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omorphiavelvet · 4 years ago

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Kiss of Death.

The rain was incredibly tranquil, bouts of pitter-patter dropped onto different surfaces of concrete, creating a constant tempo and rhythm, one that could easily lull anyone to sleep. The imminent thunder was absent, but lightning would show itself every now and then, nonetheless, the rain poured.

On the many surfaces, the raindrops landed, stood two people. Boys, one tall and the other short by a considerable margin. The short, fair-skinned boy was clearly battered, holding his wounded arm whilst a cross lodged into the ground stood beside him, the glow of the markings within the cross was faint, and the black hues outside the markings only begun to serve as a contrast to the faint but determined glow.

The boy he was facing was unscathed, but it was clear how he was irritated and unwilling to tire himself out. He held a regal air over his lean and tall figure, hands behind his back as his lances stood by his side much like an extension of his regalia. His sculptured face was slashed neatly on the cheek, and although the wound has long healed, the scar was visible.

“How long do you intend to do this? You cannot defeat me.” The taller spoke, voice cold, clearly irritated, but his deep voice eerily calm as he gives the boy a cold stare, his brown eyes dull and empty.

The shorter boy merely scoffed, as battered as he may be, he was not one to give up easily. Letting go of his wounded arm to see that it no longer bled, but only left a scar, his own eyes glaring up in determination towards the taller, as the cross split lengthwise, and spears popped out of its mechanisms, adorned with onyx-silver chains.

“Until you give him back.” the shorter started with a stammer, grabbing a spear from the cross and clutching it tight in his hand, “I’m not going anywhere!” he declares, charging towards the man as the spears from the cross soon followed.

The taller made no move to intercept his oncoming attack, as the shorter lifted himself off of his feet and threw the spear as a preemptive strike, with frightening accuracy to add as the spear aimed to lunge itself at the man’s chest.

A portal opens within the spear’s trajectory, swallowing the object as another portal opened behind the shorter, spitting the spear back out with the blunt end as it knocks him over, nearly groveling at the taller’s feet had it not been for his hands that stopped the momentum.

“You are weak,” the man spoke again, “The honkai may have chosen you to hold a core, but you are no more than an ordinary human holding a powerful weapon, how do you intend to stop me, a god?” this time, his cold voice turned into a mocking one as he floats up to the air.

A barrage of portals surround the weakened boy, and within an instant, lances were spat out, though clearly aimed to kill him, they only bound and immobilized him, restricting his movement with the sheer girth of the lances.

“Give…” the boy started, shaking in determination and pure fury, making the lances vibrate, “Mingyu back!” he cried out as the lances that held him shattered, jumping up towards the taller with renewed vigor, his tattered blue and black getup replaced with white and lilies adorned the edge of his garment as the marking on his back glows a soft yet regal blue.

The man, with his irritation, now etched on his handsome face, summons a force of shockwave as it pushes everything within the back with terrifying power, but the boy, suspended in mid-air, refused to budge and only sought to have the man within an arms reach.

Within fingertips reach and before the taller could make any moves to get away, a collection of crosses sprouted out of thin air, surrounding the pair as chains sprouted out, binding the taller in quick succession as the crosses immediately planted themselves to the ground, leaving the dust to settle.

The man now kneeling down at the mercy of the shorter, was wrapped and completely immobilized.

Meanwhile, the shorter was panting, out of breath as he held the man by the cheeks, his gloved hands were gentle as if holding a lover’s face, perhaps to even kiss him. But the shorter’s sight was on the ground, trying to regain his composure and focus his sight.

“Two cores. . .reason and death no less.” The taller spoke, after a while of silence, “and to wield a weapon of the previous era so effortlessly, that’s foolish.” he remarked, though no trace of emotion was heard in his voice.

“You’re just a pathetic human, how could you have all this power?” He finished, disdain and envy clear in his deep yet distorted voice.

“I told you...I’m different.” The boy choked out, his voice clearly weak, but the look in his eyes once he looked up to face the taller was enough to back up his statement.

“Now...give Mingyu back.” He states, composure now regained as he never lets up his rather gentle grip on his visage, his eyes still holding the same amount of determination despite his rather calm voice.

“Oh...you mean this body?” The man merely scoffed, “Without my core, this man is merely a husk, a doll if you will.” He answered.

“Stop spouting bullshit and give him back to me!” his voice shook in anger, though he tries to sound as level-headed as possible.

“It’s true, the man you call your lover...Mingyu, was it?” he started mockingly, “He’s long gone- ah, that’s not fair to say, it’s more plausible to say that I am him.” The menacing declaration only served to fuel the shorter’s already bubbling anger.

“Stop lying and give him back!” The shorter tried, releasing a gust of power the rendered the nearby plant life as good as dead as his eyes were no longer humane, his pupils and irises now shaped into a cross, tilted to an angle, more specifically, an x.

“Why do you keeping asking for him? He’s just a clone, a vessel made to house my soul.” The man asks, incredulous, making no moves to attack, but rather he was trying to comprehend how this human went to great lengths for a human, a clone even.

The shorter succumbed to his knees, his pants returned, til they turned into soft sobbing, his hand slipping from his cheeks and to the neat blazer the taller wore, clutching it tightly as he kneels, humiliated, tired, and heartbroken.

“Please...” he hiccupped, pleaded to particularly no one as he lets out choked out sobs, looking up to face the other, cheeks tear-stained as they continue to flow, looking straight into the taller’s eyes, his determination long tempered into grief.

“Give him...give me Mingyu back…” He continued, his sobs becoming coughed out as he feels himself being ripped apart by a force stronger than anything he had encountered, “I’ll do anything, please, just give him back…” He begged.

The tranquil rain was no longer tranquil, as the arrival of the roaring thunder filled the grieving silence between the two figures, one bound by chains and the other holding onto them, placed in the center of the collection of crosses that surrounded them.

Before the taller could mock the other’s pitiful state of being, a flurry of memories rushed and flooded his senses. Memories of the one they call Mingyu.

“Mingyu, you have to let go of me.” A gentle voice resounded, too familiar not to be recognized by the one who possessed the taller.

“No! I refuse!” The shorter, presumably Mingyu, petulantly refused, holding onto the arm of a boy with eyes closed.

“Mingyu, come on.” The gentle voice began, as a hand reached to cup the other’s sunkissed visage.

“This isn’t how you play tag. Now, will you let me go? I promise to treat you to ice cream if you manage to catch me next time you’re it.” The gentle voice soothed the child, though not much taller than him as he wriggles his arm out of his grip and brushes some of the messed up tufts of raven black hair away from Mingyu’s sight.

Memories continued to flash in front of the taller. Laughter, tears, kisses, and the way the certain figures held each other, love clearly so evident in their shared gazes and longing stares.

Another memory began to play within his sight.

“Mingyu, look! I’m officially a valkyrie!” The gentle voice, now much cheerful and rather proud, showed himself off to Mingyu, who was all grown up, much, much taller than the owner of the voice.

“Valkyrie?” Mingyu tilts his head in confusion, “Isn’t the title for girls?” He asks, blinking slowly.

“Ah! well...Principal Theresa and the higher-ups decided to name me that for the time being...until I’m officially put in a squad, I’m an A-rank Valkyrie!” He explains meekly.

��Really? I thought you were aiming to be S-rank?”

“Well, I barely passed the written part of the exam.”

Soft laughter emitted from the pair as Mingyu lifts up the shorter, singing words of praise for him.

The last memory was too vivid to be called anything but recent.

“Mingyu, no!” the voice cried out, “Let me hold the core instead! Your body might not take another core!”

“I can’t let you do everything!” Mingyu replied.

The boy stopped in his tracks.

“You think I didn’t know?” Mingyu says, and for the first time, his voice broke from the sadness.

Flashes of memories began showing again, showing the familiar back of the shorter, adorned with the mark of an orchid flower and a frazzled orb.

“Two years,” A blue-haired girl started. “That’s all you have left,” She explained.

“The cores may be benevolent in nature, but the honkai energy is ultimately a chaotic force that powers the cores.” She explained. “Even if we took out the cores from your body, your Honkai adaptability, will do next to nothing to improve your lifespan.”

the boy, now draped in hospital gowns with things attached to his wrist, smiled sadly, giving out a soft sigh.

“I guess it was only a matter of time, huh?” he muttered, looking at his palms in silent thought.

he looks back up to the blue-haired woman before him, “can I make one request, professor?”

“go ahead.”

“Can you not tell this to Mingyu? I want to be able to tell him myself, at least.”

“Alright, but you'll have to tell him quick, that boy's been sweating buckets ever since he found you in the shipwreck.”

The shorter merely chuckled.

Little did the pair know, Mingyu was listening from the other side of the wall, a stray tear falling down from his cheek as his lips quivered.

He returns to the prior memory.

“You always try to do everything, always trying to save everyone! And maybe it is for the better…” Mingyu started.

“But why am I the only one who feels this way?” He continued.

“I may not be as skilled as fighting or as smart as the others, but all I know is…”

“Mingyu, please.”

“This world, this wretched world…” he croaked out, “Means nothing to me without you!”

and as Mingyu grabs the suspended gem, light completely envelops both of them and their surroundings.

He's immediately brought back to reality, and breaks free of the binds fairly easily, blowing the shorter of the male, including the crosses that surrounded them, away from him.

“Foolish human! sacrificing yourself for a clone, loving a soulless husk of flesh! no matter how many cores you take,” the man began, summoning cubes out of thin air.

“you will never stop the Honkai!” he cries out in anger, trapping the grieving male in the cubes and commanding his lances to slice the cube cleanly with much anger in his gestures.

He finishes his attack with a powerful blast at the sliced cubes, but his brown eyes were already fighting to be alight with life and vigor, causing a splitting headache that he forcibly chose to ignore.

The male, arising from the wreck as the dust settles, was completely beaten up, his beautiful getup shattered as he held on to a stray spear from his cross before.

He was completely silent, the black cross growing in purple flocking to him as he heaved labored breaths.

From this distance, the taller could not clearly see the man's expression, and slowly became unnerved by the silence that befell upon them. Having grown used to the cries of anger and grief of the other.

“Die! Die! Die! Return from whence you came!” The taller repeatedly cried out as he launched attacks towards the battered male.

Each attack was dodged gracefully as the shorter geared up and charged towards him, his cross becoming a skateboard of sorts as two spears joined on both ends and transformed into a double-ended one, parrying and blocking each attack that came his way.

Mingyu, the shorter began.

I'm sorry that you had to find out this way. That I didn't break my obsolete habit of doing everything for everyone. For giving myself to the world so readily without thinking of the people that wanted me as I am.

The attacks continued and did little to slow the shorter down, his eyes flaring up in a different kind of determination.

But to tell you the truth...I failed my written exam on purpose. Principal Theresa had told me that If I became S-rank... I'd have little time to see you, kiss you, hold you, and even fight alongside you.

I know I told you that I was gonna become the best soldier ever, but even then, what was being the best soldier when I couldn't see your smile? telling me how proud you are of me? teasing me about my height despite me being able to wreck your shit one hundred percent?

what was being the best soldier if you weren't there to scold me, telling me to be more careful next time, patching up my wounds, then cooking me the best dinner buffet ever?

He continued to charge towards him, jumping off of the cross, as another one materialized above the taller.

“using the same trick again! how foolish!” the taller cried out, gathering power in his hand, ready to toss it above.

“Judah!” the shorter cried out, fully materializing the cross, as it split in half lengthwise, spitting out spears that shot everywhere, held by golden chains as it surrounds the taller.

By then, the power had dissipated from his hand, effectively neutralising the taller's next attack as the cross drops behind him, pinning him on the surface of it through the chains that pulled.

“this...what is this?!” the taller cried out in anger, panicking when he was unable to channel and utilise his power.

“the oath of judah— or a complete perfect replica of it...principal theresa's cross.” the shorter explained.

“the cross contains the core of the herrscher of binding, who can neutralise honkai energy and bind the target...however this cross doesn't have that core...but it has enough power to bind you.” the shorter panted, the pain of infection flaring up from his back.

“the more you use your herrscher powers...the more your physical body will be infected.” the blue-haired woman explains again.

“so I'll turn into a zombie?”

“not specifically. the core of reason is sentient and rather benevolent...the core will probably eliminate your physical body...and turn you into a part of it.”

“and what about the core of death?”

“it's an independent core, it won't fight your disintegration, but I doubt the core will find the strength to work with the core of reason again if it doesn't have your body.”

Two years. He could've spent the remaining two years of his life with Mingyu. Images and thoughts of marriage, family, and lifelong accompaniment begin to swirl in the shorter's thoughts.

But Fate was far too cruel to the both of them.

As the taller struggled and mocked the shorter, pitifully bound by the chains who only flared up in response to his anger, the shorter takes a few steps forward, leaning down to the kneeling man.

“the core of death?”

“yes, it's abilities are quite... interesting.” the blue-haired woman, now known as einstein began to ponder verbally.

“what's so interesting about it?”

“for one, the core doesn't just kill living beings...or bring living beings back to life.”

“I'm not following.”

“I have studied the core for quite a while, and tested it on numerous samples, which were mostly physical.” she began.

“but there is this theory, that the core doesn't only kill living things... physically.”

“I'm still not getting it.”

“Part of why the Honkai zombies become essentially brainless is not only their cognitive functions becoming impaired, but also their egos being reduced to a number of commands.”

“so you're saying the core is capable of killing personalities? I don't see how that's beneficial.”

“With the right amount of practice and power, yes, it can kill personalities, but also bring them back to life.”

Einstein, your theory had better be true, the shorter remarked in his thoughts as he comes face to face with the taller.

the orchid flower mark on his back began to glow softly as he cups the other's cheeks yet again, before planting his lips upon the other's.

the kiss was nothing romantic, maybe to the taller, but to him, it may be the last kiss he'll ever give to him.

The taller began to feel a sense of drowsiness at the contact of their lips, not only was he feeling completely powerless, but his limbs were completely going slack, and his struggles ceased.

he couldn't move anything, not even his lips, as sensations slowly left his body. the patter of rain against his now drenched outfit, the hammering heart within him, and the cool winds that would've let his body shuddered in response.

The last sensation he felt was his lips, until his eyes met the darkness.

Mingyu finally comes to, as if he had awoken from a nightmare. His breaths were labored, like he was drowning and he was just resuscitated back to life.

he was not in the place that was ruptured into pitiful pieces by the powers capable of bending physical laws, but he was in a different space.

a peaceful one.

colors swirled all around him, he felt weightless, like a burden was relieved off of him as he looks around in mere confusion.

then the thought hits him.

he cries out the shorter's name, frantic, scrambling to his feet to run, in hopes of finding a way out of this space. To finally reunite with who he loved, the person he's been aching to hold in his arms.

“what are you flailing about? you look like a deer caught in the headlights.” the familiar voice spoke up, causing Mingyu to turn sharply to his back, seeing the owner of the voice he wanted to hear the most.

“How— When did you— god, you fucking idiot!” He immediately stammered, collecting the smaller into his arms, tears silently flowing to his cheeks as he gives him a squeeze, happy to have him in his arms.

“Hey, Hey. Deep breaths, baby.” The shorter one removed his death grip on him, smiling gently as he held him by the shoulders.

Mingyu collects himself and his composure, all too elated to finally be reunited with his lover.

“Wha— What happened? All I remember is grabbing the core and the light— What happened to the core?” Mingyu asks.

“The core is within you.” He began, his smile subtly dropping, “In the process of trying to fuse with the core, you awakened something within you.” He continued.

“So much is happening, Mingyu. I can't really tell you everything because I don't know how to begin.” He heaves a sigh at that.

“Oh.” Mingyu merely responds.

“How can we get out then? I wanna see everyone! I wanna make up for the things I did.” Mingyu questions.

The shorter a sad smile on his face, though Mingyu doesn't seem to notice it. “Come on, walk with me for a while.” He reaches a hand out.

Mingyu took the hand, intertwining their fingers as he followed his steps, letting a comfortable silence fall upon them.

“Mingyu.” He calls out.

“Hmm? Yes, my love?”

“How are you feeling?”

Mingyu draws a blank upon the question. How was he feeling? He couldn't describe it. He knocked out, heard a menacing voice whispering bitter remarks into his ear.

He could recall fragments of what seemed like him hurting his boyfriend, mocking him. He could hardly believe that he himself was saying such horrible and demeaning things.

Even in such a state of slumber, Mingyu refused to believe that he was hurting the ones he loved.

And when he saw his determined, yet tearful eyes, he almost believed that it was really him, he was really doing all of this.

He didn't want to believe it, he didn't want to listen to the voice that keeps planting sinister thoughts into his head.

So he dreamt.

He recalls every memory he has with him, fond, sad, lovely, and even when they first fought. All these memories, they were precious to him, and he allowed himself to be foolishly trapped into the dream, reliving his greatest memories.

“Mingyu?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“You spaced out, it's okay.”

“What was the question again?”

“How are you feeling, my sweet?”

Mingyu ponders again, this time not recalling the series of events that transpired. Instead, he looks at their intertwined hands and the sweet smile his lover wore.

“Like home.” He finally answered.

“Like home?” the shorter repeated, clearly amused.

“Don't laugh, it's true!” Mingyu whined, pouting at him.

“Alright, alright. I won't.”

They shared a few chuckles as they walked, the pathless route seemingly endless as they fell into their natural state of conversing, banter and some sweet kisses here and there.

Mingyu was chuckling when he suddenly let go of his hand.

“We're here.” He says.

“Where?” Mingyu asks, before turning front and facing a rather ancient door.

“The end.” He answers, as calm as he could possibly be.

“What do you mean?”

“When you walk through that door, you'll wake up from the nightmare, my love.” He answers.

Silence befell upon them again, this time, it wasn't a comfortable one.

“What about you? Will I see you when I wake up?” Mingyu finally breaks the silence.

