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hurt-care · 4 years ago

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The Reunion - WW2 era fic

I've been listening to an audiobook about WWII in the UK and there's been multiple mentions of people writing in their diaries about suffering from lengthy colds as well as a discussion of the increase in casual sex during the war (especially during air raids, when it became a welcome distraction). So, let's just say I was inspired...!

Male, cold, OCs, contains 18+ content

The Reunion -

The club was positively bursting with young revellers and the sounds of a jazz band playing as couples moved across the dance floor in tight embraces, flitting in and out of shadow of the chandeliers sparkling overhead. Champagne flowed liberally, delivered by waiters in smart tuxedo jackets and white gloves. If a time-traveller had been magically transported inside, they would have no idea that outside the walls of the club there was a war on.

Making her way through the throngs of people was Katherine Marsh, or Kat to her close friends. Close at her heels was Mary Alderman, an old school chum who'd come up through London society with her. The girls wove through the dancers on route to a table up on the balcony that circled the dance floor, providing a spectacular view of the room below. Only the uppers of society generally occupied the tables here and the demand was such that often bribes had to be given to the head waiter to ensure a spot. Peter Halford, one of Kat's other longtime friends, had been in charge of the evening's transaction and now he waved cheerily from a spot in the corner as the girls approached.

“Hello, Peter!” Kat said joyfully as she sided into a chair along the wall, tucking the skirt of her silk gown around her. “Have you ordered a bottle yet or shall I do the honours?”

“It's just coming now,” Peter replied, nodding towards the approaching waiter who carried a magnum size bottle in a silver ice bucket while another waiter followed behind deftly balancing a tray of champagne coupes.

“Your timing is impeccable as ever,” Mary said with a laugh. “I'm parched.”

She flashed a smile at Peter, her eyes sparkling in the light of the crystal scones along the walls. Kat smirked knowingly at her friend. Mary had been pursuing Peter over the course of several of these evenings out on the town, but Peter remained seemingly oblivious to her advances.

Tonight, Mary was draped in layers of royal blue silk with a spectacular diamond bracelet glinting on her wrist. She looked radiant and Kat thought Peter had to be completely daft to not notice. Kat, on the other hand, had no particular beau in mind. She'd danced with dozens of men and dined at parties across the countryside around London, but no one gentleman had captured her heart. Besides, she was barely twenty and so many of the young men her age were away at service. For now, she was content with dancing and snogging sessions in dim alleyway with soldiers on leave and officers posted to city stations.

The waiter poured them all glasses of champagne and the trio toasted to health, happiness, and the victory of Britain. The chat was light and merry, with Peter filling them in on his new job at the Royal Airforce's London offices near Whitehall. At the hour neared eleven, someone took to the microphone to introduce the next band complete with a line of cabaret dancers dressed in feathers and sequins for entertainment. Mary squealed in delight as the drums kicked up the beat of a popular dance tune and she reached for Peter's hand.

“Oh, will you dance?” she asked breathlessly. “I love this song.”

Peter downed the last of his champagne glass as he stood up.

“Of course. Kat, find yourself a man and let's go.”

The two disappeared into a sea of people moving towards stairs that led to the dance floor. Kat drained her own coupe and stood, surveying the crowded tables for familiar faces or handsome strangers.

A few girls were lingering at a table of Naval officers and as the men stood and paired off with them, one man remained seated alone with a cigarette in his hand. As the duos passed by, Kat realized with a heart-dropping thud that she recognized the lone officer that had stayed behind.

Oliver Hartnett had danced with her at her first debutant ball when she was seventeen and she'd been completely enraptured by him. Two pages of her diary were dedicated to extolling his virtues, from the gentle tambour of his voice to his green eyes, from to his broad shoulders to his chestnut hair. As quickly as he'd come into her life, he'd left it again. They'd shared two dances that night and some brief conversation at a dinner party a week later, and then she hadn't seen him since. Word in the upper circles said he'd gone to Scotland to work for an aging uncle's business and he disappeared from London's upper crust.

Kat dumped the dregs of the champagne bottle into her coupe and gulped it down, feeling the rush of bubbles to her head as she bolstered her courage. She reached into her small handbag for her compact, inspecting her face and reapplying a coat of her precious lipstick, as the bright red shade was now nearly impossible to find with the war rations and so she reserved it for nights out alone.

With a smile on her face that she hoped concealed her nerves, she glided as confidently as she could over to the table.

“Ollie Hartnett, is that you?” she said over the din of the music and the crowd. The man at the table seemed startled by the interruption and he looked up at her, his face vacant for a moment. Then, a grin spread across his face.

“Oh my goodness, Miss Marsh,” he said, standing suddenly and extending his hand.

She laughed.

“It's Kat, please,” she said, taking his broad hand in her and shaking it. “Do you mind if I sit?”

“Of course, please do,” he said, fumbling to get around the vacant chairs nearby in order to pull out one for her. She folded herself gracefully into the seat, crossing her ankles as her mother had always instructed. For once, she was glad she'd listened to Mary's constant chatter about fashion and had worn the deep emerald green silk gown with the black trim that she'd purchased for the previous winter's New Year Eve celebration at Mary's family estate. It set off her figure nicely and contrasted with her auburn hair and milk-white complexion.

Oliver was shaking her head, still grinning.

“What a surprise,” he said, his gentle voice barely audible over the music. “You look well.”

She smiled back.

“I am! Well, as well as anyone is in London at war, I suppose. You've joined up, I see. On leave?”

“For a few more weeks,” he replied, taking a slow drag of his almost burnt-out cigarette. “I'm posted at Brighton, usually.”

“And you're not on the arms of a dozen girls dancing your night away?” she teased.

He snubbed out the cigarette in the ash tray and shook his head.

“Honestly, I wasn't keen on going out at all but the other gents insisted.”

“If I recall, you were quite popular on the dance floor,” she continued. “What's changed?”

“Just a bit under the weather, that's all,” he replied. “Haven't felt up to much dancing tonight, but I'll spare one for you, for old time's sake.”

She felt herself blush.

“Not yet,” she said. “I have to hear all about where you disappeared to that summer. You left a lot of us wondering why one of our dashing debs up and left London at the height of the season.”

“It's not a particularly exciting story, but if I'm going to tell it we ought to do it over a drink.”

He beckoned to a waiter who returned shortly with two cocktails on a black lacquered tray and a serving of peach melba for each of them.

Oliver detailed how the rumours were true; he'd left London for the banal task of running the business operations for his uncle's small factory in Glasgow. A year ago, as the ferocity of the war had begun to increase, he'd enlisted in Royal Navy and left the factory in the hands of the old foreman and his cousin, a savvy young woman named Rose.

More than once during the story he'd paused momentarily to clear his throat with a cough or take a sip of his cocktail to revive his waining voice. Kat felt a pang of sympathy now that she was close and could see clearly the weariness in his face. Though it was spring, the weather had been dreadful and frigid for weeks and many people she knew had been battling heavy colds.

She told him about her adventures in London with Mary and Peter, and about her volunteering posting with the Women's Auxiliary Service where she worked to find temporary housing for those displaced by air raids.

When they'd finished their peach melbas and cocktails, the band struck up a lively tune and Oliver appeared to summon some energy with a broad smile aimed at Kat.

“This is the one,” he said, extending a hand. “Would you like to dance?”

She nodded, trying not to let her rush of enthusiasm show too greatly.

He led her down to the dance floor and took her into his arms, leading the gentle sway as they danced among the other couples. His broad hand rested on the small of her back and Kat felt a rush of heat to her body as they touched, cheeks almost against one another. The gentle warmth of his breath tickled her neck and she was sure he was about to lean in to kiss her there.

His voice mumbled something deep and low into her ear but she couldn't discern it over the music.

“Mmm?” she replied.

“Oh Christ, sorry,” she heard him say and suddenly he was moving swiftly away from her, his one hand leaving her back and his other dropping its grip from hers.

Eh-TSGHT! He turned his face into the sleeve of his officer's uniform, sneezing inaudibly to her as the rest of the dance floor continued their rhythmic sway.

“So sorry,” he shouted, leaning back so she could hear him. He reached into his pants pocket for a handkerchief, which he dabbled briefly under his nose.

“Sorry,” he repeated as he took up his embrace once more.

“It's okay,” she said into his ear. “I hope you don't feel too poorly.”

“No,” he said into hers, his lips almost brushing against her. “Better now.”

She leaned herself closer against him and he pressed his lips to her neck. She sighed with delight, feeling all the rush of emotions that she'd had when they'd first danced. His body was more muscular and square now, without the lanky lines he'd had as an eighteen year old.

Tilting her head upwards, she met his lips and they kissed briefly.

He leaned over to speak into her ear again.

“I hope I'm not catching.”

“I don't care,” she said and captured his lips again. The kiss deepened and a couple nearby sided away to give them a moment of privacy.

The song ended and Katherine stayed in the embrace of Oliver's arms as the next began.

He looked down at her with a soft, tired expression.

“I'm dreadfully sorry, but I'm afraid all this noise and such is too much for me tonight.”

“Can you stay up a little longer?” she asked. “There's a nice restaurant not too far from here. We could go and have a drink there and talk. It's much quieter.”

It was past midnight now and while Oliver looked like he might consider declining in favour of being tucked up in bed, he nodded and smiled.

She grinned back at him and kissed his cheek.

“I'm so glad. I'll find my friends to tell them I'm off. Meet me by the doors? Would you be a dear and get my coat for me?”

She fished the small coatcheck tag from her handbag.

After she'd shouted her goodbyes to Mary and Peter (who looked very cozy together on the dance floor, she noted with pleasure), she found Oliver leaning against a wall by the exit with her coat over his arm and his own Navy-issued wool peacoat already on. He held up her coat to help her into it and offered his arm to her, walking at her side out into the cool spring night.

The air was clear and crisp, with a half-moon overhead. The streets were brutally dark thanks to the blackout and they made their way clumsily along the road, squinting to see landmarks in the dim moonlight.

“It's down to the left, one more block,” she said as they passed the entrance to another dance club where the only light came from several cigarettes that glowed as young people poured in and out from the doors and slipped behind blackout curtains into the well-lit hall.

“Can we pause a moment,” Oliver asked. “Sorry, just a moment.”

She stopped, turning to look at him.

“Sorry,” he repeated, reaching for his handkerchief. She could see him silhouetted in the dim moonlight as his shoulders trembled and he shook his head for a moment. Then, with a deep breath, he pitched forward with a wrenching sneeze.

Hurhhh-TSGHXTT!

Unable to mask the sound, he gave a brief but noisy blow into the handkerchief afterwards before hastily tucking it into his coat pocket.

“I'm so sorry,” he said, taking her arm up again. She gave him a light squeeze, leaning against his side as she did so.

“Don't apologize,” she said. “I'm only sorry to hear you so poorly. Blasted cold seems to be going around everywhere.”

“The boys in my unit said that if I can't spend a night out with a head cold, there's no way I'd last through a month at sea battling the Germans,” said Oliver, his voice a little hoarse. He cleared his throat with a cough. “I suppose that's true.”

“Well, we'll find you something warm to drink at the restaurant and that should revive you,” Kat said cheerfully.

They were just rounding the last corner onto the street where the restaurant was located when a sound split the air. The wail of the air raid sirens began their raised pitch, increasing to a loud din of pulsing noise.

They paused in the street, stunned. It shouldn't have been entirely a surprise; the sirens were a regular occurrence in the city but neither one of them had encountered the alert while out on the street.

In the darkness, a voice shouted authoritatively.

“To your shelters, please! Nearest public shelter is the Piccadilly Circus station. To your shelters please!”

The figure of an air raid warden with a metal helmet on passed by.

“Which way is Piccadilly?” Oliver asked.

Kat glanced up and down the dark street.

“My rooms are only two or so more blocks past here,” she said. “If we hurry, we should be fine. There's a cellar in the back.”

Gripping his arm tightly, she led the way down the road. Several times they nearly collided with others making their way to safety. As they neared the house where she rented lodgings, the sky began to shine with searchlights and in the distance, the sound of anti-aircraft guns began to crackle. The bliss of dancing and the haze of champagne cleared from Kat's head as she steered them down an alley between some homes and to a metal hatch that covered the entrance to the cellar. She tugged it open and hovered a foot over the void, finding the top step.

“Six steps down. Pull the door shut behind you,” she said to Oliver. Her hand trailed along the earthen edge of the wall until it met the edge of a candlestick and a pack of matches. She struck one alight as Oliver shut the hatch with a loud bang.

The tiny chamber glowed in the candlelight, illuminating the stone and soil room. Oliver was breathing heavily, almost wheezing. Katherine tipped the lit candle to light others, gradually brightening the room enough to see without too much strain.

“Sit,” she insisted, gesturing to a small crate topped with a cushion. “Catch your breath. I'll put some tea on.”

Hhh-TSGHHH!

The sound of the sneeze startled her and she looked over in time to see Oliver building up to a second. He tipped forward, nose nestling into the folds of his waiting handkerchief.

Ehhh—hhehhTSXHHT! “Bless you!” she said earnestly. “Are you warm enough? There's plenty of blankets. My landlady, Mrs. Beecher, is up north visiting her sister and the other girl who rents rooms is at her family home for the week. So it's just you and me here unless we get some surprise guests from next door.”

“No, I'm fine,” he said quietly, wiping his nose. “Sorry.”

“I don't mind a bit of sniffling,” she said teasingly. “You don't need to keep apologizing.”

“Have you had to spend many nights down here?” he asked, surveying the cellar. It was appointed with provisions for the three woman who lived above plus extras for any visitors who might end up sheltering there. Two wooden bunks were stacked against one wall, each with pillows and blankets and thin mattresses. Another mattress was rolled and stored in a nearby trunk with additional linens. A small table held a kettle on a fuel-powered heater and several teacups. There was a deck of cards, a basket of knitting, and a lidded chamberpot. Someone had cheekily hung a framed piece of embroidery that read “Home Sweet Home.”

“Oh, I've lost count,” Kat said as she set the kettle to boil once she'd filled it with water from one of the three large canteens by the steps that led outside. “This is only the second time I've ended up down here in an evening gown, though.”

Once the kettle was heating, she opened a chest and took out a wool jumper and a pair of socks.

“Good thing I'm prepared,” she added.

Oliver watched as she sat on a wooden chair and unstrapped her high heel shoes and slid her hand up under her gown to unclip her precious nylon stockings. Careful not to snag them, she rolled them down her legs and pulled on the socks.

He laughed as she put the jumper on over her evening gown, put her coat back on top of that, and donned a pair of Wellington rubber boots. She struck a pose for him.

“You'd be the toast of all the fashion magazines,” he declared.

His chuckle turned to a cough that sounded strained and painful. She frowned at him and shook her head.

“I'd say you should've followed your own ideas and stayed home instead of the advice of your mates,” she said. “But I have to admit I've awfully glad I ran into you.”

He recovered from the coughing spell and looked at her with affection.

“I'm glad too,” he said. She poured the hot water from the kettle into a teapot to steep and selected two teacups.

Outside, the din of the air raid sirens had ended. There was the sound of distant explosions, but for the time being they were far from the action.

“I'm afraid I've no milk to offer but we have a bit of honey.”

“That'd be lovely, thanks,” he said.

She poured them each a cup and sat opposite him, savouring the warm tea. He drank his own cup, clearly soothed by the hot liquid. He dabbed at his nose a few times with his handkerchief as it began to run from the warmth.

When the cups were empty, they sat in silence for a moment. A bomb exploded somewhere a few blocks away and the candles flickered as the shockwave trembled through the earth. The remaining teacups on the table rattled against each other. Kat closed her eyes for a moment, sighing.

“Are you frightened?” Oliver asked.

“No, I don't think so,” she said. “I suppose I always am, a little. But not terribly.”

She set her teacup down on the table and moved to sit on the bottom bunk bed, patting the mattress beside her. He stood and moved to her side. The next thing she knew, they were kissing, his hands were in her hair and she had a hand on his chest. She kicked off the boots and pulled up her dress so she could sit astride his lap. He kissed down her neck and tugged her coat off, his hand going under her jumper and stroking her breasts through the silk of her gown.

She exhaled with pleasure, starting to slowly grind against his hips. She reached for the waistband of his trousers and he helped her with his belt. He made a soft moaning noise as she fumbled with the buttons at his fly and found her way downwards. His lips brushed her shoulder, pressing kisses where the neck of her jumper was stretched to the side. A brief cough escaped him, puffing against her skin. He muttered an apology and she murmured a sweet assurance as she began to stroke him.

“Wait,” he said breathlessly. He pulled her arms upwards and guided the jumper off over her head. She pushed his coat off him and made quick work of the buttons of his shirt, tugging that off too. He urgently shed his shoes and trousers as she stood and slipped off the silk gown revealing a satin bra and knickers with mother-of-pearl buttons.

He watched her hungrily as she slid out of the knickers and climbed back onto the mattress, guiding his pants off his hips. They kissed tenderly and she settled down on top of him, hips rising to meet hips. He made that same low moaning noise and she felt her body jolt with pleasure, hands roaming through his chestnut curls.

He made love to her urgently as the sound of bombs echoed outside. They moved together, breath increasing to gasps. His nose was running freely and he briefly sniffled and pressed it against his own shoulder to rub it. She kissed his neck and felt the expanse of his chest press against hers as he took a sharp breath. His body shuddered under her as he sneezed a restrained outburst, clearly trying to keep the explosion minimal.

Ngh-GHXT!

She moaned involuntarily as the spasm thrust him against her.

“Fuck,” he groaned under his breath. “Sorry.”

“Please,” she gasped. “Oliver!”

He sniffled thickly and then resumed with vigour until they both lay panting and shivering on the bed. He looked utterly exhausted but there was a smile on his lips. She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“You sweet thing,” she whispered. “As if you weren't exhausted at the start of the evening.”

She slipped out of the bed with a blanket around her shoulders and found his shirt and socks and underthings on the ground.

“Best put at least your socks on before you drop off entirely,” she said tenderly, helping him dress before they both slipped under the quilts again.

She woke at some ungodly hour to the sound of nose-blowing and the roar of the 'all clear' siren. From feel, she could tell Ollie was sitting up in bed, straining to clear his nose with his sodden handkerchief. It was pitch black in the shelter and she had no idea how long they'd been asleep.

She managed to find the matches and lit a candle. Oliver sounded dreadfully congested and by the dim light of the single candle, she could see his nose was red and angry-looking at the edges.

“Oh, love,” she said, leaving the candle on the bedside table and climbing back under the quilts next to him. “How do you feel?”

He exhaled noisily.

“Rather poorly, I'm afraid,” he said hoarsely. “I hope for your sake it's not catching.”

She squinted at the wristwatch she kept wrapped on the bedpost. It was half-past four.

“It's still early but there's the all-clear. Do you want to get rugged up in my bed upstairs or stay here.”

He folded the handkerchief and tucked it at his side, snuggling back down beside her.

“That answers that,” she said, tucking his head against her breast. She stroked his hair and planted a kiss there. “Try to get some more rest, darling. I'll take good care of you.”

#dustyfic #snzfic

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breakers-of-dogma · 4 years ago

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The Hunt

Enough. Enough. Enough.

Ethys did not kneel down, and that cost him his sanity. Not wanting to succumb to the Garleans' ways, he refused to do anything they told him, trying his best to make sure he was the main target, and not his brother.

But the Garleans always had their ways of making people obey. There's a reason their Empire has revived itself, time and time again, and succeeded in getting people to work for them for whatever they needed. If he's not going to listen, then there could be only one thing left to do.

That, of course, being their own methods of torture.

Time started to lose its meaning after a while. Hours, days, weeks, months, years. Every minute of every day merged into one as Ethys was not capable of remembering anything anymore. Neo did his best to take care of him after the Garleans would leave for the day, but despite all of his attempts, things were just getting worse and worse. Doing what he could to keep himself together, Neo knew how much Ethys needed him, so he did all he could to keep himself together, understanding all of this would be the hardest for his little brother to live through. Hearing Ethys scream at the top of his lungs every night for hours from all the torture he had to endure for many long years, Neo could only curl up in a corner, waiting for the Garleans to return his brother to him... And so, he had to keep it together, for his brother. For himself. For both of them. They needed to get out of there.

● ● ●

Broken down, time and time and time again. The Garleans made sure to do anything and everything they could to abuse Ethys's skills and power. A few mishaps would happen of course, but the Garleans couldn't care less if some of their men died to a crazy Viera, as their beliefs were that the sacrifices will be worth the cause once he is finally on his knees.

Ethys will be their war machine.

Little by little, eventually, the man gave in. He was tired. Messing with his body, ruining his mind, his aether, it all was making him lose his sense of self and his grip on reality. The more time passed, the less he cared about anything else other than causing chaos and bloodshed wherever he could, which worked wonderfully in the Empire's favor. When they were done beating, insulting and breaking him for the day, Ethys would return to his brother, each time with more scars, breathless and barely being able to stand most of the time. He was reminded each night how bitterly cold the cells were. Even his own blood that was spilled felt so, so cold, and so… At some point, he started yearning for warmth, spilling the blood of all of those who were in his line of sight. The sudden warmth from the blood that touched his skin, it made him feel truly alive, and over time, this desire of his would be only exacerbated. Neo could only watch on the side for the longest time. It was a horrifyingly depressing sight. However, for Ethys, this was almost comforting, in a way; Neo would be spared of any sort of awful mistreatment, and seeing his brother be safe and sound was the only thing in the world that mattered to him. Every battle, and every kill was worth the effort, knowing that when he came back he could see Neo unharmed, and so he never regretted his choice, even to this day.

● ● ●

During their imprisonment, Ethys had also been learning the way of the Machinist. Abusing his own aether to form bullets that would kill any man, through any armor - it cost him a lot, of course, but he never cared. Anything for the thrill of the battle, he said. The constant pulsing pain became more and more enjoyable over time. Now, a skillful Dragoon who’s also capable of abusing his Aether as a Machinist? Truly, he was one of the scariest warriors and a nightmare for whoever was unfortunate enough to have to deal with him. Rumours started going around about him, how powerful he is, how lucky the Empire is that they have him in their grip. They looked at him as some sort of beast that had to be locked up in a cage, and even though Ethys was working for the Empire, those around him couldn’t help but shiver, occasionally sending in a prayer, and counting their blessings that they’re not his targets. The higher ups were aware of this, and would frequently express their fondness of him as their best fighter, but Ethys wasn’t blind. Even in the state he was in at that point, he was aware of their backhanded compliments, their lies and trickery. Promising him things such as more freedom around the Empire, or maybe even a chance at a new life. Promises of freedom for both him and his brother, together - but, of course, all of that was a lie. He knew and didn't even need his ability to tell, but he always responded with a smile. He was used to it by now. Even so, that ability would eventually start coming in handy as he tried to get more information for Neo, once the plan for their escape was set in motion.

The brothers barely had the time to talk, not to mention how hard it was for Ethys to even focus on anything other than fighting. But the little time they did have with each other, Neo used it to update Ethys on the situation and tell him the plan for their escape, that they have help from a white mage unknown to him. The stage was set, they just had to find the right moment. Neo had warned the mage about Ethys's situation - that he might break at any point - and asked him for his cooperation to help them finally get out of there, to which he gladly obliged. Ethys wasn’t aware who this individual was, and frankly, he did not care much. All that mattered to him were Neo’s words: “Wait.”

After that, there was no further conversation about this between the brothers, and Neo stopped trying to calm Ethys down, as he knew that Ethys had been waiting for the moment to strike. One annoyance after another, he endured and endured and endured and endured. He didn't feel anything anymore. The realization of being tortured escaped his mind as he was too busy planning all the ways he would entertain himself once he had his way with them. Once he was finally free. Just a little bit longer, just a bit longer.... And then it was all ripped to shreds. All of their plans. There wasn’t even a plan anymore. Not in Ethys’s eyes, at least. None of it mattered anymore after what had happened to Neo, which left Ethys’s body to ache for so long.

● ● ● While Ethys killed so many for the Empire, they still didn’t have the ability to fully control him, even after so many years of imprisonment. Despite everything, he was still far more resilient than they would like him to be. No one could make him do more than kill an assigned target. He was always open about his deep hatred towards everyone there, and despite all of the pain he had endured, he never kneeled. Not even once. Not willingly, at least. Through all these agonizing sessions of torture, the only time they would have him kneel is when the last bit of his strength was spent, and even then he would be disrespectful and show no sign of fear or change, and that made the Garleans furious, and so, they orchestrated a different way to make him listen.

On that fateful night, Neo became a part of their conversations, and Ethys did not take kindly to that whatsoever. Suddenly, he was visibly more aggressive, which immediately gave them a hint that this could perhaps be something they could use to their advantage. But Ethys was anything but cooperative. In fact, all it did was make him break out and attack them, almost killing one of the people who were in charge that night, only to be captured again right before he could do anything to them. Easily breaking things around him, they realized that he was far stronger than he let on. And so, their torture became more gruesome that night, significantly so; a fitting punishment for his disobedience.

● ● ●

Neo heard all of it, and it made his entire body shake. Something felt different. Ethys was tortured regularly, but Neo could sense that tonight is different. Something was very, very wrong. First notable difference was the sheer amount of time they spent with him in that chamber. It felt as if they were going to be there until sunrise.

Finally, they threw Ethys back to his cell, their faces distorted with victorious grins, reminding Neo of the consequences should Ethys not listen. Should he continue his little game, there would be consequences for both of them. But Neo barely heard a word they said, as he was staring at the lifeless body in front of him; his precious brother, his eyes visibly open, but he was not moving. He could barely breathe, even.

This cannot be. This simply cannot be. He can’t be -

Words escaped Neo as he continued to stare. They were here for years, why did everything suddenly… change? What prompted them to-

…

Tears were already falling from his face. His entire body was shaking as he tried to stop himself from sobbing, keeping it as quiet as possible. All of it was just too much to bear. He had been doing everything in his power up to this point to not cry, to not show any weakness, for Ethys’s sake, but seeing him be in this state only reminded him of all the years they spent hurting him to the point of driving him insane, and suddenly all of his repressed emotions, all of his misery, his regrets and his feelings of failure as an older brother manifested into something… New. Something he understood. Sorrow.

Ethys is Sorrow itself, and Neo loved him. He loved him so much. His anger, his tenacity, his boldness and his ability, nay, his pure nature of being unafraid of anything, including his own mind, his own feelings, and most of all, his compassion and selfless love for him, the bond that they share. He loved all of it, for he was the only one who fueled his fire, and kept him sane. Even in his darkest moments, all Ethys was ever thinking of was Neo. Neo. Neo, and he knew. He knew, because this was something they shared. This deep connection that was so special between them, their care for each other was unquestionable.

Ethys never hid his emotions no matter how much they hurt him, and he realized that this was something worth protecting. Something that had to continue living. No one in this entire world could have convinced him that he cannot be saved. Their bond is unbreakable, and that could never change. It would never change.

A feeling that escaped him for the longest time, yet it was always there when he looked at Ethys. The one thing he could not hide no matter how much he tried to deceive others, and even himself. But he saw it now. It’s so painfully raw, and before he did anything else, he lifted his brother’s body, and hugged him as tightly as he possibly could in that moment, still fighting back his tears. He held him for what felt like an eternity, but were only mere moments.

As the older brother, his duty was to protect Ethys, and so he would do just that. His own sacrifice, manifested from the white magic he learned as a way to heal him when they would bring him back from the torture chambers each night. A spell that he felt was only right, for no sacrifice was too great to see his brother live. He will not suffer it to be otherwise. ● ● ● Some time later, Ethys managed to wake up. He wasn’t really sure how much time had passed, or how he was alive for that matter, but he was back in his cell. He took a moment to look around to see if Neo was there, and noticed there was a pillow next to him. Even after all this time, Neo still did so many acts of kindness like this, each time they would return him to the cell. Something Ethys was always grateful for, but never had the words or the strength to say it, often due to being too exhausted from being Garleans’ plaything, but he always appreciated it more than he could ever say. The comforting words, the hugs that always reminded him that he had his brother. His home was right there with him and so everything was okay, so long as they had each other.

He noticed that a lot of his wounds were healed. Neo must be exhausted from that, he thought, especially after being convinced that he was mere moments away from death’s embrace. He was lost in thought for a little while.

He never enjoyed having his brother look at him like this and having to spend so much of his strength patching him up all the time. He wanted to wreak havoc, but Neo always said to save his strength, that he had a plan, and so he listened each time, and trusted his judgement. He took his words to heart, and when it would all be too much to bear, he would return to him, covered in blood and scars, and lean on him, as it would give him comfort, and in turn, when ever he noticed Neo falter, he would hold him, and be there for him without fail. Shortly after, he snapped out of it, and spotted Neo on the other side of the cell, passed out on the ground. Even though he was still visibly hurt, Ethys paid it no mind as he quickly got up to go towards his brother, only to be welcomed with a sight that, for the first time ever in his entire life, made him start shivering and then, violently shaking. This wasn’t because he was not fully healed. No, this was different. Far worse than anything he had lived through as a prisoner of Garlemald for almost 20 years.

Ethys was brought to his knees, overwhelmed by all the emotions that were suddenly spiraling like a storm: “No.. No no no no NO NO NO NO!!” Those were the only words Ethys could say. He quickly grabbed Neo and held him tightly, but right before he could even do anything, the Garleans were already there, summoned by his cries of desperation, ready to take Ethys in and make his life hell again, but this time it was far, far worse. Now they are actively doing what they can to harm both of them.

Neo… Hurt? His precious older brother.. Missing an arm? An unimaginable scenario, yet it was right in front of him, in the flesh. The words “failure” were ringing so loudly inside, he felt as if his entire body was paralyzed from the shock. As they were dragging him away, he let out a cry so loud, louder than any of the screams he had let out when they tortured him for all these years. No amount of agony he felt was worse than in that moment. He cried out his brother’s name, again and again and again. Each time he said his name louder and louder, as he would slowly piece the puzzle on what exactly happened to him.

At first he thought it was the Garleans’ doing, but Neo’s arm was nowhere to be found, and he was well aware of the capabilities of his brother’s magic, as much as he was kicking and screaming, he blamed it all on himself.

It was his fault that he acted out due to his rage, it was his fault that Neo was brought to a position where he had to do this, it was his fault for-

How happy it would make him if he could just break these chains off right now. But it would be too soon. Neo said to wait.

Neo said to wait.

He knows his brother is still alive, he was breathing, but Ethys had nothing left to hold him back now. Dragged back to the torture chamber, he gazed at all the people who laughed, who dragged him back, and those who were a mere passerby. Everyone. And he would remember each and every one of their faces and masks. Every single thing. One last moment, he waited while they took him away, to ensure that Neo would be far away before Ethys did anything. He cannot falter now. Finally, they locked him up in a special cage built to prevent anyone from exiting, slowly preparing something that felt far worse than what he experienced last night.

● ● ●

Time passed, while nothing happened. The anticipation of torture made him more tired than anything. No more. No more... He is exhausted. He wants to be free. He wants to leave this place. And... The guard in front of him looks like such an easy target right now. He started getting impatient and the imagery of torturing all of them made him visibly smile.

