#the details escape me now but i was in public and recognised someone in passing and we made

[lokh]

i just had a dream where i was assigned d*ke???????????

[interstellarflare]

Bend and Break || Homelander

-PART ONE-

Warnings: Gore, violence, course language, angst.

Summary: People can only bend their morales so far before they break. Homelander is the world’s greatest superhero, and you, a tech analyst, somehow become entangled in his world when he learns that you provide intel to The Boys. He makes it his personal mission to find out exactly what you know, but he never expected such resistance from someone as damaged as you. But broken things can be mended, sometimes in the most unexpected ways possible.

Author’s Note: As a bit of a disclaimer, I have only seen snippets of The Boys. I haven’t actually watched all of it, so forgive me if there are some details that are wrong, as well as the many spelling errors that will undoubtedly be in this series. There is a tag list open for those who wish to be added. Gif by @stream​

You had no idea how you ended up providing intel for The Boys. You didn’t even know how they managed to find you.

You were a nobody, a nobody who so happened to be very knowledgeable around technology. You hacked into secure companies that were affiliated with The Seven, media outlets, private companies and the like, and gained whatever information you could before passing it on to the leader of The Boys himself, Billy Butcher. He stopped by your apartment at random hours during the day and night, giving you set deadlines to complete certain assignments before he came to retrieve the intel. No one knew who you were. You were so mysterious in fact, that the general public had even given you a name. The Watcher.

Not long after you were given your name, The Seven were notified of your existence. Madelyn Stillwell explained to The Seven that their servers had been hacked, and several files of important information had been taken in a matter of seconds. It was a serious security breach, and Madelyn wanted whoever did this killed. Homelander couldn’t help but agree. He volunteered to personally to do it himself, to a send a message to The Boys. It would be a good publicity stunt. If The Watcher was stopped, then The Boys would lose their only source of information. Plus, the public would love him even more.

But unfortunately for you, you had made a mistake. Vought International traced the IP address to your apartment a few days after your cyber attack, and Homelander was en route within the hour. It was a shitty apartment complex, fitting he supposed, for one who would commit such a crime against him and his colleagues. A huge uproar occurred outside the building, drawing your attention toward the ground floor. When your eyes met the form of the famous superhero waving to the adoring crowd as he entered through the lobby, a string of disgusting curses escaped your lips. There was no point in running, he could catch up easily. There was no point in hiding, the fucker could see through walls. There was nothing you could do except panic internally, and hope that maybe Billy and the others knew about this conundrum.

Before you had another second to think, heavy footsteps echoed down the hall, eventually stopping in front of your apartment door. You stood in the centre of your apartment, debating whether or not to open the door and atop that horrendous knocking, or answering Billy’s distress call on your laptop. If you made a run for your laptop, he would know. There was no doubt that the son of a bitch was using his x-ray vision to watch you sweat. He was probably reviling in the fact that he had caught you, and that there was nowhere for you to go. Regretfully and hesitantly, you moved towards the door, steadying your breath before throwing it open. You swallowed thickly as your gaze met Homelander’s blue hues, as he stared down at you with that stupid fake Hollywood smile of his. With his hands braced on his hips in that cliche superhero stance, he pointed accusingly at you, trying to keep up his heroic image as a crowd began to gather in the hall. “You, are one hard person to find Miss L/n...” he began, laughing mockingly as the crowd gathered around your apartment door.

Your eyes flickered around the crowd, some tenants you recognised, others you didn’t. Biting your lips nervously, your shrugged your shoulders as calmly and nonchalantly as you could. “I like to keep it that way...” you responded confidently, holding his gaze despite your growing fear “to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”. Homelander grinned, and without saying a word, he pushed past you into your apartment, his eagle shoulder pad deliberately knocking you out of the way. You clenched your jaw, giving the gathered crowd one last warning glare before slamming the door in their faces. You heard several muffled shouts, and hushed voice talking. What could Homelander possibly want with her? What makes her so special?

“So, you are The Watcher?” He spoke tauntingly, folding his arms intimidatingly over his chest as you turned to face him. Pressing your lips into a thin line, you nodded slowly, your eyes landing on your laptop screen once again. Billy was still trying to contact you, and it was by sheer dumb luck that the tyrant in front of you didn’t notice. Homelander’s eyes narrowed, glowing a faint red as he approached “You know, you’ve done a very bad thing...” he spoke lowly, moving so close to you that your back hit your apartment door with a loud thump. Homelander could hear your heart beating rapidly in your chest, though your breath came out even and slow. “I want back what you stole from Vought International, now” he growled stepping closer so that there was barely any space left between you. You looked up at the superhero in front of you with a shrug of your shoulders, slipping out of that small space and making your way over to your laptop.

“Sorry, but I don’t have it anymore...” you responded blatantly, pressing the ‘decline’ button to Billy’s call. Homelander’s eyes returned to their normal blue out of shock, as he turned to face you bewilderedly. You leaned against the desk beside your laptop, your head tilted to the side in an almost carefree nature. In a matter a seconds, your demeanour had changed entirely. How? You were just terrified of him...he could hear your heart beating like crazy. “I’m sorry, what?...” he asked in disbelief “where is it then?”. “It’s long gone by now, The Boy’s probably have it now, so I don’t think you’ll be getting it back anytime soon”. How dare you. He was Homelander, the world’s greatest superhero, how dare you, a mere human speak to him this way. Downplaying your words, you watched as Homelander’s expression darkened, before he used his superhuman speed to suddenly appear before you in a burst of wind. You released a sharp cry as Homelander gripped your forearm, using his superhuman strength to apply agonising pressure to your limb. You winced, tears flowing freely from your eyes as he leaned forward, his breath ghosting the shell of your ear.

“I’ve changed my mind, I don’t even want the information anymore...” he began, tightening his grip which made you release a pained cry “I just want Billy Butcher. Now, I know you have contact with him. If you don’t tell me where he is in the next five seconds, I’m going to break your arm”. You shrieked, trying to pry your arm from his grip to no avail. “Five..” Homelander began, slowly squeezing your arm “four-”

“I don’t know where he is! I’m telling the truth!” “I don’t believe you, three...” He continued, as you screamed for him to let you go. You squirmed, you kicked, you tried anything and everything to get him to let go. “Two...” he whispered tauntingly, no doubt enjoying your pain. You were panicking by now. What could you do? What could you say to get him to believe you? “STOP! He comes by my apartment at random times of the day and night. There isn’t a set schedule, that’s all I know I swear!”. Silence enveloped the apartment, the only sound heard was your soft cries as the pain in your forearm became unbearable. But just like that, it disappeared as Homelander released you from his hold. You collapsed to the floor of your apartment, sobbing quietly as you held your arm to your chest. Through your tearful gaze, you could already see your arm starting to bruise, the vibrant red slowly turning to a deep purple.

Heavy footsteps approached as Homelander knelt down before you. Cupping the side of your face with his gloved hand, he lifted your head up to meet his gaze. With a small victorious smile, he spoke authoritatively “Then how about you and I make a little arrangement. I’ll stop by at random times of the day and night as well, that way, I’m bound to catch him at some point right? And when I do, I’ll kill you to set an example. How does that sound?”. You said nothing as Homelander stood up, his touch lingering as a silent promise to his threat. “Oh, and I forgot...” he called out, turning to face you with a smirk “Don’t even think about warning him, I’ll know” he continued, motioning to his ears in reference to his superhuman hearing before walking through your apartment door. As he disappeared through the adoring crowd still gathered outside, you began to sob loudly.

You had never been more terrified in your life. Your arm still hurt like hell as you trudged towards your phone, which had been vibrating non-stop the entire time. There were five missed calls from Billy, and about seven texts, all of them containing a stunning variety of swear words which you didn’t know existed.

‘Answer me damn it, fucking hell woman. What’s going on over there?’

Your hands trembled as you replied, your breath uneven as your heart thundered in your ears.

‘Not safe to talk. He knows’.

[ibijau]

Deathbed Wedding - Epilogue

During a conference in Qinghe, Nie Huaisang and Wen Chao meet again (also on AO3)

and a big thanks to everyone who read, liked, or reblogged this <3

Wen Chao had only been allowed to come to that discussion conference in the Unclean Realm so he could present proper apologies for that accident a few months ago. He had done so when Nie Mingjue had welcomed them, albeit he'd been rather reluctant and insincere, since he still couldn't see how any of that was supposed to be his fault. He wouldn't have apologised at all if his father had firmly ordered him to behave, lest he be sent to meditate on a mountain for the next ten years. Wen Ruohan had looked like he meant it. Apparently the other sects were not at all happy with Qishan Wen, just because their kids were a little useless and couldn’t handle a decent Night Hunt.

Even after being warned like that, Wen Chao had escaped as soon as he'd been able to. Mostly because it was so uncomfortable to be in the same room as Nie Mingjue, and have to bear with his furious gaze, but also because conferences were so boring. He had easily found a equally bored teenagers willing to listen to him and his tales of glorious Night Hunts. They were either too young or too unimportant to have ever been invited by him before, which annoyed him. But since his usual crowd now ignored him and preferred to pay attention to the conference itself rather than to hang out with him, those people would have to do. 

After all, they were all suitably impressed when he started describing the Xuanwu of Slaughter.

“Is it true that someone died?” one boy asked in a trembling voice, the youngest of his audience.

Wen Chao grimaced at the question. The two deaths of Qishan Wen disciples had been hidden fairly well, the families paid well to never bring it up again. Sadly a boy from another sect had perished as well. The sect in question was small enough that they didn’t dare complain too loudly, but they were close to Yunmeng Jiang and apparently had complained to them. Such things couldn’t be completely silenced, and it annoyed Wen Chao that people pestered him about that.

Before he could think of something to answer, a voice rang next to them.

“Several people died, and many more were wounded. It’s dangerous to seek glory alongside Wen gongzi.”

Recognising the voice, Wen Chao gritted his teeth and turned around to greet Nie Huaisang, while the other boys with him gasped upon seeing the second master of Qinghe Nie.

It shocked Wen Chao to see him. They hadn’t met since that accident. In fact, Nie Huaisang hadn’t been there to welcome guests to the conference earlier, just as he had been notably absent from all major events from the past half year. Wen Chao had just been annoyed he would have to give a second apology later when he'd meet him, and hadn’t wondered much at that absence.

Seeing Nie Huaisang, he understood why he might not have wanted to show himself in public. Scars were always a little unusual on cultivators. Anyone with a decent cultivation level would see most wounds heal without a trace. That made it particularly impressive to look at Nie Huaisang’s marked face, the right side of which was covered by a deep scar from forehead to chin, with a black eyepatch in the middle. The clothes he wore covered his skin perfectly, but Wen Chao had seen him be grabed and crushed by the fake Xuanwu, and he could guess that there had to be worse marks yet on the rest of his body. The idea of such scars made him shiver in disgust.

Still, Wen Chao quickly recovered from the shock and smirked.

“Nie gongzi, can you really complain when it’s my Night Hunt that got the husband of your dreams?”

“I can complain and I will,” Nie Huaisang retorted, glaring at the other young man with more heat than he used to allow himself. Now that he didn't need Wen Chao's Night Hunts, he wasn't bothering being nice anymore. How ungrateful. "Wen gongzi, if anyone is stupid enough to follow you after what happened, that's their problem. At the same time, I won't have you recruiting kids for Night Hunts in my own home, not when there's no knowing how many of them will return next time." 

Wen Chao shrugged, unconcerned. That reaction only sparked Nie Huaisang's anger who impulsively started rolling up his right sleeve to reveal his naked arm, marked by yet more scars starting at the elbow and above, and showed it to the boys. 

"That's what happens on Night Hunts with Nie gongzi," Nie Huaisang announced coldly. "And if you think I was unlucky or clumsy, I can tell you about the extremely skilled young masters who were wounded. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji nearly lost their lives, and their talent can't be doubted. Even the three boys I had to watch die where very competent. Still they died, all because Wen gongzi didn't even know what sort of a monster he was making us hunt." 

The other boys gasped in horror and admiration. In an instant they all left Wen Chao's side to crowd Nie Huaisang and ask him questions about his wounds. Having somehow not anticipated that turn of events, Nie Huaisang looked very awkward for a moment. Not so awkward that he couldn’t glare at Wen Chao in warning though, and Wen Chao, with uncharacteristic wisdom, took it as his chance to leave. The second master of Qinghe did not scare him in the least, he told himself. But to anger him was to make an enemy of his terrifying older brother as well, and Wen Chao wasn't stupid enough to want to make an enemy out of Nie Mingjue.

-

While Wen Chao scampered away to safety, Nie Huaisang tried to handle the group of very enthusiastic juniors hounding him. They all wanted to hear more details about that dreadful Night Hunt, and wanted to know how he had survived. Above all, they wanted to have a better look at his scars, and to see how far they extended.

Nie Huaisang tried to answer the questions to the best of his capacities, while ignoring the morbid requests to see his scars, which he was still uncomfortable about. Some days, he couldn’t bear to let even Lan Xichen look at them. Only a very great cultivator who'd have fought the strongest of enemies would have scars, or those so weak even good medicine couldn't help them. Nie Huaisang knew in which category he belonged.

Even just the questions were quickly exhausting him though. This much time had already passed, but he was still recovering from what had happened, and he tired easily. Aside from those closest to him, he had mostly kept away from people during those last few months. His brother had even granted him permission to stay away from the conference, but when he had happened to pass by and he had seen Wen Chao with these other boys, he’d had to intervene.

Even if Wen Chao hadn’t meant for this to happen, it had happened anyway, and Nie Huaisang wasn’t a forgiving person.

“Could we see the talismans Wen gongzi said you used?” one boy asked, the one who had been most insistent about Nie Huaisang’s scars. “Could you give me one to copy?”

“Those are dangerous,” Nie Huaisang snapped, feeling a headache coming. “Did you listen to what I said about how dangerous they are? Do you want to end up with a face like that as well?”

“But I’d be careful! Nie gongzi, please show us!”

Suddenly, Nie Huaisang felt very sorry for the way he’d pestered everyone in Qinghe Nie after being told he needed to improve his cultivation. If he had been even half as annoying about it, then it was a miracle that his brother hadn’t strangled him just to shut him up.

“It’s a Nie technique,” Lan Xichen calmly said behind them. “And so it would of course be impossible to teach it to strangers. In fact, to ask at all could be seen as rather rude.”

Nie Huaisang, who was feeling the early sign of a terrible headache push against his skill, smiled upon seeing his husband nearby, and felt himself relax instantly. Without being asked to, Lan Xichen came to stand next to him and wrapped one arm around his shoulders to pull him closer, then turned his attention back to the assembled boys.

“I understand these conferences might not seem very interesting to you at your age, but they are important nonetheless,” Lan Xichen gently scolded, never losing his smile. “You came here with your parents or your sect leaders because they judged you were mature enough to learn something from it. You should repay that trust by staying with them and being attentive to what is happening, instead of escaping and looking for easy amusement.”

Even though none of them knew him, the boys all looked as stricken as if they had disappointed their own elder brother. They mumbled some apologies to Lan Xichen, thanked Nie Huaisang for chatting with them, and returned to the hall where the conference was happening.

As soon as they were alone, Nie Huaisang sighed heavily and leaned a little harder against his husband’s side.

“Thanks for rescuing me, Xichen.”

“You looked like you needed it,” Lan Xichen remarked, pulling him a little closer. “I thought you were just taking some papers to Meng Yao, what happened?”

“Wen Chao,” Nie Huaisang grumbled. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He sighed again. Then, struck by an idea, he pouted as pathetically as he could. “I’m really so tired now though. Impossibly tired, and I have an awful headache. Husband, you should carry me home, I don’t think I can take another step even if I tried.”

