwin, calm down,” Lily said, emerging from the dressing rooms.

The man was shaking, red-faced, and having trouble getting his words out. “You…said…you said…if not for…your husband…you and I…we…”

“Edwin, I’m sorry, but-”

“And now…you’re going to marry…” Suddenly he pulled out a revolver. “I won’t let you!”

“Edwin, don’t!” she screamed, but he pulled the trigger, then dashed out the door as she crumpled to the floor.

Constable Wesley glared at Eddie. “Tell me you didn’t call him.”

Eddie was in shock. “What? I didn’t even know-”

“Good,” Wesley snapped before taking off after the shooter.

“Eddie!” gasped Lily.

Eddie rushed over to her. There was blood everywhere. “You’re going to be okay,” he assured her, kneeling down and taking her in his arms.

“Stop lying to me,” she groaned.

“Lily, listen! I swear I didn’t mean for this to happen. I thought I wanted revenge, but really I just wanted-”

“Eddie,” she gasped again. His heart leapt expectantly. “Tell Ford how much I love him.”

The ghost of Constable Wesley helped bring Edwin to justice, which was apparently enough; he was able to move on. Eddie envied him desperately. He had no idea what to do with his afterlife now. He made several attempts to time travel back to that day and stop Edwin from showing up, or at least to take the gun out of his hand, but it didn’t work. He couldn’t be corporeal in two places at the same time. Stupid ghost rules.

He took to haunting Lily’s grave. Her tombstone had the name Vivian Nightingale on it, but no one had been able to find out when or where she was born. Eddie had been disappointed by how few people had shown up at her funeral, and he felt even more disappointed later when no one else except Ford Phillips ever visited her grave, until he remembered that her lack of connections had mostly been his fault. How could he have thought that ruining her life would help him? She deserved better than this pitiful grave that only one man and one ghost ever visited. She deserved some sort of memorial.

And that’s when it hit him. The Vivian Nightingale Memorial Ball. She wasn’t an Oscar Wilde character, but she had effectively introduced him to Oscar Wilde. And there was only one way that Vivian Nightingale could have a memorial ball established in the century before she existed.

He considered not doing it. If the ball didn’t exist, that night could go differently. Oscar Wilde wouldn’t be there to confuse his emotions, and his plot might succeed. He might win, or at least survive, and none of this would ever happen. Lily Thomas would be happy with James Rochester, American Whoopee would be released with actors other than Minta Monroe and Johnny Busterfield, and Lily TH-omas would never meet, marry, and be blackmailed by Roger Haircremé.

Eddie resisted for as long as he could, but ultimately, he realized it was futile. He couldn’t create a paradox. He needed to go back and establish the Vivian Nightingale Memorial Ball so everything could happen exactly as it was supposed to. And then maybe, just maybe, his unfinished business would count as complete, and he could finally move on.

[bibliophileiz]

I figured out my issue with the new Charmed

First I want to say I like most of these characters in the new one. I’m rooting for them and I hope they do great. I’m going to keep watching through this season because I want to know how Macy died and how she got brought back to life and I want to know who killed Marisol. 

That said. There is too much crap going on this season and we are only halfway through.

At the risk of comparing this show too much to the original ... actually, fuck it. Everything about this show from its marketing to the premise asks to be compared to the original, so here goes. I know I look at the original through a nostalgic lens, but I have tried to remove that lens when looking at this new one and I am pretty convinced that in this one aspect, at least, the original Charmed was better.

A lot of things that were memorable about the original Charmed -- the romantic subplots, the conflict between the Charmed Ones and the Elders, the mom’s love triangle and reason for giving up one of her children -- all those things developed slowly over multiple seasons. Never were there two major romantic subplots going on at once, at least not in the first four seasons (which are the ones I actually remember). The Whitelighters weren’t a thing until more than halfway through the first season and the Elders were even later than that. The mom’s love triangle was introduced in one episode in Season 2 to parallel with Piper’s romantic subplot and then only picked up again when they had to retrofit it to introduce Paige after Shannen Doherty left the show. Meanwhile, the main myth arc plot of each season involved all three sisters ... if there even WAS a main myth arc plot. It was the late ‘90s, and Charmed episodes were less like Supernatural, which has season-long plots, and more like Touched By an Angel, which involved the main characters helping out one or two people per episode and then moving on to another mini plot. With some exceptions, of the episodes stood alone.

That’s not in vogue now. Television today is all about season-long plot arcs and cliffhangers and making your entire show one story -- even though TV shows are a risky medium for that type of story because you never know how many episodes you’ll get a season, if you’ll be renewed and which actors will sign back on.

Which isn’t to say it can’t be done. Veronica Mars was super good about telling complete stories in the span of a season, at least until the network micromanaged Rob Thomas into fucking it up in Season 3. Justified is the same way, as is The Hour, my favorite TV show.

The new Charmed, knowing one, that the thing to do in TV shows today is tell a story over a season and two, that all those things I mentioned previously -- the Whitelighters, the Elders, the babies given up for adoption, the romantic subplots -- are all big Charmed things, is trying jampack them all into the first season to make sure you know it’s Charmed and it is ... cluttered.

We are what -- 10, 11? -- episodes into the season and every single character -- including the Whitelighter who at this point in the original had been in like three episodes and only had magical powers in one -- have their own plots and romances. For two of those characters, the romances don’t even have anything to do with their magic plot, thus giving them a separate plot. And if these plots are all related, they’re very tenuously so. Here’s what I mean.

Macy: Romantic interest in Galvin, and it’s so far going pretty smoothly. There were bumps in the road what with him being a mortal and with her thinking he was being preyed on by a succubus or a siren or whatever his earlier girlfriend was supposed to be before she turned out to be a perfectly normal lady who just conveniently broke up with him. And there’s some issue with her being a virgin and a little unsure around guys in general. Right now they’re together and figuring out how to be a couple with everything she’s got going on. Also, Galvin’s not really supposed to know about witchy stuff and Harry keeps wanting to wipe his memory.

Macy has another plot, though, the secret back-story plot where her mother gave her to her dad to raise her as a mortal, and Macy doesn’t know why. In this last episode, Macy learned her parents kept in touch and were still in love, even to the point where they conceived Maggie, making her Macy’s full sister and Mel’s half-sister (opposite of what they’d always believed). Then at the end of last episode, it turned out that Macy’s parents did something BAD -- something they worried Macy wouldn’t forgive them for -- to bring her back from the dead. (It was at this point that I decided that, no, I would not be waiting for the show to come on Netflix to finish out the season like I’d been considering, I would be watching the next episode the night it aired.)

But also, Macy has a plot where the lab she’s working for has been pseudo-taken over by demons who have stolen all the Charmed Ones’ DNA for presumably nefarious purposes. This plot actually is tied to one of Maggie’s plots and is the closest any of these plots have to being about all three Charmed Ones.

Mel: Gets TWO romantic interests and what might turn into a love triangle, despite the fact that it was looking like her two romantic plots might not overlap. First there’s her long-time girlfriend Niko, a cop whose memory Mel ends up having to erase for Niko’s safety -- a nice tragic romance trope which usually stops the memory-less character’s plot cold. Now Mel is falling for Jada, a cool-ass witch who works for a secret, possibly-nefarious, possibly just politically and philosophically different from the Elders witch organization which has a cool name that I forget. But wait -- there’s more! It turns out, after having her memory wiped, Niko became a private investigator hired by Jada’s family to save her from the “cult” she’s joined. Remember what I said about memory erasure usually stopping the character’s plot cold?

At least Mel’s romantic subplots tie into her actual plots, and at least Mel gets character points for seeming to be the only character who is actually interested in finding out who killed their mom. She first starts to infiltrate Jada’s witchy organization on the Elders’ orders when they all think Jada’s organization might have had a hand in Mom’s death. Now Jada says her mom was actually a part of the organization, which is also trying to figure out who killed her. Mel is secretly working with Jada, without telling the Elders, Harry or even Mel’s sisters (unless that came up in another episode and I totally forgot about it while trying to keep track of all these other plots).

