#never has a tales game had the courage to ask... what if the entire cast was boring

[peachyware]

finally picked up tales of arise again after disliking it sm i dropped it in 2021 and i can firmly say... god this game fuckin sucks. should've been a find owls simulator and called it a day

[jarienn972]

A Simple Spell - Chapter Thirteen

A Captain Swan Supernatural Summer Tale

2020 has started off with a bang for me so this chapter got just a little bit delayed.  This entire story has taken a bit longer to complete than expected and for that, I do apologize. This particular chapter posed a few challenges to write  and ran a little longer than I had originally plotted as I added a previously unplanned scene. With this being the next to last chapter, there are a handful of surprises left to reveal, including the truth about Storybrooke’s heritage - and exactly where Emma Swan fits in.

Thank you to everyone who has given me encouragement along the way! I hope you'll enjoy these last 2 chapters as this tale draws to a close. Thank you @kmomof4​ for your live commentary that never fails to bring a smile to my face when I read those messages.  Thank you @cocohook38​ for the amazing art you created to accompany my story and thank you @lassluna​ for your assistance as beta reader!

Read from the beginning on AO3 or FF.net.  Tumblr:  One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve

Now, without further delay - we’re going to open with that long awaited kiss... (but remember, this is still Storybrooke...)

It was just a kiss.

Emma kept that mantra swirling through her head as she anxiously hovered at Killian's bedside trying to muster the courage to press her lips to his. Her sight was locked on his face, staring down at his stubbled jawline and dimpled cheeks before allowing her gaze to drift upward to his closed eyes. She'd not previously noticed how unfairly long and full his eyelashes were. Two coats of mascara and she couldn't even come close to that natural lushness… Of course, she'd much rather be staring into the intense blueness(was that even a word?)that lay beneath - irises the hue of the sea he loved so much. And just like the sea, it would be so easy to find herself lost in his stare…

She'd felt a connection with this man the moment they'd met, but she hadn't imagined that the future of their brief, still-evolving relationship wound hinge on a kiss. Oh hell, who was she kidding? Everything hinged on this single kiss and the weight of all it entailed was a lot to bear. This kiss would control their destiny - his as well as hers - and just the thought of something potentially going wrong was terrifying.

"It's just a kiss," Regina casually reminded her from across the room, her tone seemingly mocking Emma's mantra, although unintentionally.

"Easy for you to say," Emma replied in a huff. "You're not the one who's going to lose her powers or condemn a man to endless sleep if this goes wrong…"

"Do you believe that he's your true love?" Regina queried.

"That's really a loaded question to ask about someone I've known a week."

"You were the one who cast the spell…" Regina quipped sarcastically which garnered her a side-eyed glare from her cousin.

"Thank you for the reminder," Emma scoffed. "I mean, there's definitely a spark, but…"

"But what? Does he look at you the same way David looks at Mary Margaret?"

"I think so."

"Do you find yourself losing track of time when you're with him? Like nothing and no one else matters?"

Emma didn't respond right away as she thought about the lengthy conversations she and Killian had engaged in and how comfortable and welcomed she'd felt while in his presence. Her memory reminded her of the panic she'd experienced upon learning he'd gone missing and of her determination to find him… And then she knew - she'd fallen fast and hard for Killian Jones.

"Yeah... Yeah, I do," Emma responded at last as her fingertips tenderly ghosted across Killian's hand before she grasped hold of his fingers and gave them a reassuring squeeze.

"Then your heart already knows what your head might not have figured out yet," Regina stated. "Now, will you please just lean in there and kiss him so you can put an end to these spells and beat that damned wizard at his own games?"

Just a kiss, Emma's brain chimed in again. It's only a kiss.

"Oh, what the hell…," Emma exclaimed with a shrug. "Here goes nothing…" She slowly lowered her chin towards Killian's slumbering face, pausing for a second or two that could have been an eternity to her weary mind. Why was she hesitating? She knew she had real feelings for Killian and was sure they were reciprocated but to find herself putting everything on the line so soon in their blossoming relationship seemed so ludicrous… But she was also reminded that she'd gotten herself into this and she'd run out of options. She couldn't think it enough: Everything - everything - rested on their kiss.

She traced her index finger along his scruffy jaw as her lips inched closer to his. The tips of their noses brushed as she lined up for the kiss. She'd had only a little time to imagine what kissing Killian Jones was going to be like, never quite expecting that it would be so one-sided. His lips were surprisingly warm and soft, maybe not as responsive as she would have liked...

But she certainly couldn't deny the spark - the knee-buckling, toe-tingling flash that coursed through her body and even seemed to shake the entire room. She felt momentarily blinded as if a bolt of lightning had struck her down from the heavens. It was like nothing she'd ever experienced. Was this what true love felt like or was this merely the universe stripping her of all of her magical powers for being a fool?

She tried to look down at Killian to find out if his eyes were opening, but all she could see was an encroaching cloud that was black as soot. She thought she could see his eyelids flicker before the cloud enveloped them, leading her to wonder if she'd just unleashed some torrential storm upon them.

**********

Awakening as if struck by that same unseen bolt of lightning Emma thought she'd felt, Killian's eyelids flew open. His body attempted to jolt upright, impeded only by the searing pain from his injured shoulder that sent a shock through his upper body. He had no idea where he was or how he'd gotten here, but he immediately knew that he was no longer in the dark, locked room. This room was bright and stank of disinfectant rather than mildewed concrete. He woke seeing a flash of blonde hair and the remnants of a dissipating cloud of grey smoke which only heightened his disorientation.

"Emma?" he called out, his voice hampered by a dry, scratchy throat. He was certain it had been her golden locks he'd seen. Despite no one being directly in his line of sight, he still sensed someone was nearby.

"Afraid not, Captain Jones," a woman's voice replied, but it wasn't Emma. Killian raised his chin and shifted slightly to his right to see a brunette standing near the window - and she might have been as bewildered as he was right now. "You… you just missed her…" Regina continued, at a loss for what else to say. She was still struggling to make sense of what had just happened. Captain Jones was awake, which could only have occurred if Emma's kiss had been one of true love. She'd witnessed a blast of light that had nearly knocked her off of her stiletto heels, but then that cloud had engulfed the room - a manifestation of pure, dark magic that shook her to the core - and Emma had vanished. Regina had no idea what had happened to Emma and definitely had no idea what to tell the confounded Captain before her.

"Just missed her?" Killian repeated, brows knitting in confusion as he winced, allowing his aching body to settle back against the pillows. "What?" His brain was tired and nothing was making any sense, least of all this unknown woman standing a few feet from him. "Where the bloody hell am I?" he asked in frustration, now alert enough to realize he was partially exposed by the drafty, thin garment he wore. "And what the devil am I wearing?"

"Storybrooke hospital," Regina answered flatly, "which should explain your current attire. You've been here since this morning when Emma and her brother, Sheriff Nolan, rescued you from the basement of some old cabin out in the forest."

"The dark room…," Killian recalled with an audible, pained sigh.

"What exactly do you remember?" Regina pressed, hoping to gain clues from his experience, but Killian wasn't sure how much he wanted to open up to this stranger.

"Bits and pieces," he replied, unconsciously tucking his truncated left arm beneath the bedcovers as he countered her questioning with a few of his own. "I believe you have me at a bit of a disadvantage though. It appears you know who I am, but I don't believe we've been properly introduced… It would also be nice to learn why you're here and where Emma might be…"

"I'm Regina Mills," she replied, defensively at first, as though offended that he didn't know her identity. "I'm may…" She started to give her title of Mayor, but halted herself and softened her tone. "I'm Emma's cousin. She invited me here to help figure out what had happened to you. Long story short, she just woke you from a sleeping spell with a kiss of true love but then…, then she disappeared. I honestly have no idea where she's gone."

"Then I should assist in finding her," Killian stated, pushing himself into a sitting position and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. One bare foot reached the tile floor before Regina stopped him, brandishing her wand in her right hand.

"No, Captain - you need to lie back down in that bed until Dr. Whale gives you a clear bill of health. You've been under that sleeping spell for at least a day and you have a hole in your shoulder. You're not going anywhere right now. We have ways we can locate Emma just like she found you and I don't need a wounded man getting in my way and screwing things up."

"Are you giving me orders? I'm generally the one who gives the orders," he grumbled, still sitting defiantly.

"Well, right now, you are being given an order. Lie back down in that bed and stay put or I'll put a barrier spell around that bed to keep you there." She tapped the wand against her left palm to show she wasn't bluffing, awaiting his response.

"Yes, ma'am…," he relented, reclining back in the bed unhappily, but obediently. "Just find Emma."

"I will," she promised. "Now, you just relax and stay put while I try to figure out what the hell is going on."

**********

As the smoke enveloping her dissipated, it was clear to Emma that she was no longer in Killian's hospital room. Honestly, she wasn't sure if she was even still in Storybrooke. She didn't have the slightest idea what had just happened or where she might be. She'd heard about teleportation but it wasn't something she'd ever witnessed. Regina had once admitted to unsuccessfully experimenting with it, but admittedly, few witches possessed the powers necessary to teleport a human. Wherever she was and however she'd arrived here, it had been through the use of powers far more advanced than her own.

Powers like those belonging to a trickster.

Now she needed to pull herself together and think this through. Like Regina had insisted, she'd kissed Killian Jones, believing him to be her true love. But before she'd been able to confirm whether it was true or not, she'd been inexplicably whisked away from him. It was nearly a parallel to what her mother had described in her journal. Her mother had witnessed the man she believed to be her true love vanish in a puff of smoke while Emma had just been unexpectedly torn away from the man she felt was hers. She had no idea whether Killian had awakened from the spell and she'd yet to have an opportunity to test her powers. She needed her head to stop spinning so she could think clearly. Damn, unplanned teleportation travel was quite disorienting - and maybe just a little bit nauseating.

Her eyes darted left and right searching for something - anything - recognizable beyond the remnants of the smoky haze. Storybrooke's battered, but iconic clock tower loomed on the horizon to her left giving her some comfort in the fact that she hadn't left town. She did realize that she was viewing it from an unfamiliar angle. Instead of looking up at it, it was straight in front of her.

Was she on a rooftop?

She couldn't be certain which building it was and there was no way she was going to move any closer to the edge to find out. She breathed a sigh of relief knowing she was still in Storybrooke. If she was going to be facing off with some maniacal demigod, at least it would be on her home turf. She had to believe that Regina had seen her disappear and was already on the phone with David. Soon, the whole town would be hunting for her. This bastard wasn't going to win. She was done with the lies and the games.

The sun had already dipped below the horizon, leaving her at a disadvantage when a silhouette emerged from the shadows. She wasn't surprised by the revelation she wasn't alone on this rooftop. She already had a very good idea who it was and she was fairly certain she knew what it was. After all, she'd spent the entire afternoon devouring books and online articles researching what she might be contending with. She was ready for it - not that she was expecting a fair fight.

"Hello Walsh," she greeted the dark figure opposite her. "Or would you prefer Ozmund? Maybe Loki…? Is that an old name you like? Just tell me - what is this? Another stupid game?"

"Ozmund… I haven't heard that name in a few years…," he mused, taking a few steps toward her to close the distance between them. "Ah, my wizard phase… Brings back some memories… Now, I suppose I should ask how you figured out it was me."

Her eyes followed his movement, wanting to slap the lopsided smirk from his face as his features came into view. "You shouldn't have targeted someone who's used to investigating," she replied. "You kept doing too many things that had me questioning and when I start asking questions, I have to find answers.

He chuffed at her response. "I suppose I underestimated your tenacity. The bail bonds girl that I met back in Boston was certainly a very different person than the deputy sheriff I found here in Storybrooke."

"That lonely girl found her way home. She found where she belonged and who she was supposed to be."

"A wannabe witch?" Walsh laughed.

"I am a witch! And a deputy sheriff. And a sister. What the hell are you? You're no warlock. A warlock wouldn't have bothered with such silly games... Damnit, why did you target me?"

"I've gone through many incarnations, including my aforementioned wizard era…"

"Wizard? I hope Toto pissed on you…," she muttered under her breath.

"What was that?" he asked, not having heard her off-the-cuff comment.

"Nothing. I was just waiting for your answer. I want to know why I'm here, you son of a bitch! I don't know what made you pick me to play your challenge, but I won. I identified my true love and it wasn't you! I beat you! So tell me - why the hell am I up here on this damned rooftop with you? The game's over."

"Are you absolutely sure you won?" he questioned in an attempt to instill doubt in her mind. "Your mother was so sure of herself too. She had every magical advantage available to her and still chose wrong. You're just a novice - so easy to tempt with that love spell. I knew that lonely girl back in Boston… I just needed to get close enough to you for you to develop feelings for me back then. Just had to plant the thought for you to discover yourself - your past. I needed you to return to Storybrooke and discover your powers. As Ava Blanchard's only child, I was hoping your magic would rival hers. I don't understand why you prefer such a mundane existence when you come from such an impressive family of witches."

"Maybe that's because I don't need magic to be happy. It is a part of me that I was curious about, but it doesn't define me. All I care about right now is that I won. You tipped your hand when you stole my mother's journal. What were you afraid of? That she'd left clues? You stooped so low as to kidnap your rival and put him under a sleeping spell just to create a damned diversion?" Her hands clenched into fists at her hip as she spoke, desire to punch Walsh in the face increasing with every word that crossed her lips. "Did you honestly think I wouldn't connect the dots? Maybe my mundane existence as a deputy sheriff helped me put everything together. Did you think you destroyed the photographs you took off of the mantle? The photographs of Ursula and of my mother - and of course the photograph of me taken in Boston…"

"You weren't supposed to find those," he shrugged.

