#its especially true of anything that has ties to the chalices

[saintadeline]

I just woke up from a dream where i was so certain i had just come to a groundbreaking realization about bloodborne and now that i'm awake it was really silly but i think this part of it still holds true so I made the exact image i was making in that dream. What this means is up to interpretation but it's interesting i suppose

[superhappyyellowrainbowsmoo-blog]

Part One - The Meeting

Hey people, just a random type thing, not sure what to call it of an AU of sorts, kinda the same kinda different. I suppose you could call it FanFiction, hope you enjoy :) Is Kinda Long...

YOU wake up, your vision blurred but there's something in your view - a man, you think but he's covered up in a cloak. He moans painfully yet happy. He stinks of fish.

YOU - Err... hey there.

Cloaked Man - He-Hello...

YOU go to offer your hand than see that they are both bound by a metal clasp.

Despite that, the Cloaked Man happily takes both your hands and shakes them. He is all giddy as if a kid just been offered sugar.

YOU can't help but to smile at him. He's grotesque and hard to stomach. the stench burnt the hairs inside your nose but, there was something wholesome about him.

Suddenly, a hand grabs around your throat, amazingly hoisting you up clean off the floor. You gag out of shock as you're forced face to face with a tall, pale lady. Her golden eyes burning into yours. In her other hand was a cigarette attached to a long pipe.

YOU blink. Your features suddenly relax. By God, she's gorgeous.

YOU - Hello, Princess.

The woman tuts in disgust and looks beyond you, to the cloaked man.

Tall Lady - Moreau, it'll do you good NOT to make friends with the prisoner.

Moreau - But it would had been rude not too...

Tall Lady - Rude? You are a lord for Miranda's sake! *She turns to you, her grip tightening around your neck* Such outsiders need to learn a lesson that they just cannot simply wander about OUR village, thinking it's OK. It'll be a VERY painful experience indeed.

YOU - *Between wheezes* Joke's on you, I am having a good time...!

The Tall Lady scrunches up her nose in disgust and throws you to the floor.

YOU, despite the pain, manage to get yourself up right, your side aches but your heart aches more for her.

YOU - Wow, at least take me to dinner before you slam me, Princess...

The Tall Lady's eyes grow wide and near snarls at you.

The Tall Lady - Just exactly what kind of muck did Heisenberg drag in here?!

Male Voice - Do my ears burn?

YOU look, a man, this one human, walks in with a large hammer draped across his shoulders, you wonder how he manages to walk around with it at such ease.

Tall Lady - Heisenberg, what is the meaning of this sudden meeting?

Heisenberg - Later, when everyone has arrived.

As YOU shift a little, really wanting to rub away the pain in your shoulder. Moreau catches this and begins soothing it.

Tall Lady - Moreau! Get away, now!

The deformed man whimpers a little and scuttles away into a corner. YOU feel bad, almost protective but you keep that to yourself.

Tall Lady - This better be worth my time.

Heisenberg - I am sure your playthings can wait for their mistress to return!

YOU - So, you're not single?

Both of them snap their necks to you. The Tall Lady once again looking disgusted, the man almost laughing.

Heisenberg - Trust me, this is a flower you don't want to pick.

The Tall Lady remains silent, she gives you a quick hateful side-eye before twirling her body and walking over to her large chair. She fiddles with her pipe between her teeth, taking a drag.

Moreau stays obedient in the corner, he's shaking.

Heisenberg looks YOU up and down, his eyes hidden under his shades.

He makes you feel awkward, especially as he smiles at you.

YOU - Can I help you?

Heisenberg - You need to be quiet.

YOU - You need a wash.

The Tall Lady toots a small giggle through her nose.

Heisenberg's features tighten.

Tall Lady - Well, the muck speaks some truth, little brother.

Heisenberg shifts over to his seat, both man and woman look at one another in a silent battle of stares. The Tall Lady takes another puff from her pipe, this time a long one, expelling it out slowly in the direction of the man.

Before things get too awkward, YOU here tiny foot steps from behind... in a second you're jumped upon by a loud, giggling... doll?

Doll - WhatDoWeHaveHere??? HAHAHA... FreshMeat! FRESHMEAT!

YOU squirm and wriggled the Doll off you, it falls to the floor with a thud. At the end of the room, beside Moreau, YOU see what you think is a woman, her face is cloaked and wearing a long black dress, sit down. YOU frown at her.

YOU - Excuse me, is this yours? Is this your toy?

The Cloaked Woman just sits there is silence. Even though her face is hidden, it's obvious she is looking at YOU.

YOU - I know you can hear me, do not pretend you don't!

The Doll continues to giggle, it gets up to its feet, brushes down their dress and races over to the sat down woman.

YOU - Can't talk? Something wrong with your face. Your voice? You got bad eyesight?

In a flash, the Tall Lady gets up with a hiss. Her fingers spit out five lengthy claws.

YOU put up your hands.

YOU - Sorry, sorry... but does she?

Heisenberg laughs into his hand.

The Tall Lady stares at you, her eyes flaring up, almost illuminous.

A Voice - What is going on here? Heisenberg, you go too far, requesting such a meeting.

All heads turn to face a third woman covered in feathers.

The Tall Lady sits back down.

Moreau gets a little excited, mumbling happily.

Heisenberg gets up.

Heisenberg - Mother Miranda, I have found you your champion.

YOU tilt your head. Champion?

The Doll gasps.

Moreau mumbles something.

Mother Miranda - How do you know they are the one?

Heisenberg - I am just sure, a lone wonderer into the Village?

Tall Lady - Ugh, this again? Mother Miranda, I hope you will not waste your time on such fairy tales!

Heisenberg - Would you not take the risk?

Tall Lady - I'd rather not waste my time.

Heisenberg - Waste your time? For no longer needing to eat human flesh to survive?! We will be unstoppable!

Tall Lady - We already are...

Mother Miranda - Heisenberg. You call upon this meeting without any true reason or rhyme, other than to gather up hopes.

The woman sounds disappointed. Scolding the man.

Heisenberg - Let me prove it. Give them to me, I'll train them up, ready for the Blue Moon.

Tall Lady - Mother Miranda, listen to me. Heisenberg is simply having you on. This... MUCK is nothing more than a mere mortal, showing us nothing more than running their pathetic little mouth. Give them to me, I will show them what happens to those who get too close.

YOU - Hmm, alright...

YOU wink at the tall lady.

The woman, Mother Miranda keeps her eyes on you. There is something about her, it's unsettling compared to the others, like a dark aura about her.

Mother Miranda - Heisenberg, I will take you up on your offer, however, I will not allow you to train them. If they are the Champion, they would not need the training, Alcina...

YOU - Oh, she has a name. *YOU smile to the Tall Lady*

Mother Miranda - They will be put into your care for the time being. But no harm will come to them.

Alcina - Understood, Mother Miranda.

Mother Miranda - And you mortal, you have until the Blue Moon, you either prove yourself or you die. We'll soon see if you're a champion or a fool.

YOU - Says the woman dressed as a chicken...

Alcina launches herself back up and this time she boots YOU in the face, YOU are out cold.

YOU wake up in a room, it's fancy. A fire burning in the right corner. Your head throbs, you try to rub it but you find yourself covered in ropes. YOU can't move.

YOU - Come on...

Alcina - Awake at last...

She sits at the end of the room, sipping from a red chalice.

There are giggles, YOU look around and notice three other woman in the room, blood around their mouths. The creep in closer, carrying sickles.

Alcina - Now, now, Daughters. Do not harm our guest.

Alcina picks herself up from her chair, putting down her cup and sways herself over to YOU. She smiles.

Alcina - However, I am sure Mother Miranda would not begrudge me a taste.

YOU feel your cheeks warm up.

Alcina lifts her arms. The three women, her daughters hoist up your bound body, the moment you get to your feet. The Tall Lady launches a single claw from her forefinger and scraps it across your shoulder. She digs in a little deep, it feels like a pinch.

YOU - Hey!

Alcina dives in, licking the fresh wound then begins to suck. No teeth involved.

YOU eyes widen feeling the woman massage your shoulder with her lips. It tickles but you swallow the need to giggle.

YOU - Well, you're forgiven for kicking me in the face....

She parts, fresh blood on her lips. One of the daughters present her a white napkin.

Alcina - Hmm, such a shame I cannot kill you now. You taste divine.

Alcina looks you in the eye, her single claw strokes under your chin.

Daughter #1 - Let me have a taste!

Daughter #2 - I want to have a go!

Daughter #3 - I want a leg.

Alcina - Control yourselves, daughters. I am sure this one won't be living up to anything...

Alcina gets down to your level once more, she giggles and then proceeds to wrap the napkin around your mouth, she knots it tight.

Alcina - That'll keep you in check before I come back. Enjoy your stay at Castle Dimitrescu.

The Tall Lady gets up, you sit there helpless as she spins ever so elegantly and walks out of the room, having to bend down so not to hit her head on the doorframe.

The daughters snap their teeth at you before leaving themselves.

YOU're left there, tied up and helpless...

YOU - Mmmph... *Shit*

[twentiethcenturymoviesandtv]

The Princess Bride: The Characters, Part 2: The Sicilian Crowd, the Villains, and Conclusion

When we are first introduced to Inigo, he’s not exactly a glowing example of heroism.  A former alcoholic, Inigo is a Master Swordsman, working as a mercenary, he is one of the trio who first kidnaps Buttercup (under Humperdinck’s orders).  He’s fine with the abduction itself, but shows a few of his true colors when he objects to murdering her, already proving himself a little more decent than Vizzini, the leader of the band.

A little later, during the duel with Westley, much is revealed about Inigo, more in fact than you ever learn about the backstories of either Westley or Buttercup: the story of his father’s murder and his own desire for revenge, so strong that it has encouraged him to dedicate his life to mastering the art of fencing.  The duel, exciting enough from an action and comedy standpoint, also clues the audience in on a few other key details: Inigo isn’t really all that bad of a guy, just a man on a Roaring Rampage of Revenge, again demonstrating the same duality (just reversed) that Westley does.

Despite not having as much screen time and focus as Buttercup and Westley, Inigo is the Breakout Character of The Princess Bride, a Determinator, the Lancer of the film.  As I mentioned, he’s also the character we receive the most information about, learning that he is a man of honor, good hearted, and loyal through his interactions with other characters, notably Westley and Fezzik.  Thanks to his sympathetic backstory and one-track mind, he’s understandable to the audience: we know everything about him and why he is doing everything.  He’s totally transparent in the best way, he makes sense, and the audience roots for him.  They care about him, even when he’s initially introduced as a more villainous character (albeit one with truly hilarious lines).  The audience arguably has a stronger attachment to him than they do to Westley and Buttercup, which is very unusual, especially when Inigo disappears for a while after Westley defeats him in battle.