Harry: Harry’s romantic interest is Charity, an Elder. It’s a little unclear what exactly Elders are in this version of the Charmed verse. Are they powerful Whitelighters, powerful Witches or a mixture of both? Charity says the Charmed Ones’ mom was an Elder, suggesting at least some of them are witches. In the original Charmed, the Elders were extra-powerful Whitelighters, but the suggestion was that once witches were dead, they not only were not beholden to Whitelighters anymore, but they were even more powerful than them. (At one point Grams tells Phoebe, “I’m beyond them now.”) What IS clear is that Elders and Whitelighters aren’t allowed to be together -- little shout-out to the Piper-Leo plot from the original there. So not as dramatic as Mels’s love triangle, but more dramatic than Macy and Galvin.

But Harry, it turns out, has another, totally unrelated-to-Charmed-things plot involving wiped memories and a son he THOUGHT died, who he then forgot about, but he now remembers and now actually IS alive after all. What this has to do with ... anything else on the show ... remains to be seen.

Maggie: Maggie had a forgettable love interest for two episodes on the show before moving onto the most dramatic romantic subplot a teenage girl can have -- she falls for her best friend’s boyfriend! After several episodes of angst and an illicit kiss, the boyfriend, a totally boring dude named Parker, breaks it off with his girlfriend so he and Maggie can be together. Maggie’s BFF, whose name I forget, gets an episode dedicated to her rage and Maggie being sorry before she’s shuffled aside so Maggie and Parker can be together, which is important because ....

Psych! Parker’s actually half a demon who needs to become whole demon through Charmed magic or he dies. His mother runs Macy’s lab and his father is an evil demon who controls people, which led to him stealing the Harbinger from Charity and --

Wait, I just realized none of these plots are the actual plot of the season -- because the first episode established that Trump becoming president and the rise of the Harbinger -- which is some kind of evil demon -- are both signs of the apocalypse which the Charmed ones have to stop. (I wasn’t even done explaining Maggie’s plot yet!)

Anyway, this show has too much going on.

How all these plots affect the show:

One thing -- and this sounds sarcastic but it’s totally not -- the characters all deliver their lines extremely fast. They have to -- they have plot things to say. They don’t get much time for the usual CW pop culture references*, let alone verbal pauses and room for their lines to spread out and let them react to what’s going on through their facial expressions and body language.

*at least that I recall -- although Macy got a very good one a couple of episodes ago where she called a demon “Daenerys” because he introduced himself by listing a million titles he supposedly has. 

It also makes it really hard to keep up with each individual plot arc while taking away valuable time we need to get to know the characters. Occasionally the show fits in a good sisterly-bonding moment -- Macy and Maggie in particular get scenes to themselves where they’re goofing off together while Mel’s off brooding somewhere. Plus, at least for a while, there were some good scenes between Mel and Harry at least until they each got their own romantic subplot. But with the last couple of episodes -- which managed to fit every gd one of the above-mentioned plots into their 42-minute runtimes -- I’m kind of left wondering how the sisters’ plots are related and what Harry’s even doing in the show.

And I love Harry -- I love that the sisters were bringing him tea in the episode after he got out of Tartarus. Except that they actually gave it to Charity to give him, because we can’t have family bonding time when there are romantic subplots to get to, and other than a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it reference to worrying about Harry in the exposition, they seem to have pretty much forgotten about his trauma by next episode. I thought he was becoming part of the family. 

And what I said above -- I wasn’t being funny for effect, I actually did forget that there was a whole plot with the Harbinger -- who was introduced in the very first episode -- until I typed “Wait I just realized none of these plots are the actual plot of the season.” All these plots literally made me forget about the season’s actual plot.

I’m not a die-hard fan or anything -- I’m sure there are people who know the names of Maggie’s ex-boyfriend and best friend and know what Jada’s witchy organization is called or can remember whether Elders are witches or Whitelighters. But I’m watching each episode one time once a week, which is what most viewers are going to be doing, and I’m missing major stuff. 

Charmed needs to -- step back, de-clutter, do some spring cleaning. But at this point, I don’t know that they can. They’ve invested too much into all these plots and I think it would be pretty weird to just ... never tell us if Parker died. Personally I wouldn’t mind if Parker died because I found him extremely boring and thought he took up time from more interesting characters and story arcs, but there was so much time invested in telling us his story that it would be a mistake to leave it where it is and come back to it next season. And the same thing goes for all the other plots.

This isn’t mean to be wank. I legitimately like this show and want it to succeed, but I’m wondering what everyone else thinks. I don’t know that new Charmed will get enough of a following if it keeps throwing new plot lines at us every episode in hopes of bringing us back every week. There needs to be more time developing characters to make us actually care about these plots. And if you’re hoping to have more seasons, then surely some of these can be saved for farther down the road like in the original Charmed.

In the meantime, ... team Niko. (Sorry Jada.)

[hollowedrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, ANNE! — You’ve been accepted for the role of Sybill Trelawney. I’m so freaking ecstatic to have Godric’s Hollow’s own little seer! I’m so happy to have someone writing Sybill that understands just how complex she is. While so many members of the Order can escape the war by hiding away, for Sybill, there’s constantly a battle being fought in her mind, and you conveyed that beautifully. I can’t wait to see where you take her character.

Thank you so much for applying. Please create your account and send in the link, track the right tags, and follow everyone on the follow list. Welcome to Hollowed Souls!

ooc.

Name: Anne

age: (seventeen and up only) 31

preferred pronouns: she/her

timezone: EST/GMT-8

activity: (include a brief explanation)  I work full-time and am in a 6-month training course that meets once a month two hours away from me. I also haven’t rp’d in a tragically long time because of my mental health. That being said, I do have two days a week all to myself and a fairly generous work schedule, so there’s absolutely no reason I can’t work in a few hours 4-5 days a week. I’m also counting on my excitement keeping me going long enough to form a habit of checking the group regularly.

are you applying for more than one character?: Not at this time.

how do you feel about your character dying?: (in a roleplay centered on war, death is always a possibility. as an admin, it’s best to know ahead of time which players are comfortable with playing it out.) I would definitely be disappointed, but I could play it out. I’m a sucker for good plot and drama.

anything else?: (questions, concerns, etc.)

ic details.

full name: Sybill Audra Trelawney

date of birth: Nov 10th 1953

former hogwarts house: Ravenclaw. A reputation as a seer that left everyone clamoring for readings made them forgetful of the fact that Sybill was actually incredibly competent in most of her other classes. Transfiguration gave her some difficulty, but when she actually put in the time to practice, she’d master any of the spells and techniques thrown her way. The lives and futures of her peers tended to keep her preoccupied, at least until the courtyard accident in her fifth year. Traumatized by what she’d seen and then lived through, she dove into her studies as a way to distract herself and her inner eye. It didn’t work - she was still haunted by visions of the cruelty and violence burning through the country and of what terrible things some of her classmates got into when no Professors were around to catch them. The only thing her new devotion to her studies did for Sybill was successfully isolate her from the rest of her classmates, who in time stopped coming to her for readings as often. By the time she graduated, she was considered an oddity who they could mock, until they needed her for something, usually some hint of news of how a family member was faring in the war.

sexuality: bi/pansexual. Sybill likes to dramatically state that it isn’t the person she’s attracted to, but their aura and their sense of person. She isn’t exactly in the market for a relationship, however. Something about seeing the death of someone you dearly love can do that to a person. Sybill can’t yet bring herself to be too close to anyone in a long-term sense, but there’s nothing wrong with occasionally spending a long, cold night staying warm with someone else.

gender/pronouns: cis-female/she and her

face claim change: No, thank you! Zoe Kravitz is wonderful.

more.

how do you interpret this character’s personality? how will you play them? include two weaknesses & two strengths.