"Hah...Ahahahahaha..."

Not even a sharp chirp, so uncommon in these parts, made his soft giggling stop as the guard watched over him. "Should've listened when we told ya to kneel, ya stubborn fool," the guard responded, only to be greeted with something that could have only been described as death itself mere moments later. Nay, even death would have been more welcoming than this, more gentle than this.

When Ethys was finally done laughing, he let out one last deep sigh. He looked at the guard with a frightening expression, his white eyes emitting a strange glow that nobody had ever seen before. The intensity of it was unmistakable. He was like a ticking time bomb, the glow only getting stronger and stronger.

And in that moment, Neo shouted the words he waited to hear for years now.

The cage he was in, the shackles that held him, suddenly looked like they were mere toys - Ethys broke out of them with such strength and ease, his rage carrying him effortlessly, and suddenly... The guard was already dead, but Ethys did not stop. He repeatedly stomped, stabbed, clawed the guard’s skin and flesh out, disembodying him as if he was taking out parts of a plastic doll, a puddle of blood surrounding him, and splashing all over his face and body. Bloodlust. It is there. He gives into it, the idea of making blood pour like the rain that falls gently on your cheeks, and...

He lets himself go. No more of this. Neo said to wait, but the waiting’s over.

It's time to hunt.

#writing #by: chib #Ethys #you ever just fuckin cry #also sonne is great at helping me make this much more coherent bless #this is the first thing i wrote by myself duderinos im fuckin VIBING ok #ffxiv writing #ffxiv #male viera #the hunt #neo&ethys

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snowfianna · 5 years ago

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Fable IV rant:

I'm so pumped up for the 23rd because everything has led me to believe that Fable 4 will be announced this year and the game's existence has been confirmed for a while anyway it's just a matter of time of when will Fable 4 show itself. It's a badly kept secret tbh.

So to those who don't mind a big rant or wish to add on to my rant- here we go!

Can you imagine how good the graphics would be for this game, we've all seen modern games, surely, and they're all bloody fantastic looking. Fable Legends is technically the most recent Fable game despite it being a free to play online game

and that it's cancelled

but it also had a gorgeous look to it all! And the character models did great justice to the concept art and honestly that has my hopes real high because I love the concept art of Fable, specifically from Mike McCarthy, so exaggerated and recognisable- yet in all the games I can confidently say they did not do justice to his character design, specifically for Reaver. Sure, he looks stunning in the third game, but not quite what he looks like in his concept art sadly.

But also, since Fable was made in Unreal Engine (I'm pretty sure at least) we've seen examples of what can be done in Unreal Engine now and it's absolutely breath taking!

If you haven't seen here are some examples and they're so life-like.

Moving on from graphics!

Since Playground Games is behind the development of Fable 4, they would be spectacular at an open spaced world, judging from the Forza games.

I always loved the open world feature added to Fable, it made things more adventurous and you could do so many things that weren't at all related to the main quest to progress the story and it was just thrilling to see there were other things going on! I'd love to just have my dog companion running through fields, fighting enemies left and right and finding buried treasure or forgotten chests.

Run into strangers who request aid in something silly or rather serious and it would be up to you with how you go about the quest or if you even accept it to get renown or gold. Cause a massacre in towns and villages, running off with low morality and plentiful loot- oh one could fantasise of this all day.

Story, characters, writing and voices.

Fable has always had a fun environment of fantasy and a rather good story (despite the curse of mundane or pathetic boss fights in which I hope Fable 4 breaks this cycle) but the one thing that's always kept me on my feet in the games is the writing and the characters. It always just tried not to take itself too seriously, throwing in absurd quests that probably requires cheese or a really weird-looking outfit. It always kept my attention rather than just pure edge and seriousness of life or death.

The characters are a given, the writing done for them all is perfect in my eyes, I love hearing the variations of how characters of NPCs interacted (enough so that I even bought two of the Fable books written by Peter David). Despite Fable 3 not being the greatest at it's time, I found myself absolutely enjoy the characters for how they were- I even cried over Walter's death because it genuinely felt like I lost somebody pretty close (RIP Walter🙏). The writing and the chosen voice actors were superb and I'd love more of it.

I hope this time we can receive a full story instead of how Fable 2 and 3 were where plenty of plot points and such were cut out due to time constraints- thanks Microsoft, very cool. I'm still in anguish when listening to the Developer's Diary 3 of Fable 3 hearing lines that were just never said in the final product and it was definitely not just additional lines that weren't required as it seemed to mention entirely different things that weren't in the game; i.e. Reaver talks about his pirates in Bloodstone and how he misses them- in the final product he never mentions it and it's even shown that he's tried to completely bury his pirate past for whatever reason.

The pacing in Fable 3 was rather strange too, it felt like the revolution should've lasted longer.

Another hope of mine is to have choices that aren't so painfully black-and-white because it's very obvious which is the good or bad option to a scenario- personally for me I'd like to be morally grey rather than pure good or pure evil.

They better have kept the mechanic of your actions affecting your appearance too to the point where you grow horns and get cracked magma-like skin or this slight glow and aura around you and this flawless skin. It kind of died down in Fable 3, only looking more tired or have completely black eyes and the good- eh yeah not much I can say for when you're good. Purity and corruption seemed to also vanish in Fable 3 (at least I think) since you couldn't really change prices of the homes you were renting out, unless I've been a big goof who didn't arrange the rent prices in the game because I didn't know how.

Combat

Combat in all the games was rather straight forward, especially in Fable 2 and 3 where everything was just easy to beat or you could get overpowered around the start of the game. I'd hope the combat improves greatly this time and even bring back real consequences to dying instead of immediate revival with some lost experience and a scar. We need more serious consequences to your actions (this can be applied to all decisions rather than just if you die in a battle) even if it's just having to reload the last checkpoint. Makes things more challenging this way.

Another thing is to make boss fights less repetitive and simple- sure I can forgive it if the boss is from around the start but if they had phases you had to keep ontop of and didn't rely on summoning a bajillion other enemies to strike you, I'd be ever so grateful.

And if there's other characters fighting along side you, I'd hope they'd genuinely be helpful and keep up to speed with the player. I'm sure the AI in the past was the problem for this as AI wasn't at its best during that time so characters fighting by you didn't do too much or just did whatever that wasn't helpful. Now though, AI has improved immensely (I mean look at The Last Of Us 2, the AI is👌) and due to this, I'm sure characters would make battles more fun and the characters be more involved with the fight and even story.

Mana should be brought back as well, in Fable 2 and 3 mana just ceased to exist so you could just endlessly and repeatedly use the same spells and it just gave you too much power and the enemies barely stood a chance.

We need challenges people- CHALLENGES!

Medieval times? Yes.

I love Medieval fantasy and as much as I like the Victorian era too, I didn't think it quite suited Fable, as fascinating as it was to see fantasy turn industrial, it kind of took away from the Fable feel that I so crave. If they have indeed brought the game back to medieval times it means more creatures and enemies are back rather than driven away or limited to the same handful of enemies.

We can all also agree the guns were overpowered, though I did like receiving the Red Dragon late in Fable 2 to absolutely mow down enemies, it was satisfying to say the least. However, guns were far too powerful for the game, so I demand the bows and crossbows back thank you very much- or even throwing knives- I'll take what I'm given.

I'd love to see more of the natural landscape rather than towns or buildings that took over once entirely natural areas (Millfields/Bowerlake). However, I won't object to ruins of old buildings taken over by nature.

Skeptical with Playground Games? Don't be.

Are you worried that Playground Games wouldn't do justice to Fable since it's not Lionhead Studios? Don't be, it's been noted that Playground Games has hired several ex-lionhead workers and plenty other skillful workers to ensure we get the best product. I have high hopes and expectations for Fable 4 even if it's developed under a different studio, I've seen great things from them and I will believe they'll deliver us only the best.

Side note to all this

I will crash and burn if I don't see a crumb of Reaver or Jack of Blades in Fable 4- I don't know how true any rumours are of Fable 4 with time travelling and Jack returning, but we'll just have to see. Reaver still remains as my absolute favourite character of all time and I'd love to see more of him, even see him before he was 'Reaver'.

Jack too, more of his lore is stated elsewhere rather than in the game itself and I'd love to see it all be brought into light and really expand on his lore and make it known- rather than have ever-loving Fable fans like me dig around for these rather delicious bits of canon information.

That's my big rant, feel free to share your thoughts and what you'd look forward to!

Have some accidental art leaks from a Playground Game concept artist- believed to be for Fable 4👀

#fable #fable 2 #fable 3 #fable 4 #rant #honestly if you read this you have my respect #ramble

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coppicefics · 4 years ago

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Masked Omens: Week Seven, Part One

[Image Description: Image 1 - A simple rendition of the Masked Singer UK logo, a golden mask with colourful fragments flying off of it. The mask has a golden halo and a golden devil tail protruding from either side. Below, gold text reads ‘Masked Omens’.

Image 2 - A page from the Entertainment section of the Capital Herald, dated 6th February 2021. Full image description and transcript below the cut. End ID.]

Read the fic here! All news stories and events are entirely fictional; real names of people (with the exception of image attributions) and places are used only for context. No affiliation is implied, and no disrespect is intended by the use of their names in this work of fiction.

[EDIT: With thanks to HolRose/@hasturswig for spotting that I had overlooked the sad passing of John Noakes, who originally appeared on this page!]

The Capital Herald - Saturday, 6th February 2021 Entertainment, page 15

Top left: Grasswater redo rumoured Will anybody tackle the ‘cursed’ adaptation? [Image Description: The ‘w’ in ‘Grasswater, ‘h’ in ‘the’, and ‘o’ in ‘adaptation’ in the above headline have been circled in pencil. End ID.] It's been nearly a decade and a half since the critically-acclaimed adaptation of Sir Thomas Parsett's The Grasswater Affair flopped into cinemas, and rumours are once again circulating about a possible reboot. The first attempt at transferring Parsett's magnum opus to the big screen was released in 2009 after a series of setbacks to the production process. Among the calamities that befell the set were a fire in the wardrobe department, an overdose requiring producers to recast the lead role of Fabian, and a bout of food poisoning that halted filming for over a week. There were whispers, among the more superstitious, that the film was cursed. By the time The Grasswater Affair was finally released, the delay had whipped the original book's fans into a frenzy of anticipation, and excitement over the forthcoming film actually pushed the 19th-century novel into the bestseller lists for the first time in the weeks before the release. Early reviews were promising, and the good press only fed the hype machine. But the crowds that packed into cinemas to watch it emerged disappointed; while the reasons they gave for their disappointment varied wildly, everybody from casual viewers to die-hard book lovers seemed to find it lacking in some aspect or another. It deviated too far from the source text, while adhering precisely to the minor details that didn't matter; it featured a young actor fresh out of drama school, rather than the promised household name; it lingered too long on shots of the actresses' bosoms, and the key object that proved key to the plot was left entirely out of focus in the background of a crucial early scene. While, naturally, some audience members enjoyed it in its own right, it never became either a blockbuster hit or a cult classic, and it still boasts a lowly 2.9 stars on the Internet Movie Database (IMDb) and 24% approval rating on Rotten Tomatoes. This being the case, it might be hard to understand why rumours continue to circulate about a revival of The Grasswater Affair, or what might make this time different from the many, many other occasions when such a story has surfaced on the internet. The first question is easily answered by a look at the thriving community of Parsett fans who adore the original novel – and, indeed, the rest of the series The Grasswater Affair is part of. Following first Fabian, and then various other heroes, through a sort of alternative 19th century underpinned by magic and other fantasy tropes, it's been hailed as a masterpiece – and it's aged surprisingly well despite the shift in society's views and tolerances since its publication. The first novel sees Fabian locked in a battle of wits with his somewhat older rival, Rafferty, as they seek to make their fortunes in a society rife with danger and – worse – scandal. As for the second question, the recent rumours have an extra ring of truth to them thanks to the attachment of an actual name – writer-turned-showrunner Noel Garmin is said to be in talks about the project. Having adapted several of his own books for the small screen, could he now be turning his famed respect for written source material to a film or series based on Parsett's masterpiece? If he does, book fans can expect to be very pleased with the result. Garmin was asked about his upcoming projects at a recent convention panel, and his answer, while enigmatic, seemed promising.“Well, I've got to write some books, at some point! But I do also want to work on some more TV, it's a fascinating way of telling a story and it's still quite new and exciting for me. Perhaps I could tell one of my favourite stories, one that I didn't originally write. I'm actually talking to some people... We'll have to see. Hopefully I'll have news for you soon.” Hopefully you will, Noel. Hopefully you will. CITRON DEUX-CHEVAL Top right: Summer’s operatic offerings Last of Glyndebourne festival announcements [Image Description: The apostrophe and ‘s’ of ‘summer’s’ and the ‘t’ of ‘operatic’ in the above headline are circled in pencil. Below the headline is a short, wide picture of a theatre auditorium with red curtains. Small text over the bottom of the picture reads ‘Photo: Gabriel Varaljay | Unsplash’. End ID.] Opera fans are in for a treat this summer, as Puccini's Turandot returns to Glyndebourne Opera House. The venue in Lewes is renowned as the home of great opera, and Turandot is a favourite no matter where it's performed, so this combination of the two is a perfect match. Throw in popular young tenor Jeremy Wensleydale – most recently seen on ITV's The Masked Singer - performing the role of Calaf, and it's a performance guaranteed to impress. The play follows Calaf as he sets out to win the hand of the titular princess. Each suitor is asked three riddles, and failure means instant death. But answering three riddles is not enough to win the heart of Princess Turandot, and Calaf strikes a desperate bargain; if she can guess his true name by daybreak, she may put him to death regardless. If she fails, the marriage goes ahead. It's an interesting method of courting, to be sure, but the opera has enchanted and delighted audiences for many years now. And, if nothing else, who can resist an opportunity to hear 'Nessun Dorma' live? Glyndebourne members can book tickets now for dates between 25th May and 22nd June; remaining tickets will be available from the 18th of April. Turandot is the latest title to be announced by the opera house and completes their summer season's line-up. There will also be performances of Cosi Fan Tutte, Tristan and Isolde, Il Turco in Italia, and an array of concerts and other events. The Glyndebourne Summer Festival is always a highlight of the arts scene in the middle of the year, but there are events all year round. Currently, the opera house is a stopping-point for a touring production of Romeo & Juliet, which has already passed through the Chichester Festival Theatre and will then go on to Colchester, Ipswich, Cambridge, Sheffield, Manchester and Leeds. The show is a daring new interpretation of the age-old Shakespearean tragedy, fusing music and dance with the familiar story, and a full review will appear in the Capital Herald on Thursday. From the middle of February, Romeo & Juliet will be replaced at Glyndebourne with a more traditional #approach to La Traviata by Giuseppe Verdi. The music of La Traviata may be familiar, even to audiences unfamiliar with the story, as it was rather liberally plundered for inspiration by Donato Lovreglio in 1865. Of course, that does assume a familiarity with Lovreglio - but if you find yourself humming along during your first attendance, that might very well be why. Incidentally, for more opera and classical music trivia, you might find my recent book, Inside Opera, worth a read - especially if you need to brush up on your cultured conversation points before you visit the opera house this summer. EDWARD BIGGS Inside Opera, by Edward Biggs, is published by Byker Press and is available now in all good bookshops. #Hardback RRP ￡9.99/€11.99.

Centre left: Capital Herald scoops NMA Star-studded ceremony honours news greats [Image Description: The ‘H’ of ‘Herald’, ‘A’ of ‘NMA’, and ‘t’ of ‘star’ in the above headline are circled in pencil.] The 2021 News Media Award ceremony took place on Thursday evening at a glamorous event held in the Mayfair Room at the Connaught Hotel, Mayfair. While many of the attendees are more used to operating the cameras than parading in front of them, they rose to the occasion with great aplomb, rubbing shoulders on the red carpet with some of the most famous entertainers in the UK who'd come to add their own special touches to the ceremony. It will come as no surprise to learn that Trevor McDonald, Natasha Kaplinsky, and Naga Munchetty were in attendance, as were Tom Bradby and Dan Walker. But the attendee who really got heads turning was Carmine Zugiber, notorious for attending very few events on UK soil. Although she's normally out in the field, she's been based in London for the last couple of months, covering the political beat for News World Weekly in Uriel Scrolle's absence, and it seems she couldn't resist the opportunity to collect her awards for Best Combat Coverage and Outstanding Field Reporting in person. Wearing a glamorous Ligur gown in striking red to match her hair, she paused on the red carpet to exchange words with some of those less fortunate reporters covering the event. “I don't know what to do with myself, with nobody shooting at me!” Zugiber joked. “Where's my bulletproof jacket?” The ceremony featured a performance of 'Messy (If I Want To Be)' by rapper P-White, who also presented an award for Entertainment Columnist of the Year to the Capital Herald's very own Citron Deux-Cheval. Another of the Capital Herald's staff writers, Edward Biggs, was nominated in the category of News-Adjacent Achievement for his 2020 trivia book, That Guy From That Thing. While the award, presented by Dame Angela Crowley, eventually went to News World Weekly's Donald Eath for High Score: A Study in Arcade Machines, Edward did get a chance to meet Dame Angela and exchange a few words. “She said I shouldn't feel discouraged, as she didn't win anything at her first awards ceremony either – and she wished me every success with my new book, which has just come out,” said Biggs of the star. “Hopefully, next year, I'll be bringing home a trophy too.” At the end of the night, as the winners and losers drifted home, the presses were already roaring into action to print the morning's papers. The news never stops; there was precious little time for the winners to enjoy the warm glow of appreciation, and no time at all for the less successful nominees to lament their losses. But at the end of the day, the whole industry could sleep safe in the knowledge that the work we do is valuable, and valued. MARY HODGES

Bottom left: Blue Peter garden party ‘22 Celebrating 10 years in show’s new location [Image description: The ‘B’ and ‘e’ of ‘Blue’ and the ‘h’ of ‘show’ in the above headline are circled in pencil. End ID.] The BBC has announced that it will be holding a party for former Blue Peter presenters, guests, and viewers in 2022. Held in the Blue Peter garden in Salford to celebrate ten years since it was relocated from London, the party is expected to provide an opportunity for Blue Peter presenters, past and present, to mingle and let their hair down, as well as catching up with some of the guests who've appeared on the show over the years. Former presenters such as Adam Young, Katy Hill, Radzi Chinyanganya, Anthea Turner, Gethin Jones, Pat Maputi, Yvette Fielding and Konnie Huq can expect an invite, of course, as can the current team of Lindsey Russell, Richie Driss, Mwaka Mudenda, and Adam Beales. But the former guests are an even more varied bunch; everyone from Idina Menzel and Sir Chris Hoy to McFly and Tim Peake could be invited, to say nothing of the hundreds of farmers, bakers, teachers, parents, and kids who've taken part in the show. While the party is quite a long way off yet, the BBC are already hard at work figuring out a lottery system that will allow them to give every viewer an equal chance to be invited to the party. Register your interest now on the Blue Peter website to make sure you don't miss out. SARAH JEUNE Ad, bottom right: [Image Description: A black background with a dark-grey crown resting on it. There are smudges of a lighter colour on the background. Above the crown, graffiti-style text reads ‘P-White’. Below it, written as if in chalk, are the words ‘Chalkdust tour’, underlined as if in chalk. Beneath it, a red bar reading ‘New dates added’ covers the words ‘Sold out’. Below that is the web address ‘www.chalkdust-tour.com’. Tiny writing in the bottom right hand corner reads ‘Photo: Zach Angelo for ProChurchMedia | Unsplash’. End ID.]

[End of transcript]

#very much fake news #masked omens #masked omens week seven p1 #good omens fic #mine

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pocket-luv101 · 5 years ago

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Across Time || Chapter 26

Fandom: Servamp Ships: KuroMahi (main), LawLicht (side) Characters: Kuro, Mahiru, Hyde, Licht

Summary: Mahiru falls into a well and is taken to a new, fantasy world. He comes across a half-blooded cat demon trapped in a tree. After he frees Kuro, he helps him collect the shards of the sacred jewel. (KuroMahi, InuYasha AU)

Ch.1 || Ch.2 || Ch.3 || Ch.4 || Ch.5 || Ch.6 || Ch.7 || Ch.8 || Ch.9 || Ch.10 || Ch.11 || Ch.12 || Ch.13 || Ch.14 || Ch.15 || Ch.16 || Ch.17 || Ch.18 || Ch.19 || Ch.20 || Ch.21 || Ch.22 || Ch.23 || Ch.24 || Ch.25 || (Ch.26) ||

“You’ve created this large web but you can’t catch a single cat. This plan of yours is more trouble than it’s worth.” Touma ignored the sharp words from Mikuni and looked over the castle’s ground. Demons littered the courtyard. A metal fan slid down Mikuni’s arm and he gracefully caught it in his hand. He flicked the fan open and then he casually waved it in front of his face.

Touma didn’t respond to him and Mikuni wasn’t able to read the man’s thoughts. His eyes narrowed as he watched him and a part of him wished that he had his brother’s mirror. They would be able to trap and defeat Touma together. At the same time, he knew that it was better for him to be as far from the spider as possible. Mikuni turned his attention to the dead demons at his feet and then flipped a body over.

“A wolf. Last week, ravens tried to storm the castle. You have accumulated quite a collection of demons.” Touma had given him a jewel shard to lure demons to an empty castle. Mikuni would defeat anyone who approached his web. “These wolves are too weak for me to use to taint a jewel shard. I doubt that’s your goal though. I don’t know what your intentions are though. You revived me to help you but you won’t tell me what you’re planning.”

“There will be a full moon tomorrow night.” Touma ignored him once again. He tilted his head back to stare at the night sky and Mikuni’s fingers twitched over his fan. His neck was vulnerable and he was tempted to attack him to finally free himself and his brother from the man. Mikuni forced his hand into a tight fist to stop himself. A snake slid down his arm and its presence calmed him. He reminded himself that it was best to gather more information about the man before he tried to confront him.

Touma lit a pipe and took a long drag. Smoke drifted through the dark sky and blocked the stars before they faded. “The shards are in close clusters compared to when they were first scattered throughout Japan. There are Shirota and his friends, the Southern Wolf Tribe, the Band of Seven and other powerful demons. I have a larger army than them so they do not pose a threat to me.”

“You have a fickle group of weak demons who are only motivated with the promise of a jewel shard. I would hardly call that an army. Numbers are important but not everything. A thousand wolves were defeated by one wave of my fan. Your army can fall as easily.” Mikuni said and snapped his fan close. “The rumours you spread of a jewel shard being housed in this castle is a transparent trap. The groups with a lot of shards won’t be tricked by it and I’ve been wasting my time with reckless demons.”

“I have use for these bodies.” Touma waved his hand and tendrils emerged from the ground to collect the bodies. The wolf remained and he said, “A demon from the Northern Wolf Tribe. This one can be used as bait for the wolves led by Yumikage. I will lead them here and we can recover six of the sacred jewels. Prepare for the fight.”

“You enjoy weaving a web without dirtying your hands. Most would call you a coward but I can respect your choice. I would do the same for self preservation. Without your tricks, I can kill you where you stand.” Mikuni turned away from him and ascended the stairs to the castle. “I will be here to collect the shards from the wolves but I shall fight them in my own way.”

Mahiru sat next to a creek and he carefully washed the dirt from herbs. Then, he placed them on a cutting board to dry. Their supply of medicinal ointments was almost depleted so he decided to make more. They would need to return to his uncle’s village for supplies soon and that would give him a chance to visit his home. He hoped they wouldn’t have to fight a strong demon before they could travel to the village.

A warmth blanketed his back and he looked over his shoulder to see Kuro. He was sleeping against him and he looked so relaxed that Mahiru didn’t want to wake him. He moved slowly and tentatively as he prepared the herbs. Kuro said he would help him sort the herbs but he fell asleep part way through. Mahiru didn’t mind and he savoured his warmth.

He measured the time of day with the shadow of a tree and he reasoned that Licht would return with food soon. He slid the herbs off the cutting board and into a bag for storage. His eyes fell onto the watch on his wrist and touched the cold metal. The feudal era didn’t have the convenience of technology but he had adjusted to their simpler lifestyle.

Mahiru felt Kuro’s weight lighten on his back and his warm breath brushed over his neck. “Did I fall asleep? Sorry. I don’t have your skill with herbs and medicine.”

“You can help me carry everything back to camp. I managed to make enough for a few battles.” He said and placed the medicine bag into his backpack. He didn’t stand and continued to sit with Kuro. “We haven’t faced a dangerous demon in a few days. I hope this will continue so we can go through the well and stay in my time for an afternoon. We can’t stay longer than that though.”

“It has been peaceful. Let’s take advantage of this break and stay the night.” Kuro suggested. They visited his home a few times and he saw how close he was to his family. While Mahiru never told him that he missed his home, he could sense his feelings. They needed to collect the shards but Kuro thought Mahiru’s happiness was more important.

He wrapped his arms around Mahiru and held him against his chest as he leaned backwards. Kuro laid on the ground with Mahiru on top of him and watched the clouds pass in the blue sky. “We should also take advantage of our time alone now. Hyde and Licht will return in a few minutes but that’s enough time to soak our feet and relax.”

“That’s going to be hard when you’re holding me like this, Kuro.” He chuckled. Mahiru pushed himself up slightly and leaned over him. His hair fell forward and Kuro brushed the strands aside to tuck them behind his ear. His fingers lingered and his skin. “I have a fun idea. After lunch, let’s train together and— The sacred jewel is nearby. It’s coming towards us.”

Mahiru rushed to his feet and grabbed his bow resting next to them. He nocked his arrow and walked along the river with his arrow pointed at the water. Kuro couldn’t sense a demon nearby but he trusted Mahiru’s instincts so he followed him. The demon was likely hiding in the water to mask its scent. He summoned his claws and walked ahead of him slightly to protect him.

They noticed blood tainting the water and Kuro cursed when he saw the body. He grabbed Mahiru’s wrist and turned him around so he wouldn’t see it. He knew that it was too late after he frantically pushed him away. Mahiru dropped his weapon and jumped into the shallow water. He fought against the current to reach the injured wolf floating in the river.

He was almost afraid to approach the body and find that it was Takuto or another person from the wolf tribe. The demon had the form of a wolf so he couldn’t recognize who it could be. He wrapped his arms around the wolf to take it back to the shore but he wasn’t strong enough. “Takuto? Tsurugi? Please, answer me if you can. Just hang in there and I’ll heal you.”

“Mahiru, calm down. You can’t use your powers like this.” His panic subsided the moment he heard Kuro’s voice. He stood in front of him and lifted the wolf out of his arms. Mahiru was grateful for his strength and reassuring voice. He walked closely beside Kuro so he could project his spiritual energy over them and heal the wolf’s wounds. “I can hear him breathing.”

“There’s a chance we can save him.” Mahiru wanted to cling onto the hope he gave him. He laid the wolf on the riverbank and he immediately started to search for his wound. “I don’t recognize these wounds. They’re not made from claws or a weapon. Licht will know what kind of demon did this. What do you think happened, Kuro? Maybe Tsurugi and the others are in danger.”

“The water washed away this person’s scent but I don’t think this is Tsurugi or another of your wolf pack. This wolf’s fur pattern is more similar to someone from the Noth. Your brothers are safe.” He told him and Mahiru’s shoulders relaxed. Tsurugi and the others were likely joking when they said he was a part of their family after saving Takuto but they had become close friends.

Mahiru continued to heal the wolf and his hand lingered over the jewel shard in its wound. His brows furrowed when he saw that its light was tainted. He wasn’t able to question it before the wolf struggled to its feet. Mahiru tried to stop him before it could open its wounds further. “Please lay back down, Sir. I will stop the bleeding and then I’ll patch up your wounds. I need you to stay still for that.”

“You must be the priestess Shirota. The only reason a person would save this wolf is if they knew that I hid a jewel shard within its body. Very few people can sense the shard like you can.” At the wolf’s words, Kuro pulled Mahiru away from it. He pushed him behind his back to keep him a safe distance from the demon. He knew that he would want to heal the demon but it could be dangerous. It knew far too much about Mahiru and his powers.

“What do you want with Mahiru?” Kuro asked and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“The wolf tribe’s sacred jewel shards. They hold six, I believe.” The wolf said and Mahiru became more confused with its intention. “I am controlling several wolves like this one so I can find them. It’s a lucky coincidence that I found you, Shirota. You have made an alliance with them so you should know that they are already on the way to my castle. It’s an ambush.”

The wolf turned around and ran away, leaving them to follow. Mahiru bit his lower lip and gripped Kuro’s sleeve in his hand. He knew that the wolf could be leading him into a trap but there was a chance Tsurugi and his family were in danger. He wanted to go after him and he looked to Kuro for his thoughts. “What should we do?”

Kuro knelt on the ground and patted his shoulder. “You already decided that, haven’t you? I can sense that you want to go. Knowing you, you would worry about Tsurugi and the others if we ignore that wolf. Climb onto my back.”

“Thank you, Kuro.” He wrapped his arms around his neck. He lifted him onto his back and he began to run after the wolf. Mahiru took out an origami bird from his pocket and enchanted it with his spiritual energy. The paper bird lifted itself out his hand. “I sent a message to Hyde and Licht. They’ll be able to come help if this is a trap.”

“I’ll protect you, Mahiru.”

The wolf led them to a castle and the aura surrounding the building caused a chill to run through Mahiru. While he couldn’t sense a demonic presence inside, there was something eerie about the castle. He slid off Kuro’s back but he stayed close to his side. The castle was silent and it was likely abandoned. “There are no guards. Can you smell Tsurugi and the others?”

“Don’t leave my side, Mahiru.” Kuro said instead of answering him and that worried Mahiru more. He nodded and tightened his hands around his bow. He pushed the doors open and they cautiously passed through the gate. Mahiru knew that he would be safe as long as he had Kuro but he was more concerned for the wolf tribe.

Mahiru almost forgot Kuro’s warning the moment he saw the bloodshed within the castle. He couldn’t count the number of wolves that lied over the ground. He instinctively covered his mouth against the need to throw up. The only relief he had was the sight of Tsurugi, Yumikage and Jun safe and unhurt. He set his bow aside and then ran to them.

“Tsurugi! Yumikage! Jun! We were told that you were being lured into a trap so we came to help you. I’m glad that you were able to deal with it on your own.” Mahiru called to them as he ran forward. They turned to him and he was confused by the menace in their eyes. At first, he thought they were only tired and exhausted from fighting.

Then, Yumikage took out his hair pin and his jewel shards shone with a black aura. Mahiru realized that he had summoned an attack only a moment before a beam of light appeared above him. He felt himself being tackled away from the attack and he knew that Kuro had saved him. He carried him in his arms and slid to a stop in front of the three wolves.

Mahiru glanced over Kuro’s shoulder and saw how the beam had torn through the dirt. If he hadn’t saved him, the attack would’ve killed him. He felt Kuro’s anger in his tense shoulders even before he spoke. “Troublesome. I thought wolf packs protected their own but you almost hurt Mahiru.”