In a way, Inigo would seem to have the qualities very necessary to carry a film: tragic backstory, sympathetic motivation, understandable actions rooted in very clear character traits, and indeed, a lot of elements that put him in the Hero camp.  And yet, like Buttercup and Westley, while some things fit him into this mold, others don’t.

Although he doesn’t have a connection to Humperdinck (aside from him being a distant employer), he does have a very strong tie to the main villains of the story in Count Rugen.

Rugen is, of course, the six-fingered man who murdered Inigo’s father so many years ago, and scarred Inigo himself.  It is he that Inigo is out to get throughout the entire film (and his entire life), a much stronger tie to an individual character in a personal way than Westley’s nemesis: Humperdinck.  Rugen is much more of an arch-nemesis, representing a very personal loss to Inigo, something that cuts much deeper, even, than true love.  While Westley never seems particularly worried about himself or Buttercup because he just knows that True Love will keep them together, Inigo reacts very strongly to Rugen and his own emotional journey, traits more typically associated with a protagonist than a cool confidence in how everything will turn out.

As a direct result to this personal stake in the story, Inigo, being at full strength and in full health, is the one who is given the final climactic battle at the end of the movie.

Where Westley has a rather anticlimactic confrontation with Humperdinck, Inigo gets a huge duel with Rugen, the climax centerpiece, the scene most memorable and most quoted in the entire film, ending in Inigo actually achieving his goal: getting revenge.  Afterwards, he even muses that after having gotten his revenge, now he no longer knows what to do with his life, with the film implying that he will become the next Dread Pirate Roberts in Westley’s place.  

Unlike Westley, and even unlike Buttercup, Inigo has an arc, pursuing what he wants actively, achieving it, and moving on.  He makes choices that have huge consequences in the plot: pursuing revenge, leaving Vizzini, finding Westley and bringing him to Miracle Max.  In a way, a huge part of the story is Inigo’s, just as much as it is Buttercup and Westley’s.  

Westley has the Heroic qualities, Buttercup has most of the focus (and her title in the movie’s name), and Inigo has the dramatic arc and climactic battle.  On their own, no one character manages to pull off the full requirements for being a fantasy protagonist, or even a protagonist at all, but together, they manage to make one complete protagonist between them.  While the story of The Princess Bride, in plot beats and story elements, seems very much like your very traditional fairy-tale story, in terms of protagonist, the execution is actually very complex.  By taking the traits of a protagonist and dividing them equally between three characters with varying levels of screen-time and activism within a story (not always at the same time), the story manages to get the audience’s interest invested in not one, but three characters equally, weaving the major threads for each of their stories in amongst each other to keep it all tied together.  And in the end, both the characters and the audience (even the Grandson!) feel closure and satisfaction.

But Inigo, Westley and Buttercup aren’t the only characters in the film.  Every story needs their supporting cast, and none are quite as supportive as Fezzik.

Fezzik is a Gentle Giant.  He’s big and strong, for sure, but he’s also very kind, the Big Guy with a heart of gold who, while not exactly being a pushover, isn’t out to hurt anybody who doesn’t deserve it.  He’s the Brute of Vizzini’s Beauty, Brains, and Brawn trio, and manages to subvert the Dumb Muscle stereotype.  He’s not terribly clever, but he does have a wit and intelligence to him that isn’t typical of most fairy-tale giants.

He and Inigo are borderline inseparable, and much like Inigo, Fezzik is somewhat okay with kidnapping Buttercup for money, but he’s considerably less approving of killing her.  Like Inigo, he is a man of honor, preferring to fight Westley in a ‘sportsmanlike’ way instead of clubbing him over the head with a rock like Vizzini first suggests.  He’s a good, loyal friend, rescuing Inigo from the palace guards, sobering him up, and then accompanying him throughout the rest of the story in finding and reviving Westley and then storming the castle.

Unlike Inigo, Westley and Buttercup, Fezzik has no stake in this story.  He has no goal to achieve here, no personal mission.  After Vizzini, his ‘boss’, is killed, there’s nothing keeping Fezzik in the story except his own will, like the Chewbacca to Inigo’s Han Solo.  He’s here because of his loyalty and concern for his friends.  He just wants to help, and help he does, turning his back on his mercenary ways pretty easily and without any real convincing.  He’s along for the ride, a supporting character that manages to be more than just ‘the comic relief’.  (In a way, one of the smartest things The Princess Bride did in terms of its characters was to make everyone funny, so no one is relegated to ‘just’ the comic relief.)

With that said, Fezzik still remains an active character in the story, helping with the storming of the castle and providing the Muscle (and the heart!) for the mission, and providing the escape by finding Humperdinck’s four white horses in his stable.

Starting out as a Minion with an F in Evil, Fezzik ends The Princess Bride as one of its most memorable and loved heroes, a kindly figure of support who’s anything but minor.

Which is more than we can say for the deceased leader of the trio of kidnappers: Vizzini.

Vizzini is the smartest of the trio sent to abduct Buttercup, but despite his bragging, he demonstrates hints that he’s not half as smart as he thinks he is.  The brains to Inigo’s beauty and Fezzik’s brawn, Vizzini is merely a Big Bad Wannabe, the final obstacle for Westley’s initial reunion with Buttercup, a Disk One Final Boss before the plot kicks off with portraying Humperdinck as the real villain.  However, while the film points out that Fezzik and Inigo fight Westley with honor, and he leaves them respectful of their talents (defeating them in the process), Westley shows no such respect for Vizzini’s ‘talents’, and simply Out-Gambits him, despite Vizzini’s Poisoned Chalice Switcheroo.  In the end, Vizzini is Too Clever by Half, and is the only one of the Sicilian Crowd to be killed, most likely due to his arrogance.

Despite his death being one of the most memorable scenes in the entire film, Vizzini doesn’t receive much screen time, or even narrative weight, in comparison to the true villains of the movie.  After all, Vizzini is only a hired stooge, a pawn in Humperdinck’s evil plan.

Humperdinck, as far as fairy-tale villains go, isn’t terribly impressive.  He’s no great dragon or emperor, or evil wizard.  He’s just a prince, a man with a lot of power who’s used to getting his own way.  He does plenty of rotten things along the way (torture Westley and kill him, order Buttercup’s kidnapping, attempt to kill her) but in the end, his goal isn’t world-domination, or wealth, or anything like that: he’s just after an excuse to go to war with the neighboring country.  He’s not after Buttercup for her beauty, like many other fairy-tale villains before him, he’s just after her to use as a political figure, aiming to kill her after their wedding night and pin it on Guilder.

Arguably, this makes him worse.

There’s no great, over-the-top explanation for his villany.  He’s not cartoonish or after traditional fairy-tale things, he’s actually after something that we’d see in the real world.  He is the true Big Bad, the Chessmaster, The Evil Prince obsessed with war, who, ironically, happens to be a Dirty Coward.

Oddly enough, throughout the film, although Humperdinck is presented as the Archenemy of Westley, there’s no real personal connection between them.  This isn’t like Beauty and the Beast, where both men are vying (in their own way) for Buttercup’s affection.  Humperdinck honestly couldn’t care less about Buttercup, viewing her as a tool to get what he really wants.  In the end, he rushes through a marriage ceremony in order to murder Buttercup after the wedding, again, nothing personal, just business.  His only connection to Westley is happening to choose the wrong girl to murder.

As such, as opposed to Count Rugen’s thematically resonant demise, Humperdinck is actually allowed to live, and go free at the end of the story, which seems to be a big-time rule-breaker in terms of fairy-tale storytelling.  The Grandson himself expresses irritation and disbelief at this fact, after all, villains should be punished, not sternly talked-down by a paralyzed hero.

Yet, that’s what happens.  Considering that the most Humperdinck managed to do was temporarily kill Westley, he gets very little ‘revenge’ in return.  Like I said in the Story article:

Westley couldn’t care less about Humperdinck other than the fact that he’s getting in the way of his and Buttercup’s storybook love.  Humperdinck is an obstacle to his true goal and drive, and he’s not worth the killing.  Once he’s out of the way and Westley and Buttercup are reunited, Humperdinck ceases to matter to Westley.  If the story had been from Miracle Max’s point of view, Humperdinck would have died or at least, have something more horrible happen to him, but since Humperdinck never really succeeded in doing much of anything throughout the story, he’s actually so pathetic that he’s not worth Westley’s time.

So, yeah, Humperdinck is left to live with his cowardice because his death wouldn’t have provided the characters anything except maybe catharsis, and honestly, that’s not really a good enough reason to off your villain

He’s such a coward, he doesn’t even have a chance to take part in a climatic duel.  He’s so unimpressive as a fantasy villain that he even strips the audience of their chance to see another sword fight, without diminishing his hatefulness and narrative weight as a villain.

Thankfully, the audience does get their climactic battle: thanks to Count Rugen.

Rugen is Inigo’s archenemy, rather than Westley’s, and unlike the rivalry between the main protagonist and antagonist, Rugen’s relationship with Inigo is very personal indeed.  Rugen, the six-fingered man that Inigo wants to hunt down and kill so badly, is the man who killed Inigo’s father, and left him scarred as a little boy.  Rugen is the Dragon, a Soft-Spoken Sadist who serves as Humperdinck’s Right Hand Man and Torture Technician.  He is the inventor of the torture machine that ends up taking Westley’s life, and throughout the film, serves as co-conspirator to Humperdinck.

He’s pretty rotten, and just like Humperdinck, proves himself to be a Dirty Coward too.

However, while Westley let Humperdinck live with that knowledge, Inigo offers Rugen no such mercy.

The final duel between Inigo and Rugen is one of the show-stopping setpieces of the film, paying off a considerable amount of buildup foreshadowed with much of Inigo’s dialogue and character.  Like I said in the ‘Story’ article:

On the other hand, Inigo’s villain, Count Rugen, is killed, for a very simple reason: that’s the logical end to fulfill Inigo’s story.

In order for Inigo to feel fulfilled and gain satisfaction, to lay his father’s spirit to rest, Rugen has to die, knowing why he’s dying, and who it is who killed him.  In a sense, the antagonists fit the ‘antagonist’ bill much the same way the protagonists do: by splitting the roles, from Humperdinck having the main plot being responsible for most of the obstacles, where Rugen fills in for the emotional punch instead.

There are other characters too, of course: Miracle Max and his wife Valerie, offering a comedic look at a few other residents of Florin, The Albino, Rugen’s assistant, The Impressive Clergyman, and even Yellin, the captain of the guard, but for the most part, these characters (aside from Miracle Max and Valerie being responsible for resurrecting Westley) serve as comedic filler, without much actual narrative weight.