"Then perhaps you shouldn't have locked up Killian in your root cellar in the first place!"

"So, what are you going to do about it?" he taunted as he invaded her personal space. "If you know what I am, do you really think you can beat me?"

"I already did beat you, Walsh, or whatever the hell your name is. I won the challenge so now you can keep your end of the deal and get the hell outta my town!"

Walsh shook his head and chuckled at her. "I suppose you've been fed the old story on how I made a deal to share my powers with the town in exchange for the right to challenge witches to a duel for their powers… Do you really think it was that simple? I'm not the villain you think I am, Emma. Your great-great grandfather wasn't exactly the patron saint of magical beings that he professed to be either."

"And I'm supposed to believe you? You stalked me in Boston… You lied to me… Hell, you lied to my mother! You made her fall in love with you and then you stole her magic. Do you think she was ever the same?"

"I may not have been her true love, but you don't think I had feelings for Ava? You don't think it hurt me? I did what I did for survival…"

Emma scoffed at his attempted explanation. "Survival? You're a damned demigod! What do you know about survival?"

"I may be immortal, but I'm no demigod… Your ancestor managed to trick me into giving up a huge portion of my magic and it weakened me so much that it tethered me to this town. Those challenges were my way of getting some of my magic back."

"So, someone tricked the trickster?" There was a degree of irony here that amused her. "Still makes you an asshole. You targeted innocent women and fooled them into trusting you so you could steal their magic. There's no defense for that, Walsh! And don't try to fool me - we met in Boston. You couldn't have been tethered to Storybrooke if you were running a business in Boston!"

"You don't have to believe me, but you are descended from someone far more evil than I'll ever be. The magic I procured from your mother strengthened me enough to leave. I traveled around a bit amongst the mortals and finally, settled in Boston. At least it reminded me a bit of the old world..."

"So I'm supposed to believe that after all of this? Us meeting in Boston was accidental?"

"Believe what you want to believe, but yes, it was entirely by chance. I saw you and instantly knew you were Ava's daughter. You're the spitting image of her and I had to believe that odds were your magic would be as strong as hers. I just had to get you to go back to Storybrooke, but strangely enough, you found your way back before I could even come up with a plan."

"I don't care, Walsh," she stated, giving him a forceful shove away from her. "This ends now. The games, the challenges - they're over. If you can leave Storybrooke - then leave!"

"I can't do that just yet. I don't have enough magic to return to my own realm. The Blanchard family possesses the most powerful magic in this realm and you were the most vulnerable of the Blanchard descendants. You just didn't find out until after you cast the little spell I planted for you that you were part of the founding family." Walsh ignored her protest and forced his way into her personal space again. "I'm really sorry, Emma. It's nothing personal, but I need your magic. Give it to me voluntarily and I won't need to hurt anyone. Not everything can be fixed with a kiss of true love…"

The evening skies darkened and a menacing mist descended from the heavens as Emma stared into the soulless eyes of her former lover. How had she misjudged him this badly? She'd always believed she had an innate ability to sense someone was lying to her but maybe that wasn't the case… How many people she thought she could trust had been keeping secrets from her? And not small secrets either. Maybe she wasn't the person she'd thought she was…

"No, Walsh," she replied. "I may not be some super powerful witch, but I'm not giving up my magic without a fight."

"So be it," he shrugged. His eyes took on an unearthly glow, yellowish at first then morphing into fiery orange and blood red. A lamp near the building's stairwell sparked and then exploded in a shower of tiny glass shards as Walsh's true nature made itself known.

Emma's feet scrambled in attempt to back away but his fingers latched onto her wrist and held tight. "Let go of me!" she demanded, wriggling herself free of his grasp as she stumbled backward. "I don't know what I ever saw in you, Walsh, but this is it! Get away from me!"

Her clenched fists no longer felt as if they were a part of her body as the pent-up anger within her exploded in a blast of brilliance that drove the trickster back several steps. She stared in disbelief at her balled fists while Walsh staggered and shifted his balance, both of them visibly stunned by Emma's newfound reactive powers. He tried to downplay his surprise and re-establish his dominance before she realized what she'd done.

"Well, well… That was a nice little parlor trick…," Walsh taunted, determined to keep her off guard. "Of course, I don't even think you could do that again if you tried…"

Emma unfurled her fingers and flexed them a few times, an unfamiliar tingle seemingly just beneath the surface of her skin. What had she just done? She could only recall growing angry when Walsh manhandled her and the emotion had simply burst from somewhere within. She'd watched Regina and Zelena conjure fireballs in the palms of their hands and of course, she'd practiced doing the same, but this - this was an entirely new sensation. This was magic she hadn't known existed until now. Pure magic she'd conjured straight from…

From where?

Not from a dusty old spellbook or some centuries old potion. No, this had absolutely come from within her. Her own energy had formulated this power in response to her own ire.

Could she do it again?

"Do you want me to try that again?" she responded to his challenge. "I think I finally figured out the piece I've been missing… Magic doesn't come from a book or a potion or a wand. My magic comes from inside of me. I don't know why it took me all these months to figure that out…" She squeezed her eyes closed as she focused her fury on Walsh once again. Warmth spread through her fingers as a gold-tinged glow emanated from her ivory skin. When her eyelids opened, her irises darkened, gilded sparks appearing to blend with her natural olivine and emerald hues.

And Emma Swan wasn't about to pull any punches. A second burst of energy nearly toppled her over, but succeeded in sending Walsh diving for cover. This little novice witch wasn't playing anymore.

"So that's how you want to play?" Walsh growled with a vindictive sneer. "You have no idea what you're doing."

And in truth, she didn't, but fate intervened and brought her an ally. A third, silhouetted figure had joined them on the rooftop and while she'd no idea how this person had gotten up there or even when they'd appeared, Walsh was visibly irritated by the intruders presence.

"You're not needed here!" He shouted at the figure obscured in the shadows. "This is between me and the witch!"

"You'll have to pardon the interruption, Dearie," the figure spoke up. She didn't recognize the almost impish, mocking voice, but Walsh clearly did. "I just stopped by to ensure a fair fight." The figure let out a slightly sinister giggle? as it vanished as stealthily as it had appeared. Emma stood her ground, bewildered for a second, until an object materialized on her right index finger - the garnet-capped signet ring that had been tucked away in her mother's little box. And then a disembodied voice whispered in her ear: Focus the talisman and turn the trickster's game back onto him.

Not noticing the trinket now adorning Emma's hand, Walsh lashed out against her. A ruby red shield immediately appeared before her, deflecting his magic as she retaliated in defense. The entire rooftop was alight with a blinding flash and Emma sunk to her knees, drained of all energies and fearful she'd just lost the battle. As the spots faded from her vision, she fought to regain her composure and get back on her feet, but Walsh was nowhere in sight.

He wouldn't relinquish his chance to gloat, she thought as she surveyed the roof, finding no one else around. Both Walsh and the shadowy figure with the disconcerting voice were gone yet she wasn't entirely alone.

Resting on the floor roughly twenty feet from her was a stuffed toy monkey with glowing crimson eyes that gradually faded to black.

[hero-of-your-own-story]

The Art of Not Panicking

Fandom: The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

Pairing: implied Ford & Arthur

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: approx. 2000 words

Trigger Warnings: N/A

A/N: So, I know that the Hitchhiker’s Guide fandom is probably very dead, but I think that it’s just a really neat story and I love the characters, so here is my little contribution to the fandom, especially in time for Valentine’s Day! This story was proof-read by the wonderful @writing-orpheus, so thank you to them!

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

  This was certainly not how Arthur had wanted to spend his weekend.

   Then again, things rarely happened as he wanted them to. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure why he was surprised; being submerged in a rather unsafe and small-looking class cage in one of the many salty oceans of the planet Calmaro was one of the least exciting things that had happened all week.

   It was just, he thought rather despondently, that he had thought that today would entail a nice, calm picnic on some nice, calm planet, with nice, calm sandwiches (“You know the ones, Ford - the ones with the cucumber in”) and, if all went even vaguely well, a nice, calm cup of tea. The universe, however, seemed to take great pleasure in throwing what Arthur wanted into the nearest bin and marching him swiftly onward to whichever life-threatening situation it thought would be most entertaining. Not, of course, that he was aware of the universe being sentient, but you never really could tell.

   He stared miserably out at the vast expanse of sea, stretching out before him and Ford, who was looking at it with a sort of awe-struck wonder that indicated that he had suddenly had an idea. Arthur rarely enjoyed Ford’s ideas, per se, as they always seemed to involve death, and danger, and a lack of a hot bath, bed, and food that didn’t make him want to throw up.

   “You’ve got that look in your eye,” he commented nervously, fiddling with the hem of his tattered tartan dressing gown - he could easily get a new one, but this was /his/, a reminder of the home that he had had before... all of this.

   Ford hummed.

   “Why,” Arthur continued, “you felt the need to bring me to a sea-planet in a small capsule with you just to write about it for The Guide, I don’t understand. You could just as easily do this by yourself.”

   Ford glanced at him, surprised, as though such a thing was impossible to think, let alone act upon, before shrugging and turning back to the ocean. A few dolphins with five eyes frolicked in the foam. Ford noted them down.

   “I like the company,” he told Arthur finally.

   “Well, you could have at least been honest with me!” Arthur retorted.

   “If I had told you where we were really going,” Ford replied, “then you wouldn’t have come.”

   That logic was rather difficult to argue with, but Arthur tried anyway.

   “Still,” he blustered, “I wasn’t really expecting that I was going to end up on some planet with mutant squid things, and not-”

   “Arthur,” a warning voice cut through. He continued.

   “-not a peaceful little village on a planet with, oh, I don’t know, hills. And trees. And-”

   “Arthur, it may have escaped your focus, but there is one of those ‘mutant squid things’ coming towards us right now-”

   “-and trickling streams and-”

   “Arthur!”

   He was suddenly aware of Ford seizing his shoulders and turning him right around in the opposite direction. He was about to protest - to make some comment about how he could move himself perfectly well, thank you, and if Ford could let go then that would be wonderful - when he saw a giant, glassy, dark eye staring directly at him. The eye itself was about the size of a small car, or would have been comparable if there had been cars on this planet. He gave a small “Oh” and jumped back.

   “See, if you had listened to what I was trying to tell you, then you would have known that this Calmaroid was outside of the zarking box!” Ford exclaimed, pulling his friend back to look at it. His keen eyes were fixed on the creature. “You don’t get them anywhere else - they’re often called Space Squid,” he told Arthur eagerly. “They can move out of water quite easily.”

   “Thanks,” Arthur sniped, “that really makes me feel a lot safer.”

   Ford, oblivious to the sardonic tone, cast him a rather surprised look, as though astounded that Arthur wasn’t scared by this, or complaining about how Ford had dragged him into this mess and had better jolly well get them out of it. “Really?”

   “No, not really,” the other man replied snappily. “I’m not a huge fan of the idea that this... thing could chase us out of this... wherever.”

   “Wonderful use of words, there. Your Earth education is truly breathtaking,” Ford commented absently, still transfixed by the Calmaroid. It blinked. He blinked back.

   “You must have enough for the Guide entry now,” Arthur remarked, a sort of desperate hopefulness creeping into his tone. “Can we possibly... go?”

   Ford nodded, finally satisfied by whatever research he had come out here to do. The Calmaroid, of course, could use a little glorifying - perhaps swarms of them at a time, rather than just one - and he would try to describe the sea as ‘azure’ rather than ‘sort of a muddy blue’.

   He turned back to face Arthur directly, giving him a smile. “Yeah, I’ve got everything that I need. Ready to head up to the Heart of Gold?”

   “What, back up to Zaphod making jokes out of life, the universe and all humans?” Arthur replied bitterly, though there was a hint of a joke in his voice. Despite everything, the Heart Of Gold was as good of a ‘home’ as he could wish for; at least there he had Ford, and Trillian. At least he wasn’t the last surviving human in the universe.

   Ford sighed - he was never good at comforting people, and hadn’t had to do it much before the whole incident with the Vogons. “Look, Arthur, I’m sorry about your planet. But there’s no one I would rather have saved from being vaporised to make way for an inter-galactic bypass. I mean it.”

   The glass-like box that they were in shook. Ford tore his gaze away from Arthur’s to look at what had caused the disturbance, finding an abundance of Calmaroids - a fleet? A squadron? Whatever the collective noun was, there were a lot of them. He felt the urge to swear. “Belgium.”

   “On a scale of one to ten,” Arthur began tentatively, “how likely are these Space Squid to try to kill us?”

   “If the Guide is anything to go by...”

   “Screw the sodding Guide, Ford, just tell me what you see in front of you!”

   “I’d say... an eight?”

Here is what The Guide has to say on Calmaroids:

No one particularly knows, or cares, where they come from or what they are, because of the fact that Calmaro is not a popular holiday destination due to it being 98.7% water. Given their size, they’re probably not to be trifled with, but no one with any sense of self-worth or common sense has ever encountered one and felt need to tell whatever tale they left with. It is rumoured that they are the result of scientific experiments once held on Calmaro that resulted in children being turned into gigantic giant squid, but anyone who believes this is either a conspiracy theorist, heavily misguided, lying, or will believe you when you tell them that the word ‘gullible’ is written on the ceiling.