He couldn't bring himself to answer his question.

“Then I'm not going.”

“Mingyu, please—”

“No, I won't! That's final!” Mingyu began, firm.

“Mingyu, please you're acting like a child—”

“I don't care!” he added.

“I don't care if I'm living in a nightmare, If I'll sleep forever...I don't care! as long as I'm with you, I'll be fine!”

“Mingyu—”

Before he could continue to reason with him, Mingyu lunged into his hug, wrapping his arms around him.

“Please...please let me stay with you.” He pleaded.

“Mingyu, I can't.” He began.

Mingyu didn't let up, only hugging the smaller as tears began flowing down his cheeks again.

Mingyu, still holding onto him notices how weightless he's gotten.

“Mingyu, you have to let me go.”

“No!”

A shaky sigh escapes him, trying not to let the tears fall as he begins losing sensations, and at this point, he could barely feel Mingyu's grip around his body.

He was fading.

It was as Einstein had told him, the core was slowly consuming him before the Honkai infection could.

“Mingyu, please— we can't keep going on like this.”

“No!” Mingyu replied, defiant.

A sob escapes him at his reply, unable to hold back the tears.

“at least hold me properly?” he finally says, softly.

Mingyu reluctantly agrees, shifting and putting the boy on his lap as he wraps an arm around him from behind, and in this angle, he could see how the boy was becoming transparent.

“Why?” Mingyu asks, now full on crying as he gazes at the fading body of the love of his life.

“I told you to rest! eat your meals! and not strain yourself…” He trailed off, crying.

“It was my only chance of bringing you back…” He answers, smiling sadly as he relishes what he could in Mingyu's arms.

“You idiot…” Mingyu merely added on, still crying as he holds him tight, afraid that he'll completely slip from his arms.

Mingyu keeps crying, hoping that this was another nightmare the voice had conjured for him to break his spirits, he hoped that he could wake up and he would be waiting for him with his sheepish smile, and he could scold him again for staying up.

but it felt real. all too real.

The way his body was phasing to and fro being transparent then physical, the sweet words whispered into his ears that did nothing to soothe his pain.

“Please... don't go…” Mingyu pleaded.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry...Mingyu.” He only replied, crying.

Mingyu didn't say anything else and fully hugged the other's fading body, as light from the door envelops the both of them.

Mingyu comes to, this time, he was in the place he last saw before his seemingly eternal slumber, and before anything else, he felt lips against his own.

His lips.

They were breathing life into him, and washing away the pain the core brought upon him, opening his eyes. He sees the dimming light of life from his eyes, his arms instinctively coming up to wrap around his figure.

the shorter had enough strength to pull away from the kiss and let himself be held by the taller.

“Ah...I feel so light...Is that you, Mingyu?” He weakly calls out.

“Yes, yes. it's me.” He answers softly but frantically as he holds onto him, crying softly.

“Thank goodness…”

The silence would've filled the room if not for the hardly silent cries that were Mingyu's.

“Mingyu?”

“Yes, my love?” He answers, his voice breaking.

“I love you…” He muttered.

“I love you too, so much…please, stay with me…” He pleaded, but he knew it was too late, his pleas were never heard by the gods in the first place.

“Thank goodness...I was afraid...I couldn't say it again…” He muttered, before he closes his eyes, a soft glow enveloping his figure, the light becomes harsh for a short while that Mingyu had to look away for a short while.

When Mingyu looks again, the body of his lover was completely gone, like they were never there in the first place, and instead, he was holding two gems in his hand.

one had the orchid flower carved beautifully onto its azure surfaces, and the other merely held a smooth cerulean surface.

Mingyu's cries became louder at the sight, the reality of the situation finally sinking in as he holds the gems close to his chest, the only remaining reminders of the man he loved so dearly.

Yet the rain has stopped, and only the silent light of the sun peeking through could be seen.

The turbulently tranquil rain had stopped, and if only Mingyu had looked up, he would see a beautiful sunrise, bringing a surge of new hope to many.

But to Mingyu, he could only fill the skies with his tears, and the new day had only brought him pain, as his cries were hardly heard by the one he lost.

#completely self indulgent #honkai 3rd #honkai impact #seventeen x male reader #kpop x male reader #mingyu x male reader #fanfic #hi3rd

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night-unfurls-its-splendour · 4 years ago

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The Critique of Manners Part IV

~Or~

A Very Amused Review of Emma (1972)

One doesn’t really know where to begin with this one. I’ve watched a few of these 70’s/80’s period drama adaptations, but I’ve never written a review for one. I think the tricky thing is it doesn’t feel fair to judge them against more recent adaptations because the approach and quality are so very different to modern television making.

But people do. I’m sure it’s different for people who grew up watching these, who are just used to them and their objectively terrible, stagey quality and can look past that particular weakness on the sheer power of nostalgia.

So I’m going to try and find a middle-ground here where I ignore the stagey and obviously dated aspects and judge it primarily on its value as an adaptation – is it faithful to the book?

Let’s dive in.

Cast & Characterization

Normally I would start with Emma and Knightley but this time I’m gonna switch it up a bit and do them last because… well we’ll get there in a bit.

Let’s start instead with Mr. Woodhouse. I have to say, I kind of like this take. The 1996-7 and 2009 adaptations all kind of went for the same type of older man: a bit stout, or in Michael Gambon’s case… however you would describe Michael Gambon. With Donald Eccles, however, this version goes for a rather more frail looking Mr. Woodhouse; in fact to compare him to any recent Mr. Woodhouse, I suppose he comes closest to Bill Nighy (although the general characterization is of course very different.) He’s a ridiculous but lovable soul who seems always, of course, worried about his own health and comfort, but in his own selfish way, concerned for his friends and family as well. My only complaint is that maybe they over-utilized him.

I thought the casting of a plump Mrs. Weston (Ellen Dryden) was an interesting choice, and definitely different from other versions. Her acting was actually really good too.

I wasn’t quite so pleased with the characterization of Mr. Weston, on the other hand. I have huge issues with this script vis-à-vis the men, but Mr. Weston and Knightley in particular. The problem with Mr. Weston is how he’s written as just verging on uncouth at some points. There are way too many rustic contractions here: “Ain’t I looking well too, Miss Emma?!’ “’Ark at that eh? The sly young rogue!” “Oh I think it looks tolerably gay and festive, don’t it?” and then just throwing himself back on the grass and chortling when Emma makes her fateful Box Hill faux pas? Like, what the hell? I’m not saying he shouldn’t use a few casual contractions (“How d’you do?” for example) but he seems almost like a positive country bumpkin and I don’t think it’s appropriate; he doesn’t talk like that in the book and I’m just all-around not here for it.

Constance Chapman, a well-respected character actress of the time was cast as Miss Bates, while Molly Sugden, of Are You Being Served? fame was WASTED in the bit-part of Mrs. Goddard. If you ask me, they should have swapped this casting, since I think Sugden, an outstanding comedienne, could have done so much more with the Miss Bates role than the usual wittery-old-lady style chattering Chapman delivered.

Mr. Elton was played by Timothy Peters (Right) and was, eh, adequate. They did slime him up a bit by having him over-eagerly offer to fix Emma’s bootlace, which she points out isn’t entirely appropriate for a man to do, especially the vicar and it’s pretty funny; but other than that, he has all the appearance of being a pleasant young man, as Mr. Elton should – becoming less pleasant as the story progresses.

One John Alkin (left) played Mr. Robert Martin, and he, too, was adequate. There’s not much of him and, since Mr. Martin wasn’t one of those characters this version decided to approach more three-dimensionally, there’s not much to say about him.

Frank Churchill is… OMG IT’S PRINCE HARRY FROM BLACKADDER!

Ahem. Yes, Robert East (BETTER KNOWN AS PRINCE HARRY FROM BLACKADDER) plays a very agreeable (and smarmy, but not too smarmy) Frank. I think honestly this is as good as this part could get in the 70’s, although at 29 he was a little too old for the part.

John and Isabella, in an interesting (?) casting choice, were played by brother and sister duo, Yves and Belinda Tighe. I actually really liked Yves’s John Knightley (he’s actually one of the more handsome John’s, in a 70’s kind of way; for note-taking purposes I have nicknamed him “Not-Harrison-Ford”), but his sister as Isabella seemed kind of old and had just a really annoying voice. Also she doesn’t look at all like Doran Godwin, and Emma and Isabella are supposed to look somewhat alike.

The real casting stand out for me in this version is Fiona Walker as Mrs. Elton, although she too was a little old for her role, I’ve said before that there are no bad Mrs. Eltons (only bad accents) and she just absolutely nailed the insufferable chatter to a definitive standard (until the recent adaptations – 2009 onward).

I did however, get the feeling in this version that they kind of wrote in a through-line where Mrs. Elton is putting the moves on Mr. Knightley (to the point where they actually wrote out Mr. Elton from scenes he should be in) which was one of those unnecessary deviations which made me raise an eyebrow and also was just… weird.

Now my question is – why do all of the young women in this series kind of look like evil dolls?

Debbie Bowen, from a strictly book accuracy perspective is one of the most accurate Harriet Smiths I’ve seen – in fact we don’t get another this accurate (to my way of thinking) until Louise Dylan in 2009, who fits roughly the same model (fair and shapely). Its Bowen’s acting I don’t like, but I know that in the 70’s, this kind of simpering acting for this kind of character was just unavoidable. It was the style at the time, so I’m cutting her a break critically; but the performance just doesn’t cut it for me.

This Jane Fairfax (played by Ania Marson) is not my favorite interpretation of this character. At first I thought she was going to be alright, but in her first scene she bursts out and actually shouts in frustration at her chattering aunt (which she has some basis for, I’ll admit, since Miss Bates, in her muddle-headed way, could very well have unwittingly spilled the beans about Jane and Frank) but this is far more feeling than we should even have a hint of from Jane at this point. The whole reason Emma doesn’t like Jane (other than the fact that Emma is an attention whore and Jane steals her thunder by being so admired and accomplished) is because she’s timid and demure and reserved.

But the biggest problem I have with this Jane is that she can’t even fucking sing. I know they write it away as her having a sore throat (Which I think is a pull from a different part of the book?) but this was just egregiously bad to me. This is the only time in the series they show Jane singing so it’s never actually established that Jane really is more accomplished than Emma (although they don’t show Emma herself singing or even playing at all either.) Could the actresses just not sing well so they decided to write around it? You could have dubbed it; you had that technology in the 70’s!

OK. Now it’s time to talk about Doran Godwin. I’ve never seen her in anything else so I don’t know if it’s just that she can’t act, but I have no idea what she was going for with this portrayal of Emma, and this is something so consistent and unique to her that I, for once, can’t justify blaming it solely on the director because you can’t direct crazy-eyes. They just happen; and they happen A LOT in this series.

I’ve struggled to find the words to sufficiently describe my feeling about Doran Godwin’s facial expressions and her acting in this adaptation. In my ribbon rating notes I think I describe her as a “witchy automaton”? I stand by it. Every time she talks to someone her eyes go very wide and she sort of looks like she’s trying to hypnotize everyone in Highbury. The effect is just absolutely inhuman. I never thought I’d ever see anyone with more patently crazed Crazy-Eyes than Timothy “Crazy-Eyes” Dalton – but man, Doran “Hypno-Witch” Godwin just stole the prize. Perhaps she escaped from the set of a Doctor Who? telling of the story where Miss Woodhouse has been replaced by an android.

You have scenes such as this in episode 2 , where Harriet is trying to get Emma to acknowledge Mr. Elton calling after them as they walk past the vicarage, and Emma ignores her by mechanically continuing to talk, looking straight ahead with laser focus. Of course, Emma is intentionally ignoring Harriet because she wants Mr. Elton to follow them, but that wasn’t quite apparent to me until the end of her ramble – which I had assumed she was forced to complete due to some directive in her programming. I have more to say on her characterization, but we’ll get to that in a dedicated section of the review.

John Carson might actually be one of the better Knightley’s, but I’m sorry – at 45 he was just too old. This is something you can play around with in other characters (Mr. Weston and Miss Bates after all, have no stated ages in the book) but not only do we know how old Mr. Knightley is in the book, they state in the show that Emma is 21 (Doran Godwin was actually 28) and that Mr. Knightley is sixteen years older than her – 37 or 38 – and John Carson is CLEARLY no 38. This obviously-over-forty appearance does have an effect on how I view his banter with Emma, and it’s more avuncular than the older-brother feel that Mr. Knightley and Emma should have.

Whether by direction or actor’s choice, Carson’s Mr. Knightley speaks in a way that just doesn’t feel period to me. He has a very sort of 20th Century, stock British, hearty-good-fellow manner, that dates this adaptation pretty badly and feels old-fashioned (but not in a Regency/Georgian way) even in the 70’s.

Sets & Surroundings

Normally at this point in the review I would talk about the British manor houses and estates used and how they measure up to the book descriptions but the publicly funded BBC ran on a much tighter budget in the 70’s (apparent in the production values and number of obviously bad takes that they just decided to leave in, in everything they made) and as such they couldn’t afford to film in and rent out large estates quite as much, so this has the trademark 70’s/80’s BBC sound-stage quality of all of their other productions of the period. That said, this production actually has some of the better sets I’ve seen and that’s saying something, for being made in the 70’s. The walls didn’t actually shake when doors were closed, and it didn’t feel as stagey as some other Austen serials of the time. (This doesn’t improve the very “on-cue” acting in the series, but I have to give credit where it’s due.) I believe they may used a real manor house for the exterior of Hartfield (and not a landscape pastel) and maybe some of the interiors too? I can’t say for sure, and I would love to tell you what house and where it is but I can’t find any credits on it. I’ll just say that I think it’s very suitable and leave it at that.

Costumes

Much like today, the BBC almost exclusively used, re-used and rented costumes for their period productions. Almost every costume in this series was also used in the 70’s and 80’s BBC productions of Sense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park, and Pride and Prejudice (P&P being the overwhelming common denominator – almost every one of Emma’s evening dresses and pelisses was seen, primarily on Caroline Bingley.) Some of the shawls have been picked out in BBC Austens as recently as 2008.

For being made in the 70’s the costumes in this production are really kind of nice. They don’t date themselves too badly. The ones that do feel 70’s retro, in fact, were mostly styles borrowed from period accurate fashions that just happened to coincide with contemporary 70’s tastes, and which aren’t often used in Regency costumes today because, well they don’t coincide with our modern tastes. For the most part, they look well-made (although some of them do have that stiff, dingy polyester look to them and there are definitely some plastic pearls here and there).

I’m quite pleased with the silhouettes which don’t suffer from Square Bust/Boob Droop syndrome the way the 1980 P&P does. All of the assets seem to be lifted and shifted in the right places.

Daywear

I like Emma’s blue day dress the best of all her day-wear looks. It’s a rich color and has pleated cups (Also on her white day dress) which is a style I really love.

Emma wears the gauzy… let’s be kind and say ivory instead of “Yellowish” ruff during the day A LOT (Emma Pic 2). It’s a popular look on Jane Fairfax too (Jane Pic 2) and I just… I don’t like it. Not that it’s not period appropriate (because it unfortunately is) it just makes them look like Dr. Seuss characters to me, especially worn with short sleeves which is something these dramas do a lot and I hate it. It just makes the person in question look very awkwardly disproportionate to me, especially because. if they had long sleeves to go with it (which would be more correct from a historical authenticity standpoint) it would even it out so much better. Compare Jane and Emma to see what I mean. The single layer ruffle (Emma Pic 1) is much more agreeable to me. (I wanna point out that Jane wears the same green dress without any partlet or undersleeves for strawberry picking at Donwell, which is blatant Eveningwear-For-Daywear™ and looked really out of place since everyone else was wearing day-appropriate attire).

Emma’s wider, cuffed, long sleeves and Mrs. Elton’s puffy segmented Renaissance sleeves are exactly what I mean about period accurate styles that suit the 70’s in a way that they just don’t jive today. Even Harriet gets some.

Mrs. Elton Orange ™ is another crayon color Crayola should consider I think.

Harriet gets stuck with a lot of brown outer wear but her day clothes are otherwise pretty nice. I especially like the ivory and blue number (Bottom right) and her white day dress with blue accents (Top right) which I think is the nicest thing she wears in this whole series.

Evening Wear

Emma’s evening wear confines itself pretty exclusively to cool purples and blues except for her white ball gown. I find this interesting because other versions tend to dress Emma in warmer colors and pinks (As I’m very partial to purples and blues, I love all of them). I can’t say it’s inconsistent with Emma’s cold characterization in this version. Mrs. Weston’s evening gowns are uniformly amazing. I especially love her blue party dress, which is my favorite in the series.

Both of Harriet’s party dresses are characteristically pretty and girlish. The pink is a bit fussy for me but I love the blue one (which has a lot more detail but I couldn’t get a full length shot of it.)

I’m pleased that Jane is given a bit of a break from the Jane Fairfax Blue ™ trope with her evening wear. She has one light blue evening gown and gets a few green numbers, most notable being her mint ball gown. Her beige party dress is absolutely tragic though.

Mrs. Elton’s evening color seems to be chartreuse (Which I think was also the case in the ITV version? ITV fans back me up.) Her black overlay/spiky number is iconic of the Austen Bad Girl, but her ball gown is a bit disappointing in its simplicity to me.

I would love to have seen a full length shot of Isabella’s black and purple number because I have a suspicion THAT would have been my favorite but I just can’t make out enough detail on it.

Zig-zag patterns on the skirt are a huge theme in this version, which is so of the period. Mrs. Cole (shout out to another future Are You Being Served? familiar, Hilda Fenemore) looks straight out of a fashion plate in her dark green party dress, which has (drumroll please…) a padded hem!