As fairy-tale archetypes with surprising amounts of dimension, the characters of The Princess Bride all do their jobs with ease, falling into natural roles in an organic fashion, despite the unconventional structuring of the characters’ parts to play.

The beauty of all of these characters is that none of them are in the slightest bit realistic.  These are very clearly ‘fairy-tale’ characters, who don’t think about things in the way that we do, and yet, the audience still relates to them, is entertained by them, is concerned for them.  Even though characters don’t act in terribly realistic ways, they are motivated by things that we understand: love, revenge, etc.  The audience feels and understands their emotions, and therefore understands where characters are coming from, even if the actions taken by the characters are primarily ‘fantasy based’, superhuman, incredibly skilled and heroic or villainous in the context of the story that the Grandfather is reading to the Grandson.  

The Princess Bride’s characters are not portrayed as ‘people’, instead being played as simple characters typical of traditional ‘fairy-tale’ stories.  Each character, whether hero or villain, behaves almost as though they know what part they inhabit, playing the ‘fairy-tale’ aspect straight, with a comedic edge to the archetypes found in a book, a familiar-feeling, simple, but emotional story that people have loved and laughed with for decades.

The characters of The Princess Bride serve their purpose incredibly well: making the audience care about what happens to them.  Every role is memorable, unique, distinct, with plenty of quotes and character tics to be referenced and replicated decades later.  They perfectly match the film they belong to: a fantasy classic that has finally been Vindicated by History, gaining it’s rightful place among fantasy greats.  

Thank you guys so much for reading!  If you have something you’d like to add or say, don’t forget that the ask box is always open!  I hope to see you all in the next article.

[silverhczel]

( emilia clarke, 29, female, she/her, nephilim, templar ) It’s been a while since we’ve seen HAZEL WARREN. I hear they’re a NEPHILIM, and they reside on the WESTSIDE. They’re known to frequent THE WINGED CHALICE (when they’re not busy with TRAINING) and have made a place at 12 LUKE COTTAGE. Some may say they act ARROGANT & HASTY, while others claim they are COMPASSIONATE & DEVOTED. With that being said, they’ve found the State of Calamity.

BIO

hazel was born into a wealthy family in london, her mother was the daughter of a successful businessman who also had a good share of inherited wealth and they longed for nothing. when her mother was twenty, she almost took the path to ruin after living a life dictated by god and focused on the purity of morals. In order to stop the corruption of her soul, after a fling with her ex-boyfriend she became pregnant, unaware the child in her womb had been touched by an angel. the pregnancy made her see the light of the righteous path and she gave birth to a daughter with silver hair, unaware of how her daughter really came to be. hazel’s childhood was wealthy and happy, she was adored by her mother and grandparents. as she grew older, she started to notice how some things were not right, she could not understand why her family had so much and others so little, or why some people were so cruel and corrupt. when she discovered her own grandfather was a ruthless businessman using questionable tactics and exploiting those with much less, she started fighting against her lifestyle. she refrained from buying expensive things and clothes, she started giving to charity and volunteering her time, she tried to change her grandfather’s mind, but it was all in vain. at the age of eighteen, she left her home and cut ties to her family who she saw as corrupt and uncaring. sometimes hazel felt confused why she seemed to feel so strongly about what was wrong and right when most people did not seem to care much, they spoke of greyzones, but hazel saw everything in black and white, either something was good or neutral — or it was evil. 

one morning a few days after her nineteen birthday, she woke up a new person. finally hazel understood her purpose, why she was wired the way she was and she knew where she needed to go. she packed what few belongings she owned and headed to silver city, hazel quickly found a place among her own kind and it became clear that the life of a templar was right for her. she found meaning in fighting for the light and destroying the darkness wherever she could. she was quick and strong, she took training very seriously, often the first there and the last to leave. as she developed her skill as a fighter, she began to purge the city from evil and sin as much she could. she went after lesser dark creatures who tortured or killed humans or those of her own kind, she earned herself the nickname ‘the vigilante’ as she acted on her own. hazel has made many enemies, but she believes her true purpose in life is to defeat evil wherever she sees it. whenever she is not training or dealing justice, she enjoys playing the harp, diving into books about philosophy and psychology. she is a master archer and takes pride in horning her skills.   

tl;dr: hazel was born into wealth and privilege to a mother that almost strayed from the righteous path, despite her odd appearance with natural silver hair, she grew up happy until she started questioning why she had so much and others so little. after uncovering corruption in her family, she fled her family home. at the age of nineteen, she became enlightened and journeyed to the silver city to join those of her own kind. hazel quickly discovered the warrior lifestyle was for her and she became a templar, she has begun dealing her own justice as she travels through the city, destroying lesser evil creatures as she comes into contact with them. she is known as the vigilante.

RELIGION 

hazel believes in one god, a deity simply referred to as god, but she assumes no gender nor does she believe any of the mortal scriptures are actually connected to god. she believes in living a life almost stripped of sin as dictated by the seven deadly sins, those she believes comes directly from god. with age, she has begun to see the zones of grey she did not before, but she is still steadfast in her belief that a near sinless life is the only true way to live. she believes in the forgiving nature of god and will try to save others, but if they cross the line into the territory of evil, she will know there is nothing more to be done and will seek to destroy instead.

EXTRA

myers briggs personality: the defender (isfj)

alignment: lawful good

hogwarts house: a hufflepuff & gryffindor mix

sun sign: capricorn 

ennegram: six ‘the loyalist’

FACTS/HEADCANONS

her natural silver hair is unusual, it can be mistaken for platinum blonde but there are undertones of silver in it, sometimes she will wear a brunette wig if she wants to blend in

hazel speaks with a faint posh british accent but never tells anyone where she is from exactly due to her mother still being alive 

she is a health nut that refuses to partake in any unhealthy vices

she is always well-armed but does not engage in fights unless she believes there to be a righteous and just reason for doing so

hazel is known as one of the most loyal templars, she is very protective of the silver city and its inhabitants 

she is sometimes referred to as ‘the vigilante’ 

OPEN PLOTS/CONNECTIONS

feel free to message me on discord about any of these connections! i’m open to plotting about anything, so if you have an idea that’s not on here, please message me anyway and we can have a chat <3

an old friend: someone she has known since arriving in the city (they could still be friends or it could have been a human/light friend turned bad/dark) 

her right-hand: someone who is loyal to her and loyal to fighting for light and justice (does not necessarily have to be angelic)

an unusual friendship: a bond between her and someone who you would not think could be friend with an angelic (must not be too bad or too dark as hazel would not befriend someone who regularly kills or tortures for fun) 

foes: dark creatures (especially vampires, demons and the fallen) that she has been fighting for years

[imagine-loki]

Pride and Prejudice

TITLE: Pride and Prejudice CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 8 AUTHOR: wolfpawn

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki was raised on Jotunheim as Laufey’s son after the war, but an agreement was then made that he would wed Odin’s daughter so Odin could secure the alliance of Jotunheim through the marriage. Loki, in turn, was raised to be king of Jotunheim, but how he views Asgard is far different from how Odin’s daughter is raised leading to a clash of cultures as well as uncertainty between the pair of betrothed youths.     RATING: Mature   NOTES/WARNINGS: Forced Marriage, not all fun and games. My first real step back into the Loki scene in over a year.

NOTE - This chapter includes a very strained marriage consumption

Tags - @skulliebythesea

The day of the wedding came and it was debatable which of them was filled with greater dread.  

Loki felt as though he was being sentenced to the gallows in one respect, but in another, he could only think of what it would achieve. By the time he would be forced to eat with her, the Casket would be placed on its altar at the citadel once more and its power seeping back into the Jotunn realm. He kept himself going with that as his ceremonial garb was placed on him. In the fortnight she had been on the realm, he betrothed had rarely bothered him. He could live with such an arrangement. With some ice-whiskey in him that night, he may even be able to endure bedding her and with any luck, her good health and youth would have her with child quickly. 

In her rooms, Ella watched as her mother fastened the tie of her cape. “You would think you were sentenced to the sword,” Frigga chastised before stopping what she was doing and looking at her daughter. “I know it is hard, marrying a man you barely know, but you are strong and I do not think him cruel.” “I do not think he will raise a hand to me, no, but I do not think him overly kind either.” Ella countered. “I wish I had been as lucky as you, someone who smiled when I entered the room, someone who took pride in my being their wife, someone whose customs were not a thousand times different to our own.”

“Aesir and Vanir differ.” “Mother, they are not overly different. I am going to be the only one to look anything like me after today, everyone else will be blue. I look so different from them. And Prince Loki looks exactly like them, though with hair, so even the children I am required to have will look like them. I am very alone here.” 

Frigga looked sadly at her daughter. “You have prepared your entire life for this, you are not going to fail now, are you?” “Failure is not in my nature.” Frigga smiled sadly at her. “I better continue getting ready.” *

A short hour later, Laufey and Odin stood over proceedings before the wedding knot was tied over their hands and it glowed gold then burnt away, making the marriage binding. No sooner had the last shred of it fell to the ground, the BiFrost opened and two guards stood with a box between them and marched to where Loki and Ella stood before putting the box on the ground next to the altar and Odin tapped his staff to open it. 

Loki stood forward and opened the box, looking at its contents wide-eyed for a moment before taking it out, closing his eyes as he felt the power of the Casket surge through him. He walked it over to the altar and placed in on its old resting place. Immediately, the room glowed bright and there seemed to be a warmer atmosphere to the building. 

In his elation at the Casket being back on Jotunheim, Loki looked excitedly at Ella, who smiled back at him. At that moment, the animosity he felt had dissipated and he only felt joy. 

*

Food was brought from every realm for the feast. It was too extravagant in Loki’s opinion, decadence was not something he wanted to be associated with him. But he could say nothing. Odin had it ordered and dealt with. It felt as though he looked down on their food, which Loki did not doubt. With dignitaries from every realm, Jotunheim could not be seen to be a step down for the Allfather’s daughter, it would have to be masqueraded as a lavish affair for Odin’s ego. The only grace in it all from Loki’s viewpoint was he had heard with his own ears that Ella had told her parents she thought it too much, to include Jotunheim’s cuisines and traditions more. She did not seem to want too great a fuss made, though he wondered if it was because she did not want to draw attention to her marriage on the basis of the husband she was given. 

After the meal, they went about speaking to guests. It was the perfect excuse to be away from one another’s company without any thinking it strange. 

Ella found herself wanting to talk to people. She missed speaking to others. In her time on Jotunheim, her conversations were not plentiful. She hoped that with her marriage, she would acquire ladies-in-waiting as she had before so that she would have company, she could only wait and see. Until then, she spoke with a few other women, one of which was one of her former ladies, now betrothed to Volstagg, her brother’s friend. It was a good match for Ingrid, who was of a minor noble house, this match would rise her standing considerably but she also seemed to genuinely like the portly warrior which pleased Ella as it clearly made Ingrid happy. 