Sybill is incredibly complex and full of contradictions. She is intensely dramatic in her presentation, but down to Earth at her core. Part of her drama is all in fun. Since she was a young girl, she’s enjoyed teasing others and making fun of the stereotypes people hold about seers. She loves playing a role and being over the top. However, when it comes right down to it, she takes the inner eye very seriously and doesn’t appreciate it when others are flippant of the sight. Time is such a fickle creature and there are so many variables and players that being able to make accurate predictions is not some cheap parlor-trick (even if it is fun to play that part). However, as the war goes on, she finds it harder and harder to keep up the act. Sure, she tells her clients what they want to hear, but never anything too real. She won’t tell old Mrs. Boyce anything about her great-grandson, not even that he is actually still alive. The joy the old woman would feel would be beyond words. But then, how could Sybill protect the woman from searching for him and discovering the truth - that he’s a Death Eater who was responsible for the murders of his cousin and her family? Dark truths have always haunted Sybill, so she swallows them with shots of whiskey and assurances that the weather will be just fine for that small garden party you plan on throwing this weekend. Sometimes small and petty comfort is all we’re afforded.

Sybill doesn’t make friends easily. Her peers rarely seemed interested in her - just what she could do. She grew close to some girls in her year at first, but as time passed and her visions grew darker, she found it hard to be there for them. She would grieve twice for them - once when the vision hit, and then again when it came to pass. Her friends found it harder to relax around her. They would always be wondering what terrible things she had seen that she wasn’t telling them. If she did happen to tell them, they would desperately search for ways to prevent the vision from coming to pass, which more often than not was in vain and just served to make them resent her more. Her father’s condemnation of her curse ate away at her. After the accident in fifth year, it became a roar. Sybill would only ever bring misery and misfortune to others. The more she tried to bury her abilities, the more closed off she became. The day she graduated Hogwarts, she rode away on the Express in an empty compartment, with only her cat to keep her company.

She may not make friends easily, but she is not unfriendly. Perhaps distant, but never cold. She genuinely cares for others, even if she isn’t sure how to do right by them. Being surrounded by so much pain in Godric’s Hollow will be a real test to Sybill’s compassion. A platter of biscuits won’t be enough to ease the heartache felt by those who’ve lost everything. If she had done more, could she have prevented some of the tragedy? Her father had always told tales of how Cassandra brought misery and destruction when she unleashed her sight, but Sybill had done far worse by locking it away. Her guilt will not pass easily and will eat away at her until she can find someone to trust who can help her through it.

+Sybill is resilient. She could fog her mind and keep the visions at bay, but she refuses. She believes that she was given the sight for a reason, and that day Arabella found her was it. Sybill believes that she was always meant to prophesize the fall of the Dark Lord and now it is her duty to help keep the child safe. It’s why she’s come to Godric’s Hollow. Though a deceptively capable witch, she has no interest in war strategy and little stomach for battle.

-Sybill is often condescending. In school, things came so easily to her that it would baffle her that anyone could struggle or need her help with test questions. She just could not understand how people might have struggled with simple charms or potions. Her sight and ability to make predictions gave her insights to the manners of thinking of her peers and so she couldn’t understand how people might mis-read others. When her classmates would come to her for love advice or for answers to their homework, Sybill would often lose patience. It was all so simple - how did they not get it? For a time, she was forced to be a tutor in an attempt to get her to learn a little empathy and to make her a little less haughty, but it could only end badly, which it did.

+Sybill is reverant. She has a great deal of respect for her gift and for time itself. Though not common, she’s seen visions change midway through their playback and the outcome be completely different than what appeared to be the path at the start. She’s had the feeling of a vision float in the back of her mind, refusing to come into focus until moments before the event pass and then overheard a participant breathe a sigh of relief, stating “I had absolutely no idea how I was going to handle that!” She overall is a very respectful person. When she came to Godric’s Hollow, she first walked slowly through the town, breathing in the despair and heartache until she felt it. Stopping in her tracks, there was a house on the right. Pristine, except for a blown-out bay window that overlooked the destroyed garden. At that moment, she knew she’d found it - where she was supposed to be. While there are those who balk at her and call her disrespectful for taking up residence in the abandoned dwelling, it’s quite the opposite. It’s a house that has experienced such great love and loss that to simply abandon it and allow it to decay would be doing it a disservice. It’s not and never will be her’s. She is simply its caretaker. No one is coming back to claim it; she knows this. But she can’t let it fade away.

-Sybill is spiteful. She doesn’t get past slights easily. A lot of it comes from embarrassment of not always seeing the betrayal coming. The more blind-sighted she is, the harder it is for her to forgive. She forgave most of her school friends for their abandonment of her. She nearly always saw it coming and could understand why they did it. It was the kids who knew nothing about her but turned mean and cold that she couldn’t forgive. The kids who never appeared in any of her visions, who she had no reason to suspect, who suddenly turned on her - those were the betrayals that hurt the worst. When she was an adult, the hurt mostly came from those who still didn’t understand. Those who thought a seer in a dusty shop on Knockturn Alley would stop the war. They came wearing their mourning robes, throwing Sybill’s tea in her face and screaming that she ought to have told them - told them that their son was next. She should have told them not to let him go off by himself that day. She should have warned them that he was going to be snatched - that their family would be made an example of by the Death Eaters. She understands their pain and she tries to forgive it, but it hurts her too. Their blame hurts and is unfair. They’re adults - by now they should understand how this works (there’s that condescension again).

how has the war affected this character, emotionally and otherwise?

Compared to a great many others, Sybill has gotten off light and she knows this. Her family escaped being casualties of war by instead succumbing to completely natural calamities. If the Death Eaters know the source of the prophecy they fear, they haven’t considered her important enough to do anything about. That isn’t to say that she’s unscathed. Sybill has lost her friends. She’s lost any hope of making a significant connection with another person. She dreads the visions that come to her, showing her flashes of violence and misery. She is surrounded all day by death and sadness and that’s certainly taken a toll on her mental well-being. She maintains a dramatic and sometimes playful air, but it’s a desperate clinging to simpler times.

where does this character currently stand? with those who wish to hide in godric’s hollow until the war ends, with those who wish to rebuild the order and continue fighting the war, or on neither side? Why?

Honestly, Sybill stands with those who want to rebuild. She doesn’t understand how they can just hide until the war is over, when the Order is the only cohesive group fighting the Death Eaters. In her mind, if the war is ending and they’re hiding, then it’s only over because Voldemort has won. At that point, she fears that everyone will be too defeated (literally and figuratively) to resume fighting. If they don’t start getting their act together and begin striking back, then there will be no coming back.

But she never says any of this. Sybill is not a member and doesn’t feel that her opinion matters. She isn’t a strategist. She isn’t a warrior. She would be arguing for other people to do the fighting and she knows that isn’t fair. So for now, she keeps her mouth shut. She avoids vocally taking a side and she focuses on getting everyone somewhat settled in. She fixes up the home she has taken over as “caretaker” and she helps others do the same.

Has Sybill had any new visions since arriving in Godric’s Hollow?

No, I don’t believe that she has. It’s only been a few weeks since she’s relocated. While it’s true that she can’t prevent herself from having visions (not without powerful concoctions that she hasn’t taken since she was forced to as a child), she has been trying her hardest to make herself preoccupied by throwing herself into repair projects around the town. With everyone else reeling from the events from the past few months and walking on eggshells, Sybill doesn’t want to rock the boat with an untimely vision. But she can feel them brewing. She can feel them just on the edge of her sight, not quite in focus, but gaining form with each passing day.

Does she think she can help the Order, or does she believe her visions will only hurt?

Sybill wants to help the Order. She thinks she can help the Order. But she knows that her visions will only hurt - they already have. If it weren’t for her vision, Godric’s Hollow would still be a cozy village filled with witches and wizards of all ages. If it weren’t for Sybill’s visions, there wouldn’t have been such a massacre. The Order would not be in such a ruinous state and the war wouldn’t be stuck in some standstill threatened with mutually assured destruction if the fighting should continue on like this.