  “An eight?” Arthur asked incredulously, beginning to like this little field trip less and less with each passing second. His stomach sank, and he felt as though he could almost see it descend into the depths of the planet’s seas, along with his spirits and his will to exist in the same vague vicinity as both Ford Prefect and these Space Squid.

  “Oh, don’t worry, they’re probably quite harmless-“ Ford was cut off when two of the Calmaroids grabbed the box and began almost throwing it to each other with their tentacles. Arthur gave a startled yell and grabbed onto the first thing that he could reach, which happened to be Ford’s arm. He swore.

  “There must be some way that you can get us out of this… this… hellish game of piggy in the middle!” he declared, looking at Ford with a sort of desperate confidence often found in the eyes of people in a life-threatening situation, or under the throes of a particularly strong (or badly mixed, as on many planets) Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster.

  Ford gave a smile. “Your faith in me is flattering, but completely unfounded,” he replied in an unnaturally assured tone for someone in his situation. “At this point, we need to hope that, for a start off, this thing doesn’t break – and I wouldn’t put my trust in it, given the miniscule price that it was sold to us at – and someone on the Heart of Gold has enough common sense and technological ability to get us out of here.”

  Arthur gave an undignified huff. One of the many things that he didn’t like (listed at fifteenth, far below ‘lack of tea’ and number one and ‘destruction of all other human life-forms’ at number eight) was being treated as though he was helpless, even though, as one of only two surviving humans in a vast, expansive galaxy that he seemed to explore by blundering from one disaster to the other, he really was.

  More Calmaroids were joining in now, cheerfully banding together to form a larger game. The glass-like box creaked under the pressure of the water and being hit around by gigantic giant squid, and even Ford, with his cock-sure attitude and belief that this would turn out alright if, somehow, neither of them panicked. Arthur, meanwhile, had finally gathered up the courage to say something.

  “Ford,” he began, turning to address the other man, “if these are our last few minutes – seconds, maybe – on Earth, I want you to know something.”

  “Yes?” Ford replied, heart in his throat; though whether this was from the increasingly dizzying spins that the box was being thrown in or what Arthur may have been about to say, he couldn’t really tell.

  “I want you to know,” Arthur continued, “that is, I would like you to realise…” He took a deep breath. “If I die today then I will not have had a single cup of tea in five years. And I’m not sure if I can die knowing that.”

  Ford burst out into uncontrollable laughter, earning a glare from Arthur, who proceeded to proclaim that such things weren’t funny, and he would be damned if he died here without a good cup of Earl Grey clasped in his hand.

  The next thing that either of them knew, they were back in the Heart of Gold, Zaphod standing over them with amusement clear on both of his faces. The box had not been beamed up with them, and both Ford and Arthur now sat on the floor, Ford still laughing slightly, and clasping Arthur’s shoulder in an attempt to calm both of them down, and Arthur heavily shaken and muttering something about tea. Zaphod, who could rarely be asked to do anything, let alone pay heed to whatever he had just saved his sort-of-cousin and the monkey-man from or ask them if they were alright, shrugged and headed through one of the many, many annoying doors. “It is a pleasure to be able to open for you,” the door told him cheerfully.

  “Sod off,” Arthur told it, finally coming to his senses and looking at Ford in apprehension. “Say, Ford, are you alright? It wasn’t something that I said?”

  Ford shook his head. “No, more a matter of something that I thought, rather hoped, you were going to say, but really didn’t,” he replied, smile still on his face. “Now, come on – I can’t make you tea or anything, but I can at least fix you a drink. I think we’ve earnt it.” He saw the look on Arthur’s face and rolled his eyes. “Unless you’d rather have ‘Not-Tea’?”

Emotions, The Guide explains in one of its shorter articles, are complex things and widely considered an inconvenience.

[wlvs-fxs]

Redemption.

A commission from @frostbite883.

I know I said it might be short, but my mind kind of took off and the whole thing turned out to be a full-blown one-shot. I hope you like and I hope it lives up to your expectations. Here it is.

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“Raven, why would you even do that?” Apple began and the alluded witch couldn’t help but sigh in annoyance to hold back what would have been her umpteenth groan in the last two days.

 “Apple, dear, dear Apple, I am still unaware of how is all of this any of your business. Don’t you have a Kingdom to run? It must be boring, I’m sure, to just sit around and interrogate me as if that would change anything.” Raven scoffed at the end of her saccharine words. She was lying through her teeth and was hoping the blonde Queen of Ever After would just get tired and drop it, at least for the day.

 The former leader of the Royals sighed, and as if reading the lavender-eyed woman’s thoughts she did exactly the opposite of what Raven wanted. She sent the two knights guarding her away and pulled over a chair, taking a seat right in front of Raven’s cell. The two were currently in Snow White’s, now Apple White’s, castle dungeons. Raven was the sole inhabitant.

 The purple witch did nothing to suppress the deep frown that adorned her still angelic factions. Time had been gentle with them, much to Raven’s chagrin. It just made it so vexingly hard to remain focused!

 “Why did you do it, Raven? And don’t lie to me again. I know you don’t go gun ho just because.”

The question went without response for quite a while. In the meantime, the sounds of Raven’s shackles filled the air as she paced back and forth, slowly, gathering the courage she summoned barely two days ago before casting a powerful spell over a village… That was desolate.

 “Does it even matter?” the former Rebel started, abruptly stopping her pacing but still refusing to see Apple in the eye. Those damned sky-blue eyes, “That village has been abandoned for a century. Who cares if I burn the whole thing to the ground?”

 “You and I both know that is not the real reason you’re here, Raven,” Apple countered, “I got you brought here in shackles because that was the only way of sitting you down to talk. And I mean talk. Not those pep talks from before.”

 The pep talks, yes, the pleas to ‘return to her old self’, to go back to good and whatever. Hex, even Cerise tagged along once or twice. But fine. Apple wanted to talk? Talk is what she will get, “Very well, oh Your Majesty, what would you like to explore first? The intricate patterns of my derailed thought process or the fact your insistence is getting worrisome?”

 Poison, poison! Raven chanted in her head.

 Apple’s eyebrow quirked in defiance, she wasn’t going to give up. She did once, and this was the result. Raven finally succumbed to years of pressure.

 At first it was barely noticeable. Raven passed her inner anger as merely being distraught. Then it was stopping the good deeds, the magic favors, the niceties and then stopping the good treatment altogether, say something wrong and you’re hexed, look at me weird and you get a nasty spell coming your way, and so on. Lucky for all of them, that had happened after graduation. But that didn’t stop Raven from trying to escalate and attempt riskier things, things that could’ve ended badly.

 Somehow Apple got away with playing her tale in a different way, and decided to postpone everything related to it. Her ascension to Queen had been rather hurried, but that wasn’t a priority. No. Her priority was how the gentlest witch in all of Ever After was going mad because she couldn’t hold the fort. Because she surrendered in defending the good little soldier that Raven was. That was the priority and it has been for the past year, time that was spent having those uncomfortable talks that managed to get the purple witch under control until… Two days ago.

 “My insistence is only worrisome because the situation is worrisome. And your train of thought was well under renovation when you decided it was funnier to undo all of that.” Apple finally spoke out and Raven seemed annoyed.

“Don’t talk about undoing things, Apple. You might awaken your moral from its slumber.” Raven muttered and acid poured down.

 Apple’s quirked eyebrow was met with her other brow in a clearly surprised expression. This was the most hurting Raven had been, but also the more talkative. If getting to the bottom of all this meant taking a verbal beating, then so be it. It was about time the score got tied, anyway.

 And so the blonde regent took a deep breath and let it out through her nose, “Listen up, Raven. And listen up good. I’m not here to say the same things I have before. I’m here to hear the real reasons behind your last adventure. Save the clever turns of phrases and the enigmatic sentences. Just spill it out and I’ll handle the venom.”

 At that, something snapped within the purple-haired woman. How dare she not know what she did?!

 “Ha! “Handle the venom”? Apple, you can’t handle the venom when you are the venom.” Raven felt a surge of pride when Apple seemed shocked at her statement, “What? Surprised? I’m not. You are a slow, deliberate killer, Apple Isabelle White. And you are damn wrong if you think you can erase years of bullying with your high school charms like in the old times. No pout and no eyelash bat will change that.” Another lie and Raven cursed herself.

 Ah, but Apple did know what she had done. The surprise wasn’t the statement. The surprise was how fast it had been given. Raven had been saving this up. Well, time to pull out the sharper blades. If Raven wasn’t going to aim for the Carotid, then she was going to by herself.

 “And you think I don’t know I’m poisonous?” Apple countered and it was Raven’s turn to be shocked. Seriously shocked, “Venom is in my blood, Raven Morgana Queen. I’m a poison apple; do you really think I’m not aware of who I “slowly and deliberately” killed, or am killing? I left you when I shouldn’t have, I took a wrong decision and it’s you who is still paying the price. I’m just realizing you thought I was unaware of who was dying from food poisoning all this time. And let me tell you, I am aware.”

 Apple finished speaking and her sky-blue eyes, suddenly not so clear, were trained on her, minutely watching her every move.

 Raven was speechless, and not in her usual way, where it was just for the sake of rebelling against whatever Apple wished. This was utter, unwilling silence. She wanted to scream, to kick something, to do anything except being as quiet as she was, but the shackles were made especially for her and blocked all her magic, and so she could only do one thing.

 “What do you want from me, Apple?”

 Apple pondered her words carefully, and after a short moment she spoke, “I want the truth, no matter how ugly. Tell me what went through your mind back then, two days ago, just now. Give me the truth.”

 The witch gulped. How had it come to this? She was supposed to make Apple lose her cool and leave, not spill everything! And just why her heart was beating so damn fast?! A year and a half of chaos and mixed feelings, resentment and frustration, and of course the end had to be the same way it began. Apple White and Raven Queen, in the same space, not knowing what was next.

 So Raven began, but not without releasing a resigned half-sigh, half-groan. If she did this right, Apple might drop it for once and for all, “What went through my mind, huh? Well, I thought you knew, Apple. I thought you knew we couldn’t hurt each other. For years I was pressured by your little minions and hex, even the Headmaster to give in and play my role, and for a year and a half you were one of them, and when you finally seemed to get it you go and release my mother, then repent, and then I didn’t know whether you learned the lesson or were waiting for a better chance. We graduated and you left, Apple. You fucking left!”

 It was the blonde’s turn to gulp. Yes, the Dragon Games incident. She knew she couldn’t be forgiven that easily, even after being poisoned herself. She should’ve expected that jab, and the ones before and after that too. Everything was true, “I thought things would go easy on you from that point on since I’d already been poisoned and saved, and your mother took away your turn at the role. I wasn’t intending on leaving forever after. I would never, I-I could never…”

 “Exactly, damn it!” Raven snapped, “We never could! Do you know how exasperating can be to have your friends commenting on how we danced around each other every day?! And don’t you dare deny it, Apple Isabelle. Don’t you dare deny you felt something back then and don’t you dare deny these entire stupid therapist sessions you’ve been trying to give me this past year were only out of friendship. Don’t you dare!”

 Now or never, Apple thought. This is what she came for, “I won’t deny our never-ending dance. And I won’t deny my own friends did the same a number of times too large for me too remember. There was always something, someone in the way, something happening to distract us when we thought we were focused, and then the throne. I won’t deny any of that.”

 Raven relaxed a fraction, only to tense up again, “And now you want to ask about the village, don’t you, Your Majesty?”

 “No,” Apple announced and Raven’s façade of indolence fell, reappearing hardened after a second to listen to the rest, “I don’t. I now know why you did it.”

 Indolence was replaced with mock disbelief and a look that could only ever mean sarcasm, “And well?”

 “I undid my betrothal.”

 At plain sight one would not see why that was so important, but Raven knew better. After the Games fiasco, Daring was left without a place in Snow White’s tale, and instead found it in Beauty and the Beast. But, as all things royal go, the betrothal between Apple and Daring, arranged since their births, wasn’t so easily forgotten. The Charmings lost their minds when notified of all the happenings of those three days, and then their whole heads with Daring’s… misadventure. The betrothal was left in place without official explanation from either family, until it was broken two days ago with a royal decree and everything from Queen Apple.

 The purple witch lightly scoffed, “You say it as if it was that simple.”

 “Because it is, Raven Morgana,” Apple responded, pleased with the fact she’d managed to bounce back all the mentions of her middle name Raven had thrown at her, “I’ve managed to keep you under a modicum of control this past year. I’m sure you thought I was to marry Daring any of these following months. Suddenly I was not going to. I believe I threw you off quite literally, didn’t I? Oh, why do I even ask? Of course I did, no poison is without more than one affliction.”

 The former Rebel snapped again, “You have no idea! None at all! You can’t have an idea of how much it hurt to watch the person I trusted… the person I loved just leave! And to become a Queen no less! A viper had everything to envy you and that blasted venomous love of yours, of course I got sick and tired and angry! And then you come back, nearly out of the blue, to try and “save” me, your victim, the one still thinking you’d get married to someone else, to then announce out loud that you wouldn’t! I was angry at my confusion and there I was, being all petty burning abandoned places when I very well could’ve wiped an entire territory of life! Only so that you came! I can’t even discern stupidity from madness there!”