“He is terrifying looking,” Ingrid stated as she looked at Loki. 

“He is not. We are merely not used to seeing Jotnar. If anything, he is very handsome.” Ella commented, also looking at Loki who sat with his brothers across the great room. It was true. After the initial shock of seeing beings all blue with blood-red eyes, she did have to admit, Loki was by far the most handsome of the Jotnar men. His mixed heritage had given him attributes of both races that Ella thought to marry incredibly well. She hoped her children would be as lucky. 

“But his gaze is so intense. I feel as though he would like to bellow at us all to get off his realm.” 

Ella did not argue that point. Mainly because it was entirely true and she knew it. If Loki dispised one Aesir family on his realm, in his home, he would loathe the entire Aesir court being there with every fibre of his being. “This is a trying time for him. He has to deal with an ill father, readying to take the throne, having to have a foreign bride, the likes of which he has never even seen before I would imagine and trying to ensure the Casket does what it is supposed to do. Playing host is so far down the list of things he would wish to do now that it is easy to understand his...well, he need not scowl.” She pursed her lips as Loki seemed to be giving death stares to a being she could not see somewhere across the room.

Ingrid laughed slightly. “Your brother…” “No need to say any more, the scowl is warranted if that is the start of the sentence to explain its cause,” Ella stated plained, causing Ingrid to laugh again. 

* “Look at him, he’s a drunkard.” Loki looked at Thor with disgust. 

“He is an embarrassment. And the Allfather does nothing.” Helbindi looked to Odin. “At least your mate does not seem to drink.” Loki looked over to see Ella speaking with some Vanir woman. The crystal chalice, the same one she held and had not refilled since the beginning of the meal in her hand, still half full. “Small graces.” “She is odd looking. How are you even going to get excited about that? I guess it’s different, that’s something.” Bylestr commented. “How is Angrboða about it, I have not seen her here since the ceremony?”

Loki swallowed, not able to fathom how hard it would have been for her to watch him go through some foreign ritual with another woman. “She understands that is it for the greater good of Jotunheim.” 

“I could not imagine having to have only one mate, especially if she looked like that.” Helbindi shuddered. “I am glad it’s you that the Allfather found that day and not me.”

Loki grimaced and said nothing on the matter. When he saw a shadow to his side and noticed his brothers had ceased talking, he glanced to see who it was, none too pleased to see it was Ella. “Yes?” “We are to leave the hall now, I have been informed.” Her voice was monotone, telling Loki she had heard some of the conversation between him and his brothers. 

“Very well, let us get on with it.” He looked at her to see a face of schooled poise. He looked at his brothers who both seemed to think it hilarious. He leant over and took Bylestr’s still half full cup and drank it all. When he stood beside Ella again, her disapproval was obvious. “I doubt you are overly excited about this either. I’m sure your Aesir partners were more to your liking also.” “I never had any.”  Loki and his brothers stared at her in silence at her admission. “I was promised to a foreign prince, I could hardly shame myself by having some form of scandal damage any agreement with him, could I?” “So you come to this marriage with no experience, that is laughable.” Loki scoffed. 

“That is correct, but I guess that is lucky for you, as it means that I have no idea of how greatly you could be lacking.” 

Helbindi and Bylestr erupted in laughter as Loki looked at her in shock, startled to see he first smug look on her face since he met her. He had not thought her to be in possession of such cutting words. He was about to make a retort when Laufey got to his feet and announced that Loki and Ella were retiring. What came next was, in both of their opinions, humiliating and unnecessary. They were paraded through the room before being escorted to their now shared bedroom. 

Loki hated how his personal space was now invaded by this woman. He watched as she used her seidr to undo her dress and leave her in just a night slip. She undid the clips in her hair but kept it in the braid it was in for ease before standing, looking at Loki in uncertainty. For his part, Loki undid the decorative armour he donned before removing his loincloth and simply getting onto the bed. If it were not for the fact she looked terrified, he would have taken pleasure in the scared look on Ella’s face. “What?” “I…” “Have you never seen one before?” She shook her head. “Norns, this is going to be an ordeal. Get onto the bed before it becomes impossible to be willing. The sooner we start on the two sons part of this marriage contract, the better.”  He watched as she slowly and meekly made her way over to the bed. “I can’t enter you with that on you, take it off.” She did as he requested. Loki looked over her body. She was not what he was used to. Peachy skin, no ridges. In that manner, she was peculiar looking, but she was not ugly. He pulled her onto the bed and looked at her, noting her fearful eyes. “You need to relax or this won’t work.” She nodded slightly. “Why did you never try it?” “I have a duty, I was promised.” 

In a slight recess of his mind, Loki felt guilty. She had been honourable through it all, he did as he pleased. He gently placed his hand on her skin causing her to jump slightly. “I need to prepare you. I do not wish to harm you.” She nodded and lay still, allowing him to do as he required. 

Loki did everything needed to ready her for him, including bringing her to completion so to moisten her adequately for the act itself. When he lay over her, she did as he stated and tried to relax herself. When he entered her, she forced her body not to tense. She thought of their duty. If she was with child when he took the throne, it would be deemed a great success for the monarchy, so she prayed to the Norns it would succeed. To his credit, Loki ensured she was not harmed and that she received pleasure, something she read assisted impregnation, but with little knowledge on how to interact through it, she simply lay there until he finished. 

[wolfpawn]

Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 8

Story Summary - Based on an idea I had that I submitted to Imagine Loki. Imagine Loki was raised on Jotunheim as Laufey’s son after the war, but an agreement was then made that he would wed Odin’s daughter so Odin could secure the alliance of Jotunheim through the marriage. Loki, in turn, was raised to be king of Jotunheim, but how he views Asgard is far different from how Odin’s daughter is raised leading to a clash of cultures as well as uncertainty between the pair of betrothed youths.

Chapter Summary -   The wedding takes place, as does everything associated with it. 

Previous Chapter

Tags - @peppermint-j @damalseer @perpetual-fangirl @tinchentitri @inspired-snowflace @raphaelaisabella @alexakeyloveloki @caffiend-queen @devilbat @nonsensicalobsessions

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authors note - This chapter includes a very strained marriage consumption 

The day of the wedding came and it was debatable which of them was filled with greater dread.  

Loki felt as though he was being sentenced to the gallows in one respect, but in another, he could only think of what it would achieve. By the time he would be forced to eat with her, the Casket would be placed on its altar at the citadel once more and its power seeping back into the Jotunn realm. He kept himself going with that as his ceremonial garb was placed on him. In the fortnight she had been on the realm, he betrothed had rarely bothered him. He could live with such an arrangement. With some ice-whiskey in him that night, he may even be able to endure bedding her and with any luck, her good health and youth would have her with child quickly. 

In her rooms, Ella watched as her mother fastened the tie of her cape. “You would think you were sentenced to the sword,” Frigga chastised before stopping what she was doing and looking at her daughter. “I know it is hard, marrying a man you barely know, but you are strong and I do not think him cruel.” “I do not think he will raise a hand to me, no, but I do not think him overly kind either.” Ella countered. “I wish I had been as lucky as you, someone who smiled when I entered the room, someone who took pride in my being their wife, someone whose customs were not a thousand times different to our own.”

“Aesir and Vanir differ.” “Mother, they are not overly different. I am going to be the only one to look anything like me after today, everyone else will be blue. I look so different from them. And Prince Loki looks exactly like them, though with hair, so even the children I am required to have will look like them. I am very alone here.” 

Frigga looked sadly at her daughter. “You have prepared your entire life for this, you are not going to fail now, are you?” “Failure is not in my nature.” Frigga smiled sadly at her. “I better continue getting ready.” *

A short hour later, Laufey and Odin stood over proceedings before the wedding knot was tied over their hands and it glowed gold then burnt away, making the marriage binding. No sooner had the last shred of it fell to the ground, the BiFrost opened and two guards stood with a box between them and marched to where Loki and Ella stood before putting the box on the ground next to the altar and Odin tapped his staff to open it. 

Loki stood forward and opened the box, looking at its contents wide-eyed for a moment before taking it out, closing his eyes as he felt the power of the Casket surge through him. He walked it over to the altar and placed in on its old resting place. Immediately, the room glowed bright and there seemed to be a warmer atmosphere to the building. 

In his elation at the Casket being back on Jotunheim, Loki looked excitedly at Ella, who smiled back at him. At that moment, the animosity he felt had dissipated and he only felt joy. 

*

Food was brought from every realm for the feast. It was too extravagant in Loki’s opinion, decadence was not something he wanted to be associated with him. But he could say nothing. Odin had it ordered and dealt with. It felt as though he looked down on their food, which Loki did not doubt. With dignitaries from every realm, Jotunheim could not be seen to be a step down for the Allfather’s daughter, it would have to be masqueraded as a lavish affair for Odin’s ego. The only grace in it all from Loki’s viewpoint was he had heard with his own ears that Ella had told her parents she thought it too much, to include Jotunheim’s cuisines and traditions more. She did not seem to want too great a fuss made, though he wondered if it was because she did not want to draw attention to her marriage on the basis of the husband she was given. 

After the meal, they went about speaking to guests. It was the perfect excuse to be away from one another’s company without any thinking it strange. 

Ella found herself wanting to talk to people. She missed speaking to others. In her time on Jotunheim, her conversations were not plentiful. She hoped that with her marriage, she would acquire ladies-in-waiting as she had before so that she would have company, she could only wait and see. Until then, she spoke with a few other women, one of which was one of her former ladies, now betrothed to Volstagg, her brother’s friend. It was a good match for Ingrid, who was of a minor noble house, this match would rise her standing considerably but she also seemed to genuinely like the portly warrior which pleased Ella as it clearly made Ingrid happy. 

“He is terrifying looking,” Ingrid stated as she looked at Loki. 

“He is not. We are merely not used to seeing Jotnar. If anything, he is very handsome.” Ella commented, also looking at Loki who sat with his brothers across the great room. It was true. After the initial shock of seeing beings all blue with blood-red eyes, she did have to admit, Loki was by far the most handsome of the Jotnar men. His mixed heritage had given him attributes of both races that Ella thought to marry incredibly well. She hoped her children would be as lucky. 

“But his gaze is so intense. I feel as though he would like to bellow at us all to get off his realm.” 

Ella did not argue that point. Mainly because it was entirely true and she knew it. If Loki dispised one Aesir family on his realm, in his home, he would loathe the entire Aesir court being there with every fibre of his being. “This is a trying time for him. He has to deal with an ill father, readying to take the throne, having to have a foreign bride, the likes of which he has never even seen before I would imagine and trying to ensure the Casket does what it is supposed to do. Playing host is so far down the list of things he would wish to do now that it is easy to understand his...well, he need not scowl.” She pursed her lips as Loki seemed to be giving death stares to a being she could not see somewhere across the room.