But as much as she blames her visions, they’re a part of her. They’re who she is and she wouldn’t change for anything - not even peace and an end to this bloody conflict. They all know that the boy will be the downfall of Voldemort. It’s just a matter of time and keeping the boy safe. In that capacity, Sybill is determined to help the Order. It was her prophecy that started this, it’s her responsibility to see it through.

extra

I wasn’t sure I’d be applying for Sybill, so I went ahead and tried to get a feel for her with the “if I were…” questionnaire. In my mind, she’s incredibly complex and loves the melodrama associated with seers

if i were a god/goddess, i’d be Hanuman - the Hindu deity of perseverance, service, and scholarly devotion, he aided Lord Rama in his battle against evil forces. After the things you’ve seen and witnessed, it would easy to admit that father was right - that you’re cursed and a bringer of dark tidings and misery. But you refuse to give up. You wrap yourself in another shawl and you persevere. Though great, you resist the temptation to give up and fog your mind or dull the senses as father made you do so many years ago.

if i were a season, i’d be false spring - the weather is on the upswing, the snow and ice have melted. The mud is thick, and grass will appear any day now. But up above, the sky is a deep blue and the wind has a biting chill to it that can only mean an impending freeze. Take the plants back inside and gather the firewood. These good tidings never last long.

if i were a time of day, i’d be early dawn, when the dew clings to grass and spiderwebs and a fog sits in the field - the day has barely begun and there’s still plenty of time for a few surprises.

if i were a place, i’d be the hidden reading nook in the dusty bookshop you didn’t know was still open - quiet, dark, but with a hidden hope and optimism.

if i were a type of weather, i’d be an oppressively hot day in summer - though scared of the power within, there is no denying its intensity. The opposition was given its first real taste of it and it made them desperate and overly aggressive. They paid a heavy price for their arrogance and there’s no telling what more tales of the future could do.

if i were a scent, i’d be coffee and whiskey mingling with an uplifting haze of sandalwood.

if i were a plant, i’d be a wisteria - beautiful in its blossoms, it appears delicate, but is incredibly resilient and can be poisonous.

if i were an element, i’d be earth - grounded and steady but intensely dramatic and moving.

if i were a color, i’d be a dark slate blue - haunted yet calming.

if i were a song, i’d be The Chain - your father promises that if you would just stop this foolishness, everything will be better. He isn’t mad at you, he still loves you, but you make it so damn hard when you carry this burden and insist on growing it instead of stamping it out. But he doesn’t realize that this thing that you have isn’t a burden. It isn’t a curse. It’s who you are. And if he can’t love you in spite of it, then, well… he never really loved you and never will.

if i were an item of clothing, it’d be a shawl - you cover yourself and who you really are. You bury yourself in the smooth fabric and become what they want you to be. You pull the silk over your nose and breathe in, letting it filter out the perfumed ash that hangs heavy in the air, the kind you’re supposed to sit in, as if that helps your inner eye see their futures better.

if i were an object, i’d be a candle - so smooth and solid from a distance, but covered in a thin layer of ash and brimming with uncertainty. A giver of light to illuminate the darkness, but reveals and strengthens the shadows in the process.

if i were one of the seven deadly sins, i’d be sloth - the fear of the known and the inability to stop it, leading to inaction. It is said that evil thrives when the good fail to act. When faced with visions of the future, it’s so much easier to forget it and move on.

if i were one of the seven heavenly virtues, i’d be humility - a deep respect and subservience to the nature of time. There are things that will always come to pass and others that are far more fickle - how do you know which is which? How do you know what won’t be made the worse with your meddling?

[preserving-ferretbrain]

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

by Wardog

Monday, 23 July 2007Wardog opens the inevitable slew of Harry Potter by bitching and moaning.~Reviewing Harry Potter has got to be something of a pointless endeavour; I mean, if you like Harry Potter you'll read it anyway and if you don't, well, you probably have more self respect than I do just about now. The truth of the matter is, I don't like Harry Potter any more. Once, upon a time, when they were tautly-plotted, slim-line, above-average children's books I was very fond of them. But now that they're a sprawling, insufficiently edited Phenomenon I can't read them without frustration, and yet seem to be incapable of, you know, stopping. It's depressing, I think I need a twelve step programme. Given that the book has evolved beyond conventional reviewing (and that's not a good thing) here are some assorted observations.

Needless to say: spoilerific, including death spoilers

Plot & Pacing

As in the preceding two books, this is completely wrecked. Although it has a beginning and a reasonably climatic ending sequence (the Battle of Hogwarts, because that's all we ever really cared about anyway, wasn't it?) everything in between seems jerky and uneven. Essentially, it consists of long stretches of exposition interspersed with pockets of reasonably exciting action sequences, as Team Potter infiltrate the Ministry, Gringotts, Malfoy Manner and finally Hogwarts with varying degrees of success and pointfulness. If I was feeling generous, I would comment on the thematic nature of these incursions, and how resonant it is that everything that Harry was introduced to in the earlier books as a source of protection and authority is now corrupted. But I'm not feeling generous; Harry, Ron and Hermione spend an enormous quantity of the book sitting in a magically protected tent in the middle of nowhere, dithering between hallows and horcruxes and reading Rita Skeeter's biography of Albus Dumbledore.

Aside from one or two chapters at the beginning of the book, the Harry Potter books have always been told entirely from Harry Potter's point of view. The reader sees what Harry Potter sees, and hears what Harry Potter hears. This comes with attendant advantages and disadvantages. It brings the reader close to Harry and makes you root for him, it also rigidly controls the flow of information between author and reader. But it also means that for anything to happen, Harry has to be there. That's why he spends such a lot of time crawling around beneath his invisibility cloak listening in on plot dumps. Needless to say, the same holds true of the seventh book; the whole wizarding world is at war but we hear of it as Harry does, through daily prophet articles and occasional communications. There's no sense of scale or grandeur. It's unpleasant, yes, and oppressive but it packs only a limited emotional punch because the reader, like Harry, it stuck in a freaking tent.

Furthermore, a large portion of the book is told through letters, extracts from books, articles, memories, long autobiographical interludes from minor characters who suddenly turn out to be important. It's not precisely tedious but the preoccupation with the backplot, as ever, hinders the build to a dramatic climax. There's even an intermission, I kid you not, an intermission in the final showdown so Harry can peg it off to Dumbledore's office to re-live the last seven books from Snape's perspective. Perhaps I'm old fashioned but I don't think three chapters from the end is a good place for a massive exposition.

I'm not saying there aren't good bits, because there are. Neville kicks Dark Lord ass, for example, Dudley, of all people, has a moment of touching redemption and Luna remains just fabulous throughout. But the book seems to have no sense of itself as, well, a book. Books need to build to something, books need pace and structure, books need to be edited! But as Dan said, it's not a book, it's source material.

Style

Perhaps a demonstration is in order...

A quote from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets:

"Hang on..." Harry muttered to Ron. "There's an empty chair at the staff table.... Where's Snape? "Maybe he's ill!" said Ron hopefully. "Maybe he's left," said Harry, 'because he missed out on the Defence Against the Dark Arts job again!" "Or he might have been sacked!" said Ron enthusiastically. "I mean, everyone hates him --" "Or maybe," said a very cold voice right behind them, "he's waiting to hear why you two didn't arrive on the school train." Harry spun around. There, his black robes rippling in a cold breeze, stood Severus Snape. He was a thin man with sallow skin, a hooked nose and greasy, shoulder-length black hair, and at this moment, he was smiling in a way that told Harry he and Ron were in very deep trouble.

Aww. Just typing that out made me nostalgic for happier times when I actually used to enjoy reading Harry Potter. A quote from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows...

And then with a little shudder the elf became quite still, and his eyes were nothing more than great, glassy orbs sprinkled with light from the stars they could not see.

I know they are very different books and the seventh book is infinitely "darker" (I'll come on to this later) in tone, setting and intent from the second, and I also know that there's something like seven real world years between them. But if this is evidence that JK has developed as a writer, I would like to point out that she appears to have developed a rambling, overwritten and overwrought style in place of the clean, sharp and witty one of the earlier books. You're meant to get better, the more you practice, right?

I could, perhaps, forgive the above but it's not an isolated incident. The stars are cold and unfeeling throughout; it's worse than being in a Hardy novel. And people don't just die, they die with Tragic Gravitas, their "eyes [staring] without seeing, the ghost of [their] last laugh still etched upon [their] face." A little less verbiage and a little less hysteria could have benefited this book immensely.