Lan Xichen laughed, and gently squeezed his shoulder.

“Can’t you now? How tragic. I really shall have to carry you then.”

Before Nie Huaisang could tease and whine some more, two strong arms lifted him up and he found himself carried against his husband’s chest. A blush crept fast on his face, and he gasped in surprise.

“Xichen, I was just joking!” he complained weakly, grasping at his husband's collar. “You can’t do that, someone will see.”

“Then let them see," Lan Xichen retorted, starting to walk toward their house. “I don’t mind at all.”

“I do. Save me some face, put me down. Isn’t Wei-xiong here today? If he sees us, he’ll never let me live it down. You know how awful he is when he starts teasing. And you’ve been helping da-ge all day, aren’t you tired? Put me down, Xichen-ge, I’m not so bad after all, I can walk.”

Instead of giving in to his demand, Lan Xichen held him tighter and dropped a quick kiss on his forehead.

“Wei Wuxian has no right to mock anyone,” he said. “Not with the way he makes Wangji spoil him. I swear, if Wei Wuxian looked at the moon a little too long, Wangji would fly up and bring it down for him as an engagement gift. Compared to that, I’m very reasonable, A-Sang.”

Hearing this, Nie Huaisang couldn’t help laughing weakly in spite of the pain starting to throb against his skull. His friends had come twice to the Unclean Realm in the past few months, mostly to escape the very intense negotiations between Qingheng-Jun and Yu Ziyuan regarding the matter of their engagement. It was true that Wei Wuxian was quite shameless, while Lan Wangji was completely whipped. They were very funny to watch, really. Nie Huaisang had always found their clumsy little romance quite entertaining when neither of them realised what was happening, but now they were even funnier.

“Still, you must be tired,” Nie Huaisang insisted, lazily nuzzling against his husband’s chest and closing his eye in hopes it would help his headache. “Is it really fine for you to be carrying me like this? Poor Xichen-ge, forced to do so much for his husband, how exhausting it must be! And all for a spoiled brat...”

“I really don’t mind,” Lan Xichen happily replied. “I have the best husband in the world, how could I resist spoiling him a little when he makes me so happy?”

Nie Huaisang made an embarrassed noise and hid his face into his hand. He was glad everyone was too busy with the conference to hear this, or he would have been mortified.

At the same time, it certainly was pleasant to hear Lan Xichen still insist that he was happy with him. Those last few months hadn’t been easy after all, not with how slow Nie Huaisang’s recovery had felt sometimes. The physicians who were following his progress were still not sure he would fully recover from some of the damage he had suffered, and his looks weren’t quite as good as they used to be, which was a pity. His pretty face had always been his bed weapon.

Still, Lan Xichen said often he wouldn’t have anyone else, and Nie Huaisang had no reason to think he was lying.

“I’m happy too,” he mumbled. “Xichen, I’m really happy.”

Lan Xichen hummed in answer, and pressed another kiss to his forehead. In spite of his headache, Nie Huaisang sighed contentedly. 

He’d had a hard time with a lot of things since that Night Hunt, but with the way things had turned out, he really couldn’t regret what he’d done. He wouldn’t say so out loud of course. Lan Xichen always looked so sad when reminded he almost lost his husband, and Nie Mingjue still wasn't done scolding him over what had happened. But Nie Huaisang knew that if he were given a second chance, he’d do everything exactly the same.

After all, he’d been rewarded well for his efforts. He’d gotten some glory for himself, while at the same time there was no way he’d ever have to go on a Night Hunt again, which suited him just fine… and of course, he had his husband now.

He didn’t even mind the few drawbacks he had to deal with, because Lan Xichen was there with him, through good days and bad ones alike.

Life really didn’t get much better than that.

[tendoki]

hug prompt 5 with tendouuuu

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angy tendou kinda makes me 😳 ngl. this has a lot of build up? I left the ending VAGUE because it just seemed right yanno? this was fun and cute to write though :)

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Tendou . S - Snapmaps

-> genre: comfort

-> prompt: angry hug (not at eachother)

-> warnings: swearing, reader is lowkey horny for tendou, again I wrote this at 5am and projected my thirst onto y/n so my bad lollll, bad grammar maybe?? dunno

not sponsored by snapchat <3

He was pissed off.

Like, super pissed off. You could see it in the way his shoulders were tensed and how his leg bounced under the desk, the furrow of his brows and dark lines under his eyes screamed 'i am three minutes away from committing a murder'. His breathing seemed to be heavier too; and you guessed you wouldnt get much of a chance to talk to him once class was over if the way his eyes seemed to flicker to the clock every few seconds was any indication.

You werent anyone particularly close to Tendou Satori, though you'd consider the two of you friends if asked. In truth, you never thought you would get this far with him, the guy seemed to disregard anything that his teammates werent already fond of; you were lucky, in a sense, that as Goshiki's tutor you were deemed worthy of his attention.

Of course, occasionally your mind would slip, sliding down a dangerous path of 'what if?'s and 'why not?'s. Tendou was attractive, in that weird way, where your friends sorta make fun of you for liking him, before they turn and take a second look themselves. He intrigued you, the way he was so observant as to even bag a friendship with the ever elusive Ushijima kun.

You supposed that's why you bothered to chase him after class ended.

You had lost him pretty quickly though, thinking about it, you seriously wondered how in the hell you could lose a six foot, two inch, scarlet haired loudmouth like Tendou, as if slipping into a crowd and being invisible was something he was used to (something else to add onto the 'Mysteries of T.S' list you had compiled).

After escaping the crowd and seeing no sign of him outside, you relented, recognising that this was a losing battle. With a huff, you pulled out your phone to check his snap maps; he'd always turn them on once he got into school, claiming that it was to make sure if he skipped practice then Semi could track him down and beat his ass with no hassle.

Ramen shop

For the better, you were starving anyway. immediately picking up the pace, you took the 10 minute walk it would take to get there.

how did he manage to go so fast? damn him and his stupid long legs

You arrived, and the place looked empty, probably because of the sign on the door, stating that it was closed for the day. Looking down at your phone again, you confirmed that this was the right address, seeing your own bitmoji stood near Tendou's.

Then the door opened, Tendou, in all of his sweaty, (guess he mustve ran) brilliance, looked you up and down, an action you're ashamed to admit caused a jolt in your stomach. He looked suprised to see you here, but seeing your phone lit up with the familiar interface of Snapchat maps, he smirked.

"What brings you here?"

He sounded amused, though you could still hear his aggravation in how throaty his voice was, you werent used to hearing him speak so roughly, and part of you wondered what it would take to hear that kind of tone from him more.

"You uh seemed pissed off earlier, in class? and I wanted to check up on you. Why... are you in an empty, closed ramen shop?"

"Family owned joint, 's empty 'cause we're closed, and its closed 'cause it's empty"

"Doesn't closing it because its empty make for bad business practice? you're not even giving people a chance to enter, Tendou"

He jolted at this, you were usually so formal and appropriate with him, that hearing you challenge his logic so openly and speak without honorifics was unexpected; his shoulders sagged a little, tension easing from his body as a bemused smile made it's way across his face.

"Huh, guess you're right. Well, since ya here how 'bout coming in and taste testing some of our food before we open to the public again, for safety", the last line was spoken differently, as if he was daring you to say yes, like agreeing on a totally-not-date with Tendou Satori would be the worst mistake of your life.

So, naturally, you bit right back.

"You askin' me on a date now, Satori?", using him first name was dangerous, but you figured he'd get the message that you were trying to be playful, while giving him the ultimate choice of what would happen next.

Once again he was taken aback, before another sag of his shoulders and spread of a smile took over his body; he wasted no time in gently grabbing you by the elbow and ushering you inside.

The interior was gorgeously decorated, the tables scrubbed clean and the whole place smelt like heaven, Tendou sat you down on the nearest chair and rushed off to the back, promising to make you a ramen anyone would consider to be 'better than sex'

It was an hour later you still sat in the shop, laughing with Tendou about whatever tiktok trend he had roped his team into this week, you had texted your parents to let them know you were with a friend, not keen on making them worry and get the entirety of the Miyagi police force interrupting your totally-is-a-date.

Things were quiet for a moment, as you sat and drank some pop Tendou had offered you. You took the silence as an opportunity to appreciate the view; Tendou Satori, in the golden light of a 6pm sun, with his hair down in sweatpants and a graphic tee designed off of one of his favourite anime. You had been nervous when he excused himself to change and 'let his hair relax', but now thanked every and any god in existence for giving you the chance to see him looking so dearly delectable.

Your thought process was disrupted, however, when your eye candy spoke;

"Thanks. For coming, I mean. I've had a pretty shitty day and it means a lot to be sat here joking around with you"

He smiled at you, an intimate one, not mocking or sardonic in anyway, you, of course, locked this moment into your mind, committing the gentle red of his bitten and chapped lips, sloping so carefully, to memory.

Then you registered his words, your brows pinching together in concern, as you reached across and grabbed his hand.

"You wanna talk about it? I'm here to listen and I dont have anywhere to be for the time being"

He looked shocked for a moment, scanning your face to maybe check if this was some cruel joke, like he was going to start telling you and you'd laugh and walk away. After a few moments had passed of him studying your expression, he turned, heaving a sigh and standing up to go to the back, presumably preparing another two bowls of ramen.

He returned not long after, placing the bowls on your table, he began pacing, annoyance rushing back to him as he recalled what had him wound up so tightly earlier.

"... and now he's back in town! God, whatever, I just hope his stupid ass doesnt end up in the same classes as me, I dont wanna see that prick's face again", he had been bullied as a child it seemed, a detail that explained most of the contents in your list of Tendou mysteries, the bully was back in town, and your companion had ran into him when he had left school grounds for a moment; it seemed the boy's attitude had not changed, he had recognised Tendou and began layering on the taunts once more.

He was mad again, you could see it in how his shoulders tensed and his mouth now curled into an ugly sneer while venting.

You sighed before standing up, he needed some comfort, and the worst that could happen is that he pushes you away. You could always just excuse it by saying you have an affectionate family or friend group, and that it's just nature by now to give someone a hug when they're upset. Though there was every reason to think that he wouldnt fall for that, and you could make him uncomfortable. After such a huge leap in your progress with him, taking such a big risk is hardly smart or sensible-

fuck it.

But before you could move, his arms instead encased you. His body shook with brimming rage as he burrowed his head into the crook of your neck, bending awkwardly to properly reach. Hesitantly, you reached your arms up, one hand going to rub circles across his back and the other pulling and playing with the red locks of hair by the nape of his neck. The two of you stayed like that for a while, you leaning on the table once your legs got too wobbly to be trusted. Every so often you'd press a kiss to his shoulder, letting him know that you were accepting his affection wholeheartedly, not just reciprocating out of pity.

Despite the hug lasting longer than any other hugs you had given to friends and family, it still felt like it was too soon as Tendou began to pull away, standing back to his full height, though, his arms remained around you.

"Thanks, I needed that"

"yeah, uh, no problem, Tendou kun"

[loonyginger]

when everything falls apart. IV.

previous / next

Hey, hey! First of all, thank you guys so much for your feedback. You have no idea how happy it makes me to read all your messages of how much you enjoy this story. :) Also, big shoutout to @iis4d​! She’s an amazing writer and person and I really hope she’s gonna publish a few more scenarios sooner or later.

I hope you’ll like this part even though not much happens but I promise there’ll be more in the following ones! Enjoy! – V.

Genre: perhaps a tiny bit of angst at the end?

Pairing: Wooyoung x reader

Word Count: 1.4k

For your luck, San immediately read the message you sent him and you received one in return which said he'd come over as soon as possible. In the meantime, you waited rather impatiently in front of the KQ Entertainment building for your friend to arrive.

Perhaps, it wasn't the best idea to wait right in front of the building where your boyfriend was practising with someone else. The urge to storm into the building was present as ever, anger uncontrollably taking over your body. However, you remained surprisingly calm as you kept telling yourself that it wasn't worth it. Apparently, Wooyoung wasn't ready to talk to you yet so it was better to gain some distance instead of making a scene in front of a stranger.

As your memories dragged you back to the moment he snapped at you in front of the female, you felt a single tear escaping your eyes, slowly sliding down your cheek only to leave a wet trail behind which caused a shiver running down your spine due to the wind that met your body. No, you told yourself. Y/N, don't cry.

With a quick movement of your palm, you dried your moistened cheek whilst inhaling a deep breath which helped you to calm down for at least a little. Before you could even drown deeper into the memories which kept your head busy, you've heard a familiar voice calling your name from afar. Honestly, you've never been more relieved to hear San's voice.

Turing around on your heels, you approached the taller male with a fake smile though that was something which didn't trick him at all. You've been friends with the boys for over a year now and the amount of time you spent with them despite their busy schedule has helped them to get to know you better than anyone else besides your family does. Not hesitating any longer, the raven-haired opened his arms to pull you into his embrace to keep you close for some seconds longer.

“Hey”, he'd mutter against your temple as he pressed a soft kiss against it – a usual gesture between you and the boys – before he pulled back to reveal his concerned features, glaring at you in slight confusion. He didn't need to ask what was wrong, he knew it immediately by the looks, you gave him after you allowed your facade to break once you recognised you weren't able to fool him.

“What has he done this time?” Was all he asked as he slipped one arm around your frame, pulling you along to the direction of your favourite café without tearing his dark-hued eyes from your devastated expression. And then you began telling him everything … that you've decided to give Wooyoung space the previous night, not contacting at all. That you wanted to surprise him with a small breakfast this morning to talk things out and simply relax after the most promotion was over for now. And that the situation turned out differently than you expected it.

Your talk lasted until you've arrived the small café you loved to spend your time together with your friends and especially Wooyoung. Throughout telling your story, San listened attentively, refraining from interrupting you – which you were thankful for. You noticed how his expression darkened as soon as you mentioned the stranger as if he was aware of something you weren't. But right now, you were far too emotional to recognise that little detail. Hell, you had to pull yourself together not to burst into tears in public for the third time within less than two days. However, San remained quiet about the girl. He didn't want to add salt to the wound since he knew about your insecurities far too well.

A deep grumble came from San's direction which eventually let your chin to raise and stare directly into his eyes, fingers firmly wrapped around the warm porcelain of your cup which offered you some pleasant warmth, making you feel all cosy despite your current condition.

“Who does he think he is, treating you like that?”, he huffed, keeping his voice low due to the other guests' presence though you could clearly hear from his voice how upset his best friend made him with his behaviour. Well, he was not the only one feeling that way. You let your shoulders roll into a short shrug, guiding the cup you've held securely between your palms towards your lips to let the hot liquid flow down your throat, shivering at the sudden warmth spreading through your whole body.

“I honestly don't know what to do, San. Everything seemed perfectly normal two days ago and now he's acting completely different towards me. Is he tired of me? Am I too boring for him? Have I done something to upset him?”, you began babbling, chewing on your lower lip nervously as you searched for a solid reason for your boyfriend's behaviour. Without any success.

You were still curious about who the girl was and why Wooyoung practised with her out of the blue. Usually, he told you about everything that was going on in his life since you were literally part of his life as well. He used to mention every small detail but what made him do not to mention this specific person? Was it because he thought you'd become jealous? Normally, you weren't the jealous type of person. If one of you was easily getting jealous or even little possessive it was Wooyoung. But right now, you couldn't help but feel how jealousy slowly crept upon you, yet you successfully kept it at bay.