Ingrid laughed slightly. “Your brother…” “No need to say any more, the scowl is warranted if that is the start of the sentence to explain its cause,” Ella stated plained, causing Ingrid to laugh again. 

* “Look at him, he’s a drunkard.” Loki looked at Thor with disgust. 

“He is an embarrassment. And the Allfather does nothing.” Helbindi looked to Odin. “At least your mate does not seem to drink.” Loki looked over to see Ella speaking with some Vanir woman. The crystal chalice, the same one she held and had not refilled since the beginning of the meal in her hand, still half full. “Small graces.” “She is odd looking. How are you even going to get excited about that? I guess it’s different, that’s something.” Bylestr commented. “How is Angrboða about it, I have not seen her here since the ceremony?”

Loki swallowed, not able to fathom how hard it would have been for her to watch him go through some foreign ritual with another woman. “She understands that is it for the greater good of Jotunheim.” 

“I could not imagine having to have only one mate, especially if she looked like that.” Helbindi shuddered. “I am glad it’s you that the Allfather found that day and not me.”

Loki grimaced and said nothing on the matter. When he saw a shadow to his side and noticed his brothers had ceased talking, he glanced to see who it was, none too pleased to see it was Ella. “Yes?” “We are to leave the hall now, I have been informed.” Her voice was monotone, telling Loki she had heard some of the conversation between him and his brothers. 

“Very well, let us get on with it.” He looked at her to see a face of schooled poise. He looked at his brothers who both seemed to think it hilarious. He leant over and took Bylestr’s still half full cup and drank it all. When he stood beside Ella again, her disapproval was obvious. “I doubt you are overly excited about this either. I’m sure your Aesir partners were more to your liking also.” “I never had any.”  Loki and his brothers stared at her in silence at her admission. “I was promised to a foreign prince, I could hardly shame myself by having some form of scandal damage any agreement with him, could I?” “So you come to this marriage with no experience, that is laughable.” Loki scoffed. 

“That is correct, but I guess that is lucky for you, as it means that I have no idea of how greatly you could be lacking.” 

Helbindi and Bylestr erupted in laughter as Loki looked at her in shock, startled to see he first smug look on her face since he met her. He had not thought her to be in possession of such cutting words. He was about to make a retort when Laufey got to his feet and announced that Loki and Ella were retiring. What came next was, in both of their opinions, humiliating and unnecessary. They were paraded through the room before being escorted to their now shared bedroom. 

Loki hated how his personal space was now invaded by this woman. He watched as she used her seidr to undo her dress and leave her in just a night slip. She undid the clips in her hair but kept it in the braid it was in for ease before standing, looking at Loki in uncertainty. For his part, Loki undid the decorative armour he donned before removing his loincloth and simply getting onto the bed. If it were not for the fact she looked terrified, he would have taken pleasure in the scared look on Ella’s face. “What?” “I…” “Have you never seen one before?” She shook her head. “Norns, this is going to be an ordeal. Get onto the bed before it becomes impossible to be willing. The sooner we start on the two sons part of this marriage contract, the better.”  He watched as she slowly and meekly made her way over to the bed. “I can’t enter you with that on you, take it off.” She did as he requested. Loki looked over her body. She was not what he was used to. Peachy skin, no ridges. In that manner, she was peculiar looking, but she was not ugly. He pulled her onto the bed and looked at her, noting her fearful eyes. “You need to relax or this won’t work.” She nodded slightly. “Why did you never try it?” “I have a duty, I was promised.” 

In a slight recess of his mind, Loki felt guilty. She had been honourable through it all, he did as he pleased. He gently placed his hand on her skin causing her to jump slightly. “I need to prepare you. I do not wish to harm you.” She nodded and lay still, allowing him to do as he required. 

Loki did everything needed to ready her for him, including bringing her to completion so to moisten her adequately for the act itself. When he lay over her, she did as he stated and tried to relax herself. When he entered her, she forced her body not to tense. She thought of their duty. If she was with child when he took the throne, it would be deemed a great success for the monarchy, so she prayed to the Norns it would succeed. To his credit, Loki ensured she was not harmed and that she received pleasure, something she read assisted impregnation, but with little knowledge on how to interact through it, she simply lay there until he finished. 

[the-house-of-the-nine]

The Dead Never Die: Revelation, Part 2

“The entire Kash’ebahl fortune. . .everything is in off shore account.  Rather than stuff everything in one faction.  I had left the large chuck of our financials where they were.  With enough to play within the Horde banking circuit, and some trickling through the Alliance side.  We had a bit of money still floating between the Steamwheedle and now Bilgewater Cartels.  But .. .”

Lazarius paused and pointed toward the ledger again.

“This is seventy percent of my families wealth.  Placed in the trust of the goblins of The Undermine. . . must have been over a century ago.  I hadn’t even thought about it since it hasn’t been touched or even looked at in nearly ten years. . .”

“Undermine.  There are only rumors that the capital exists.”  Kross said as he peered up between his master and the ledger.

Lazarius made a point to position his finger back over the ledger as he prodded it. “Not a rumor when I can track the money to an actual vault.”

Kross gave a very long pause as he continued to think the conclusive evidence over. His white eyes peering up toward the black pools of his Master.

“This is a bold move, Ser.”  he said cautioning him. “Infiltrating a city that may be a phantom.  Locating a vault that holds untold fortunes.  Getting past security.  What have we to go on aside from hear say and possible rumors?”

Lazarius studied him expression carefully.  He wasn't wrong.  There was no guarantee that any of this was even accurate.  They had no hard evidence save for a ledger.  Granted the money was there, but it was like trying to catch rain in a butterfly net.  

“I’ve never been one to simply suggest without first considering every option available.  We’ve got time.  This is not something we need to rush into without first considering our entire optional path.  We have to look at this from every conceivable angle, every possible outcome.  Perhaps it would not be a bad idea for me to speak with Baron Krazzlowe himself, as his families own fortunes are heavily tied with the city.  He must have some insight on it.”

Kross agreed, it would not be a very lucrative venture if they just rushed in and failed.  Especially if they were caught.  

“The goblin would know better than anyone.”

Lazarius nodded.  He had been meaning to make his way down to see the capital venture that Lokiren and Krazzlowe had put together down there.

“I believe that is something you should speak to the others about.  As I said, your sister and Koltun have been on-top of that.”  said the steward as he continued.

Lazarius would nod again.  He had been meaning to do so.  But the initial return was instantly thrust into a celebration.  They would share drinks and food. The students and staff were welcomed to attend, most of them all knowing the plight that faced the order when their beloved Inquisitor went missing.  

But through the entire affair, Lazarius had noticed the goblin and trickster were not present.  Nor was his supposed brother-in-law, he would have to indeed do as the old Gilnean suggested and pay his twin a visit.  He had been meaning to anyway.  The three siblings only shared a few tender moments during his return before all them were forced back into getting their adjustments back in order and their lives back together.

“I will do just that.  I should probably let her rest for now; not that she slumbers.  But it is well past ninth bell.  All of this talk and thought of a possible heist has stirred my senses anyway.  I think now might be a good time for me to pay a visit to a place I have long since forgotten about.”

Kross wouldn’t know what he was talking about.  He wouldn't even presume to know, and it would be an insult if he attempted.  The old man would simply nod and wait to see if his Master had any intentions of divulging his secrets.

“I remember a time when this place was barren with activity.  Able to walk these halls in silence.  Contemplate the here and now, listen to the haunting winds curl through the corridors and thruways.”  there was a sigh after that, Lazarius peered toward the Steward.

“You are reminiscent of a time when we were still within our stage of infancy, Ser.”  he responded shortly after.  “A time of new beginnings.”

Lazarius sipped from his wine chalice and scoffed into the rim.  He swallowed the burning bitter liquid and nodded at his companion.

“A time when experimentation and innovation thrived.”

Kross smiled softly, it was hidden behind his beard and mustache, but there none the less.

“You certainly put yourself through the ringer in those days.”  

“I did, didn’t I?” the black eyes of the dark lord would peer around the room. “Before I was able to do all this. . . several days awake trying to force myself to find answers.”

“How things have changed. . .”  Kross added.

“Yet stayed the same.”  Lazarius finished, and smiled.

Kross was unsure but something was beaming in his vision.

“Are you alright, Ser?”

CLICK CLACK

There it was again.  The black eyes of the Inquisitor would peer around the room.  Something disturbed him, something was pestering his mind.  Lazarius turned his attention back to the old man and nodded, waving a wrapped set of fingers at him while he collected his thoughts.

“Of course. . .yes, yes.  Just. . . I haven’t been down to the lower levels of the Bastille in years.  I sealed off so many rooms down there . . .so much history.  So many memories.  They call to me, you know?”

“Ser you don’t have to explain to me the feeling of being sentimental about the past.  I am reminded constantly of what we have been through, who we have lost and who has returned to the shadows. . .” the old man stated as he began to gather whatever else he’d need to leave.

“It isn’t that. . .I can’t put a finger on it.  I haven’t been down to Asphodel’s laboratory since she returned to Stormwind to begin repairing the damage to her family.  I haven’t stepped foot in the Sanctum since Maliscia went missing and left us.  The shadow rooms where Meiona and I used to train.  Maybe I should just go down there. . .” Lazarius said as he tapped the table softly in thought.

“Rattling cages and stirring up old ghosts from the past is sometimes not the best coarse of action to take Ser.” Kross softly responded as he made for the door. “Sometimes it is better to leave sealed doors shut. . .”

Lazarius nodded, his fingers curling around the quill once more and putting a surge of energy into it.  The feather jumped to life as he prepared to finish his work.

“Well if I do happen to wander into forbidden territory. . .and you don’t hear from me within the next few days. . .do send a search party?”

“Of course Ser.” Kross replied nodding.   Even he was readjusting to having his charge returned.  It had been a long enough time he was left to tend to simply the Bastille, and not its true master.

“Will there be anything else?” he added as his spectral body made its way toward the doorway.

“Yes. . . check on the status of our Stormwind businesses.  Assure Brox is handling things as they should be. . .”  Lazarius thought for a moment as he wondered what else was needed.

Kross would stand waiting and listening intently.

“I would like you to send a missive to Lady Ebonwe. . .Lightso. . .You know it has occurred to me that she has gone through so many aliases over the years I don’t even know what to call her anymore.” Lazarius smirked and shook his head sipping from his wine yet again. “Asphodel, please if you will.  Perhaps if she is still in Stormwind she would see the seal and know to come.  It would be nice to revisit with old faces”

“Of course Ser, I will personally deliver it to Lady Suncrest as I know she will deliver it to wherever Asphodel is living these days.” Kross was reminded of how fond he actually was of Casial.  They shared many a great evening together.