Character Death: the Massacre of the Minors

Characters die in Harry Potter, we have always known this. JK Rowling makes a big deal of it. It's how we know she is writing Serious Literature for children instead of a bunch of silly books about a teenage wizard. Reading the books, it's obvious that JK prides herself on her portrayal of death and its after-affects on the loved ones of the deceased.

The suddenness and completeness of death was with them like a presence - The Deathly Hallows.

This is at its best when it's understated, for example the lingering psychological consequences of the death of his parents on Harry which seeps through the pages of all the books. When it is all about Making A Point about JK's conception of herself as a writer, it is unsurprisingly less effective. I don't mind that Sirius died, I mind very much that he died to Show Us Something About The Nature of Death.

The Deathly Hallows has a higher death count that Hamlet, except that they're all relatively minor characters including, of all people, Colin Creevy, the poor pointless bastard. This says nothing to me about the harsh and futile nature of warfare, but it does scream "cheap shot." I hate it when authors kill off their emotionally engaging wallpaper characters just because they can and then expect the reader to applaud them for being dark and courageous. I felt exactly the same way when Joss Whedon gratuitously killed off Wash in Serenity. It was easy to kill Wash, he was a great character who everybody loved but he was also completely irrelevant in terms of the plot. His death was a quick way to wring an emotional reaction from the audience without causing the writer any inconvenience to do it.

People die by the bucketload in Deathly Hallows (including Harry's owl, for crying out loud), but none of the deaths are meaningful, with the possible exceptions of Fred, Remus and Snape. Most of them, including Lupin's, occur off camera and are thus stripped of any emotional resonance whatsoever. I can't help but suspect that JK must have loathed Remus, one of her most popular characters, by the end. He spends the whole book dashing in and out of focus being stripped of any plot and then, oh look, by the way he's dead. And Fred was essentially a

spare

Weasley, having, you know, an identical twin. It's the most cowardly half-hearted selection of deaths I think I've ever encountered.

Against this arbitrary massacre, the survival of all the main characters seems both ludicrous and damnably unfair. I'm not saying that I wanted Harry, Ron, Hermione and/or Ginny to die but if you're going to make a hoo-hah about how being a children's author is like being a cold, callous killer you probably ought to stick by your machete.

Which brings us nicely onto...

Dark, man, dark

I have one answer for this and it's oh pulease.

Having waited around politely for Harry to finish school, Lord Voldemort has finally got round to taking over the wizarding world. Quite a lot of nasty things happen in Deathly Hallows and there's a 1984ish air of secretive corruption and control but Harry Potter's darkness is about as sophisticated as a teenage goth's, and remains about as cosmetic. The nastiness is always a hazy, unconvincing background to the well nigh miraculous survival of all the main characters. Hermione, for example, gets captured by Bellatrix at Malfoy Manner and, although she horribly tortured in a scene that is genuinely chilling for about half a second, she shrugs off the experience with the ease de Sade's Justine. And Hogwarts may degenerate into a horrendous nightmare of cruciatus-enforced discipline but the students respond to this with a Blytonesque "down with those rotters" jolly hockey sticks glee that completely undermines any sense of oppression or abuse.

Similarly, although Lord Voldemort swoops around being threatening and imprisoning wandmakers, the Death Eaters themselves continue to be the most appallingly incompetent bunch of nazi-wanabees ever to grace a page. Not only do they routinely fail to capture or kill (and, occasionally, even recognise) the three teenage wizards who keep infiltrating their strongholds but they spend so much of the book being punished for ineptitude by their own master, it can almost be considered a form of self-harm. Regardless, it's hard to take them seriously as opposition.

It is mildly interesting to see Harry himself stooping to some of the unforgivable curses with barely a qualm. But this seems to be less a case of dark, man, dark than convenient, man, convenient.

Paging Lord Voldemort

This is an aside connected to the general incompetence of the Death Eaters. In the seventh book, the Dark Mark seems to function primarily as a communicator, which means the greatest dark wizard, like, ever spends the book being yanked about the country by his incompetent minions. There isn't a scene like this in the book, but there should be:

Random Wizard: ARGHRGHGH!!

Lord V: CRUCIO!

Random Wizard: ARGH! Mercy! Mercy! I'll tell you everything. Please ... stop the pain.

Dark Mark: [ring ring]

Lord V: I'm sorry, I have to take this... [talking into his elbow] Hello, yes, Lord Voldemort here ... I see ... are you absolutely certain of that? You thought you'd captured Potter fifty pages back. Oh. You've definitely got him this time. On my way.

Remus, Tonks and Sirius

Let's move on to character for a bit. I have always thought the Remus/Tonks relationship felt bolted on, and suspected it was a "ya boo sucks" to fanfic writers which made me even less sympathetic to its inadequate presentation. As Harry and Cho and Harry and Ginny have comprehensively revealed, human relationships, especially romantic ones, are not JK's strong point. But Remus/Tonks, partially because we only ever see it second and third hand, has always seemed particularly lacklustre. Harry, as a protagonist, does not preoccupy himself with the moods and inner workings of his companions; therefore in Half Blood Prince we were occasionally told Remus and/or Tonks looks sad or angry or otherwise distracted but then left to either draw our own conclusions or hear about the reasons long after the events that inspired it.

This unsatisfactory portrayal continues, unabated in Deathly Hallows. Off-camera, they get married, have angst, and Tonks becomes pregnant. Remus comes on-camera long enough to angst further and then retreats back into married bliss. Their child is born (Team Potter are sitting in their tent as usual at this point), Remus evinces delight and then he and Tonks are both killed at the Battle of Hogwarts. To say it's massively dissatisfying and frustrating is to do massively dissatisfying and frustrating things a great disservice.

Oh and as a footnote to this, it turns out that Sirius has girly pics on his bedroom walls. Just to make it absolutely clear that he's straight, completely straight, you got that slashers?

Dumbledore

You would have thought the one concrete advantage to Dumbledore being definitely dead would be avoiding the long Dumbledore Explains The Plot chapter at the end of the book. But, no. Death just isn't the handicap it used to be in the olden days and it happens anyway. Stab me. Stab me now.

Just as Order of the Phoenix tore away the veil of unquestioning admiration and idolisation Harry (and, presumably, the reader) felt for the Marauders in a conceptually interesting but badly executed way, Deathly Hallows does the same for Dumbledore. Harry is forced to confront the truth that his beloved mentor was a real person, a man with faults and weaknesses just like any other. I always found Dumbledore a little difficult to take but it's hard to tell how much that was deliberate on the part of the author (he's the worst headmaster in the world, for example - imagine you were in Slytherin house at the end of Philosopher's Stone, how would it feel to have the house trophy goiked out of your hands by some random world saving after the whole hall had already been decorated in your house colours, saving the world is all very noble and everything but it's hardly a legitimate extra curricular activity) and how far it was me reacting against his role as a plot device, explaining or withholding information on the most spurious personal pretexts to make life easier for his author.

But the fact of the matter is that Dumbledore is too imperfectly drawn in books one to six to be effectively interpreted as anything other than a two dimensional mentor figure. Therefore Harry's Dumbledore-related angst in the seventh book interferes with the smooth running of the plot and feels completely hollow because ultimately it doesn't matter. He's dead, for God's sake, dead. It's just too late in the day to care about Dumbledore's family skeletons and, since he was always presented to the reader as a kindly jelly-bean eating mentor figure, the additional "complexity" feels like an unconvincing and irrelevant ret-con.

That Bloody Epilogue

Of all the stuff that was leaked onto the internet before the book was officially released, the epilogue was the only one I investigated. I dismissed it as a clever parody. It was just too sickening. Draco's receding hairline had to be a joke. The legion of incestuously named rugrats, ha ha, very funny.

Oh wait.

No.

That was real.

It was really real.

Dear God.

Worst. Epilogue. Ever.

Conclusion

Sadly, everyone else I've spoken to (with the exception of Dan, obviously, but we share a brain) has been deeply enthusiastic about Potter. So perhaps I'm just a grumpy old git and didn't deserve to enjoy it.

It still sucks though.