Outerwear

This version has SO MANY PELISSES AND REDINGOTES. Are they all nice? No. No they are not; I particularly hate Emma’s fugly salmon number that she wears for Strawberry picking/Box Hill. Mostly because she looks SO over-dressed compared to everyone else who’s wearing loose fitting light clothes (except Jane, who’s wearing an evening dress). Just looking at her makes me hot. I’m also NOT a huge fan of her pink winter cloak. The one trimmed with… faux ermine? One can only assume. It looks awfully tacky.

That russet pelisse tho! This is one of my all-time favorites. It’s SO. PRETTY and so detailed (See this number on Jane in P&P ’80). I think her gray fur-trimmed pelisse is pretty fabulous too, but I do not like the hat she wears with it. The brim is kind of a funky shape to me.

I know I’ve criticized brown before, but I do like it in moderation and this version is astonishingly brown-free for being made in the 70’s, so I really like her red/brown velvet spencer, especially with the cream dress and gloves, and her hat has some amazing decoration.

Jane and Mrs. Weston are the only other characters who get pelisses/redingotes. I’m not a fan of Mrs. Weston’s fuchsia number, and while I like Jane’s, it does put itself solidly in the Jane Fairfax Blue™ category.

Harriet gets pretty much only one form of outer-wear, her brown school cloak (a different brown school cloak from the one in the ‘97 version, in case you were wondering) and while it’s pretty dull, it’s hardly unexpected. Here it is paired with her rather ugly blue bonnet, with yellow ribbon. The bonnet features heavily in this episode.

To be honest for the most part I totally forgot about the…

because a lot of it is very standard. No dandy standouts here, but overall it’s pretty okay and I’m really pleased to say that there are no bib-cravats. That’s not usually so much a problem in Regency Era stuff (Since ruffles were going out at around this time), but you can really distinctly see that the ruffles (where ruffles there are – usually on older men which is good) are part of the shirt and distinctly separate from the cravat. Also there are LOTS of high collars and they’re not comically high to the point where they get wrinkled, like they were in Emma. (2020), so points for that also. These are the screencaps I gathered going back over it for posterity.

Mr. Knightley doesn’t really get a lot of cool outfits. His best is his purple velvet evening jacket which somehow manages to not look ostentatious (but is his only dress jacket), and his gold-topped Prussian boots (which you should just be able to see bottom right.) The worst though… I’m sorry, (looks up costumer��s name) Joan Ellacott – do you really expect me to feel the weight of Emma’s cock-ups when Mr. Knightley is rebuking her in such a cartoonishly proportioned top hat? It’s like being scolded by the Mad Hatter. All of the men’s hats are pretty flared in this series too, and I’m not totally sure but, I’m pretty sure I read somewhere that flared top hats are not right for this period?

I think Mr. Weston only has one day outfit (which, in keeping with his characterization is pretty farmer-chic) and one evening outfit. Frank’s dark green day-jacket is a pretty standard look on him and I don’t think we get a fresh look until his fabulous blue jacket/yellow waistcoat combo that he wears for Strawberry Picking/Box Hill. I believe his evening jacket is also dark green but it was tough to tell. Again I think he has only one set of evening-wear. I would expect Frank to have more, since he’s such a dandy.

Mr. John Knightley doesn’t have much to write home about in terms of evening kit, but DAYUM, his blue traveling coat is DOOOOOPE.

Let’s Talk Script

This adaptation was directed by John Glenister and Dramatized by Denis Constanduros.

Now I’ve seen a lot of positive reviews for this on IMDB calling it the… let’s see here… “The best Emma I’ve ever seen” and “The most true to the novel”… *Takes off spectacles and sighs heavily* I’m afraid I have to disagree. Several people also really love Doran Godwin’s Emma (We’ve already gone over why I don’t, and I have also seen reviews that name her and her lack of charisma as the main sticking point preventing them from really enjoying it, so I’m not alone). I’ve also heard it described as “sensitively handled” “Intimate” and “The most faithful to the spirit of Austen” and so forth, and again maybe it’s that prejudice against the stagey production and�� no there’s definitely some other reason I have a problem with this version.

Let me make this clear – I don’t totally hate it, and I’m not here to shame the people who really love this version. Once again – if this version gives you what you want from the story I think that’s great for you. I, myself, like it pretty well and I think it’s one of the better early BBC Austen serials. It’s certainly not boring; but I do want to go over some of the changes that were made and choices in the script.

Some of them aren’t really that egregious, but they’re annoying in that I think they didn’t need to be made and don’t really add anything. Characters being added to scenes where they didn’t need to be and written out of scenes where their presence was missed. Like writing Mr. Elton out of Box Hill (And really the whole second half of the series, to facilitate Mrs. Elton flirting with Knightley), and adding Miss Bates into the after-dinner scene, I think at the Randalls Christmas party? I’m sure this was done for expediency but you have six episodes. It’s not as though you’re strapped for time.

Particularly praised, as far as I’ve seen, is the scene at Christmas when Knightley and Emma make up after their argument over Harriet. It takes place in the nursery, which I suppose isn’t an unreasonable place for Emma to be fawning over her niece (in the dramatization she seems to have been feeding the baby, where in the book she is playing with her). The book doesn’t specify where the scene takes place, although I assumed it to be a downstairs room, and I’m not sure that it’s entirely appropriate for Emma and a man (even one connected to her family through marriage) to be alone in an upstairs room together with the door closed and no more chaperone than a baby. But in spite of this, perhaps inappropriate, level of privacy, the scene feels less intimate to me than the book, where in the course of the conversation, where Mr. Knightley takes the baby from Emma “in the manner of perfect amity” and holds her himself and it is very adorable and sweet. In the dramatization, Knightley sort of just stands next to Emma’s chair and leans down a bit. After this conversation in the book, John comes into the room to talk to George, while in the show Emma puts the baby in the cradle and they leave the room to go downstairs.

But there are more outstanding changes that just feel wrong to me. When confronting Emma about her meddling in Harriet’s response to Mr. Martin’s proposal, Constanduros changes “What is the foolish girl about?” to “What is the stupid girl about?” it’s not that big a change, but it makes Mr. Knightley sound unnecessarily mean.

I’ve already mentioned the, er, additions regarding Mr. Weston’s dialogue and Mrs. Elton, and Jane shouting at Miss Bates; but by far the biggest, worst additions were made with Emma. The worst, I think, is the handling of this scene in Episode 4 when Harriet is feeling heartsick following Mr. Elton’s marriage.

And for those of you who don’t wanna follow the link, here’s a transcription:

Emma: Now Harriet! Your allowing yourself to become so upset over Mr. Elton’s marriage is the strongest possible reproach you could make to me!

Harriet: Miss Woodhouse –

Emma: Yes it is! You could not more constantly remind me of the mistake I made, which is most hurtful!

Harriet: Oh Miss Woodhouse, it was not intended to be!

Emma: I have not said “think and talk less of Mr. Elton” for my sake, Harriet, because it is for yours I wish it. My being hurt is a very… secondary consideration, but please, please Harriet, do learn to exert a little more self-discipline in this matter.

Harriet: {Looks down} Yes, Miss Woodhouse.

Emma: We are all creatures of feeling; we all suffer disappointments, it is how we learn to suffer them that forms our character. If you continue in this way, Harriet, I shall think you wanting in true friendship for me!

Harriet: Oh, Miss Woodhouse! You, who are the best friend I’ve ever had? Oh what a horrid, horrid wretch I’ve been!”

Emma: Oh now Harriet – (She’s gonna console her now, right?)

Harriet: Oh yes, I have, I have!

Emma: Harriet, control yourself! (ha ha bitch, u thought) Now, you will tie your bonnet, and you are coming with me to call on Mr. And Mrs. Elton at the Vicarage…

Harriet: Oh, Miss Woodhouse –

Emma: Yes you are! And I’m sure you will find it far less distressing than you think.

Harriet: Oh, Miss Woodhouse, must I?

Emma: Yes, Harriet; but you may borrow my lace ruff if you wish.

Harriet: Oh may I, Miss Woodhouse? Oh, thank you!

(Look how evil she looks! She looks like she’s planning on baking Harriet into a pie!)

While this scene is in the book and much of the dialogue is also from the book, it’s the lines that were added that stick out to me. Emma does tell Harriet that her allowing herself to become upset over the Eltons is a reproach on Emma more than anything else and reminds her miserably of the “Mistake [Emma] fell into” but from this point, the script takes a left turn from the firm but kind appeal to Harriet to move on for both her happiness and Emma’s own comfort, to a far more manipulative strain.

Even after Harriet apologizes, she goes from simply appealing to Harriet to let herself move on, to basically telling her that she’s a bad friend. She treats Harriet like she’s unreasonable for feeling this way, where in the book Emma is very understanding and feels that “she could not do too much for her; that Harriet had every right to all her ingenuity and patience…” and only after Harriet goes all afternoon with Emma soothing her and no improvement in her spirits does Emma take any kind of reproachful tack whatsoever.

In this scene, Emma says that her own happiness is a secondary consideration (this is stressed much more in the book) but from the way she says it, it seems more like she just wants Harriet to shut up about it rather than actually meaning it. (This is a very prominent example of Emma’s not seeming to really like Harriet at all in this version, only tolerating her presence.)

AND THEN she does something which Emma in the book most certainly did NOT do and forces Harriet to come with her to visit the Eltons, as if to put her on the spot and test how good a little friend she will be. I can’t express how disgusted I am by the changes and interpretation here. This is the culmination of the general through-line of Emma’s manipulative characterization being taken to an extreme. She looms over Harriet sounding, by turns, like a school marm and a saccharine nanny. She’s like a (very) low budget version of Tilda Swinton as the White Witch in The Chronicles of Narnia.

My question about all of these changes is simply: Why? They don’t improve the story or the characters. They’re not big, but a lot of them just strike me as weird and unnecessary, but I guess there’s no accounting for artistic license.

Final Thoughts

So is it a faithful adaptation? I often find this a more complex question to answer for myself than one would think, since inflection and line delivery and even, at some points, intention behind what the characters say tends to be up to the interpretation of the person reading the book.

Is the dialogue faithful? Other than the many changes I’ve mentioned (and the numerous cuts and edits I didn’t – and besides no screenplay can be 100% faithful), for the most part yes.

Are the characters accurate to description / faithful in their portrayal – again this tends to be subjective and opinions vary. In my opinion, Emma is not. I’ve mentioned that Knightley is too old, and Emma not only seems more intentionally manipulative than I believe she’s meant to be, and also just does not seem 21. She acts and looks like a much older woman, especially when preaching at Harriet) but she’s also very gawky, and Emma is supposed to look very healthy and glowing.

So my book accuracy rating meets in the middle at a 4.5. It’s NOT the most faithful adaptation I’ve seen, nor is it the most fun or the most intimate, but it’s not totally a travesty either and there are good things in it, even with a robot witch playing the main lead.

Ribbon Rating: Tolerable (43 Ribbons )

Tone: 4

Casting: 5 (Witchy automaton Doran Goodwin plays opposite avuncular good-fellow John Carson. Fiona Walker stands out as Mrs. Elton.)

Acting: 5 (Doran Goodwin is by turns crazed and mechanical with some momentary touches of what might be actual emotion. Raymond Adamson way over-acts Mr. Weston as a hobbeldy-hoi, verging on uncouth.)

Scripting: 4

Pacing: 4

Cinematography: 4 (A bump up from the usual 1 or 2 for TV dramas of the time. Surprisingly less stagey than expected.)

Sets and Settings: 5

Costumes: 7 (Very clearly of the 70’s but drawing on perfectly accurate styles that jived well with contemporary taste)

Music: 1 (Plinky, poorly played piano music. Only used for intro and outro I think? Jane Fairfax can neither play nor sing.)

Book Accuracy: 5 (They changed a lot of small details. Lines are changed unnecessarily (Calling Harriet “Stupid” rather than “Foolish” – Why?) Mrs. Elton seems to have a thing for Knightley? People present when they shouldn’t be, others absent when they should be present, again without any apparent reason.)

#jane austen emma #jane austen #regency #period drama #costume drama #emma 1972

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venusofthehardsells · 4 years ago

Text

No Rest for the Wicked [Dea ex Machina part one]

John ConstantinexAngel!Reader Summary: You travel to a remote island to put a murderous spirit to rest, but things get complicated when you run into one John Constantine. Warnings: swearing, mentions of mental illness, blood, smoking, ghosts, pining, is slowburn a warning? A/N: My first Constantine fic on tumblr, yay! This was originally written for a challenge aaages ago, but it got away from me and I couldn’t meet the deadline. I had so much fun with this though, Constantine is a great character to write for! There will definitely be more stories about him and this particular angelic reader in the future ♥

I’ve mixed elements from both the Vertigo comics and the NBC TV series, as well as from the general DC Universe, so don’t expect accuracy when it comes to canon. A special thanks to @nellblazer for support and linguistic aid, you’re the best! ♥ Let me know what you think and if you want to be tagged ~

Contrary to common belief, there had never actually been any ravens on Raven’s Rock. The tiny, windswept fleck of land in the North Sea had been named a few hundred years ago by a fool of a sailor, who hadn’t been able to tell a raven from a severely lost and consequently very confused Scandinavian pigeon. Said sailor had regrettably also been of some importance in his homeland at the time, meaning no one had bothered to correct the unfortunate mistake for fear of losing a head. Even though everyone who since came upon the island only ever managed to find gulls and puffins and various other seabirds, it had still kept its misleading English name.

The Celts, who by rights had been on the island long before the British, had chosen to play it safe and completely forego the bird names (although it had been suggested several times in later centuries to change it to the Gaelic word for seagull, or even pigeon, as a taunt). Instead, they had most likely looked to the ancient ruins that specked the island, jutting up from the rocks like broken teeth and, all things considered, had endured well beyond memory and history and legend. Or perhaps they had still been reeling from the mad determination that had brought them and their wooden ships so far from home. Whichever the case, they had called the stubborn, little rock Innis Seasmhach, “the steadfast island”.

That was its official name to this day, though most people, especially those who didn’t speak Gaelic (which in all fairness are not very many), still referred to it as Raven’s Rock.

The locals shrugged and simply called it “the island”.

There was only one village on the entire island, whose population on a good day might reach a hundred and thirty people. That usually only happened a few times during summer when the ferries from Stavanger and Aberdeen docked at the same time. The tourists came to see the ruins, buy a souvenir fridge magnet of a raven or a puffin, complain about the frightfully bleak weather and leave again on one of the ferries that departed before evenfall, secretly happy they didn’t have to spend any more time on the island.

On the day you arrived, the population on the isle of Raven’s Rock, was an astounding one hundred and forty four, which was quite unheard of in the middle of October.

What was even more unheard of, however, was the reason for all these untimely appearances.

A night ago, a pair of fishermen had discovered the body of a man in a small, secluded cove on the north side of the island. The body was placed so that it could only be seen from sea, unless one were to venture down a rocky and extremely narrow trail into the cove itself. It wasn’t hard to imagine someone slipping and ending up on the stony beach below. That kind of unfortunate death was of course tragic, but it hardly warranted the wide array of policemen and journalists the death had attracted. No, the reason for the sudden interest was the gruesome way the body had been displayed.

The dead man had been stripped bare and splayed out on the rocks like a cross with his arms stretched away from his torso. His skin was almost completely covered in symbols and writing no one could make sense of, though one expert, when consulted by the mystified and slightly desperate police, vaguely suggested it was possibly a rare pre-Arthurian dialect.

The more macabre specifics had so far been kept out of the press.

One was that the writings on the body had been done in blood, the corpse’s own, and another was that it came from where the head had been crudely severed from the rest of the flesh and spiked close by on a piece of driftwood.

Even hypnotised, the young sergeant who had told you, had looked slightly green when he related the information. You had padded him sympathetically on the shoulder before moving on. He wouldn’t remember revealing the details to you, but the information itself was seared into his mind forever.

His, along with the rest of the islanders’, you mused as you continued from the harbour and on into the village.

The locals called it “town”, but in truth it wasn’t really big enough to warrant that title.

It had one store that sold a little bit of everything depending on the weather, a church, a pub, a repair shop (it wasn’t specified what exactly you could get repaired there) and a public building, functioning as city hall, police station, post office, library and school in one. All the police reinforcements from Aberdeen had been moved into the city hall, seeing as the only two policemen permanently stationed on the island had never handled a murder case before. Meanwhile, the reporters and TV crews covering the case were taking up the pub’s five tiny bedrooms, both B&Bs and every single rental cottage Raven’s Rock could boast (nine in total if you counted the back room in the garage of the repair shop). Because you had left for the airport in a hurry and jumped onto the first plane to Norway, you hadn’t had time to secure a place to sleep on the island. You had pondered it on the ferry, but when it came down to it, you didn’t want to stick around longer than a day. If you worked fast, you could probably be on your way back to the mainland in the morning and wouldn’t need to worry about finding a bed. You had spotted a bench down by the harbour; it would have to do.

Besides, you didn’t have any time to waste as long as the murder case was unsolved. You could still hear Madame Xanadu’s words in your head like some annoying ominous echo.

A restless darkness will carry its evil across the water to be unleashed upon the twice-named rocks. The steadfast land will drink the blood of the laughing magician.

Fate was a menace when you had to deal with it like this, grounded and fumbling through the world with nothing but scraps to guide you. Not like in the old days when you had all of Heaven at your disposal… Being a proper angel had really had its advantages. You scoffed and walked faster. At least this prophecy had been pretty straightforward, which was far from what you were usually given to work with, you thought sourly, folding your arms around yourself against the wind.

A malevolent spirit that should have passed on, but hadn’t was easy enough to figure out; it happened all the time and you could deal with that. The location of the spirit had also been a walk in the park with so many hints to go on.

What really worried you was the second part of Madame Xanadu’s little mystic insight.

The steadfast land will drink the blood of the laughing magician.