“And our acquisitions.  Keep a vigil on new faces floating through the city.  Plenty of them are under the radar.  A bit of new blood through these veins might do us the trick.”

Lazarius set the chalice down and thought for a moment more.

“And any new fences, or businesses popping up.  It would be useful to get a few more under the table dealings going.  Generate a bit of profit or at least a few footholds in the shifting market.”

Kross nodded, he’d always been on the look out.  His hints in the form of posted flyers around the city he would strategically aim to put in the paths of those who were perhaps not aware they were being selected to be examined.

“Thank you Kross.”  stated the Inquisitor as he returned to his pages and flipped them back open.

Kross said nothing but offered a silent nod to his Master.  He carried with him the days wares, useless items and anything else he had picked up to clear away the clutter that was surrounding the man.  While Lazarius was eager to return to his work and focus on finishing what he was doing.

.....people here are capable of even without my wisdom and guidance.  The loss of one; stirs the wrath of many.  And it would be no different for any other who may have been lost to our cause.  They achieved something that was neigh impossible; by combining their prowess and working toward the future that they controlled.  And in the end, they have only fueled my vitality toward achieving more to its maximum.

Now is the time for me to consider where I have stood for so long.  And what I wish to see this order become.  We are bound to the Old Gods by blood.  My body, our soul, this order.  But being bound does not mean that we need to remain servants to their will.  No, I refuse to let us fester while the entire world claims to take victory over a war that is causing their will to spread.

I have suffered far too long to remain dormant.  I have taken what I want from their collective, and I will continue to take.  But I AM THE MASTER now.  This place, these people, they are mine to protect and watch over, not the Old ones.  And protect everything we have built I most certainly will.

Lady Poeta Idrill De’Mour once told me something very useful that I have been running through my brain since the days of our very first council meeting.  Something I will never soon forget. . .

‘You need to be the person these people put their faith in Kash’ebahl, not some missing ancient deity, not a mystical force or an absolute power.  You need to stand as their beacon.  I will follow you into the ends of the earth and back again.  But I will not stand here and pretend that I will die for some festering sea monster who wishes to use me for its own gain.  We are The Nine. . . if we do not serve ourselves we will crumble and fall, then what better are we than that of the Twilight Hammer?’

Poeta was right.  The staff and students, soldiers and scholars, our military and magical defensive,  without asking or desiring, look toward our council as their beacon.  And it is time I step into the light as a sheppard, not just an Inquisitor, or a hand to a Mistress.  Verzatea and I rebuilt this entire structure from the ground up, raising it from the dead like the corpse it had become.  And we have all breathed new life into it.  It is time we stand on our own two feet.  It is time that I listen to those words.  We are The Nine. . .

“We are the Nine. . .”  he repeated and dismissed the quill to its inkwell. “Thank you De’Mour.”

CLICK-CLACK

Lazarius peered up from his paper on the large book he’d been writing.  His pursed lips prepared to blow a cool stream of air against the ink to aid it in drying.  His settled and glanced around the room listening to the sound.

It seemed to have come from everywhere all at once, it was a sound that was digging through his mind, or maybe it was something in the Bastille itself.  The elusive sound had caused him enough persistent curiosity at this point that he had risen out of his chair and slowly began to peer around the room.

With his venomous inky pools, Lazarius would peer around his chambers trying to put some sort of sense to whatever was doing it.  It was not the Bastille shifting; wasn’t someone trying to get in or something trying to get out.  Rash’jahla was always a curious one but there was no way a sixty foot titanaboa was slithering unnoticed into his bed chamber.  

It caused him to turn, toil and shift as he made his way over toward the bedding area.  His clothes and robes were all nearly placed inside the old Gilnean wardrobe that was by the dresser.  A massive table equipped with a mirror for gazing, several compacts worth of makeup and accessories.  Yes, Lazarius did from time to time wear foundation.  It was a needed tool in his ability to blend in with the world.  Nobody really enjoyed seeing him as he was; save for those who actually knew him.

CLICK-CLACK--CLICK-CLACK

There it was again.  He suddenly turned as he narrowed down onto it, it wasn’t vermin or a prankster.  It wasn’t Jursols raptor or some other mysterious creature.  It was the mirror.

His empty vile eyes gazed deeply into the massive lens, but what he saw was certainly not something he’d expected.  He wasn’t looking at a reflection of himself, no not at all.  He wasn’t even looking at a reflection of someone else either.  He was gazing deeply into the inner chambers of the former Grand Magus.

Peering into the room that once stole her away for nights on end.  The place where the two of them had come up with the idea for nearly every innovation the Bastille had been equipped with.  Where they plotted and planned their attack on Zalinath.  The place where he realized she had fully been lost.  The lair of the late Poeta De’Mour.

Lazarius canted his head to the side, long chestnut tresses cascaded along the side of his face impairing his vision as he swept them away.  He narrowed his gaze and focused on the room he was looking at.  He’d not been in there in well over a year, since before Maliscia had taken over.  Since he had sealed it away for good.

“Something has been calling to me to venture into these parts unknown.  What secrets lay within that deathly hollow. . .”  Lazarius whispered softly to himself.

“Remember, the Bastille exists to serve the desires of its denizens.  You would be wise to keep thoughts tightly locked within the confines of your psyche; lest you accidentally allow it to bestow upon you that which you seek, my Serpent. . .”

“...And that which we seek, may not always be that which we need. . . My Mistress.”  he repeated out loud to himself after recalling the lesson taught to him by Raelyndia.

A wise lesson to learn indeed.  Not everything you want is always what is best for you.  Lazarius had been a firm believer in that for quite some time.  But he had let himself be vulnerable, and perhaps this was the sentient towers way of leading him down the narrow path between victory or defeat.  

Regardless, the Inquisitor stole his final gaze at the hallowed vision in the mirror, galvanized his nerve and stormed out through the chamber doors leading into the hallway.  Storming out in order to get to the bottom of whatever clue was surely waiting in the wings.

To be Continued in. . . “The Damned Never Die: Haunted, Part 1″

[heathenarmyimagines]

Title: Old Friend

Summary: After the death of Ragnar a lot of people come to Kattegat to join the army to avenge him, including an old friend of a certain Ragnarson.

Pairing: Ubbe x Reader

Taglist: @ubbesgirl, @shewolf2000, @tis-itheapplepie, @atequila, @demoncrypt1066, @greennightspider, @badbitsh13, @fireismysaftey, @minarawr, @laketaj24, @hvitserksgirl, @blahblahcookiesdoma, @fabulous-peasent, @sforsammmmmi, @minmiin1d, @courtrae89, @letsloveimagines, @tomarisela, @titty-teetee, @beyond-the-ashes@elenawrit, @mblaqgi, @whenimaunicorn, @chuflisworld, @mystruggledlife, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @syreni-dea, @trashqueenbitch, @alykatv, @mbaku-babygirl, @perfectus-in-morte, @beyond-the-ashes, @neeadinghugs, @readsalot73, @triumphantreturnofpies, @anarchy-is-coming, @tephi101, @alicedopey, @ivarslittlebadgirl, @jtrstp, @nejijjeoroo, @charlylama, @ivartheblessed, @captstefanbrandt, @fabulouschrissi, @ivarsrideordie, @3x5gurl, @the-writer-appreciation-blog, @lolabee9, @captainfoxy22, @young-ugly-god, @im5ftbutmythroat66, @bribyyy, @irishhiggins, @cadetomlinson, @keclleon101, @slutforragnarssons, @ltkeke, @meeeeeeeeeps, @lille-kanin, @opalscarab, @ssraven7, @ivarandersen, @concretewaywardangel, @funmadnessandbadassvikings, @sharon-is-tired, @cadetomlinson, @mystruggledlife, @chuflisworld, @justmarissa97, @lol-haha-joke, @weirdly-randomly-awesome, @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanim, @idonthavehusbandsihavelovers, @alexa040004, @buckythetinman , @burntmythroatskullingmytea,@jorunnravenslayer, @two-unbeatable-beaters, @buffy-the-vampire-blogger, @arses21434, @ltkeke, @captainfoxy22, @chinduda

The great hall had never really been quiet place, but as the forces gathered for the great army it has became as loud as Thor’s thunder.

Even from the high table the Sons of Ragnar had to strain to hear each other.

‘Have you heard who is joining the army?’ Ivar said to Ubbe.

‘Just about everyone who wants to feast in Valhalla.’ Ubbe smiled.

‘That is true, but I was specifically speaking of (Y/N) the Mighty.’ Ivar replied.

‘(Y/N) as in-’

‘She has made quite the name for herself since you were children.’ 

‘Little (Y/N) grew up to be a warrior?’ Hvitserk asked.

‘Indeed she has, and great one, she has raided multiple cities and many have fallen at her hands.’ Ivar answered.

‘And to think she was so sweet as a girl.’ Sigurd hummed.

‘She was very sweet to Ubbe especially.’ Ivar teased.

‘Shut up.’ Ubbe laughed.

‘Oh we all knew how she fancied you in our youth Ubbe.’ Hvitserk smiled.

‘She was a child, younger than Ivar, how could see her in anyway other than sisterly.’ Ubbe explained.

‘Who knows brother, Ivar is a man now and that means (Y/N) is a woman. Maybe her childish crush has grown as well.’ Sigurd suggest.

‘Ugh, now that I know she’s coming I can’t wait to see her.’ Hvitserk said excitedly.

‘She probably won’t remember us, she was young and its been years.’ Ubbe said.

‘I could never forget you lot.’

They all turn and they could hardly recognize their childhood friend; gone was the sweet girl who would make flower crowns. Walking toward them was a young and beautiful woman, one with a body even the Gods would have taken notice of.

Her hair was unbraided, but she still wore the attire of a shieldmaiden.

She reached the table smiled brightly at the Sons of Ragnar.

‘Hello, my Lords.’ she grinned before going around and giving each of them a hug.

‘It is good to see you little one.’ Hvitserk said as she took a seat between him and Ivar with Ubbe and Sigurd sitting across from her.

‘How have you lot been, getting in trouble still?’ she asked as a slave place a plate of food in front of her.

‘Well we aren’t crashing into people with Ivar’s cart, anymore.’ Hvitserk laughed.

‘We are as we always have been, you however have changed a great deal.’ Ubbe said, giving the woman before a very curious look.

If he looked at her face he still could see the face of the little girl who followed him as a child, but her body was definitely not that of a child.

She had grown into exactly the woman he pictured himself marrying one day, a beautiful shieldmaiden, with child baring hips and smile that brightened the room.

‘Well I have the Gods to thank for being with me in all my battles and raids.’ she said.