Themes:

J.K. Rowling

,

Books

,

Young Adult / Children

~

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Arthur B

at 19:21 on 2007-07-23Don't worry, I am also grumpy about Potter. I briefly considered actually bothering to read

...and the Half-Blood Prince

in order to prepare for

Deathly Hallows

, since I'd stopped after

Order of the Phoenix

, but in the end I couldn't be bothered - especially after I got around to reading summaries of it, and reading patches of it in Borders.

Thoughts:

- Speaking of cheap shots, doesn't Voldemort randomly kill the Sorting Hat for no good reason?

- And doesn't Voldemort essentially die because of a totally newbie mistake? Which Harry carefully explains to him before Voldemort goes ahead and screws up anyway? Doesn't Harry basically loophole his way to the win?

- Aren't

these people

overreacting a little?

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Wardog

at 20:42 on 2007-07-23Oh I totally forgot about the random death of the Sorting Hat! And, yes, Harry Potter wins by being a PC - he is the Joe Williams of children's fantasy.

That is a slightly over-reaction, yes...but people are not sane when it comes to HP.

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Mystiquefire

at 18:36 on 2007-08-11Trust me you are not the only one who thought this book sucked.

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Wardog

at 21:38 on 2007-08-11I think I'm so bitter because I was once very into Harry Potter. And I think I've become incapable of recognising its strengths any more. I mean what I've come to think of the puzzle-box aspect of the books (plots within plots) is probably better done than I give it credit for being. For example, according to the friends I have who still like Harry Potter, if you go back, you can genuinely trace a hint of the "true" Dumbledore throughout all the books. Sadly I genuinely can't be bothered.

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empink

at 12:12 on 2007-08-24

Sadly, everyone else I've spoken to (with the exception of Dan, obviously, but we share a brain) has been deeply enthusiastic about Potter. So perhaps I'm just a grumpy old git and didn't deserve to enjoy it.

No, you are not. My hate for DH grows with time's passing, actually, and though I'm well out of my tween years, I'm not yet a grumpy old git or anything approaching it ;).

Well, I might just be plain grumpy, but that book was enough to make me so, even when I just expected more possibly crappy source material for fanfic, fanart and so on. While it hasn't seemed to have as great an effect on fannish output in my little corner of fandom (mostly because of extenuating wankumstances), what little effect it *has* had has produced fic and art I'm still avoiding. Not because the fans I keep track of are not talented in their own way, but because I still can't bear to read things that are compliant with Deathly Hallows, cracktastic though they may be. Instead of making me chortle at the weirdness of fandom, the cracky ships that have sprung up just make me see more red. More...more epilogue. *shudders*

The whole book was just so *bad*, in places where it wouldn't have taken more than a little judicious effort to be the opposite. The few good bits it had just weren't enough to hold back the tide of useless jokes, stupidities, non-characterizations and daft deaths. It therefore feels hugely ironic that DH is the only HP book I have a copy of to this date (well, a paper copy).

Then again, I doubt I could reread the earlier books now without rolling my eyes and sighing knowing what is ahead for Harry. Incapable of recognising the series' strengths looks about where I'm standing now.

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Wardog

at 10:54 on 2007-08-27Many thanks for the comment - one of the problems with DH in terms of fandom, perhaps, is that it closes off more avenues than it opens, if that makes sense. Especially in terms of the Epilogue of Death because everyone is permanently dating the person they were doing at school. I wouldn't say no to a bit of twisted Dumbledore/Grindelward m'self but I can't see it eclipsing the amusing if pointless popularity of Scorpius/Albus-Severus (just *shudder*). Sadly, I have copies of all the books and although I tried to re-read them a few months ago to prepare for DH I couldn't actually get beyond 3. Sigh.

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M Harris

at 11:19 on 2007-10-04One of the most irrating things in book seven was Voldemort's lack of a plot or any sort of meaningful action. I spent the duration of the book waiting for him to kidnap people Harry was emotionally attached to and torturing/killing them until Harry came to him. We are continuously told of how unusually smart and clever and intelligent (and handsome)Tom Riddle was. So it is completely out of character to have him become inept. But of course Lord Voldemort being strategic and cunning would mean that Harry would have to form some sort of plan, and as he is clearly incapible of that I guess JKR had to stick with him sitting in a tent for a very long amount of time while Voldemort killed time by killing minor characters.

Another thing that really angered me was JKR writing that Snape based his entire life on the fact that he was in love with some girl when he was fifteen. It made his character lose any sort of depth he had gained through the other books. The dialogue between AD and SS of "After all this time?" "Always." made me want to kill people.

The halfnaked!pictures in Sirius' room could have ONLY been put there as a "fuck you, I'm writing the book" from JKR to the slashers. I have no idea why she felt so threatened that she needed to close that particular opportunity for straying from 'everyone is straight and get married to people they met when they were eleven and have large amounts of children named after dead relatives' Deathly Hallows.

(Hahahaha, Dumbledore/Grindelwald is canon, because she can't write another book to insert girl!porn in to say otherwise.)

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Wardog

at 12:40 on 2007-10-04Indeed, Voldemort's ineptitude is particularly annoying in book full of things that are particularly annoying. I remember those halycon days when Voldemort was actually rather scary... the drinking unicorn blood business really traumatised me. To be fair, the whole seven book arc is so unwieldy I'm not sure I could easily come up with a way for Voldemort to have been effective by book 7 without completely hindering Harry's ability to take him out. I think it actually comes to the contradiction that lies at the heart of most children's books (and for that matter a lot of detective stories): why is that the group of feisty kids able to take out fully grown villain when conventional law authorities have failed, or why is this cocaine-saturated amateur able to catch the criminals who have been defying the finest minds at Scotland Yard. Most texts go some way towards smoothing over these inconsistencies (i.e. the Secret Seven always end up alerting the police when it comes to the crunch, Sherlock Holmes is a specialist in a proto-forensic techinque that - although nonesense in the modern day - is unknown to the authorities) but JKR manages to have the worst of all possible worlds: hugely powerful wizard we should all be scared of who has taken over *the entire ministry of magic* versus one short-sighted kid with an expelliarmus.

And, yes, you're right - the whole Lily business makes Snape much less complex and interesting than he used to be.... although I almost hovered on the verge of finding it just a little bit sweet. I was desperate for emotional connection by that time in the seven hundred page monster.

Dumbledore/Grindelward? Ouch.

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Melissa G.

at 15:07 on 2009-12-08So, I've been in a "reading sporks of Harry Potter" mood which led me back to many of the articles here, and I just wanted to point something out about Colin Creevey's death, and maybe someone else has said it already, but...it is not actually possible for him to have been there to die.

It's said that he snuck back from the Hog's Head into Hogwarts to join the battle. The only problem is: he can't have been at the Hog's Head in the first place. He wouldn't have been at Hogwarts that year - being Muggleborn, he would been arrested and sent to concentration camp(?) - so he couldn't have been evacuated from Hogwarts to the Hog's Head to sneak back. And he couldn't have gotten into the Hog's Head from the outside because Hogsmeade has a curfew curse thing that would go off if anyone was walking around the streets late at night. Perhaps he Apparated into the Hog's Head? But why? How would he have even known the battle was going on then?

I know it seems obsessive, but it's just that it was such a cheap shot, and it isn't even possible given the rules she set up. Arg.

[nixonsmoviereviews]

Far too shallow and basic, "Ginger Snaps Back: The Beginning" lacks the charm and wit that made the original so iconic.