Blood drinking was never a good omen in prophecies. It hardly ever meant vampires, usually just death. And the laughing magician, well, that one was always the same. The reason Madame Xanadu had called upon you to restore the balance in this place.

John Constantine.

Whenever one of her foresights indicated that the blonde warlock was walking into something he couldn’t handle himself, she sent you after him or, in this case, ahead to clear his path for him. Most times, he didn’t even know you had been there and you preferred it that way.

Like now.

The last you had heard of John was that he was in the States. Sufficiently far away, you thought. Even if someone had alerted him to the murder on Raven’s Rock, it would be at least another day before he could reach the windswept little island and by then you hoped to be long gone. It was best if you two didn’t meet at all.

You chewed on your lip as you thought of him. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see him, it was just… easier if you didn’t. The things you did, the jobs you took were simply too dangerous if your focus wasn’t a hundred per cent on the task in front of you. And with John around, your newly mortal heart had a tendency to make your better judgement evaporate.

You passed a phonebox on the main (and only) street that looked as though it had seen better days and a small tourist information office/part time bakery with its doors and windows shut for the night, before you reached the seemingly only building in town with light and, admittedly subdued, noise streaming out of it: the pub. Apart from the city hall, you reckoned it must be the oldest building around, but also by far the one in best repair. The wooden sign above the heavy green door was, unsurprisingly, in the shape of a very sinister looking gull and it swayed in the wind with an ominous creak that made a shiver run down your spine, as if trying to dissuade you from entering.

Well, it wasn’t very likely that you would get any information elsewhere. With determination in your steps, you walked the last few cobbled steps to the door and went inside.

Your eyes quickly scanned the room, the patrons, the energies... and you froze on the threshold.

On a stool by the bar sat the very man you had hoped to avoid. He had taken off his signature trench coat and his back was towards you, but it didn't matter; you would recognise him blindfolded. He was so thoroughly cloaked and shrouded in magical protections of all sorts that the space he occupied was practically a vacuum. It was damn near impossible to locate him by magic, you knew. If one weren't looking directly at him, like you were now, no sixth sense or intricate spell would reveal his whereabouts. But his was a vacuum you had come to know very well. So well in fact, that by now you could pin him down by his apparent lack of magic, rather than by his well-hidden magical signature, and yet, there he was, sitting only half a room away from you with a drink in one hand and one of his ghastly Silk Cuts resting between the fingers of the other. And you hadn't noticed. You hadn't even done a quick scan to see if there were other magical presences on the island when you arrived. Worse, you hadn't cloaked yourself as thoroughly as you normally would have done and your own signature reached him before you could even think to try and prevent it.

From the way he straightened his back and immediately snuffed out the cigarette in an ashtray as if someone had shouted at him to show some care, you could tell he knew you were there. He shifted ever so slightly as if making room for you and you sighed. There was no getting out of this one.

Getting rid of your raincoat, you went over and crawled onto the empty stool next to him.

You were met with that wicked smirk of his that made your heart stutter and stumble in your chest.

"Now, there's a pleasant surprise to brighten this hellhole," he greeted, raising his glass at you. "Must confess, I never guessed I'd be running into you on this godforsaken rock, luv."

"Hello John." You did with a nod, trying to keep your voice even. "Can't say I expected this to be your sort of retreat either."

The warm light in the pub shone in John Constantine's dark eyes and his smirk grew into a grin.

"It's good to see you, luv. I've missed that disapproving pout o' yours. The fact that I never know when I'll see it again makes it so much sweeter."

You rolled your eyes at him, but didn't attempt to hide your burning cheeks. The bastard couldn’t possibly know exactly how brightly your torch for him was burning, but he always acted accordingly.

"So, what are you doing here then? Odd place for playing tourist, innit?"

He leaned on the counter, his hand moving closer to where yours was resting and there was that little, dark gleam of hope in his eyes that always appeared when he looked at you. As if there was somehow some other reasonable purpose you could have to be in a place like this, at a time like this.

You shrugged, biting down a smile.

"I find the climate rather agreeable."

John threw his head back and laughed at that. Even the barkeep, who had overheard your words, snorted. You caught his gaze before he turned back around and ordered a sparkling water.

"Right. And I just happened by to see the sights, eh?"

"Well, what do you think of them then?"

You raised an eyebrow at him and took a sip of the fizzy water the barkeep placed in front of you. John grinned and gave you an obvious once-over. Your dirty boots and high-neck jumper didn't seem to put him off.

"Much improved since this morning. At this rate, I can't wait to see how they'll look in the night."

"Oh, I ought to slap that smirk off your smug face, wizard," you sighed, feeling how your stomach was practically fluttering at his suggestive tone.

"Is that a promise, luv?"

"You're insufferable."

"Aye, that I am, luv, but you keep coming back for more. Must be doing something right, eh?"

You bit your lip and looked down; he suddenly felt too close. And the general level of noise inside the pub from people chattering wasn't as high as you had hoped. It would be easy for others to overhear anything you said. Given the island-wide unrest over the murder, you were sure ears were perked more than usual and you didn't want to draw any attention to yourself, or John. You would have to gather more information some other way.

"I missed you, too," you confessed, staring at the bottles lining the wall behind the bar as if they were all of a sudden exceedingly interesting. "But I... I thought you were helping out a certain green vigilante overseas these days."

John visibly tensed up.

"Who told you that?"

You shrugged, still not looking directly at him. The truth was that he couldn't really hide from you, not even in your current state. If he found out though, you didn't doubt for a second that his heated flirting would be switched for a literal knife in the back before you could even think the word "portal". Well, perhaps not literal, but you had no doubt the outcome would be fatal for you anyway.

"Who told you to come here?," you countered, raising an eyebrow and John scoffed.

"If you must know, I got a call from an old friend. Looks like she's been scrying on her own and this little spit of land kept drawing all her energy. Didn't seem like something I could ignore."

"You should've," you mumbled, taking a large slurp of your water and doing your best to ignore the persistent little spark of envy starting to gnaw away at you at his choice of words. What old friend? It had to be someone he had slept with, it always was with him. Why couldn't you just not care? "Take my advice, John, leave. Go home and lay low. I'll handle this island."

"Is that concern for old Johnny I hear, luv?," he asked with mock-surprise.

"Maybe. Don't let it get to your head, your ego won't be able to fit into that coat of yours."

He chuckled, but the tension was still there and you didn't know how to break it without giving him the truth, or at least something close.

"Your turn, pretty bird. I don't believe in coincidences like this, so tell me. How'd you know to come here?"

Lying to John Constantine was out of the question. As was being honest with him.

You chewed on your lip a bit, weighing your options. It wasn't like him to accept any kind of help unless he was downright desperate and that was still a long way off. If you challenged him though, he was most likely to flee, that much you knew. But you didn't want to get on his bad side unless you had absolutely no other choice.

"Leave," you repeated. "This one's out of your league, John. Let me take care of it, please."

The way your eyes were pleading with him made him frown and you realised you might have shown too much of your hand.

"I'm not going anywhere, luv." His hand was on top of yours on the bar before you could move it. To anyone looking, it seemed like an affectionate gesture, but he was effectively pinning you in place. "Not until you give me a bloody good reason not to give you the same treatment as whatever beast it is we're dealing with on this island."

"Let go of me."

Your voice wasn't very loud, but you knew he could hear you. He answered by pressing down harder on your hand and you winced.

"Why is it so hard for you to believe I just want to keep you safe?," you all but hissed at him, emptying your drink with a sour expression.

"Oh, I trust you just about as far as I can throw you, luv. Every time I see your pretty little face it means there's trouble brewing just around the corner."

"I saved your life in Tennessee. And in Derry," you tried, but his hold didn't loosen. If anything, John was now gripping your hand so hard no blood could possibly flow to your fingers. "I am trying to do your stubborn Scouse arse a bloody favour, why can't you just for once in your damn life listen to me?"

"Tell me your name then and maybe I will."

Fuck. Somehow it always came down to that.

"Xanadu," you snapped through gritted teeth, eyeing John with what you hoped was an appropriate amount of ire. "Xanadu contacted me and told me about this place. Happy? Obviously, she wasn't going to tell you now, was she?"

John withdrew his hand from you as though you'd burned him. It felt about as pleasant as a punch to the teeth, but you tried not to let it show on your face.

"I suppose you're right...," he admitted. "What did she tell you then? Her usual cryptic nonsense I reckon?"

"For someone in your line of work, you're not at all keen on prophecy reading, are you?," you sighed, forcing a bit of humour into your words.

There was no love lost between John Constantine and Madame Xanadu, that much had been clear to you from the beginning. But even though she couldn't stand the sight of him, she believed John was instrumental in keeping the world safe and had begrudgingly agreed to help you protect him when she could.

"Not really my style. I prefer things more tangible, to the point. Besides, I don't need to worry about divination when I have you."

"You rarely do."

"Not by my choice, luv."

Your eyes flickered back to the empty glass in front of you and you had to take a very slow breath to try and steady yourself. His effect on you was too strong for you to be safe around him. Your job required a clear head - for both your sakes.

"A restless darkness will carry its evil across the water to be unleashed upon the twice-named rocks," you recited, steeling your voice as you averted his unspoken question the way you always did. "It wasn't that cryptic at all for once."

He didn't need to hear the other part. You could feel his eyes roaming your face, trying to figure you out, looking for something without fully knowing what. It was at times like these you missed your wings. Keeping secrets in a human body full of emotions and urges and reactions beyond your immediate control was frustrating at best. It was another reason you were better off keeping your distance.

After a while of searching your features, John sighed and gave up.

"Alright. So it's probably some kind of malevolent spirit then, wreaking havoc. Don't see why you're so worried luv, sounds like any other Tuesday to me."

The barkeep was close enough for you to signal for a refill to you both. He grunted something unintelligible, obviously not too keen on all the Brits suddenly hanging out in his pub. You made sure to send him a grateful smile as he filled your glasses, yours with sparkling water, John's with whisky.

"My weeks are all Mondays," you said and raised the glass to your lips; just as you had hoped, John did the same. "Did you get here in time to see the body?"

"Only after they moved it. Wasn't pretty..." He took another swig while staring at the wall with a distant glaze clouding his eyes that told you he wasn't seeing the wall at all. "Pathologist told me the man had been alive when 'is head was severed. The, er... the inscriptions..." John looked just as sickly green as the constable had done and very gently you put your hand on his shoulder. A small gesture of reassurance. "I'm tired," he whispered suddenly. He turned his head to look at you and your heart ached when you realised how glassy his eyes had become. "I am just so bloody tired. Demons, vampires, curses, spirits, the lot. No matter where I go, there're always more and people die, it never stops. Innocent people, good people... I just want a fucking break, but if I don't stop the darkness from spreading, who will?"

His voice was thin and on the verge of breaking entirely. You wanted nothing more than to lean forwards on the stool and put your arms around him, somehow make him know he wasn't alone, but the risk was too great. You were in too deep already.

"Sometimes I wonder whether it's all worth it..."

"Of course it's worth it, John," you said quietly, clenching his shoulder. "We do what we have to so they...," you gestured discreetly towards the patrons, ”they can go on living their lives and not... not know and see the things we do..."

"I know, luv, I know. I just... I want..." The gloom that was always lurking just below the surface of his existence was spilling into his eyes. He was weary to the bone, deep into his very soul. For a moment, you thought he was going to let the tears burst. "I risk my life every day and it's never bloody enough, is it? A man got his head carved off by some wretched spirit who should have been resting in peace. Fuckin’ Hell..."

He rubbed his eyes hard and you decided then what to do. You didn't like it one bit, but seeing John this worn down, well, you liked that even less. It meant you had been sleeping on the job.

As subtly as you could, you put your hand in your pocket and found the tiny zip-bag with a pinch of purple powder in it. It wasn't something you used often and it had never been meant for John, but you couldn't in good conscience let him go after a rogue spirit in his current state. While he emptied his glass again, you drizzled the powder into your hand and braced yourself.

"John, look at me. It's going to be alright. You are John Constantine and without you this world would have ended twelve times in the last decade, maybe more. And right now you are going to save this island, because that is what you do. So get off your sulking arse and stop feeling sorry for yourself. We have a job here. You're going to find that spirit and put it out of its misery before it hurts someone else, got it?"

He huffed, but even so raised his head and managed a small grateful smile at the reprimand.

"Yes. You're right. Thank you, luv. You always know what to say..." His eyes darted to your lips and for half a heartbeat, you did nothing, just sat there and waited for him to lean in the rest of the way and kiss you. It was far from the first time it had happened, but you still felt at war with yourself. There wasn't a single atom left in you anymore that didn't crave his affection. He was drunk and emotional and between the way he looked at you and the way there suddenly seemed to be less and less space separating your bodies, there was no doubt about his intention. It would be so easy just to finally give in and let it happen.

"Don't thank me."

Before he could lean back or ask you what you meant, you blew the purple powder straight into his face.

His eyes widened in shock, but his body immediately began to turn relaxed and pliant.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me...," he mumbled, but his gaze was already unfocused.

"I'm so sorry, John," you whispered, gently guiding his torso onto the bar.

He tried to say something more, but his words were slurred and within a few seconds, he was gone.

You had gotten the sleeping powder from a dealer in New Orleans, who had told you the effects would last at least four hours. They always oversold their stuff, but hopefully John would be out long enough for you to deal with the entire affair if you hurried up and took a few shortcuts. It was a messy solution, but then again, you hadn't planned on him being here. Desperate times and all that.

"He gonna be lying there all night?," the barkeep grumbled with a raised eyebrow at John when you hopped down from your stool. You put on the best smile you could manage under the circumstances and slid 50 quid across the counter.

"He'll come ‘round soon enough. If not, I'll be back for him in a few."

You practically fled the pub before he could ask you any more questions.

The road outside was deserted and you hoped no one was watching as you marched to the lonely phone box you had spotted earlier. It didn't look like anyone had used it in several years, but when you picked up the receiver the dial tone was there alright.

You took out a stained, battered playing card from the depths of one of your pockets (the seven of diamonds) and slid it into the credit card slot. You didn't own a mobile phone and neither did most of your acquaintances, but still you had memorised the few numbers you occasionally needed.

"Hey Chas, it's me," you said when the answering machine finally picked up. "I'm at the island with John and I haven't got much time. I don’t want to get John involved in this so I need to work fast. There's no need to worry, really, I've got it under control, but... just in case something unforeseen happens, uhm... if I don't call back in let's say ten hours, will you let John know where to find my body? He can't track me in his usual ways, so he'll need your help."

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. What you were about to do was risky, maybe even reckless.

"I'm going to the beach where they found the dead man and work my way from there. If... if I don't succeed..." It was as if your throat was suddenly full of gravel. "Chas, please, just make sure John isn't the one to take on that spirit. He is not ready for that." Too late, you held the receiver away from your face while you tried to suppress a sniffle. So much for convincing Chas Chandler that you had things under control. Forcing your voice to even out, you continued. "I have to go. Just help him if I can’t, okay? And don’t worry too much. I’ll probably see you in a couple of days.”

Before you could say anything even more stupid, you hung up and slid your helpful seven of diamonds back into your coat. Handy little thing to have on you.

You left the phone box in the last light of day and made your way down to the beach. It took you twenty minutes to reach the cove and less than one to sneak under the police tape unseen. There were just two constables standing guard at the scene and they only looked when you wanted them to. For an active crime scene, the site was unusually quiet, but you attributed your luck to the dusk that made searching for clues almost impossible.

Of course, that went for you as well, you thought sourly as you carefully stepped around the little plastic numbers the police forensics had put up all over the little stretch of beach. You could make out the bloody piece of driftwood and the large dark spatter running down the stones where the corpse had lain, but nothing smaller than those. Even if the place was rather secluded, you didn’t dare light a torch with the uniforms standing idly guard so close by.

Sighing, you closed your eyes and concentrated.

The place was tingling with dark energy and it became clearer the more you felt around, using your own magic.

A spirit, just like you had anticipated. A lost soul preying on the living for… revenge? Yes, the bloody traces sang with the mad desire for vengeance that so often kept the dead from their rest.

Bloodshed, the thirst temporarily quenched. Then what?

The movements of the spirit became blurry after that no matter how hard you tried to focus. The leftover energy had been disturbed and mixed with the signatures of all the people who had been to the crime scene since the discovery of the body and it was impossible to make out without assistance, even for someone as experienced as you.

If you couldn’t locate the soul, you couldn’t send it packing.

Luring it via séance required more people and it was too risky for everyone involved anyway. Without its name, summoning it was out of the question as well.

You groaned when you realised what you had to do.

Making sure for the last time you couldn’t be seen from the line of police tape above you, you took off your backpack and dark raincoat and shoved both of them under the nearest rock. Next, you loosened your boots and sat them next to the backpack, then your thick scarf and woollen jumper. With short, angry movements, you rolled your trousers down and folded them hastily, ripped off your socks and wriggled out of your top.

“You’re so bloody lucky I love you, John,” you mumbled through clenched teeth that were starting to rattle in your skull. With fingers already numb from the cold, you unclasped your bra and slid down your underwear before you could change your mind, and with a deep breath, you stepped into the waves.

Even before you went into the sea, your body had been covered in goosebumps from the chilly October air, but the surfs rising around your legs now made you heave for breath with every step forward. The rocks under your feet were dull compared to the sharpness of the water. When it reached you mid-thigh you had to stop and wait for the pain to subside enough so that you could get further out. You were too close to the beach and the water was still too shallow for your purpose.

A tangle of seaweed drifted past your ankle, or at least you hoped it was just seaweed. It was hard to tell for sure in the dark.

Your submerged muscles were screaming as you forced yourself out until the water reached your ribs. If only that wretched spirit hadn’t chosen the middle of the bleeding autumn to throw its tantrum.