San could sense your distress which lead him immediately to move closer to the table in order to reach out for your hand, placing his palm upon yours, giving it a comforting squeeze which got followed by a sympathetic smile which revealed his infamous dimples.

“If someone did something wrong it's clearly him. You know how he can be. But it definitely doesn't give him the right to treat you like that … you deserve better than that.” Upon that comment, you couldn't help but shoot him a saddened smile, squeezing his hand now in return. San had no idea how incredibly thankful you were for him being there for you. No one understood Wooyoung better than San, not even the other members. Their friendship was special and so you thought your relationship was but apparently something has gotten in between the both of you, trying to cut off the bond you shared.

“I might whip his ass if he doesn't apologise to you until tonight”, he eventually stated, his expression proving how serious he was about that. Giggling dryly about this comment, you shook your head in disapproval. “I've got this. If someone's whipping his ass, it's gonna be me. I'll keep your offer in mind, though”, you gave back in response, allowing the corners of your lips to twitch into a short, yet honest simper. Noticing the shift of your mood – even if it was only a little – caused your black-haired friend's dimples to deepen due to his smile which sneaked upon his lips and widened with each second that passed by.

“Thank you, San”, you whispered, intertwining your fingers with his to hold onto him just a little longer. You always knew you could count on him even when it was about his best friend.

What both of you didn't notice was that Wooyoung stood in front of the large glass windows, observing the situation from outside. His facial expression impressively darkened as he witnessed San and you holding hands and being far too close even for his taste.

“Woo, what are you waiting for?” A sudden feminine voice interrupted his observation, his head instantly snapping to the side where the voice was coming from. It was the same person with who he had practised earlier. A small female with dark hair and big, sparkling eyes. Impatiently, the smaller one waved in front of his face as he didn't respond to her.

“Let's go somewhere eating somewhere else, Chon-Hee”, he simply stated with no emotion as he sauntered off, being followed by a perplexed female seconds later. “Wha– why?” She urged to know, quickly picking up the pace with him, still being all puzzled about the sudden change of plans.

“She's there.”

[buckybabybaby]

Mr Hollywood (Epilogue Part IV)

Final Part!

Summary: Bucky Barnes, an underpaid teaching assistant in a small English village, dreams of a movie career back in his home country of America. He finally gets the break he's always wanted, and if it wasn't for you, his best friend, he wouldn't have been able to take it.

But is that fact enough to save your friendship when it's tested by the pressures of Hollywood?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader (Gender Neutral)

Word count: 2085

Chapter summary: Do you hear wedding bells?

A/n: The final, final, part, I promise!

(If the picture is all blurry, opening it in a new tab in browser helps!)

Warnings: Just fluff. But if you really don't like the idea of getting married, this is not for you.

Previous: Epilogue Part III

Mr Hollywood Masterlist | Main Masterlist

*****

“Bucky? What is up with you tonight?”

“What d'ya mean?”

“You keep fidgeting.”

“Sorry.”

He shifts beside you again before stilling, and you settle back against him to continue watching the movie, cuddling into his warmth, a small smile on your face as he pulls you closer.

It's been so nice having him home for the past few months.

After filming on his début show wrapped following it's forth season, he was inundated with offers of work, and he'd flown back especially to announce his new role was in a British series, filmed mostly on location only a few miles down the road. You had tried to protest, not wanting him to sacrifice his career for you, but when he'd explained it really was the best move, in every sense, you'd been thrilled.

Now, you can't imagine not spending your free time with him.

The weekends are just like they used to be, at the diner, or picnics by the river, sometimes lunch at the local garden centre as you buy yet another packet of seeds, what is different however are the crowds Bucky draws. The public are now aware of the nature of your relationship with him, and whilst he tries to be inconspicuous the two of you together are far too recognisable.

At first he hadn't been keen to subject you to the attention, and the potential backlash, but the number of times he had been wrongly linked to yet another actor was growing out of control, and he felt he had to do something to quash all the rumours.

“I never want you to doubt what we have,” Bucky had said when he told you his plan.

In order to cause as little fuss as possible, one afternoon in the winter just after you got together, he'd posted a picture of you and him at the Hollywood sign, with a simple caption, 'my world'. He had warned you beforehand that not everyone on the internet would be positive, especially when they learnt he's not 'available', but you knew it was for the best.

The general reaction wasn't nearly as bad as you feared. Isabella and her little friends belief that you and Bucky would one day be married appears to have been commonly held within the school, as when you went in on the Monday after his big declaration no one batted an eye. They clearly either thought you two were already together, or were not in the least surprised that it had finally happened, and aside from Edwin's spontaneous hug in congratulations, which caught you off guard in the nicest way, the day passed as any other would.

Even when the press turned up at the front gate, desperate to get a picture of the one who'd stolen the heart of Hollywood's favourite darling. Peggy 'no nonsense' Carter saw to them, and armed with laws and regulations around the sharing of photographs of children, before the morning break they'd been scared away. She also accompanied you home that evening to ensure there weren't any lingering around, wanting to make sure your home was still a safe space, somewhere to escape back to when everything became too much.

Eventually it all died down, and Bucky looks so much happier now he can talk openly about you in interviews, not having to dodge around the subject. Will you ever get used to seeing your name on celebrity gossip sites? Probably not, but it's just part of the crazy roller-coaster that is life with Bucky, and no matter how nasty the journalists can get you know it's all worth it.

By his side you can get through anything.

Back in the present he squirms next to you again, knocking into you as he adjusts his position.

“Bucky?”

“Hmm?”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes.” Looking over at you, he smiles tightly. “Well, maybe. I'm not sure yet.”

Frowning, you pause the movie to give him your full attention. “Anything I can do?”

“Whether everything is okay kinda depends on you,” He says quietly.

Tilting your head as you watch the way he wipes his palms down his thighs, you wonder what's got him so worked up. Now you're thinking about it, you realise he hasn't relaxed properly all evening, despite showering and changing into his pyjamas, he's been paying more attention to tending the fire than enjoying the film. Sitting up, you gently remove his arm from around you so you can rise from your slouched position and get a proper look at his face. It's almost the same look of mild terror he wore four years ago in New York's Central Park, when you had both tripped your way through declarations of love, just before your very first kiss.

It clicks. There's only one reason he'd look like that now.

“Bucky, I know what this is.”

He blinks up at you. “Oh yeah?” He asks, voice high.

“Yes, and you don't need to be so nervous. We've talked about this.”

“I still want...” He trails off, his gaze slipping to the dying embers in the fireplace.

“Bucky?”

“Hmm.”

“I love you, you know?”

His face softens at your declaration. “Yeah. I do.”

“And you know there's no proper way to do this, no perfect way, and no way to mess it up either.

“I know. I just want it to be special for you. Please let me try at least.”

“All right.” You sit back in your seat, buzzing with anticipation as he collect his thoughts. Licking his lips, he takes a shaky breath, looking back across at you as he begins to speak.

“Y/N. My love. My best friend. These four years have been everything I've ever wanted, and even before then, your friendship completely changed me, for the better I hope. Thank you for always keeping my feet on the ground.”

“You're the sole reason I'm where I am today, and without you I'd be lost. I knew you were someone special from the moment we first met, outside the school gates. Do you remember?

“'Course. Mrs Jenkins hasn't been able to look me in the eye since.”

He laughs brightly. “Well, you were very quick to shut her down when she asked if I even had the right qualifications to teach.”

“I wasn't too snappy, was I?”

“Nah. My Y/N? Never.” His manner turns serious again, sitting up straight and maintaining eye contact. “I want to thank you Y/N. Thank you believing in me when I didn't. Thank you for giving me the confidence to keep going. And thank you for always being there, for forgiving me despite giving you every reason not to. I couldn't live in this world without you.”

“I couldn't live without you either Bucky,” You croak, your emotions getting the better of you. Reaching across to squeeze your thigh, he waits for your gazes to meet again before continuing. “Which brings me to a very important question.”

You nod encouragingly, grinning through the gathering tears.

“I'm gonna do this bit properly, so,” He slides off the sofa, kneeling before you and taking hold of your left hand, his own eyes watering as he peers up at you. “Y/N Y/L/N, light of my life, most beautiful person I've ever met, will you do me the honour of marry-”

“Yes!”

“-ing me?” He finishes, even as you're pulling him up to kiss clumsily. Knocked off balance by your enthusiasm, he ends up crushing you into the cushions, his body relaxing against yours when you refuse to let go.

Bucky always kisses you like he doesn't know when he'll next get a chance, and this time is no different. Tongues find each other as you hook one of your legs over his hips, the taste of salt from both of your tears only making the moment sweeter as you gasp into each others mouths, fingers lacing above your head as you try to get as close as possible.

Breaking away at length to breathe, you sigh contentedly, running your fingers through Bucky's hair as he traces his own along your sides.

“Didn't ever imagine you'd propose to me in your pyjamas,” You murmur after a minute or two.

“Sorry! If you want-”

“Bucky, shush. I'm teasing. This is perfect.”

He presses a kiss to your knuckles. “I'm sorry I haven't got a ring either.”

“That's all right too. With my job I wouldn't wear it often anyway.”

“But I will get you one. Gotta do it properly, every little detail.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

To prevent him from promising anything more extravagant, you lean up to touch your lips to his, softer now the initial elation has dimmed slightly into comfortable bliss. His body is still trembling with the pent up nerves, making your heart skip, so in love with this man you could explode.

“Was it really that scary for you to ask me to marry you?”

“Yes,” He laughs, resting his head against your neck.

“Golden Globe winning Bucky Barnes was scared to ask little ol' primary school teacher Y/N to marry him?”

“Technically, it was James Barnes who won the Golden Globe. Bucky is just your boyfriend-”

“Fiancé.”

“-Fiancé, who still can't believe he's got this lucky, so yes, I was scared.”

“You knew what I was going to say, though?”

“It wasn't so much your answer I was scared of, just making sure I got it right for you.”

Melting under him at his words, you let him trail his lips down your throat as your mind wanders to the big day.

“Oh!”

“What?” Bucky asks, not lifting his head off your shoulder.

“I was just thinking about how many flower girls and boys we're going to have to have. Amelia and Benjamin, obviously. Edwin and Ana's children, even Spencer, he's old enough isn't he? Or he will be by the time it happens. Isabella is almost too old now she's twelve, nearly a teenager.”

He chuckles at your rambling. “You know she'll still want to be one. It's all she ever asks me about when you're not in the room.”

“Really?”

“All the time.”

“Can't let her down then. And what about your best man? Dayton or Sam?”

“Err.” Bucky pauses his kisses to contemplate his answer. “Now you're asking.”

“Which one will have the most embarrassing stories? Pick them.”

“In that case then, neither.”

“Would it really be that bad?” You giggle, squishing his cheeks between your hands. “I know everything already.”

“True. But does your mum need to? Or mine for that matter? I wasn't exactly an angel during college. Or at any wrap party, ever.” He winks at you when you stick your tongue out in mock disgust. “Don't act so innocent Y/N. We both know what happened in that bathroom at the NTA's.” 

Releasing his face, you look away as your own heats up. “Dunno what you're talking about.”

Bucky hums, grinning cheekily. “No? I'm sure Sam remembers what he walked in on.”

You slap his chest lightly. “Don't make it sound so filthy! Nobody was naked, nothing explicit was going to happen. I was just happy for you.”

“Very happy, I'd say.”

Rolling your eyes as he snickers into your hair, you shuffle into the corner of the sofa to allow him to lay beside you, foreheads touching as you breathe each other in.

“We're engaged Bucky,” You whisper gleefully, linking your hands together and pulling them to rest over your heart. “Lucky you. Must feel like winning an Oscar, getting to marry me,” You joke, smiling so wide it hurts.

“Better.” Bucky says it so matter of factly, with such a straight face, that your breath catches.

“Remember to talk about me in your acceptance speech when you do win one, then.”

“If I win one.”

“When, Bucky. When you win. And I'll be right there by your side so you won't forget who to thank first.”

“Okay, if you say so. When I win I promise to mention how being your husband is better than any academy award, in front of millions of viewers and a roomful of fellow professionals. Should pick up a few 'ideal partner' points if nothing else.”

He beams at you as your body shakes with laughter, knowing that he is ridiculous enough to keep that promise.

“Seriously though Y/N.” His lips brush yours once, twice, three more times before he pulls back enough so you can see just how much he means it. “Being with you is like winning an Oscar every day.”

*****

A/n 2: This really is the end now, however much I'll miss them. But I can't just keep dragging it on, mainly because I've run out of ideas! I couldn't write their wedding for so many reasons, one, I couldn't keep it gender neutral as easily, and two, I just wouldn't know where to start! So just imagine it yourself. Sam is definitely gonna be there, along with Bucky and Y/N's entire families, Peggy of course, Edwin, Ana and their children, a guest list and a half, definitely a day to remember! But not something I could write, so this is the natural end of their tale... :(  

So here is my 3rd (probably?) thank you note! It's the middle of February now and I posted the first chapter of this fic in the middle of June last year, a whole eight months ago, so if you've been here from the beginning just know I love you and thank you so much for sticking with me. This hasn't been the most consistently updated story but we've got there in the end! And it you've commented at any point, please know I treasure every single word. I write for myself, the story I want to read, with the sort of characters I would like to have in my life, so if anyone else enjoys it too then that it just a bonus!

I have another idea for a slow burn series, and hopefully it won't be too long until I post that. More Bucky x reader, of course ;) so if you've liked this, maybe you'll like that too! Stick around, basically!

Once again, thank you so much for reading! xoxo

Main Masterlist

[elfrootaddict]

HERALD OF ANDRASTE - Chapter 2/4

DESCRIPTION: El'lana’s entire world is turned upside down when she, a proud Dalish elf, is bestowed the title “Herald of Andraste”.

SERIES: Halla & Wolf

VOLUME: 3

It’s been just over four days since the prisoner’s attempt of closing the Breach, and Solas did not expect her to survive. As she lay unconscious for hours, then a day, and then into several nights, it was only a matter of time before she would be declared dead. 

She may have survived the Conclave by accidentally entering the Fade, Solas thought to himself, but to survive closing the Breach with her magical limitations? Impossible. 

Just as Solas had theorised, the mark had stopped spreading like the Breach, which helped solidify his value to Cassandra. Seems her desire to see him executed will have to wait. 

When nearing the end of the third day, Solas was preparing the little belongings he had in anticipation of the prisoner’s demise, so that he could reconnect with his agents as soon as possible.

However, not too long after making the decision to leave did he notice a lot of stirring and commotion amongst the people of Haven. Suddenly everyone started rushing to witness something. Or someone. 

While keeping his distance, Solas witnessed Lana awkwardly shuffle through the gawking crowd of people. 

This prisoner somehow managed to defy all reasonable odds. Again?

Only when Lana disappeared into the Chantry, did Solas retreat back to his cabin to reconsider his strategy. A few thoughts had come to mind but he quickly settled on one; he was going to leave regardless, and have one of his agents spy on the prisoner for him. His time is too valuable, and he was not going to waste it here, especially when his spies could do the work for him just fine. 

Also, he was not comfortable being the only apostate amongst so many unrestrained Chantry forces. Rumours of the rebel mages causing the Breach was growing, and he wanted no part in it.

Once Solas was packed and ready to leave, he opened his cabin to once again find the people of Haven gathering to witness something else. This time, it was in front of the Chantry. 

With his curiosity peaked, Solas decided to quickly see what the commotion was all about before he left. 

As Solas reached a perfectly concealed spot, he patiently watched and waited as Cassandra, Liliana, Josephine Montyliet and Commander Cullan stood ideally by in a huddle in front of the slowly growing crowd. After a few moments of nothing, Solas decided it was probably no more than a public service announcement of sorts for the people of Haven.