“You did this to our tribe, Touma. We won’t forgive you.” Jun snarled at them and Mahiru sensed their power grow. Dread filled him after he heard their words and a part of him prayed that he misheard them. The way they glared at him made it clear that they thought he was Touma and he had killed the wolves around them.

“This is a misunderstanding, Jun! I’m not Touma and we didn’t hurt your wolves.” He tried to explain but their anger made them ignore his voice. Kuro felt the ground rumble beneath him and he followed his instinct to jump. A black spike erupted from the ground and it almost stabbed his foot. As he dodged the spikes, beams of light rained on him.

“It looks like the trap was for us. Touma must be behind this.” Kuro held Mahiru tighter against his body as he ducked beneath a kick Tsurugi aimed at them. He knew it would be difficult for Mahiru to fight the wolves while they wouldn’t hesitate to attack him. They were outnumbered so it would be impossible to stop them without fighting. He hoped that Hyde and Licht would arrive to help fight soon.

“This is the same trap Touma used to first make Licht fight us. He created an illusion and then framed us with an illusion. We have to break that illusion and then they’ll realize that we’re not Touma!” Mahiru didn’t want to fight them but he couldn’t let Kuro be hurt either. He summoned a shield above them to block the beams of light. He thought of what else he could do. “The light of their jewel shards is strange. If it’s a tainted shard, it could be making them more violent. I can purify them.”

“You need to be close to the jewel shard to purify it but that will be difficult. Can’t deal.” Even though Mahiru’s barrier kept Yumikage and Jun’s attack at bay, Kuro didn’t know how long he could evade three powerful demons. “I can’t smell Touma in the castle so he isn’t here to create the illusion. Do you know what he could be using to project the illusion?”

“A demon doll or a spell tag can’t change our appearance like this. I think I have an idea to stop them but I need the three to be close together.” He told him and Kuro nodded. He didn’t know what he had planned but he trusted his judgement. Kuro drew his sword in one hand and collected ashes around him. He couldn’t draw out his full power with only one hand but he was scared to let go of Mahiru.

He swung the tessaiga to release blades of ashes but he aimed his attack at the ground. When Tsurugi dodged the blades, he moved closer to Yumikage and Jun. Mahiru quickly raised a circular barrier around the three to trap them within. “That should keep them from attacking us. I can purify their jewel shards and that should return them to normal, hopefully.”

“We should find what caused the illusion that made them think you’re Touma before you lower the barrier.” Kuro said and Mahiru nodded in agreement. “You’re better with these things than me so—”

A loud gust of wind overpowered Kuro’s voice but he thought he heard Mahiru call his name. He felt as if a thousand needles entered his back and he stumbled forward into the barrier. He hadn’t sensed someone approach them but he turned around to defend Mahiru. Kuro couldn’t keep his footing when another powerful wind struck him.

“Who’s there?” Mahiru wanted to heal Kuro but he needed to maintain his barrier around the wolf demons. He took an arrow from his quiver and aimed it at the direction he heard the voice. He couldn’t enchant his arrow but he would protect Kuro. “Are you the one who made this trap? Stop this illusion you put on my friends or I’ll shoot!”

“Your arrows are useless when I control the wind in this castle. Your cat’s sword won’t be able to cut through it either so tell him to stay down. I want to talk with you, Shirota.” A blond man stepped out of the castle. He held a steel fan in his hand and casually waved it over his cold smile. “So, you’re the famous Shirota whom Touma detest. I had expected more from you with your famous name and legacy.”

“My name is Mahiru. I don’t know why Touma dislikes my family but I will stop him!” He didn’t lower his bow even though he knew that he could easily deflect it with his wind. The man appeared familiar to him and Mahiru searched his memory for where he saw him before. The pattern on his fan was similar to the flowers on Misono’s mirror. “Is your name Mikuni? I’ve met your brother and he—”

He wanted to tell Mikuni that he had spoken with Misono and he wanted to help free him from Touma’s control. He wasn’t able to speak after Mikuni waved his fan and summoned another powerful wind. Mahiru was lifted off his feet and he saw Kuro stretch out his hand to him so they wouldn’t be separated. Their fingers barely touched before he was thrown backwards into the castle’s wall.

Mahiru’s breath was knocked from his chest and he struggled against the pain to stay conscious. He felt a little dizzy as he pulled himself to his feet. Mikuni was strong and he couldn’t fight him well. If he released the barrier to defend himself, the situation could become more complicated. His heart stopped as he saw Mikuni prepare for another attack. “Don’t speak that name when he could be listening.”

“Touma is holding my brother, Lily, hostage in his web too. Shouldn’t you want to work with us instead of that spider?” Kuro said to distract Mikuni from Mahiru. He struggled to his feet and he leaned heavily on his sword. The force of Mikuni’s wind was enough to break his arm when it threw him into the barrier. He could only imagine how painful it would be for a human like Mahiru.

“I choose my enemies more carefully than I do my allies. Especially, when it can cost my brother’s life.” Mikuni flicked his fan and the metal blades grew longer. In response, Kuro pulled the tessaiga from the ground to face him. He could easily redirect his attack so he needed to close the distance between them.

Mahiru watched them fight behind the barrier he had created to trap the others. He couldn’t see them clearly through the pink hue but he knew that Kuro couldn’t fight someone so strong alone. A plan came to him and he gripped his bow in his hand. He could purify the castle to nullify Mikuni’s demonic wind and break the illusion over his friends.

To purify a large area with only one arrow, it would require a lot of spiritual energy. He didn’t know if he had enough spiritual energy but he needed to try. He gathered his strength and ignored the pain that made his body stiff to position himself to shoot. Mahiru drew his bow string back and aimed the arrow at Mikuni’s fan. He took a deep breath and collected his spiritual energy into his arrow.

He allowed the barrier to weaken so he would be able to use more of his power. His arrow glowed and its brightness was almost blinding. Mahiru refused to close his eyes and kept his gaze on the fight. He didn’t want to hit Kuro or his friends on accident. Once he summoned as much spiritual energy as he could, he let go of the string.

His arrow left his fingers and broke through his barrier to embed itself in Mikuni’s hand. Spiritual energy followed the path his arrow took and spread throughout the castle. The barrier shattered and spread out his spiritual energy further. Mahiru felt drained after the attack and he sank to the ground. He prayed that it would be enough to purify the area. His vision was blurry and he knew that he would lose consciousness soon. “… Kuro.”

The world became dark around him but he hadn’t passed out yet. Mahiru saw a shadow lean over him and he couldn’t see who it was. Kuro would’ve responded to his name and Mahiru became fearful that the person before him was Mikuni. He reached into his belt to grab the knife Kuro gave him. He barely had the strength to hold the hilt, let alone use it to defend himself.

“You look just like your mother.” Mahiru’s mind started to scream after he recognized Touma’s voice. He wanted to call to Kuro but his voice was trapped in his throat. “I don’t understand why you were brought to this era when you don’t belong here. Your weakness and ignorance is the same as your mother and it’ll only burden those around you.”

He felt a hand around his neck and he closed his eyes in fear. “But she looks as if she will kill me for doing so. I haven’t seen your face for years, Hanako.”

“You are still blinded by the promise of the sacred jewel. If only you could realize the truth, Touma.” Mahiru opened his eyes to see Touma rip the jewel shards from his neck. His focus wasn’t on the man but the faint figure behind him. For a moment, he thought he saw his mother but she quickly faded away.

Moonlight broke through the darkness around him and he found himself in the castle again. Kuro ran to him and hugged him. Mahiru was still trying to process what he saw and he didn’t hear his words at first. “Are you okay, Mahiru? A wall of webs suddenly appeared and we couldn’t reach you. How did you free yourself?”

“A web?” Mahiru touched his neck and his heart sank when he couldn’t feel his jewel shards. “Touma took my jewel shards.”

#servamp #kuromahi #sloth pair #servamp kuro #mahiru shirota #fanfiction

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theparanormalperiodical · 5 years ago

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The Thornton Heath Poltergeist - The Most Haunted Places In The World That You NEED To Hear About #2

January.

A time of self doubt as you take on the latest fad diet. A time of personal struggle as you return to the 9-to-5 and question why in the hell you decided to work in this goddamn office. And a time of thirst as you realise Dry January does indeed include Echo Falls despite their Rosé being mostly sugar and aesthetic.

Is there any hope left in the world?

Oh, dear reader - you didn’t tap on this blog in the hope of reading some article about a cheerful, positive topic like little rabbits with big flopsy ears, did you?

You’re here for the dead. And the demonic. And all manner of terrible things.

Goodbye, Patches - hello, Poltergeist.

Today, we are going to be discussing one of the most iconic paranormal cases from the UK that no one has ever heard of: the Thornton Heath Poltergeist.

But it turns out that there’s not just one poltergeist in Thornton Heath.

Oh, no.

There’s two.

And these two pesky spirits are far from alone:

Croydon might not sound like the setting for the next cult horror hit, but this London borough is actually known for its rather macabre history - and the legacy of its dark past.

Whilst your chowing down on a Gregg’s sausage roll you might hear rumours of one of Elizabeth I’s maids-in-waiting traipsing around a school, and perhaps you’ll even see a few children who were killed during the war skip past the local Chicken Cottage.

On top of that - like most areas of London - Croydon is actually a relatively ancient town, with the first settlements appearing in the 6th century.

This place clearly has a lot of paranormal promise.

However, despite setting the scene for 2 key cases of poltergeist activity, though do appear to be unconnected. Nevertheless, together they provide a lot of insight into a specific form of supernatural activity that tends to get forgotten.

This is especially true since poltergeists have dominated the horror genre for many a year, inspiring iconic films such as Poltergeist (1982), and litter stories which involve any trace paranormal activity.

The thing is, although frequently mentioned, the actual concept of poltergeists is kind of ignored, particularly the debate surrounding them. These 2 cases, however, provide an overview of the different approaches to poltergeist activity:

One case looks into debunking the paranormal, whereas the other presents the typical haunted house case you clicked to see.

So, today’s article is going to take us through the 2 poltergeists of Thornton Heath, and the paranormal theory behind poltergeists.

Strap in folks, and let’s get spooky.

First, What Actually Is A Poltergeist?

Anyone speak German?

Poltergeist is a mashup of two German words, and it literally means “noisy spirit”.

Based on that translation, it is a type of spirit who has a thing for physical disturbances. Loud noises, objects moving, biting and pinching are the common symptoms of such a haunting. And despite sounding pretty minimal - well, maybe not the biting and the pinching - such poltergeist activity often represents the first traces of far greater hauntings.

But unlike most paranormal theories, it turns out that poltergeist activity is pretty well investigated (as this post will demonstrate).

Heck, poltergeist activity has been reported since the 1st century!

It is claimed that it lasts typically around 5 months, but some say it can stretch out to several years.

On top of our knowledge of the duration of such activity, poltergeists allegedly haunt people, not places - a bit like demons. This does contrast with the 1972 haunting, but we all know that supernatural theories lack the accuracy we expect of an exact science.

And so we come back to the debates and the debunking which always ends up stalking the supernatural. It’s for that reason that Poltergeists are such a valuable component of spiritualist theory because of the intense debate and study surrounding them, as the 1938 case will show.

Indeed, the first of the scientific theories debunking poltergeists swap the paranormal for the patriarchy.

It's called the Naughty Little Girl theory.

Obviously, it suggests that young girls create activity to get attention because women can’t breathe without doing it for attention, right? The Conjuring 2 is one of the few films that picks up on this concept, showing its use by the media as it was utilised in the real life case.

A less misogynistic theory instead claims that the paranormal activity could be down to seismic activity or water stress, creating noises and physical disturbances often blamed on poltergeists.

Or, it could all come back to the theory of psychokinesis:

It claims that when we are stressed, our fucked-up brains can have a physical impact on the objects around us, making it look - and feel - like we are living in a perpetual Paranormal Activity film.

Well, that or a rom-com; it turns out the poltergeist was really within us the whole time...

The 1972 Case - The Official Thornton Heath Poltergeist

Welcome to the the era of the occult - the 1970s.

The obsession with the paranormal experienced a revival in the late 20th century thanks to the affectionately named Satanic Panic and the rise of hippie-dom. And because so many reports of the paranormal crop up in this era, we have to be wary – blaming shit on the paranormal was nearly as common as institutionalised racism, ensuring that claims were often amped up by fear.

Got your pinch of salt to hand? Good.

Our story begins in the heat of summer - it’s August 1972.

A family are fast asleep after, well, I don’t know, what did people do in the 1970s? Listen to too much ABBA?

Anyway - their peaceful slumber is interrupted in the middle of the night when a radio switches on all by itself and blasts out full-volume-raise-the-roof level musings from a foreign radio station.

This is where the activity begins.

The following nights, lights turn on and off by themselves, mirroring the first hour of a Paranormal Activity film before Katie makes some off the cuff comment about being besties with a demon during puberty.

Yet despite the suggestions of something supernatural, it suddenly just chills the fuck out.

Well, that is until the most wonderful time of the year! Only for this famalam, this are about to get a little less wonderful, and a little more what the fuck.

Probably in the midst of an ABBA jam-sesh, a small antique figurine is plucked off a shelf by an invisible hand, and flung across the room, hitting the patriarch of the family with such a force that it knocks him to the floor.

If that wasn’t enough for one day, the Christmas tree then joins in the freaky festivities, and starts shaking.

And that only just scratches the surface of the supernatural events soon to haunt this family.

Cut to a few days later, and its New Year Eve.

Ok, right, let’s be honest here: any activity reported was at times when there would have been a couple of bevvies, a few late nights among friends and family…

Who hasn’t seen a demon picking cashews out of the mixed nuts bowel when they’re a third of the way through that bottle of Echo Falls?

Regardless of my suspicions, they supposedly started to hear loud footsteps upstairs, and during that very night, a member of the family awoke to see a very tall and very angry man staring at him, giving off very threatening vibes.

But it wasn’t just the son of the family that saw these mysterious goings on.

Some visitors to the house reported similar activity:

At a dinner party (*sigh*) a door began to violently shake, nearly coming off its hinges. The living room door then followed suit, and swung open. Every single light in the house then began to follow the trend and turned on and off.

No matter how many bottles they were deep by then, there’s no doubt that shizz was getting weird.

In response to this shizz getting weird, the family did the right thing: they called themselves a priest, and got him to check the shizz out.

However, as a result of his holy presence, the activity worsened. A medium shortly followed, and on his visit deduced that this was a farmer of Chatterton. A quick visit to the library and a rifle through the odd archive later, and the story is confirmed:

This was the spirit of a farmer from the 18th century, and as the medium claimed, he was angry that these trespassers were on his land. So, like all landlords, he kept his cool and was trying to treat these people with the fairness and respect that all landlords hold dear.

Nah, who are we kidding - instead of charging them £60 for not pulling a weed out from underneath the wheelie bin, he manifested as a poltergeist.

The escalation then, uh, escalated.

Following the appearance of the ghost patriarch, his wife then turned up and made a point of targeting the matriarch of the family.

Despite the coincidence of most claims of boozy nights on the heath, these hauntings that mirror the heads of the household really support the case as it sticks to this line of opposition to the “intruders”.

The ghostly matriarch’s favoured haunting was following people up the stairs; when you turned around, you would see wisps of a grey bun and the outlines of a faint figure which would then vanish into thin air.

But on top of the wife getting involved, the farmer himself made a commitment to being spooky AF.

Its for that reason that the creepiest haunting of the year award goes to the farmer.

Why?

Because he would turn up on their TV.

Like, I don’t know if he was on bloody Blue Peter à la IT, or if the screen would go blank and this bitch would rock up and just be there…

But just like fuck that, no thanks, congratulations, and just take the award ugh.

So, like anyone would, this family were like nope screw this, packed up shop, and moved the fuck outta there. After they moved out the activity ceased - like all hauntings tend to do, confirming that it could be due to their trespassing.

Well, or that it was all faked but as the gullible young woman I am, I’m going to deny all traces of this family’s excessive drinking and say that the farmer did indeed turn up on Blue Peter and take a badge with him to the afterlife.

For privacy reasons, the actual address is unknown to the public for the obvious reason that innocent families don’t want some Jake Paul wannabe pulling up in a jacked up Ford Fiesta and whipping out a GoPro to make a quick buck on YouTube.

Heck, I don’t know if anyone lives there now! But this is still recognised by paranormal fanatics are one of the greatest hauntings to come out of the UK.

Well, I say the greatest…

It has to compete with the Thornton Heath poltergeist of an odd 40 years before.

The 1938 Case - Thornton Heath Poltergeist 2: The Prequel No One Asked For

Now we turn to the former haunting of Thornton heath in 1938.

But this poltergeist isn’t set against the scene of some cosy pre-war family home, nor are any long dead farmers getting involved.

This story, on the other hand, follows the scientific study of the paranormal, and to this day is an unsolved mystery that has left both investigator and individual alike without answers.

And it starts with this bloke called Nandor Fodor.

Fodor lead the argument that poltergeists are manifestations from the subconscious mind, and to prove his claims, he investigated the tales of terror that had been experienced by one woman in a small corner of Croydon.

He followed his scientific studies all the way to a little place called Thornton Heath.

Sure, this case could have been linked to the Chatterton farmer, but the focus of their investigation was on the nature of paranormal beliefs, so there was no study of what spirit could be behind it.

All we know regarding the haunting is that the victim of this poltergeist was a woman only known to us as Mrs. Forbes. She was studied at an institute, and in an attempt to be sure she wasn’t creating the hauntings, she basically had to get undressed in front of them, and wear special clothes to prove she wasn’t concealing anything.

Nevertheless, the weird shizz we saw in the 1970s still seemed to follow her.

Dishes would float in mid-air and then crash to the floor, glasses would suddenly appear in her hand (*insert middle aged facebook meme with a minion in the background*), and objects from her home would appear at the institute.

Her house was 10 miles away from the institute.

But beyond her possessions appearing out of thin air, Mrs. Forbes frequently described different entities that would appear and attack her.

These beings included a vampire which would on occasion bite her neck - and left her with two physical wounds in her neck, and a tiger which reached out and scratched deep gashes in her arm. Just like the vampire’s supposed attack, these markings were also found on her body.

However, one of her claims went too far, and was used to challenge every single incident she claimed was caused by a poltergeist:

Alongside the vampire bite and the tiger’s scratches, Mrs. Forbes also had several burn marks scarring her neck. Seemingly coming out of nowhere, Forbes believed it was due to the spirit of a man strangling her with a necklace.

However, shortly after making this statement, she professed a deep desire to kill this man.

Fodor drew from this that she thought the man was inside of her, and thus she tried to kill him by choking herself. That’s the burn marks explained - what about everything else? All it took was a quick check of her body and clothing to find small items concealed under her left breast.

That’s right; she has conjured up this “poltergeist” out of thin air.

Having connected the dots, Fodor deduced that she was both schizophrenic, and burdened by repressed sexual trauma.

Another day, another hoax.

Unsurprisingly, faked activity vis-a-vis this case is pretty common when it comes to the paranormal, and this label is pinned by non-believers onto, well, basically anything we just so happen to report.

And despite how frustrating this can seem, it is a necessary disturbance in our research of the supernatural. In fact, the original Thornton Heath story brings this into play when we discuss poltergeists, particularly as their basis centres on physical disturbances which can be both faked or misinterpreted.

Croydon might seem yet another area of London Prince Andrew would pull out of the hat to defend his reputation, but it instead represents a much wider discussion of the paranormal.

From the fake to the unknown, from the mysterious to the mentally unstable:

How we investigate the supernatural starts in a little place called Thornton Heath.

What do you think?

Did the family really witness poltergeist activity first hand?

Or was it all just conjured up by women that purely wanted attention i dont know about you but i just love attention oh gimme attention look I WANT ATTENTION NOWSUFH[HB’[Egb’???????!1//1/1/1!//????

Ahem.

Wanna hear about more spooky shizz like this? Wanna hear about a new haunted location everyday? Then go ‘head and hit follow!

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peepingtoad · 5 years ago

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Toad Sages: Lore, Paths & Ranks

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Lore (this is my own iteration based on the legend of Takiyasha-hime)

The father of Takiyasha-hime, previously known as Satsuki, led a rebellion against the Emperor due to the lavish lifestyle of the court during a period of poverty. He was declared a traitor, along with his family, but when the time came for them to be executed his two children escaped. From here, the tale has two variants:

Variant I: The two children Satsuki and Yoshikado, while exploring the mountain where they lived in a nearby shrine, met a wizard named Nikushisen, who gave them a scroll of frog magic. Satsuki mastered the contents of the scroll, becoming Takiyasha-hime, while her brother supported her. Together, they overthrew the corrupt emperor and ushered in a new order in accordance with their father’s dream.

Variant II: Satsuki, through a series of rituals, summoned an ara-mitama--a spirit centred on the cruel, violent and warlike aspects of the soul--who granted her the knowledge of onmyōdō (the five elements, yin and yang, a mixture of natural science and occultism concerned with divination). The spirit told her to adopt the name Takiyasha-hime. She called on soldiers who still believed in her father’s cause, and raised an army of yōkai to continue the rebellion against the empire—including a gashadokuro, a gigantic skeleton as tall as a castle. Takiyasha-hime rode into battle on top of a giant toad, but in the end, despite her magic, she was defeated just as her father was. Her short rebellion was snuffed out just as his was.

It is rumoured that Takiyasha-hime was the first ever Toad Sage, but the story is now so obscure that it is split into these variants. A more likely case is that there is truth in both variants.

Paths

To the toads of Myōbokuzan, this legend and its variants represent the many forks in the road one encounters--in terms of Jiraiya, the first major fork occurs the very day Gamamaru tells him the prophecy. Immediately, the potential of Jiraiya’s student to be either a saviour or destroyer warns of two vastly different paths, depending on what Jiraiya’s choices are. All throughout his life, we can see that there were many choices presented to him. The way he trained his students and the teachings he passed on, his decision to spare and train the Ame orphans, his decision to leave their side and return to Konoha, his decision to leave Konoha once more and pursue his own goals, to return and be Naruto’s mentor... and ultimately, his choices in the fight with Nagato/Pein himself.

One path is justice—the necessary removal of the corrupt, bringing about a better world. The other is vengeance—starting wars, enacting widespread cruelty because of past transgressions. A classic case good and evil, light and dark... on the surface.

Jiraiya wasn’t aware of this, because his very nature compelled him to err towards justice via a more peaceful route, but there was always a choice present when he was given the prophecy. At any time, he could easily have chosen to mould a student into a harbinger of war that would have changed the world through destruction. He could equally have chosen to do nothing at all, to entrust nobody with his teaching, which makes the prophecy even less set in stone than one would think. Of course, it turned out that through his own choices, along with a series of external factors, one of his students did become something like the prophecy’s vision of the destroyer regardless of Jiraiya’s intentions. but his choices then of course resulted in the rise of the prophecy child that aligned more with his hopes: Naruto.

Unknown to Jiraiya, this would later have an effect on how his Sage Mode developed after his revival—and even less known was the fact his return from the dead, in itself, would impact the way it further manifested. In the end, the greyness of morality is what colours the Sage’s journey, with light and dark ever present.

(More details to come on what this means for Jiraiya!)

Ranks

Yoshikado (Toad Summoner/Apprentice)

Named after the brother of Satsuki, who supported her, but did not master frog magic. This is what Jiraiya and Naruto would have been to the toads when they first signed the contract scroll—able to summon toads, and perhaps able to utilise a minimal degree of senjutsu/practice the discipline of moulding nature chakra into sage chakra, but not enter Sage Mode in any degree.

Note: The many stone toads that litter the grounds of Myōbokuzan, reminders of past students who failed to balance nature chakra with their own, are all referred to as ‘Yoshikado’ by the toads. One will often hear a toad saying things like ‘someone knocked Yoshikado over again’, and it’ll only be obvious which statue they’re referring to once you take a look. Because they’re all Yoshikado.

Satsuki Sage Mode (Incomplete)

This is based on Takiyasha-hime’s original name, Satsuki. This is the partially-transformed Sage Mode that Jiraiya exhibited in the battle with Nagato—something that, like Satsuki, represents the fact that he spent a portion of his life uncertain in his path, despite always pursuing it in a meandering way. Jiraiya’s Satsuki Sage Mode is also referred to as Honoured Sage Mode.

Nikushisen Sage Mode (Complete; Path I)

This name is based on the wizard that gifted Satsuki the scroll of frog magic; the master and guide, this is the Sage Mode that Naruto and Minato both exhibit(ed), and which Jiraiya belatedly went on to achieve within a year of his resurrection. This Sage Mode, as we see with Naruto and Minato, greatly boosts the physical and elemental power of the Sage.

Aramitama Sage Mode (Complete; Path II)

This name is based on the malevolent spirit that Satsuki summoned in the second variant of the tale, and was another ‘guide’ figure of sorts. This is the Sage Mode that Jiraiya would have unlocked, had his life steered with more certainty on a path of vengeance and violence, and has some slightly more sinister/occult themed abilities associated with it along with the typical power boost.

Note: May be explored further in AUs where he defects or becomes corrupted.

Takiyasha Sage Mode (Perfect; sometimes lovingly referred to OOC as ‘God Tier’)

This name is based on the witch and master of frog magic that Satsuki became, and is called the same regardless of one’s prior Complete Sage Mode. This is because Takiyasha-hime was Takiyasha-hime in the end; regardless of her choices her path was absolute, and the same applies to the enlightened Sage who achieves this esteemed level. This is a deeply personal culmination of the life’s experiences and choices, and will open up to the Sage a host of abilities that are associated with both ‘Paths’. Requires profound knowing of one’s self in all facets to unlock.

Note: Once Takiyasha Sage Mode is unlocked, the Sage is welcomed as an honorary child/clansman of the Toads, taking on the clan name ‘Ogata’. More to come on this!

#hmmmm i think i'm happy with this for now?#and will go into the features of Jiraiya's own personal 'takiyasha sage mode' in another post some time #of course much credit goes to shikkotsunin/asaraltu #because lots of this has come from discussions about both mada and saku too!#{memoirs(headcanons)}#{the sage path | senjutsu/toads/myōbokuzan}

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keepyourpantsongohan · 6 years ago

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Ayesha Liveblogs Naruto Shippuden S21

What a tender intro omg also why is this filler so well animated

The introduction of modern technology will never not be funny to me. Kakashi on a laptop. Gaara sending emails. What has the ninja world come to

I know it’s just superfluous background motion but that angry little cat design was amazing. Takes me tf out

Hello again New English Iruka Voice time to feel slightly uncomfortable

Doesn’t Inuyasha have a monopoly on this baby with a red ball imagery

Why! Is! No one! Making sure! Naruto is fed! He’s a baby!!!!!!

Naruto and Sasuke were such adorable children my heart

SOMEONE PLEASE EXPLAIN THE FAMILY WHERE ONE OF THE CHILDREN IS JUST A FROG? WHO IS DOING THESE BACKGROUND ANIMATIONS?????

In case you thought I wasn’t being literal:

[Accompanying dialogue to this image: “Did you hear the rumours that Lord Fourth died because of him?” WHO IS THIS FROG CHILD WITH A VENDETTA AGAINST MINATO]

This ninja cowboy music seems slightly misplaced but okay

Hiruzen. U r the literal ninja president. Naruto is foraging in the forest for food bc no one is taking care of him! How r u like ‘Hahah I’m hungry too :D’

“The things that we inconsequential humans worry about are often very petty indeed” “You’re right” It’s Philosophy Hours ft. Pre-Schoolers

“Are you sure these mushrooms are safe to eat? “Won’t know ‘til we eat ‘em” HIRUZEN PICK UP THE PHONE

SCREAMS FIVE YEAR OLD NARUTO JUST JUMPED OFF THE HOKAGE MONUMENT AHHHHHH

I miss Neji :((((((((((((((((

“Please make sure that you look after Neji” show us Neji’s mum you cowards!!!

“You have to be more positive, and confident!” Nejiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii my boy

“I wish that I could switch places with you, big brother” There’s a lot to unpack here and I’m wildly concerned about all of it. This episode ought to be titled Konoha Desperately Requires Child Welfare Programs

Making an mini-episode which largely depicts Neji’s tragic backstory and centring its ending on Hinata seems like an odd angle to take

“I’m alone. I don’t have anyone, but I never cry” NARUTOOOOO

KJHFKJHG THIS NINJA BASEBALL OUTRO I LOVE IT

SASUKE USING HIS SHARINGAN TO CHEAT AT BASEBALL I WHEEZE

Also not that I don’t like Genma but why is he a central figure in this ending. Has he had more than a single conversation with Naruto in his life

Lmao @ Sasuke and Itachi’s child versions going back to having their adult voices. Pick a lane SP!!!

“Things in season are always cheap and tasty” “Oh, is that so, Sasuke? Hahaha” Sasuke learning about the ninja economy

“We’re going to visit your mother’s family” Two questions: 1) Aren’t your families the same family (eep) and 2) Don’t they all live in the same part of the village

90% of this dialogue is recycled from prior episodes except delivered more slowly and it’s a little confusing

Itachi sure knows a lot about cooking for an eleven-year-old

Sasuke being a clumsy child is such a cute character detail ahhhh I love him so much 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

“[Confused laughter] You want to be like me?” What a Mood Itachi

Sakura’s hideout in the woods is so sweet yes 2 semi-normal childhoods

Poor little Sakura already concerned about her appearance they never let girls live do they

“You’re really cute Sakura, don’t hide it” Ino and Sakura are the most adorable children in the WORLD I love their relationship 4ever

“If she’s cute like you say, then I would love to meet her” who will stop all men

“But Ino, aren’t you good friends with Sakura?” “No, not really” Okay not to project but. I have a lot of thoughts on this narrative

GASP Inner Sakura’s first appearance!!

Tiny Team 7 is all I need in the world honestly I would watch a whole show that was just those three growing up

I have only just now noticed Suigetsu as third baseman. This ninja baseball game and season in general raise so many questions

Noooo Gaara don’t cry you are gonna be so loved in the future

Rasa, can I just say, from the bottom of my heart, I’m going to yeet you into the sun

“When I look up at the sky, the pain inside my heart feels a little bit better” He’s like 4!!!!!!! >:(

“Instead of a mother, you get to have me, Lord Gaara” Yashamaru: Self-Diagnosed Mumncle

Ngl baby Gaara’s recollection of Karura is nothing like she looked like

I really don’t care for this new Iruka voice I just keep listening to him like ‘that’s not the sound of Naruto’s dad!!’