 Apple breathed deeply, and with slow decisiveness she stood from her chair and positioned herself just shy of touching the bars of Raven’s cell, looking straight into her darkened, turbulent lavender irises. The witch of course took up the challenge, and approached the bars as well until the chains of her shackles impeded further movement. Her eyes met Apple’s unbelievably cobalts as they stood nose to nose.

 Apple spoke with deliberate low volume and even more deliberate slow speed, “Stupidity is thinking I would turn my back on you after all we went through. Stupidity is leaving without making it clear to you why I was doing it. Stupidity is burning a village out of mixed feelings. Stupidity is announcing the breaking a betrothal without announcing the next step right after. But madness… This is madness.”

 And so the blonde raised a hand with lightning speed to catch Raven by the nape, uncovered for once, and pull her towards her. Their lips met with all the forcefulness to convey all the years of frustration and hopeful hopelessness that embraced them every night, every day, until this moment. Raven’s seemed hesitant at first, but hearing those words and seeing that resolve that Apple had spilled and shown was her undoing. How ironic, she thought, that only minutes ago she had claimed that Apple’s old charms wouldn’t work, only to be brought to her knees by the one thing she desired most in the very same old times.

 Apple did not relent until she felt Raven kissing back, allowing her to take the control she so hopelessly lost a year ago before starting a streak of small evil deeds.

 Once the kiss was over and their needy lips had done all what was left of that conversation, they stared at each other. Blankly at first, since they were trying, although not succeeding, to reign over their exploding chests and racing minds. But a brief moment passed and their gazes softened, tiny smiles found their way to their expressions, and Apple dropped her hand to retrieve a certain item from the hidden pocket of her ornate dress. All without breaking the eye contact for a millisecond.

 “What are you doing?” the witch asked, and Apple could swear her irises had returned to the same pure, gentle lavender she grew to love all that time ago.

The blonde raised her hand, wordlessly showing a small silver key, and broke the eye contact only to open the cell. Once she was inside she reached for Raven’s shackled wrists, and finally muttered, “I might be poisonous, but my hopes of finding an antidote have been heightened.”

 The same key that opened the cell went into the keyholes of each shackle as Raven silently watched. The moment her hands were freed, she took Apple’s in hers and looked at them in admiral and contempt, the blonde mimicked her, “Just as no venom is without more than one affliction, and your venom is not without antidote, I am not without you.”

 The blonde’s plump lips, stained with smudged red lipstick, curved in a wide smile, “I promise to never poison you again.”

 Raven nodded, and then something came to her memory, “What was the next step to be announced?”

 Apple giggled, and Raven was reminded of the melodious sound that would be heard in their Ever After High dorm room after a corny joke, “A happily ever after of sorts, if you’ll have me…”

 The witch nodded vehemently and the two rushed into an embrace, desperate just as the kiss moments prior had been. Once Raven came down enough from her high, she muttered, “I think…”

 “Yes?” Apple parted enough to look Raven in the eyes, but still share the same air.

 Raven closed the space between their lips until they were barely touching, “I think the word you’re looking for… is redemption.”

 The kiss that followed would be later known in the legends of the past as the Kiss of Redemption that bestowed happiness on Ever After for eternity.

[auradonuniversity]

Meet The Recluse. They’re the child of Merida, a sophomore at Auradon University and hails from Auradon. Some say they look like David Corenswet and they’re TAKEN.

Name: Calum Fergus Fraser-Dunbroch

Age: 20 years old

Pronouns: He/Him

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Occupation: Freelance Illustrator

Sports and Clubs: Archery, Tourney, Painting

Major: Art

Biography

Standing tall upon the emerald cliffs of the Scottish Highlands lays Castle DunBroch. Decrepit, choked by ivy, and crumbling to the ground, the castle is the epicenter of Clan DunBroch’s Kingdom and the homestead of its fierce and courageous leader, Queen Merida. Despite its decaying state, there is no hearth warmer in all of Scotland as the one within the castle walls. It’s a vast and rich realm that any of the Scottish Lords would die to possess… all except the lord poised to inherit it. To Callum Fergus Fraser-DunBroch, the fog-dense woods and mystical hills surrounding the castle are his kingdom. It’s there among the kelpies, the will-o-the-wisps and the witches rumored to be within that Callum finds comfort. With as much daring nerve as his scarlet haired mother, it’s of little surprise that the boy feels more at ease in the wild moors - Merida herself was known to spend hours in the confines of the forest, climbing Crone’s Tooth and drinking from the golden streams of The Fire Falls. Targets long since forgotten by the queen’s bow are now claimed by her son’s adept arrow, this now his domain to run barefoot and free through. But this is where most of the similarities between Callum and Queen Merida end. For as the lords would tell anyone that asked - he wasn’t truly a DunBroch anyway.

The story of Princess Merdia and her mother Queen Elinor is common knowledge. Callum knows it better than anyone - he could recite it in his sleep. Once upon a time there was an unruly princess and a queen who was deeply steeped in tradition, two forces constantly at odds. After fighting for her own hand, a disagreement caused a great misfortune to fall on the mother and together the two needed to reverse the terrible curse. It’s just another in a long list of fairy tales that are so commonplace in Auradon and its neighboring kingdoms. It’s the aftermath that isn’t so well known. With the mother and daughter reaching a new understanding, DunBroch fell into an era of reconstruction. Merida’s direct rebelling to the traditions and decision to fight for her own right to the throne had caused a great stir among the clans. To some, the changes were welcomed, the idea of a woman on the throne being just as normal as having another lord ruling. To others, the differences being proposed to DunBroch’s long withstanding traditions went directly against everything the clans stood for. The divide had only grown greater when Merida met Catriona Fraser. There was always something different and unconventional about the princess, some parts of herself not even she fully understood. It wasn’t until that fateful ride deep into the forests neighboring her kingdom that Merida came to realize things. She had been drawn to the soft gaelic singing coming from a meadow hidden within the trees, and the moment she’d laid her eyes upon the dark haired beauty she was forever changed. Mo nighean dubh. My dark haired lass.

It wasn’t that the lords weren’t accepting of Merida’s love for another woman - it hadn’t mattered what they thought of that anyway. Just as fiercely as she fought for her own hand, the young Queen would fight for her right to love whomever she pleased. They were incredibly supportive of the union, each showing up in their best highland formal wear to attend the wedding. They were fine with her marrying a woman… They were not okay with a Fraser potentially sitting on the DunBroch throne. Since the clans joined forces under Fergus’s sword, their kingdom has been ruled by DunBrochs and DunBrochs alone. It was the DunBroch blood in Merida’s veins that gave her the right to fight for her own hand. The conservative and narrow minded Lords couldn’t fathom how the sanctity of the throne could remain if two women were in the equation - especially when rumors of Merida’s inability to have children began making its way through the clans. If the heir did not come from Merida’s womb, would they be heir at all? It was this question that colored the atmosphere on the night that Catriona gave birth to Callum. He was named a DunBroch, but the lords refused to see it. He was biologically Catriona’s, biologically a Fraser.

Callum was none the wiser to the tension his birth caused among the clans.

His was a charmed childhood. Merida and Catriona loved their son more than anything in the world. It was as though he was the center of their universe. He spent most of his formative years in the forests where the women had first encountered each other, at one with nature. Catriona taught Callum all there was to know about the forest and the things that lurked within and Merida taught their son the ways of the bow. The latter was something he took to rather well, knowing how to notch an arrow before he could walk or talk it seemed. He had been just as gifted an archer as the queen was - better, according to Merida herself. But archery held no candle to Callum’s deep love for painting. He would gladly set aside his quiver and bow in exchange for a paintbrush and palette. His room was filled with sketchbooks upon sketchbooks - watercolor paintings or charcoal drawings of the moors contained within. He had even been the one to design the newest DunBroch family tapestry, the family’s mythical story and past woven into the intricate mantle piece. It was art that warmed his life, and would continue to do so after the claims of his “illegitimacy” began making their way through the clans. When Callum was old enough to understand, his mothers had made it very clear that he was a DunBroch and had every right to the throne. The constant reminders had only proven to do the opposite of their original intent - the more Merida tried to beat it into her son that he was in fact hers, the more obvious it was to Callum that he wasn’t a DunBroch.

This complex followed Callum to Auradon Prep where your legacy was everything. There was never a question that King Adam’s son was heir to Auradon, or that the Charmings’ children had a right to rule Cinderellasburg. Everyone knew who they were, where they came from, and where their life would eventually go. Callum was not as confident. He knew he was a Fraser-DunBroch - it was in his very name - but he didn’t know if he could truly claim the kingdom. For the first time in his life, Callum felt like the odd man out. He didn’t consider himself a “royal”, and as such didn’t really feel as though he belonged. This new insecurity altered a once sweet and warm boy, turning him shy, withdrawn, and incredibly melancholic. As he grew up, Callum crept further into the fringes of Auradon’s society until before he knew it he had gained a reputation as a stoic and reclusive prince. He didn’t have a terribly huge number of friends, he rarely felt comfortable opening himself up to others. And he didn’t dare entertain romance - easy enough when your mother had a reputation for spurning off suitors and fighting for her own hand. Callum coasted in the background of Auradonian society, and retreated to the woods surrounding DunBroch where legitimacy and clan names didn’t matter.

Auradon University was not something he wanted to entertain. He barely interacted with his peers in high school, why continue into college? If it were up to him, Callum would have retired to his beloved highlands and lived out the rest of his life in the woods painting the creatures that inhabited them. Unfortunately it wasn’t up to him. Tension between the clans was mounting, the Lords making demands. If a Fraser could claim the throne, then any of the Lords’ sons should have the same chance. The clans were calling for a Highland Games, and Callum was ready to throw in the towel. At the request of Merida, Callum decided to attend university in Auradon City. It would be the excuse they needed to postpone the games and the Lords’ desperation. If the prince was away studying, they had time to change the Lords’ minds and convince them that he was in fact the first born and thus worthy of his throne. But it also gave Merida the chance to work on her son’s insecurities and help convince him the same. If Callum wasn’t willing to fight for his throne as she did, then what was the point of fighting the Lords? In her mind, being among peers who saw him as a prince would help him understand what he was rightfully the heir of.

So far the university has only proven to be another irritant for the Scotsman’s social anxiety. A situation which had only been further complicated by the arrival of children from the Isle of the Lost. The political climate of Auradon has shifted, and suddenly Callum’s problems back in the Highlands seem so inconsequential. Everyone has opinions, on the VKs, on Prince Mitchell’s decree, on what this inclusion means for the fragile balance of nobility in Auradon. Callum keeps incredibly neutral on the topic, his focus entirely on finishing school and going back to his hermit life in the woods… but deep down he’s hoping the balance is disturbed, and that the caste system of Auradon comes crumbling down. Maybe then he won’t have to face the problems at home, the games, the Lords, or his melodramatic identity crisis.

Character Traits

positive: romantic, honest, chivalrous negative: withdrawn, melancholic, stoic

Headcanons

Callum has no real opinion on the VKs. While it seems like the rest of Auradon was buzzing with either excitement or apprehension about the Isle children coming to study at AU, Callum couldn’t care any less. His mother’s story doesn’t have a classical villain, no “evildoer” to banish to the Isle. The evil that Merida needed to overcome was an inner demon and a conflict between she and her mother. As such, there was no one being housed on the isle that was a threat of any sort to the Highlanders. Their arrival has neither interested or bothered the Scotsman and he’s stated several times that it doesn’t matter to him whether or not they stay permanently in Auradon. If he even cared to rule his family’s domain, he may even say they could all settle in the Highlands.

His homeland comes with many mythical and heroic tales from the past, including his own family’s enchanting history. Callum, like all the DunBrochs that have come before him, is a skilled swordsman, archer and warrior, but there aren’t many situations in the modern world that call for the sword. As such, Callum’s adventuring mostly happens on grid paper and with dice. He’s an avid dungeons and dragons fan, if only because a lot of it is inspired by his country’s culture and mythology. He used to run a d&d club at Auradon Prep - an extracurricular that hasn’t followed him to university, perhaps fortunately for him. He plays with what little friends he has, their dedicated dungeon master, and used to have a campaign back home with some of the Lords’ sons. It’s one of the few “social functions” he actually enjoys.

Callum’s reclusive nature isn’t just due to the problems escalating at home with the clans - it partially has to do with his accent. Much like his infamous mother - and just about every other person who calls Scotland their home - Callum has a thick scottish accent. He knows it can be difficult to understand him - he’s heard the whispers, knows that people in Auradon often comment on the colorful accents of the DunBrochs and their people. It’s just another thing on a long list of things that he is thoroughly insecure about. Add that to his knack for slipping into Scottish Gaelic occasionally when rather emotional and the boy has always felt a little uncomfortable talking with others. He knows some people make fun of the way he and his family talk - that added to the kilt he wears to formal events gives a lot of material for juvenile insults. It’s part of why he’s so quiet and stoic half the time - “‘S better ta nae open yer mouth than ta have all o’ Auradon laughin’ at ye, ye ken?”

Connections

The Pristine: The Pristine is stunning. A work of art, in The Recluse’s eyes. And while they’ve never shared more than a few words over the years, The Recluse has developed quite the crush. Unfortunately, The Recluse has yet to gather up the courage to confess their feelings to the Pristine, and is determined to do so before college is up. College is about growing, and after four year at Auradon Prep, pining for The Pristine, The Recluse knows it’s time to take the plunge.