As Solas was about to turn to leave, he suddenly saw the prisoner step out of the Chantry. With genuine shock slapped across his face, Solas witnessed Cassandra gesture for the prisoner to stand with them in formation, as an equal, and announce the rebirth of the Inquisition. 

As momentous as the occasion was to witness, especially considering it was current and not a memory in the Fade, Solas could not help but bewilderedly stare at the prisoner as she stood front-in-center of the ceremony.

She is clearly no longer their prisoner. No, she has become someone important. Someone, I need to keep an eye on myself.  

***

It is now the fourth day, in the late afternoon, and the people of Haven are starting to prepare for the evening meals. Solas is making his way back to his cabin when he passes Varric, who is warming himself by a large fire, and regards him with a friendly nod.

“Hey, Chuckles! Hold on a moment.”

Solas stops to turn around, “Yes, Master Tethras?”

“Please, Varric is fine. I’m not one for fancy titles.”

“My apologies, Varric. What can I do for you?” and with a subtle, polite gesture from Solas, the two men continue walking together. 

“Look, I don’t like telling people what to do just as much as the next guy, but I can tell when someone needs company.”

Solas looks down at the dwarf slightly puzzled, “I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I am in no need of any company?”

“I wasn’t talking about you.”

The two men walk up a small flight of steps which leads to a large, open space with cabins situated on either side, and another directly in front. 

“Who, then?”

Varric folds his arms across his chest, and cocks his head over his left shoulder and whispers, “Lana.”

Solas leans to the side and notices a pair of two bare feet, wrapped in thin, makeshift leather strips, hiding behind the cabin opposite to his.

“What does that have to do with me?”

Varric sighs loudly, “I understand you like being alone, but our little Dalish there? From what I could gather, this is probably the first time in her life that she’s been away from her clan.”

Solas becomes visibly uncomfortable at Varric’s insinuation, “And you think because I’m an elf, that I would be able to console her?”

Throwing his hands up and shaking his head, “Is that so hard to understand? Sure, there is Minaeve but she’s too, you know, Andrastian. Lana would perhaps enjoy talking to someone less, Chantry?” Varric sighs and crosses his arms. “Look, just go talk to her will you? Maker’s breath, she won’t bite!” and walks away, leaving Solas with a decision. 

All Solas wanted to do was to get out of the blasted Fereldan cold. He looks down at his toes, sighs, and realises they are going to have to stay frozen a little while longer. 

As Solas begins his quiet approach, he notice’s Lana sitting on a loose fur rug, knees close to her chest, and with her back against the cabin as she softly hums a melody to herself. Solas also notices an ink pot beside her, and then sees her slowly guiding the quill on some parchment as she draws a pair of eyes.

As Solas’s shadow casts down on Lana, she looks up from her sketch and immediately squeals from fright, causing Solas’s entire body to subtly jolt as he tries not to squeal in return. 

That would be entirely unbecoming. 

Lana brings her hand up to block the sun’s rays, her eyes trying to adjust to the silhouette towering above her. Soon small details begin to reveal themselves, and Lana eventually recognises that it’s Solas. 

Taking in a deep breath of relief, Lana chuckles loudly, “Ir abelas, lethallin! I wasn’t expecting anybody to find me here.”

After quietly composing himself, Solas calmly responds, “Apologies. It seems I have frightened you. I should have announced my presence sooner.” 

Lana removes her gaze and looks back at her sketch, “Oh no, don’t worry. I just startle easily. Not a very good trait for someone to have in my position, I suppose.” and turns to look back up at Solas with a gentle, innocent smile.

“Do not bother yourself with their perceptions of you. For it is your mark they are primarily concerned about, after all.”

Lana sighs, “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Is there something you needed, Solas? Is Cassandra looking for me?”

“No, Cassandra does not need you. If it’s no trouble, would you mind if I joined you?”

Lana’s smile widens, and she happily moves her ink pot out the way as she shuffles herself over to make more room on the rug, “No of course not, you can sit here.” and taps her hand on the empty space. 

Solas places his staff against the cabin and sits down next to her. With his legs crossed, Solas turns to regard Lana, “So, the Chosen of Andraste, a blessed hero sent to save us all.”

Lana’s shoulder length, silver hair swoops in a flick as she looks around to ensure nobody but Solas can hear her, “Banal! These shems are crazy. I’m not,” forming air quotations. “The ‘Herald of Andraste’ and I have no interest in being anyone’s hero,” and she leans back against the cabin to continue drawing. “All I want is to find a way to seal this Breach. Ghilas ma vhenas.”

Solas releases a quiet sigh under his breath, “Pragmatic, but ultimately irrelevant,” and he too, looks down at Lana’s sketch. “Who is that?”

“Keeper Deshanna,” answers Lana proudly and turns to look up at Solas. Based on his subtly confused expression, she realises she needs to explain. “She’s the Keeper of my clan.”

Solas offers a subtle nod in response and quietly critiques her skills, and determines she is quite talented, “Why are you drawing your Keeper?”

Lana rests her quill on the parchment and sighs, “I… well... you might think it strange. But I wanted to draw the faces of my family back home. I don’t-” 

Lana turns away from Solas and clears her throat. “I don’t know when I’ll see them again, and I want something to look back on while I’m here,” and turns back at the parchment. “Something to help me remember their faces,”

Lana quickly wipes away at an escaped tear and releases a soft, embarrassed laugh, “Ir abelas. You don’t have to sit with me. I actually don’t mind my own company.”

“Neither, do I,” murmurs Solas. “The company of others can be quite trying.”

Except for some Spirits.

Lana’s face immediately bursts into a happier demeanour, “Me, too! Ugh, especially with shems! I don’t know how to act around them. I don’t have a lot of experience, obviously.”

Solas is surprised to find Lana using the word ‘shem’ without a hint of disgust as one would expect from a Dalish elf. The only thing Solas finds the Dalish and city elves have in common, are their constant derogatory tones whenever they say “shem”. However, Lana appears to be saying it without contempt and Solas finds himself curious over why that is.

Offering only another subtle nod as a response, Solas decides to keep their conversation going a little while longer, "If you don’t mind me asking, I heard you humming before, and I’ve never heard such a beautiful melody in any of my travels before. Is it of your own making?”

“Oh, you heard that? No, I didn’t create it. It's actually a very old Dalish song parents sing to their little ones before bed. It’s called Mir Da’len Somniar,” and turns warmly to admire her sketch. “The Keeper always sang it to me.”

“Why not your own parents?”

Lana’s face suddenly stiffens as she falls quiet, and Solas immediately regrets having asked the question, “I’m sorry. I seemed to have upset you. Forget I asked.”

Lana continues sketching and eventually answers, “For a time they did, but they died. A long time ago. The Keeper raised me as her own.” and with that, Lana continues shaping the eyes of the Keeper.

With a gentle voice, Solas murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, you didn’t know.” and Lana finalises the details on the eyes and then begins with the eyebrows. 

With their conversation having suddenly reached an immediate halt, with neither one knowing what to say next, Solas decides to talk about the one thing he feels the most comfortable with. The Fade.

While focusing his gaze on the Breach in the sky, Solas unpromptly shares one of his many veracious stories with Lana, “I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade to ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations,” Lana stops to regard him and Solas, still focused on the Breach, doesn’t take notice. “I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten,” he turns to face Lana and is startled to find her gaze already upon him. “You say you don’t want to be a hero but every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be?”

Lana ignores the question and instead asks one of her own, “Ruins and battlefields? What do you mean?”

Solas is pleasantly surprised at Lana actually having paid attention, as he expected her to answer his question boldly and ignorantly. Instead, he has unintentionally piqued her curiosity, and suddenly feels a rush of excitement over the fact. 

Solas turns his body slightly towards Lana as he gladly educates, “Any building strong enough to withstand the riggers of time has a history. Every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds,” Solas turns away, losing himself in his mind's eye. “When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen.”

Lana places a light hand on Solas’s shoulder as she cries out in horror, “You fall asleep in the middle of ancient ruins? Isn’t that dangerous?”

Solas takes a quick glance at her hand on his shoulder, and releases a cheeky smile, “I do set wards. And if you leave food out for the giant spiders, they are usually content to live and let live.”

Lana drops her hand and looks away as she contemplates on what Solas has shared with her. Her eyes appear wider than usual as they dart from side-to-side. Then, as she looks back up, Solas holds his breath as he braces himself for her to either disregard or openly mock him for his choice of study.

They always do.

“I’ve never heard of anyone going so far into the Fade before, Solas,” her smile widens with pure, innocent excitement. “That’s extraordinary!”

This has yet to be the most positive response he has ever received. The moment Solas would mention his studies and observations of the Fade, people either politely excuse themselves or openly mock him. They would never ask questions and then openly praise him for his accomplishments.

Solas’s emotions begin to turn as he starts to feel guilty for having such animosity towards Lana before. At a minimum, he expected her to be crude and hostile, just like all the other Dalish people he’s come across. The last thing he thought she would be... is agreeable. If it wasn’t for her vallaslin, he would not associate her as Dalish at all. 

Humbled by Lana’s excitement, Solas smiles, “Thank you. It’s not a common field of study, for obvious reasons. Not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning. The thrill of finding remnants of a thousand-year-old dream? I would not trade it for anything,” Solas pauses, losing himself in his thoughts yet again. Unsure of what to say in light of his sudden silence, Lana awkwardly looks away to observe her sketch. 

“I will stay then,” announces Solas as he breaks the silence between them, causing Lana to face him once again. “At least until the Breach has been closed.”

“You weren’t going to stay?”

“I am an apostate mage surrounded by Chantry forces and unlike you, I do not have a divine mark protecting me,” Solas lowers his voice as he murmurs. “Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution.”

Lana averts her gaze and thinks about her next few words very carefully, “You came here to help, Solas,” and turns back to look deep into his eyes. “For as long as they care for my opinion, I won’t let them use that against you.”

“And how would you stop them?” he asks smugly.

“However I had to. As a Dalish and First, I will not sit by and let any elf be subjected to shemlen arrogance.”

This time, Solas noticed she said ‘shemlen’ with disgust.

Despite Lana meaning what she said, he still admires her courage, however misguided it may be. Solas knows she holds no real power over the humans should they wish to harm him. Nevertheless, Solas doesn’t want to appear ungrateful towards her display of bravery on his behalf, and answers with a simple polite bow. 

Content with their conversation and his toes practically turned to frostbite, he decides this would be a good time as any to head back to his cabin. 

However, just as he is about to stand up, Lana unexpectedly puts her quill and papers down on the ground, perks herself up as her, and with her overall mood clearly improved she looks at him with her wide, lavender eyes.

More questions?

Elvish to English Translation:

“Ir abelas, lethallin” = I’m sorry, lethallin

“Banal” = Never

“Ghilas ma vhenas” = I want to go home

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

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Halla & Wolf Series

[remoonusarchive]

a thing called love;

Most men are like me, they struggle and doubt They trouble their minds day in and day out Too busy with living to worry about A little word like love But when I see a mother's tenderness As she holds her young close to her breast Then I thank God that the world's been blessed With a thing called love

Summary: Snippets from each summer between Hogwarts years, exploring Remus’ muggle education and relationship with his parents. Self-para; closed

1972

Only his dad was there to meet him off the Hogwarts Express. Remus wasn’t surprised but it meant he didn’t want to take too much time saying goodbye to his friends because Lyall had always been more wary than Hope over Remus having close friends. He settled for a smile and wave to each James, Sirius and Pete before he took Lyall’s proffered arm and was take side-along apparition with a crack. He hadn’t made an effort to befriend anybody else that first year.

They apparated straight into their back garden where Hope was lounging in a garden chair, a cigarette between her fingers. Music Remus didn’t recognise drifted out through the open kitchen window. It must be a new album.

“Remus bach, cariad! How was it? Tell me all.”

And he did. As he talked, the Welsh accent that had mostly faded over the course of the year came back in strength and his eyes lit up as he described each of his classes. Lyall went inside with a mutter about it being cold, but Remus barely noticed. It was his mam he wanted to tell about Hogwarts.

“And you have friends?” Hope asked, taking out another cigarette.

“I do,” Remus said his eyes distractedly fixed on the spent cigarette butts in the ash tray. “Mam, can I try one now?”

“Remus, we’ve talked about this before. When you’re older.”

“I’m fourteen, I am. I’ve seen pictures of you smoking at fourteen.”

“Oh, that’s true, like.”

“Hope!” Lyall’s sharp reproach came from the kitchen.

“I mean, what the fuck, Remus, you’re fourteen, of course you can’t have a cigarette,” Hope said.

“Hope.”

This time, Hope frowned and lowered her voice so her husband wouldn’t hear from in the house. “What did I do?”

“You said fuck,” Remus told her, “but it’s okay, that just made me look cooler at school.”

“You’re cool anyway, fy machgen i. So your friends?”

“Yeah! James and Sirius and Peter. I share a dorm with them. We share with another boy, Gideon, but I didn’t talk to him as much, I guess. I just tagged on with the other three, really.” Or maybe ‘was dragged along with’ would be a more representative phrasing.

“And… do they know…?”

“No.” Remus shook his head vehemently and didn’t offer up the fact that sometimes he worried that they were suspicious of where he went each month.

Hope sat back in clear relief. “Well how about you take that trunk of yours upstairs and unpack. You can relax the rest of this week and we’ll start lessons on Monday.”

“Lessons?”

“Just because you’ve gone to Hogwarts, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t study for O Levels. I want you to have all the chances you can when you leave school and that might be easier in the Muggle world.”

Remus nodded. It made sense, and he supposed that it wasn’t like they were going on holiday like so many of his classmates. At least school would pass the time.

1973

She had caved this year. They were in the garden, smoking and studying an Atlas. It was all official, now: Remus was registered as a home-schooled student who would take his O Levels in the summer of ‘74, as soon as he returned from Hogwarts. He would be taking English, Welsh, Maths, Science, Latin and Geography and a CSE in Art. Not History, as he sometimes confused what the muggles knew about and what they didn’t and not any other subjects as they didn’t have the time to go in enough depth.

“Was it really okay?” Hope asked.

Remus looked up from his work. He had thought they weren’t going to talk about it but perhaps Hope had just been waiting until Lyall was at work. He took a drag before he replied, “It really was. They were great. I told you they worked it out, but they didn’t go and tell anybody else. Well, except talking to each other about it, I guess, but nobody else. They promised they wouldn’t tell anyone else. And then when they told me they just said I was still their friend and it was fine. Nothing really changed. Except that they were coming and visiting me in the Hospital Wing more the morning after and taking notes for me in classes I missed. They were really great.”

“I’m so happy you’ve got good friends, fy machgen i.”

Remus beamed. His dad hadn’t seemed so happy that James, Sirius and Pete had found out about his lycanthropy. Lyall worried so much. “Me too.”

1974

“Who are you?”

Remus blinked at the student in his impeccable muggle uniform. He tugged on his second-hand jumper self-consciously. “I’m home-schooled, I am. I’m just here to sit my exams.”

“Was that your mam?” The boy craned his head to look at Hope’s retreating figure. Remus nodded, feeling a little uncomfortable. He didn’t often go out in public with her. Lyall always took him to and from Kings Cross and otherwise he didn’t really ever leave home during the summer. He knew she turned heads, with her long wavy hair and her thin frame, that constant cigarette between her fingers and dark red lips. Remus loved his mam. He loved how she laughed herself into a coughing fit whenever he told her what he and his friends got up to at school. He loved how she had bought him his own lighter, in Gryffindor colours. He loved that she couldn’t bear to be in a room with a record player that wasn’t playing. She was the embodiment of a cool parent, but he had been used to not having to share her with anybody except his dad and he didn’t like the look in the boy’s eyes. “I’m Remus,” he said, holding out a hand.