I will admit him spooking the sleeping children was cute I don’t know why I always find that so funny kjhgkjhg

“Let me buy into this fight” who taught seven-year-old Naruto to gamble

Christ alive the implication that Naruto has been doing the sexy jutsu since he was seven who will put this boy in ninja therapy

If Orochimaru had just continued to be Jiraiya’s long-suffering friend he might be half-endearing but alas he is fecal matter personified

“Come on out, I made plenty, so you might as well stay and eat” Hjgjfjgfgffg I’m not sure what’s funnier about this scene the implication that Obito and Rin both independently followed Kakashi home without noticing each other, or that Kakashi did notice and rather than question this turn of events was just like “Guess I should make more fish”

“When you’re older, do you think you’ll become a chef” I would pay to see the AU where Kakashi becomes a professional chef why couldn’t that have been his Road to Ninja persona

Ngl I spent the first half of Kakashi’s minisode wondering if Sakumo was dead or simply too depressed to take care of Kakashi and I think dead is the less upsetting outcome

“It’s no fun when you’re not around, Kakashi” Obitooooooooooooooo

I’m not saying it’s suspicious that Sakumo is given two different depictions of his grave site in the anime but Sakumo fucked an alien and I stand by that statement

All I remember from Sasuke Shinden is that a character called Sasuke “Sassy” as a nickname and if they do that in the Eng dub I won’t survive

“[Deep sigh] Alright Sakura, what is it?” Fhfjhfkjh what’s your damage Kakashi can’t your kids come to visit when people start exploding

God Sakura and Ino’s relationship is the realest.... she went to the Hokage bc her gal was worried abt her family friend and then comforted her from her loss... the looooooooove

Hinata not to devalue your work in any way but why did u collapse after poking one (1) man in the chakra point isn’t gentle fist based in taijutsu

Fhjfhkjhf I’ve seen that gif before of Kakashi knowing that Sakura was thinking about Sasuke but it’s still funny

Sasuke just hanging in the woods with kittycats what kinda redemption journey is this lmao

Ehehehe I’m still not over the fact that Sasuke recognizes Sai’s jutsu and Kakashi uses it to communicate like there are six members of team 7 and this arc PROVES IT HELL YEAH

I can’t believe I forgot the circus ninja oh my god

“There’s good money to be found for performers like us” MOVE OVER EXPLODING HUMANS WHERE’S MY EPISODE ABOUT THE NINJA CIRCUS

Everyone always commenting on the pupils and sclera of the Hyuga and Uchiha but nobody caring about Old Man Demon Eyes from the Bamboo Village:

You’d think at this point no amount of genjutsu could traumatize Sasuke

They’re leaning wholeheartedly into the ninja cowboy music

That is not how I thought they would pronounce “Sassy” this show is full of twists and turns

“What about reviving the Uchiha clan? You’re the lone survivor right?” said Chino, inquiring about when Sasuke was planning to have vaginal sex

“You really think you’re going to find him inside that seriously scary looking cave?” GASP IT’S TENZO TIME

AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIE IT’S MY BOYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

“You’re Sasuke, right?” asked Yamato, as if Sasuke had not provided the memorable introduction of stabbing a seasoned ANBU in the shoulder as a sixteen-year-old during a dramatic reunion with his team

“It would be easier for us to keep things coordinated, if you sent us progress reports as you went...” Okay not to be that gal but I love that Tenzo and Kakashi are an “us” in this mini-lecture about how Sasuke should call his father (Kakashi) more often

P sure that’s Yamato’s last speaking role goodbye sweet man we knew ye well

“So does this mean that you trust me?” GO TO JAIL OROCHIMARU

Every time that Orochimaru touches Sasuke I want to leap through the screen you leave that boy alone!!! Go! To! Jail!

Sasuke having to explain his social life to Taka is a dynamic I never knew I needed. What more do I want from Naruto than frames like this:

"By showing everyone that Sasuke isn’t in the Hidden Leaf Village and that he’s still out journeying around the world, it reduces the possibility that the village will be harmed” “So are you saying that Sasuke has to keep travelling forever” “That might be so” I can’t believe the entirety of Taka came up with a better explanation for Sasuke staying outside Konoha than Kishimoto himself

“Compared to me, the likelihood that Kabuto will return to evil is extremely low”

He still helped kill......... 40,000 people????? Okay dude

I CAN’T BELIEVE OROCHIMARU IS ACKNOWLEDGING HE IS STILL EVIL!!!! GO TO JAIL!!

I’m gonna pretend I don’t see Tenzo following Stranger Danger and he’s on vacation on a beach where he belongs

Fhjkhfkjhfkj what’s the meaning of this Orochimaru you’ve looked the same since you were 25:

Sasuke: No. She’s older than I am

Orochimaru: [Soft gasp] What?

Man I remember vaguely Sasuke being involved in this fight based on the Tenzo novel scene later on but hoo boy I do not like this

SCREAMMMM TENZO TRYING TO PROTECT PPL IN THE AREA HE’S HELPING

“I can’t make direct contact with him, so I better go now” I hope it is because you filed a restraining order, Yamato

“To increase the rarity, what I’ve even done is, had all but one person in a clan killed” at this point En Oyashiro is just trying to bait Sasuke

God I love how righteous Sasuke is being rn like this is the kind of dismantling of oppression I wanted for him instead of sad murder times

This battle is bonkers:

Villain: Looks like you brought a sword to a dodgeball fight

Sasuke: Looks like you brought a dodgeball to a magic eyes fight!!

Well I certainly breezed past this part of Sasuke Shinden hello Fushin

I find it hard to believe that anyone but Naruto could best Sasuke rn

I keep joking that those eyes in the sky look like Tenzo but I’m right and I should say it

What a long, drawn-out and slightly suspicious backstory for Chino (looking at you, Fushin of two personality types)

“But now you’re still able to travel freely... and that is all because you have people who love and protect you” Team 7 cutaway with closeups of Sakura and Naruto, Narusasusaku game strong

“For the Leaf’s nourishment, your entire clan was absorbed by your village’s Roots” wow what a shitty time for such an excellent pun

Unbelievable kkhkjhfk and by this I mean completely believable:

Chino: Please explain your change of heart re: village corruption

Sasuke: I got a boyfriend

Unbelievable x2:

Chino: KILL ME

Sasuke: Consider this.... you have.... boy who is friend. Good enough

Chino: Wow Sasuke, you’re right

Lmao @ Kakashi proudly announcing that Sasuke is about to enter an unsanctioned jutsu fight in a bet to free enslaved people how did this letter go “Dear Hokage-dad-Kakashi, I am writing to inform you...”

Even funnier: If Tenzo wrote the letter bc Sasuke is shite at contacting people: “Dear Kakashi-senpai, Brace yourself to be worried and proud—”

“Are you Sasuke’s...” yes Chino, whatever the end of that sentence is, you’re correct

Huh I could’ve sworn at least a good chunk of these freed people go to the Leaf. I didn’t make that conversation up. I have discussed it many times!!! My poor Tenzo cut out for more logical story lines I guess

Omggggggg the Raikage is telling Sasuke about Naruto’s most vulnerable Sasuke moment..... the love!!! Is this the only reason they invited A lmao

En Oyashiro joining Rasa and Hiashi in the Bad Dad Club

I’ve said this before but Naruto and Sakura going on a date to talk about Sasuke is the most legit representation for their relationship I’ve ever seen that’s it that’s what them dating would be like

“You’re just like a one man police force” lol @ them cutting out the fact that Sakura said this bc Sakura’s not allowed to have individual connections to Sasuke and also just like....... how much Sasuke still wants to be a cop kjhgkjhgk baby stop

I’ve belatedly realized that Kakashi types to the beat of the intro music and it makes me giggle

“The adult world can be complicated” is that ur way of saying ‘nepotism’ Kakashi

“I’m startin’ to get a belly” “I don’t want to hear about all that” PLS

“You two are really the only ones who are special to me” aw Shikamaru

That slap was A Lot, Temari, surely there are better ways to tell Shikamaru you want him to be your boyfriend

“You don’t really think that Sai has—” “Well, he is very innocent.”

Kakashi about Sai: He’s the baby of the family

Sai: I’m the oldest and most experienced of all the youth???

Kakashi: I mark ur ages by when I got you xoxo ur legal age is 3

I’m not sure that that’s the intonation I expected for Hinoko but I guess that’s on me for stereotyping teen girls hahah

“That’s my ninja way” “Our ninja way” I feel like this is shinobi flirtation

The outro with Little Team 7 fading to Big Team 7... I have but one heart

Also the implication that they took a photo immediately post war jhgkjhgkj. Kakashi still has a barely healed stab wound and twenty years of trauma. Sasuke and Naruto both just lost an arm. Also who brought a camera to the battlefield. Who took this picture. (Tenzo waking up from a 224 episode coma: We gotta take a family photo)

“You might consider yourself a member of Team 7, but I wonder if they think the same of you” [Naruto voice] Believe it!!!!!!

“If we just kill the lookouts, it’ll be like easy to get past the checkpoint” okay calm down Soku

Lmao Shikamaru struggling to deal with rebellious teens jhghjkg why are the anime episodes I watch so fitting to my own life

Man not to get 2 real it’s fucked up that Soku fears peace wyd militarism

I don’t really believe that Soku is deserting the village but it’s a good tactic

[Panning to the bird scene at the beginning of this arc] We call that foreshadowing

Komori’s judgement seems to be clouded by his lowkey crush on Soku

“I’ve just been having these really bizarre dreams lately” that’s PTSD Shikamaru

“Feudal lords are always [tyrants] no matter where you go” then why.... do you have.... feudalism.......... [Tobirama screams in the afterlife]

Not to judge these guys so much but like.... ur ANBU and a veteran ninja surely you should have a disguise after faking your death??????? Kakashi, Iruka, what shinobi standards are you teaching exactly?? U didn’t even change ur hairstyles???

“Something similar happened to me as well” what are you... are you talking about when you pretended to be asleep during the Chunin exams because that’s not the same thing as sleeping under a pile of corpses Shikamaru

NOOOOOOOOOO SAI WHY ARE THEY HANGING MY ANGEL FROM A CRUCIFIX

AHHHHHHH I don’t like seeing Sai like this, Kakashi’s right he’s a baby!!

“Let’s just say I’ve found the place where I belong” Fhdjskhfksjhf this is definitely Root Code for something because Kakashi uses this line on Tenzo in his Tsukuyomi dream

“Then why didn’t Naruto come to get me? You and I have never been particularly close, so why were you the one who came here?” LMAO SAI ‘you’re not on my list of eligible rescuers Shikamaru 😒😒😒😒’

“Fret not, to me this is but a trifle” said Ro, lying prostrate on the ground in between groans of pain (same)

I mean... Gengo makes some pretty compelling arguments abt the shinobi system

“The alliance of nations that the Leaf is currently a part of... is only going to maintain a dark, tenuous peace” I mean... Gengo’s right even if he is a dick

“Lord Hokage told me everything... and I had a hell of a time getting it out of him too” “I don’t want to know what you did... I don’t even want to imagine it” JHGKJHGKJHG I WANNA SEE TEMARI INTERROGATING A FORMER ANBU, KAGE-LEVEL NINJA I LOVE IT

Wait are these last twelve outros dedicated to each of the rookie teams + Team Guy bc that would be adorable

JHGJHGGHGJHG DO WE ACTUALLY GET TO SEE TEMARI YELL AT KAKASHI

Update from 3 seconds later: We don’t but Kakashi’s “Euh?” sound as she knocks down his door is still very funny

“Friendship is useless” “If that’s true, then why are you crying right now” he’s been taking Sasuke lessons in his spare time

“Do you know of a man named ‘Zabuza Momochi’” !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“These are my only friends” said Sai, about two giant cartoon lions

Sai’s genjutsu scene was actually much sweeter in the book bc Naruto, Sakura, Kakashi and Yamato’s chakra were all protecting him inside his own mind but I don’t mind my boy getting a hug

HAHAHAHAHA WHAT IS THIS CUTAWAY TO NARUTO BATHED IN GOLDEN LIGHT ANNOUNCING “RAMEN” LIKE IT’S A WHOLE SENTENCE OKAY STUDIO PIERROT U NEED A BREAK I GET IT

“What in the hell was that?” that was also my question Shikamaru

Shikamaru with full conviction: To be lazy.... that is my dream

Hahahaha it’s Ninja Teen Romance Hours I guess

“Oh, you don’t want to [go out on a date]?” No that’s not what I’m saying” [walks away] TEMARI PLS

“Going on a date without a strategy, would be like trying to fight a tailed beast unarmed” [Nodding] “You have zero chance of winning, that way” I suddenly understand Kakashi’s dating life a lot more

They really rely on you being aware of Naruto the Last huh gjkhgkjhgk there’s been no mention in any of this filler of Naruto and Hinata even being in a relationship to this point as far as I remember

Fhjkfhkjhfkfh poor Iruka none of the kids know he’s President of the Naruto’s Dad Society

“I know I’m supposed to be striving to get ahead in my career, but there’s also a part of me that really wants to just continue teaching kids, one on one” Irukaaaaa <3333333

Looool even as Hokage, Kakashi just drops out of nowhere to give cryptic life advice and then leaves

Smash the statue, Tsukune, don’t let the establishment tell u what to do!!

“Eating ramen everyday isn’t healthy you know” am I to believe that Kakashi, the man who told Naruto, ‘if you're going to be a ninja, you need to eat your vegetables’ is on a ramen-only diet?? Falsehoods

“And it’s all thanks to you Iruka” khjhgkjhgjhg alright.... you win this round KKIR shippers

WHO IS ANIMATING THIS SCENE IT IS BUCKWILD??? There is no character model to speak of, most of the kids don’t have noses, everyone’s upside down or spinning around, and Iruka is... hiding in a frog sign???

There is no English translation of this caption???? EXPLAIN JAPAN. TELL ME YOUR FROG SECRETS YOU KNOW I LOVE FROGS [INSERT PICTURE OF TENZO HERE]

(Update I looked it up in the sub and the caption offers no more insight. “IRUKA UMINO, AROUND 30 YEARS OLD. STEALTHILY”)

“This is for Hinata, so let’s all try our hardest” Kiba loves Hinata MOST

You know how if you pause in the middle of an animated action, you sometimes linger on an in-between image that looks goofy because it was meant to add to the motion rather than be focused on? This whole episode is animated like one of those images

It’s okay Lee the only dumbbell Naruto is fixated on is Sasuke Uchiha

I know don’t usually post so many images in these liveblogs, but I really need anyone reading this to see the Leaf Village’s semi-canonical Unofficial Mascot Konorin:

He is??? The love of my life???

“I don’t even have a boyfriend and train every day from morning til night” yes you do. His name is Neji Hyuga and he’s very alive and he’s a jonin sensei and he will buy you all the knives you want after he takes all of Hiashi’s money and redistributes it. In this essay I will—

You see what I mean??? Neji wants to be there for Tenten (and Lee)!!!

Tenten: What would Neji do if he were here now

Neji: [starts manifesting]

“It’s you since you’re a taijutsu specialist, but Naruto and Hinata aren’t” yes????? Hinata is???? She doesn’t use weapons but Gentle Fist is entirely taijutsu??? Why does everyone keep forgetting

KHKGJHKJHGKFHKJHFKJ I CAN’T GET OVER NEJI JUST. MANIFESTING ABOVE LEE’S BED TO GIVE HIM SHITTY WEDDING GIFT IDEAS

“And don’t forget: Hyuga” Neji........ what.... does this mean!!!!!!!!

Why say “Neji” like that Orochimaru and in fact why say anything at all [Konan voice] I’m the Hokage now, the entire criminal justice system is on its way you are going to jail!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I really can’t believe that the Naruto writers looked at Tenzo’s role in Naruto SD and decided “let’s do that.... but worse”

They animated?????????? A smaller Lee??????????? Into Lee’s mouth???????????? As if the animation style wasn’t enough. I need a minute

They are really going full Naruto SD huh??? Cut away skit like a ‘genjutsu’ scne. Lee and Guy playing a married couple and Tenten a baby. Neji in drag. This is a choice

“How can you misunderstand Neji so much” “Even if it’s only as a ghost, I’m sure that Neji would appear” I need. Several minutes

Fhjkhfkjfh Shikamaru’s vision of Gaara, Bee, Kakashi and Tsunade hanging out at this fancy restaurant. Is this who he thinks Kakashi’s social circle is these days (he might be right)

“Okay, I’ll hear you out!” Is this implication of this scene that Temari thinks Shikamaru’s idea of a first date is marriage... and she’s WILLING TO GO ALONG WITH THAT. TEMARI PLS

“Hey Ino, why would you go out of your way to make something I love? Bc she looooves you Sakura

“Sakura, I thought the same thing” GOD JUST GET MARRIED

“It’ll be too late once we go in, I could get all caught up in the mood or something like that” wait........ does Temari think Shikamaru wants to get married or fuck???? Or both??? OH MY GOD

Gaara: Naruto’s getting married.... without meeeeeeeeeee

God I love Gaara’s Blank Period hair it is truly careless and happy hair

“His ramen’s extravagent?” JKGHKHKJH everyone in the Leaf Village trying to convince Gaara that Naruto’s taste is incredibly obnoxious which is true but not in the way being described

Kankuro what’s your damage let Gaara buy a nice and personal present for the love of his life

Every time I think this arc can’t get more ridiculous it exceeds my expectations:

[Vaguely horrified accompanying dialogue: “The Raikage—” “—Will do the Hidden Cloud Dance?”]

“Well then, Gaara is just going to have to do the Hidden Sand Samba” Ah. Of course. The Hidden Sand Samba. Why didn’t anyone think of this plan before

Gaara is blushing because his new dream is just to samba dance with Naruto into the night

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh Teuchi giving Naruto an “all you can eat forever” coupon that’s cute our sweet boy is so loved

Gaara: My wedding gift to you, Naruto... is me :)

“I’m just disappointed that we aren’t going to get to see you dance, Gaara” you know what that’s fair Kankuro me too

Hahahaha Shino dissing Kiba’s plight for becoming Hokage to these random kids

I can’t pay attention to anything this ninja cat is saying because they’ve got Naruto’s voice and it is very distracting

There’s something to be curious about how it would be if Kiba married into a family that has a contract with the Uchiha lmao

Literally the girl who Kiba is supposed to be in love with is given Hinata’s voice #kibahinarights

“Oh, just take it. Money means nothing to me” the Beekeeper is truly one of the strangest characters in the Naruto universe just conceptually. Why are they wearing a giant bee stinger on their butt?

LMAO @ Kiba having absolutely no self-doubt whatsoever. Goals!!

Shino becoming a teacher after the war is actually one of the post-699 futures I like, good for him!

Iruka sweet man Naruto has compared you to a father like 1500 times have you not overheard him one (1) time

Kakashi is such a dumb stubborn bitch trying to find a way for Naruto to have a happy wedding... I love him

“This is my fault, I never taught him how to treat women! Not that I even really know about that kind of thing of course” Iruka Umino confirmed canonically gay

“I just have to bow my head a little” KKIR: 2; Me: 0

I love this tradition of Hokage boys bowing their heads for cooperation between villages yesssssssssssss

Outro for the whole OG Team 7.... I’m fine everything’s fine I’m good cool cool cool cool cool

The implication that they just sell Kakashi wigs in the village... amazing

I know this is about to be an emotionally poignant moment but what Naruto’s presence is reminding is that the only word he has said in the past 6 episodes is “ramen” LMAO

“I’m going to have to apologize to her for raising you as a such a thoughtless, inconsiderate man” raising you... RAISING YOU..................... TRULY PRESIDENT OF THE NARUTO’S DAD SOCIETY GOD BLESS IRUKA UMINO

LOOK AT THIS CRYBABY NINJA THIS IS WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT ONE OF MY FAVOURITE PARTS OF KONOHA HIDEN WAS HOW IRUKA KEPT BURSTING INTO TEARS OVER NARUTO EVERY OTHER MINUTE THIS IS WHAT BONDS LOOK LIKE

God..................... the Team 7 lover in me just despairs of this final episode bc they’re all separated and also Tenzo needs justice 4 being Kakashi’s co-wedding planner it’s in the book I read it!!!!

I will set aside my feelings to recognize that Kakashi looks very handsome

Goodbye Naruto you were certainly an experience and I mean that in every possible intonation

#decided to watch the last animated season i'm truly done!!!#ayesha talks anime #ayesha liveblogs nahruto shipduden #liveblogging #naruto series #long post

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toomuchplot · 7 years ago

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Zach’s Goodbye

A/N: Slowly but surely, I’m getting back online. I’m writing to return my writing mojo, so I wrote this bit: a glimpse in the future of Rose, Dan, and Zach

As Dan has put it, Rose’s house in the Kemfeld commune was a haven for downtrodden, suffering, and homeless, as well as Dan himself.

Rose disagreed with his refusal to put himself into any of the aforementioned categories, and said that her doors were always open to be called a home. Dan replied that his real home was burnt to a crisp in Harper Hill along with the entire town, and no other place deserved to carry this name.

He moved around in between missions too much, never staying in the same place; for a guy who actually created the Kemfeld commune he barely even visited it. But when he did, he stayed at Rose’s place, even if mostly to discuss strategies and stock up on potions.

The table was covered with maps and notes from their spies, two tea cups were standing nearby, their delicious aroma making Dan glance at the teapot every so often: Rose's proficiency with potions carried on to her ability to mix perfect tea blends. Amber's somber eyes gazed down at them from the giant portrait on the wall; when Rose had bad days she imagined her looking accusing at what the world has turned into in her absence – but as always, it was merely her imagination.

Rose felt it before it happened: the field of protective energy she surrounded the house with wobbled, and the magical alarm went off, indicating the intruder that wasn’t recorded in the commune’s database has come to their doors.

Dan rose, hands ready to cast lightning bolts on whoever dared to trespass; in a swift motion Rose brought up a glimmering sphere that projected an image of the exit from the hidden underground passageway – and in front of it was a familiar face.

Dan’s hands fell, more from shock than from the dissipated danger.

It occurred to Rose that Dan hasn't talked to Zach face to face since the Salvos Island incident. Since Zach created a machine with an artificial spiritual core he planned to use in a battle against the spirits. Since it gained consciousness, rebelled against its inventor and wiped out the largest commune designed to keep people safe.

They were lucky the spirits didn't know about this, Rose thought, looking at Dan's expression going through a myriad of emotions. They've learnt the power of interpersonal relationships, they would've been delighted to know the leader of the rebellion could be resorted to a mumbling mess just by seeing another person's face.

Zach changed. His hair was cut in overgrown chunks, his clothes clean but threadbare; of course, he didn’t have magic to assist him with performing daily self-care tasks.

Rose glanced back at Dan, at his completely lost expression, trembling lips, and sighed. If Dan had any self-awareness he would’ve been afraid of Zach, of what he was doing to him; but some people never learnt, not even when they turned forty.

“I will talk to him. Stay here.”

Giving Dan an excuse was the least she could do. Besides, she really did want to talk to Zach, whom she used to consider her brother.

Zach stepped forward the moment he saw Rose coming, and glanced behind her back, his eyes saddening imperceptibly when he saw no one else was there.

“I'm not here to seek forgiveness,” he spread his arms slightly, as though to show he was unarmed – as though he thought Rose would immediately attack him if he was carrying a weapon.

Rose dropped her prepared I can never forgive you speech. She expected Zach to justify himself, as always, he has always deemed himself the smartest. He considered himself to be incapable of making a mistake, and now he was finally taught the hardest lesson.

“Good. I'm not about to offer it.”

“I heard that Dan grew a moustache,” Zach said with a hint of absent-mindedness, glancing behind Rose’s back again.

Rose crossed her arms. “He doesn't want to talk to you.”

“Understandable,” he paused, looking up at the shimmering dome covering the commune. “How are you? Got any news spirit-wise?” Spirits were probably the safest topic to talk about. “I hear your team has tackled Sight recently?”

“We won Sight’s lair back, the one in Bullard Valley,” Rose could mention the number of casualties, but she decided against it. Death went without saying.

“Sight must be mighty peeved,” Zach said, attempting to make his tone light.

“It will come back,” Rose said, tightening her arms around herself. She kept thinking – one day they would come for Kemfeld too, and she couldn’t promise to to be able to protect the people relying on her.

Zach stepped towards her, hand jerking as if wanting to reach out.

“Rose,” he began, and by the way his gaze shifted uneasily she realized they were about to touch the forbidden topic. “I want to talk to Dan about Salvos Island. I want to fix things.”

“Nothing can revive the dead,” Rose said harshly, “not even necromancy.”

People considered her the expert on the matter, and they were right – just as they were disappointed when they came to her in hopes to have another chance with a loved one.

“I don't know what to do, Rose,” Zach said, looking completely lost for the first time since Rose knew him.

Of course, Zach wouldn’t come here, wouldn’t talk about Salvos if it wasn’t for wanting closure.

“Me neither. You've passed the point of no return, Hubbard.”

Zach looked up to squint at the top floor windows – and Rose wondered if Dan as even capable of looking at him right now from the safety of the window and Rose’s excuse.

“He loved you, you know,” she said bluntly. “That's why he can't handle seeing you.”

“I know,” Zach muttered. “That's the worst thing, Rose. I know.”

Rose raised an eyebrow. “Worst?”

Rose was simply incapable of understanding. She had her beloved wife, her darling daughter, even her dear sister was miraculously still alive – she practically got a second chance to live her life.

“You will understand, eventually,” Zach sighed. Uneven bangs fell into his eyes, dulled with time. Rose watched the crack creeping in the lens of his glasses, thinking about second chances and how her heart was breaking every time she had to deny them to people who came to seek help.

Maybe there was some closure she could provide, after all.

And so, despite the impenetrable barriers the past years have erected between them, despite the horrible things they both did – Rose hugged him.

Because she knew Zach, and knew what he was about to do. The least she could do was say a proper goodbye.

Twenty four hours later the news of Zachariah N. Hubbard's death have reached the commune. Everyone had a different version, but one thing was similar in all the stories told in awed whispers: he marched up to Nature’s land in what was a suicide mission, attempted to take the spirit out and was murdered with such brutality no remains could be found.

Two more hours later Danniel Fitch has abandoned his mission in Rookwick and went back to his no longer standing home in Harper Hill to organize a funeral for a body that wasn't there – a funeral only two people attended. Zach made sure his name was dissolved into murmurs and rumours, and most of those who knew him before the war were long since gone.

It was also the last time Rose has ever seen Dan cry as he took a painfully long time to carve each letter of Zach’s name into the stone.

That was also the first and last time he admitted his feelings for Zach.

“Rose. I should've told him I loved him,” he told the stone.

“Yes,” Rose said, because there was nothing else to say; Zach would've hated any eulogy they came up with. “You should have.”

Eight years later Rose finally understood what Zach meant, when Harlow’s mutilated body was thrown to her feet. Her darling son took her hand and said, “At least the commune is safe” – and she was terrified.

She couldn't sleep in fear of remembering. Couldn't think about the choice she made, couldn't ask herself whether it was worth it.

Her darling son has hidden the books where necromancy rituals were described, but he shouldn't have been worried: Rose wouldn't dare summon Harlow’s ghost.

Seeing disappointment in Harlow’s wispy features would be a punishment worse than torture.

And so she drunk until she couldn't remember her own name: she has invented the potion herself, and it was a foolproof way of erasing her memories.

No one needed her anyway; she was fifty-seven, and her darling son was ready to take over as the leader of Kemfeld.

Much, much later seventy-six-year-old Rose saw her friends once again, but couldn’t recognize them.

#Atom Heart #zach #rose #dan #writers on tumblr #my writing

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princessvicky01 · 7 years ago

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Part 5 - You need to sit down

Part 5 of ‘Happily ever after’ following Cullen X Annabel lives after the events of trespasser.

To read from the start click for Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 - with several more parts to come! All on AO3

Summary: The first full day the newlyweds spend at Annabel's family home proves to be unforgettable. SFW Fluff. Also features my other main oc Lord Bryan Trevelyan and @inner-muse oc Lady Kelandris <3

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They’re late for breakfast, not that either is complaining about why after the morning of delights they’ve just shared. Even so, Cullen would've rather made a better second impression with Annabel’s brother than he had his first. Entering the small private dining room saved for intimate settings he spies Bryan. He finds it quite remarkable how his eyes, hair and skin tone are startlingly similar to Annabel's and even at a distance, there is no mistaking their kinship. The woman sat next to him, however, stands out, her hair touched by fire, eyes by amethyst, her skin pale with freckles marking out high cheekbones, all above thick pursed lips. She's beautiful, poised and graceful, but the tug of his wife’s small hand puts any desire to explore her further aside.

“Lady Kelandris,” Annabel beams the warmth of her greeting with a sunny smile. “It’s good to see you again…and I hear congratulations are in order.”

There is a tender smile in return as they’re invited to sit. “Bryan said he’d told you, secretly he couldn’t wait for the big reveal,” a sharp but quick smirk passes over Kelandris face before she delicately picks up buttered toast, ignoring the mild scowl of the man by her side.

“I bet, must’ve been difficult to keep it to yourself for so long,” with a cheeky grin Annabel reaches for the scrambled eggs which he brother snatches away like a sullen child. Pouting lightly, she eagerly accepts the toast rack which Kelandris slides across the ivory tablecloth.

The setting is a far cry from the breakfast’s Cullen had been used to growing up, although the behaviour between siblings at least seems familiar. They’d never had a linen tablecloth with embroidered edges, or such a rich selection of meats, bread, fruits or cheese, but even still some of his fondest memories were from being sat around the oak table in his family’s kitchen. His lively siblings exchanging banter and teasing while his parents tried hard to hurry everyone along.

This morning’s meal, however, smacks of courtly intrigue, and already his posture is stiff because of it. He’d presented less than an ideal first impression yesterday and is on high alert to ensure he doesn’t repeat the mistake.

“You’re late,” Bryan’s tone is decidedly cold as he fills his plate. “I wanted to start without you, but apparently that is not suitable etiquette, even between close family, so now we all have to have cold eggs.”

“And you’re extra grumpy,” Annabel leans over, tugging the bowl back. “So, if you’re going to bring up etiquette I suggest you look in the mirror first.”

Bryan scowls further and Cullen’s stomach knots. Ah, nothing like noble politics and sibling rivalry to start your day.

“Apologies, I didn’t sleep well, then was woken up by an awful racket this morning,” Bryan’s eyes drift subtly to his, one eyebrow lifting ever so slightly in suggestion.

Maker’s breath! So, he had heard their amorous acts this morning. Cullen’s heart stutters in his chest. He feels his skin heat, despite all his will to prevent it and he knows its prickled red under the cold stare of the Lord.

“Strange, I didn’t hear anything,” Annabel continues setting out her breakfast, although from the corner of his eye he notes that her’s glint with a hint of mischief.

“The apologies should be mine, I kept him up into the early hours,” Kelandris's nonchalant tone and dismissive wave of the toast held poised between two delicate fingers makes Cullen falter. Are they all discussing the same thing? He blinks, cheeks and neck flushed red and tries to focus his attention on the meal in front of him rather than anything that may embarrass him further.

“Wedding planning is proving to be a complex task,” she continues, sipping her tea, keeping her expression aloof. Cullen promptly decides to give up trying to understand what’s going on, although he’s figured out one thing, the two opposite are most certainly well suited.

“Wasn’t for us, was it Cullen?”

“Huh?” Blinking he’s forced into the conversation, a place he really doesn’t want to be, and it shows in the way his eyes dart while his mind scrabbles to catch up. “Oh, right, well no, not really. I mean, I did have a plan, but then there was Prince, and Mother Giselle was there. And. So, no, not really. We didn’t need a plan.”