“Sacred Nanuet, your humble servant speaks to you,” you intoned through gritted teeth and held out your hands on either side of you so the gentle waves touched the palms of your hands. “She beseeches you; allow her the honour of sharing in your wisdom. Blessed goddess, lend her your sight and expand her understanding, your humble servant begs of you, great Nanuet…”

The ancient language you muttered your request in felt strange on your tongue as always, but your flattery worked. You could feel the magic start to sing under your hands and so you took a deep breath and lowered yourself completely into the sea.

The stranglehold of the freezing water somehow got pushed into the background of your conscience and within a beat of your heart your mind was alight with images. Through the water, you could see most of the world, but you focused on Raven’s Rock and the little beach behind you. The water had seen it all. From the depths of the ocean, it rolled onto the sand and sneaked its way under the island’s rocks, seeped into the soil and was drunk by the hungry roots of The Green, stretching into the light above ground…

It wasn’t long before you managed to zero in on the exact event you needed. The Sight of Nanuet allowed your mind to access the memory of the watery abyss, which included as good as all water on Earth and not a lot of people mastered navigating it anymore. You had been forced to use a lot of wordly magic since you lost your wings and so had learned to find what you needed relatively easy.

Through the Sight, you saw the murder of the man on the beach, how the spirit severed his head and lapped at the blood before turning away from the scene. It lost some of its shape then, but through the dewy grass above the cove and the moist air, you managed to follow it away from the beach and across the land.

The spirit held its physical form, or at least the overall contours of it, and it made it easier to trail. From what you could tell, it definitely had been human when it had been alive. Poor thing. If only it hadn’t gone and murdered someone, maybe you could have sent it to rest.

But would you even be there if it hadn’t?

When the spirit finally settled, you had followed it to an old, abandoned stone house with no windows and a door rotting away on the hinges. The place must have been a farm. There were several small outhouses scattered around the main building and indents in the earth marking former animal pens. The roof had been a thatched one, but now it was more moss than straw and what still remained beneath the heavy green patches had long since turned mouldy and dark. A few shards of glass jutted from some of the window frames like crude, predatory teeth waiting to chew up whoever was unfortunate or foolish enough to get close.

You went after the spirit through the remnants of the front door.

A voice in the back of your head told you it was enough, you should get out of the house and the Sight and the water. You had what you needed for now.

But the way the spirit slumped through the dark rooms and up a ramshackle staircase, as if it had done it a hundred times before, as if it belonged there in that house, intrigued you. It didn't match your original theory, the reason you didn't want John involved.

Curiosity piqued, you followed the lonely ghost up the stairs, where it turned left and went into a room with what had been two alcoves in the wall but were now mostly caved in. The room didn't have any windows and it was hard to make out the details, but the flimsy shape of the spirit trudged towards one of the beds and with motions as if the bedding had still been intact, it lay down and pulled the memory of a blanket over itself.

You slowly got closer, unsure of what to do. The visible shape of the ghost was gone now that it was no longer in motion and the general gloom of the empty house made it near impossible for you to see anything clearly. But the person the ghost had been once seemed so at home here. You couldn't feel any hostility from it at all, not even a trace. Only peace, comfort. Quiet.

This had been its home once when it had lived, you were almost certain of it.

But the desolate little stone house, out of the way even for the island's standard, must have stood abandoned for several decades, maybe even a century or two. If the ghost had lived here it was much older than you had initially thought.

Which meant you might have knocked John out for nothing.

Fuck.

You had to find out more and fast, but it was unlikely the memory of the house before your closed eyes would yield anything further. Even if it was dark and late in the evening, you would have to go there physically. The chances of finding something would be higher, and besides, you couldn't stay in the water forever. You were almost human, after all.

The thought had barely crossed your mind before the reflex to breathe kicked in and you could feel the freezing seawater rush down your throat. One inhale was all it took for your lungs to feel heavy as a pair of burning bricks. A fleeting realisation, that drowning was one of the most unpleasant sensations you’d had the misfortune of experiencing since losing your wings, faintly made it to the front of your perception before the back of your head hit the sand on the ocean floor. Then the only thing you could focus on was the pressure of the water and the way your body grew ever more numb…

The room still flickered before your eyes, slowly losing definition as you lost consciousness. Strange, you mused with your last bit of coherence, that an angel from Heaven should die looking up at it from so far below, in the cold embrace of the sea. It wasn't even painful anymore, the water, but oddly comforting, lulling you to rest, holding you tight.

The only regret you had was leaving John…

The last thing you saw before your eyes fell shut was his face above yours and a faint smile moved your lips. How very considerate of your mind to conjure up his image as the last thing you would ever see.

You could feel his arms around you even, fingers digging into your skin, his body pressed down against your own…

“Bloody fucking Hell, let her go!” The words didn’t make sense to you and they sounded so awfully far away. “She isn’t yours, you stupid paegan relic, let go of her! Let go!”

But you were, you were letting go, there was nothing more you could do.

“Christ, luv, which heathen tosspot did you enlist to drown you?! Yam, Ægir? Tiamat? Nanuet? Nanuet, isn’t it?” At the invocation of her name, you could feel the ancient goddess slacken her hold on you, as if in surprise, and you vaguely realised that the embrace you felt didn’t belong to her or the water, but to John. “Oh, you always were a fickle tart. Let go of this servant or so help me God, I, John Constantine, will destroy you and every last shrine still bearing your blasted name! Let her go!”

With a cry you weren’t sure was even coming from you, your face broke the surface of the waves. You violently coughed up seawater and if it weren’t for John’s arms, you would have fallen right back down into the deep. Your head was spinning. The numbness gave way to a cold so freezing you might as well have been rolling in needles. Everything hurt. Your legs felt unsteady, no, your entire body felt as if someone had replaced your bones with straw and your muscles with jelly.

“J-John…,” you coughed, but he shushed you, keeping you close to him in the water.

“I know, luv, it’s a bloody miracle you aren’t dead, you’re welcome for that. Now let’s get you out of the water, yeah?”

He was really there, drenched in the North Sea in the middle of October at what might as well have been the edge of the Earth, just to save you from drowning. His white shirt and black trousers clung to his frame like film and from what you could make out in the light from the moon, he was shuddering from the cold, too. You had never wanted to kiss him so badly before.

“I c-can’t m-m-move,” you got out through teeth rattling painfully in your skull, suddenly all too aware of your proximity and your own state of undress. As much as you wanted to cling to him for warmth, for closeness, the logical part of your muddled brain was screaming at you to keep your distance. That was what you did, wasn’t it?

“‘Course you can’t. How long were you under for, anyway? Completely off your rocker summoning a paegan goddess alone at night in the middle of the bloody ocean! What were you thinking?”

“I-I saw the g-ghost,” you weakly tried stammering through your clattering teeth. “Saw h-how it killed-ungh!”

You let out a groan as John swiftly picked you up and started carrying you towards shore. Your severely tested heart felt as though it might give out entirely. Never had you been reckless enough to let him touch you like this before, to let him hold you, as if you were a lover who would readily indulge in such intimacy. If it weren’t for the fact that you were very likely about to freeze to death, your cheeks would have been on fire. Every inch of your skin would have been scorching.

As it were, you were too cold and too exhausted for your body to produce that kind of heat. Surrendering to the fatigue in your bones, you allowed your head to rest against him and closed your eyes. He could carry you to shore or to Hell on his hands. You weren’t going to argue. For the first time in all your human life, you completely let your guard down.

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dickspeightjrs · 4 years ago

Text

Do It For A Dollar (au / 1.5k words / college student!cas / actor!dean)

Prompt 18 from my ‘30 Destiel Prompts’ for @breathingdestiel

ao3 link

The warm heat of the New York summer clings to Castiel as he walks along to his favourite coffee shop. (It’s his favourite for one simple reason - it’s cheap and he’s a broke college student.)

Despite the air conditioning of the shop welcoming him in when he arrives, Castiel decides to take a seat under the awning outside. As a student, struggling to pay for college, and all the other costs that come with simply being alive, Castiel has to find entertainment in the smaller things in life. One such entertainment is buying a coffee and sitting, just watching people go by.

It’s a beautiful day outside so there’s plenty of people for Castiel to flit his eyes over as they walk past, going about their days. He’ll likely never see them again and that thought alone fascinates him immensely. The idea that your life can seem so huge and overwhelming and yet there’s seven billion of them walking around the planet at this moment. Seven billion perspectives.

Castiel’s eyes follow a bobbing balloon, clutched in the hand of a small child babbling to his mother. As the balloon disappears out of eye shot, Castiel’s focus is snapped to what looks like a couple of trailers pulling up and some guys with cameras jumping out. It looks as though they’re filming something across the street.

That was something Castiel had found it odd getting used to about living in New York. There was always some movie or show being filmed around the city. If he didn’t see it himself, he always heard about it. He’s at college to study film after all.

He squints against the beating sun, to try to get a better look. People watching is sure to get a whole lot better if the people he is watching are celebrities.

A couple of minutes pass and Castiel is starting to lose hope that he’s actually going to see anything before he leaves. He’s just about to get up from his seat when he chances a glance across the street again.

It seems something must be starting as there’s a rather hyper looking man holding a microphone and talking into a camera. The man must be introducing someone as he suddenly holds out an arm to bring someone into shot.

Oh god, it’s Dean Winchester! That man is a legend in film and he’s only thirty. Castiel had been hoping that they’d study some Dean’s movies and performances in his classes. There is so emotion Dean can’t portray with intense accuracy and believability. His latest movie was a heart-wrenching story in which he played a monster hunter who fell in love with his angel best friend, only for them to be ripped away from each other in a scene that left Castiel breathless.

The man with the microphone is now shouting things at people on the street, while Dean seems to just be standing next to him. Castiel can’t quite make out what the man is saying but members of the public seem to be bewildered and are walking away quickly from the mad man - Castiel can’t say he blames them.

Both men suddenly pick up the pace, jogging down the street until they stop abruptly and a microphone gets put in another strangers’ face. This person looks confused until they do a double-take and spot Dean. Finally, Castiel thinks, everyone should know who Dean is. The stranger says something that makes Dean throw his head back with a belt of laughter.

Gosh, that man is truly beautiful. Castiel doesn’t imagine they’ll come over to his side of the street and he is definitely much too nervous to pretend to casually cross the street as if he had no idea what is happening there. Instead, he decides that, if Dean is still around after they finish filming whatever this is, he’ll pluck up the courage to go over and say hi. (To brag about it in class tomorrow, if nothing else.)

“Would you kiss Dean Winchester for a dollar?!!?” Castiel hears the hyper man’s voice shout to the next unsuspecting member of the public. He snorts to himself. There’s no doubt, he would do a lot more with Dean for a lot less than a dollar, if given the chance.

Whatever game the two men seem to be playing carries on for a while longer. Castiel sits and watches them film for a while, plans to leave forgotten in favour of watching Dean.

Dean looks like a nice person. When the microphone man shouts at people and even pushes some away, Dean always makes sure to catch them before they leave and give them a hug or handshake. And Castiel can’t help it every time Dean laughs, he lets out a little laugh too, though he covers his mouth so the people enjoying their coffee around him don’t think he’s strange.

Eventually, it looks like filming is winding down. The camera guy drops his camera from his shoulder and walks off back to one of the trailers. Now the spotlight is off him, the mad man’s energy has left him and he’s just taking in quiet tones with Dean. They must be saying goodbye because Dean claps a hand on the guy’s shoulder and shakes his hand before heading towards the trailers too.

Castiel drinks the final drops of his coffee and Dean doesn’t return. Figuring he’s missed his chance to say hi to Dean (not that he’d have worked up the courage anyway), Castiel picks up his things and throws his coffee cup in the trash. At least, he got to see one of his favourite actors in the flesh, not many people can say that. Plus, he couldn’t stay for longer, he’d already spent too much on coffee to keep his seat outside, which wasn’t good for his student budget.

Compared to the walk to the coffee shop earlier that day, the weather is now cooler under the setting sun and Castiel relishes the reprieve from the heat. His mind begins to wander to other things, mostly his new short film he’s got to work on for school.

Just as he’s about to cross at the end of the street, he hears someone shout from behind him.

“Wait!”

Castiel frowns and turns to quickly look over his shoulder, though he’s not actually expecting the person to be shouting to him.

Only, when his eyes fall onto the source of the voice, they immediately go wide in shock.

Dean Winchester is standing in front of him, green eyes filled with… nerves?

“Uh,” Dean says, as if he wasn’t expecting Castiel to actually turn around, “I noticed you watching us film from across the street. And I guess I just wanted to say that you look cute when you’re laughing. You shouldn’t hide it.”

When Castiel’s brain finally decides to reboot itself, he replies. “I was only trying to hide it because I didn’t want to look like an idiot.”

“I’m sure you could never do that, man.” Dean says, a small smile creeping at the corner of his mouth.

Castiel blushes and looks down at the pavement.

A comfortable, happy silence falls on them.

But then, Castiel frowns when he sees Dean reach into his back pocket. He tilts his head in confusion. The confusion doesn’t clear when Dean pulls out a dollar.

Castiel gives Dean a questioning look.

Dean clears his throat and holds out the dollar to Castiel. “Would you kiss Dean Winchester for a dollar?”

Castiel makes an unattractive snort of laughter at Dean’s gesture. He places his hand over Dean’s and gently pushes it away.

“I don’t need a dollar to want to kiss you, Dean.” He whispers, finding courage from the kind eyes Dean is showing him. “Plus, it’s a little crowded on this street, and people are starting to watch.” He flicks his eyes around them where some people have started taking their phones out to film Dean Winchester talking to this random guy on the street.

Dean deflates slightly under the attention.

“But,” Castiel says and notices Dean brighten up again, “if you wanted to find somewhere more private and, perhaps, put that dollar towards dinner, maybe we could talk a little more about that kiss.”

Dean’s smile could rival the beaming summer sun.

* * *

Two years later, Billy Eichner (turns out shouty microphone guy had a name, who knew?) presents them with a gift at their wedding.

Unbeknownst to them until that moment, some of the crew had noticed Dean run after Castiel on the day they met and they’d filmed what they could from afar.

All their guests chuckle when they see Dean try to offer Castiel a dollar to kiss him. Dean groans and hides his face in Castiel’s neck. Castiel runs a comforting hand down Dean’s back.

“In your defence, it was incredibly adorable.” Castiel says.

“Ugh”, Dean groans, “that doesn’t help, Cas.” He lifts his head to look at Castiel in the eyes, pouting like a sulking child.

Castiel smiles at his grumpy husband, and places a soothing kiss to his lips.

Yes. He definitely didn’t need a dollar to do that for the rest of his life.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed it Ivana! Sorry it took so long, I had a whole other idea before this but scrapped it because I couldn’t make it work lmao

If you’re not familiar with ‘Billy On The Street’ go look it up on YouTube. It’s hilarious.

TAGS: @eccentriccas @starrynightdeancas @credentiast @imbiowaresbitch @starclaire @cockleslovesdestiel @bend-me-shape-me @destielfactory @dea-stiel @wendeano @wingsandimpalas @aggressivedean @flowersforcas @chill-legilimens @pancakesofthelord @saltnhalo @caslikescoffeeandfreckles @assbuttboyfriends @jhoomwrites @breathingdestiel @simplymisha @thekingslover @aelysianmuse @2musiclover2 @cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you @50shadesofsubtext @destielle

(let me know if you’d like to be added/removed from the tag list, we don’t have to be mutuals!)

#destiel #destiel fic #destielfanficnet #dean winchester #castiel #myfic #fluff #au #1k #collegeau #actor!dean #student!cas #prompt fill #quite happy with this one #might do a time stamp or two for this one #just like the little universe i've created #also notice the deancas s15 reference #because i'm in full clown mode

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the-middle-grounds · 4 years ago

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So now that I have energy and have rewritten this about 5 times! Blind (and colorblind) Batfam!

*I tried to be as sensitive about how I wrote this since I’m not 100% familiar with the blind community (I know basic etiquette) so if I did something bad or inappropriate, send me an ask with where and what can be fixed!

BRUCE

Bruce’s occipital lobe was severely damaged during the murder of his parents, and he was blinded as a result.

He got Ace, a service dog, to help him with the trauma, as well as helping him get around whenever he wasn’t in the mood to be with Alfred. The two of them are close.

Bruce eventually started hearing about echolocation in humans, and started to learn about that and even using it. He’s so proficient in it, he doesn’t even really need Ace anymore, but there’s not a chance in hell he’s getting rid of his best bud.

People know Bruce Wayne is blind, and they try to use it to their advantage. Bruce is smarter than that, and is very much aware of how shallow people are.

Most people don’t know that Batman is blind, however. Catwoman is one of the notable people who know, and whenever she’s being playful, she likes to sneak up on him and surprise him.

The Justice League also know, but don’t treat him any differently because why would they? Dr. Mid-Nite exists for one.

DICK

Dick lost his vision when Hayley’s Circus was set on fire. While escaping, he was hit by debris and blinded. By the time he’s a young adult, the scarring is pretty much gone.

In an effort to help out Dick, Bruce helped developed a device that could pinpoint noises. Dick then proceeded to thank Bruce by using it to get into trouble and play hide-and-seek.

Bruce eventually stopped using Dick as a guinea pig, and offered up the tech to the public. Dick still kept his, however; even when he left to join the Teen Titans.

Since Dick likes to drop several dozen feet off buildings, Bruce actually shed a few tears when Tim gave him more advanced echolocation tech. Dick will never admit how many times he miscalculated because of rain.

Bruce has seen his hospital bills; he knows.

JASON

Jason was born blind, and since he was a street kid with not so great parents, had to learn to get around by himself. He was pretty good at it too, and was stealing the Batmobile’s tires when Batman arrived. Jason tried to beat him up, and he made a real good effort too.

Jason got used to using the tech after a while, though he prefers only using it for fighting.