“Weird name,” the boy said. “David.”

“How Welsh,” Remus replied as David shook his hand. “Are you taking O Level Maths today, too?”

*

He finished the exam early. It was pretty easy compared to the year of Arithmancy he had done and he was even allowed a calculator. In the time while he waited for everybody else to finish, he started writing some letters.

James,

Muggle exams are so boring. There’s so much writing and all the desks are creaky and this bloke keeps walking past me with squeaky shoes. I prefer the practical exams we get in some of our subjects at Hogwarts. Wouldn’t it have been cool this year if our DADA exam had been more of an obstacle course of all the dark creatures we studied (except for werewolves and vampires of course) instead of just demonstrating the spells without the actual creature there. Prof really missed a trick there. I’m glad it won’t be him next year. Summer’s boring already and it’s only been a week. Can’t wait until September. Have a great holiday.

Remus

P.S. When would be a good time to go to Diagon Alley?

Sirius,

We’ve come to this school in Swansea today so I can do my muggle exams (I know, I know, school during the summer, but it wasn’t my choice, I solemnly swear!) and there was someone on a motorcycle who looked just like you. You’re definitely still in London, right? I’d be surprised if you’d managed to learn how to ride a motorcycle and get to Swansea but seriously I’m still half-convinced it was you. Hope your parents aren’t being too shite this summer. I’d say you can escape to mine if you want, but my dad’s still being weird about the fact that you know about my furry little problem as if it hasn’t been NEARLY TWO YEARS now. I swear he doesn’t care this much about Pete knowing; it’s ridiculous. Anyway, we’ll have to try and coordinate Diagon Alley this year and sneak you away from your family for a bit.

Remus

Pete,

I need all the details of your holiday so I can live vicariously through you. I’ll repay you in chocolate. When do you get back? I know not for ages and we won’t get our letters for even longer but I want to try and coordinate a Diagon Alley trip with the others and I have nothing else to look forward to before September.

Remus

1975

If Remus had been born ten years earlier, he would be a legal adult now. Instead, he was still stuck at home, unable to apparate, unable to do any magic outside of school, and studying A Level material for English, Geography and Maths. Hope’s cough had become as constant as Lou Reed’s new album in the background and Remus had noticed that sometimes she pressed her hand to her chest as if it hurt but they still smoked together and she didn’t blink when he admitted to using weed before a full moon to help with the pain. She went out, supposedly to buy teabags, and came back with cannabis. Remus never asked where she got it. Neither of them told Lyall.

When he was alone, Remus buried himself in research about Animagi. Not the technicalities of how to become one — they were fairly confident on that by now even if it was going to be a long and difficult process — but attempting to work out if their assumptions were correct and that his friends would be safe around the wolf if they were successful.

He hoped the animals they turned into would be useful.

A part of him was jealous that he would never be able to join them in that particular quest but the idea of getting the wolf to put a mandrake leaf in its mouth and not swallow it was ludicrous.

1976

The July full moon was almost immediate after the end of fifth year so Remus had returned home and instantly gone to bed. He had spent the moon in the usual way in the basement but it felt so restrictive and more painful than before, perhaps because he could now compare it to the freedom and ease of transforming with his friends. With Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, Moony was able to run free in the forest and no longer took out his anger on himself. He was less angry, because he wasn’t contained.

He curled up on the sofa the next day, sipping on tea and watching Lyall read the Sunday Prophet.

“Werewolf attack at Cwm Rheidol,” Lyall said to Hope. Remus frowned and picked up an A Level Maths textbook that he knew he wouldn’t actually read. He couldn’t concentrate on the law of sines when his body ached from last night’s transformation and his parents were casually discussing werewolves in Wales and when his brain was still fried from OWLs and when the terror over what could have happened because of Sirius’ prank on Snape earlier in the year was still fresh in his mind.

“Was it him?” Hope asked.

Remus’s frown deepened.

“Doesn’t say, but probably. Child was seven. Parents are blood traitors.”

“Probably who?” Remus blurted. Both his parents turned to him, looking surprised that he was following their conversation. Even without his friends, recovery was quicker this summer. He could tell they didn’t want to answer him and he could only think of one reason why they wouldn’t, even though it didn’t line up with what they had led him to believe in the past.

Another young victim.

A reason for the attack.

“I thought it was just a random attack where I was bitten. It wasn’t, was it?”

“Remus, don’t be—” Lyall started in a tone of impatience.

“No, fy machgen,” Hope cut in. She looked so tired. “It wasn’t random.”

“Why me?”

Hope gave Lyall a significant look. Lyall sighed and set the newspaper to the side. “You were attacked by a werewolf named Fenrir Greyback…”

The story was hard to swallow. Remus listened as his father explained how he had come to his job in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Remus already knew Lyall had attempted to tighten protocol surrounding the Werewolf Registry in the past but he had not realised that his father had also overseen to trials of those suspected to be involved in werewolf attacks. His stomach turned when Lyall repeated the words that had angered Greyback.

“Not that I still think that, of course,” Lyall said, seeing the distress on Remus’s face, “but that was why he plotted to hurt you.”

Remus didn’t respond. His mind was whirring at ninety miles an hour. He thought of Lyall’s constant fear that Remus’s lycanthropy would be discovered. He thought of Hope’s secrecy when it came to asking about full moons at Hogwarts — she always waited until Lyall was at work and even the letters she sent during the year, she wrote in Welsh. He thought of how many times they had moved house in the past and how he was never allowed to stray too far from home, except for school. He even got the impression that Lyall didn’t think he should be taking muggle exams. Where Hope thought he might have a better chance of holding down a job in the muggle world, where nobody would ever suspect what he truly was, Lyall thought it was reckless and that Remus would be better to be hired by somebody who knew the whole story and could make accommodations. As if anybody would hire him.

Part of Remus wondered if his father really thought he would be better off without a job at all, and had simply said that so that Remus wouldn’t give up on school altogether.

He thought of his parents, obsessed for so long with finding a cure and keeping others safe from him. Maybe if Hope had known more of what she could have done to help him, she would have, just as she got him the weed and slipped cigarette boxes into the care packages she sent to Hogwarts. Lyall, though… Remus could only imagine how horrified his father would be if he knew that Remus’s best friends were illegal Animagi and that they actually helped. Lyall still looked scared and a little queasy whenever it came up that James, Sirius and Pete knew at all, however much Remus insisted that they accepted him regardless.

Sometimes, Remus wondered where he would be if Dumbledore had never turned up and offered him a place at Hogwarts. His childhood had been lonely and friendless and there had been no signs of change until that fateful day. Probably, his father had intended to keep him isolated and why should it matter if he was, in fact, dangerous and soulless.

“It’s to keep everyone safe,” Lyall had always told him when he was little and wanted to go and play with the children riding their bikes down the road. But there was no danger if it wasn’t a full moon and Remus was only just, at eighteen, realising how brainwashed he had been to have accepted the explanation without question.

“Remus?” Hope’s raspy voice brought him out of his reverie.

“A childhood like that really messes a person up, you know,” Remus told them. His eyes were wet, he noticed.

“I know,” Hope said. “It worries me that he’s back in Wales. Maybe we should think about moving again. Perhaps somewhere on the East coast.”

“Why does it matter? He can hardly do anything else to me.”

“He might try to recruit you to his pack. A lot of the werewolves are working for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, now.”

Remus automatically looked at his mam in time to see her stubbornly mouth ‘Voldemort’. She thought wizards were ridiculous for avoiding his name. “And you didn’t think I needed to know sooner? He could have tried to recruit me at any time, if he prefers to raise his pack himself. He’s not going to sit around and wait for me to turn nineteen.”

“It was because we love you. We were trying—”

Remus stood before he could hear another of his father’s excuses. “I’m going to have a bath.”

He was a little surprised to find it was Sirius he wanted to talk to the most. After the Snape incident, things had been a little tense even after he had decided to forgive and move on and allow Padfoot to join him for the next full moon. If anyone was going to understand how he felt, it would be Sirius. Remus wasn’t exaggerating when he said a childhood in fear and isolation messed a person up and Sirius, too, had suffered traumas in his past and an expectation that one day he would join the Dark side, just because of who he was. A Black and a werewolf. Both expected to be sorted into Slytherin. Both were relieved beyond words when they had ended up in Gryffindor instead. And both still bore the weight of their upbringing. Remus considered a new perspective on the incident last term. Sirius had made one mistake because he didn’t think, and he had been guilty and apologetic afterwards. Lyall, though older and more highly educated, had made a series of mistakes and continued to defend his decisions.

Remus knew who he could forgive more easily.

1977

If it weren’t for the Order and finally having his apparition licence, Remus wouldn’t know what to do with himself for the summer. For the first time since he was four years old, he had no lessons, no school, a real summer holiday, even if it was only a holiday off doing work and not a holiday that involved going anywhere interesting. They now lived in Essex but Remus spent much of the summer at the Potters’ or going to Order meetings. There wasn’t much in the way of assignments for those of them still in school but they could focus on practising magic that would help them and learning to cast corporeal Patronuses for communication.

Really, Remus was happy that he wasn’t being asked to do anything specific yet, because he knew by now that when he was asked, it would involve other werewolves. He wasn’t ready for that yet. He wasn’t ready to meet Greyback.

“I barely see you these days,” Hope said to him over lunch one day.

“Sorry, mam. I just want to spend time with my friends.”

Her eyes softened. “I know. I’m happy for you, I am. I just miss you as well.”

“Do you not want to go back to work?”

Hope didn’t reply straight away. Instead she was taken with a coughing fit that Remus waited to subside. “Remus bach, I’m not well enough.”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not very well, fy machgen i.”

“It’s just a cough, isn’t it?”

There was pity in her eyes and Remus’s heart sunk. He should have seen it sooner. Perhaps a part of him already knew. After all, for a while he had felt bad whenever he told his classmates that he was visiting his sick mother during the full moon and instead had fallen back on excuses of his own health suffering, even though that felt more risky. “Mam…” All of a sudden he felt like a small, scared child. He could have been five years old again, asking why everything hurt; clinging onto his mam in St Mungo’s while a specialised Healer talked to them in whispers.

“I’ll be fine, bach. I’m just too tired to work. Don’t worry about me.”

“Is it my fault? Is it stress?”

“Your dad says it’s because I smoke,” Hope told him, but the way she hesitated and the hint of worry in her eyes convinced Remus that stress did play a part. “I told him I’m just allergic to the stick up his arse.”

Remus’s lips quirked but he couldn’t quite bring himself to laugh. “I’m sorry, mam.”

“No. Remus, no. It’s not your fault. And I’m fine. I’m still going to watch you grow old, I am. Not that it’ll be long! Only one year left of Hogwarts! Look at you, all grown up.”

“Mam,” Remus protested, his cheeks colouring and his worries temporarily dissipating. She laughed and changed the album on the record player. She poured them both a glass of whiskey with a wink and Remus leaned back to listen as that same 1972 Johnny Cash album that had greeted him from school after first year filled the room.

[the-magnus-archives-archiver]

Vampire Killer

Case: 0100710

Name: Trevor Herber Subject: His life as a self-proclaimed vampire hunter Date: July 10th, 2010 Recorded by: Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London

Right then. Been almost 50 years I’ve been meaning to pay you people a visit and get this down on paper, but I finally got here. So where to start? My name is Trevor Herbert, like I put at the top of your form there, and I’ve been homeless for most of my life. In fact if you lived in Manchester there’s a good chance you’d have heard of me. They call me “Trevor the Tramp”. I mean, I’m not exactly easy to miss am I, and I’ve been living there in public view for so long I guess I’ve become kind of an institution. Helps that I’ve always had a kind of uncanny knack for guessing people’s ages. People will come up to me on the street and ask me to guess their age, and I’ll tell them and most of the time they’ll be shocked when I get it right. It’s fun. So everyone around Manchester knows about Trevor the Tramp, sure. I hear someone even made me a page on the Internet and it got a few thousand likes. I don’t know exactly what that means but it sounds nice. Obviously that’s not why I’m here, though, is it? No, I’m here because I have also dedicated my life to finding and killing vampires.

I have killed five people that I know for sure as vampires, and there are two more that may or may not have been. There is one man I have killed, unfortunately, who I am now sure was human, but I also know he was a violent criminal so I try not to feel too badly about that. I’m sure it’s hard to accept for anyone, even an organisation such as yourselves, but I do not have proof to give you except for the vampire teeth that I will leave with this statement. Do not feel bad about reporting me to the police for the murders, as I am sure you must, since I have recently received a diagnosis of late-stage lung cancer and it is doubtful I will be living much longer anyway. That is the main reason for finally putting down on paper the details of the mission I have been secretly undertaking for the last half a century.

I killed my first vampire in 1959. At that point I was still living a mostly normal life, save perhaps for the abuse my family was subject to from my father. He was a vile man who ended up killing my mother in ’56. It was a clear-cut case of drunken murder but the courts ruled it as an accident and my father stayed out of jail. Luckily, myself and my brother only had to endure four months of unpleasantness from him before he finally finished drinking himself to death. I was thirteen when he finally died and my brother was fifteen. Following his death, there were several attempts to rehome us as orphans but they always split us up, and we couldn’t be doing with that, so we’d generally run away. After a while it became so we were happier finding our way on the streets than in another stranger’s home.

It was in autumn of 1959 that we were taken in by Sylvia McDonald. It wasn’t any sort of official fostering agreement, but it was getting to be quite cold at the end of October and it just saw us shivering in a side street next to the Kings Arms Hotel, as it was back then, on Tipping Street before the ring road took it over. Looking back I believe it to have been visiting the pub for the purposes of locating down and outs for use as victims and in my brother and myself, I must say, it successfully found some. It looked like an older woman, a widow I assumed, from the way it dressed in black and had a strange manner, which I now know to be the mark of the vampire, but back then I paid no attention to it. Many of the older folks had lived through both wars and it was not uncommon for them to be somewhat strange. I thought this was the case with Sylvia McDonald and after a small amount of discussion my brother and I agreed to the offer of food and shelter.

Let me say a little bit about the vampire’s manner, because once I taught myself to read I read as much on the subject as I could and it isn’t covered often or clearly in those books I have found. You see, from my own observations I believe a vampire to be more like an animal than a man. That is not to be taken as merely a turn of phrase but more to do with how they work. I do not believe vampires are human in anything more than their appearance, nor have I ever seen evidence that they create more of their kind through feeding. One thing that should be noted is that they do not speak. In fact they are in my experience totally silent, having no need for air and no room in their throats for a windpipe. They are able to make themselves understood, however, with absolute clarity, though the manner through which they do so has never been clear to me. When Sylvia McDonald came to us in the alleyway that day, we understood that was the name it gave itself and that we were being offered a meal and a bed, even though it never uttered a single sound. More than that, I do not recall the fact that it never said a word as striking either of us as strange in the slightest. I have never fully understood how they are able to do this, and I doubt that I ever shall, but I can only assume it to be some instinctive form of hypnosis or mind control.

Another misconception I have always faced when trying to discuss vampires is that people think they cannot go out during the day. They can. While I have witnessed them avoid direct sunlight if possible and wear generally more covering clothes when moving around during the daytime, they seem to have no significant problem doing so. I would describe them as weaker during the day, but whether this is scientifically due to the sunlight or simply because evil has less power in the daylight hours is unclear to me. Sylvia McDonald came to us on an overcast afternoon and enough of its pale flesh was uncovered that, were sunlight to truly harm a vampire, then it would likely have been destroyed.