“Sounds rather romantic,” Kelandris lifts her gaze to meet his, bright violet intrigued. “Did Bryan tell you how he proposed?”

“I’m sure they’re not interested-“ Bryan interjects with his hand over hers and a soft smile that apparently wins him no favour.

“Speak for yourself! I’d love to hear about how sulky here went all romantically soppy,” Annabel giggles and Cullen can tell it means trouble. Trouble he best avoid.

“Hmmm, yes, your brother can be quite the old romantic at heart. We were in the secluded flower garden, in the very spot where we shared our first kiss. Only this time we were under a sky full of stars, surrounded by the flicker of candles, and he delicately bends to pluck a single red rose,” Kelandris mimics the action with her tiny silver spoon in her cup. “The next thing I know he hands it to me and I spy the glitter of gold around its stem. Before I can even speak, he’s down on one knee and asking for my hand.”

Annabel actually squeals beside him. “Kew you were a big old softie! Wait until the other lords hear about this, they’ll love it,” grinning broadly Annabel adds honey to her tea and Cullen dares glance at Bryan. To his surprise, the Lord isn’t glowering. In fact, he seems to be wearing a rather faint, but distinctly warm smile.

“Yes, well, they can say as they please, at the end of the day, it is I marrying the most beautiful lady in the entire court, not them and they’d do well to remember it.”

Huh. Perhaps there is a softer side to that cold exterior. Slowly Cullen thinks he’s beginning to understand. After all, how would he have survived in a world of nobility, of gossip, intrigue and rumour? He’s not sure he would’ve, but one thing is certain, he would have spent a great degree of his time scowling, and in a foul mood, so perhaps he has more in common Bryan than he first thought.

His day is spent exploring the keep with Annabel, hearing various tales of her wild childhood adventures, sparring in the yard, falling off horses and running amuck over the castle's defences. Cullen can’t recall a more perfect day. No reports, no officers, no meetings, no schedules… just him and his wife wondering around a stronghold which seems to bring joy to her eyes every time they pass a new corner. Every statute has a story to tell, every painting, every person in fact as he finds out she knows a great deal of the guards and staff, many of whom are greeted with hugs and questions about friends and family.

It’s no wonder she’d excelled at the role of Inquisitor. A natural born people person, able to sense what someone needed and with more than enough compassion to go around. Even if she was lousy at paperwork and meetings, having the ability to win hearts and minds was undoubtedly a more useful skill. Or so he thought. He smiles at each and exchanges pleasantries, chuckling along with their jokes, but before long he finds himself starting to tire and wane. Although he is briefly reprieved and revived by Bryan showing him the trebuchets along with a rousing discussion about their correct calibration. That's more his strength, one on one, detailed, practical discussions about useful things, even as he noted Annabel wonder of halfway through. He knew she’d return and ask him all about it, and pretend to show an interest until she got distracted once more at least.

Thankfully, however, they break for lunch alone, he’s not sure he can handle round two of the game so soon. Settling on a bench in the gardens two sets of sad eager eyes peer up as they unpack a panic.

“Oh, go on then, but don’t tell cook I gave you the good meat,” pointing her finger sternly Annabel then tosses the two hounds each a sizable chunk of chicken before wiping her fingers delicately. The last piece she pushes to Cullen. “You should stock up, it’ll be fancy food tonight, but we can always sneak into the kitchen… If you’re brave enough… Cook has been known to chase even royalty away with her pan.”

Chuckling Cullen hopes she’s joking, although the expression on her face suggests otherwise. Calm settles over him once more, the fresh air and hearty food a soothing balm, although the rest of her head against him is even better. Soon it would be best polite smiles and idle chatter amidst vipers. Something he dreads with every passing moment that brings it closer.

When Annabel swiftly leaps up from nowhere, he follows her moves with curiosity and frowns as she begins to pluck several roses. He never would understand what went through her mind, although it must be a whirl of activity.

Within a moment she’s back, four different colour roses in her hand, still confused he watches as she presents them to the hounds. Prince sniffs at the burnished yellow one, so she lays it at his paws with distinct grace, while Fion, her family mutt, takes a liking to the white one. The dog's slender muzzle picks up the stem, seemingly unbothered by the prickles and with a dainty little trot jogs back to the keep with its tail wagging, leaving the mabari to cock its head after the apparently upper-class creature.

“So, that leaves pink and red…and I think you shall have the pink,” she declares with a polite little bow as she hands Cullen the rose like he was a lady at a tourney.

“And why the pink?” With one eyebrow raised he runs calloused fingertips over the petals, unbelievably soft when compared to the stem beneath.

“Because it suits you,” she smiles. “If you blush at the ball tonight like you did this morning, you’ll match!”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” shaking his head he bops her on the nose with the flower, a waft of its fragrance reaching him. She always did smell like roses, and now he supposes he knows why they’re her favourite, they must remind her of home. “You sure it’s not just because red is your favourite colour?” He asks already smiling softly at how she brushes the petals over her lips and cheek with a barely audible hum.

“Hmmm, well it is the colour of passion,” she smirks, full lips half hidden behind the vibrant petals. “Here,” she kisses it gently then swaps their roses with ease. “Your right, red is my favourite colour, and if you’re wearing it, I get to enjoy it more.”

“Selfless as ever,” he chuckles, one eyebrow lifting as she stands, tucking the rose through her buttonhole and extending her hand to him.

“Come on, we need to practice…”

A heavy sigh falls from him as he realises what she’s getting at. “Fine… but I make no promises tonight to not stand on your toes, knock anyone over or become hopelessly lost…” reluctantly rising he feels his drop in mood lifts with the soft curl of fingers around his.

“Oh Cullen, I thought you were always hopelessly lost in my presence?” Annabel smiles and flutters long lashes up at him, and he can’t help but wrap an arm around her waist to tug her in close.

A smirk lifts the corner of his lip again, raising and arching his scar as his honey drenched eyes melt on sight of hers. “Oh, Annabel, you have no idea,” with that his mouth cups hers to share the kind of slow, steamy, kiss only true lovers could.

Stepping into the hall of her childhood home filled to the brim with stringed music, chatter and the scent of cooked meats sends a rush of excitement up Annabel’s spine. Cullen feels warm and steadfast beside her, although she can sense the subtle ebb of tension in the stiffness of his arm under her fingers.

“You’ll be fine,” she reassures him with a bright smile that follows her gaze around the room picking out people she hadn’t seen for years. Some welcome, others not so much. Politics was not her favourite thing either, but at least she had a wealth of a experience to help her cope, something she only hopes Cullen will develop over time.

“Hmmm, so long as no one asks me to dance,” he grumbles, but when she shots him a sideways glance he’s quick to rectify his error. “Other than my wife, of course.”

Chuckling she squeezes tight against his side. “They’re all here to celebrate us, remember? Ok, yes they’re snakes and will try to trip you up or get a rise out of you, but just smile and nod politely…”

“I’m not sure nobility understand the concept of ‘celebration’…”

She taps his arm at the gripe, but can’t help but snicker. He’s not wrong. Although at least they did put out a splendid selection of wine. It’s just a pity her brother had already warned her to ‘take it easy’ with the drinking… For good reason, she may have embarrassed him and herself on several notable occasions in the past. Noble ladies didn’t take kindly to being puked on, knocked over or insulted loudly, and fighting was something it turned out many nobles didn’t have a clue about. So she’ll just have to make do with grazing the buffet and dancing the night away.

“Ah, there you are,” Bryan’s smooth nonchalant tone greets them as he sweeps over, looking splendidly handsome in his doubletted formal attire, although clearly not a patch on her Cullen. “Just in time for the first dance.”

“Perfect,” Cullen grits out and she squeezes his arm all too tightly.

Bryan clearly notices the sarcasm and coldly stares for a moment, eyes searing into the other man’s in sharp warning. Best behaviour was called for and he apparently won’t tolerate anything less. “Hmm, don’t worry Commander, I’m sure your wife’s elegance will make up for your floundering… besides, I’ll wager all eyes will be on Kelandris and me.”

The single chime of a bell announces the dance and Bryan is swift to depart with an all to smug smirk. It seems as if the chatter that had filled the lofty space suddenly grows still, and as she leads Cullen to the dance floor people actually part to make way, casting their eyes up and down, some in admiration but most in scorn. She had married a common Fereldan after all, no matter his Inquisition title or his former templar rank, he would still be viewed by many as simple farming stock from a backward land. Something she hopes might change after tonight, after speaking with him, after hearing of his tales of leadership and valour, of support. Of course, many would never shift their opinions, far too set in their ways, beside it provided too good a source of ammunition to bring scorn against a prestigious rival house. Annabel only hopes that for a few perhaps his calm demeanour, solid polite form and effort may impress.

Kelandris glides over, the lilac and gold of her dress catching her eye with the swish of full-length fabric, all set off by a familiar white rose in her hair. As Bryan bows deeply Annabel spies a genuinely warm smile on his face, one that matches the lady who accepts his hand with a soft murmur of approval from the crowd. For once, however, Annabel feels no need to compete with him, it seems they both have found what they needed, and although his dance partner is superior to even her in skill, it doesn’t matter in the slightest. She’s found a man who had promised her a dance, despite knowing he’d struggle, despite despising the limelight, and despite the nerves which must be making him feel sick to his stomach. She’s found perfection and couldn’t be happier.

“I’m not sure about this,” Cullen’s murmur is hot against her ear as he lays one hand over her hip. “Everyone’s watching.”

“Of course, they are,” she looks up at him with a playful smile lighting her eyes. “It’s called jealousy, Commander.” Their fingers intertwine and he cracks a tiny half smile, she can tell he doesn’t believe her, but that only makes him all the more perfect. He squeezes her hand this time and nods, amber eyes set in determination as they meet hers along with the lock of his jaw. Just as he did before any battle, she notes.

The melody starts up, slowly and hypnotic with soft harps and she prompts him with a nudge of her toe, and he begins to slowly sway them. Annabel's impressed that he’s able to put all the staring eyes to one side so promptly, and when the tempo increases, other stringed instruments joining the fray her heart flutters in her chest. With a tap she urges him to shuffle back, then forth, until they perform the small ungainly routine they’d spent hours learning. A clumsy foxtrot which is slightly out of time with the couple to their right and the flow of music, making it even more difficult, but they continue. Maker how she loves this stubborn man.

After a few repeats Cullen seems to grasp the moves and to her surprise holds out his arm to spin her round in a twirl of burgundy and sparkle. She giggles as she whirls, the party and other nobles forgotten as her skirt flurries around her. Clumsily he pulls her back and she stumbles into his chest with a laugh, the display for the visiting nobility already forgotten as she lifts up her eyes to meet his.

A twitch, a hint of a smile crooks his lip and she suspects he may be starting to enjoy himself too. Her heart swells with pride and endearment, even as he kicks her in the shin by accident. Following the error in his step, he seemingly loses all abandon and throws her in another twirl, narrowly missing a whirl of purple as the two ladies almost collide in a glitter of fabric and sparkle. Even if she’d had the sense about her to care, Annabel wouldn't have looked over, certain her brother’s scowl would be harsh enough to wound, instead, she lets the moment capture her for what it is. Beautiful.

Laughing, Annabel spins back into arms that wrap around her. Delicately she lifts her head to find him wearing a heart-warming smile which she returns before resting her head against his chest, beyond grateful. His warm, distinct musk underlies his sandalwood scent, and she finds herself hum contently against him. Feeling truly happy as their bodies entwine and sway while the tempo slows, their movements growing ever slower, ever subtler until the music fades.

“That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” she asks, still buried against him.

“Hmm… well, I had a good teacher,” he murmurs against her hair. Leaning up she moves to kiss him but a round of applause catches them both off guard. Sharing a peck instead of the smouldering kiss one she’d desired she snuggles back against him. The cheering was most likely for the other dancers, but it's nice to bask in it regardless. The music starts up once more and others begin to fill the space around them. Cracking open one eye she spots Kelandris with her arms wrapped up around Bryan’s neck and watches as he leans to press their foreheads together, lightly smiling and still swaying to their own tune, that fills Annabel with fresh happiness once again.

Fancy gowns and dancing always agreed with Annabel, no matter how horrid the noble gathering, those things, plus the wine, usually made any event bearable. She’s quickly discovering however that the lavish food on offer tonight does not agree with her. Not in the slightest.

Resting her palms and forehead against the frozen marble the cold provides a soothing respite to the flush of heat which has followed after being sick. She’d at least made it outside and into a more discreet corner of the gardens before being violently ill. Although it seems she won’t be spared the by the gossips as she spies several guests whispering while they meander along of the sparsely light pathways. Great. They’ll probably think she’s drunkenly disgraced herself again, although nothing could be further from the truth. Stupid sea food.

Tugging up her long silken gloves she tries to fan her dress and settle out the creases, offering a polite smile to the passers-by which abruptly fades when they’re out of sight. She should never have tried pickled cockles. What had she been thinking? Slimy shellfish on an empty hyped up stomach was surely asking for this kind of disaster. Her stomach churns, beyond bloated and angry, the corset dress making it all ten times worse by digging into her ribs unbearably tight. So much for a joint celebration…

“Annabel, are you alright? You ran out like-“ Bryan breaks off when he spies the state of the poor flowers and her calmly skin. “Ah, it seems not…”

“I’m fine,” Annabel shakes her head lightly, eyes resting as she leans against the pillar, trying to settle the roll in her stomach, it’s almost like being back at sea as it churns and babbles away.

“The fact that my flower beds are covered in sick says otherwise,” Bryan is quick to hold his hand up. “I’m not going to drop this lightly, so you may as well go to your room while I call for the doctor… and your husband.”

“=No, I’ll be fine in a few minutes… just fetch me some water and-“

“He shall do no such thing,” Kelandris appears from thin air with a delicate but precise sway to her plush gown. Sighing Annabel tries in vain to at least fix her hair by tucking back loose strands, or she does until the other woman’s hand clasps over hers anyway. “You’re not well, come, I’ll escort you, I imagine you're dying to get out of that dress and it would be a shame to ruin it if you should have another, episode.”

That much is all true… and Annabel has no doubt Cullen will be grateful to retire early, especially since she’d abandoned him at some point by mistake. “Fine,” she relents with another sigh, they were making rather a big fuss over a simple tummy blip. She dreads to think how they’d behave if they’d seen some of the states she’d returned to Skyhold in. “I’m sure it’s just all the travelling, the seafood must’ve brought back bad memories of the ocean…”

“Then go get that confirmed,” Bryan nods politely although his eyes are stern. “Please see the doctor, I have enough to worry about with the likes of Lord Tristan and his lot. Besides if it is contagious, I have no desire to spend my engagement party evening throwing up, thank you.”

She chuckles faintly and lifts one eyebrow almost crudely to her older sibling. “Let me guess, you two have other plans?”

“Go,” sternness vibrates in his voice, although Kelandris smirks darkly as she links their arms to start leading her away.

Cullen arrives at their private bedroom quarters panting and flushed. “Are you alright?” shutting the door behind him, he hurries to the window seat where Annabel is haunched, looking decidedly more pale than usual. Make up gone, hair a mess and her body wrapped in a fluffy dressing gown her appearance is a far cry from what it had been the last time he’d seen her this evening and only fuels his worry further. “Bryan said he’d sent for the doctor…” panic has widened his pupils which now search her up and down.

“There’s nothing wrong,” she gives a small smile, clearly attempting to be reassuring, but its meekness makes it fail.

“You're certain?” His brows furrow. “You don’t look well. You know you don’t have to pretend…I mean after everything-“

“I’m fine, Cullen, honest,” she interrupts and taps the space next to her, but his muscles are wound too tight to sit so easily.

“People are not sick for no reason, especially at balls being held in their honour,” he’s suspicious. She’d not been drinking. Unless she’d been doing so on the sly, which while it wouldn’t surprise him doesn’t seem likely given her demeanour. She was usually a rowdy and randy drunk after all. Poison perhaps? Either accidental or worse on purpose…

“I think you should sit down,” she shuffles a little to one side, apparently trying to encourage him, but all it does is make his stomach churn tighter. Whatever it is, it’s serious and a lump wedges in his throat while fear clutches his heart.

“No,” he folds his arms, determined to not be swayed by her false stoicism. “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“You need to sit down-“

“No, Annabel, not-“

“Just sit down!” She snaps, flashing her teeth in a fierce snarl which blazes heat in her eyes. The expression quickly dissolves and is followed by a feeble apology. Whatever she needs to say it’s evidently important and the pressing anxiety he’s been trying to keep at bay thunders his heart and slicks his palms. Rubbing at the tightness in his neck he shakes his head, Maker’s breath, if she is sick, truly sick… he doesn’t know what he’ll do. He’s almost lost her so many times… to the snow, the fade, the darkspawn magister, the anchor… the thought of going through it all again is enough to make despair sting the back of his eyes. With reluctance, he perches stiffly beside her.

“Cullen, I…” she trails off and nibbles at her lower lip, a sure sign she’s holding back. He must be patient. Whatever is wrong they will get through it, together, or so he tells himself, for the hundredth time. Besides surely if it was that grave the doctor would be here? She’d been passed out? Or worse…

“I’m pregnant.”

The words knock the sense right out of him. Blinking, utterly dumbfounded, he sits up and stares at her. He must've heard her wrong, but she merely sits there, eyes earnest and hopeful, although betraying a shimmer of fear. “You… you’re pregnant?” he repeats the words although his voice cracks, he needs to hear them, needs to be sure he hasn’t imagined them. His breath hitches as she nods, her eyes starting to fill with unshed tears while his heart flip-flops in his chest.

Disbelief clouds his mind. It isn’t that he thinks she can’t possibly be pregnant, he knows well enough that the moon tea potion wasn’t always effective, no, it’s the notion that he deserves such a gift that he finds unfathomable. A precious tiny infant, him and her combined into a small and innocent bundle… How by the blessed Andstrae has he earnt such a thing?

“Cullen?” Her tone is one of concern, her hand tentative as it reaches for his but when she does he latches on tight. His grip only grows tighter as a pure smile, natural and unabashed grows to fill his face and chase the darkness from his eyes.

“Annabel, that’s…that’s…I can’t…Maker’s breath…That, it’s the best thing I’ve ever heard!” His almost boyish excitement spills out in the widening of his grin and the way he grabs hold to pull her close. “I can’t…Maker…” he utters a few words of jumbled of prayer, a mixture of gratitude and disbelief, all mumbled into the scent of her hair. A giggle sounds from her and it is the purest, most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

“You had me worried for a second …” she retorts. Pulling away she toys with his fingers. “I know it wasn’t planned…and we haven’t discussed it, not seriously…I mean I know you, we, wanted children, but right now? With the Inquisition changing so much, I wasn’t sure-“

He cuts off her nonsense with a kiss, lips moulding and melding over hers to shh any such talk far away. As if he could ever not want to be part of something so divine with her…A son…Or a daughter. Andraste preserve him. His thumb traces over her cheek, the rosy hue returning under his touch as solid conviction stirs his soul.

“Some of the greatest gifts the Maker bestows on us are unplanned, unfathomable, unforeseen… like meeting you,” his reverent words are followed by the press of his forehead against hers to share the blessing he feels radiating through his core. It feels… surreal… but wonderful..

“How… I mean… when…” Cullen loses his sense and sentence as he reaches his hand down, hovering over Annabel’s stomach, not daring to touch it, to taint it. A tiny babe, untarnished by the world, innocent, and defenceless, and theirs, to protect, to love and nurture, and with the Maker as his witness, he will do just that.

“If you need to ask how, I might have to question your chantry upbringing Mr Rutherford,” she snickers, taking his hand with both of hers and laying it on her bloated stomach. He can’t help but give his own small snigger at her comment, although his eyes never leave his hand, his touch so gentle it must barely even register.

“I meant…When…How far along,” gingerly his thumb rubs tiny circles over her robe, still uncertain he’s even allowed to touch something so pure…

Annabel deftly unfastens the garment and tugs at his calloused fingers to press his hand firmly against her tummy. “The doctor said about four months…about the time I lost my hand…He thinks maybe the potions I was having may have stopped the moon tea? I don’t know… Although he seems to think you must have strong seed in you,” she chuckles again, her free hand reaching up and cupping his face to stroke down his stubbled jaw.

He can’t believe she’s been carrying their child all that time and neither of them knew. Four months. Maker’s breath! They’d been across the Waking sea! And to Kirkwall! Such dangers he’d never have undertaken if he’d had even the faintest idea… “All that time?” He shakes his head in disbelief.

She nods and curls her feet up under her so she can snuggle into his lap, an action he gratefully welcomes. It really has been quite a day. One he’s certain he’ll never forget. As her warmth spreads through his chest, he’s hit with a sudden memory that snaps the air from his lungs with a hiss.

“Maker’s breath! In training, I hit you with a shield!” he exclaims, generating a bark of laughter from her curled form.

“Cullen, I get hit by shields all the time!" she exclaims, still laughing, although it fails to make him feel any better about it. Apparently sensing his worry she peeks up at him from under thick lashes, the brilliant blue of her iris’s shinning with all the love and certainty he’s ever dreamed of. “This is no ordinary baby, it has the blood of two warriors, two survivors, two leaders, tinged blue with nobility and scarlet with Ferelden… it's no ordinary baby,” she rubs their joint hands lightly over the small swell of her stomach. “This is our baby, Cullen.”

----

Thank you for reading! Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3

I hope it surprised some of you out there but I have been dropping hints for a while so i suspect not lol. Also please note this is set in a time when little was known about what was good or bad for you in Annabel’s condition so please don’t think I’m trying to promote drinking or eating shellfish ect! Also look I made a banner!

#happily ever after #my writing #part 5 #you need to sit down #cullen x annabel #cullen fanfic #sfw #fluff #happy cullen #post tresspasser

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bcdaily · 7 years ago

Text

EIGHT DAYS (PART 6/10)

A/N: Yes, yes, I know. I suck. This is nothing new. But if this is a hot mess, please let me know, because I’m very paranoid about this chapter. I’ve edited it way too much.

Also, please indulge me in the way I've just entirely made up the details of how professional Quidditch works, and doubled-down on how Quidditch press works, too. ("But Bee, why does your sports press line seem more like a red carpet--" "SHUT UP I DON'T KNOW I ONLY WATCH GYMNASTICS CAN WE JUST GO WITH IT.")

Link to: PART 1 + PART 2 + PART 3 + PART 4 + PART 5

__________________________________

+ + +

DAY SIX (Middle)

Day Six requires a reset, James is quick to decide. A reset, a revival, a resurrection.

Goodbye, rubbish. Hullo, deliverance.

He will salvage this wreck. Salvage his sanity. He’s determined. Resolved.

Though, admittedly…his timing could be better.

The team has the first match of morning—a fact James truly wishes he’d thought to recall approximately eight hours, two rows, and (undetermined) bottles of scotch ago. Foresight has clearly never been his forte. Neither, apparently, is self-control. He feels raw, positively splinched at the edges. Hoff’s call has unnerved him. His visitors have undone him. As he rushes around the now-crowded hotel room, gathering the remnants of dignity equipment he’d haphazardly discarded the evening before, that point becomes increasingly obvious.

But his mates are here, the lovely, useless bastards. His people. His family. James is heartened and resigned and exasperated and happy to be properly reunited with them…while simultaneously noting that he may have appreciated it more without feeling like someone’s taken a Beater’s bat to his head.

(He’d meant to plan this properly. He’s certain he had done.)

(Ow, ow, ow.)

No family is without its dysfunction, of course. Sirius is cocooned in blankets and drama, refusing to leave the bed. Remus and Peter are jovial, but clearly feel as if they’ve missed something (have done). Peter combats this by chattering incessantly. Remus cocks a questioning eyebrow at the whole tableau—prima donna in bed, empty whiskey bottles strewn about, vague sense of panic in the air—to which James can only sigh back an unspoken, Later.

He is tired, tired, tired, and late, late, late.

Bugger, bugger, bugger.

“We’ll see you after?” Remus asks as James eyes his wrinkled practice robes huddled at the base of the bed with muted distaste. They reek like a distillery. The whole bloody room does. He reaches for them anyway, glad to find he can reach—his shoulder is still a bit sore, but the stiffness seems to have gone. He can lift and rotate it readily (praise Merlin!). He performs a quick cleaning spell, dons the soiled robes, and nods at Remus before summoning his missing arm pad, which zooms out from beneath an armchair, bent and dusty.

Lovely.

“I’ll find you,” James answers hurriedly, unbending, undusting. “Don’t know how long I’ll be. Have to duck out of the press line—”

Peter clears his throat. “Speaking of press—”

“No!” Sirius snaps.

They all turn.

“No?” asks Peter.

“Bloody arse is seeing nargles,” Sirius mutters, glaring at James. “Don’t listen t’him. Can’t be trusted.”

“Leave off my nargles,” James returns, scowling.

Peter snorts. Remus sends James another pointed look (Silly ponce, it clearly chastises. You expected a reaction other than this?), and James shrugs (can shrug!) a noncommittal, Eh.

“Well, I want to hear more about your lady,” Peter says, grinning happily again. “We’ve bought her a present, after all.”

He gives the Hot for Pot banner another jolly wave, and James watches his photoself—very clearly nude, very clearly delighted about it—wink and pose from banner-land.

(He’d insist it’s a doctored photo, but honestly, he can’t be certain.)

(He dives for it, but dodgy Peter can be a fast little bugger when humiliation is on the line.)

(Humbling, that.)

Three minutes later, James is out the door: defeated, irritated, banner-less.

This is not improved once he’s besieged.

He ought’ve expected it. Day Six means the exhibition is now officially open to the public, and Quidditch fans have poured into the area like a veritable tidal wave of shouts, colors, and unhinged enthusiasm. James is stopped at least a half-dozen times before he can even clear the hotel. One bloke asks for an autograph, then subjects James to a six-minute diatribe on the state of Fitchburg’s defense. A middle-aged mum with two kids in tow propositions James so outrageously as she’s snapping a photo that he wants to slap his hands over the innocent children’s ears, spare them the indignity. A positively ancient wizard dressed head-to-toe in Appleby pale blue mistakes James for Rodger Jostins and is so joyously thrilled by the prospect that James doesn’t have the heart to correct him.

(He’d wanted a reset, not a reincarnation. But at least someone’s pleased with him.)

He is the last to arrive in the locker room. Lorri is still stretching in the corner. Jools calls, “Good morning, good morning!” as James shuffles in. Lufty already has the Ogden’s out and is preparing his shot. James quells an immediate gag reflex at the smell.

No one mentions his leaving training early the day before. No one mentions his tardiness now, either. The room is busy and chipper and apparently disinterested in the dramas and schedules of their youngest Chaser. It’s a wild relief. James snaps on his wireless (returned from the vents?) and after a Broomstyx hit and a Ruff Ratherford power ballad, Sleekeazy is the second advert to play.

“Sllllleeeeeeeekeazy!…two drops for hair to pleasy! Dare to care—”

“No-oo!” Marcie groans as the locker room laughs. “Why won’t it leave us alone?”

James doesn’t turn off the wireless, but there is a smattering of cheers and applause when the next advert to play is indeed something new. But in spite of the jingle, James still feels off. Like he’s chipped and nicked in all the wrong places. Like he’s got a balloon slowly inflating inside his chest. A quick Hangover Charm is slow to take effect. He can’t kick a general sense of bewilderedness. His shoulder has retained its ugly shade of splotched purple, and since he’d rather avoid questions, questions, questions, he pops open the miracle tin from Lily’s mate and applies the salve with his shirt still on. It’s clumsy work.

He thinks of Lily as he salves. (Don’t think of Lily.) Thinks of his mates. (Don’t think of your mates.) Thinks of an island he might escape to where he can be alone with only fruity drinks and the crashing waves to keep him company.

(Yes, all right.)

(Oops, no—there’s Lily again, wearing a grassed hula skirt and not much else, bless her.)

“Is that lemons?” asks Jools suddenly, startling James out of his perverted fantasies. He jumps, but Betts already has her nose pressed to his robes, sniffing enthusiastically. She pulls back grinning. “Well. Don’t you smell pretty, Potter?”

James goes scarlet. “Prettier than you,” he mutters.

She smirks, crossing her arms over her chest. “Yes, see, but some of us actually play hard enough to sweat, eh?”

He chokes out a laugh, popping the salve top back on. “Touché.”

At his easy concession, she gives him a curious look. “All right?”

James shrugs, wishes he knew.

There is not much opportunity for further banter or contemplation. The alarm is sounded—time to depart for the pitch. Before they leave, Klinderson gathers the team for a pre-match pep talk.

“Penultimate match, comrades,” he says, slapping Dooster on the back with one meaty hand. (Doos, impressively, only winces slightly.) “Let’s give the rabid masses something to cheer for!”

They all whoop and clap their agreement. James does his best to contribute. Then it’s out the door, onward.

(Onward.)

The stadium is a madhouse, each section of stands filled to the brim. James blinks at the sudden sunlight, but the Hangover Charm seems to finally be doing its job—a vague twinge is the only reminder of this morning’s foibles. He tries not to examine the surroundings too much. Tries not to contemplate just who is in those stands today, how each of them matters. He can’t. Not now. Not three minutes before play. The warning whistle blows.

He kicks off and lets the wind take him.

He expects to be distracted on the pitch. How could he not? But it is—surprisingly, fortunately—just the opposite. They’re up against a formidable lot, including James’s presumed double, Rodger Jostins, and Alla Abdel, a prodigy seeker fresh out of school who’s rumoured to be one of the fastest flyers the game has seen in ages. Lorri is good—very good—but James knows they can’t depend on her points this match. He, Dooster, and Marcie will need to pad the score as much as possible to manage a victory.

The crowd is roaring from the very start. They lose the Quaffle on the release, but gain it back with a well-timed Bludger from Klinderson. Marcie grabs it in the freefall, and despite the sparse drills run yesterday, James moves easily into formation. When the Quaffle comes to him, he’s able to whip it over to Dooster without the same tormenting rigidity that had made the exact maneuver near impossible the day before. Dooster is a bit clumsy with the catch, but makes up for it with a key feint and a zapping shot. It sails through the left hoop, just as the keeper dives.

Ten points.

More cheering.

James lets out a long breath.

He knows this. He loves this. The last few months have been…Merlin, he doesn’t know. A million things. A million, sometimes not-so-great things. Sirius was right about that. And this past week…James feels like he’s lost his damned mind a hundred times over. Coming back to England. Puddlemere. His mates. His parents. Hoff. Lily (most certainly Lily). He knows he hasn’t handled it all as he might have done once: casual and cavalier, resolved and resilient.

He’s been knocked down a few pegs, taught to worry. And while it’s not necessarily a bad thing to learn some consideration, some humility, in the flux he seems to have lost touch with the taste for this: a love for this game. For what he’s done. Accomplished. For what he can do, and can’t do, and will fight like hell for anyway.

It feels good, coming back to that now. It’s a reminder he needs, today more than most.

When the hell had he lost it?