The Magnetic: The Magnetic and The Recluse were once the fiercest of competitors. They had met at an archery competition when they were young, and year after year found themselves matched in skill. But as the years went by, an admiration developed between the two, until it turned into a friendship as deep as either had ever known. Now they’re best friends, and while neither will admit it, they’re still vying for the top spot of Auradon’s Archery Champion.

The Fervour: Most joke on campus that the only reason The Fervour and The Recluse were paired together is because of their red hair, that it would give the two something to bond over. Well, it didn’t. The Recluse likes to keep to themselves. They have enough friends, they don’t need anymore, and after living their whole life as an only child, they’re finding it increasingly hard to share a room with someone. The Fervour is trying, bless their soul, but a connection has yet to be made between the two.

[artandteaandstuff-blog]

Princes and Princesses - Part 5

Summary: Sequel to Kings and Queens. | Actor AU | Emma is finally getting used to life in the spotlight, thanks to hit TV show Kings and Queens. She has many people to help her along the way; her son, her friends and her boyfriend, Killian Jones. But changes are going to have to be made on Kings and Queens, and the world she’s getting used to is about to turn upside down, leaving her questioning if she ever really understood it at all.

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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

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Chapter Six

Emma sits on the toilet lid, tapping her hands on her knees, staring at the bathroom tiles, her heart in her throat. She tries to take deep breaths, but every inhale is ragged and every exhale is shaky.

Two minutes. That’s how long she has to wait for. Two minutes, then she’ll know.

But two minutes stretches forever, and the longer she waits, the more unstable she feels. A cold sweat builds up on the back of her neck, making her stray hairs damp. She can hardly concentrate over the sound of her heart. Da-dum. Da-dum. Da-dum.

One minute.

Da-dum. Da-dum. Da-dum.

Thirty seconds.

She half wishes she never bought one now. She doesn’t want to know, but she needs to. It’s better to find out sooner rather than later, so she has more time to explore all her options. And more time to work out what to tell Killian.

Killian. They’ve only been dating four months. It’s too soon for anyone, let alone two actors at the height of their careers. She can’t imagine any situation where he would react badly, but he’s a gentleman and he always have been. It’s part of the reason she loves him.

Ten seconds.

What will the show do? Will they kick her off?

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

Her phone timer.

She grabs it from where she left it balancing off the bathroom side and turns it off with shaking hands.

It’s now or never, she thinks as she rises from the toilet. Her legs feel like jelly, like they could buckle underneath her at any moment. She struggles to see straight, she feels so nauseous. Another tell-tale sign.

The yellow lights are too bright for her sensitive eyes. She blinks away from them. It takes all her courage to peer into the sink, to cast her eyes to the little blue and white stick.

Negative.

But why doesn’t she feel relieved? Surely, her heart should calm down and her stomach should unknot, but she still feels the same as she did mere seconds ago. She still has the same cold sweat.

Maybe it’s because she knows it’s too early; a negative result doesn’t mean anything. She’s only missed her period by a few days. There’s still a possibility she could be pregnant, and right now, right at the moment, she’s almost entirely sure she is. And she’s always known she could trust her gut instinct. It’s what’s gotten her so far through life unscathed, after everything she’s been through.

A light knock comes at the door.

Emma jumps, hand flying up to her heart. She tries to keep her voice calm as she says, “Yeah?”

“Mom?” Henry asks. “Are you still getting ready? You’re supposed to meet Mary Margaret in ten minutes. And… you’re supposed to take me to school.”

“Alright kid, I’m coming.”

“Pregnant?” Mary Margaret half-whispers.

They’d planned to meet last night; Mary Margaret needs to get out of the house and have some girl-time, especially now Hope is her every waking thought, and Emma desperately needs someone to talk to. Both women opted for somewhere quiet and the coffee shop seemed like a perfect fit.

They sit in a booth, shrouded by leather, away from anyone who might listen in. Or, more importantly, recognise Emma. Mary Margaret cradles a creamy hot chocolate in her hands, whereas Emma went for something coffee-based; a hazelnut latte. The two of them haven’t drank anything yet. They stare across the wooden table at each other, eyes wide, faces ashen.

“I don’t know,” Emma whispers. She shrugs, trying to make it seem casual, although it looks anything but. “I mean, I could be.”

“How many days are you late?”

“Four.”

“And does… Killian know?”

“No!” She hisses, so loud, a few people turn to look at her. She lowers her voice and leans forward. “Of course not. I haven’t told a soul. Apart from you, anyway.”

She taps her fingertips on the side of her mug. “And the test was… definitely negative?”

“I’m not an idiot.”

“I know,” she sighs. “Emma, I know you’re not. But these things happen. Like you said, that doesn’t mean anything, not if you’re only four days late. Wait a week, take another test and see what it says.”

Emma nods, looking down at her latte. The sight of it makes her queasy, but that could just be to do with nerves.

“Hey,” Mary Margaret says, reaching out to take her hand. Emma looks up as she squeezes softly. “It’s okay. There’s an equal chance you’re not pregnant. And if you are? Well, we’ll take it as it comes. When you know for sure, the first thing you need to do is tell Killian.”

Emma averts her eyes. “I know.”

“I’m serious, Emma.” Her voice is stern. “You don’t want him to find out from the media. It’s better coming from you.”

She’s right about that. It annoys her that she doesn’t really have time to reflect on this. With so many reporters and journalists watching her, it’s better to get it out in the open as soon as possible. He deserves the truth from her, not from some sleazy magazine.

Mary Margaret squeezes her hand again. “But whatever you decide, I’ll be here for you. You know that, right?”

Emma nods. “I know.”

They move onto lighter subjects and thankfully, Mary Margaret doesn’t talk about Hope too much. It’s not that Emma doesn’t love hearing about Hope—she adores that little bundle of joy—but she’s not sure she can stomach the thought of babies at the moment.  

Not when she thinks she could have one inside her.

She talks mostly about David and his antics. She’s been annoyed with him recently, simply because he’s been complaining about being tired all the time, yet he has little reason to, according to Mary Margaret.

“He doesn’t do anything around the house,” she complains. “He doesn’t hoover. He doesn’t clean. Don’t get me wrong, he used to all the time. But since you got on Kings and Queens, the clients have been rolling in and he’s taken on so many and—” Her eyes widen when she realises her words. “I don’t mean anything bad to you, Emma. It’s not your fault. I just think he’s bitten off more than he can chew.”

Emma nods. “I understand.”

They move onto other topics and Emma tells Mary Margaret about Henry, and how he’s doing in school.

“Straight As at the moment.”

Mary Margaret sits back in her seat, still cradling her mug of hot chocolate. She shakes her head with a smile. “Smart kid.”

“I know.”

She’s lucky. He always does his homework; she doesn’t even need to ask once. She’s heard so many horror stories about kids answering back and refusing to do their schoolwork, but Henry is the complete opposite of that. He’s a dream come true. When he’s not doing schoolwork, he’s playing games or quietly reading. There’s no drinking, no drugs. She and Regina often discuss how easy they have it.

Not that Emma mentions Regina to Mary Margaret. As far as the other is concerned, they want nothing to do with each other, and that’s fine with Emma. She keeps them as separate relationships.

She’s interrupted when she feels her phone vibrate in her pocket.

“Sorry, I really have to check this. It might be work.”

After they were so late the other week, she’s not taking any chances. If there’s any possibility she’s messed up her schedule, she wants to hear about it as soon as possible, and not after she has time to fix it.

But it’s not Grumpy, or another one of her superiors. It’s Elsa.

Have you read the scripts???

Emma frowns at her phone. Mary Margaret, who watches her expression change, asks, “Who is it?”

“It’s Elsa,” Emma says, still frowning. “She wants to know if I’ve read the scripts? I didn’t even think they’d arrived yet.”

She types out a reply, that no she hasn’t read the scripts; not yet, anyway.

“What?” Mary Margaret asks when Emma’s phone vibrates again and her frown becomes even deeper.

“She’s telling me to read them as soon as possible. She wants me to see if I think there’s anything wrong with it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t say.” Emma shrugs and slips her phone back into her pocket. “I guess I’ll find out later.”

But she finds herself obsessing over it for the rest of the coffee date. She wonders what they say. Usually, Elsa never texts her about the scripts. She hardly ever mentions them, unless to comment on how good they are. But there’s nothing about her texts that seems good.

By the time she drops Mary Margaret off, she’s itching to find out what’s in them.

When she gets back to her house, she’s surprised to step into a lit-up hallway. She’s even more surprised to see Henry’s shoes and rucksack pushed to one side. She frowns. He’s supposed to be at school. She dropped him off herself.

“Kid?” she asks. “You in?”

“In here, mom,” comes his croaky voice from the living room.

She follows the voice, her boots clicking against the floor.

The sight she’s met with makes her heart swell, and no in the good way. Henry lays out on the sofa, his feet dangling over the edge. He must have brought his bedsheets down from the bedroom and tucked them around himself. He’s propped up by a few cushions, but his head lolls to the side. His face is an unnatural, sickly pale, and there’s a sheen of sweat across his forehead.

Emma’s eyes widen in alarm. “Henry? You okay?” She crosses the room.

“I’m sick, mom. I felt sick this morning, but I thought it was nothing.”

He had mentioned something about feeling nauseous earlier, but like Henry said, it could have been nothing. Emma assumed it to be nothing. But he hadn’t eaten this morning, and that’s not like Henry at all. She feels a pang of guilt in her stomach.

“The school sent you home, huh?” She asks, as she places her palm to his forehead. His skin is hot and clammy to the touch. He really is sick. “You’ve got a temperature.”

“I didn’t wanna go home, but I threw up on Mr. Grimm’s shoes.”

Emma strokes his head. “The horrible history teacher?”

“That’s him. Everyone laughed.” He manages a weak smile.

After questioning Henry a little more, Emma finds out that he’s got a bug—something that’s been going around in school. Lack of appetite, nausea, headaches; all the symptoms are there. She fusses, bringing the covers right up to his chin, checking his forehead for improvement and upon realising that no improvement has been made, checking his forehead again.

She digs out some aspirin from the medicine cupboard and watches to make sure he takes it. When she’s satisfied he’s drugged up with medicine, she asks him which soup he’d like.

“But mom, I’m not hungry.”

She folds her arms. “You have to eat something, even if it’s just a spoonful. Just try, okay?”

He knows he won’t win. “Okay.”

She disappears into the kitchen but stops in her tracks when she sees a package on the table, addressed to Emma Swan. She recognises the big brown envelope at once. The scripts, she thinks, with a jolt to her heart. Henry must have picked them up when the mailman pushed them through the letterbox.

She puts Henry’s soup on the stove to warm up before she allows herself to open them. She rips the brown paper off until two scripts fall onto the table with two thumps. They’re heavier than usual, and the font seems different somehow. Or maybe it’s the layout.

But that isn’t the thing that gets her the most. It’s the big, black letters on the front of each script.

Isaac Heller.

Shit, she thinks.

She finishes heating up Henry’s soup before she looks at them. She slices and butters a piece of bread she knows he probably won’t eat, and pours him a generous glass of orange juice. She places everything on a tray and hands it to him.

“Thanks mom,” though he’s looking at the food like he’s going to be sick.

“Just make sure you eat some of it, okay?”

“Okay, mom.”

“But don’t force yourself.”

After she watches him take his first mouthful, she disappears back into the kitchen to read the scripts.

They’re much the same as always, except Isaac’s style is bolder, with more jokes. He explains exactly what the actors have to do, without leaving much room for improvisation. Belle’s are different. They’re softer, gentler, and more romantic.

That’s the first difference she notices.

The second is a few new characters. One, a prince by the name of Edmund. That must be August’s character. He’s very flirty with Rose.

The third difference she notices is that there are hardly any scenes between Rose and Alexander. There are more in the second script, but they seem forced and unnatural. Most of them are arguments. Emma still has a lot of scenes, but the majority of them are with Edmund.

What the hell is going on?

[drosera-sundews]

A word on gambling

Hey all, I found the Elsewhere University page like two days ago but man, I was so inspired right away. Please allow me to add to this marvellous universe. 

Some words in advance: 

This story ties into a few others. Nothing but quick mentions, though; @fruedtrollism and @comerunwildwithme you two may catch brief glances of you characters :) It also features the weird humanoid/horseoid skeleton beast from this post. 

For those who haven’t seen the EU blog yet: Al you need to know is that the setting is a prestigious university set on top of a fairy hill. Have fun reading!

 A word on gambling 

Not all who come to the Elsewhere University come to study. Most have a vague idea of what they’re getting into, whether from stories told by old, withered family members or odd advertisements, folders or websites filled with cryptic warnings. An unfortunate few go in unprepared, and either catch up quickly or pay the price.

Some come to bet, to bargain or to gamble.

While some of them are just plain greedy, it’s mostly just the lost causes. The ones who’ve heard ‘no’ a few times to often by many different doctors. The other students treat them with poorly concealed pity and resigned respect. After all, who wouldn’t turn to desperate measures when in their shoes? The world hasn’t been fair to them. The gentry are, at the very least. Cruel and merciless, true, but fair and honest at their cores.

Yet, the gamblers come in many different forms. A girl who’s lungs once belonged to another, the second son of a rich businessman, a young dancer who trained and fought for years to reach her dream and now found that her achilles tendon, both literally and figuratively, was just a few millimetres too short.  