On that afternoon my brother Nigel and I agreed to go back to the house of Sylvia McDonald in the hopes of a roof over our heads for a little while. She lived on Loom Street, which is still there, though the house itself was torn down long ago and there’s just a bit of scrubland now where it used to be. I sometimes go there to pay my respects, since my brother has no burial or grave I can visit. The house was old, even when I went there in 1959, and entering it I was hit by a stale, coppery smell that I did not recognise as old blood at the time, since I was barely 16 and did not have then the experience I have now. The furniture and wallpaper had clearly not been changed in many decades and a thick layer of dust covered everything. Even the floor was pale with dust except for a stark line where Sylvia McDonald moved, the train of its dress dragging behind it. I remember wondering whether Sylvia McDonald walked exactly the same route through the house always, as I saw other clear lines of passage in the rooms we passed through. None of the furniture looked used and when I picked up a book from one of the shelves the pages were solid with damp and mould. I began to feel very uneasy at this point, but whatever powers of persuasion the vampire had calmed me enough to continue following it with my brother.

We went up the stairs and I was led to a small room with a bed in it. I was made to understand that this would be my room and was left there as Sylvia McDonald led my brother away to the room next to it. When it returned it brought a bowl of fruit and offered it to me. The fruit was clearly a few weeks old and in various stages of rotting, but just to appease the thing I found an apple and a couple of grapes that seemed edible and I ate them. It watched me silently the whole time and then turned and walked out towards Nigel’s room. By this time whatever the creature had done to make me compliant seemed to be starting to wear off, and I was realising just how wrong everything was. I was also realising that it didn’t look like there was any easy escape from the house. All the windows I had seen were barred, and I recalled Sylvia McDonald had locked the sturdy-looking front door behind it after we had all entered. So instead I just laid down in the old musty bed and I waited.

Couldn’t rightly say what I was waiting for, but soon enough it got dark and I assumed Sylvia McDonald had gone to sleep, not yet realising the manner of being that I was dealing with. I wanted some light to comfort me but the old house seemed to have no electricity at all, so I used my cigarette lighter on a candle I found next to the bed and crept towards the door. It wasn’t locked, thankfully, and I left the room assigned to me and walked over to where I believed my brother was. I went in and found him lying in his own bed, pretending to sleep. After a bit of talk it became clear that Nigel was no happier with our situation than I was and we both resolved that another night on the cold streets was better than staying with this strange woman. As we talked through possible ways to escape, however, we heard a rustling sound outside the door, and the handle began to turn. Not wanting to anger our strange host, I crawled under the bed to hide, while Nigel returned to pretending to sleep.

From my vantage point under the bed, I could see the door open and the skirt of Sylvia McDonald enter and move towards the bed. I simply laid there and tried not to make a sound. I am not proud of this and sometimes have a certainty that my inaction led directly to my brother’s death, but most of the time I accept that if I had alerted the vampire to my presence then I would also have died. Either way, the fact of the matter is that I did nothing as I heard the sounds of a struggle overhead and Nigel’s strangled cry. The creature turned quickly and hurled him down, something fell to the floor in front of me, but I didn’t look at it, my eyes locked on Sylvia McDonald as it pounced upon my brother. It opened its mouth for what I then realised was the first time since we met it, and I could see nothing inside save for a dozen long, thick, pointed teeth like a shark. In one fluid movement it plunged those teeth into my brother’s neck and tore out a great chunk of flesh. Blood started to spurt from Nigel’s spasming body, as Sylvia McDonald’s throat began to twitch. Its jaw detached and a long tubular tongue about the thickness of my forearm snaked out of its throat and clamped onto the gushing wound. There was an awful slurping sound, the first noise I’d ever really heard the creature make, as the tongue sucked the blood from my brother’s throat. I just lay there watching as its stomach began to distend and swell, the now bulbous belly straining against the black dress it wore. After the longest ten minutes of my life, the vampire finished. Its tongue retracted back into its throat, still dripping blood onto the now-pale corpse of my brother, and it lay back upon the floor, apparently contented.

As this had been happening all my energy had gone towards not screaming or giving away my presence. But as the vampire lay satiated on the floor, I turned my attention to what had fallen from Nigel’s hand when he had been dragged out of the bed. It was his pocket knife. I had no idea what a small knife like that would do against a creature that seemed far stronger and faster than me, but I didn’t see any option other than to try. I moved so slowly as I reached for the knife that at times it seemed like I wasn’t moving at all. I was worried that the creature would spot me and strike as it had with Nigel, although I now know that smell is in fact the vampire’s major sense and, with all the blood around, there was little chance of it detecting my scent. Grasping the knife in my hands, I crept over towards the creature as it placidly digested my brother’s life, until I stood over it. I felt a sudden surge of rage and adrenaline come over me and with a speed and strength I never knew I had, I plunged the knife into Sylvia McDonald’s blood-bloated stomach.

It burst like a sick balloon, and blood began to pour out. The creature’s eyes shot open and it clutched at the wound desperately. Its throat was not capable of uttering a scream but its face displayed a silent pain and anger as it flailed on the floor. Stumbling back, trying to wipe the blood from my eyes, I felt an unexpected burning in my hand. I realised I’d touched the still-lit candle on the bedside table. I don’t know what I expected to happen when I grabbed the candle and pressed it to the dry part of Sylvia McDonald’s dress. I was just trying to find anything else I could do to harm it before it could recover from its split belly, but I certainly didn’t expect it to catch like dry tinder. The fire spread quickly over its repulsive form, though it did slow somewhat where the clothing or flesh was still moist with blood. It struck me that the vampire must be a very dry creature when not fresh-fed and engorged. Perhaps I had struck before the liquid could spread throughout its body.

Whatever the reason, Sylvia McDonald was alight, and to such a degree that the rest of the room was starting to catch fire as well. I was distraught at the idea of leaving this house without my brother, but he was clearly dead and I needed to escape. I recalled the vampire had been carrying a handbag when we first met it, and had used a key from it to lock the front door. It did not have the handbag with it now, though, so I began to desperately search the other rooms of the house, trying to find it. I did find it in the end, in what I assume to be the vampire’s bedroom. I’ll not describe it in detail, except to say that it appears to be where the creature took most of its meals. Hopefully that makes the picture clear enough for you. I found the key, though, and escaped that house before the fire did me any serious damage. I was terrified of the police coming and thinking I was a murderer, so I didn’t stick around. I just fled into the night.

It was almost a decade before I encountered another vampire. I’d been living on the streets all that time, occasionally in and out of various institutions, and had just about managed to convince myself that Sylvia McDonald had just been a bad reaction to the stress of watching my brother’s murder. It was in the late 60s that I learned different. It was 1968, I remember because that was the year United won the European Cup, and I did quite well out of it – people being generous to begging when they’re happy over a sports win. On a Friday night I would generally spend my time around the Oasis Club in Lloyd Street and hit up for change anyone who was slightly the worse for drink. Well, this night in particular I was doing quite well, as it was a warm June evening not too long after the Cup Final, and everyone was in a good mood.

Now about half eleven that night I spied a stranger all turned out for dancing, making his way from the club with a lady friend. I reckoned they might be good for a tanner, so made my approach. I gave them the spiel and waited. The man looked at me and I understood he wouldn’t be giving me any money, and I stepped away. It was as he turned to leave I realised that he hadn’t opened his mouth, and memories of Sylvia McDonald came rushing back to me in a flash. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I followed behind them at a distance. I didn’t try to hide or disguise myself, as I had long since learned, and it’s true now as it was back then, that no-one pays any real attention to a tramp. As I watched, I saw the clearly drunken woman asking this stranger questions and each time he’d just look at her and she’d smile as though he’d given some reassuring answer and stumble on behind him. All the while he never once opened his mouth.

I didn’t rightly know what to do about this. I had no weapon save my brother’s old pocket knife which I had kept sharp all these years, and while I was pretty sure of what I was seeing, I was still hesitant to attack with no provocation and no plan. As we walked, I kept an eye out for any discarded wood or timber and, sure enough, noticed a broken wooden palette partially sticking out of a bin. I grabbed a long shard and used my knife to quickly hack it to a point, ignoring the splinters. While I had not, at that time, done much research into the creatures I faced, believing as I did my experience as a youth to be the product of a disturbed mental state, I was still aware of their supposed weakness to wooden stakes. I had now followed the vampire, who I would later find out called itself Robert Arden, and its victim back to the building where it apparently lived. It let itself in the front door and the woman followed. I wasn’t fast enough to get in before the front door closed and obviously didn’t have a key, so I went round the windows and, luckily, it seemed the vampire lived on the ground floor.

I watched through the window as it led its victim into a sparsely furnished living room. I couldn’t see any obvious signs of previous slaughter, but I remembered how cleanly Sylvia McDonald had sucked up all the blood from my brother, so this did not strike me as odd. I gently tried the window and found it locked, so searched the garden for the heaviest stone I could find and watched what was happening inside. I had to be sure. Soon enough Robert Arden moved smoothly behind its now-seated prey, and finally opened its mouth to reveal those rows of shark-like teeth I knew would be there. I hurled the rock I held through the window, showering the room with broken glass and causing the woman to scream in shock. Robert Arden raised its head in surprise and for one moment our eyes locked and I knew I had made a terrible mistake. The woman looked at her monstrous companion and, seeing his now open mouth, screamed her terror even louder. In a single movement, far quicker than I expected, Robert Arden was through the window and on me. I struggled and fought, but it was far stronger than I was, and I could barely keep its jagged teeth from finding my throat. It was the first and last time I ever touched a vampire’s skin with my own. The flesh was cold and spongy, like the inside of a bruised apple, and I felt bile rise in my throat even as I fought for my life.

Finally, its teeth bit into my neck. Not enough to kill me outright but with enough force to cause the blood to flow. At that moment I saw a sort of frenzy enter the eyes of Robert Arden and with a spasm its leech’s tongue surged from its throat and I felt it attach to my neck. I do not know if you’ve ever felt your blood being sucked out of you, but I would not recommend it.

Now it is at this point I have something of an admission to make. For the three years preceding this event, as well as on and off through the years since, I have had a relationship with the drug heroin. I tried it for the first time shortly after Nigel’s death and since then I have periodically relapsed. I have always tried to keep this a secret, as I am aware that I have a certain reputation to uphold and I would not want it to be damaged with the revealing of my addiction. But it is important to this account, as I believe it was whatever heroin still remained in my system that night that caused the vampire Robert Arden to remove its tongue from my neck and start to shake, as though having a violent choking fit.

I lay there, trying to compose myself enough to fight back, when I became aware of the screaming. The woman, who had been brought in as a victim, was standing over the flailing Robert Arden, stabbing it repeatedly with a kitchen knife. Strong and quick as it was, the vampire didn’t seem to be able to cope with the sudden onslaught of violence and was on the ground. This gave me the precious seconds I needed to get to my feet and locate my improvised wooden stake. I took aim and plunged it into where I believed the thing’s heart should be. It was easier than I thought it would be – the chest was soft and yielding and there didn’t seem to be any ribcage to stop the blow. Robert Arden went rigid and froze, apparently unable to move its body, though I saw its eyes darting around wildly.

It was at that point the woman whose name I never discovered, dropped the knife and ran. I never saw her again, but she had already saved my life. I took out my cigarette lighter and set Robert Arden alight. Like Sylvia McDonald before it, it caught fire in a matter of seconds and, by the time the police arrived, there was nothing left but a small patch of scorched tarmac. I was lucky that night, and nobody saw anything or called the police before I was finished and had made my way from the scene but I was always more careful after that.

Following that night, though, I was never again worried that I might have been wrong about the existence of vampires. I always kept my eyes open for them, although sometimes I was too eager, as was the case of Alard Dupont who I killed in 1982 and later discovered was a human. It is my belief that they are very rare and feed only infrequently, as all evidence I have seen points to their feeding being fatal. If there were many vampires or if they ate often, the number of disappearances would quickly become noticeable to the rest of society. I do not know what they do with the bodies of their victims and this has always perplexed me, as they do not have any mechanism for eating solid food and I do not believe there are many, if any, cases of murder where the body is found completely without blood. I certainly do not think they rise as vampires themselves, as the vampire population seems far too small for this to be a possibility.

Archivist Notes: 

According to Martin, who was here when they took this statement, it was at this point in writing that Mr. Herbert announced he needed some sleep before continuing. He was shown to the break room where he went to sleep on the couch. He did not awaken; unfortunately succumbing to the lung cancer right there. Martin says the staff had been aware of how serious Mr. Herbert’s condition was and had advised him to seek medical aid prior to giving his statement, but were told rather bluntly by the old man that he would not wait another second to state his case. I can’t decide whether this lends more or less credibility to his tale.

Regardless, there is substantial evidence to support the version of events told by Mr. Herbert in all aspects except the vampirism. There is a news report of a 1959 fire that consumed a house on Loom Street and apparently claimed the life of an 18-year-old boy, although no mention is made of the homeowner, and a police report from 1968 confirms the disappearance of Robert Arden in Manchester amid circumstances of violence, including a broken window and signs of a fire, though no human remains were found. There is also a murder report concerning one Alard Dupont, whose partially burned corpse was found in his home on August 2nd 1982. Unfortunately Mr. Herbert was never able to give details of others, so we cannot corroborate further.

There was, however, a small bag left on top of this statement, which appears to contain six shark teeth of varying sizes. According to correspondence with the Zoology Department at King’s College, they didn’t match any currently known species.

Personally, I don’t know what to think. I certainly don’t believe in wild tales of vampirism, but I can’t help but notice that the statement above appears to be a photocopy of a photocopy, and can’t find these supposed vampire teeth anywhere in the Archives or the Secure Containment Room. I don’t know where the originals are but the file number is listed among multiple information requests from the Institute’s government and law enforcement contracts. It may be that they take Mr. Herbert’s statement far more seriously than I do.

Source: Official Transcript and Podcast (MAG 10 Vampire Hunter)

[imseriousirius]

@ethereal-wishes Happy Secret Santa!!! No sure what time zone you're in but hopefully this dosen't come too late for you

 ​Summer breeze brushed passed her dress as she walked down the dusty lane. Belle breathed deely, glad to finally be alone. After reading, spinning was her thing, her escape. Sitting behind the wheel, listening to the whir of the bobbin she could almost forget. She knew her father meant well, he loved her really.He genuinely believed that marrying Gaston was her only chance for a marginally better life. But if she heard one more speech about ‘oblgation’ and 'womanly responsibilities’ she’d scream, or cry. Or both.

She reached the market square just before midday. She made her way to her usual spot beside the fountain and began to empty the contents of her market bag onto the rickety stand. By the time she was finished, she had worked up a fine sweat and sat back, the square was,full, she saw all sorts of people. Wealthy ladies shopping for fine silks that they didn’t need, to pennyless peasants selling whatever the could to get by another day. It wasn’t long before people started to form a queue in front of her stall, her wool was in demand across the land. The next few hours sped by in a flurry of orders, crowds and coins She decided to close up for a few hours and wander around, maybe find a place to read for a while. 

                                     ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a few minutes of aimless wandering, she decided on an old, wooden bench, hidden by a cluster of trees, barely 10 minutes had passed when she heard footsteps approaching. What she didn’t realise was that her hiding spot was not as effective as she had originally thought.

'Hello?’