Reset.

As he pulls off a textbook Backhand Bernham with Dooster, flying past the goal posts as his shot sails through the center hoop, James finds the person he most wants to discuss this all with is Lily. She’d get it, he reckons. She’d know what to do, what to say. And rather than worrying him, that makes him feel better.

(So much better, he scores three more goals in the next fifteen minutes. But who’s counting?)

(Well, he is, obviously. And the scoreboard. And likely Lily, too. And his mates. And Hoff. And Tufton—fucking hell, Tufton. Is he watching? Of course he’s watching. But—shutupshutupshutupPLAY.)

James plays.

He plays his bloody heart out.

+ + +

They lose the match, 270-350.

His very first exhibition loss.

James is…conflicted.

Well, perhaps not so much conflicted as content, which in itself seems like it ought to be a conflict. It was a brilliant battle, though, well-played on nearly every front. Relatively green as he still may be, James knows the rarity of that sort of outcome. Victory has transcended the numbers displayed on the pitch, and everyone—from the (overly competitive) players in the sky, to the (forever finicky) fans in the stands—seems to agree. It’s a loss in scoreboard only.

Which is not to say that James isn’t disappointed. Only human, isn’t he? He’s had a revelation, a rekindling, and what better way to pay that proper homage than with points? A scoreboard win would have been preferable in most ways, all things considered.

But despite the end result, he feels…good.

Good?

Yes. That’s it. Good. Validated. Satisfied.

Fancy that.

Better yet, these seem to be shared sentiments. The post-match locker room is filled with good-natured sighs, heady recaps, and teasing ribs. Marcie is laughing loudly with Lufty. Klinderson’s bulky chest puffs as he accepts praise for his prime batwork from Betts. Even Lorri, ultimately felled by Abdel on the chase, has her chin up, her back straight, occasionally smiling. They’ve all been through this before, will go through it again. It’s the job.

Play worthy, James thinks, that old Puddlemere adage. But there’s valiancy in defeat, too.

Interesting, that.

…though perhaps not nearly as interesting as what he somehow finds himself doing next.

In retrospect, he’ll never be able to account for the logic of it. He watches it all happen as if outside of himself, floating there above the madness. There’s a recognizable dance to the post-match process. Victory or loss, content or conflicted, it’s all the same: cool down, change gear, gird your loins accordingly. Eventually, the team will file out of the locker room. Outside, one of the exhibition wranglers will be waiting to herd the lot of them up to the press line. James is a near expert at this bit by now: wait for movement, give the (heavily bribed) wrangler a wink, and then it’s off through the roughshod door to the left that leads down to the equipment room and out the back exit of the stadium. No mess. No press. Freedom.

The team gathers. The movement starts. The roughshod door is there.

James sees it. Stares at it. His feet are moving. He stares harder.

Passes it.

(What?)

Passes the next potential escape, too.

(What is he doing?)

And the last.

(What is he doing?)

Oh, bloody hell, he thinks, at nearly the same moment his feet seem to be chanting, march, march, march! He’s marching? He’s marching. Why is he marching? He doesn’t understand. He’s certain his brain did not make this choice. His feet have gone rogue. The order’s gone out from up top—stop—and filtered down, getting corrupted somewhere in the vicinity of his chest, so all his feet are hearing is stomp. Not the same thing at all, stop and stomp. Very important letter, that m. Cannot be spoken more disparagingly of, that m. Please, Merlin help him, someone explain to his feet about the m. Why won’t they listen? It makes not the slightest bit of sense.

And yet on they go, the damned recalcitrant limbs.

He’s not the only one grappling in confusion. Standing outside the press room (what what what) as the other team finishes up their round, Betts is eyeing him in sharp question. Dooster, likewise, gives a double-take when he spots James still with them at the threshold.

“What’s this?” Doos asks.

James jerks a shoulder. It’s a truly compelling question.

“Stick close, yeah?” he tells Doos instead, feeling a bit bleary-eyed. “Dunno what the fuck I’m doing.”

Dooster is still laughing as the wrangler gives the signal and they all walk inside.

James is immediately blinded.

Flash. Murmur. Flash. Shout. SHOUT. FlashflashflashflashshoutshoutSHOUT.

They’ve noticed him, of course. Two dozen people begin whispering—then yelling—his name.

Is there always this much yelling?

He ignores them. Sticks to Dooster’s back like a toddler clinging to mum. Looks up, searching.

No, no, no—he’s press?—no, no—

Yes.

She’s toward the back of the pack. Hair up, black dress, trusty credentials hanging around her neck. There is a pad of paper in her hands, but that’s all he can really see from this vantage point. Their eyes meet. He can see the green even from here. Bright. Surprised. Her brows shoot up to her hairline.

What’s this? they ask.

He grins bravely. Unpredictable, aren’t I?

Her lips purse. Something like that.

She begins to push toward the front, and James stifles a giddy laugh.

The team fans out. This isn’t a formal press conference. They saddle up to whoever in the line catches their attention. Or perhaps it’s more strategic than that. James truly wouldn’t know. He’s the proverbial hippogriff foal on shaky legs, stumbling about blindly. Sam Lockley from Quidditch Weekly gives him a welcoming smile from behind the barricade, and James reckons he’s as good a place to start as any. Dooster seems to agree, and they amble over together.

“Truly excellent match, lads!” Lockley says in greeting, beaming victoriously. “Full of surprises. Eh, Potter?”

Potter. That’s him.

“Er…yes. That’s…well. Yes. The surprises.” Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Hate for things to be dull for you, Sam.”

James hopes his overly-bright smile compensates for the fumbling.

Sam—bless him—doesn’t seem deterred by the slips.

“First time you’re playing on the same side, isn’t it?” he asks them both, apparently understanding the comfort in numbers plot and kind enough to lob them a few easy tosses. “Seems to be working up there. What’s that been like?”

“Trying to keep the Quaffle away from this hog? Near impossible,” Dooster jokes, elbowing James in the chest. Cameras flash. “Give a bloke a few scoring records and goes straight to his head, it does.”

“Oh, were you meant to be playing, as well?” James asks, finding stride. “Explains why you kept getting in the way of my shots.”

Doos laughs and throws an arm around James’s shoulders. “When can I ship this tosser back to America?”

Lockley grins. “No time soon, from what I hear.”

There’s a pointed, expected pause. The reporter is waiting for James to respond. Of course he is. For the first time, James realises the press might interpret his appearance here as some kind of signal. It’s long been understood that if James was signed to Puddlemere—to anywhere, really—these kinds of appearances would be expected. He can’t play his same avoidance game back on British soil, with the kind of hefty contract he’s demanding brewing beneath the cauldron.

But that’s hardly a done deal at this point, and James is not sure he should—could—explain that the real reason he’s here has less to do with career, and more to do with some kind of mental break and a pair of knowing green eyes.

Speaking of…

Dooster has filled the lull of James’s non-confirmation with some clever spiels about the ease of play between the three Chasers on their side—professionals, competitors, etcetera…James makes humming noises of agreement, but his eyes focus just beyond Sam Lockley’s shoulder as Lily stealthily slides in behind the other reporter. James tries not to be terribly obvious, but is likely not overly successful. His heart patters in his chest. He feels like he’s gulped a lungful of fresh air. Lily—of course—ignores his keen attention and instead keys into the interview dynamic. She is very clearly unimpressed with his efforts. With a pointed look and a prodding twirl of her finger, she urges James back into the conversation, all go-on-hop-to-get-in-there.

(The things he does to please this witch, really.)

He tries his best. He jumps in, talking about training, about the match, about Marcie and her smart communication, Dooster and his focused assists. When he starts to babble, Lily’s twirling finger morphs into a slowly lowering flat of fingers (cool-it-slow-down-that’s-enough!). He complies readily.

She doesn’t ask questions—this isn’t her interview, and James knows there’s internal press politics to that sort of thing—but she jots down notes from time to time. James wonders if any of this will make it into the furloughed article. He also knows he and Doos spend more time with Lockley than is usual. Most of his teammates have moved on to a second or third interview by now. That’s how these things work. James might be more embarrassed about the fact that they’re very clearly coddling him, but he’s too relieved at the indulgence.

Unfortunately, not everyone is so patient.

About five minutes into the babbling, a tall, dark-haired bloke in bright blue robes saddles up to the front of the barrier. James spots him only a few seconds before—without so much as a please-if-you-will—he roughly bumps Lily aside and leans in over Sam Lockley’s shoulder.

James blinks.

“Fucking hell, Dalton?” Lily snaps.

“Mr. Dooster, Mr. Potter,” the man says grandly. His grin is blinding. “Jack Dalton, Daily Prophet.”

Sam Lockley looks cross. Lily looks livid. But neither does anything more than snap or glare at the man, which tells James he’s likely somehow higher-up than them both.

“Dalton,” Lockley says tightly. “So glad you could join us. Mind if I finish up?”

Dalton ignores him. “Excellent match out there, gentlemen. You both played beautifully…can’t blame either of you for the loss.”

The words are too pointed and strangely delivered. Dooster’s eyes have narrowed. James is instantly on guard.

“Thank you?” Dooster offers.

The reporter’s smile turns sharp. “Twenty-seven goals on your side, but lost on the catch. Got to be frustrating.”

“It’s how the game is played,” James answers carefully. Where’s this going?

Dalton waves a hand. “Of course, of course. Still, enough to make a decent Chaser shout, and you’re both better than that, hm? I think it’s safe to say you’re questioning the choices of your Seeker.”

What?

“Choices,” James repeats flatly.

“Choice of?” Dalton corrects slyly.

Ah. James sees the target even before Lily’s eyes flash at him in warning.

The fucker was going after Lorri. Lorri.

It’s so preposterous, so outlandish, James is momentarily dumbfounded. Lorri?

Thankfully, Dooster is quick on the recovery. “Not certain what you mean, mate.” His hand immediately moves to James’s arm. James feels the nudge—let’s go let’s go let’s go.

Happy to oblige, James twists away accordingly.

But Dalton is relentless.

“Alla Abdel is barely out of the schoolroom,” he blurts loudly as they turn, “yet she outflew and outmatched Lorri Jackson today. Youth has its favors, and in this sport…well, hard to argue Appleby might be reconsidering Jackson’s contract come renewal time. Next year, isn’t it? Tough for female players at the end of their careers. Always cling harder than they ought, eh? I’m sure you gentlemen were equally impressed by Abdel’s performance this morning?”

It’s a clever tactic, worded just so. The options are clear: disparage Abdel, or defend Lorri, with a happy dose of misogyny thrown just there. Any response gives Dalton his quote. Dooster’s hand applies more pressure to James’s arm. Lily’s face has gone completely scarlet. The line is crowded—all the nearby reporters have their eyes and ears trained on this exchange now, just in case. James can see it all unfolding.

And while he knows—knows—the smartest thing to do is follow Dooster’s prompt, find another spot on the line, another legitimate question to answer…something inside James revolts.

Because, honestly? This bloke is scum. He’s beyond scum. He’s the dirt James scuffs off his trainers in the morning, the sludge at the bottom of his tea cup. He’s looking for a juicy morsel of gossip—Young Stars Lament Teammate Jackson, or something equally as rubbish—and James is aghast at the audacity. In a match as well-played as this one had been, the tact is so obvious, so heavy-handed, so unnecessary, James can almost laugh. He should not reward even the attempt with a response.

He shouldn’t…but then he thinks of Lorri.

Stable, steadfast, resilient Lorri, with her calming air, her pregame stretches, her quick fingers, and her small smiles despite—yes, fine—ultimate defeat on the catch today. As if that’s not the game. As if it’s not utterly unavoidable for one Seeker to win and the other to lose. He thinks with fury, this is the reason I don’t do this, and understands the power and limits of no comment. He loves no comment. He and no comment are the very best of mates.

But now he’s here, and he can’t—can’t—leave it at that. It’s just not in him.

He turns back to Dalton, ignoring Dooster’s fingers clenching, Lily’s fast blink at his movement. James’s fists ball. His voice is low, rough.

“Are you new at this?” he asks Dalton.

The reporter stares. He’s giddy at successfully goading a reply, James knows that, but he’s confused by the one he got. Up for the challenge, he smiles. “New at this?”

“Yes. This. Quidditch.” James waves a hand, takes a step closer. “You must be. Because anyone with even the smallest hint of knowledge about the sport would have watched the match this morning and understood the Seekers at play. Abdel is fast—she’s so bloody fast, I’d hate to face her in a race, that’s for certain. I’m sure she’ll be zooming past us all for years to come. But equally as certain is that nearly every time she dove for the snitch this morning, she was following Lorri Jackson’s lead. Abdel is young. She can’t read a professional pitch yet. One day she will, but the idea that Lorri Jackson was somehow less-than…laughable. Completely laughable. She was seeking, while Abdel was chasing. Sometimes you win that way, but you can’t always, and everyone knows it—or, that is, everyone who knows even a whit about Quidditch.” James leaves that point posed for a moment, delighted by the staggered look on Dalton’s face. Delighted. “Which brings us back to the original question…Are you new at this? Because the way I see it, you’re either new, you’re inept, or you’re an unmitigated arsehole. So which is it?”

So which is it?

(Ha.)

The question hangs in the air. Dalton is silent. The whole bloody line is. No one speaks, no one moves, and with the blood still pumping furiously through his veins, James knows better than to wait around for any of them to regroup. Shooting a quick look at Lily—she is pressing her lips together so firmly, the edges of her mouth have gone white—James smiles pleasantly at Sam Lockley, reaching out to shake the man’s hand.

“Lovely speaking with you, Sam,” he says.

Someone breaks the stupor. James is blinded again by flashes—clickclickclickclick. He turns around, prodding a shell-shocked Dooster in the back. Move, move, move. March, march, march!

He’s not quick enough.

“I wonder if Greta Moors feels similarly?” Dalton snaps at James’s back, voice filled with taunting fury. “Or Fredrick Fords? I’ll just owl him for comment, shall I?”

Clickclickclickclick.

Curse fired, direct hit.

James keeps walking.

“Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter!—”

He is furious. Furious.

Fuck Dalton. Fuck. Him. Greta and Fredrick Fords be damned, too. James regrets none of this. His first real foray into press in ages, and he ends up telling off some pompous tosser in the line? What of it? Bloke is worthless, and James can antagonize any member of the press he’d like. Anyone at all he’d like. He doesn’t regret any of it. He doesn’t.

(It’s fine you’re fine don’t panic don’t panic.)

Dooster is at his elbow, walking quickly to keep up with James’s brisk strides. As the shouts continue around them, it’s Dooster’s voice that James concentrates on.

“What a cock,” his teammate says, and James can only grunt an agreement. Then Dooster snorts. “New, inept, or an arsehole. Bloody hell, Potter. Had that tucked away in your pocket, did you?”

“Years of pent-up aggression? Some,” James replies, and Dooster throws back his head and laughs. There’s more flashing and clicking.

Fine. They can have that.

He needs…hell.

James glances back over his shoulder.

She’s still standing beside Sam Lockley. Jack Dalton has gone—James doesn’t see where, but hopefully nowhere James will ever encounter him again, good bloody riddance—but Lily has lingered. Her lips aren’t pressed in contained mirth anymore, instead tweaked slightly upward as she watches him, too. The expression turns shrewder as the seconds pass. Her eyes are quite, quite bright. With a subtle jerk of his head toward the end of the press line, James hopes she understands the desperate attempt to ask, meet me please please please?

Lovely, clever witch. She nods immediately, then disappears into the crowd behind her.

All right.

It’s fine. He’s fine.

“You know, I think I’m quite done here,” James tells Dooster, hoping his voice only sounds that tight inside his head. They’re nearly at the end of the line anyway. James has sped through like his trousers are on fire. People have been shouting his name—they all seem to be shouting something—but James hears it like an echo through a tunnel, all hollow and vague. “You all right?”

Dooster nods. “Think I’m quite done, as well. Nothing going to top that, eh?”

Shit shit shit shit.

James smiles weakly. He’s walking too fast. He knows he is. It’s terribly, terribly obvious. He wants to get out of click-flash-shout range, though, and he’s barely managed to do so before a short obstacle stumbles into his exit path.

“Note for you!” the boy says, thrusting parchment at him.

James takes it numbly.

It’s very clearly ripped off a white pad of paper, which comforts James even before he opens it and sees the familiar handwriting.

Bvrg kiosk sect. 4 left pillar. xo

Beverage kiosk. Section Four. Left pillar.

James murmurs something to Dooster—sorry urgent note thank you thank you thank you—then takes off like a pack of dementors are floating at his heels. Section four is close. The beverage kiosk will be crowded with spectators milling about between matches, but maybe Lily’s counting on the busyness to maintain his anonymity. He keeps his head down nonetheless, casting a quick Concealment Charm in hopes that it will deter gazes from lingering his way. He’s never regretted the absence of his Invisibility Cloak so keenly. When he reaches Section Four, he lifts his eyes only high enough to scope out the terrain. The small alcove off the side of the beverage kiosk’s left pillar is surprisingly easy to spot. He weaves his way toward it.

He’s not quite running, but he’s not quite walking, either.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he’s saying even before he gets there and finds her, tucked away in the spot as promised, thank Merlin. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Shit,” she agrees, but she’s laughing. Lily. Hullo there. Laughing. “James. Fucking Christ.”

He’s a bloody mess. He fairly falls into her, arms curling around her waist, the momentum pushing her back against the alcove wall. His face drops into the cool, comforting crook of her neck, and he sucks in a ragged breath.

“That was stupid,” he mutters into her skin. “Stupid. I am furious. Fucking furious.”

“You are clearly not the silent and seething sort.”

“Can’t even believe—”

“Unmitigated. Five syllables!”

“Shit.”

“It was the most brilliant thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Stupid.”

“Well.” Her fingers sink into his hair, soothing. “Only a bit.”

“A bit.” He chokes on it. Laughs. Is he laughing? “Oh, hell.”

He lifts his head only enough to cover her mouth with his.

She does not shove him off. He is not so awash in his own anguish that he can’t acknowledge she’d have every reason to do so. He’s a waste of a human nowabouts. Instead, her hands slip down, cupping his face, fingers skimming along his jaw. Her mouth matches his in fervor for a few thrilling moments, then pulls back carefully, slowing the onslaught. That’s all right. He doesn’t mind slow. His heart is beating so fast, slow is good. She tastes delicious. Like tea and mint. He’s never come at someone like such a lunatic, and wonders what sort of price he’ll have to pay in the afterlife for these kinds of earthly indulgences. Whatever the cost, fine. He’ll gladly give his bloody soul for a few minutes of this, of her (all right okay he’s bloody insane).

But she doesn’t seem to mind. That’s the maddest bit of all. She lets him kiss her, kisses him back, and doesn’t seem bothered in the least that she’s latched herself onto the loopiest bean in the Bertie Botts bag.

She’s still chuckling as she pulls away, albeit decidedly more breathlessly.

“All right?” she asks.

James drops his forehead against hers. He wheezes, “Yeah, sure.”

“Liar.”

He shouldn’t laugh. How can he laugh? But between lingering kisses, he does. “Can’t snog the seethe or stupid out, I reckon,” he sighs.

“Ah, well. At least we gave it our best attempt.” Her hands drift down, playing with the lapels of his robes. His heart is doing its best to thump its way out of his chest and he’s certain she must feel it. “This is not a disaster,” she says.

“The snogging?”

“Well, that. Good on us, eh? Meant the rest too, though. It’s not as bad as you think.”

James pulls back, incredulous. “Yes, it is.”

“That—”

“Don’t coddle me.”

“I only meant—”

“Who was the tosser?” James interrupts again. “Dalton.”

Lily’s lips dip grimly. “Arsehole of the highest order, you had the right of it there. Left Business & Broomsticks for the Prophet a few months ago. Haven’t the faintest how he survived there, except for favors. He’s connected, if little more than a gossip columnist. But he’s a lead reporter now and he brings in subscriptions with his rot, so we’re all left to suffer.”

“Connected.” James repeats the word dully. A headache is forming. “Which means he might actually be able to owl round Fredrick Fords?”

Lily opens her mouth. Closes it. “I don’t know.”

James sighs again. As if it matters. As if the Puddlemere owner wouldn’t hear of it in any case. “Lovely.”

“You were defending a teammate,” Lily argues loyally. “Against the rubbish innuendos of a sensationalist fuckwit.”

“Don’t reckon Puddlemere will see it that way, do you?”

“Then they’re fuckwits, too.”

“Lily.”

“What? It’s true. You shouldn’t even be—” She stops, shakes her head. Seems to swallow something else down, and doesn’t let it come back up. “It’s true,” she repeats instead, definitively.

Not that simple. It’s not even remotely that simple. James runs a tired hand down his face, striving not to dwell on all the ways he’s drowning in the complications. The expectations. All of it. “I should’ve walked away.”

She can’t much argue with that. “Maybe. Likely. But even if you had done, he still would’ve made it into something. It’s what he does.”

“How?”

She hesitates. Fidgets. “You know.” She waves a hand. “ ‘Potter Avoids Questions About Jackson’s Loss: Silence Speaks Volumes’; or ‘Potter Panders to Press in Attempt to Save Face”; or “Abdel Jealousy Leaves Potter Mutely Fuming”; or—”

“Or?” James chokes out. “Or? You’ve more?”

Lily shrugs uneasily. “There’s a lot of ways to warp ‘no comment.’”

Fucking hell, James marvels. It took her not even three seconds to come up with those.

His stomach dips sourly.

She notices, of course.

“Don’t.” Her voice is sharp. Her fingers clench. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

The scathing look she shoots him makes it clear she doesn’t appreciate the dissembling. “You know what I do. You’ve always known. I’d never write that sort of rubbish. I’ve more morals than that.”

“Right.” He speaks quickly. Maybe too quickly. “Yes. ’Course. I know.”

“Do you?” She asks it pointedly. Her hand curves around his jaw, tilting his gaze down to square with hers. Her eyes are narrowed, assessing. She doesn’t pull away, but…

But her touch grows lighter, warier. Tense apprehension seems to drip from her—apprehension she has every right to feel, because she’s correct: he’s at odds and ends and she’s somehow found herself at the wrong end of it all. It’s not worth it to prevaricate. She’s already proven more than once that she’s got his number there. He’s fooling no one. But his mind’s too a-jumble, his equilibrium too off-kilter from the morning—Sirius, and Hoss, and the match, and Dalton, and all the rest of it. He wants to tell about it all, but he’s nearly certain it’ll come out all wrong: “Yes, all right, I thought all those things for a second…but only because I was up half the night with my best mate talking about how you might be using me for a story! And I’m on the brink of fucking up my whole future! Again! And the Dalton thing! And you just then! But really, I think you’re brilliant—”

Merlin, he’d want to punch himself. Already does, rather.

He opens his mouth. Shuts it. Gapes some more.

Fuck, he’s got to say something.

“James.” Her hand drops. Her voice is tight. “Look. This…us…we don’t need to do this—”

“What? No. No.” He frantically grabs for her hands again. “That’s not—that’s not what I want. That’s not what this is at all. I’m sorry. I’m an arse. I…” He brings her hand back up to his cheek and fairly droops into her cupped palm. “I never meant…I know you wouldn’t. I shouldn’t have made you feel like I had done. I’m just…I’m cross and panicked, all right? I’m angry with myself for the Dalton shite, and stressed about Puddlemere, and my mates are here, and you…you panic me most of all.” She blinks at that, and he rushes to explain. “I’m hanging on by a thread, see? The saddest, rattiest, threadbare string. These past few months…completely barking. Such a sodding splinching disaster. And I just…I dunno why you’d even consider it. This. Me. I’ve been trying to suss it out, trying to understand why in the hell either of us hasn’t run away screaming yet, and I’m at a loss. I’m a terrible bet. A precarious plot twist for you, all around. You see that, don’t you?”

Well, it wasn’t quite as bad as he thought it might be. He sounds like a raving lunatic, but all the better to make his point, isn’t it? He closes his eyes, taking comfort in the fact that she hasn’t pulled away yet, hasn’t even dropped her hand back down to her side. In fact, she takes his fumbling, bumbling declarations with likely more grace than he deserves.

Eventually, she exhales loudly. “James—”

He opens his eyes. “It’s been six days. Little more than a hundred hours. That’s how long we’ve known each other.”

“You’ve counted?”

“Well. You know.”

She bites her lower lip. “Do you want to run away screaming?”

“Sometimes,” he confesses. “Or at least, I reckon I ought to. Don’t you?”

“Sometimes,” she concedes with a rueful little smile. Her shoulders slump for a second, her chin dropping to her chest. Then she looks back up at him. “No use pretending, is it? Neither of us is stupid enough to ignore the obvious. Yes, my life would be infinitely easier if you were some dully average, virtually unimportant, struggling barkeep from Nowhere-shire instead of essentially the biggest commodity the sport has on offer right now and the largest contribution to my career and livelihood at the moment. I’d wish you a little less talented, a little less relevant, a little less you, except then I’d likely find you considerably less appealing and the whole thing would be moot. So you’re right—we’re pretty terrible bets for one another. For all my scruples, I could lose any bit of journalistic integrity I’ve garnered, maybe even get sacked for this. I know that. That’s…bad. Really, really bad.”

“I don’t want you to get sacked,” James says. “You’re brilliant.”

“You know what people will say, don’t you?” She gives him a pointed look. “That I’m using you. That I’m bartering my favors for stories. That you’re a naïve nodcock for letting it happen. That I’m biding my time until I can con my way into begetting an ill-gained bastard child to set myself up for life. That—”

James chokes out a laugh. “An ill-gained what?”

She waves a hand. “You know what I mean.”

He did, but her examples were nearly as colorful as Sirius’s. “Lily. I know you’re not ‘begetting’ anything.”

“You assume I’m not begetting,” she corrects. “But either way, it doesn’t mean other people won’t say it. People who don’t matter. People who do.”

People who do matter already had done…and yet, James was still here. Insanity, suppositions, and all. She was the first one he’d wanted when everything tilted sideways. Was the first one he’d wanted when the sideways had seemed to level out a bit earlier during the match, too. That said something, didn’t it?

He turns his head, dropping a kiss into her cupped palm still resting against his skin. “I don’t care. Do you?”

She lets out an unsteady huff. Her fingers curl. “A little, truthfully. But…well, here we are.”

“Here we are,” James agrees. He even manages a smile. “So glad we’ve cleared that up.”

“That we’re both utterly thick, self-sabotaging hedonists?”

“Might’ve gone with ‘mutually enamoured’ myself, but all right. Yours works, too.”

“No, I like yours. Straightforward.” She rises back up on her toes and fits her mouth against his properly, a long, lingering kiss. It’s a rush, a comfort. Mutually enamouring.

Nothing about this seems to be straightforward, but James reckons snogging Lily is about as close to it as it gets.

Which makes it a rather large pity—on numerous levels—when she tears her lips away from his.

“Shit,” she says. “I forgot. We have to go.”

“Go where?” James asks. He has no interest in going anywhere.

She straightens his robes, then licks her thumb and smudges it across his lips. “You’ve got lipstick everywhere.” She winces guiltily.

“It’s a new look,” James offers, and attempts to angle for some more by catching her mouth again.

She barely lets him get in a few pecks before she’s squirming away. “Come on, come on. Save it for later.”

Later gives him hope. She gives his arm a yank, and James lets out a quick hiss.

“Ah—careful. Shoulder,” he reminds her.

She skitters to a halt. “Oh, hell. I’m sorry. Is it still…you played so flawlessly this morning, I assumed—”

“Flawlessly?” James rears back. He grins. “Flawlessly, was it?”

She rolls her eyes and tugs at his non-injured arm. “Relatively,” she adds. “You know, compared to when you were flinching every time you so much as breathed yesterday.”

“Flawlessly,” James crows, as if she hasn’t spoken. They leave the alcove together. “Now, that’s a word. Come a long way from ‘decent’ and ‘adequate’, eh?”

“Come a long way from a lot of things,” she mutters. “Humility, among them.”

“Flawlessly—”

“Oh, good God—”

James’s smug laughter abruptly dies as they swerve past a particularly large crowd of spectators and he spots a specifically smaller crowd of three ambling toward them.

He rounds on Lily, grabbing hold of her shoulders, stopping her mid-blasphemy.

“Er.” He blinks at her. “So, listen.”

Her eyebrows lift.

“I would like you to recall,” he says hastily, quietly, “a few moments ago, when we both decided that we are suitably enamoured of one another and I would like you to hold on to that feeling very tightly. Right now.”

Her head tilts in question

“They mean well,” he adds. Then amends, “Some of them mean well.”

Which is all he manages to get out before his mates descend.

“Congrats on the spectacular loss!” Sirius calls, ruffling James’s hair with one hand. The other precariously balances a tall cup. “Rest assured, we cheered very hard for the other team.”

“Cheered ourselves nearly hoarse,” Peter agrees. “‘Rah, rah, Rodger!’”

“You hate Appleby,” James accuses.

Remus grins. “‘Hate’ is relative.”

James rolls his eyes, but sees Remus’s gaze flicker beyond James’s shoulder to where Lily still stands. He swallows down the snitches zooming about in his stomach, the feeling that some might call delighted eagerness or uncontrollable hysteria depending on the day, and clears his throat. “Lads, I’d like—”

Sirius thrusts his cup over James’s shoulder.

“Here,” he grumbles. “Do you have any idea how long that queue was? And you’ve awful penmanship, by the by. Couldn’t tell if that was a four or some kind of ancient hieroglyphic.”

James watches Lily’s smug grin flash as she takes the cup. “Got here, didn’t you? My penmanship is exquisite.” She takes a sip of the drink, and nods in satisfaction. “Excellent. Only 4,999 to go.”

“Excuse me? I believe you mean 4,998.” Sirius crosses his arms. “I brought you that butterbeer during the match.”

“That was an apology butterbeer. And far before terms were settled. Doesn’t count.”

“Doesn’t count? Doesn’t count?” Sirius whirls on the other two. “Does it count?”

“Of course not,” Remus says.

“Definitely doesn’t count,” Peter agrees.

“What? That’s—collusion!” Sirius rails. “Where is your loyalty?”

James can only blink, utterly bewildered, as the four begin to argue semantics of drinks, of terms, of timing and apologies, and most certainly of collusion (emphasis required).

James watches it all for several long moments.

What. Is. Happening? (Emphasis. Required.)

“What is—” He has to raise his voice to be heard. “Oy! What—what is this?”

“Collusion,” Sirius insists again with a decidedly outraged look. “Haven’t you been listening?”

James turns on Lily, because she seems the likeliest to be depended upon for reason. “These are my mates,” he tells her.

“I know.” Her smile is secretive, self-satisfied. “We’ve met.”

“Yes, clearly,” James says. “More interested in the how and the when, thanks.”

“Utter coincidence,” Sirius declares, at nearly the same time Lily baldly states, “I was shanghaied.”

Shanghaied.

“What?” James is not quite shouting, but not quite not. “What?”

“It wasn’t as bad as that,” Peter is quick to insist.

“It was as bad as that,” Remus concedes guiltily.

“There was,” Lily says, “this dog.”