Oh yes, you can wait for favours, but each and every person in this school with half a brain to them will do anything to help the gentry, if only not to get on their bad side. And without an agreement they may repay you in any way they see fit. The gifts will be valuable, but not what you need. You’ll need to show initiative, you’ll need to gamble with all that you have.

The problem with gambling with the fair folk is the currency. They are not interested in money, and there are very little precious goods they cannot acquire. Promises and debts are an option, but are risky when not very, very carefully defined. Some might have weird preferences (like that odd horse-like skeleton that will go to great lengths for shiny plastic beads). Most however don’t.  

They are called the Exchange Student, with capitals, because that’s what they do. They are a student, everyone is certain about that. They sit in math class, biology, sometimes in history. They hang out with the programmers and the art majors. They wear their iron, carry their salt, and seem perfectly normal, even from the corner of your eye. Unsuspecting, until you deliberately come to them.

Please leave your iron and salt at the door. Don’t worry, as long as we’re discussing business no one will disturb us. It is merely a show of faith.  

They’re called the Exchange Student because that’s what they do. Exchange of currencies. Exchange of valuta.

Don’t worry, I am a professional. The procedure will be quick and painless. I cannot promise a lack of scars, but damage will be minimal, I have done this many times before.”

“I hope you have brought a trinket?”

When the Exchange Student invites you to ‘discuss business’ you take two things with you. A trinket and an offering. The offering is something small. Some food, a nice rock, a coin. Some art majors perform their favourite song, or offer a drawing or a statue, anything goes. It’s but a small fee.

The trinket can also be anything, though of course there are rules. ‘It needs to last,’ says one of the engineers, ‘something sturdy, something that doesn’t break easily.’

‘Something small which is easily concealed. Something you can carry with you. You’ll want to.’

‘and for the love of everything, don’t take something living! Not even a plant! Well... unless you’re absolutely sure what you are doing.’

The Exchange Student will make a circle around them and their customer. Most often made of candles, rocks, or sometimes even coins. Mostly they will take you somewhere silent, somewhere not easily disturbed. Though there are tales of that one time they sat someone down in the middle of the southern canteen, their circle made out of various plastic cups and mugs. No one dared disturb them.

The procedure is painless. A few incantations, some mental exercises, guided meditation, long scaled talons grasping at the edges of your soul, carefully picking you apart.

You’ll come back to yourself, Trinket carefully clasped in your hands. Looking exactly the same as you went in. The item in your hands will have a word on it. A single word, usually golden letters and in the exact handwriting of the person holding it.

Courage, Willpower, Kindness, Insight, Patience, Optimism, Strength.

Anything goes. And that’s how the students of Elsewhere University were made to carefully reconsider their unspoken rule of ‘bet nothing you cannot lose.’

Turns out that those who take to gambling can lose more than they’d ever imagined.

It’s said that it’s a very jarring experience to have an integral part of your being cut away from you. It’s said that, although not painful, students who’ve undergone the procedure spend the first few days in a haze of discomfort, fully aware that something is wrong, something is not as it should be, and they will grab their Trinket and will press it to their skin and refuse to part with it. Their body and spirit knowing where it belongs, but just not being able to get it there.

Quite a few of these Trinkets are being kept on the campus. Most are surrounded in mystery. A few students are suspected of having made a deal with the Exchange Student, like the photographer, the one with the lip ring, who owns this small umbrella that jingles when it rains. Or the student who always wears pearls. Many have cast a glance to spy for golden letters. 

Some are more open about their deals with the Exchange Student. It’s a tradition among programming majors to bind their Insight to a rubber duck, the sillier the better. It’s ridiculed a lot, but the tradition stands strong across the years. And it’s said that sometimes when one of the programmers is really stuck in one of their endless webs of codes the others will aid them by placing their rubber ducks in a circle around the computer. The ones willing to share their Insight are said to be nigh unstoppable.

The Trinkets are like casino tokens. The gentry find them irresistible, and will go to great lengths to acquire them. They never steal them, instead opting to either win or trade them, playing by their own odd rules.

Good gamblers can get anything from the gentry. Magical weapons, exotic skills and other gifts. Sometimes in the form of small objects engraved with gold.

Just remember not to let them catch you cheating.

Another good thing to remember: even though the gentry will not steal a Trinket as by their rules, the same cannot be said of the human students. Guard your virtues well.

Losing a part of yourself is highly unadvisable, always.

Some try to cheat the system. Cutting of pieces they think they can do without. The second son who came specifically to gamble for glory decided he could do without his fears, especially if he was to join the fae for poker night. He had the Exchange Student cut away his Fear. Covered it in salt, put it in a box of rowan wood and gave the key to a friend, to safeguard. He then shamelessly stepped into the queens quarters, asking her what it was worth, what she was willing to give him.

Most were pretty sure the noise drifting through the windows that night didn’t come from rugby practice.

The defected dancer did not wish to gamble. She knew what she had, what she wanted and what she wished to sacrifice for that.

“I offer you my Preservance. I have trained and trained for years on uncertain odds. It is finely honed and very strong and I hope to not need it anymore after today. In return I would like a better body. Suited for a dancer. So that I will not get injured and that stupid things like too short tendons or too weak joints will no longer hold me back. That is my bargain.”

Ḏ̤͕̜̄E̶̱̭A̖̙͞L̮͔̙͖͖ͧ͢

No one is quite sure she got what she wished for. Her body is certainly suited to dancing. Waving and mesmerizing, hypnotizing even. All students on campus know to avert their eyes. Things like that are dangerous, they know.

Few have tried to peek at her face, to see if they could find any trace of their former classmate back. To see if she was happy.

It’s hard to tell emotions from a face that has no eyes.

She’s rarely seen anymore, these days. Apparently she dances for the queen now. An honour, truly.

Legends tell of one gambler that made it out with both her Trinket and her desired price. The girl with the lungs that did not belong to her. The girl who came to the university with only two years left to live, and nothing left to lose. She sought out the Exchange Student in her second week, bringing two large, copper coins she’d saved to put on her eyelids when all went wrong.

She did not cheat and she did not bargain. She gambled. She went to that one odd place in the library, stepped into the shadows, and was not seen for two whole months.

A single game of cards may take that long. Especially with such high stakes. Especially with the fae.

They appreciate warriors. She had come to their table, faced with the entire court. She was given cards that had no numbers, but unfamiliar runes. She was not told the rules. Yet she played. Mimicking the others, she held her own for days and days and days.

Of course she lost. The fae are rarely beaten at their own games.

When she came back, stumbling, disoriented, underfed and horribly dehydrated, she remembered barely anything. Not the faces of her opponents, not the hand of cards she was dealt or what the other players had put on the table alongside her Trinket. She only remembered losing, the cold dread as she stared down at the horrid combination of cards her weak hand could not possibly compare with. And the queens cold crackling as she reached across the table for the small copper coin. And the horrid sensation of ice flooding her chest as her Kindness was taken from her.    

A very powerful Trinket indeed.

She’d woken up laying on a table in the library. Gasping for breath through her dry, dry throat. A copper coin on a very thin chain wrapped around her neck. On one side the golden letters, on the other a complex pattern, a rune in an unknown language, (though a few very bright history student managed to decipher an ancient runic symbol for Air among the twining lines).  

They brought her to the medics, and it was only after thorough examination that the girl discovered that despite her sore throat, her breath came easier than it had in years.

She never left Elsewhere University, afraid that whatever enchantment had been cast on her would falter when away from the queen. Instead she chose to finish the study she’d randomly signed up for in her mad gamble. She ended up a teacher, a permanent part of the staff. The others understood that sending her away would not be an option. Most other teachers had been students as well, after all. They understood the ways this place can change you.

She still wears the amulet up to this day. Some say that this is not a choice born from the instinctive desire to keep a Trinket close, but that every time she removes it from her skin her breath will come short and her lungs will burn. Some even say that it cannot be removed, whether by choice or force. They say the queen enchanted it (too much, too powerful. Let it stay with the human. Where no fae can get their hands on it.)

Some come to her still, for advice and tips on gambling. She’ll send them all away, discourage them. Even though deep inside she knows she’s made the right choice.

‘It needs to last’ one of the engineers had told her. She grasps her amulet, the copper strong as ever, infused with unfamiliar magic keeping her alive. She knows her Kindness will outlast her and wonders where it will end up. 

However much the memory haunts her, she hopes that maybe one day it will make its way back into the hands of the queen. Out of anyone, she certainly needs it the most.  

[oscopelabs]

‘The Counselor’: No Movie for Most Men (or Women) by Mike D’Angelo

[This month, Musings pays homage to Produced and Abandoned: The Best Films You’ve Never Seen, a review anthology from the National Society of Film Critics that championed studio orphans from the ‘70s and ‘80s. In the days before the Internet, young cinephiles like myself relied on reference books and anthologies to lead us to film we might not have discovered otherwise. Released in 1990, Produced and Abandoned was a foundational piece of work, introducing me to such wonders as Cutter’s Way, Lost in America, High Tide, Choose Me, Housekeeping, and Fat City. (You can find the full list of entries here.) Over the next four weeks, Musings will offer its own selection of tarnished gems, in the hope they’ll get a second look. Or, more likely, a first. —Scott Tobias, editor.]

Most people prefer movies to be affirming, in some way. Life-affirming, love-affirming, norm-affirming—just so long as something we believe (or want to believe) gets reinforced, everybody’s happy. Declining to satisfy that desire is step one en route to making an art film, or what publicists who are nervous about the word “art” like to call a specialty release. These, too, cater to viewers’ preconceived notions about the world (good luck finding something that doesn’t), but they target notions that are less commonly held, which makes them less commercially viable. Deriving enjoyment from genuinely despairing or pessimistic movies is a taste that must be acquired, and only a small subset of the population has the time or the inclination. These are the folks who’ll go see a Moonlight, say, or a Manchester By The Sea. They’re game.

It’s possible to alienate these adventurous, open-minded viewers, too, though, by making a movie that’s not just challenging or upsetting, but flat-out nihilistic. A movie that assumes the worst about human nature, with few (if any) mollifying grace notes. A movie that, at least to some extent, glorifies venality and ugliness. “Alienate” is too mild a word for the common reaction, actually. They will be pissed off.

Such was the reception that greeted The Counselor back in 2013. Expectations for the film were sky high: It features a superb cast (Michael Fassbender, Pénélope Cruz, Javier Bardem, Cameron Diaz, and Brad Pitt); was directed by Ridley Scott (a decidedly erratic talent, but still capable of greatness); and, most exciting of all, boasts a screenplay from Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist Cormac McCarthy. McCarthy’s books had been adapted several times—most notably by the Coen Brothers, whose version of No Country for Old Men won multiple Oscars—but he’d never before written an original story expressly for the big screen. Had The Counselor been made available intravenously, many would have mainlined it without hesitation.

Cue the adrenaline-shot scene from Pulp Fiction. Not all of the Counselor reviews were negative, by any means, but the critics who hated it really, really hated it. “Meet the Worst Movie Ever Made” ran the headline on Andrew O’Hehir’s savage takedown at Salon, and that wasn’t some editor’s hype; in the actual piece, O’Hehir expands his assessment to “the worst movie in the history of the universe,” thereby dismissing the possibility that alien life forms in faraway galaxies may possibly have committed an even greater sin against cinema. Other reviews in major publications deemed the film “lethally pretentious,” “a jaw-dropping misfire,” and “unforgivably phony, talky and dull.” (Characters do indeed talky on the phony sometimes.) Audiences were similarly repulsed: The Counselor got a dismal D in Cinemascore’s survey, which generally skews so positive that you can currently find an A- assigned to the likes of Assassin's Creed (Metacritic score: 36/100) and Collateral Beauty (Metacritic score: 23/100). It’s not a popular title.

Here are a few reasons why many people seem to hate it:

The narrative is ludicrously convoluted.

All of the characters speak primarily in lengthy philosophical monologues.

It’s just a catalogue of horrible things happening to people who mostly deserve them.

Cameron Diaz fucks a car.

We’ll come back to that last one. Let’s start at the beginning, with the basic story McCarthy wants to tell. The Counselor is about a drug deal that goes horrifically wrong, mostly because the title character (played by Fassbender; we never learn the guy’s name), who’s never done this before and just wants to make some quick cash, has not the slightest clue what he’s doing. That’s essentially all you need to know, as far as making sense of events is concerned. McCarthy lays out some essential details—how the drugs are transported, and by whom, and who’s looking for a way to intercept the shipment—but only in the service of making it clear that what befalls the counselor is to some degree just very bad luck. What matters is that he was completely unprepared for the possibility that some random misfortune could cost multiple people their lives. Indeed, even the characters, like Brad Pitt’s Westray, who consider themselves prepared, and keep warning the counselor that he’s unprepared, are not themselves really prepared.

Think for a moment about Jurassic Park. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t much matter exactly why the dinosaurs get loose—that Wayne Knight’s programmer was planning to steal embryos, and that he got killed by a dinosaur in the attempt, and that his death left the fences unelectrified, and etc. It could just as easily have been some other series of seemingly random deviations from expected outcomes. (Indeed, Ian Malcolm, the chaos theory-obsessed mathematician played by Jeff Goldblum, would argue that it surely would have been.) Jurassic Park is a simple tale of hubris: Various smart people foolishly imagine that they can control the uncontrollable, but something utterly unforeseen occurs, and all hell breaks loose. Nobody complains that the chain of events leading to disaster is overly complicated, because it’s all just a means of providing the exciting sequences of people being menaced by dinosaurs that we want to see.