She jumped about a foot, and dropped her book. Bending down quickly, she scooped it up and shoved it back into her sachel. She was about to give the mystery visitant  a piece of her mind. But he beat her to it

'I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you’,

He spoke with a strong accent, she wasn’t sure how but she thought it sounded somewhat familiar. He was rather well dressed for this part of the forest, complete with waistcoat and cravats. Suddenly, she was very consious of her torn dress, she hadn't had tme to mend it last nigt. He hadn’t noticed, as he was currently struggling to tear his eyes away from her face. She was remarkably beautiful. Thick, chessnut brown hair fell gently about her face, her eyes held an uncommon astuteness and he seemed to loose himself in seas of azure blue.

'Are you lost?'

'Ahh-umm' he could feel himself turning red, even her voice was lovely.

'Would you like me to fetch someone to bring you home?'

'Ahh(pull yourself together man!)no, no thank you, I'm not lost'

He wasn't sure she believed him, 

'I'm Belle by the way' she said  'Belle French'

He had to be careful here, if he said his real name, there was a chance she'd recognise him, and he wanted to avoid that, just once he wanted to be called somthing besides 'Your Majesty'

''Gideon Gold'' 

She began to stroll back towards the market, he knew that he should probably avoid any public areas, but he felt strangely drawn towards this woman and found himself following her.

''I saw a book in your bag earlier he'd noticed her hurridly shoving in into the satchel and he was intrigued, it was unusual for to be able to read I hope you don't mind me asking what you were reading?'

She gave him a sidelong look, narrowing her eyes as though to weigh him up, see if she could trst him. Apparantly he passed the test because she reached into the satchel and pulled out a beautiful leather bound book. The cover was beautiful, complete with gold lettering and guilded edges.

''Her Handsome Hero''

''It was my mothers, she was the one who taught me how to read. My father's always said that it was a waste of time, that good men would never be interested if I always had my head in a book, she always said we just had to wait for the right one to come along.''

He had to say that he agreed with her mother. There was an air of intellegence and understanding that he had never before seen.

They chatted on for several minutes, until they reached the edge of the forest, he knew that going any further would be too dangerous, what if he was recognised?

''I'm afraid, this is where I have to bid you farewell.

She grinned cheekily  '' Oh! And I've so enjoyed talking to you, I don't tink I've  ever met anyone with the same interest in books as I have before''

''I could say the same to you, I think that you, quite possibly  th stangest, most interesting person I have ever had the pleasure of talking to''

He smiled and bowed deeply.  She looked down at this, trying to hide her burning cheeks. She couldn't believe that he, obvoiusly a man of great prestige and wealth(she wasn't exactly sure what he did for a living. She had asked, but he'd seemed rather vague and uncomfortable)   She wasn't sure why she was so pleased at this, she really shouldn't get so attached to a man she met less than an hour earlier, but, all of a sudden she felt a lot better than he had that morning.

                                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Belle felt unusually lighthearted as she closed up the stall that evening. Usually, a day of relentless bartering and arguing with customers, thawarting rouge teenagers from stealing her goods and enduring sanctimonious glares from snooty rich folk would have dampened her spirits, but scenes from earlier kept replaying in her mind, and she found it quite impossible to remain unhappy for long. She decided to take a longer route home, she knew the minute she arrived, all daydreams and encounters with strange men would be left at the door, and her father would once again be nagging her, Gaston would be plaguing her, and, once again, she would be trapped in a life she didn't want.

She stepped aside to let a carrige by, but instead of passing by, it screeched to a halt. The door swung open to reveal two young men. They were leather cad, tall, and they looked like trouble. Without meaning to, she caught the eye of one.

''Ello love, on your way back from the market?''

''And what if am?''

''Well, I was just going to offer you a lift''

''Well, that's very kind of you, but I'd really rather walk''

He began to walk closer,

''Oh come on love, it's been ages since us lads have had a pretty girl like you''

Closer

She began to panic, she'd heard stories from girls who'd been in similar situations and she did not like the way this was going at all.

Her stomach turned, he seemed to sense her discomfort, and sneered. Now less then a foot away, he began to eye her unpleasantly. She was assaulted by the smell of stale sweat and alcohol. She had nowhere to run, they were both at least a full foot taller her than her, and there was no way she could outrun them both.

''I'd step away if I were you'

The man spun around so fast he almost fell over. Standing there sword face contorted with rage, was the man she had met in he forest earlier. Gideon?

''You.....you're''

''I said, step away''

''You're the bloody king''

''Yes, and you're Killian Jones pirate, thief, general scum. And that lady is my friend, so I'd advise you and your friend to get back in your carrige and drive very far away.''

Jones paused for a minute, seemingly weighing up his options. Apparantly e thought the better of it and he reluctantly began making his way back to hsi friend.

''And Jones?''

''Hmm?''

''If I ever hear of you behaving like this towards any woman, I will personally hunt you down, and carry out your execution myself.''

He didn't lower his sword until the carrige was out of sight. He began to make his wa towards her,

''Are you alright?''

Belle wasn't so sure, it was less to do with what had happened and more to do with the fact that the man she had been talking to was the KING, the king had held her mothers book. The king had bowed to HER.

It wasn't until she looked up and saw a very concerned face that she realised she hadn't actually answered him

''I'm okay, thank you very much..your majesty?''

He winced,

''Yes I, ah, may have forgotten to mention some of the details surounding my occupation.''

She tittered ''Yes, just a few''

''Can you forgive me for being unthruhful?''

She laughed for real this time ''Of course, you just saved me

They stood in silence for a few moments, he was really starting to like her he wanted to see her again, but he didn't want to seem innapropriate or forward.

''Well, I'd better make my way home, I have to start my spinning work for next weeks market besides, my father will worry if I'm not home soon.

 ''You spin?''

''Yes, thats what I sell at the market''

How had he not realised, this was perfect,

''Well, it seems I'm in luck, just last week I was notified that we were in desparate need of a decent spinner. Our regular gentleman has left to help run his fathers businss I don't suppose you'd be interested. Unfortunatley, you would be required to see me quite often, fittings, meetings......'' he grinned

She chuckled ''Just when I thought I'd be rid of you. I'd love to''

He smiled. It was a good day

[nealcassatiel]

2. Allen Ginsberg, Castiel, and Buddhism: Cas in the bardo - an exploration of the Tibetan Buddhist death bardos and Castiel (I)

“Wanna drift off and become a newspaper headline, / what good favourable publicity in the bardo? Allen Ginsberg says, these words’ll get you nowhere / these jokes won’t be funny when everyone leaves the seven exits.” (Allen Ginsberg, Bowel Song)

Introduction

In my previous meta I discussed Cas in relation to Buddhism. In this post I will continue on this theme, looking specifically at Cas’s death state and the Buddhist concept of the bardo. I will be looking almost solely at Tibetan Buddhism which is in the Mahayana school of Buddhism. I have studied Buddhism for four or five years, however the subject is vast and please forgive me if my knowledge isn’t the best. If you have any questions about Tibetan Buddhism please ask them and if I can’t answer them, I’ll try and find out an answer from a teacher at my next visit to the Tibetan Buddhist Centre.

As a side note and personal note to this meta, I had intended to do more research on this as anything relating to theology, religion, or Buddhism is going to take a lot of research and understanding regardless of how much someone has previously studied the subject. My research was shortened and curtailed by the passing of a good friend. I had planned to write this meta about a month ago however the subject of death has been all too real for me since his passing. I apologize if this meta is too short or doesn’t go deeply enough and I will continue to write on this subject. Returning to the Buddhism and my meditations and readings this past week now that I am dealing with my grief better has been healing, and the insistence in meditating and thinking on death within Tibetan Buddhism has been a good thing to confront once more. I have been researching Tibetan Buddhist ideas on death specifically for the majority of the year for academic research, and I find solace that it has helped me in such trying times. To end this side note I would like to remind you all how loved you are and in the great words of great people; always keep fighting.

To recap on why I believe this is important, Cas is linked with Buddhism a fair bit. In The End his room was surrounded by Buddhist iconography, there were Buddhist decorations in his home when he was Emmanuel, and some of his beliefs and spiritual practices link as much to Buddhism as they do Christianity and Judaism.

The Empty and Death

At the end of 13x03 Cas woke up in what the writers are calling ‘The Empty’. It was mentioned by Billie in season 12. We don’t know much about the empty but Billie says this to Sam;

-       ‘There’s one hard and fast rule in this universe: what lives, dies. So the next time you or your brother bite it… well… you’re not going to heaven or hell. One of us and I hope it’s me, we’re gonna make a mistake and toss you out into The Empty. And nothing comes back from that.’

So here we see the Buddhist thoughts on death. In Tibetan Buddhism, a well-known practice is to focus on death and to come to terms that everything which lives must die.

-       ‘From the summit of the highest heavens to the very depths of hell, there is not a single being who can escape death. As the Letter of Consolation says: ‘Have you ever, on earth or in the heavens, / Seen a being born who will not die? / Or heard that such a thing had happened? / Or even suspected that it might?’’ (Patrul Rinpoche, Words of my Perfect Teacher: A Complete Translation of a Classic Introduction to Tibetan Buddhism, trans. Padmakara Translation Group, p. 41)

This is a major concept in Tibetan Buddhism which monks spend years focusing on in order to try to combat their death fear and help their passage out of samsara after death.

-       ‘Meditate only on death, earnestly and from the core of your heart.’ (Patrul Rinpoche, Words of my Perfect Teacher: A Complete Translation of a Classic Introduction to Tibetan Buddhism, trans. Padmakara Translation Group, p. 55.)

Allen Ginsberg, Buddhism, and Death

Allen Ginsberg also had this death fear and tried to focus and accept his death, in fact his last collection of poetry entitled ‘Death & Fame’ focused a lot on him trying to visualize and accept his own death in multi-religious terms, but mainly in Buddhist terms. On his death bed he tried to focus on Buddhism and mantras and his Buddhist teacher was called to sit with him and recite death rituals before his death and after passing. Ginsberg had a Buddhist ceremony as well as one in a church after he had passed away in 1997. I mention this because Cas can be linked very well to Ginsberg (also because my grad dissertation was about Ginsberg, Buddhism, and death – hashtag spon to that basically unread thesis that I poured so much into).

Death, Rebirth, and SPN

Another thing to note is the concept of death and rebirth in Supernatural. The brothers have died a fair few times and come back, but let’s focus on Cas. In Buddhism, one’s rebirth is dependent upon their past life. One’s karma at the end of one’s life ensures the next life. In Cas’s deaths and rebirths he has changed from each one and his past life has influenced his personality after his next resurrection. An interesting thing to understand about karma is that it doesn’t affect you in your current life. Whilst bad actions may cause bad consequences, that is not karma. Karma only has effect on you once you’re dead, so any time someone ends a story about someone getting their comeuppance and says ‘that’s karma for you’, you can correct them and say that is incorrect if ya want.

The Bardos

So, onto the bardos.

The Tibetan Book of the Dead, in brief, is a text which contains mantras to read before one’s passing and once one is dead. It contains many chapters detailing practices and meditations and yogas to do before one’s death in order to help prepare the oneself to escape samsara (the wheel of existence where one is caught in a cycle of birth and death and rebirth).

The first bardo is the chi kha and occurs immediately after death when a profound state of consciousness occurs, called the clear light. If one can recognise this light as their reality, they are thrown out of samsara (the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth).

If one does not recognise this light they are thrown into the second bardo, the bardo of reality called chos nyid bar do. In this bardo they are shown reality in a multi-coloured mandala of forty-two peaceful deities and a mandala of fifty-eight wrathful deities. These appear to the consciousness of the recently deceased in the days following death. If reality is not recognised here then they are placed into the third bardo – the bardo of mundane existence (sri pah bar do). In this third bardo they are rebirthed in one of the six realms of gods, demigods, humans, animals, hungry ghosts, or in hell. The karma (the wrongdoings of the deceased) in their past life will gauge which realm they will be rebirthed into.

Death holds up a mirror of our past life actions.

If recognition of death and the new reality does not occur immediately in the first intermediate state after death, then the deceased moves into the second intermediate state. This second intermediate state is called ‘the pure illusory body’, during which the consciousness achieves clarity even if the deceased doesn’t know they are dead. During this stage, if proper teaching is given, the deceased will no longer be controlled by past actions. ‘Just as, for example, darkness is destroyed by the light of the sun, the controlling force of past actions is destroyed by this ‘inner radiance of the path’ and liberation is attained.’ If liberation is not attained in this state, then the deceased moves onto the third intermediate state during which bewildering apparitions (which are the product of past actions) will emerge. ‘At around this time, the bereaved relatives will be crying and expressing their grief. They will no longer be serving the deceased share of food, they will have removed his or her clothes and stripped down the bed, and so forth. Although the deceased can see them, they cannot see the deceased. Although the deceased can hear them calling out, they cannot hear the departed one calling back so the deceased may turn away in a state of despaired. At this time, three phenomena – sounds, lights and rays of light – will arise, and the deceased may faint with fear, terror, or awe. Thus, during this period, the following Great Introduction to the Intermediate State of Reality should be given. Call the deceased by name and say the following words’.

“O, Child of Buddha Nature, that which is called death has now arrived. You are leaving this world. But in this you are not alone. This happens to everyone. Do not be attached to this life. Do not cling to this life. Even if you remain attached and clinging you do not have the power to stay – you will only continue to roam within the cycles of existence. Therefore, do not be attached and do not cling. Think of the Three Prescious Jewels! O, Child of Buddha Nature, however terrifying the appearances of the intermediate state of reality might be, do not forget the following words. Go forward remembering their meaning. The crucial point is that through them recognition may be attained. Alas, now, as the intermediate state of reality arises before me, renouncing the merest thought of awe, terror or fear, I will recognise all that arises to be awareness manifesting naturally of itself. Knowing such sounds, light, and rays, to be visionary phenomena of the intermediate state. At this moment, having reached this critical point, I must not fear the assembly of Peaceful and Wrathful Deities, which manifest naturally…. O, Child of Buddha Nature, if you do not now recognise these phenomena to be natural manifestations, whatever meditative practices you may have undertaken whilst in the human world, if you have not previously encountered this present instruction, you will fear the light, you will be awed by the sound and you will be terrified by the rays. If you do not now understand this essential point of the teaching, you will not recognise the sounds, the lights and the rays, and you will continue to roam within the cycles of existence. O, Child of Buddha Nature, should you have moved on, (without recognition), after having been unconscious for (up to) three and a half days, you will awaken from unconsciousness and wonder ‘what has happened to me?’ So recognise this to be the intermediate state. At this time the aspects of the cycles of existence are reversed (into their own true nature) and all phenomena are arising as lights and Buddha-bodies.’

Then a bright blue light will arise in the space. One should be drawn to it. There will be a dull white light of the god realms. Do not be drawn to that. It will spin you into the god realm and back into the cycles of samsara. Focus on the blue light. Other coloured lights occur and deities help to guide the deceased to the blue light. A dull blue light emerges which tries to call the deceased back to the human realm. Those with training will be more likely to walk towards the right light and take refuge in the Buddha to relieve themselves of being born back into samsara.

Within the bardos the deceased will be frightened and fearful. We see that Cas looks vulnerable and fearful when he wakes up in the empty.

Some Notes on the bardos and Cas in The Empty

-       Normally people don’t realise they go into the bardo after death as they are normally flung back into samsara. Those who are spiritual or have undergone training will be aware of the bardo after death. (This is important with Cas because he is a spiritual person, and so if we liken The Empty to the bardo, he will fair better in this space because of his spirituality.