James shoots a look at Sirius, who is now studiously examining the ceiling. “A dog.”

“Yes, a dog. On the stadium grounds. Very strange.” Lily talks animatedly with her hands. “So he comes up to me, then dashes away, and I’m following this dog round this remote corner, see? Because, why? And then I lose him—hey, where’d the dog go anyway? Where does one even get a dog around here? Or through security? It’s all…well, never mind, anyway, then I am surrounded by these three, and I kicked poor Peter in the shin—”

“Quite all right!” Peter rushes out, hands held high. “We did sort of skulk up on you.”

“Right—”

“Skulk.” James can barely manage the word. The image of all this so clearly unfolds in his head—every disastrous second of it—it’s really quite a wonder he can even speak at all. ”You skulked up on her.”

“I actually recognised Remus quickly enough,” Lily jumps in. “We were in Defense Club together at Hogwarts.”

“Defense Club.”

“Yes. Before I left. He was very good with Shield Charms. But see, I didn’t catch sight of him before I’d already kicked Peter—”

“—no harm done!—”

“—and Fuck Off there was looming a bit murderously, so I cannot be blamed—”

“It wasn’t murderous,” Sirius says. “That’s just my face.”

“—but it was sorted pretty quickly, all in all,” Lily finishes. And grins.

They are all grinning, in fact. Looking at him all innocently, all very ha-ha-isn’t-this-humorous-so-many-chuckles-no-harm-no-foul-let’s-move-on-shall-we? Like they haven’t…like they haven’t…

James attempts to regulate his breathing—attempts to regulate his outrage, and the need to howl, and wail, and maybe send prayers up to the heavens—and struggles to reach the ha-ha place of let’s-move-on.

But he’ll have to be forgiven for not quite getting there just yet.

He turns slowly toward his mates.

“All I asked,” he manages shortly, his voice chillingly measured and low, “is for you lot not to scare her off. That’s it. Be decent. Normal. At the barest level, don’t give her more reason to ditch me arse-over-head on the side of the pitch than I already have done all on my own. And yet that somehow, in your feeble minds, leaves amble room for shanghaiing her, in a dark corner, looming murderously, with a dog, to—to—”

“It wasn’t a dark corner,” Peter mutters. “There was plenty of light.”

James cannot even muster a response for that. Instead, he whirls on Sirius. “You!” He jabs a furious finger. “This was you.” Now Remus: “And you let him!”

Remus shrugs helplessly as Sirius scoffs, “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. You were clearly a biased party, and we just wanted to chat with her, Prongs.”

“Chat with her?” James shouts. “And you couldn’t chat with her later, at a perfectly normal location I’d already set up? Without the skulking and the bloody dog—”

“You are very hung up on this dog,” Lily says.

“I’m going to kill all of you,” James declares, glaring at the traitors he’d previously had the stupidity to consider family. “Kill you.”

“See? That’s murderous,” Sirius mutters to Lily.

James fairly lunges at him and Lily wraps an arm around his waist as Sirius dodges away with a cackle.

“James! Honestly.” Her arm squeezes him. “It’s fine. Fine.”

“It’s not fine!”

“It is,” she insists again, hand stroking and patting his side now. Like he’s a skittish lamb in need of coddling. “We had a good chat, that’s all.”

“About what?”

She presses her lips together, clearly still finding this humourous. “Intentions,” she says.

He shoots another deadly look at his mates.

“It’s all sorted now,” Lily continues. “After a bit of back and forth, we’ve all settled that I am in fact not after a promotion, or your fame, or your money, or—what was it, Sirius? The ‘begetting of an ill-gained bastard child to set myself up for life’?”

James’s eyes fly to Lily’s.

She winks.

Fucking hell. The colorful example wasn’t like Sirius’s. It was Sirius’s.

“Run screaming,” James advises her quietly. “Truly. Go on. Save yourself.”

“For the record,” the traitorous bastard James formerly called brother interjects, “I stated very clearly I’d still serve as godfather for any fruit of your loins, ill-gained or otherwise.”

“Bit difficult to do when you’ll be three leagues beneath the ground,” James retorts.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Really, she took this all loads better than you’ve done.”

“To be fair,” Lily adds, “I was bribed.”

James eyes her cup. Now it’s all starting to click together. ”With 5,000 beverages? You settled too low.”

She shakes her head. “Oh, no. That was a bet. Much later.”

“What, then?”

She takes a long sip of her drink, then innocently offers, “Pornographic banners, actually.”

Pornographic banners.

James chokes. He sputters. His head whips around to glare accusingly at Peter, who only shrugs helplessly. “What? Apparently she’s hot for Pot. Who could’ve known?”

James considers homicide. He considers suicide. He considers several other -cides, or possibly something that includes time travel, or sudden short-term amnesia, or even hypnotism, but in the end he merely settles on not quite meeting her eyes. “Er.” He coughs. “Those are…erm, fake.”

Except it comes out as “…fake?” rather more than “fake.”

He really wishes he could recall if they were fake.

Lily smiles like the cat that’s got the cream, seemingly equally as unconvinced by this claim. “Mm-hm.”

“It was cold in the room,” is what Sirius offers.

“We were all young and impetuous once,” is Remus’s input.

“I’ve got at least a dozen more,” Peter confides, and he grins like he means it.

Shite, he probably does mean it.

And then they are all speaking at once, which is sort of a relief and sort of isn’t, because Lily is looking intrigued and Peter is looking smug and Sirius is having far too much fun for someone who James only minimally has determined he no longer has to throttle immediately, and Remus is cocking his brows at James in that way that very clearly states, Yes, well, sorry, but it’s all wrapped up quite nicely, hm?

If a witch can somehow overlook being shanghaied by one’s mates, and was still willing to stand here a few hours later, bartering for pornographic banners like a wily grandmum taking on the grocer for her weekly vittles…

Well, that’s something, isn’t it?

Very, very much something.

The snitches inside James’s stomach are dancing. They are dancing in giddy, frantic, uncontrollable delight and he wants to hug someone and hit someone and really, the fraying string can keep fraying so long as he can hold this moment just here, right now, for quite a long time.

Click. Flash. In his brain. The good kind of click flash.

He is not the one who interrupts it. He has in fact joined in, unable to keep quiet after hearing Peter’s absurd claim that there is in fact a banner featuring a naked James lounging beside a sleeping lynx at the London Magical Menagerie (which had to be impossible…right?), when one of the ever-present exhibition errand lads squirms between the lot of them, thrusts a folded note at Lily, and says, “Here!”

She takes it absently, flipping it open as she’s still arguing, “…I don’t care how much money you’ve donated. They don’t let naked wizards stroll into the lynx cages at the London Magical Menagerie for drunken photoshoots.”

“No one said we asked,” Sirius says.

“That is so—” Lily jerks. She’d already been half ready to toss her arms in outrage, but her body instead stiffens as her eyes fixate on the note. Her mouth closes. She looks…perturbed?

“What is it?” James asks.

Instead of answering, she whips around and raises two fingers to her mouth. She lets loose a shrill whistle, and shouts out a pointed, “Oy!” to the errand lad who was already starting to scurry away through the crowds.

The boy turns back to her, exasperated.

Lily lifts the note. “This came from Hopper?”

The boy nods impatiently.

Lily closes the note and turns back around, the boy running off again behind them. She’s frowning, staring off at some dead space to their right. She appears to be more confused than anything else, but it’s certainly a far cry from her laughing teasing of moments before. When he touches her arm, she jumps, her gaze jerking up.

“All right?” he asks again.

“It’s…yes. Yes, fine.” She shakes her head, seems to attempt to shake off the moment, then quirks her lips gamely. “Sorry. Work. You know.”

“You’re not…in trouble?” he asks it softly, pointedly. “Not…you know, all this…?”

“What?” She blinks. “Oh. You and…? No. No, it’s fine. We’re fine. I just…” Her lips press together. She is watching him rather stringently, but James can’t discern whether that’s because she’s contemplating him specifically, or he’s simply an obstacle in the way of her distracted stare. He can practically see her mind whirling at lightning speed.

She starts again, and lets off an unsteady laugh. “Sorry, sorry.” She waves her hand. The closed note flutters between her fingers. “Sorry,” she tells his mates, too. She lifts the note. “I’ve got to take care of this. Work.”

“Sure,” Remus says, but his brow is a bit furrowed now, too.

“If you’d like to begin an exposé on nude Quidditch banners,” Peter states, “I am a very reliable source.”

Lily smiles more easily. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She turns back to James. “I’ll…I have to…but I’ll see you…?”

“Later?” James fills in. She nods, but certainly she’s acting strangely, isn’t she? Could it be something about Dalton? Lily had been witness to the whole thing. Maybe someone at the Prophet had questions. Could she get in trouble for that, if not their relationship (if he could indeed call it a relationship)? But then James feels a bit conceited for thinking everything was somehow about him. Likely, it wasn’t. Likely everything was fine. The news never stopped, did it? And this was her job. “Still reckon we ought to tour The Cornish Pixie with the lads? And you’ve 4,999 free drinks still coming, yeah?”

“4,998,” Sirius corrects. Then, again, “Collusion.”

They all, wisely, ignore him.

“Eight? Meet you there?” James asks Lily.

She nods. “Yes. That’s good.”

She says her goodbyes quickly—still rather jittery, half-distracted, but genuine enough despite the speed of the whole process. Before she takes off, she grabs James’s hand and squeezes it. He wishes she’d told him what was in the note and why it had thrown her, what’s zooming through that clever head of hers, but it seems not entirely his place. Likely, if they actually make a go of this, there will be numerous notes and tips and meetings where she won’t be able to tell him a thing. It might take a bit getting used to, but that doesn’t mean James can’t handle it. All of this was still incredibly new. Allowances had to be made for both of them to match their strides.

As she disappears into the milling crowds, James reckons it’s enough for now.

Besides…he has plenty to focus his attention on at present.

“So.” He turns back to his mates, claps his hands together. “Do I murder you lot now, or do we tuck in to some lunch first?”

LINK TO PART 7

#bcdaily #jily #jily*#eight days #my writing #trope fest

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blue-mint-winter · 7 years ago

Note

SW prompts -- I enjoyed very much your twisted Daala and Kyp thing. So perhaps more of that? Or generally something with Daala being not incompetent for once would be nice.

After so long, I finished this story! Thanks for the prompt!

FFnet link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12777283/1/Night-on-the-Knight-Hammer

Summary: AU of Darksaber. Kyp is captured by Daala’s forces again.

It’s long and contains torture and other dark stuff, so I put it under the read more, if you prefer reading on tumblr. I can also post on ao3 if anyone requests it.

Night on the Knight Hammer

Even before his formal training, Kyp Durron followed his instincts, the subtle nudges that saved his life countless of times in the mines of Kessel. After he became a Jedi, he heard Master Luke always saying to trust in the Force. Kyp felt and believed that the Force had some destiny in mind for him, so it was only natural that he followed its call.

Now it led him and his closest friend, Dorsk 81, into the Deep Core systems. Rumours were floating around about the Empire mustering its forces and preparing another attack and as the Jedi, they had to get to the bottom of this.

That’s how they found the nexus station where the Imperial troops gathered. Kyp and Dorsk 81 blended in the crowd at a rally to gain more information on the enemy’s plans before they returned to the New Republic with the warning. At least that was the plan before the one behind the attack was revealed.

Kyp saw that angular, cruel face multiplied around him on the vidscreens, the face that still haunted him at night, and then he saw red. Admiral Daala couldn’t possibly be alive!

But, against all odds, there she was—standing proud, looking over her cheering troops as she delivered the speech that declared the New Republic’s imminent destruction at her hands.

Kyp couldn’t take it. He shouted—out of disbelief, shock, and sheer revulsion—and drawn attention to himself and Dorsk 81. The stormtroopers swarmed the two Jedi, who tried to run, but soon their path to the docking bay was cut off. Kyp slashed around madly, causing carnage among his enemies.

“Run! I’ll hold them off!” he yelled to Dorsk.

“Kyp, I can’t leave you behind!” his friend protested.

Kyp used a Force push to clear the way. “Go! You have to warn the Academy!”

Dorsk reluctantly ran off. Kyp stayed behind to prevent the stormtroopers from going after his friend. He grinned ferociously and used the tip of his lightsaber to make a circle around himself, keeping the enemies at bay.

“Come on! Bring it on!” he challenged them.

They didn’t charge at him. The Force warned him about an incoming attack and he turned around to block it, but instead of a blaster bolt, he was caught in a net. He cut through it, but more came at him, binding his limbs. He trashed like a fish out of water, trying to free himself, then he felt a prick on his neck. Tranquilizer! He realized as his body became sluggish and unresponsive and he fell unconscious.

The stormtroopers quickly took his weapons and commlink. They slapped the binders on his wrists and ankles and gagged him. One could never be too cautious with those crafty Jedi.

“The Jedi was taken into the custody, Admiral,” the Sergeant reported.

“Good. Bring him to me,” Daala replied. She changed the channel on her comm. “This is Admiral Daala to all the ships—catch the other Jedi! I don’t want him to leave this system. Shoot him down if you have to, just don’t let him leave! Daala out.”

Her attention was drawn to the group of stormtroopers carrying the prisoner towards her. Daala easily recognized the boy who had once gotten away from her. A full-blown smirk appeared on her face. It seemed the fate was in her favour today. She wouldn’t have to pick through the ashes of Yavin IV to find his remains. Instead, she would exact her revenge on him at her own leisure.

Daala licked her lips and ordered the young Jedi to be shuttled on board her Super Star Destroyer, recently rechristened as the Knight Hammer.

A boot in the gut revived him instantly.

Kyp groaned and reflexively tried to curl up, but the tight restraints didn’t allow him to. He opened his eyes, disoriented, and saw the ceiling of the Imperial holding cell.

Must be a bad dream, he thought groggily.

Another heavy stomp to his stomach had him gasping for air. The pain took away his ability to think for a short while as he fought through it. He was going to have a big bruise there, but at the moment that was the least of his worries.

“I assure you all of this is real, Jedi. Or would you like my men to kick you again?”

The sound of that woman’s voice had a better sobering effect than a thousand kicks. Kyp whipped his head to the right. Daala was standing there flanked by two stormtroopers, her lips crooked in a cruel amusement as she gazed at her helpless prisoner.

“You,” he ground out with loathing.

“That’s admiral Daala to you, Jedi scum,” a stormtrooper said and made to kick him again, but Daala raised a hand to stop him.

“It’s fine. We know each other,” she said. “Don’t we, Kyp?”

Hearing her say his first name so familiarly filled him with disgust which in turn made him angry.

“You tortured me!” he spat out. Daala quirked an eyebrow.

“It was only questioning. Believe me, you haven’t seen any real torture… yet.”

Kyp gave her a scorching glare as he simmered in his rage.

“How are you even still alive?” he asked sourly.

“I could ask you the same,” Daala neatly deflected. “But it doesn’t matter anymore. I have you in my hands now.” And that she decided about his life and death went without saying.

“When’s the execution?” Kyp cut to the chase. “You can ‘question’ me all you want, I won’t tell you anything, so you might as well stop wasting both of our time.”

Daala put a cold hand on his cheek and stroked his skin lightly. Like he was a fucking house pet. “Don’t be so sure of yourself. There are many other methods of… persuasion,” she said silkily as her thumb rubbed at his lower lip.

Kyp glared but she held his gaze easily, showing that she wasn’t scared. After a long moment, she deliberately stepped away.

“Get him up,” she signaled to her troopers. “We’re going for a walk.”

The Jedi couldn’t quite bite back a groan of pain as he was forcefully stood up. He was frogmarched out of the cell into the stark corridors of a star destroyer.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked when he recognized they actually left the cell block. He turned his head back to see Daala who was right behind him, but the trooper on his left ‘corrected’ his posture with a smack.

“No moving,” the guard warned.

“Walking is moving!” Kyp protested.

A hard hit on the ribs was the answer.

“No talking back.”

Kyp kept silent, having learned his lesson.

The ride on the turbolift was uncomfortable. The space was too small and Daala breathed down his neck. Kyp tried to inch away from her, but quickly gave up when the guards noticed. He definitely didn’t want to get punched for nothing. He was smarter than that!

He could have attempted meditation, however a hand on his back deprived him of all the serenity he could muster and replaced it with a growing dread. His heart thudded in his chest as the hand slid down along his spine teasingly. It stopped at his lower back and his fervently hoped this was the end and she only meant to scare him… but then the hand moved down and pinched hard. Kyp yelped in surprise.

“Quiet!” the stormtrooper barked at him.

Kyp nodded, wide-eyed as the hand felt him up, grabbed and squeezed aggressively until the turbolift stopped the ascent and the door opened.

They arrived on the bridge.

Daala smoothly passed by him and took the lead. Kyp knew he didn’t imagine that smug smirk on her face.

“Admiral,” the captain greeted her.

“At ease,” she said and gestured for the guards to bring Kyp closer.

They were at a viewport overlooking a green-blue globe with a very familiar shapes of landmasses.

“Do you recognize this planet?” she asked.

Kyp swallowed thickly.

“No, not really.”

Daala gave a signal to the guards and one of them swiftly hit him while the other kept him upright.

“Even if you weren’t lying, it would interest you that we tracked your Jedi friend’s ship here.”

Kyp didn’t take the bait and stayed resolutely silent, focused on breathing evenly as he managed the pain in his center.

“Khomm… Such a pathetic little planet, full of pacifists and cowards. What would a Jedi need there?” Daala tapped her chin in a mock-consideration.

If Dorsk 81 is on the planet, he can hide. Stormtroopers won’t be able to tell him apart from the other Khommites, Kyp thought hopefully as he reached out in the Force to his friend. He got a vague blip of a presence but it was enough to fill him with relief. As long as Dorsk 81 was free, he could send the message to the Academy and the New Republic military.

“You won’t find him,” Kyp said with renewed confidence.

Daala’s eyes lit up, like she was just waiting for this moment. “Give me the mayor,” she ordered the comm specialist on the bridge.

The screen was turned on, showing the face of Kaell 116, the political leader of the Khomm capital.

“Admiral,” he said with a respectful bow.

“Did you find the criminal?” she asked immediately. Of course she wouldn’t be interested in exchanging pleasantries with those beneath her.

The Khommite didn’t look happy about the small snub, but wisely didn’t react. “Yes, he is transferred into the hands of your men as we speak.”

Kyp couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Khomm willingly collaborated with the Empire! They gave up one of their own, their only pride, just like that?

“You traitor!” Kyp blurted out with utter disgust.

“We’re merely protecting ourselves from outside interference in our way of life, Jedi Durron,” Kaell 116 rebuked the accusations stoically. “Our planet is neutral in galactic conflicts, so we’d like your fleet to leave as soon as our business is concluded,” he addressed Daala, who gave a short nod.

“Oh, we will leave as soon as possible, Mayor, you can rest assured.”

“Then thank you, Admiral, and good day to you.” Kaell 116 gave another bow and the transmission ended.

Daala looked at Kyp with gloating. “You were saying?” she asked and he just glared at her darkly. She won this round.

The admiral pivoted on her heel and marched smartly to the command chair, arms behind her ramrod straight back. The catwalk in the center of the Star Destroyer’s bridge must have been built for the sole purpose of the Imperial command taking walks above the heads of their officers and basking in the sense of power granted by the elevation. Daala certainly took full advantage of the ship’s architecture to exert her complete authority.

She sat in the command chair and crossed her legs. Her boots were polished to the highest shine, which could have blinded Kyp when he was brought by the guards to stand next to her.

Why didn’t she send him to his cell? Staying there in silence, surrounded by his enemies, the young Jedi swallowed down the rising uneasiness. He touched the Force, but it only carried a vague sense of threat. His connection was only tenuous after the beating he had received and he suspected they might have drugged him to dull his extra sense.

Finally, a comm officer turned around. “M'am, the shuttle with the prisoner has docked. He is unconscious.”

“Very well. Put him in the brig. I will deal with him later.”

“Yes, m'am.”

Daala caught Kyp’s stare and smirked knowingly. He was hanging onto her every word and while he was unsure of what she was planning, except knowing that it had to be nothing good, he was relieved to hear his friend was alive.

“Now then,” Daala said in a pleasant, light tone that gave Kyp chills. His bad feelings intensified and the Force swirled in foreboding.

Daala stood up fluidly and activated the comm.

“To the Imperial fleet: this is Admiral Daala speaking. Our time of revenge has come. The weak New Republic and its pathetic allies won’t be able to stop our march of fire and blood as we retake the stolen territories and return them to the Empire. This is the place of the first strike, the first victory. Prepare to commence the orbital bombardment. Target: Khomm.”

“No!” Kyp jolted forward, but the guard’s strong grip restrained him. “You said you’d spare them! You can’t do this!” He would have said more but two merciless punches took out his ability to talk. He sagged in the crushing hold of his captors.

Daala gripped his chin and made him look up at her. “You have no idea what I can do, Jedi. But you will learn,” she spoke with a dark promise in her tone, then let him go.

Kyp glared a hole in her back. “Imperial… liar…” he wheezed out.

She turned to him, eyes flashing dangerously.

“I didn’t lie. I just never said we’ll leave after destroying the planet,” Daala corrected him. “Besides, isn’t this something you would do? I know how you treat your enemies.”

Kyp bristled in outrage. “I’m not a sadistic monster like you,” he spat out.

“Tell that to Carida.”

The words lashed him like a whip to the face. Kyp broke the eye contact and folded in himself.

“It was different,” he said stubbornly.

“You mean more destructive? Causing the star to go supernova was a bit of an overkill, but all in all it was an effective measure. You wiped them all out in one hit. Aren’t you a good little Jedi?” Daala patted him on the shoulder in mock congratulations.

“Khomm doesn’t have any military defenses. They aren’t a threat to you. You don’t have any reason to destroy it, just your own desire to kill,” Kyp accused, finally looking up.

“They are a bunch of cowards and backstabbers. They didn’t even blink when they sold out one of their own. I have no doubt they would do the same to me as soon as the fleet makes the jump. And I will not risk this whole military campaign by showing something as useless and dangerous as mercy.” She said the last word with a contemptuous sneer.

“Admiral, the fleet is ready to fire,” her aide informed.

Daala nodded. “To all ships: fire on my command.”

Kyp cast a desperate look to the green planet visible out of the viewport and grasped at the Force, but he was too weak. The harder he tried, the easier it slipped from his grasp.

“On my count: three, two, one, fire!” Daala gave the order and the turbolasers of every ship in the fleet answered her call. Kyp watched helplessly as the deadly beams pierced the atmosphere and rained on the planet’s surface.

Khomm burned beneath his feet and he could do nothing to stop the carnage. Kyp could only look down with his fists clenched so hard he was bleeding. He felt the tremors of the thousands of deaths tear through the Force as he bore a silent witness to the massacre. It was different than Carida—there had been only a short while of panic, the heightened sense of fear among the Imperials, then a flash and a terrible silence. Here the screams of pain, fear and confusion never stopped echoing in the Force. Every second, Kyp heard new voices as the kill count grew.

His vision blurred and he realized he was crying. But these were the tears of anger, of frustration. He failed as a Jedi and as a sentient being. Khomm was on his conscience just as much as Carida. If he’d only been more careful, he wouldn’t have been caught, wouldn’t have alarmed the Imperials to his presence at the rally. Then they wouldn’t have followed Dorsk 81 to Khomm. The planet was attacked because of Kyp’s incompetence, because he didn’t learn serenity and when he’d seen Daala, he hadn’t contained his reaction like a Jedi should have done.

“M'am, the infrastructure of Khomm is destroyed in 82%,” the aide spoke.

“Can they send a hyperspace transmission?” Daala asked. She tapped her fingers on the armrest of her chair as the officer checked in the data stream from the sensors.

“No, m'am, all the centers capable of the off-world communication were annihilated.”

“What about ships, do they have any they can send with a message?”

“We destroyed the cosmoport. The inhabitants didn’t travel much outside of the system and all the ships equipped with a hyperdrive were registered and assigned a spot in the hangars. They should be under the rubble and if any can be repaired, it would take months.”

“Good.” Daala received the report with a pleased nod. “Stop the fire. Let’s save the energy for worthier opponents,” she commanded.

“Oh, so next time you’ll attack a kindergarten?” Kyp asked loudly.

The whole bridge stilled in silence, gaping at the Jedi and his audacity. But he was beyond caring. He might be called suicidal but he just no longer cared. He glared at the admiral fiercely and caught a twitch of annoyance on her stony face. It was gone in a flash, but he still basked in the immense satisfaction at causing it.

Then Daala threw back her head and laughed. It wasn’t forced, just an outburst of pure amusement at his expense and what was worse, he had no idea what she found so funny. It was Daala, after all.

A creeping worry came over Kyp and stripped him of his short-lived bravery.

“As a matter of fact, yes, this is exactly what I am going to do, little Jedi,” Daala finally told him. “I will attack the kindergarten you came from. The Jedi Academy on Yavin 4. And you will watch it burn just like you watched Khomm.”

The horror shone in his eyes and filled her with a sadistic delight. She gestured to the guards.

“Escort the prisoner back to his cell.”

Kyp didn’t struggle when the stormtroopers pulled him to the exit. They retraced the path from the bridge to the jail area, then threw him inside his cell. Kyp stumbled and didn’t catch his balance because of the stuncuffs. He fell face-first on the floor. The door hissed shut behind him, plunging him into the familiar darkness.

The young Jedi rolled on his back and sat up. He felt around for the wall, scooted closer and leaned against it, pressing his throbbing temple to the cold panels for relief. He was sapped of energy, physically and mentally, but too afraid to sleep. Whenever he closed his eyes, the images of Khomm’s destruction haunted him. He still heard the pain in the Force, tasted the copper of blood and bitterness of ashes left by Daala’s rampage. The sensations were even stronger now…

It took Kyp an unknown amount of time (in the dark-shrouded cell it lost its meaning anyway) to realize what this meant. The Jedi let out a surprised soft gasp, then smiled and stretched his thoughts in the Force. It felt more tangible, even if his hold was tenuous and clumsy. He used it to search for Dorsk 81 and to his relief he detected the sleeping presence of his friend nearby. He nudged it, but it remained placid, so he concluded that Dorsk 81 was most likely heavily medicated. On the other hand this meant the other Jedi was still unharmed.

With a renewed hope Kyp put his concentration on the binders.

After a few failed attempts, he slumped over. He was still too weak to open them. But he got nothing else to do, so after a period of rest he went back to trying.

The door hissed open and Kyp shielded his eyes from the bright light that spilled into the cell from the hallway. He heard a droid buzzing. A cold shudder went through him.

“No! Stay away!” he shouted, scrambling back as the Imperial interrogation droid floated closer to him. It was a black ball, just like the one they used on him when he’d been captured in the Maw and, according to Daala, 'questioned’ him. He remembered the injections, electroshocks and the paralyzing pain in every part of his body like nothing he’d ever experienced…

“Get away from me!” Kyp screamed and kicked out at the droid when his back touched another wall. He was backed into the corner, with no way to escape.

The droid clicked menacingly as it dodged the blow, then flew even closer, extending an arm with a needle. Kyp was afraid if he punched at it again, it would not hesitate to jab him with whatever drug it had there. Instead, he reached for the Force desperately. If he managed to shove the droid hard enough, it could get destroyed. Force push was so much easier than taking off the binders, it didn’t need any precision, it could work if he just concentrated…

As he thought that, the droid emitted a high-pitched sound that stunned him for a few precious seconds. Kyp saw the needle coming for his neck, felt the prick on his skin…

Then there was only an excruciating pain.

Something soft was pushed into his mouth and muffled his howling. He barely noticed the stormtroopers grabbing him by the arms and dragging him out of the cell. Everything became a blur of light and dark and the neverending hallways, but above that was always the pulsing, unrelenting agony.

At some point he must have passed out, because a torrent of icy water woke him up. He coughed and sputtered, shivering as the coldness soaked him to the bone. Kyp was bound to a chair in a dark room. The only lamp inside shone right into his face.

“Too bright,” he croaked and licked his lips. His throat was parched.

“Good. We’re not here to make you comfortable, Kyp. By the way, how are you feeling? Any pain?”

Kyp focused and realized that the pain was gone. “Just thirsty.”

“Let me get you some water.”

There was a sound of turning a tap and pouring water into a cup for a few seconds, then footsteps getting closer.

“Here, drink.” The cup was pressed to his mouth.

Kyp opened his lips, but before he could get a sip, the cup was taken away.

“Sorry, changed my mind. I can’t make you too comfortable.”

“Give me my water,” Kyp growled. The guy was playing games with him and it was pissing him off.

“Your water? You must mean the Empire’s water. My water. Nothing here is yours, Jedi scum,” the man sneered. Then his voice turned contemplative. “But, I suppose this water could be yours. A trade. What will you give for it?”

Now Kyp understood his angle. “How about my undying gratitude?” he tried sarcasm.

A hard slap was his reward. “Wrong answer. Where is Luke Skywalker?”

The question surprised the young Jedi. They wanted his master?

“You’ll never beat him,” Kyp said confidently.

“If you’re so sure, then no harm in telling us and getting the water.”

Kyp considered for a moment, but he was distracted by a loud gulping.

“Aaahh, this was refreshing! You sure you don’t want to drink? I think I’m going to get another cup.”

The sound of water so close by, but still outside of his reach, was maddening. Kyp’s throat was as dry as a sandpaper and with every second the Imperial’s suggestion sounded more logical. Really what was the harm in telling something insignificant if it could get him something he needed to survive? Even Master Luke would understand, he was from a desert planet, so he knew the importance of water.

“He’s travelling, I don’t know where.”

“Interesting,” the Imperial said, but didn’t come with the water.

“Hey, I told you!” Kyp raised his voice in frustration and it made him erupt into a fit of dry coughing.

“You didn’t tell me anything, so you don’t get anything.” The interrogator’s boots scuffed the floor as he walked up to Kyp. “The question is: where is Luke Skywalker?” he whispered into Kyp’s ear.

“I don’t know! He was going to different places!”

“Where? Try to remember. You can do it. Where did he go?” the man encouraged him.

“I think… Dagobah. It was days ago.”

“And then he will return to Yavin 4?”

“No… he was going to more places strong with the Force, but he didn’t say where.”

“Come on, where do you think he would go? Think.”

Kyp thought. His head felt warm and fuzzy, but he thought.

“He had a vision on Hoth once. He told us.”

“Dagobah, Hoth… where else would he go?”

“I don’t know. Byss maybe? There aren’t many places like that. Please, just give me the water. I really don’t know anymore.” Kyp pleaded with a scratchy voice and coughed. He tried to swallow, but it was painful because he had no saliva in his mouth.

“Alright, you earned your drink. Bottoms up!”

Finally, finally the cup was pressed to his mouth. Kyp greedily took a huge swallow of the drink. The warm wetness slid down his throat turning it into a burning inferno. Kyp spluttered and spat it out.

“What is this?!” Kyp cried out.

The liquid left a bitter and salty aftertaste in his mouth. It was simply disgusting.