When he came back to life, he ended up becoming better at hand-to-hand without the use of technology. But he does use it for accuracy whenever he aims.

People have lied to Jason and told him he’s put his helmet on the wrong way around. These same people have gotten said helmet pelted in the direction of their face.

TIM

Tim and Cassandra both have a degenerative eye disease. When Tim found out Batman’s identity, he insisted that Bruce take him on because they weren’t too close from different.

Tim later ended up improving on Bruce’s tech, and even customized some for the others.

Tim eventually went completely blind, but he’s adjusted just fine.

His favorite thing to do is get carried by Kon for a flight. That and doing a Dick Grayson and gliding off buildings.

Tim is very much still tech savvy, working off muscle memory and occasional assistance whenever he needs it. Admittedly, it’s pretty rarely. But you will never see him ask Barb or Steph for anything involving colors.

BATGIRLS

Barbara has monochrome colorblindness, and Bruce didn’t realize it until he realized she kept describing colors by how dark they were. This led to a bunch of reminiscing about colors, and Dick even joined in to describe colors to her.

Whenever Bruce pisses her off, Barbara realigns things ever so slightly. Bruce could care less, but Dick will trip over something and play it off like it was a stunt.

After her incident with Joker, Barbara took to the moniker of Oracle, and her colorblindness was hardly a hold back for her.

Cassandra did manage to retain some of her eyesight. As it stands, she can see somewhat, but it’s all pretty blurry. She wears glasses most of the time, but prefers fighting with the tech Tim designed.

Because they can’t use sign language with Cass, she had a rough time learning to fit in. Eventually, they learned to communicate through morse code and occasional fingerspelling.

Even though Cass learned to speak, she still prefers morse code with her friends and family.

No one (except Barbara) actually realized what form of blindness Steph had until she asked Barbara if waffles were pink. It turned out she had Tritanopia.

Steph and Barbara tried out colorblindness glasses once and Barbara lost her shit.

“I THOUGHT THIS WAS PURPLE!” “I don’t know what to tell you except that that’s 110% dark blue.”

Cass has to tell the other two which colors they’re looking at whenever they hang out. Specifically when they start debating colors.

DUKE

Duke, like Jason, was also born blind. He’s also the only one who uses a cane for when he walks.

Unlike the others, however, Duke doesn’t need to use any external devices to see; his powers work well with sound and allow him to move around just fine. (I know his powers focus on light, which would require him to see, but I changed it slightly for this AU.)

Rather than ‘seeing’ in color/definition, Duke perceives shapes and figures in something like a bunch of different parts of sound altogether.

Duke has the ability to ‘steal the light’ out of people’s eyes, and temporarily blind them so they’re on the same playing field.

People typically know when Duke is coming because of the sound of his cane moving around. But he once scared Bruce because he didn’t use it and Bruce didn’t hear him coming.

Duke is still a great writer, though he obviously writes in braille. His teachers love him.

Some people don’t even realize Duke is blind unless they watch his eyes; they’re unfocused and occasionally ‘wander’.

DAMIAN

Damian lost his sight as a young child. Talia was regretful, and put a lot of attention on Damian to help him. Damian disliked the babying behavior, and felt as though Ra’s was disappointed in him.

Talia sent Damian to Bruce because she knew about how he had learned to adjust to his disability.

Damian was LIVID. He hated everything, he would throw fits, and he hated every- oh hey is that a dog.

Damian got Titus, and over time, began to settle into the family.

Damian initially refused the echolocation tech, but took it because it was helpful for fighting. Over time, he learned how to work with and without it.

Damian once offhandedly admitted to Jon that he couldn’t remember colors, and Jon sat with him for over an hour describing colors.

Eventually, Damian started getting into abstract forms of art and presented them to everyone. Since he couldn’t see what he drew, he took to 3D pieces for his family and friends. No one even cares what they look like, they all love everything he makes.

Jason is jealous that Damian got a dog but he didn’t.

MISC

They keep playing hide-and-seek and Bruce is tired.

Except for Barbara and Steph, everyone is very sensitive to sound, and it is most definitely their biggest weakness. Meanwhile, Barb and Steph keep getting blinded by flash bangs and other bright things.

Damian keeps sneaking animals into the house because he knows they won’t see it. What he keeps forgetting is that roosters scream in the morning, and they can hear that.

In-family fighting is an absolutely insane event. Things have been thrown and people have fallen down things that shouldn’t have been fallen down. Dick once tried to pull apart a fight between Tim and Damian and he honestly can’t tell if he slapped Tim or if Damian did it.

They can all tell each others footsteps apart easily, and can even tell who’s arguing even if their in the Batcave and the argument is in the attic.

Someone keeps moving containers out of the typical places, and the finger pointing is always at optimal level. Alfred is just as frustrated.

Bruce is tired.

They also save a lot on electricity!

#Blind as Bats AU #Batfam #Dick Grayson #Jason Todd #Barbara Gordon #Tim Drake #Cassandra Cain #Stephanie Brown #Duke Thomas #Damian Wayne #Bruce Wayne

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thewritershelpers · 5 years ago

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How to Write (Accurate) Dinosaurs (Follower Article Submission)

By Salvatore Cucinotta

Dinosaurs are probably the most popular subject in natural sciences and show up in fiction in so many roles it’s dizzying. But they are rarely shown with any accuracy. Depending on the story, that’s okay, and nothing to be ashamed of. However, the opportunities presented with more accurate dinosaurs can often outstrip the flights of fancy they have often been assigned. There’s a lot to cover, because dinosaurs are a very diverse group of animals, and we’ve learned a lot about them since they were first discovered: Even more things recently that get ignored for the ‘popular conscious’ image of these animals.

If you would like the opportunity to write an article on something you’re passionate about for The Writers’ Helpers, please click here.

Taxonomy: Understanding through Relatives

The first thing to understand is about dinosaurs is where they fit in the tree of life. Their taxonomic cousins are Crocodilians, and their direct descendants are birds. This does mean that birds are dinosaurs. Between the two, we have some very interesting and diverse templates to draw from for comparison. We can also make some speculations on things they may have done when the fossil record doesn’t fails us. This article is going to go on with a mixture of things we do know, and things we can infer. If anything strikes you as off or odd, I fully encourage you to dig deeper on your own. Heck, by the time this article comes out, a new find or paper could make some major changes to the broad generalities presented here. But, for now, if you want to get a simplified understanding, Dinosaurs mix some of the best features of crocs and birds, which allowed them to dominate the world for millions of years.

Jaws and Teeth

With that settled, let’s focus on the animal piece by piece, starting with the head. Dinosaurs tend to have rather powerful jaws. Tyrannosaurs are famous for it, but the bites of most dinosaurs are nothing to sneeze at. Their modern relatives, Crocs and birds, are rather noted for how powerful their bites can be. This is because they all share a similar muscle structure. They have two pairs of muscles on the back of their head as well as one in the center of their head (between the eye and nose) which are all to make the bite that much more powerful. In many dinosaurs, these show up as holes so they can be clearly seen. By comparisons, mammals only have one pair of extra muscles in the back for jaw reinforcement. This is why crocs can crush bones and parrots can crack Brazil nuts. So it becomes easy to picture: a Hadrosaur pulling off chunks of tree wood in tough times, a ceratopsian munching down an entire bush to its stem, or a tyrannosaur, which have the most powerful jaws among dinosaurs, crunching up the bones of its prey. Their jaws are not to be taken lightly. Other big predators have weaker jaws than Tyrannosaurs, but still enough to leave scratch marks on bones.

Teeth come next, and dinosaur teeth are as diverse as their diet. The sauropods have simple, peg like teeth for stripping plants. Others, like Ankylosaurs and Stegosasurs have beaks to crop plants, largely forgoing teeth. All these animals likely had gizzards or advanced stomachs or breaking down plant material like modern birds do (we have known examples from Sauropods, but not from the others, but it would make sense). Ceratopsians and Hadrosaurs have massive batteries of teeth for chewing, and powerful ones at that. Ceratopsians shifted their jaws back and forth to chew rather than side to side like mammals do, while Hadrosaurs did something really weird: they flexed their skull. While their lower jaw just moves up and down, the top looks like it’s squeezed by an invisible hand as they separate, which flexes out when the close, grinding any food caught between them as the top teeth slide down and out over the lower set. In life, it would give it very puffy cheeks as it chewed. Finally, predators largely have teeth for slicing flesh and creating gaping wounds in their prey. Except Tyrannosaurs, those animals had more conical teeth for crushing bone and armor, especially Tyrannosaurus rex. After getting a small enough food item in their mouth, they’d then swallow it whole. It seems theropods ripped prey apart like modern birds do, holding it down with a foot and plucking chunks off to be swallowed.

Tongue Actions

Staying in the mouth, let’s talk about tongues. Our two modern examples show great extremes. In Crocodilians, their tongues are fused to their jaws, while in birds, they can take a variety of forms. This is generally covered by the hyoid bone and a study from June of 2018 ran through what we have of hyoid bones. The short of it being, most carnivorous dinosaurs and the big long-necked ones had crocodilian tongues (yes, even the birdlike ones), while the Ornithischian dinosaurs (duck-billed dinosaurs, horned and armored dinosaurs, etc.) had tongues and could be a bit more elaborate with them. Given the simple jaws of Ankylosaurs, it is thought that their tongues might have been used to aid in grazing, being large, rough, and possibly used in pulling in food.

Horns, Frills, Domes, and Other Weirdness

Now there are dinosaurs that have horns, domes, crests, and other ornamentation on their heads, but they didn’t all use them for the same purposes. In Theropod dinosaurs like Ceratosaurus, Allosaurus, Cryolophosaurus, Carnotaurus, and even Tyrannosaurus rex, the horns, frills, and bumps were most likely display pieces like that of a modern hornbill. They look pretty, but don’t do much else. The Pachycephalosaurs dome heads are often shown ramming each other, and that’s likely accurate. We do have some evidence of lesions from impacts they could not withstand on their massive heads. Now, the Ceratopsian dinosaurs use their horns depending on their family. Chasmosaurine ceratopsians, such as Triceratops, Charmosaurus, and Torosaurus, likely locked horns like deer in shoving matches when battling each other, and used the sturdier horns to defend themselves when they could. Centrosaurine ceratopsians, including Monoclonius, Styracosaurus, and Pachyrhinosaurus did more body shoving and scraping with horns along the frill. So, instead of butting heads, they’d either T-bone their rival, or they’d circle each other to try and flip or knock over their foe. Finally, there’s the big tubes along the heads of lambeosaurine hadrosaurs. These were echo chambers for sound, which will be discussed in more detail below, but in general, these made deep, resonating sounds.

The frills of Ceratopsians likely served two purposes: defense and display. Display among other members of their species being the primary with defense a secondary bonus. And it wasn’t just bone covered in skin. The frills were covered in a keratin sheath like their horns and beaks, and like the beaks of modern birds. This means that they were quite durable, and possibly even brightly colored in life. It’s also fun to note that Tyrannosaurs had a habit of ripping off those frills in order to eat the thick neck muscles behind them.

Of course, the thing about Dinosaur heads, especially in Tyrannosaurs, Hadrosaurs, Ceratopsians, and likely Pachycephalosaurs is how much they change as they the animal ages. Ceratopsians show the most change, as they are born with frills and horns that can barely be notices, but which grow into different shapes for each stage of life. Triceratops has 5 distinct growth stages that we can determine so far, and it is likely other horned dinosaurs had similar stages. Hadrosaurs start with ‘cute’ faces, short nose and big eyes, and which elongate as they age. Tyrannosaur skulls deepen and become more robust as they age, to the point where young Tyrannosaurs have more teeth than the adults. Pachycephalosaurs might go through the most changes, starting with horn-covered heads before growing the dome as the horns shrink, but because their remains are rare and usually incomplete, we can’t say this with certainty.

As a final to-do regarding horned dinosaurs, it has been noted for years that their skulls have massive openings for their nasal passages. Holes far too big to just be for an enhanced sense of smell. One hypothesis about them is that they held air sacs that could inflate for display purposes, like that of a modern hooded seal. If that hypothesis held true, then they would be very showy animals.

(Almost) Bird Brains

Our last stop in the head is in the brain. Dinosaur intelligence is hard area to study since brains themselves don’t fossilize, but the braincase gives us some idea of its size and shape, and thus what it could focus on. This is made trickier because of the transition from more reptilian forms to avian ones, but, again, it gives us a rough estimate of what’s going on between their ears. From what we can deduce, animals like Allosaurus and Carcharodontosaurus were about as smart as modern crocodiles, with smarter ones on the way to being bird like. Some, like Tyrannosaurus, are only just, while one of the most intelligent dinosaurs (Troodon) is about 31.5 to 63% of the way to modern bird intelligence.

This does downplay the movie “Raptors” unlocking doors, or being as smart as crows or parrots, but it doesn’t make them unthinking, unfeeling beasts either. Again, crocodiles are more nuanced than most people are aware. Crocodiles have been seen bringing food to their babies, using very simple tools (putting moss and sticks on them to aid their camouflage), and can be taught a few tricks. They also play. They play with objects (wooden balls, noisy ceramic bits, their prey, floating debris, and even streams of water), they engage in movement play (surfing in waves, using waterslides, and riding currents), and even playing with others. And not just other crocodilians, but otters and even some people. Some of these play bonds can last for years. Crocodilians aren’t just reactive to their environment, they have flexibility in their behavior.

And no dinosaur has a secondary brain in the back to help out. That is total bunk.

All the Better to See You With

We can also tell a lot about the animals’ senses from these brain casts. In general, however, we can say that dinosaurs have great senses of smell and eyesight. Their hearing was good, but geared towards hearing lower sounds than humans are used to. This means that overall, the “It can’t see you if you don’t move” trick from Jurassic Park is patently false. Not only could it see you clearly, and in color, but it would just as easily identify a target through scent alone.

Resonance

Moving down to the throat, we enter the realm of figuring out what sounds dinosaurs made. This is a big area of curiosity, especially with the crests of the various Hadrosaurs being full of air tubes like massive instruments. The sounds of those is pretty well known – something like an alpine horn, but that’s not the limit of what sounds they could make. Modern birds would easily be a writer’s first thought. Birds make all sorts of sounds, from hooting owls to the lyrebirds’ perfect mimicry. However, Dinosaurs don’t have the bones for it. Most of those sounds are made with a bone known as the syrinx. This bone evolved in birds after they became their own group, and is found in no non-avian dinosaurs.

But that doesn’t mean they can’t make noises. Ostriches and bitterns and make booming sounds without the use of their syrinx, and crocodiles are very vocal animals. The chirp of crocodile babies in the nest is well known and documented, as is the mating bellow, and threatening hiss. But there are also calls to alert others to danger, call for help, and even an ‘Umph’ call to assure babies that their mother is near. These tend to be low, deep sounds for the most part, with the mating call going into infrasound ranges. This matches with many types of Dinosaurs. The singing Hadrosaurs and Tyrannosaurs both geared their ears for low frequency sounds. The Hadrosaurs to hear and locate each other, and Tyrannosaurs to listen in and find prey. This means that Tyrannosaurus wouldn’t roar, but something scarier. It could produce this sound without opening its mouth, and even if a hapless human couldn’t hear it, it would reverberate through their entire body.

Dinosaurs Can’t Play Basketball

The next thing to talk about is in the hands. In movies, and even in mounted skeletons, dinosaurs are often shown with their palms facing the ground. It gives raptors a praying mantis-like arm pose and is a product of anthropomorphism. Dinosaurs did not hold their hands like we do. Birds are dinosaurs, and birds hold their hands with their palms facing inward. Maniraptors (a group of dinosaurs including Oviraptor, Velociraptor, and modern birds) could almost fold their arms up like a bird does, though their fingers point to the ground getting only half way to a full bird fold-up. This is important for them because it allows for a ‘flapping’ motion. With this down, they could do all sorts of displays, catching small prey, or execute tighter turns.

Gut-Punch

The next topic is inside a dinosaur, and that is gastralia. This, in birds, is known as the sternum or breastbone. In dinosaurs, it’s basically a set of 8 to 21 reverse ribs that run along the line of the stomach. It is known to be present in Crocodiles and the Tuatara, and we have fossil evidence for it in many Theropods and Prosauropods. It seems to be absent from the giant Sauropods and Ornithischian dinosaurs. In life, they provide extra protection and muscle attachment points for the body mostly related to how they breathe.

Huff and Puff

Dinosaurs, like their descendants and relatives, have extremely efficient and powerful lungs unlike any other group of animals. They cycle through without pause, cleanly and efficiently. Throw in the hollow bones of Sauropods and Theropods, and like birds they become even more efficient with their breathing. This means they have very high endurance. The marathon flights of birds are a good benchmark for non-bird dinosaurs. It also means they can survive lower oxygen levels than us mammals can with fewer side effects. So the longer a chase scene goes on with a dinosaur, the more likely it’s going to win.

Serpentine! Serpentine!

The legs come next, and they are one of the defining features of dinosaurs and birds. They are extremely efficient runners. Their ankles and knees are simple door hinge joints, and their hips connect to their legs with a wheel joint. Even better, dinosaurs have a muscle attaching to the back of their thigh and connecting to their tail, making their run that much more powerful and efficient. So, dinosaurs can run quite well and for long periods of time. But they have trouble on turns. The tail can be used as a lever to aid in turns, but they’d still rather run straight than turn. So, when chased by a dinosaur, the best strategy is to get to cover and zig-zag randomly. Because you sure as hell aren’t outlasting them.