‘Little (Y/N) is now (Y/N) the Mighty, I never would have guessed.’ Sigurd said.

‘I always told you lot I hated being called little.’ she laughed.

‘Well we certainly can’t call you little now, not with tits like those.’ Sigurd said.

(Y/N) threw a carrot at him.

The conversation continues, the old crew catching up, listening to all of (Y/N)’s battle stories, but Ubbe was hardly paying much attention.

She was just absolutely beautiful, and from what he actually got out her stories she was a very skilled and viscous warrior. He could go into to battle with her, raid with her and on the long journey home she could keep him warm and satisfied.

His eyes focused on her breast and he thought what a blessing it would be to hold them, watch them fill with milk for the babe he would give her.

‘Ubbe!’

He jumped and looked up from her chest to her eyes.

‘If we were in battle you would have my ax in your chest by now.’ she smiled.

‘I think he’s rather spill a little something over your chest.’ Ivar teased.

‘You little imp, come on let’s get you out of here before your mouth gets you killed.’ Hvitserk grinned as he stood up and went to help Ivar out of his seat.

‘Oh but this is getting good.’ Ivar complained as he was carried off.

‘Shut up Ivar.’ Hvitserk said as they left.

Sigurd tapped his hands on the table awkwardly.

Ubbe and (Y/N) both stared at him.

‘Well I think I’m gonna go and...catch up with the Finehairs.’ he said before he too left the table.

‘Your brothers are not as sneaky as they think.’ she laughed.

‘They mean well.’

‘They mean for you to take me to your bed and fuck me, is that well?’ (Y/N) asked as she picked up her chalice.

Ubbe was stunned to hear her speak this way, when they were younger there was nothing she hated more than foul language. He and his brothers would tease her, chase her through the markets shouting all the “bad words” she despised.

‘Maybe they think it is.’ 

‘There is no maybe, and we both know it. They want you to take me to your chambers for the night, that I already know for sure. What I want to know is do you want to.’ she said.

Ubbe jumped as he felt her foot come up to rest on the bench between his legs, just inches from his manhood.

‘Do you want to fuck me...old friend?’ she asked with seductive eyes on the Ragnarson before her.

‘Do you want me to?’ Ubbe asked back.

‘I’ll answer your question when you answer mine.’

‘...I want to...I have since the moment you approached this table.’ he answered honestly.

‘Good...because I’ve wanted you to since before I knew what it was.’ was the response she gave before taking a sip of ale.

‘And I have waited...a very long time.’ she said.

‘You waited?’

She nodded before she sighed, setting the cup aside and taking up a slice of meat off her plate.

‘After me and my mother were sold off to that Earl in Uppsalla two of his men snuck into the barn. Said they wanted to break me and mother in, my mother cried and begged, the other slaves cowered. I fought, didn’t do too much damage but the one after my mother saw potential. Said he’d leave us be and give us our freedom if I took up a sword for him.’ she started.

‘So I trained and fought, and even off the battle fields I had to fight to protect more than that earl’s gold and silver. Had to wait for the day I’d see the boy I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.’ she finished.

Ubbe could now see that this woman was still the little girl from his childhood.

Even as an innocent child she had been amazingly loyal, always taking his side, defending him, taking his blame when he got in trouble. His mother would often say that the man who married (Y/N) would never have to worry about an affair, but he had no idea she would be so faithful for so long.

‘You never...’

‘No, you should know that if one thing about me hasn’t changed its that I’m still a stubborn bitch. I chose you when I was child and I don’t change my mind on anything.’

‘I am honored, I wish I could say I had waited as well. A woman like you deserves loyalty in return.’ Ubbe said apologetically.

‘I’m happy you did not, not that I expected you to, one of us should know what we’re doing when the time comes.’

‘When the time comes?’ Ubbe asked with a tilted head.

‘I decided after the first man tried to take me that the first time I had sex would be in a matrimonial chamber.’ she said casually as she began eating.

‘Matri-’

‘You will not touch me until I am your wife, not a second before. So... you tell me how badly do you want to fuck me.’ you said sternly as she stood from her seat and walked around the table to stand behind him.

‘I have waited years, and I can wait longer...can you wait Ubbe? Can you wait to see me in your bed, to touch me where no man ever has...to be the first and only man to feel the wet warmth of it?’ she whispered into his ear.

Ubbe for all his sexual experience had never been this aroused.

‘I want you.’ he said as he turned to face her.

‘Well then...you know what to do.’ she smiled cheekily.

‘...Marry me.’

Ubbe knew he was being rash and rushing into things with (Y/N), by the Gods he had planned on proposing to Margrethe and sharing her with his brothers.

He should take at least a day to think about it, but he doesn’t need a day. Even right now he can see her by his side in battle, he can see her glowing as her belly swelled with his child...he can even see her face covered in wrinkles,

And she is still beautiful.

The Gods blessed her with an undying loyalty and determination and they blessed him with her.

‘Marry me (Y/N)...old friend.’ Ubbe said more confidently this time.

‘Yes...and I promise on our wedding night you will have me and I will have you.’ she smiled as she gently ran her hand down his face.

‘And you will be faithful, do you hear me Ubbe? You will be faithful to me as I have been to you.’ she said taking hold of his chin.

‘Why wouldn’t I be? There will never be a woman that I desire as much as you, nor will any other be good enough for me once I’ve had you.’ Ubbe smiled.

She smiled brightly at him, the same smile from his childhood, the smile that would be future.

[harrisonkitteridge-blog]

Sherlock is Dead; Long Live Sherlock

Treachery most foul is the only thing that can get the franchise back on its feet.

The consensus from the critics (and a good portion of the fandom) seems to be in: Sherlock has fallen down, and we don’t know if it will be able to get back up. It’s seeming less and less likely. I saw the collapse coming, and so did plenty of other people. All the warning signs were there, and given the long hiatuses between seasons, there was more than enough time to address the problems and put together a respectable, if not cracking, fourth season. Mark Gatiss insisting that all the (warranted in my opinion) scathing criticism is “backlash” against a “classic show” demonstrates that he genuinely believes the confused jumble of plot twists we all watched was quality television. He and fellow creator, Steven Moffat, are too close to see the forest for anything but the trees, so perhaps they can be forgiven. Nevertheless, their inability to face up the failings of the show made it clear to me that they should just wrap things up before it started to take down careers. A recent interview with Moffat makes it seem like this might indeed be the end. I’ve thought about it some more, though, and have come to believe that there is a way to keep the franchise going and get it back to its old self. Someone is going to have to break a battery hen factory’s worth of eggs to make that omelette, though.

The Disease

Something is broken at the pre-production level of Sherlock and – hear me out – has been from the very beginning. The first sub-optimal decision was the one and-a-half hour episodes. As much as I enjoyed the first two seasons of Sherlock, I couldn’t argue with critics who said the episodes (especially the middle one of each season) dragged. It was obvious from the second episode on that they were having trouble filling the time, and it’s got only worse. Having to fill those 90 minutes seemed to have become too large a task after a while. The criticisms about the erratic pacing were made early on but were never addressed and were allowed to fester. Now here we are: arguing that the show be allowed to die before it loses all its dignity.

I knew Sherlock was heading off the rails minutes into the opening of the third season. The reason was the treatment of Sally Donovan and Greg Lestrade. All that time spent dealing with the ridiculous clown robbery could have been better spent exploring how Donovan’s misapprehensions and the fallout from her false accusations against Sherlock affected her and Lestrade. Instead, Anderson (the least interesting of the group) got an entire mini-sub-plot about how he became a beardy weirdo who was obsessed with Sherlock. Donovan showing up as if nothing had happened or changed was a dropped stitch that was relatively easy to pick up (especially with 90 minutes to play with in a first episode that dragged in parts). They’re speeding past things, I thought. And it’s starting to pour down rain.

The moment I knew things were going to go very badly indeed came when Mary Watson said, “It’s a skip code.” They’re speeding; it’s pouring down rain; now the brake fluid is leaking. I knew they were bringing in some convoluted espionage story, and that if they couldn’t wrap up Sally Donovan’s story with a shot of her looking despondent and ashamed or defiant and unapologetic when Sherlock returned, then they couldn’t manage the complicated task they’d set themselves.

When Mary turned up in Magnusson’s office dressed like an off-brand cat burglar, I realised it was even worse than I’d thought. But I couldn’t have predicted them giving us the howlingly farcical, extravagantly stupid premise “That was surgery” to explain away her shooting her husband’s best mate in the chest at close range. And they stuck with that story! I honestly thought they’d try to write their way out of it. Let’s also not forget that in Mary Watson we were explicitly asked to root for someone who believed horrendous acts of violence, outright killing other people to hold on to John, were acts of love.

Grotesque.

When the Moriarty animation turned up at the end of Season 3, I knew there was going to be a catastrophic failure, that he was tied up in some silly, sensational plotline that was all “jazz hands” and no choreography. They were speeding, it was pouring down rain, the brake fluid was leaking, the wheels were jiggling, and they were heading for a hairpin corner with a sheer drop down one side. The likelihood of them negotiating that turn were slim to none, and the Christmas Special and the Season 4 promotional material only made it clearer they were going to careen off the cliff, and it would all end in a thoroughly unintended, spectacular explosion.

The Six Thatchers, the first episode of season 4, only continued the downward trend. It was a tonally incoherent mess. By the end of The Lying Detective, I was actively hate-watching. The unhinged, evil secret sister put us firmly in telenovela territory, and a terrible finale was wholly predictable (although it wasn’t the complete clusterfuck I’d expected).

Every problem from Season 3 onwards could have been fixed before a single frame was shot. The issues were all in the scripts and are rooted in fitting the characters into the plot instead of having the characters’ psychology and their decisions shape the direction of the story. I refuse to believe that no one involved in the production of the show had some of the misgivings I and others raised. At the crux of the decline of Sherlock is the inability of well-meant, constructive criticism to be taken and implemented. The show becoming a runaway hit was likely taken as a sign that all was well, and there was no room for improvement. Americans have a saying: You’re only as good as your last at-bat, and it’s a mantra to live by. The elixir of success comes in a poisoned chalice, and the only antidote is humility.

The Death

Benedict Cumberbatch wants to win an Oscar. Sherlock is no longer a top-tier show and, therefore, isn’t worth him putting in the effort and wrangling his schedule. Early on, Sherlock was for Benedict Cumberbatch what True Detective was for Matthew McConaughey. True Detective’s run during the 2012-2013 awards season had everyone raving about McConaughey’s performance. It turned into an accidental but incredibly effective Oscar campaign. He probably would have won anyway, but True Detective made it a foregone conclusion. The key here is that the critical class was mad for True Detective. Sherlock lost its shine with them in Season 3, and the dog’s breakfast of Season 4 certainly hasn’t brought them back onside. Sherlock always airs in the middle of awards season, and the stink of a bad Season 5 might turn up at exactly the wrong time for Cumberbatch. It’s just not worth the risk to him, and, without him, there’s no show.