(Review originally written in 2014)

I find that all too often... prequels just don't work that well in movies. Sure, they occasionally work. And they can even sometimes flesh out characters or a storyline in a way that makes the audience appreciate the previous films even more. But they just don't jive well much of the time. And I think this is definitely one of those cases where a "prequel" just doesn't quite work. (In fact, I wouldn't even call this a "prequel", but we'll go with that term, as that's the way it was advertised.) "Ginger Snaps Back: The Beginning" tells the story of the Fitzgerald siblings, Ginger (Katharine Isabelle) and Bridgette (Emily Perkins) in the year 1815. Taking refugee in a fort in the Canadian wilderness, they find their new dwelling under the siege of werewolves and in disarray from the general unease of the others around them. Only adding to the problems, Ginger is soon bitten by a young boy afflicted with the werewolf curse, and finds herself slowly transforming, setting off a chain of events that threatens to destroy everyone. ... wait, what?! Yes, that's the basic plot in a nutshell, and it's... odd to say the least. It's been 10 years since the film was released, and it still sorta throws me for a loop. For all intents, this doesn't feel like a "prequel", so much as a strange remake of the original film. It’s like the producers watched the original film again and said "I wonder what would happen if this movie took place 200 years ago?" And then just decided to make that film and market it as a "prequel", even though it doesn't necessarily work as one. But I digress. I could write for hours trying to explain how this film fits (or doesn't fit) into the series as a whole, but that would be a disservice. I'll just review it on its own merits and how it stacks up to the previous films quality-wise, rather than how it fits into the trilogy. Written by Stephen Massicotte and Christina Ray, the script is problematic. The film can't quite decide on tone or style, and seems fundamentally confused about what made the first two movies as good as they were. Many things seem contradictory. Characters say and do anachronistic things in some scenes, while acting more-or-less "normal" for the time period in others. Some sequences are played for creature-feature scares, while others strive to be artistic in a contradictory fashion. It's quite jumbled. I wouldn't be surprised if there were multiple scripts that were combined, because things don't come together as they should. It's also apparent neither writer quite got the wit or provocative content of the previous films. Gone are the interesting metaphors about puberty, addiction, etc. Instead, they are replaced with gross-out gore and by-the-books scares. Gone is the biting humor and satire, replaced with routine (and somewhat joyless and cliché) character and plot development. Directorial duties are handed to Grant Harvey, an assistant director and producer on the previous films. While I'll say that from a fundamental standpoint, his work is solid, I also feel its lacking. John Fawcett and Brett Sulivan did much for the previous films in their direction, injecting slickness, style and a personal touch to the storytelling. But Harvey's work is just too basic. It's of no real note, which I think is a problem. Even though the script is underwhelming, expert direction could have saved the film. But the so-so visuals and occasional generic "film school" compositions put the flaws at the forefront. It also makes the issues with the cheaper budget stand out. This looks too much like a "TV Movie of the Week." It lacks expert guidance. However, I'd be lying if I said the film was all bad. Because there are some good aspects that save it. Most importantly, the performers give a lot of life to the project. Particularly Emily Perkins, and supporting roles from the likes of Nathaniel Arcand and Brendan Fletcher. Perkins really gives her all, and is able to re-invigorate otherwise forgettable scenes. She effectively reminds us of how well the first two films worked thanks to her and Katharine Isabelle's performances. Though I do feel that Isabelle, while decent, isn't utilized properly in this film. Her character is a bit too flat. This is one of those cases where the writing and dialog is elevated by actors. They make the shoddy writing and occasionally- shoddy direction forgivable in enough key moments to make you overlook a few of the bigger flaws. There is also just a lot of charm to be had here. While it makes little sense, the period setting offers some interesting new ideas, and gives just enough flavor to the keep the film afloat. The score by Alex Khaskin is lovely. There are some truly well- done sequences with a dreamlike atmosphere that are quite stunning and refreshing. I enjoyed a lot of the new concepts. (Were- leeches... 'nuff said!) And there are some really great moments peppered through the script. This is a tough one. It's messy, doesn't fit in with the series really, and it's all over the map tonally. Yet I don't hate it. In fact, I liked a lot of it. And there's some fun to be had with the concept. It just doesn't work quite as well as it should have. If they had gone with a straight remake/re-imagining, instead of shoehorning into being a "kinda-sorta prequel", or set it outside of the "Ginger Snaps" universe, I think it would have been better. While definitely the weakest entry in the trilogy, "Ginger Snaps Back" is still watchable and mildly enjoyable. I give it an average 5 out of 10. Worth checking out for fans of the series, but I don't think it'll be appealing enough for other audiences.

[xmenimagine]

Imagine: Roadworks.

Requested by Anon. Includes: Alex Summers x Reader. Request: • Can I please request Alex Summers taking female reader out on their first date after secretly being in love with her for ages? And it’s just super fluffy? If you’re taking requests.. and thank you so much! • Could you please, if you don’t mind do Peter or Alex falls in love with a widowed single mother with a 6 year old daughter with lots of fluff? Thank you so much! (I’m not sure if I’ve already sent this in or not 🙈)

Note: I haven’t been writing for a while bc of uni, but I managed to find time to write this. sorry if it's not exactly what you wanted, but I hope you enjoy it.

    He was thankful that there was a diversion on his way to work that day. His usual commute to work consisted of walking passed the same replicated buildings with a white exterior, black doors, black windowsills, and black steps leading up to the doors, and the same neatly trimmed trees that were plotted every ten steps. Everything looked the same, and quite honestly, Alex was beginning to lose his sanity if he had to walk down the same road there and back with his thermos in his hand, his suit done up, his bag over his shoulder as he counted down the hours before he would eat his repetitive lunch of a sandwich, a piece of fruit, and another cup of coffee before he walked back into the building for another few hours before Cheryl, ultimately, like goddamn clockwork, came around and told him he had to work overtime. Oh, how he loathed Cheryl—the woman at the desk with the low-cut, designer shirts and tight pencil-skirts, with those black high heels, my god those heels that would do your head in, the constant clicking was almost as bad as the man next his desk who talked on his phone to his girlfriend in Mexico from the moment he sat down at his desk to the moment he got up and switched to his personal phone.

    Alex sighed to himself loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose as he continued walking. The only thing he could stand on his way to work was the colours of the leaves, the ones that were changing to a deep red before they drifted to the ground, only to be picked up by the workers who came around every day to clean the roads. His long, blond hair was tied back, which he was thankful for as the wind wasn't forgiving, neither was Malcolm—the tech support guy who looked like a stereotypical character, with the hair gelled back, the ugly yellow button-up shirt tucked into his even uglier, not exactly brown but you know they are, brown pants that didn't fit the length of his lanky legs. It also didn't help that his glasses were thick-rimmed and the prescription was so strong that Alex had to bite back the comments that consisted of asking Malcolm if he just stuck two magnifying glasses to his face. He always had those two stupid pens in his shirt pocket, and somehow an entire maths set too. He also had a patterned tie designated to a certain day of the week. Alex wasn't a fan, but neither was Malcolm with Alex.

    As he removed his hand away from his face he looked back up to the pavement and saw that, along the two pavements and road, there was a barrier. There were workers in bright orange helmets and vests with worker boots that stood around, Alex felt out of place in his three-piece suit and shiny, black, lace-up dress shoes. He paused, furrowing his eyebrows, in the middle of the pavement. One of the workers patted his colleague's shoulder and the other one turned around before he approached Alex.

    "Sorry, Sir. Roadworks. Might take a few days, a week at most. It's pretty bad, but, uh, there's a road just down there,"—he pointed to Alex's right, towards a small road—"that you can take. Sorry for the inconvenience."

    "No, that's uh," Alex started with a sigh, checking his watch, "I was going to be early anyway. Thanks for letting me know."

    Before the man could say anything else, Alex continued down the smaller road. His go-to stress sign was running his hand through his hair, but he couldn't do that right now. Well, he could, but he'd look like he had a bird trapped in his hair, and he'd rather not give Malcolm something to comment on as he walked into the office. Alex was sure to deck Malcolm in the face the day he quit. Maybe put Cheryl in her place, tell her to get the stick out of her ass too while he was at it. But sadly, that day wasn't today. More stress piled on top of Alex when he turned out of the road and heard children yelling and playing. He was directed straight into a park, granted a well-kept and fairly spacious park.

    On one side, the side that started at the back of the houses, was a flat grass area with a few benches towards the middle by the winding path, just opposite the colourful gated area where the children's playground was. Alex shifted the weight of his bag on his shoulder and walked down the path. He forced a smile at those that passed and offered him one, only really smiling at the dogs that walked passed with their owners, laughing to himself as their tails wagged faster. The grass area had a few dogs running around, their owners throwing frisbees and some teenagers huddled together smoking. He rolled his eyes at them. That shit will kill ya. He turned back, walking with his head up high, just waiting for the day to be over so he could go back home, order a pizza and side, maybe even a drink that wasn't coffee or beer, lounge in his sweats and old college hockey shirt, a game he still enjoys but no longer plays, there's no time, while watching old episodes of Bob's Burgers, maybe Parks and Rec, only occasionally watching something else like the news or some other sports that he'd get bored of in a matter of minutes.