Speed wise, dinosaurs can do pretty well. It varies a lot by species. Tracks can tell us some answers, as can biomechanical analysis. It’s hard to pin down, and many a mathematical formula has been put together to try and figure out these speeds, with some variable ranges. The big theropods have a speed range between 10 and 25 mph. Large raptors around 20mph, with their smaller relatives 25-30mph. Smaller therapods can hit up to 45 mph, with the Ornithomimids hitting 50 mph at the most. The hadrosaurs tend towards 25-30mph. Ceratopsians tended to run at most just under 20mph. Armored dinosaurs and large sauropods tend to be the slowest, the fastest of these going roughly 6 mph.

Like today, predators have quicker pickup than herbivores, who are geared for more long distance running. Throw in all those adaptations for endurance and we have some real marathon runners here. In other words, predators tend to be sprinters, herbivores tend to be distance runners, but both are distance runners compared to mammals.

Ouch!

While we’re inside, let’s talk briefly about healing and injury. Dinosaurs are quite robust and tough animals. Their immune system is that of birds and crocodiles. When faced with an infection, their immune system isolates it. This makes it take longer to heal, but prevents septicemia/blood poisoning among other benefits. This does sometimes lead to amputation of toes in some animals. There are instances of healed creatures in many skeletons, though a bad break in a leg or along the spine can still be fatal. They still suffered some diseases. Tyrannosaurus for example has evidence from several individuals of a bone infection that seems to have been spread among them via face biting. Whether this face biting was social interaction of some sorts, violent interspecies conflict, or minor dominance displays while feeding like wolves do today is unknown.

Warm Blooded, Cold Blooded, or Something In Between?

At this point, it’s pertinent to mention how active dinosaurs were. The term “Mesotherm” is often put about them, and it seems to fit. They are between “Hot Blooded” Endotherms like birds and mammals, and “Cold Blooded” Ectotherms, like crocodiles and other reptiles. The short of it is, Dinosaurs were on a gradient of activity levels. Mostly above that of modern crocodiles (who are already geared to be as energy efficient as possible), up to that of modern birds. They wouldn’t bask in the sun by and large, but could do with less food than a mammal of similar size. What’s really fun is the cheat they use to assist that even more. See, most energy in mammals and birds is used to keep us warm and active. But this has a direct relationship with body size. The smaller an animal is, the more energy is needed to keep it warm. But large animals can keep themselves warm through their bulk alone. This is sometimes termed “Gigantothermy.” And dinosaurs hit that sweet spot really well, being able to outdo mammals and be more fuel efficient while doing so. Still, if the idea of the warmth of a group of mammals seems fanciful, remember: opossums, echidnas, and platypus’ have an average body temperature so low none of them can carry rabies.

The Way Out

Next, we come to an ‘exit’ from the internal stuff: a dinosaur’s butt, because dinosaur butts are weird. See, mammals from horses to humans are … different from other vertebrates. We have separate orifices for releasing both forms of waste as well as our reproductive system. Most other animals, well, they have their waste disposal plant and their amusement park in the same place. This is called a cloaca and is a universal organ for waste and reproduction. Birds, crocs, and dinosaurs have it. Even egg-laying mammals have it. It’s the standard from which modern mammals deviated. Because of this, dinosaurs can’t use urine to mark territory because they have no way of expelling it separate from other excrement. So, dinosaur poo would either be like that of a bird, or like that of a crocodile. On the plus side, this does make them quite good at retaining water, and makes them basically immune to being kicked in the crotch.

Eggs, Nests, and Parenting.

The other thing to come out of that hole, eggs, leads easily into nesting behavior. We only have a few nests we can fully identify, as well as dozens more which we can’t tell who they’re from. And the nests and their uses varied a lot. Some animals were nest bound after hatching, dependent on the parents for food. Others were like young reptiles of today, hatching ready to move and work largely on their own. It is likely, given crocodiles, that there was some parental protection early in life for most species. They had a high number of young, which compensated for the high attrition rates of young individuals. So, even the best mother lizards would lose quite a few children with each brood. In short, seeing a single child from a nest or as a yearling is not only inaccurate, but has extremely depressing implications.

In general, there were two major methods of nest building: the crocodile method, and the bird method. The crocodile method was taken up by the majority of dinosaurs. This being building a nest of rotting vegetation and covering the eggs, letting the warmth of rotting vegetation incubate the eggs. The latter is far better known, where the parents) use their warmth to incubate the eggs (though they were nested in rotting vegetation as well, a between stage for bird and crocodilian styles as it were). This more modern strategy is only found in smaller animals, and of those, the ones that were heavily feathered.

Scales, Dino-Fuzz, and Feathers

Yes, feathers. Dinosaurs have feathers. This is partly because birds are dinosaurs, and partly because of the “Ancestrally Filamentous Hypothesis” where the common ancestor of dinosaurs were likely feathered, or more accurately covered in filaments that are ancestral to feathers. This is because we have dinosaurs on both major branches with feathers and filaments of varying types and it is likely that they are from the same source, but it could be independent evolution as well.

But what’s really weird about dinosaur feathers is the fact that they are not mutually exclusive (meaning a dinosaur can have feathers and scales, and not just in patches either, but all mixed together), that some of the scales on some dinosaurs might be feathers that have become scales once again, and that there are occasionally multiple stages of feathers present on the same animal. There’s three basic stages (with 5 when you really get down to the nitty gritty things). These are the filament (hollow hair-like feathers somewhat similar looking, though often shorter, than what is seen today in emus and kiwis), plumulaceous (Fluffy down-like feathers), and pennaceous (and branching feathers from a central shaft). The latter are the majority of feather types on a bird, varying in how they are interwoven.

Armored dinosaurs (Stegosaurs, Ankylosaurs), Pachycephalosaurs, and Sauropods have no direct evidence for feathers on them, and aside from polar animals, very small animals, or sporadic display points probably didn’t have any. The scale impressions we have of sauropods and Ankylosaurs indicate rather crocodilian-like heavy scales, with smaller ones at the joints to ease movement. This includes the armor which, like the backs of crocodiles, were scales with boney core. And yes, some later Sauropods (such as Saltosaurus and Alamosaurus) did have body armor, though not to the extent of Ankylosaurs.

Ceratopsians or Horned dinosaurs have evidence of the first type of feathers on their bodies, namely long quills on the top of the tail of Psittacosaurus (along with a skin of fine scales whose coloration, that is similar to a modern deer, was also preserved). The skin impressions of Triceratops dinosaurs show they had more crocodilian-like armored scales, but also knob points where either spines or feather quills could have grown out. Given the size and placement, they might have been for display structures or they could have been more porcupine-like quill spines. But because this specimen is in the hands of a private collector, it has so far not been studied.

Ornithopods (duck-billed dinosaurs, Iguanodons, and small herbivores often called “Hypsilophodontids”) have several mummies preserving scaly skin, but Kulindadromeus, a primitive member of this family, had a very distinct body covering. Its face, shins, and tail were scaly, easily enough. But the torso, neck and head were covered in filamentous feathers, while its arms and thighs had plumulaceous coverings. So, it’s possible for Ornithopods to have all sorts of feathers, though it seems the larger ones preferred scales as far as we can tell so far, it doesn’t rule out feathered parts of the body as well, or mixed/alternating scales and feathers like the feet of some birds have.

Therapod feathers are extremely complicated since they include birds, and show the most diversity. We generally don’t have evidence for feathers in Ceratosaurs, Abeliosaurs, Megalosaurs, Spinosaurs, Allosaurs, or Carcharodontosaurs, but because of what we know of their ancestry, it is possible these animals had at least some filaments in scattered parts for display. Compsognathids and Tyrannosaurs have family members depicting plumulaceous feathers, including Yutyrannus which is so far the largest dinosaur to have such feathers (30ft long).

From there we get into properly bird-like and the feathers become more obvious. Therizinosaurs have plumulaceous feathers, while Oviraptors, Ornithomimids, and “Raptors” all have pennaceous feathers. Meaning that the latter three had wings. They couldn’t fly with them (well, maybe the juveniles can when they’re small and light enough for it), but they are still useful for a wide variety of things: shading young/eggs when nesting, social displays/mating dances, guiding movement when running like modern ostriches do, to aid in climbing like modern birds use them for (flapping furiously), or to pick up speed while running, or use them for balance when sinking their claws into prey like modern birds of prey do. There are a lot of ways birds use their wings for reasons other than flight, and the same might be true for non-avian dinosaurs that had them.

But let’s not forget the scales too. The do appear on dinosaurs are for the most part rather small. The scales preserved on tyrannosaurs are best measured in millimeters, with an animal up to 40 ft. long, it would make the skin look rather leathery at a distance, but when you get close to it and feel it, it would be rougher, pebbly, but still rather soft like a bird’s foot. Some animals, like Edmontosaurus had a mosaic of tiny scales where the animal would flex, with sections of larger, bumpier scales in between. And then there are the more armored ones on Sauropods and Ceratopsians. Overall, each dinosaur is going to look different from what you see in Jurassic Park.

But, in short, a dinosaur with feathers is more accurate than one without them.

Other weird skin-related tissues include: Edmontosaurus annectens of the animal having a crest of soft tissue or wattle like that of a chicken, Tarbosaurus bataar having a throat pouch like a modern frigate bird, and Diplodocus having Iguana-like spines down their back (though how big they are in proportion to the rest of the body is unknown).

Modern birds have a myriad of fleshy formations on their heads, as well as bizarre ways of arranging feathers. From turkeys and chickens, to kiwi whiskers and quails topknots, don’t be afraid to use them to lend character to your creatures.

Colors

The last part to talk about is color. We actually do know the coloration of a few dinosaurs. Psittacosaurus and a medium sized ankylosaur Borealopelta have deer-like countershading coloration. A tan brown up top with a lighter color for their belly and dark patches around the face or armored scutes. Yes, even armored Ankylosaurs have camouflage. And those were scaly animals for the most part, most color information comes from feathers. Anchiornis feathers are largely black with blotches of gray, splashes of white (forming a white background with black spots across on the wings), and a brilliant red crest. Sinosauropteryx has a color pattern very similar to that of a modern coati, orange-brown up top with a lighter belly, bandit-mask of orange-brown over its face and white/orange-brown stripes running up its tail like a ring-tailed lemur. Finally, the proto-bird dinosaurs Archaeopteryx and Microraptor were black for the most part, with Archaeopteryx having white tips, and Microraptor’s black being more iridescent-black.

This means that, color wise, we have a lot of options between these findings and what we see in modern birds. Animals that rely on camouflage would do their best to match their environment: browns, greens, and blacks being common. But we’d also see brilliant colors for display, possibly leading to dances that go with the colors. Predatory dinosaurs might have colorations similar to eagles and hawks of today. Think first of where the animal lives and what it’s doing. Then you’re going to have to think of birds or other animals that fill a similar basic role and see what catches your eye.

I Blame Society

There’s only so much we can say about behavior that is not tied to the body directly. Footprints tell us some things, but only give us short scenes. Still, we can say a few things with some confidence. There are three ways Dinosaurs group together. The first is in what is best termed a flock. They travel among their own kind as a group for protection. We see this in sauropod trackways, mass grave sites of ceratopsians, and among hadrosaur group nesting sites. It seems Ankylosaurs were mostly solitary. Other dinosaurs seemed to form smaller groups if at all. The next structure is rare and rather speculative: a pack. Popularised among “raptors”, there is also evidence for this among some Tyrannosaurs. A pack is a family unit with parents and children being raised together, sometimes in expanded form. It’s common in mammals, but rare in modern dinosaurs. Only the Harris Hawk displays this social structure, though crows have something...similar, but different crows are always outsmarting things. The last is possibly the most frightening: a bask. Crocodiles can be social animals. In fact, many are. They gather together in certain locations they know food to be plentiful and wait together for it to show up. This is probably best exemplified by the river crossings of wildebeest and zebra in Africa. Crocodiles gather at these points to wait for their prey to arrive, and then work together to take down prey as well as rip it apart. There is evidence of such basks being used by Allosaurus and it is not much of a stretch to extend it to related animals. They gathered by a watering hole in the dry season and took down prey that came to drink.

Wrap-up and Further Reading

This is a lot to digest, but it should give you a very solid handle on how to handle dinosaurs going forward in your stories. They are weird and wonderful animals, but never forget that they are animals and not monsters. It’s fun to hype of the deadliness of predators, but remember: the most dangerous animal in Africa is an herbivore, as are most of the “African Big 5”. Herbivores are more likely to (and more willing to) kill than predators. They just want an easy meal.

If you want more information, and can’t make it to a museum to talk up a volunteer or a resident paleontologist, I suggest checking out the tumblr A Dinosaur a Day, the youtube series Your Dinosaurs are Wrong from the Geek Group, as well as the youtube channel Trey the Explainer.

#How to Write Accurate Dinosaurs #Writing Help #Writing Dinosaurs #Dinosaurs #Writing Advice #Comprehensive Writing Guides #TWH Follower Article Submission #majingojira #Describing dinosaurs

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chaos-monkeyy · 4 years ago

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Stubborn

Winter Prompt Challenge ❄️ Day 6: Hypothermia/frostbite

Travelling back to the Chiss Ascendancy for Day 6, with some Thrakif hurt/comfort, Ba’kif being protective, and Thrawn being... well, Thrawn.

“We’re here, sir,” the pilot called back in a tense voice.

Ba’kif was already opening the door to climb out of the small shuttle before the pilot had quite brought them to a full stop. The wind buffeted him the moment he jumped out into the howling storm, whipping his hood off and exposing his neck and ears to the biting cold until he’d wrestled it back up again after clipping on the safety line attached securely to his belt.

The cadets’ locator beacons were fairly precise, but they didn’t have pinpoint accuracy. And with visibility so low, Ba’kif knew he could walk right past Thrawn and not see him, even if he were only a couple meters away.

And if he’d lost the beacon— or if he’d been injured and was buried in the rapidly deepening snow—

Ba’kif turned and headed towards a darker shadow of a blur faintly visible through the white of the storm; a blur that resolved itself into a shallow depression in the rocky cliff face as he got closer. It was nowhere near deep enough to be considered a cave even by the broadest definition— but it would be enough to provide some limited shelter from the elements.

And that was exactly where he found Thrawn, curled up unmoving around the remnants of a small, already burned-out fire.

“Thrawn!” Ba’kif bellowed, the wind tearing the name from his lips and whipping it away almost before he’d finished speaking it. He forced his way through the last few paces of snow, the drifts deep enough to come halfway up his thighs, and finally stumbled into the little hollowed-out shelter. The cadet hadn’t so much as stirred. Ba’kif dropped to his knees to get closer, heart lurching with relief when he felt a faint puff of warm breath against his cheek. Thrawn was alive— but he was in bad shape.

Ba’kif wasted no time picking Thrawn up and throwing the cadet over his shoulder. Pulling his safety line taut, he switched it back to retract and staggered through the gale, following the thin yet strong metal cable back to the waiting shuttle.

“He’s alive, barely. Turn the heat up and get us back to base,” Ba’kif ordered the pilot the moment he’d gotten into the small vessel, still carrying Thrawn’s motionless form. “Call it in the minute we’re close enough for comms.”

“Yes, sir,” the pilot answered crisply.

Ba’kif could hear the worry in the pilot’s tone, but put everything else out of his mind as he lowered Thrawn to the floor and grabbed the emergency medkit off the bulkhead. Thrawn was still breathing, but his winter gear was caked with snow and ice, already starting to melt and drip in the warmth of the shuttle. As quickly as he could, Ba’kif wrestled the young man out of his frozen clothes, one layer at a time; discarding them off to the side so he and Thrawn wouldn’t just end up in a puddle of cold water as it all thawed.

He yanked off his own snow-caked outer clothes too, until he was shirtless; then lay down with Thrawn next to the warm air vent and wrapped the emergency blanket from the kit around them both, tucking it between Thrawn and the floor as well. Thrawn’s skin was chill to the touch, cold against his front, and Ba’kif curled around him, pulling the blanket tighter to trap as much of his own body heat in there with them as possible.

“Stubborn bloody fool of a cadet, what in the hell were you thinking… Not turning on your emergency comm until it was too damn late.” Ba’kif hardly noticed he was muttering, distracting himself from worry while he vigorously rubbed at Thrawn’s arms and chest to try and get the blood flowing again. “If you even turned the blasted thing on at all—”

“I did.”

Thrawn’s voice was faint, weak; barely even audible— but it was there.

“You did what, Cadet?” Ba’kif asked gruffly. Keep him talking. Keep him conscious. He probably had frostbite, but that at least could be dealt with once Ba’kif had gotten him back to the hospital at the training base.

“I did… turned it on.”

“That’s good, Thrawn. You did the right thing,” Ba’kif said, but Thrawn shook his head; a feeble little twitch that Ba’kif could only feel through the tickle of Thrawn’s hair against his bare chest.

“No. Too late. Thought it was… training.”

Ba’kif sighed. That’s what he’d been afraid of. That blasted storm had come up out of nowhere, and Thrawn had, of course, assumed it was all intended to be part of the senior cadets’ survival field training for extreme conditions. He’d also clearly tried to last it out way too long before activating his emergency comm, because of course he was more worried about about the prospect of failure than death.

“We’ll talk about that later,” Ba’kif said, still rubbing warmth back into Thrawn’s arms. Thrawn was starting to shiver against him, at least. That was good. It meant his own body was trying to warm him up again. “Tell me what happened.”

“You came for me,” Thrawn said instead of answering, his voice almost dreamy despite the chattering of his teeth. “I knew it… Knew you cared.”

Ba’kif frowned. “Of course I care, Cadet. You’re a soldier in the Defense Force—”

“Mm. No,” Thrawn said muzzily, somehow managing to twist around far enough to nuzzle the side of his face into Ba’kif’s shoulder. “You care. About me. I could always tell…”

He trailed off into another bout of violent shivers, curling up tightly again, and Ba’kif felt something guilty swelling in his throat. Officers weren’t supposed to play favourites. Plenty did, of course— people were people, and no amount of regulations would ever change that. Ba’kif, however, had always prided himself on not being party to that sort of political maneuvering within the CDF.