Benedict Cumberbatch’s time has been the limiting factor in the production of Sherlock for a while, and the success of Dr. Strange gives him the perfect out. He doesn’t have to seem ungracious and say the show that launched his career has fallen off too much for him to continue to be involved now that he’s a superstar. He just has to avert his eyes and mumble something about Marvel’s punishing schedule. This explanation has the added benefit of being true.

The interesting thing is that if Benedict Cumberbatch had spoken up, things might not have come to this pass. He has manoeuvred his career incredibly adeptly and chosen his projects with care. Even the ones that didn’t work out (like The Fifth Estate) were reasonably good decisions outside the glare of 20/20 hindsight. During the promotional run-up to The Abominable Bride, Cumberbatch said that when he originally read the script, he thought they’d lost the plot. He was right. That same instinct that led him to Sherlock in the first place was telling him to get out. The unaired pilot of the show is arguably the best scripted episode, and The Abominable Bride is just not up to the same standard. As a standalone piece, it was watchable, but its part in the whole was telegraphing that the story was going to hurl itself off an embankment and fuck itself under a train. The unexpected success of the The Abominable Bride, especially in the Chinese market, further insulated the decision-makers at Sherlock from criticism about the direction of the story, and they’ve gone and killed the goose that lays the golden eggs.

Unless something changes drastically, Benedict Cumberbatch’s team aren’t going to let him anywhere near another season of Sherlock. As things stand, there’s nothing more for him to gain and too much for him to lose if things continue their downward spiral.

The Resurrection

Sherlock is a massive brand with a huge and loyal following. That brand has taken a big hit, but it still has legs. The foundation of the first two seasons remains (never underestimate the power of nostalgia), and if they can find a way to continue the show, they’d still have two mic droppers playing the leads (their skill is a big part of the reason all the flaws in the story were overlooked – they glamoured us and pulled us along). Ending the show leaves gigantic piles of money on the table, and it’s worth the effort to try and resuscitate it.

The solution is simple: A hard reset.

Any attempt to explain or build on the narrative Chernobyl that is Season 3 onwards will end disastrously. They shit the bed, and the only option is to burn the sheets and the mattress. They need to just pretend most of everything after Season 2 never happened. Isn’t that what we all want anyway? To not have caught our parents wandering around in the nude? If they do decide to press forward, it will probably be close to three years until the next season airs. That’s more than enough time for the stench to fade and for them to come up with a new direction for the show.

The solution is also quite difficult. For a hard reset to work, the people who created the show we all loved so much are going to have to get savaged because of what it will take to get Benedict Cumberbatch back onside: They have to get him a Golden Globe and/or SAG nomination. No one figuring out that this was the long-term play is one of the reasons the show faltered. When Benedict Cumberbatch transformed into BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH, he became the most powerful person in the equation, and the showrunners didn’t align their interests with his. It’s not just about the money and the size and fervour of the audience; it’s about a certain standard being met and consistently maintained, and the meeting of that standard being recognised by one’s peers in ways that create a lasting professional legacy. The differing interests are demonstrated by the divergent reactions to the show’s success at the Emmy Awards. The powers that be were understandably over the moon and turned up grinning and cheering. Cumberbatch has never attended the ceremony, even when nominated. Anyone who answered critics by arguing that the success of The Abominable Bride at the Emmys was proof of the show’s quality was really just revealing that they fundamentally misunderstood the incentives at play.

To get things back on track, the powers that be have to give Benedict Cumberbatch his first season of True Detective, and the extant writing team can’t provide that. In order for it to be worth it for him to return, the show consistently needs to be brilliantly scripted, steadily paced and feature a well-structured, suspenseful narrative arc. They also have to find a way to maintain the spirit of the first two seasons so as not to alienate the core of their fan base. It’s an incredibly tall order, but re-jiggering the show to create a potential awards season stepping ladder for Cumberbatch is the only way for everyone to win. Well, everyone except Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat, who failed to maintain the family car then ploughed it into oncoming traffic.

In order for the hard reset to work, several things need to happen:

Changing the Format

The one and-a-half hour episode format is clearly not working. Creating five one-hour episodes would require adding only another half hour to the total running time of each season. Each episode would be tighter and more focussed. It’s more manageable to write, and it would produce better content for the audience. Three one-hour episodes and a 90-minute finale might also be a good compromise. These changes have the added benefit of giving the show a slightly longer run.

The out-of-left-field option for a new format is to transition the show into a series of feature films for worldwide theatrical release. There’s already A-list talent attached, and the runaway success of The Abominable Bride at the Chinese box office shows that this might be a viable option. An apology tour for the tanking of the show followed by bringing in a name director would probably be enough to get disappointed fans back on board. If there is a wide theatrical release, Cumberbatch’s fans will come out in force, and there is enough of a wider fan base for the show and its stars to give this option serious thought. The hit the show has taken and the attendant risks might allow the right studio to snap up the rights on the cheap.

Getting the Story Right

The writing process needs to be more collaborative. Constructive criticism needs to be welcomed, and helpful script notes shouldn’t be taken as an attack. The problems with the scripts were glaringly obvious and weren’t addressed. Something is fundamentally broken at this stage of pre-production, and, unless it gets fixed, there’s no point in trying to move forward.

Whoever has the final sign-off on the story/scripts for Sherlock can’t be in that role anymore. For whatever reason, they keep dropping the ball.

The “I’m not gay!” jokes and anything else that can be interpreted as queerbaiting need to die. Either put Sherlock and John on a clear trajectory to becoming a romantic couple or leave them as best mates. Also, they need to resist the urge to double down on making Sherlock and Irene Adler a thing – the other two Sherlock Holmes franchises beat Moftiss to it, and they should have come up with something more original. I’m not saying the writers have to follow the canon slavishly, but surely there’s a way to mine what Conan Doyle described as Holmes’s “aversion to women” for something more narratively compelling. It’s 2017. There’s room for more than a typical hetero romance

A closer needs to be brought in. This is where it gets sticky. Until now, it has very much been the Moftiss show, but there are gaps in their skill set that aren’t being filled. The problems with the story and the scripts are their doing, and fixing them requires someone who sees things differently. Personally, I’d like to see someone like Charlie Brooker (the writer/creator of Black Mirror) have some input. The emotional core of his dark stories never flickers, and those are two of the areas where Moftiss struggle: conveying the emotional motivations of the characters and darker, grittier storylines. (Rupert Graves reporting that the “dark” scripts gave him chills made my stomach sink. That’s not Moftiss’s lane…) Black Mirror manages to have all the shine and surprise of early Sherlock, but that creeping sense that something sinister is right underneath it all never leaves. Fully embracing the Sherlock Holmes stories’ Gothic roots seems like a good way to reboot the narrative. Whatever does end up happening, though, new writing blood is a must.

They need to figure out what to do with the baby. The responsibility of raising of a child dominates a parent’s life, and Moftiss’s decision to write in the baby might be the Gordian knot that can’t be untied. It’s the only real stumbling block to sidestepping everything after season 2. The inclusion of a growing child changes the whole dynamic of the show, and it’s called Sherlock not My Two Dads. The concept of Sherlock and John raising a baby together is a fanfiction favourite, but it’s an incredibly difficult needle to thread. Moftiss obviously had no idea what to do with the baby – she just disappeared until the end of the finale, but similar treatment won’t fly going forward.

If Sherlock transitions over to feature films, some of the above and below will be moot. The studio would almost certainly clean house and bring in fresh talent. Even over the inevitable fan uprising, they’d probably recast most of the supporting characters. (Those Hollywood studio execs are savages.)

Breaking up the Clique at the Head of the Operation

In the run-up to Season 4, producer, Beryl Vertue gave an interview saying that the production of Sherlock was very much a family affair. That’s part of the problem. The group at the head of Sherlock is too incestuous. There needs to be someone up there who isn’t anyone’s wife, husband, mother or best mate, because somewhere in this emotional quagmire lies the most plausible answer as to why constructive criticism was consistently jettisoned and is still being ignored: Someone thin-skinned is being protected. There needs to be some Jack or Jill who just works there and doesn’t want to hang out on weekends. This person also needs to have veto power. I actually think this person already exists. Even before the shitty fourth season, when they seemed to be riding high, Moftiss were adamant about never handing the reins of Sherlock over to anyone else. Given the roaring success of the show, why would that even be an issue? Someone with enough power to have their voice heard if not listened to probably argued vociferously against the direction of the story. Whoever’s writing the cheques needs to identify this person and give them a promotion and a raise.

A series of entirely avoidable sub-optimal decisions were allowed to pile on top of each other until everything collapsed – that is what brought Sherlock to this place. Someone with clear eyes, a colder heart, and a natural proclivity for extrapolating to both the best and worst-case scenarios needs to take the reins. Such a person understands that because of the creators’ self-destruction, Sherlock is Benedict Cumberbatch’s show now. I mean that literally. Now that the story has imploded, he’s the only draw, and they’ll have to give him the store to get things up and running again. If he doesn’t already own a sizeable piece of the property (including a cut of all the merchandising), that should be at the centre of his demands for getting back on the horse, especially if it transitions over to feature films. Once he’s back on board, organising things around getting him what he wants – consistent critical acclaim and high-profile nominations – will create a rising tide that lifts all their boats. If things don’t go his way, at least he’ll have a mountain of money to cushion the fall. If Sherlock moves up to feature films, maintains its humorous tone, and the films are put together skilfully, they could consistently be nominated for Golden Globes in the generally weak Best Picture – Musical or Comedy category. Cumberbatch and Freeman could clean up in the related acting categories. If they fill out the supporting female roles, the franchise might be able to horn its way into that category as well.

Sherlock is salvageable and can rise to even greater heights, but what it will take to get it done will be considered treachery by many. Someone Moftiss trust is going to have to invite them into a room with plastic sheeting laid out on the carpet and John Wick them. With all the money that is at stake, the necessary slaughter seems inevitable, though. I, for one, am fascinated to see what transpires.

Thanks for reading such a long screed!

My ebook, Before Holmes Met Watson, is available FREE on most major retail sites.

What does it mean to be a detective with no cases to solve? Sherlock Holmes tries not to ponder this question as he distracts himself from his professional failings with bare-knuckle boxing at an underground fight club and vials of cocaine and morphine. John Watson spends his days in an operating theatre on an Army base in Afghanistan, doing his best to patch up the wounded and failing more often than he'd like. The dark, violent worlds in which both men choose to live complicate their romantic lives and cause them terrible suffering but set them on paths that are destined to cross.

Links for a FREE download are here.