    Then, faintly, he heard something. At first, he thought his mind just wanted to hear it, but he could hear the same voice that kept him up most nights, thinking, over at the playground. He turned his head, slowing down his walk, and he spotted you, standing at the climbing frame with your daughter. You lived in the same apartment complex as him and the same floor, luckily for him, too. Your bedrooms were next to each other, and he would often hear your soft voice on the phone, talking to someone about God knows what. He would often be returning from a jog when you got back from shopping with your little girl, he'd offer to help you, but you were determined to get it done by yourself, but he insisted, so you would have to settle with him looking after your little girl on the landing as you made two or three trips down the stairs—the elevator hasn't been fixed in a few years.

    He didn't know much about the father, only that he wasn't in the picture. He would never admit it to anyone, especially not Scott, but when he sat against the wall, waiting with your daughter next to him for you to return, something just seemed… right? He wasn't sure what he felt when he saw you walking up the stairs with two or four bags in your hands, your messy hair falling in front of your face, smiling shyly at him as you thanked him for waiting, remind him that he didn't have to, but, it was something he began to long for. When you and your daughter would disappear into your apartment he would stay outside for a few extra seconds before slowly backing up to his door. Only once did he walk back too far and almost fell into the fake potted plant in the corner.

    Alex snapped out of it when he heard your daughter call his name loudly. He blinked, cursing himself for stopping to stare, and smiled over at her before his gaze moved onto you. The small wave you sent him had him lifting his arm up shyly to wave back. Your daughter called out to him again as she stood at the edge of the climbing frame in front of the pole the kids slid down, pretending to be firefighters. Alex smiled faintly as you waved him over. He pushed open the small yellow gate and walked in, making sure not to get in the way of any of the other children that ran around.

    "Hey there," Alex spoke to your daughter.

    "Hi," she grinned, holding onto the pole, but not moving any further.

    "She's too scared to get down," you informed him and your daughter stopped smiling and glared at you.

    "Am not," she argued.

    "Then why are you still up there?" You teased.

    Alex laughed to himself and placed his thermos down, then took his bag from his shoulders. "I'll rescue the princess," he said with a chuckle.

    Your daughter grinned, shuffling her feet as she removed her hands from the pole and to Alex's shoulders while he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up and off the frame. He kept her in his arms, smiling, as she wrapped her smaller arms around his shoulders, smiling widely at you herself.

    "You're a menace," you teased, poking her stomach before kissing her cheek gently.

    "A what?" She asked, tilting her head.

    Alex chuckled. "Trouble," he told her.

    "Oh." Your daughter tried to hide a smile and tried to bite back a laugh, turning her head away.

    "What's so funny now?" You asked.

    "'Now'?" Alex repeated with a raised eyebrow.

    "She's been doing this the whole morning," you said, shaking your head. "I have no idea why."

    "I've been doing no such thing," your daughter giggled to herself, beginning to squirm in Alex's arms.

    He set her down and she ran off to the seesaw, beginning to chat with two other girls and a little boy while Alex picked up his bag and thermos again, still standing next to you. "I don't usually see you walk this way," you spoke up.

    Alex turned his attention away from your daughter and to you, watching as you crossed your arms and kept a close eye on her. "What? Oh, right!" You side eyed him quickly before looking away again. "Roadworks and I left earlier than usual. I was hoping to get in and maybe start the reports before Andrew gets in."

    "He's the phone guy, right?"

    He chuckled, grinning to himself, feeling… happy? that you knew who Andrew was, especially since he told you about him almost five months ago. "Yeah, the phone guy."

    "How does he still have a job?" You mumbled to yourself.

    "What about you? Do you always come here at this time?"

    With a sigh, you shook your head. "No, I haven't exactly slept yet. I called in sick to work because I knew I wouldn't focus, and she didn't have school today so, here we are. I know, I know, a stupid mum thing to do. Irresponsible and childish. I already got that speech from my mum."

    "You haven't slept yet?" He asked, not saying anything about your parenting skills.

    "No," you replied, shaking your head.

    "Are both of you okay?"

    "Yeah. She's fine."

    "The question was including you, too." Alex heard you sigh quietly. "Coffee?" He held his thermos to you. You nodded your head and took it from him, unscrewing the lid before taking a sip. "Now, are you okay?"

    "Yeah, it's just… Starting to go out on dates again is proving to be difficult and stressful."

    "Dates?"

    "I don't particularly want to be single for the rest of my life, raising a child I had at a young age, who I had with a boy I got married to when I was far too young to understand how stupid I was," you replied.

    He nodded his head. "What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

    "It's fine." You shrugged. "I was meant to go on a date yesterday, with a guy I met at a coffee shop, I'm not sure if what happened was a sign that I shouldn't date guys from coffee shops or if I should stop going to coffee shops in general, maybe it was about dating, I… I'm getting off topic." Alex smiled lightly, almost wincing. "But, anyway, when he showed up… I'm not sure if he ignored me when I told him I had a daughter, or maybe he just thought I was joking, but whatever it was, when I asked him to just wait a minute for the babysitter to arrive, he began to make an excuse as to why he couldn't go on the date. I asked him what was wrong, and it was at that point when she came up to the door behind me and wrapped her arms around my leg, staring up at him sadly, that he said he didn't want baggage and just left. I had to cancel the babysitter, change out of that stupid dress, that I'm going to burn because I can almost see the words 'I don't want that type of baggage' on it and I just… He said that in front of my child, Alex. He actually had the audacity to say that in front of my baby, like she…"

    "I still have my college hockey stick, how about I beat him to death with it?" Alex suggested when he heard you trail off, wrapping your hands tightly around the thermos.

    A small hum left your lips. "Tempting."

    Alex smiled lightly, and then his heart began to race, his hand began to twitch. He wanted to mess with his hair just to distract himself. "H-How about I take you out for dinner tonight, to make up for his mistake instead? She can come with us." He motioned his head towards your daughter who was now sharing one side of the seesaw with the little boy while the other two girls shared the other.

    Slightly stunned, you turned your head from your daughter and looked up at him. "What?"

    "Oh, would you look at the time." Alex chuckled nervously, lifting his arm up to look at his watch. "It's time for me to get to work."

    "Alex," you called after him as he began to walk. He only got away with two steps before you grabbed onto his arm and moved to stand in front of him. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

    He gulped, tugging at the collar of his shirt, noticing a few strands of his hair had fallen in front of his face. "I've been meaning to for almost two years," he admitted quietly, feeling a knot in his stomach, his hands shaking and sweating at the same time, his heart beating uncomfortably in his chest.

    A smile rose to your face as you looked down, hiding the fact your cheeks turned a shade of pink faintly, your skin warmed up. "I, uh… yes." You nodded. "I would love to… we would love to."

    "Really?" He asked.

    You nodded, turning to look at your daughter who was already making her way back. She wrapped her arms around your leg again, leaning her head against you. Alex crouched down and cleared his throat.

    "I need to ask you something very important."

    "About stocks?"

    "What?" Alex looked at her, then up to you, who was just as confused as he was, then back down to your daughter. "No."

    "Good, because I don't know anything about them."

    "No, I need to ask you for permission."

    "To do what?"

    "Take you and your mum out for dinner tonight, and if that goes well, maybe every other night after that?"

    Your daughter looked up to you, a smiling growing on her face. You shrugged, waiting for her response. She looked back at Alex and grinned, nodding her head before she pushed forward and wrapped her arms around him again. With a chuckle, he stood up, holding her tightly. The nerves were still there eating away at him, but it was no longer a bad feeling, they were the good kind of nerves. Alex glanced at you and grinned, unwrapping one arm from your daughter to bring you into the hug as well. He was no longer pissed off at the diversion, and, slowly, the stress started to melt away.