…But somehow, with Thrawn, it was different. Ba’kif wasn’t sure he could honestly have said another cadet would have gotten his personal attention like this. He was the one who had immediately checked the logs to see if Thrawn specifically had called in for pickup yet when the furious, unanticipated storm had begun building over the training zone. And… the truth was, he’d only done that because he’d been following Thrawn’s time at the Academy closely enough to know that he probably wouldn’t try and call in until it was too late; until the storm had already gotten powerful enough to disrupt comms throughout the region.

Thrawn shuddered again, whimpering softly— he was probably starting to get some undoubtedly painful feeling back in his extremities— and Ba’kif became abruptly aware of just how inherently intimate their position was. Thrawn, naked and clinging weakly to his arm under the emergency blanket; Ba’kif himself clad only in his long thermal underwear and curled protectively around the young man, his own body pressed against as much of Thrawn’s skin as he could manage.

He hadn’t done it with any ulterior motives whatsoever, his intentions centered entirely around getting Thrawn’s body temperature back up. And this was, hands-down, the best way of doing that under the circumstances. But—

I could always tell…

Ba’kif swallowed. He’d heard about, and witnessed firsthand once or twice, Thrawn’s rather uncanny knack for reading people, and he couldn’t help wondering nervously just what Thrawn might have… seen in him but never mentioned. He’d told himself that his feelings towards the young man were nothing more than those of a proud mentor, of sorts— perhaps fatherly at most— so often he’d almost managed to convince himself that it was actually true.

But it wasn’t true, not entirely. At the beginning, yes; but it had become less and less true over the course of Thrawn’s three years of training based out of Taharim Academy.

Pushing those thoughts firmly out of his mind, and pointedly not noticing how well Thrawn fit in his arms, Ba’kif turned his focus back to keeping Thrawn warm, and talking, and awake—

And tried very hard not to think about the fact that he couldn’t quite decide whether or not he hoped Thrawn would forget everything about this shuttle ride once he’d recovered.

#star wars #thrawn ascendancy #ba'kif #thrawn #thrakif #hurt/comfort #chaosfic #winter prompt challenge

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of-tatooine · 4 years ago

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mercy. | chapter 14 - question

he needs information and there is no way in hell he is playing nice.

Everyone was afraid.

No matter how much they tried to act like everything was just fine, or conceal it behind the roaring buzz of bullets, every single living soul on this earth knew that their time was very limited - and even that could end in a split second. Everyone and their mother knew nothing good ever came out of displaying the horrors felt inside, no matter how powerful and how restricting they might have been.

A single tear, hitched breath or an evasive blink - and you could join the pile of dead bodies scattered with your insides thrown around and throat bit.

Well, there was no use in hiding in that particular cabin room in the middle of the blizzard - it reeked of pure and raw fear throughout.

It was in the way they breathed - in slow, sometimes fast-paced hitches when his fist met their jaws. In the way that fresh blood dripped and splattered across the floor. The way their chests heaved from exertion and fear, coupled with sheer pain running through them.

For that given moment, it was a small price to pay, considering they still were partially alive and breathing. That did not stop the uncertainty of the next second with a man so unpredictable and so dangerous from surrounding their entire beings in agony of what was to come.

What he was going to do to them, and more importantly, why.

Suddenly the pair of hunters working under yet another crazy-enough, makeshift faction leader wished they had been long deceased. Maybe even that would not be enough to save them the agony that was to come.

"You saved my life once."

The wooden planks rattled under each thud of heavy snow boots, creaking under weight. The whisper of the winter breeze leaking through the cracks in the windows in a violent hiss.

His presence, that eminent embodiment of just what the human race was capable of doing when distressed, was what made the room freeze.

"I hope I can save yours too."

It would be an understatement to say that the two tied up and beaten down were not the only ones hurting.

The gruff man clung onto his abdomen between bouts of anger and punching, the residual pain sending shrieks through his body through the tight stitches that kept him together. How he managed to hold it together still had been just as much of a dilemma to himself. It was like this fire, fueled by anger, pure fear and agony, burned within him, giving him just the right amount the power to keep on going.

All he could do was pray that his stamina did not betray him right when he needed it the most.

Taking steps towards the one tied to the chair, helplessly trying to maneuver and kick off his restraints, the vibrations of his steps echoed through, instilling such fear into his captive.

Like a jaguar, albeit wounded, moving through the jungle to land the final blow on his prey.

He sat down and glared at the quivering man with a certain aura of determination surroinding him and his movements, his dark eyebrows furrowed together in the sheer brutality of the actions he was planning on committing in the moments to come. And in that moment, looking into the eyes of one of his attackers - he was ready to do whatever it took to get to you and her.

Torturing and extracting information after beating the shit out of whoever crossed his path had been the ways he got accustomed to during his days as a hunter, having seen both sides of things. It was not pretty, it never was - Joel did not get satisfaction in tearing apart kneecaps or popping off fingernails for it to splatter blood all over his face.

No, he only did things when he absolutely had to. Given the everlasting brutality and the harsh reality of the crooked world they lived in, he found himself doing unspeakable things more often than he liked - as much as the man beneath that stone-covered heart screamed at him not to sometimes, to give humanity a little bit of a chance to redeem themselves.

Tilting his head a bit, he actually found himself pondering the question - the man in front of him quivering in the bonds, forcing himself to look anywhere but his captor.

Would humanity really come around and surprise him for a good, welcome change? If he dropped down the gun just a little lower, would they still shoot or extend a helping hand? He had tried giving humanity a chance - the one time he would not regret putting himself in unnecessary danger was taking you along the ride.

Looking back, the way you took care of him and Ellie without being asked to further, for everything that you have done - he would not have it any other way and he was grateful, something the man did not echo into his words too often.

And only if he could find you in one piece, to tell you that himself.

A cold shiver ran through his being as he thought of the most dreadful of possibilities, of what could have happened to you and the her. That alone was enough to harden the edges of his face, jaw clenching in sharp contrast with his higher up cheekbones - creating a dangerous hollow.

Sometimes, the human race only understood from violence - that much he had learned the hard way. Too many mistakes had been made, too many lives had been lost either bleeding in his bare hands or at the end of his bullet. This was one of those times where mercy was not allowed.

It would never be allowed if it concerned you and the little girl he had grown to love, he would reckon and reason in his troubled head, as he leaned in dangerously close to the man in front of him - his hazel green eyes harboring storms that only a few had seen, turning into the palest of shades in the faint reflection of the sparkling snow through the icy windows.

If this was the only way to get a shot at saving you and Ellie, the animal in him that he had managed to keep repressed for the most part, had to emerge.

“Now,” came the dreaded low grumble, face angled just right to stare at his prey, venom dripping out of his deep voice. “The woman and the girl - are they alive?”

Joel found himself wishing he just gave him what he wanted, without having to spill even more blood. He was getting tired of this bullshit - getting too damn broken for all of this gore and monstrosity. It never was easy, and usually things did not go his way - and he was getting damn sick of it.

C’mon, say somethin’, help me out. Help yourself out.

“What are you talkin’ about? I don’t know any of ‘em.”

That motherfucker.

This time he felt no inch of remorse as he grunted and embedded the switchblade right into the man’s knee, dangerously close to his kneecap - an accuracy that only someone with the rugged experience could muster. The screams echoed, following immediately suit to the blood gushing out - his head hanging low as he yelled out a pained curse. Yet another mistake.

“Focus right here, right here,” Joel would almost coo, voice taking a sickening soft edge as one hand pushed the blade in place. The determination and the boldness so tangible as he slapped his prey to gather his attention to the only focal point that mattered at that moment in time - him.

“Or I’ll pop your goddamn knee off.”

And then it broke.

“They - they’re alive. They’re David’s new pets.”

It felt like his jaw would break from clenching. Joel had never felt his blood boil like this in a damn long time, the adrenaline mixed in with anger running through his veins, the images of the unthinkable instantly flooding into his mind - you and Ellie, battered and bruised. Losing another daughter and another woman he had realized he cared for deeply.

He was not going to be late this time.

“Where?”

The blade was pushed in deeper and further into the veins and the muscle tissue, inching closer to the cap as the man let out an agonizing scream.

“Fuck - fuck, in the town, in the town!”

Seemingly pleased by that for the moment, he would extract the blade in a sickening sound of metal against meat, opting to place the handle of the blade between the straggler’s teeth - almost prying open his mouth viciously as blood dripped from the blade to the floor in soft patters.

A tactic he had learned from his time with the hunters - a dark, dark period in his lifetime where he did a lot of things he had regretted. In moments like these, where he had to hunt or be hunted, a slight wave of deja-vu would hit. Part of him believed that the hunters and their way of surviving had shaped him into who he was now - relentless and unforgiving.

It all came in handy when he least thought of it, and he could not complain.

“Now you’re gonna mark it on the map,” came his low order, extending a dirty map of the area out. “And it better be the exact same spot your buddy points to.”

The man, shocked and dazed from pure pain, would tremble leaning forward as he managed to point the blade to the location of their supposed camp on the map, marking it in a wet crimson.

“It’s right there - you can verify it. Go ask him, go, go on,” he would ramble, tossing the knife out from his mouth to send it sprawling on the hardwood. Eyes bloodshot as he looked up to his captor folding the map and standing up with the same unforgiving expression on his face that spoke of no rainbows and sunshine.

“I ain’t lyin’, man, I ain’t - ”

His very last words would be cut short as a muscular arm wrapped around his bruised throat, cutting the air supply in a grunt as the unbound parts of his arms and legs went flailing against the surface, trying to gain purchase from anything at all - before he choked out in a throaty hiss.

The dreadful sound of a metal pipe being dragged across the wood was enough to set the remaining captive stuttering and begging for his life, struggling against the handcuffs and his heart about to burst like his lip.

“Fuck you man, he told you what you wanted,” came his final line of defense. “I ain’t tellin’ you shit.”

Much to his demise, the man standing tall in front of him appeared to shrug his shoulders ever so slightly, the faint white light hitting his face in such an animalistic glow.

“That’s alright. I believe him.”

#this scene...#just wow #still get chills #joel miller #tlou joel #the last of us #the last of us joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reder #mercy #tlou reader insert

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ilovesport2121 · 3 years ago

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Learn How to Play Football in 9 Steps

1. Understanding The Rule Of The Game

Matches are 11-a-side, with 10 field players who cannot use their hands and 1 goalkeeper who is allowed to catch the ball inside the penalty area. You must always tackle the ball, not your opponent. Games are split into two 45-minute halves and the winner is whoever scores more goals than their opponent in the given time. To score, you have to send the ball into your opponent's goal. The offside rule is what spices things up: you cannot be closer to the goal than the last field defender when receiving the ball from your partner.

2. Technical Exercises Before Playing Football

Every footballer must train to run fast. To do this, it’s important to ensure that you warm up properly and work on your speed. Each and every muscle in your body is used to maximize your running potential.

3. Learn To Do A Header

Depending on the situation in the game, this technique can be used to clear the ball, pass to a teammate or score a goal. A header involves touching the ball with your head (ideally your forehead).

To give it more power, bend your legs, swing your chest backward and then push it forward by tensing your abs. As you finish this swinging movement, push your neck forwards too. As for where to hit it, try to position the ball on your forehead. It's just the right shape for the job as well as being the boniest, and therefore least painful, part of your head. For pinpoint accuracy in your positioning, take a few steps to get yourself in just the right place. When you do a header, don't close your eyes: keep them open for better aim.

‍ 4. Discover Passing Techniques

SHORT PASS A short pass is one that rolls along the ground to make it easier for the teammate receiving the ball to control. You stand on one foot and use the other to kick the ball. Place the foot you're standing on level with the ball, around 20 cm to the left if you're right-handed. It should be facing your target. It's also important that your shoulders are facing your target. Kick the ball with the flat of your foot, in other words, the inside. To do so, turn your foot out and aim to kick the ball with the central part. Bend the leg you're standing on and turn your other leg side-on. This will give you better stability and a more fluid movement.

LONG PASS This pass lets you send the ball to a teammate who is far away from you. The ball should go up into the air so that opponents cannot intercept it so easily.

Position the foot you're standing on 20 cm to the left of the ball if you're right-handed. Kick the bottom part of the ball close to where it's touching the ground using the top of the inside of your foot. Make sure you keep this leg straight to give the ball more power. When you kick the ball, extend the opposite arm to your kicking foot as this will help you keep your balance.

5. Improve Your Dribbling Skills

Dribbling (in football terms) allows you to maneuver the ball around the field without losing possession. Mastering the skill takes a lot of hours of practice but hey, you'll have to start somewhere. We'll take you through the basics.

First of all, it's important to know that there are almost 9 types of dribbling drills, namely;‍ ‍The Sombrero Dribble - A sombrero kick allows you to dribble past your opponent. It consists in flicking the the ball over the your opponent's head and resuming dribbling on the other side of them‍ The Nutmeg Dribble - The between-the-leg pass, commonly known as a 'nutmeg.' Nutmegging is where you tap the ball through an opponent’s legs and recover it behind them. Most of the time, it's by tricking your opponent do that you succeed in getting them to part their legs so that you can pass the ball between them‍ The Run Around Dribble - The run around allows you to “dribble” the ball past an opponent in front of you.The essence of this technique is to flick the ball past your opponent while running around the opposite side of them, to then recover the ball.‍ The Step-Over - The stepover allows you to dribble around an opponent in front of you. It consists of tricking your opponent by making them think that you're going to dribble the ball in one direction, and then actually dribbling it in another. It's possible to do a stepover with each leg and then to link them together one after the other. ‍ The Feint Dribble - The feint allows you to avoid an opponent who is in front of you.The move is similar to a step-over and it consists of making the opponent think you are going to move in one direction so that you can quickly move the other way. It is called a feint because the body movement tricks the opponent without needing to move the ball.‍ Quickly Turn the Ball Dribble- It's one of the most commonly-used dribbling techniques and allows you to changes directions in one quick movement the quick-turn consists in placing your foot on the opposite side of the ball to the direction direction to that the is currently travelling in.‍ The Roulette Turn Dribble - A roulette allows you to dribble the ball around an opponent; To do the roulette, you should dribble the ball with your strong foot.our strong foot is the one with which you are most confident when shotting the ball. When you find yourself facing an opponent at close range (around 1 metre away), roll the ball backwards with the sole of your stronger foot.‍ The Two Touch Dribble - A two touch dribble will assist you in beating an opponent who is directly in front of you. The move involves flicking the ball quickly from one foot to the other in order to change your direction of play.‍ The Drag Back Dribble - A drag-back allows you to get away from an opponent by going around them, whether they are in front of you or slightly to the side. ‍Your initial practice can start by taking your football to open spaces and practicing your dribble back and forth. Dribble toward a direction with one-foot, turn around and then dribble back with your opposite foot.To get used to different types of touches, turn your body to the side and do the same thing. As and when you get more comfortable, gradually increase your dribbling pace while keeping the ball under control.

‍ 6. Learn To Control The Ball

Good ball control is very important in football because it allows you to move around without losing the ball. Ball control involves keeping the ball close to you so that you can frequently change the pace and direction.

Take small steps and guide the ball using your stronger foot (whichever feels most comfortable kicking).

7. How To Do A Throw In

A throw-in is essentially that moment when you restart the game after the ball has gone out of the boundaries of play.

It might not feel like a very glamorous skill to master but it has an importance. Since you’ve set up your mind to learn how to play football, you need to learn it through and through. An effective throw can enable a successful attacking move and helps you maintain possession.

When is a throw-in awarded?‍ A throw-in is awarded when the ball has passed over the touchline, either on the ground or in the air. The throw is taken from the spot where the ball has gone out of play A throw-in goes to the opposite team of the person who gets the ball out of play How to take a throw-in? Hold the ball with both hands, one on each side. Place your feet on the spot from where the ball exited the field of play. Arch your back. Lift the ball up and over your head. Release the ball with a forward flick of the wrists toward the direction of your teammate in order to maintain possession. Re-enter the game but don't touch the ball until someone else has.

8. How To Be A Better Goalkeeper While you’re learning how to be a good football player, why not also learn how to be a better goalkeeper. The role of a goalie is an important one in determining a teams success. The primary role of the goalkeeper is to stop and catch the ball when a player of the opposition shoots at their goal. A blocked shot not only preserves the score of the game but can shift the momentum of the entire game.

‍There are a lot of methods to stop a ball depending on the precision and the strength of the shot. Here are some tips to ensure you become the best keeper you can be.‍ Develop your kicking as well as throwing skills. Prioritize timings. Stay focused on the game all the time even if the ball is away from your 18 yard box. Always keep your eye on the ball. Try and read the body language of your opponent. Get your feet, hands and eyes in sync Enhance your communication with your teammates

9. Learn How To Defend While Playing Football

Learn how to position yourself to defend in football. This is an important stance in learning how to play football. All the players in the team who do not have possession of the ball have to defend. Their goal is to stop their opponents from scoring a goal, to provoke them into making errors and to intercept the ball.

In most football matches, each player has a direct opponent, in other words they have a player they have to mark and defend against,when their team does not have possession of the ball. Always position yourself between your opponent and the goal you are protecting. Stay around two metres from them. Move back when they move forwards through bending your legs and angling yourself at at a 45 degree angle to them. Keep your focus on the ball. Be ready to intervene if your opponent leaves too large a distance between themselves and the ball in order to intercept or clear it away.

Note which is the preferred foot of your opponent. Once you have identified it, angle yourself at 45 degrees on the side of their strong footing order to force them to dribble the ball with their weaker foot. The situation will become much less dangerous for your team! You now know how yo defend properly in football! Now that you’ve learnt how to play football, there’s no reason to not get on the pitch immediately. But wait, make sure you first pick up the right set of gear to get going.

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