The Counselor is basically the same movie, aimed at a different sensibility—one that doesn’t necessarily require some of the threatened characters to be sympathetic, and that appreciates a more detached approach to carnage. About halfway through the movie, a man about whom we know nothing shows up at a motorcycle dealership, waves off the salesperson, and proceeds to measure the height of a particular bike. For those on the right wavelength, curiosity about this anonymous character’s purpose is its own reward, and the gruesome payoff constitutes just as much “fun” as does watching a dude cowering on a toilet get chomped by a Tyrannosaurus rex. It’s not even wholly clear to me why the latter is almost universally perceived as entertainment, while the former got widely dismissed as empty grotesquerie. Both involve a benignly sadistic voyeurism that’s always been at the core of the moviegoing experience.

Granted, The Counselor’s nihilism might be less off-putting to many if the characters didn’t keep openly discussing it, often in speeches that occupy several minutes of screen time. (And that’s after they've been trimmed—the unrated extended cut of the film, available on the Blu-ray release, runs an extra 21 minutes, with most of that consisting of additional monologue.) This is a natural reaction, as most screenwriters would hesitate to include even one such blatant exegesis in a screenplay, much less a baker’s dozen of ‘em. There’s something strangely liberating, though, about seeing this dramaturgical rule violated with such gleeful excess. Almost every character in The Counselor, including those who drop in for just a scene or two, is ludicrously verbose, prone to bloviating. The first couple of times, it’s a weird distraction; by the end, it’s become an even weirder form of gallows humor. How many different ways can this movie’s pitiless thesis be openly analyzed by the very people who are doomed to be spared its pity?

If McCarthy were Joe Eszterhas, sure, it’d be a problem. But the speeches are beautifully written and performed, and the ordinary give-and-take dialogue is even better. There are admittedly some howlers, like Malkina, the femme fatale, being asked if she’s really that cold (emotionally) and replying “Truth has no temperature.” (Though even that line might have worked with a different actor; I'll get to Diaz shortly.) The stuff that makes me cringe is handily outweighed, however, by the stuff that makes me chortle.

“Is this place secure?” “Who knows? I don’t speak in arraignable phrases anywhere.”

“I want to give her a diamond so big she’ll be afraid to wear it.” “She’s probably more courageous than you imagine.”

“Cheers.” “A plague of pustulent boils upon all their scurvid asses.” “Is that your normal toast?” “Increasingly.”

As far as I can determine, McCarthy invented the adjective “scurvid,” but it sounds suitably noxious. In any case, the notion that a movie chock-full of pungent exchanges like these offers nothing of value is absurd. Certainly the actors relish them. Pitt, who’s usually at his best when he goes over the top (Twelve Monkeys, Burn After Reading), finds just the right degree of languid sangfroid for his cautious middleman, and Bardem turns in a performance as amusingly eccentric as the wardrobe his character sports. The one weak link is Diaz, for whom Malkina’s predatory nature proves just too much of a stretch. (It doesn’t help that she reportedly performed the role with a Bajan accent, then was asked to overdub it.) The infamous scene in which Malkina intimidates Bardem’s Reiner by rubbing herself against the windshield of his Ferrari was always meant to be ludicrous—although McCarthy’s screenplay conceived it entirely as a story that Reiner tells the counselor, not something that we’re meant to actually see. With Diaz visibly straining to look depraved, it comes across even sillier than was intended; imagine Charlize Theron in her place, and see if it doesn’t suddenly shift into focus, along with the rest of Malkina’s presence in the movie.

Even with these undeniable flaws, McCarthy’s offbeat vision for the movie survives mostly intact. Scott wisely stays out of his way, choosing to serve the text, though he declines to indulge some of the screenplay’s most experimental ideas. The opening scene, for example, depicting the counselor and his girlfriend (Cruz) in bed, begins with the two of them hidden entirely beneath white sheets, suggesting two corpses. As scripted, they were supposed to remain hidden from view the entire time, for what was originally going to be six or seven minutes. What’s more, McCarthy specifies that all their dialogue should be subtitled, despite being spoken in English, as it’ll be too muffled to hear. (Said dialogue is also considerably more blue in its original form.) The decision to shoot the scene more conventionally seems perfectly defensible, but I do wonder whether the more extreme version McCarthy intended might have at least helped to signal that The Counselor doesn’t operate like a traditional thriller. Its subsequent discursiveness and single-mindedness wouldn’t have seemed so thoroughly out of character.

Ultimately, what made this film an object of ridicule—see also everything from Ishtar to Drive—is the enormous gap between the size of the audience it courted and the size of the audience predisposed to appreciate it. Not many people would salivate at a description like “what you might get if you gene-spliced a slow-motion multi-car accident with a freshman comparative philosophy seminar.” (That’s not from a negative review—it's my own best précis.) But not every movie needs to appeal to every taste. And a movie that makes a lot of folks mad is always more interesting than a movie that makes everyone shrug.

[gadgetgirl71]

Amazon First Reads May 2021

Did you chosen your Amazon First Reads book for May? I only got around to choosing my Amazon First Reads book a few days ago. So her were last months choices and you can find out which book I chose.

Suspense

The Secrets of Us by Lucinda Berry, Pages: 271, Publication Date: 1 June 2021

Synopsis: Dangerously addictive, The Secrets of Us is a pulse-pounding exploration of a disturbed psyche and the bond between two sisters desperate to escape a troubled past.

Foster sisters Krystal and Nichole have always been there for each other, so when Nichole is committed to a psychiatric hospital after trying to kill her husband, Krystal drops everything to defend her.

Scarred by a hard upbringing, Nichole and Krystal managed to construct comfortable lives for themselves. Krystal became a respected lawyer, and Nichole was happily married to an architect—until Nichole starts raving that her husband isn’t her husband, believing that he’s an imposter.

Driven by fierce loyalty, Krystal starts asking questions, but she’s not sure she can bear the answers. Her investigation leads to the sisters’ dark shared past…to a horrible tragedy and a well-guarded lie that cemented their sisterly bond.

But that lie can’t kill the truth—the battered, gasping, clawing truth that’s coming for them both. Now Krystal and Nichole must both fight for the lives they’ve built before they’re consumed by the one they left behind.

Historical Fiction

The Girls in the Attic by Marius Gabriel, Pages: 351, Publication Date: 1 June 2021

Synopsis: The bestselling author of The Designer presents a sweeping story of blind faith, family allegiance and how love makes one man question everything he thought he knew.

Max Wolff is a committed soldier of the Reich. So when he is sent home wounded, only to discover that his mother is sheltering two young Jewish women in their home, he is outraged.

His mother’s act of mercy is a gross betrayal of everything Max stands for. He has dedicated his life to Nazism, fighting to atone for the shame of his anti-Hitler father’s imprisonment. It’s his duty to turn the sisters over to the Gestapo. But he hesitates, and the longer Max fails to do his duty, the harder it becomes.

When Allied bombers fill the skies of Germany, Max is forced to abandon all dogma and face the brutality of war in order to defend precious lives. But what will it cost him?

Mystery

Beneath Devil’s Bridge by Loreth Ann White, Pages: 344, Publication Date: 1 June 2021

Synopsis: A true crime podcast yields new revelations about a shocking murder in a riveting novel of suspense by Washington Post and Amazon Charts bestselling author Loreth Anne White.

True crime podcaster Trinity Scott is chasing breakout success, and her brand-new serial may get her there. Her subject is Clayton Jay Pelley. More than two decades ago, the respected family man and guidance counsellor confessed to the brutal murder of teenage student Leena Rai. But why he killed her has always been a mystery.

In a series of exclusive interviews from prison, Clayton discloses to Trinity the truth about what happened that night beneath Devil’s Bridge. It’s not what anyone in the Pacific Northwest town of Twin Falls expects. Clayton says he didn’t do it. Was he lying then? Or now?

As her listeners increase and ratings skyrocket, Trinity is missing a key player in the story: Rachel Walczak, the retired detective who exposed Pelley’s twisted urges and put him behind bars. She’s not interested in playing Clayton’s game—until Trinity digs deeper and the podcast’s reverb widens. Then Rachel begins to question everything she thinks she knows about the past.

With each of Clayton’s teasing reveals, one thing is clear: he’s not the only one in Twin Falls with a secret.

Contemporary Fiction

These Tangled Vines by Julianne MacLean, Pages: 302, Publication Date: 1 June 2021

Synopsis: From the USA Today bestselling author of A Curve in the Road comes a sweeping and captivating tale of one woman’s journey to the lush vineyards of Tuscany—and into the mysteries of a tragic family secret.

If Fiona has learned anything in life, it’s how to keep a secret—even from the father who raised her. She is the only person who knows about her late mother’s affair in Tuscany thirty years earlier, and she intends to keep it that way…until a lawyer calls with shocking news: her biological father has died and left her an incredible inheritance—along with two half siblings.

Fiona travels to Italy, where the family is shocked to learn of her existence and desperate to contest her share of the will. While the mystery of her mother’s affair is slowly unravelled, Fiona must navigate through tricky family relationships and tense sibling rivalries. Fiona both fears and embraces her new destiny as she searches for the truth about the fateful summer her mother spent in Italy and the father she never knew.

Spilling over with the sumptuous flavours and romance of Tuscany, These Tangled Vines takes readers on a breath taking journey of love, secrets, sacrifice, courage—and most importantly, the true meaning of family.

Domestic Thriller

The Darkest Flower by Kristin Wright, Pages: 296, Publication Date: 1 June 2021

Synopsis: You’ll never believe the terrible things being said about the perfect president of the PTA.

Attempted murder? Inexplicable accident? Either way, a PTA mom struggled for her life in an elementary school cafeteria, poisoned by a wolfsbane-laced smoothie at the fifth-grade graduation party. Now all eyes are on the accused, the victim, and a woman hired to look deeper.

Ambitious defence attorney and single mother Allison Barton is anxious to escape the shadow of the low-down dog of a marquee partner carrying their renowned Virginia law firm. A win for her high-profile new client will give Allison the career she deserves. And PTA president Kira Grant certainly appears innocent—except for the toxic bloom in her backyard and perhaps a bit of a malicious streak. But no one said the innocent had to be likable—or entirely honest. Besides, with an image as carefully cultivated as her garden, Kira would be insane to risk everything on something as outrageous as the attempted murder of one of her closest friends.

What about those in Kira’s orbit, a sunny suburb of moms behaving badly? What do they really know about Kira? What does Kira know about them? For Allison, the answers are getting darker every day.

Family Drama

Like Wind Against Rock by Nancy Kim, Pages: 217, Publication Date: 1 June 2021

Synopsis: A novel of explosive family secrets, regret, and all the little decisions that shape our lives and make us who we are.

At the age of thirty-nine, Alice Chang suddenly finds herself living in the last place she expected: her mother’s house. But in the face of divorce, eviction, and the recent death of her father, she doesn’t have a choice.

Watching as her mother thrives in a new job and meets younger men at the local gym, Alice struggles, reflecting on her parents’ marriage, her relationship with each of them, as she adjusts to being single again for the first time in twenty years. Then she finds her father’s old journal…and uncovers a shocking family secret that forces her to question everything she thought she knew about love, regret, family, and her own path forward.

As Alice comes to terms with the man her father really was, she must finally decide who she wants to be and what it will take to get there.

Contemporary Romance

The Checklist by Addie Woolridge, Pages: 347, Publication Date: 1 June 2021

Synopsis: In an energetic debut novel about personal and professional chaos, author Addie Woolridge introduces a multicultural cast whose exploits are redefining the modern rom-com.

Killing it at work? Check. Gorgeous boyfriend? Check. Ambitions derailed by an insecure boss? Sigh—check.

Things were going a little too well for Dylan Delacroix. After upstaging her boss on a big account, she gets dispatched to the last place she wants to be: her hometown, Seattle. There, she must use her superstar corporate-consulting skills to curb the worst impulses of an impossibly eccentric tech CEO—if she doesn’t, she’s fired.

The fun doesn’t stop there: Dylan must also negotiate a ceasefire in the endless war between her bohemian parents and the straitlaced neighbours’. Adding to the chaos is a wilting relationship with her boyfriend and a blossoming attraction to the neighbours’ smoking-hot son.

Suddenly Dylan has a million checklists, each a mile long. As personal and professional pressures mount, she finds it harder and harder to stay on track. Having always relied on her ability to manage the world around her, Dylan’s going to need a new plan. She may be down, but she’s definitely not out.

Fantasy

Bacchanal by Veronica G Henry, Pages: 347, Publication Date: 1 June 2021

Synopsis: Evil lives in a traveling carnival roaming the Depression-era South. But the carnival’s newest act, a peculiar young woman with latent magical powers, may hold the key to defeating it. Her time has come.

Abandoned by her family, alone on the wrong side of the colour line with little to call her own, Eliza Meeks is coming to terms with what she does have. It’s a gift for communicating with animals. To some, she’s a magical tender. To others, a she-devil. To a talent prospector, she’s a crowd-drawing oddity. And the Bacchanal Carnival is Eliza’s ticket out of the swamp trap of Baton Rouge.