The man burst out laughing. “I told you, this is my water.” The amusement in his voice was driving Kyp crazy.

“It’s not water!”

“It was when I first drank it.”

“What do you-” Kyp cut himself off as the realization finally dawned on him. The bile rose to his throat and he swallowed painfully. “Oh, kriff no… You’re sick!”

The officer didn’t take offense this time. He seemed downright cheerful, in a sadistic sort of way.

“Want to finish it? You won’t get any real water… unless you talk.”

After that the interrogation continued, but Kyp learned his lesson. He fell once for the Imperial’s games and he’d be damned if it happened again. He didn’t trust himself to speak, the risk of something slipping out was too great, so he chose to clamp his mouth shut. He ignored the insistent questions as he tried to connect with the Force and gain strength from it despite the punishing blows he received. Not even the interrogation droid got anything but screams from him as it put him through all kinds of excruciating, inhuman pain known to humans.

Kyp steadfastly refused to speak.

He didn’t know how long he was tortured. He almost passed out a few times, but the interrogation droid wouldn’t allow it, jabbing him with stimulants whenever he started drifting away. The only brief moment of relief happened when the Imperial decided to move him out of the chair to a standing position.

At some point the lamp was turned away and he could see the room. It was drab and the furniture was bolted to the floor, so he wouldn’t have been able to throw it using the Force. The face of the Imperial was entirely unremarkable. He wouldn’t turn heads on the streets of any world. The only thing that set him apart was the sadistic glint in his mud-coloured eyes.

In the middle of yet another session the door was unexpectedly opened. Kyp looked up, hoping against hope, and for a second it seemed to him like a scene from a dream. It appeared as though his prayers were finally answered and the powerful silhouette framed by the light in the doorway came to save him.

The officer turned around too. “What is this disruption? I am doing a delicate work here…” he began saying irately, then caught himself as he glimpsed the person that strode inside confidently. In the same moment Kyp recognized her too and his hope shriveled up and died.

“A-Admiral! Please forgive me, I-I didn’t expect,” the Imperial stammered in a fluster.

“I don’t expect you to have the ability to anticipate my comings and goings, Lieutenant.” Daala waved away his apologies. Genocide put her in a good mood.

“No, of course, m'am.”

“Bootlicker,” Kyp rasped.

“You speak only,” the man said deceptively calm as he came closer, “when you’re spoken to!”

The punch almost turned off the lights for Kyp, but he didn’t lose consciousness. His brain was rattled from the blow and his hearing resembled an old commstation with constant buzzing and losing signal for a while before it stabilized and he could listen to the conversation again.

“I need results, Lieutenant,” Daala said sternly.

“Admiral, this Jedi is very resistant, but with enough time I’m sure I can get him to talk.”

“Your methods are insufficient. There must be a change in our approach,” Daala mused as she took in the sight of the prisoner. He was standing, stripped down to his undergarments, the rest of his clothes laying around him in tatters. His arms were pulled taut upwards and chained to a durasteel bar in the ceiling. His ankles were also chained to the floor. The middle of his body was mottled with dark bruises, welts and cuts and his back wasn’t in any better condition as she found out when she circled him slowly.

Daala came to a stop right in front of the Jedi. Kyp returned her gaze.

“Admiral?” the lieutenant called.

Daala ignored him. Her hand turned Kyp’s face and she examined the black eye he now sported.

“Does it hurt?” she asked mildly, even though they both knew that she didn’t care about it.

“Not as much as the sight of your face.”

Kyp’s whispered insult met a retribution when Daala drove her sharp nails in his sore flesh. He hissed from the sting. She released him after a few seconds and returned her attention to her underling.

“Lieutenant, please remind me, did I tell you to hit the prisoner in the face?”

“No, m'am.”

“Then what were my orders?”

“… To hurt him only below the neck.”

“Are you not able to follow such simple instructions?” she asked scathingly.

The man gave a flurry of apologies and justifications, but she didn’t seem interested in hearing them. “No excuses. You are dismissed, Lieutenant.”

“If I may ask, who will continue the interrogation?” he dared to question, apparently worried about someone else getting his job and doing it better.

“None of your business,” Daala replied but she was looking at Kyp in appraisal. “Now get out.”

“Admiral,” the officer saluted and hurried out of the cell. He didn’t want to risk angering her any further.

“Finally alone, just the two of us,” she said to her prisoner. “Just like in the old times.”

Kyp grimaced at the reminder of his last stay in her cells. The expression pulled on his aching skin, so he stopped.

“Do you remember my offer from back then? It’s still open.” She slid her gaze down his stripped body, clad in nothing but underwear. It felt like she was touching him, sliding her mental fingers all over his skin. Kyp squirmed, wishing for clothes to hide him from her predatory gaze.

“And my answer is still no,” he said.

“I can change your mind. Teach you obedience,” she remarked with a smirk like she knew something that he didn’t and put a hand on his abdomen. He tried to back away from the touch, suck in his stomach, but she just pressed it a little harder. Her hand rested there like a brand. Then she stroked down to the hem of his underwear. Kyp tensed, dreading what she would do next. Daala looked at him piercingly. His fear spurned her on.

“I remember what you liked,” she said and moved her hand lower, cupping him possessively.

“No! Stop it!” Kyp cried out, thrashing in his shackles, not caring how much it hurt, as long as it would get her hand off him. But instead she grabbed him by the balls so hard that he yelped like a beaten dog and stopped struggling. He was panting harshly, tearful eyes wide with fear as he was aware of her crushing grip.

Daala leaned in. “Last chance. Surrender to me.”

Kyp gulped. “No,” he said, holding his ground, but only because letting her win was ten times more terrifying than any other fate she’d come up with for him.

“Then you will suffer,” she sneered and twisted her hand.

Kyp yowled in pain as he saw dark spots. His body tried to instinctively fold in and protect itself, but the restraints didn’t let it. Even after Daala let go, the pain stayed and even intensified for a while before it began to dull. His eyes were stinging with tears as he looked at her in defiance.

“You can torture me… all you want, Daala… but you won’t get anything from me,” he said.

“I have other means of persuasion, Kyp.” Daala clicked on her commlink. “Bring in the other prisoner.”

Kyp’s heart dropped.

The stormtroopers dragged Dorsk 81 into the cell. He looked like he went through hell, his face was covered in dried blood from the huge cut in his forehead. He was limping on his right leg. They strapped him to the same chair Kyp had woken in.

Daala paced before her prisoners, assessing them. They were both softened up by now. They might claim they could resist her forever, but their spirit was already weakened.

She stood in front of them, Kyp to her right and Dorsk 81 to her left.

“The rules are simple. I will ask you questions and you will answer them truthfully. Disobedience will be punished.” She nodded at the two stormtroopers and they took places behind the prisoners. Kyp heard the buzzing and felt the current that made the hair on his back stand up. He could guess what would be done to him if he didn’t answer.

Kyp looked at Dorsk in desperation and saw him try to smile. He took strength from his friend. They were in this together and they wouldn’t say a word no matter what happened.

“First question is: how many Jedi are there?” Daala began the interrogation. The prisoners remained silent. “Durron, answer me,” she ordered. Kyp didn’t reply.

“I see you are eager for your punishment. Shock him.” Kyp tensed in preparation of another dose of pain but to his horror Daala pointed to her left.

“No!” A surprised scream tore out of Kyp’s throat when the electricity surged through Dorsk 81’s body. He watched as his friend screamed himself raw, overtaken by mad convulsions. Dorsk 81 was like a puppet on a string, contorting unnaturally depending on the whim of his torturer.

Kyp glared fiercely at Daala. “Stop it! I didn’t answer, not him!” he shouted in anger.

“And he’s paying for your disobedience,” she replied.

After a few more seconds she gave a sign and the electricity stopped and fizzled out. Dorsk 81 slumped forward as if his strings were cut. If not for his harsh, nasal breathing, Kyp would have thought the worst.

“That was just a little demonstration. A few more shocks like that and he will die,” Daala explained. “Now talk.”

It was more than clear that she would be glad to administer the shocks herself if Kyp didn’t comply. And yet, he couldn’t just break his loyalty to the rest of the Jedi. He found himself trapped between two terrible choices and no way out. Despair settled over him.

“Well?” Daala prompted.

Kyp slowly opened his mouth.

“Don’t! Don’t… tell her…” Dorsk 81 suddenly rasped.

“But you’re hurt! You’d die!” Kyp protested.

“Don’t worry… I can take it…” Dorsk 81 raised his head slightly and attempted a crooked smile.

“Let’s test that theory,” Daala interrupted. She nodded to the stormtrooper who activated the torture mechanism in the chair.

For ten seconds Kyp watched in horror as his friend was suffering unimaginable, cruel torture. He felt Dorsk 81’s pain through the Force, waves after waves of agony crashing into him and his own nerves responding in a sympathetic reaction. When it stopped, he was on the verge of tears.

“Dorsk 81!” he called out.

“I’m… fine…” his friend replied weakly, like it took all his strength to say so little.

Daala chuckled. “So deluded. You Jedi greatly overestimate your abilities. This is why you’ll get wiped out again.” She turned to Kyp. “Are you going to give me the information or do you prefer to watch your friend’s brain frying? I can do this all day long but I doubt the Khommite will survive it.”

The overwhelming helplessness threatened to overtake him. He destroyed so many people’s lives, killed his own brother. Letting his best friend die like this made less sense with every moment.

“No matter what you do here, the Jedi Academy will be destroyed. The only one you can save here is your friend here. Choose,” Daala pressed.

“No!… Kyp… trust… the Force…” Dorsk 81 said with difficulty.

Kyp reached out. The Force was shifting around him restlessly and slipping from his grasp like an eel. He realized there would be no miraculous rescue this time, no daring smuggler would bust the door open and let him out and no Jedi Master would hear his cries for help. He looked at his mangled, barely clinging to life best friend and swallowed thickly.

“Okay… I’ll tell you what you want, just don’t hurt him,” he said quietly.

“Kyp, no!” Dorsk 81 stared at him in disbelief and betrayal.

Kyp lowered his head in shame. “I’m… I’m sorry. I can’t let you die here.”

“Betraying the Jedi for a friend. How sweet,” Daala mocked.

Kyp didn’t have the strength to answer. Daala looked him over.

“Very well. If you lie, he dies.”

Kyp nodded sharply. He knew she would execute Dorsk 81 without hesitation.

“Start talking,” Daala ordered.

And to his eternal shame, Kyp broke for the second time under the Imperial interrogation and told her everything he knew.

At first, he grappled for words and stumbled over them a lot, but the longer he talked, the easier it became. Sometime during his interrogation, Dorsk 81 was carted away to a different cell because he was protesting too much. Kyp was glad—he couldn’t stand his best friend witnessing this.

Talking so much wasn’t good for his throat and he was wrecked by a dry cough.

“Can I… have some water?” he requested between coughing fits.

“You have to ask me properly,” Daala told him.

“Please, can I have some water, Admiral?” Kyp tried again.

She shook her head. The corner of her mouth turned up in a wicked way. “No, this is wrong. Repeat after me: Please, can I.”

“Please, can I,” Kyp said.

“A low, pathetic Jedi trash,” Daala said, watching him with cruel amusement. Kyp became red in the face, but repeated the insult obediently.

“Have some of the precious Imperial water.”

He had no problems with this part.

“Mistress Daala.”

His eyebrows shot up. She wanted him to call her 'mistress’?! Kyp couldn’t get out this word.

“Keep going, you were doing so well,” Daala encouraged him.

“I’m not calling you that,” he rasped.

“Too bad. Then I’m not letting you drink.” She smiled predatorily, showing him teeth. “And I should probably check in on the other Jedi.”

Kyp lurched in his bonds as he realized his mistake. “Wait! No, please, no!” When she didn’t react, he gave in to the desperation. “Mi… Mistress!”

Daala chuckled, enjoying his degradation. “Not so stubborn anymore.” She sidled up to him and ran a hand down his side. Kyp shuddered in revulsion, but didn’t protest. “So you can learn. That’s a start.” She was too close, looking him straight in the eye. He saw the craziness lurking behind the toxic green of her gaze. “I have a lot to teach you, Kyp,” she whispered, stroking along his jaw with a fingerpad.

Imagining what kind of depravity she would subject him to had Kyp wishing for his death, only the concern for Dorsk 81’s fate stopping him from doing anything reckless.

So instead, the broken young Jedi bowed his head in defeat. “Yes… Mistress.”

Daala smiled widely.

#my fanfiction #kyp durron #natasi daala #sw eu

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marvelandponder · 8 years ago

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Lost Episodes? Well, You Better Go Find Them!

Ever browse through the internet looking for the lost ideas that never made it air? Have you gone to conventions just to hear the insight on what the show staff left out? Are you already on board thus defeating the purpose of me giving a third example?

As a fan who enjoys the occasional interview, commentary, or behind-the-scenes tid-bit, that describes me pretty well.

I always like hearing the stories we could’ve gotten. To me, there’s an element of intrigue, and the same feeling I get hearing urban legends except with the confirmation that this was in fact true information.

This month we saw the revival of the script for Fame and Misfortune, a story M.A. Larson wrote around the time the staff was writing the 5th season that was then retooled and edited to fit with the current season. In honour of that lost script getting new life, I thought I’d go through and find all the coolest lost content MLP never had to offer!

Of course, to super fans, this may not be new information (I don’t have access to the pony version of the deep web quite yet...), but hopefully there will be some surprises in here for even those who seek out the lost and unknown...

Honourable Mention Section

Debunked Nightmare Moon the Villain for ALL of Season 1: This has since been corrected by Lauren Faust, but the original rumour was that Faust planned for the show to be a serialized, on-going story, and that instead of being defeated in the first two episodes, Nightmare Moon was supposed to reign over Equestria for all 26 episodes. We now know Lauren always planned for the show to be an ensemble comedy, but it was a very cool rumour nonetheless - Source (x)

Lost Pinkie Pie Songs by Amy Keating Rogers: In the Season 1 finale The Best Night Ever, Amy Keating Rogers says Pinkie was meant to sing a few more songs that she wrote for her. These would’ve been the standard early seasons Pinkie songs, one being called the Pinkie Conga - Source: (x)

The Hub Commercials: While not exactly lost (and hence not on the list), new fans of the show might not have been around before the switch from the Hub to Discovery Family, and have no idea about these hidden gems. These relics include, but aren’t limited to an April Fools series trailer for a Cowboy BeBop inspired Spike spinoff called Dragonfire, a dub of the 2014 Maleficent trailer by the official cast with Discord as Maleficent, and a parody of Kay Perry’s California Girls called Equestria Girls that predates the series of the same name!

3 Scootaloo Episodes Dealing with her Disability in the First 2 Seasons: Since we ended up getting an episode that dealt with this topic in the form of Flight to the Finish, this didn’t quite make the list, but it almost did based on the fact that was originally supposed to be an arc. Scootaloo would’ve taken 3 episodes to learn that she would never fly and achieve her dream of being like Rainbow Dash, according to Lauren Faust, but ultimately, the little squirt would learn her real worth didn’t depend on her wings or abilities - Source: (x)

Lightning Dust’s Redemption: Anybody out there holding out for hope for Lightning Dust? What if I told you she could’ve already been redeemed? Well, it’s true. Our good friend Megan McCarthy released two portions of the original ending on her Twitter, including one where Lightning Dust become Rainbow Dash’s wing pony (Source: x):

Derpy’s Deleted Flashback Scene, The Last Roundup: Remember how people got mad about Derpy’s voice and clumsy behaviour? Well that was nothing compared to the destruction they had planned. Originally, there was going to be a flashback to Derpy accidentally destroying the town hall, thus giving the episode an inciting incident. Amy Keating Rogers let us in on the original scene (Source: x x), and well, it wouldn’t have ended pretty:

With those out of the way, let’s get to the real list of unreleased goodness! Remember, all of these have been confirmed, and you can check the sources as they’re provided for proof.

#10. Lauren Faust’s Big Mac Episode

Imagine a timeline where we got a Big Mac episode in season 1. Now imagine that was going to be our timeline.

Lauren Faust originally planned to have an episode starring Big Mac that featured the then monosyllabic stallion going through his daily life with his three outspoken family members. She’s described it on her Deviantart thusly:

“Big Mac is a stallion of little words. He just keeps his opinions to himself. I think he knows he's around three opinionated mares and it's easiest to just go with the flow. We had a Big Mac centered episode idea where he was helping all three of them one day, just going along with what they wanted to keep the peace (the running gag being that his three family members were quite verbose and he spoke only with facial expressions) but finally got fed up and took off. The Apple ladies worried that they had taken his easy going nature for granted and made a big production out of apologizing and promising not to take him for granted ever again, only to find out that he went into town to get another hand- er, hoof- to help. Of course the only words he'd say were to graciously accept their apologies and promises anyway. I thought it was cute and I LOVE non-verbal gags and acting in cartoons, but it was turned down.” - Source: (x)

We clearly never got the episode, but MLP comics issues #9 and 10, Zen and the Art of Gazebo Repair, did end up following Big Mac through a chaotic day and relying mostly on his expression to get across his feelings. Whether this mini-arc was inspired by the lost episode, we may never know, but we got a good story out of it all the same. Eeyup.

#9. Rainbow and Applejack Help a Deer Family Episode

Once again, Lauren Faust provides! Since working on the show, Faust has said that one of the early episode concepts involved Rainbow Dash and Applejack stumbling across a deer family with a young pony who thought he was a deer. Perhaps cut for its similarities to Over a Barrel, the episode’s conflict would’ve centered around RD and AJ taking sides of the issue on whether or not to burst the “deer’s” bubble.

Ironically, Applejack and Rainbow Dash took surprising positions on the issue, given their Elements: Rainbow Dash wanted to break the news to the pony, whereas Applejack wanted to leave well enough alone.

Jokes about their Elements being switched aside, I would imagine this episode would’ve established the depth of their characters outside of their roles as the Elements of Harmony. Rainbow Dash would rather speak her mind and be blunt and deal with the consequences afterward despite her loyalty, and Applejack would rather tell a lie if it meant keeping a family together.

In my opinion, this most likely would’ve set precedent that even the each of the Mane 6′s Elements have areas of exception, and those areas reveal something about each pony.

And, if all that wasn’t cool enough for you, this episode also took place in White Tail Woods, which is where it got the name that stuck with the show despite the episode concept being lost. You can still find White Tail Woods on the official map to this day.

Source: (x)

#8. The Curious Case of FlutterDragon

Here’s a famous one, but a fascinating one: Normally during conventions like Comic Con or BronyCon, when a voice actor gives out information on an upcoming season, it’s pretty reliable (unless it’s obviously a joke).

So, the Comic Con before season 3 rolled around, and as usual, we were getting a lot great information on the upcoming season. Trixie would be returning? There would be a Twilight and Spike duet? Score! One piece of information that stood out, however, was from Tabitha St. Germain, who as you most likely know voices Rarity and Luna.

She said that her favourite recording session was for the episode that “Fluttershy turns into a dragon.”

Not the episode where Fluttershy faces a dragon or anything like that that had already aired.

Megan McCarthy eventually had to debunk this theory via Twitter, but I kept this on the list because it came from an official source all the same. A recording session that never made it to air that, to this day, hasn’t been explained? Now that’s mysterious.

I have to wonder if that was a warm-up of some sort, just to get the voice actresses in character. Of all the staff members, Tabitha is one of the least likely to just troll the fandom, so I still have to believe she was truly referencing something. Even Andrea Libman, Fluttershy herself, seemed to know what she was talking about as Tabitha described it being funny hearing Fluttershy’s soft voice coming out of a giant dragon.

The story behind this pick alone is enough to make me wonder...

Source: (x)

#7. Rarity’s Deleted Scene in Luna Eclipsed

Have you ever noticed that there’s one pony missing in Luna Eclipsed?

Well, Rarity originally had a scene that explains her absence. Lauren Faust to the rescue again!:

“...May I ask why Rarity wasn't in it? Lauren: She was in the script. Sounds like she got cut. Kitmit: What was she supposed to do in the script? You think she would of made herself some fabulous nightmare night costume... Lauren: She was still working on her costume, and perfectionist as she is, it wasn't ready. (I forget what it was.) There was a whole sequence where Twilight brought Luna to Rarity's for a makeover, hoping she could give Luna a "softer," less intimidating look. Rarity freaked out about getting to dress up a Princess and over did it, covering her in the pinkiest pink princess get up ever. Luna disliked it and in taking it off, had a piece of the dress in her mouth. Pinkie showed up just at that moment and screamed that Nightmare Moon ate a princess and all the kids screamed and ran. Source - (x)

Rarity’s over-dramatics most likely would’ve made this scene hilarious had it made it to the final cut, and honestly, that’s all I need to say. Tabitha St. Germain might’ve spread the FlutterDragon rumour by accident, but she’s one hell of a comedic voice actress, and her playing off of herself and Tara Strong for a scene could’ve been a stellar performance.

At least we know where Rarity was the whole time now... and judging by Scare Master, she learned her lesson and just went with something less than utter perfection the year after. Does that count as character development?

#6. Zecora’s Mentor Role

This might be common knowledge for hardcore fans as well, but in hindsight it’s such a loss that it deserves it’s own spot.

Zecora has become critically underutilized, especially in later seasons, but that wasn’t always meant to be the case. Zecora was originally meant to fill the mentor role in Twilight’s life while Celestia was busy in Canterlot. Of course, Twilight would still write to Celestia for guidance, but Faust also said:

“If we had penned more adventure stories, the only difference I can think of is that perhaps you would have seen more of Luna and Zecora. Zecora was designed to be a sage and mentor to whom the ponies could go for information about their quests. She was designed to be a second mentor to Twilight, but that didn’t come to pass.” Source: (x)

We can see bits of this throughout the series, though, in episodes like Secret of My Excess, The Cutie Pox, and Magic Duel.

If she were Twilight’s second mentor, it might have even been interesting to have a conflict between Zecora and Celestia about some kind of magic, leaving Twilight in the middle to struggle with the fact that both of the authority figures might not be teaching her the right solution, and it’s up to her to decide. Just some speculation, based on where Twilight’s character would’ve been at the time...

Perhaps Zecora’s role can be reclaimed in the future, as she’s included in more episodes to come. But for now, we can only think of what might’ve been.

#5. Sunset’s Duet, Homesickness Storyline, and Alternate Ending to Friendship Games

Okay, so this is definitely well known, but given just how well-constructed and nearly finalized this story-arc was, I couldn’t leave it off the list! Plus, something something Sunset Shimmer bias.

Thanks to the Friendship Games DVD extras, you can watch all the deleted scenes, including the duet, over here if you’ve never seen them:

youtube

I always found the parallels drawn so satisfying, even if the alternate ending had Sci-Twi leaving for Crystal Prep.

In hindsight, what’s even more interesting is that they’ve seemed to go in the opposite direction with Sunset: when she finally did return to Equestria, it was rather reluctantly, and only briefly. Despite the fact that she has friends and an ex-mentor on the other side, she seems to be eager to stay in the human world.

Or, maybe she’s avoiding somepony...

Seeing how completely opposite things could’ve turned out is fascinating in and of itself.

#4. Lost Slice of Life Gags

How could that episode get any crazier? Slice of Life is already the epitome of our absolutely wild fandom, what more could there be?

Well, of course, M.A. Larson does not disappoint for this list, providing some insight into missing scenes like a Devil Went Down to Georgia inspired cello battle between Octavia and King Sombra.

In fact, there’s a whole list of cuts:

“In the first draft Vinyl Scratch's talked, but they told him she doesn't talk, so it was removed in phase 2.

The original Vinyl Scratch and Octavia scene involved Vinyl crashing at Octavia's house and destroying her sofa. So she goes to Quills and Sofas to buy a new one. They weren't originally roommates, but The Hub and Hasbro made them roommates.

Flash Sentry was originally in the script. He was following Cranky asking why no one likes him.

Another cut scene was a group of ponies coming in, and a group of their recolor ponies running into them, followed by awkwardness.

His original reason for not wanting to bowl, was because he had trauma as a kid where he couldn't figure out the physics behind it, which lead to his science focused career.

Outside of episode 100, there was originally a cut scene where after Twilight is coronated, Rainbow Dash and her fly around Equestria, eventually ending up in dragonland where they do a musical scene.There was a scene where Derpy is saying "I don't know what to do doc! I don't know what to do!" and the camera pans over to reveal Dr. Caballeron, revealing Derpy at the wrong table with the wrong doctor. Gags like this were throughout the entire original script.

After everyone is gone and in the town hall, the bat ponies and royal guards are outside doing silly impressions of Princess Luna and Celestia. "Every day shall be cake day!".

At one point, Lyra tells Bonbon to "stop using that ridiculous voice!" to make fun of her other voices.

In the script, Gummy had a french accent.

There was a moment where Doctor Whooves is running up to Carousel Boutique, and he sees Opal and Tom.

A scene between Coco Pommel and the pony from season one in Boast Busters with the green mane that Rarity accidently insults was cut. She had a full green wedding ensemble on with Coco's stamp of approval, and said she couldn't wait until Rarity saw it as revenge. Coco Pommel then says she doesn't really like green, and asks for anything in pink.

The original ending had the hugging scene with the mane 6 being their usual end-of-episode corny selves, but the camera pans to the sunset where a changeling army is flying in...”

Source: (x)

This episode went through a lot of research and development to get just right, and even I would’ve loved to see all of that be left in, we ultimately only have so much run-time per episode.

But if that weren’t enough to convince of why I admire M.A. Larson as a writer...

#3. Fillidelphia Ragtime

I suppose you might be wondering how a single undeveloped episode idea can beat out all that Slice of Life goodness.

Well, it comes down to structure, adult (but nowhere near too adult) implications, and a really intriguing idea.

I’ll let Larson make the pitch himself:

youtube

(55:24-57:50)

Larson pretty much immediately sold me on this. I think because there’s a part of me that loves implying the maturity of these characters without going into it for the kids sake, and honestly, it would be so much damn fun.

This episode was never meant to be, it seems, but damn is it ever a good premise.

2.5. Twilight Nearly Resigns From Being a Princess

Note: I stumbled on this one late in the game and instead of bumping something off the list, I decided to cheat and give you all an extra pick. I’m a stinker that way.

We know Twilight wasn’t always so sure about herself as the Princess of Friendship, but did you know she almost gave it up?

“In "Amending Fences," Twilight is at her lowest low and goes to visit Celestia in the middle of the night. She tells her mentor that she has to give up her role as princess of friendship because of how her past actions have affected Moondancer. She says, "How can I tell others about the magic of friendship if I've killed that spirit in somepony else?" Celestia then surprises her by saying that the lesson Twilight is in Canterlot to learn is one that she herself has only recently learned. Twilight is surprised...Celestia knows everything about everything. But Celestia looks out the window at the moon and says, "Some relationships are so broken, so filled with bitterness and anger that they seem impossible to mend. But the lesson you're here to learn now is that it's never too late to repair a broken friendship." So Celestia uses her own experience, her gradual rebuilding of trust and friendship with her own sister, to tell Twilight that everyone goes through it. This gives Twilight the hope that she can fix things with Moondancer. I thought it was a nice scene, but you only have 22 minutes and this was an easy cut.”

Source: (x)

Easy cut my ass! That’s a huge deal! Twilight would’ve come through in the end anyway, but it’s still interesting to know how close she could’ve come to giving it all up...

#2. Seapony Two-Parter

Seaponies? In G4? Don’t be ridiculous....

But it was true. One of Lauren Faust’s ideas at that. She would’ve designed them after the sea ponies of the first generation, with a plot sounding preeetty darn cool:

“Hasbro never asked for seaponies, but other ideas that had nothing to do with them. Lauren was hoping for a two-episode special so that she could have the proper build up and payoff for the seaponies, but the idea never came up. Lauren planned for the style of the seaponies to be the same as G1 with seapony bodies and pony heads. While Lauren didn't have the seaponies in her show bible, she had a plan for incorporating them. The episodes included one of the seaponies washing up on the Equestrian beach and begging for their kingdom to be helped. Their kingdom would be in the Equestrian Ocean, drawing inspiration from Greek and European mythology. She even thought about using the Kraken as a villain.” Source: (x)

Undersea shenanigans and the chance to make a genuinely terrifying sea monster the villain sounds perfect, to be honest. This may not have fit within the schedule for the first two seasons Lauren helped work on, but lo and behold, we’re finally getting around to the fish-horses one way or another! I find it hilarious that in G4, they’re almost majestic and carry with them some sort of epic quest for the girls.

Shoo-be-doo, indeed.

#1. The Series Finale Version of Magical Mystery Cure

After all this time, Magical Mystery Cure holds up in some regards (Celestia’s Ballad is gorgeous no matter what, the animation is beautiful, etc.) but good pacing, it was doomed to never have. Writer M.A. Larson asked the studio execs if they could make it a two-parter, because at the time this was going to be it, they really didn’t know if the show would be renewed. Buut Hasbro said no, so a two-part story had to be crammed into a single episode.

Even with that aside, what was the series finale of MLP going to be like?

Larson recalls that his original script was more a Pandora’s box story than anything else. Celesita sent Twilight a box and, by letter, told her student to wait for her to get there to go over the high level magic inside. Celestia’s mistake was telling Twilight this would lead to a new level of her studies.

Twilight, of course, couldn’t handle waiting to see the amazing magic within, and just like Friendship Games, her curiosity would’ve gotten the better of her. Which, of course, is when she would’ve unleashed the cutie mark swapping spell.

Celestia would then send Twilight a letter that just read My faithful student, what have you done?

To imply that even Celestia herself couldn’t handle this.

In both versions of Magical Mystery Cure, our favourite reader becomes an author of a spell, but in Larson’s story it’s a bit more clear as to what exactly Twilight’s spell does.

Twilight wasn’t just finishing a spell to create new magic (which... only seems to undo what the first part of the spell does), she was rewriting a spell that was already in existence. The words even rearranged on the page for her.

Granted, I like the idea of Twilight standing on the shoulders of giants to earn her wings (finishing Starswirl’s spell) but what a way to end the series: with the book that opened in the first episode closing, implying that Twilight and her friends became legends.

But, in the end, I’m glad we didn’t get that version of Magical Mystery Cure, because what we did get, and what came after, was worth anything that was lost.

More Pony? I’ve got that! I do reviews and editorials! Check out the last three things I’ve done here:

Fame and Misfortune, Triple Threat, and Campfire Tales Reviews

Year of the Pony

Featured Artists of the Post Include:

Derpy’s Accident by GlancoJusticar Apple Siblings Vector by 773her Bramble Vector by CheeseDoodle96 FlutterDragon by Skyfries Rarity’s Nightmare Night by GlancoJusticar Zecora Vector by Stabzor Sunset Vector by KeronianNiroro Sombra Vector by Fercho262 Octavia Vector by WishDream Applejack Vector by Midnite99 Rainbow Dash Seapony Vector by GreenMachine987 Twilight Picture by The Shadow Stone

Go check out these talented artists! They’re nice enough to work really hard to make these vectors available with credit, so go appreciate their talent and hard work!

What Never Was and Might’ve Been

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