Among fortune-tellers, carnies, barkers, and folks even stranger than herself, Eliza finds a new home. But the Bacchanal is no ordinary carnival. An ancient demon has a home there too. She hides behind an iridescent disguise. She feeds on innocent souls. And she’s met her match in Eliza, who’s only beginning to understand the purpose of her own burgeoning powers.

Only then can Eliza save her friends, find her family, and fight the sway of a primordial demon preying upon the human world. Rolling across a consuming dust bowl landscape, Eliza may have found her destiny.

Memoir

The Puma Years by Laura Coleman, Pages: 298, Publication Date: 1 June 2021

Synopsis: In this rapturous memoir, writer and activist Laura Coleman shares the story of her liberating journey in the Amazon jungle, where she fell in love with a magnificent cat who changed her life.

Laura was in her early twenties and directionless when she quit her job to backpack in Bolivia. Fate landed her at a wildlife sanctuary on the edge of the Amazon jungle where she was assigned to a beautiful and complex puma named Wayra. Wide-eyed, inexperienced, and comically terrified, Laura made the scrappy, make-do camp her home. And in Wayra, she made a friend for life.

They weren’t alone, not with over a hundred quirky animals to care for, each lost and hurt in their own way: a pair of suicidal, bra-stealing monkeys, a frustrated parrot desperate to fly, and a pig with a wicked sense of humour. The humans too were cause for laughter and tears. There were animal whisperers, committed staff, wildly devoted volunteers, handsome heartbreakers, and a machete-wielding prom queen who carried Laura through. Most of all, there was the jungle—lyrical and alive—and there was Wayra, who would ultimately teach Laura so much about love, healing, and the person she was capable of becoming.

Set against a turbulent and poignant backdrop of deforestation, the illegal pet trade, and forest fires, The Puma Years explores what happens when two desperate creatures in need of rescue find one another.

So my choice for May was: The Girls in the Attic.

[swipestream]

Sensor Sweep: Moon Pool, Talismans, Sea Wolf, Jerry Pournelle, New Heinlein

Fiction (DMR Books): One hundred years ago today, A. Merritt‘s novella/short novel, “The Conquest of the Moon Pool,” was unleashed upon an eager public. The story which spawned it, “The Moon Pool,” had been met with such an outpouring of enthusiasm by the readership of All-Story Weekly that the pulp’s legendary editor, Robert H. Davis, practically demanded that A. Merritt write a sequel. Seven months later, Merritt delivered the goods.

  Fiction (DMR Books): Welcome to Part Two of my re-read of A. Merritt’s classic and influential novella, “The Moon Pool.” In Part One, I posted a brief excerpt from the “Introductory Letter” which prefaced the original publication of “The Moon Pool” in All-Story Weekly. The letter is supposedly from the president of the International Association of Science, explaining why the story was appearing in an American pulp magazine and also thanking A. Merritt–who actually held a fairly prestigious position in the newspaper industry at the time–for arranging the facts into a publishable narrative.

      Fiction (Black Gate): The very first Campbell Award, in 1973, went to Jerry Pournelle. Writers are eligible for the award for the two years after their first professional SF/Fantasy publication. While Pournelle had published a thriller, Red Heroin, in 1969 under the name Wade Curtis, his first SF story was “Peace With Honor,” under his own name, in the May 1971 Analog. This was the first story in his Co-Dominion future history, and the first to feature John Christian Falkenberg, one of his primary heroes. His nomination was based on that story, on another Falkenberg story, “The Mercenary,” and on the novel A Spaceship for the King (set much later in the Co-Dominion universe), as well, perhaps, on three stories that appeared in Analog under the “Wade Curtis” name: “Ecology Now!”, “A Matter of Sovereignty,” and “Power to the People.”

  Cinema (Future War Stories): On December 14, 1984 one of the most ambitious science fiction films was released: DUNE. This unique science fiction film saw the merging of the young talented director in David Lynch, the experienced hand of the De Laurentiis family, the music of Toto and Brian Eno, a wealth of talent behind the camera that designed the universe of 10,191 AG. All of this was built on the foundation of the legendary 1965 novel of the same name by Frank Herbert that has been praised as the best science fiction book of all time. To breathe life into the pages of the book was one of the best casts were assembled for a sci-fi film ever.

  Cinema (Kairos): Last night I made a special appearance on Geek Gab to discuss my new mecha mil-SF book Combat Frame XSeed and its impending sequel. During the show, I was asked if I’d seen Star Wars Galaxy of Adventures. I hadn’t, because I know that Star Wars’ current owners secretly hate me. Doing some cursory research, I discovered that their hatred is no longer secret.

  Fiction (Pulpflakes): Phoenix Pick recently announced that, working with the Heinlein Prize Trust, they have been able to reconstruct the complete text of an unpublished novel written by Robert A. Heinlein.

Heinlein wrote this as an alternate text for THE NUMBER OF THE BEAST. This text of approximately 185,000 words largely mirrors the first third of the published text, but then deviates completely with an entirely different story-line and ending.

Science Fiction Fandom (Between Wast & Sky): Last time we talked about the beginnings of genre fiction and how everything you read emerged from the same place and only split apart due to preferences of those who seized control of the industry in order to mold it in their image. Before the 20th century all stories gelled in very straightforward genres. That is, until self-proclaimed experts decided to redefine words and meanings to fragment out what they didn’t like from their chosen genre and lock them all to isolated islands. Things had changed hard in mere decades.

    Science Fiction Fandom (Pulp Archivist): Curious in reading Lundwall and Lewis, it is the post-Campbellian magazines of Fantasy & Science Fiction and Galaxy that appealed to European critics more than the drab technical work of Gernsback and Campbell.

I have previously noted that the Campbelline Revolution never thrives where and when Campbell is not present, and that attempts to graft cuttings from the Campbelline tree onto French and Japanese science fiction inevitably wilted.

  Fiction (HiLoBrow): In this grown-up version of Kipling’s Captains Courageous, an effete young intellectual — Humphrey van Weyden, whose favorite philosophers are Nietzsche and Schopenhauer — is rescued from a shipwreck in the San Francisco Bay by a brutal schooner captain, Wolf Larsen, who takes his unwilling passenger along on a seal-hunting voyage. Larsen is a quasi-Nietzschean cynic who believes in nothing but the pursuit of pleasure and the triumph of strength over weakness; he thoroughly enjoys browbeating “Hump” while forcing him to do menial work and learn how to defend himself.

  Cryptozoology (A Strange Manuscript):  In February 1899, a cargo ship brought to Sydney, Australia, the skeletal remains of a huge “two-headed sea serpent” – said originally to weigh seventy tons and extend sixty feet in length – that was found on a beach on Rakahanga island in the Solomons. The find was significant enough to reach the newspapers in the United States. On April 5 of that year, the Los Angeles Herald described the discovery as follows:

  Comic Books (Gaming While Conservative): Every time another issue of “Chuck Dixon’s Avalon” hits my inbox, my heart skips a beat.

Don’t get me wrong, I like “Alt-Hero: The Series Not Written By The Legend Chuck Dixon”, well enough.  Each issue’s strategy of introducing hordes of named characters that you’d like to see more of but never do because the next issue also has to add six more names to my already overtaxed memory is an exciting and bold new approach to story-telling.

    Fiction (Black Gate): The 1930s Golden Age of Weird Tales was in full force with the three main first stringers present: Robert E. Howard, Clark Ashton Smith, and C. L. Moore. Carl Jacobi, while not a headliner author, always produced good-to-excellent horror stories. The Arthur J. Burks story is a reprint from 1927. Burks was the sort of middling writer along the lines of Otis Adelbert Kline and Seabury Quinn that editor Farnsworth Wright was comfortable publishing. The only real weak story was by Dale Clark. Farnsworth Wright has a penchant for barely competent and unmemorable stories of this sort.

  RPG (RPG Pundit): One way to tell a faker from someone (potentially) genuine is to look at the magical accouterments they use.  Are they going around with a fancy-looking crystal-encrusted rune-marked perfectly-straight wand that may have been store-bought or ordered from Etsy?  They’re 99% likely to be frauds.

    Sensor Sweep: Moon Pool, Talismans, Sea Wolf, Jerry Pournelle, New Heinlein published first on https://medium.com/@ReloadedPCGames

[the-kool-kyle]

BumbleBee Review

Transformers is consider one of the best franchises of the 80's it's success of the show spawned action figures, comic books, video games and of course movies. Over the last decade we've been given 5 Transformers movies all directed by Michael Bay and have had something of a controversial and mixed reception from fans and movie goers alike. Now in this new Transformers spinoff/prequel “Bumblebee” we are (surprisingly) treated to a great, entertaining and heart warming tale full of action, humour and tear jerking moments that actually make you have feelings for this franchise again. To put it simply this movie is the best live action Transformers movie to date.

Now for some people they find these movies as guilty pleasures but to most people they are just straight up hated mainly due to the many cliches and tropes that Michael Bay uses in each of his films like: Slow motion shots, extreme american patriotism, racism, stereotypical and annoying characters both human and transformers, low angle shots of people getting out of cars, glistening face sweat, terrible toilet humour, product placement, objectifying and disrespecting women and of course unnecessary and unrealistic explosions. But now we finally have a Transformers movie that has none of those things.

This Transformers movie takes place in 1987 before the first Transformers movie from 2007. It's about the Autobot Bumblebee who's on the run from the Decepticons and the US military and along the way he is helped and befriend by a young girl named Charlie who throughout the film builds an powerful relationship with the gentle robot and the two of them become the best of friends. It also has a lot of child friendly humour and no lazy racist, sexist and toilet jokes like the Michael Bay movies.

Bumblebee is well known for being the little yellow Autobot who transforms into a Volkswagen Beetle. The one thing that makes him unique and so loveable is that he is portrayed as the young inexperienced soldier/scout of the Autobots but never gives up and never backs down thanks to his courage and bravery but also shows moments of light hearted innocence. All of which is done very well throughout the film and really brings the character from the 1984 pilot of transformers to life brilliantly. However one thing that people are divided on about this character is that in these movies he is a mute after have his voice modulator damaged in battle and communicates by using sounds from the radio. For some fans of the franchise this is seen as a disrespectful feature for the character as they prefer him as grunt scout who talks and acts like a young kid who fights along side his bigger and more mature comrades. But some think this makes him more of a fun character so whether or no that the whole mute Bumblebee is a good or bad thing is all within the eye of the beholder. So this version of the character is actually a lot better than the version from the Michael by films cause his look and vehicle mode closely resemble his Generation 1 appearance from the original 1984 show.

Hailee Steinfeld stars as Charlie the films female protagonist. Who is a typical brash and impulsive 80's teenager that really knows cars. Throughout the film she is shown to have some what of a rocky relationship with her family and feels alone most of the time due to the lack of friends and finds happiness by working on cars. This leading character is a strong young woman who has both a soft side and pushes back when life pushes her. She actually shares a more realistic, dramatic, caring, loving and powerful bond with Bee than Shia LaBeouf did in the previous films since they end up changing each others live's forever kind of like the Iron Giant story. I can honestly say that this is a completely amazing and inseparable friendship between human and robot.

One particular reason I found this film enjoyable was it finally gives us Transformers that finally look like the robots we fell in love with back in 1984. Apart from Bee himself there were scenes where we got to see some of the original Autobots in their Generation 1 forms like: Wheeljack, Arcee, Cliffjumper, Brawn, Ironhide, Ratchet and of course Optimus Prime who is voice by the legend Peter Cullen. As well as the Decepticons like: Soundwave, Blitzwing and Shockwave. Mostly the movie focused on Shatter and Dropkick who aren't as memorable or likeable as the some of the others and felt boring and under use for most of the runtime. So yeah this films main villains are just generic and forgettable. While the other Transformers looked awesome causing a rush of nostalgia they felt unused and only got a few minutes of screen time. While the film is mainly focused on Bumblebee they could have done a lot more with the other Transformers and felt like a wasted opportunity and didn't make that much of an impact like they should have. But still may have great potential in future films. But over all it's good they took the characters back to their roots.

One thing a feel I should mention is that this film finally gives us fights scenes between the Transformers that are actually easy and fun to watch where you can see what's going on. Cause let's face it in the previous films all the fights scenes looked like digital junkyards doing Kama Sutra in a hurricane

John Cena stars in this film as Jack Burns a generic military guy from Sector 7 who shoots first and never asks questions at all. This is something we've seen before a solider who thinks that the Transformers all need to be destroyed even though some are not trying to hurt anyone and always end up aiding the Decepticons. This character didn't offer anything new to the formula. One big problem is that John Cena seems to only be good at being tough gruff solider and not much else at acting so they could have had a better casting choice.

Now one thing a saw that could be used to build on from this movie is Transformers home world of Cybertron. While we only got a few brief scenes of the planet it looked very similar to it's G1 appearance and I gotta say they really should have used it more. Basically if they set an entire movie with this style, tone and story entirely on Cybertron these movies maybe more entertaining, fun to watch and maybe award material. This is a chance for the Transformers movie franchise to start fresh and provide us some quality entertain and actually trigger a rush of nostalgia fans of the original series can appreciate. Just a thought.

Final Verdict: Bumblebee is the best live action Transformers movie to date because it returned to it's roots, gave us loveable and relatable characters, provided great action, humour and love and best of all got rid of Michael bay! But still could have done a lot more with it's unused characters, missed opportunities and let's face it the whole franchise should have started out this way to begin with so it hasn't completely redeemed the franchise but is still a fun movie to watch overall. Final Score 7/10.