-       In some folk, hindu, and folk Buddhist beliefs the last thought of the dying person is important and will help or hinder them in the bardo. (One of Cas’s last thoughts was probably saving Sam, Dean, and Jack, and so in The Empty these thoughts may stick with him all the more clearer (although they are pretty clear already. So his will to get back to Dean et al will be fundamental to his path through this in between place).

-       For those who were spiritual in their lives, in the bardo they will be more likely to meet enlightened beings who will appear to them. (This is interesting because from what we know about the spoilers, another person is there with him. This could be another angel and chuck knows I’m praying for the return of Gabriel, or it could be another version of Cas. In the bardo, the beings/gods who appear to the person do not have to be literal. Many people within Tibetan Buddhism see the gods and spiritual apparitions within the bardo as manifestations of one’s inner self, whether that be the greed or the pride or the love or the kindness).

-       The individual is also presented with a means of ending these encounters by paying attention to images and lights that feel comforting and familiar, and sometimes represent one of the passions that appeal to the person. This is where people's unconsciousness tendencies take control as they are variously attracted to jealously which can bring future lives of fighting and quarreling, pride which leads to another human rebirth, or aggression and violence which can lead to a rebirth in a hell world. Being attracted to these lights and images will cause the spiritual being to disappear and the opportunity to gain insight and enter their spiritual world will be lost. This is one of the important reasons for learning spiritual travel so that encounters with powerful spiritual states of consciousness become familiar and desirable instead objects of fear to be avoided.

-       If the first bardo passes and attempts to access spiritual states were unsuccessful, the next bardo begins. The second bardo or the "bardo of becoming" is a stage in which the desires of the individual are said to carry the largely helpless soul through a great variety of intense emotional states. Good thoughts bring great bliss and pleasure, and hateful or negative thoughts bring great pain and desolation. The soul bounces from thought to thought as a torrent of thoughts and feelings come like a waterfall. Existing thought habits and desires are said to define the experience of the soul during the afterlife in this way. (Again, we see that the bardo is a space for the inner self to manifest around oneself. I think that in SPN, they will use The Empty in a similar way – in that it will be a space where Cas can understand who he is. It will be a mindful, meditative, and self-reflexive space in which he will understand who he is and the life he lead. He will see what is important to him and what he should cling to and what he should leave).

-       The greatest problems of the soul in the second bardo are negative emotions like guilt and fear (which results from a lack of familiarity with the inner worlds), and lack of conscious control over its own experience. Fear is particularly harmful because it fragments the self making concentration on one thing difficult or impossible, and this can lead to confusion and loss of conscious control. (I think Cas will certainly explore these things within The Empty. He has been ridden by guilt for many seasons and I believe that he will feel the weight of his past actions even in death. However I think he will get through these and return to earth having done away with the negative emotions and guilt having worked through them all in the empty).

-       For those fortunate enough to be more conscious in these bardo states, a petition to a god, guru, guide, saint, or intercessor can be made in hopes that the individual will be lifted or guided out of the bardo worlds by one of those entities. But here again, the call must be concentrated and the ability to ignore the surrounding chaos somewhat developed. When such grace is given, it is a form of salvation where the individual is saved from the discomfort and confusion of the "outer darkness" of the bardo by a powerful entity - usually one that individuals formed a bond with in their former life. (Cas’s devotion to jack comes in here. Jack guides him back. This is an interesting discussion of faith here, because Cas has faith in Jack. And whilst some people may be angry at Cas for following Jack and placing faith in him, many people need figures within their lives in whom they place their faith).

-       This ability to choose a good incarnation requires discrimination, and a certain degree of conscious awareness. The new age approach to reincarnation which claims we choose our new incarnation is idealistic and not always true from this vantage point. Many souls whose thoughts in life were tinged with or dominated by negative emotions, or those who have repressed and denied such emotion through lack of awareness or an unwavering commitment to "positive thinking" will likely be desperate to escape the confusion of the second bardo. They are therefore likely to grab on to the first opportunity that presents itself like a swimmer who grasps a log in dangerous rapids in hopes of making it to calmer waters. Choosing the first object (or incarnation) that comes along may not be the wisest choice. (It would be interesting to see a kind of psychedelic/spiritual space in which Cas is drawn towards and away from things which distract him from his internal analysis and reflextion, or that draw him away from a mission to return to earth).

-       The average person is said to spend a period of about forty-five days in the second bardo. However, passionate souls with strong desires or those responsible for evil acts in their most recent life are said to reincarnate almost immediately. In exceptional cases, the individual can stay in the bardo state for longer periods, and be drawn into its currents awaiting rebirth.

-       One factor that helps the soul achieve the freedom of conscious control and spiritual travel during the afterlife is acceptance of death. Those who have not accepted death will resist the process of dying and introduce conflict into the bardo stages. This is why it is important for people to take care of any unfinished business as they near death so they can let go of life completely. (This will be interesting to see if Cas excepts his death. I’m not sure about this as he was in a depressive slump for a long while. But I hope that his want and love for Dean and the guys will make him not accept his new life in The Empty).

Forgiveness & Salvation

In The Tibetan Book of the Dead there are constant opportunities for enlightenment, both in life and in death. In the bardo one is given the chance over and over again to come to the light of the Buddha and come out of samsara. This is a key point in supernatural, that there are constant chances for good, for salvation, for forgiveness, for moving on a dropping the weights of before. Being in the bardo is a spiritual experience that shows you your inner thoughts, fears, and emotions. It is a liminal space which helps one to move on to the next realm or g to the light of the Buddha. Cas will be flung back into the world of samsara into another rebirth – although as he is being reborn as himself we stray further from Buddhism.

Conclusion

But what will be interesting in this upcoming episode is to see how many similarities there are between The Empty and the bardo – whether Cas will encounter a spiritual being, whether he will see his emotions manifest, whether he will be drawn to certain things, whether he will be drawn to good and bad light, whether he will be drawn back to the boys, whether he will accept his death, whether he will be able to look within himself and deal with the guilt and negative emotions he has been troubled by…. Who knows.

[yurio-plisetksy]

Stalked: Viktor Nikiforov x Reader

Request: can I either have a yurio or victor x reader fic where the reader is being stalked?? Kinda like that post that you reblogged it looks v interesting.

 A/N: I can't remember what post you meant, sorry about that. There probably will be a second part to this (if requested). Oh and just imagine Makoto as Sangwoo. His looks were in my mind when i wrote this so he kinda looks like that. My first angsty story. Hope you enjoy! 

 WARNING: Angst, triggering events, strong language 

 Your eyes glanced around, trying to find those familiar pair of blue orbs that made shivers run up your spine. Those eyes that saw and noticed every tiny muscle movement as you walked down the street. It started a few weeks ago, and they hadn’t left you alone for even a second since that day. It held you captive in its gaze and made sure you knew that he was near you. 

You felt exposed to the point you made sure you were never alone. That you were always accompied by someone so that the intimidating gaze had a little less impact as there were people to protect you. Still, you hadn’t felt completely comfortable in a while, and it became more distressing each time you went out.

 “Y/n?” You jumped at the sudden voice behind you, goosebumps appearing on your skin as a high pitched squeal left your throat. Your eyes glanced over your shoulder, scanning them over the person behind you.  “V-Viktor… don’t scare me like that!” Your voice was slightly shaky, and the older male did notice the hint of fear. He apologized and scratched the back of his neck in embarrasment. Once you let out a deep sigh, your body relaxed when in presence of your boyfriend. 

 “I didn’t mean to scare you, I just walked up behind you…” He confessed. Your lips twitched upwards into a smile as you shrugged, clasping your hands together behind your back. You hadn’t told Viktor about the situation yet, afraid he would blame you for imagining things. But the Russian male did notice your change in behaviour. You became reluctant to kiss him in public, and your eyes always inspected every tiny detail of every room you walked into. Your shoulders became permanently hunched once the two of you arrived somewhere public, and you had a somewhat defensive form as you walked. 

“Y/n, is everything all right?” He asked you as you walked into the usual coffeeshop on the corner of the street. A five minute walk from your shared apartment, or 2 minute sprint if it was raining. It was very aesthetically pleasing, colors matching just right and menu’s written in curvy letters. Sun seeping through the curtains creating a cozy atmosphere. 

It was your favorite spot in town. It was where you first met Viktor, and where he had taken you out to on your first date. Your love had bloomed in this place, and there was nothing more heartwarming to you than walking through the door and smelling the familiar scent of grinded coffee beans and freshly baked cookies. 

You hung your coat onto the back of your seat, shivering slightly at the lack of warmth. You sat down and quickly grabbed the menu, hiding your face behind it as you told him you were fine. Viktor suspected that there was something wrong, but maybe he was exacurating, and you were just having a bad day. His hand found yours on the circular wooden surface. He placed his slender fingers on top of yours and slipped them between yours. 

“I’ll go order.” Viktor placed his scarve on the table, before turning away from her to order their drinks. His mind was filled with ways he could cheer her up. Cookies, flowers, kisses… he could think of a thousand things, but recently none of them had worked. Once he received their drinks from the happy girl behind the counter, he offered her a smile back and turned around to walk back towards their spot. But something wasn’t right. Your eyes were widened to the max, hands holding onto one another on your lap. You looked so full of fear, even Viktor could feel the darkened aura around you. 

 He quickly made his way back to you, sitting in front of you and placing the cup of hot chocolate on the table. You looked up at him and wanted to show him a smile, but you immediately noticed what he was thinking once you met his stare. 

“Tell me now.” There was a somewhat warning tone to his deep voice. It was the voice he would use once he got overly worried and you wouldn’t tell him what was bothering you. You knew you couldn’t escape his question anymore, and with a shaky breath you opened your mouth to speak. 

“He’s here.” Viktor’s eyes narrowed and he slowly slid his hand under the table to connect with yours. He leaned forward slightly, not even blinking as he stared back into your eyes. 

“Who is?” “I don’t know, but he never leaves.” Viktor didn’t need to hear anymore. Your eyes pretty much told him the story, and the few words that left your lips gave him enough detail to know it was something you had feared for quite a while. He squeezed your hand. He felt another presence and he was sure she felt it too. There was somebody watching them, and not just innocently staring, but inspecting them, judging, looking for details. 

 “How long has he been following you?” Viktor asked as he began slowly stirring the packet of suger into his coffee. His eyes were fixed on the spoon, while his ears focused on the words that you spilled. 

“Weeks. He’s inspecting me. He knows everything and he’s planning something, i just know it.” Viktor nodded, leaning back in his seat and retreating his hand. He grabbed his scarve and started wrapping it back around his neck. 

“I need you to do something for me.” You nodded, lips tugging upwards as he took this seriously. He didn’t think you were being weird at all and actually wanted to help you.  “You’re gonna walk out of here on your own.” He continued to tell you his plan and your eyes widened at the thought of being alone.

 “I know this might be hard for you, but I’ll be right behind you.” He told you with a secure and confident smile. You nodded reluctantly and bit your lower lip. You were mentally preparing yourselve for what was about to come, and you were already shaking at the thought of it. 

After you had been sitting in the little cafe for about an hour, Viktor told you it was time to go. You nodded and took a deep breath as you put on your coat. You hid your face in your collar, and took one glance at Viktor, who gave you a confident nod. 

“A-All right… see you later…”. You mumbled, quickly walking towards the door. You slowly pushed it open, flincing at the creaking sound it made. The banter from inside was completely muted once the door closed behind you. The sky had become black and only a few twinkling stars made it seem a little less dark. A cloud of fog escaped your lips, and your hands found the warmth and comfort in the depths of your pockets. 

You started walking. For the first two minutes, nothing happened. The feeling of a pair of eyes watching you were as prominent as ever, but you knew it also could be Viktor who was supposed to be walking behind you. But a shadown appeared. It flashed at the corner of your eye, and disapeared out of your sight. Your legs were trembling, and your knees felt like collapsing at your weight. You passed an alley, and right at that moment the sound of footsteps began following you. They were extremely close and it almost felt like someone is breathing against your neck. You turned a corner, and so did the footsteps. There was no light in your street at all, and you were surrounded by the darkness of the night while a shadow hid in the lack of light. You stopped walking, and after a few more steps, so did the shim behind you. 

“Y/n…” You tensed at the voice. He really was right behind you. His mouth next to yourear and his breathing causing a shiver. You turned around with wide eyes and noticed a tall male. His face was covered under the shadows of his hoodie, but you could clearly see his sinister smile. Your breath hitched and you stumbled back. 

“Who are you?!” You snapped at him, tears prickling at the back of your eyes. He looked up, and you felt the weight on your shoulders intensify. 

“M-Makoto…” His deep blue eyes could be recognised anywhere, and you were awfully familiar with the guy. 

“You are all alone out here?” he asked in a deep voice, his eyes never leaving your gaze as you stared back at him in fear. You were speechless, and surprised it was actually someone you had known for quite a while. 

“A girl like you shouldn’t be alone. Someone might hurt you… but you’re too precious…”. You flinched as he extended his arm to caress your cheek.  ‘Viktor, please…” You thought as his hand came in contact with your cold cheek. You couldn’t do anything. He was too strong, so you couldn’t fight. He was fast, so you couldn’t run. He even was pretty attractive. 

His gaze hardened. His jawline tensed and his eyebrows furrowed. “You should be treated way better. I’ll treat you like the beautiful person you are.” This guy was completely insane. You knew he was capable of taking you and the thought scared you limitless. The hand that previously caressed your cheek had now cupped your jaw. You whimpered as he pulled your face closer, shrugging his hoodie off so you could take a clear look at his face. 

“I’ve been watching you, Y/n. I was everywhere that you were too. I saw you walk to college, and to the convenience store. I saw you sleep and I saw you shower. I saw you with Viktor in bed and how he treated you.” You were close to bursting now. The feeling of being so exposed to someone, having no privacy at even your most intimate moments. It made you sick, knowing he was there, watching you. 

“P-Please, Makoto… I want to go home!” You cried out, struggling against his grip. You noticed his smile only brightened, and your heart quickened as he watched you with insanity on his blue eyes. 

“Oh, I would like that too! I want to see how you sleep up close… I want to feel you, Y/n…” You were so desperate. Where was Viktor, why wasn’t he helping you?! This guy was abusing you, was he still watching after what Makoto just said. 

“Viktor! Please! Where are you?!” You snapped, making Makoto’s breath hitch. He quickly let go of you and stumbled back with wide eyes. He began inspecting his surroundings, knowing he just blew his cover. 

“H-He’s here?! He followed you!” He shouted through gritted teeth. You nodded and squealed in fear as he grabbed your collar, harshly pulling you towards him. His eyes were wide and his pupils were smaller than you had ever seen on a person. He was losing it. He had already lost it. 

“You sick fuck…” You felt your heart skip a beat at the familiar voice. With a quick turn makoto faced Viktor, who was looking back at him with disgust in his eyes. Makoto held onto your collar, and pulled you to his side as he looked at Viktor. 

“Get your fucking hands off Y/n…” Makoto chuckled and shook his head. He pushed you away and faced the silver haired Russian. “Fight me, Viktor.” He asked, a wicked smile on his shadown covered complexion. Before he knew it, he received a punch in the face, right against his temple, knocking him out immediately. He probably hadn’t expected such a powerful blow.

 You gasped as his body crashed onto the floor. His hoodie fell back on top of his head, and his face was once again invisible for you to see. You swallowed thickly. 

“Are you okay?” You flinched slightly as Viktor grabbed your hand. You looked up at him with fearful eyes. You slightly calmed down as he stared back at you with a sincere smile. He seemed calm, a lot different from his previous look. You smiled back at him before it faltered quickly again. You slapped his chest with shaky hands. 

“W-Why did you take so long, baka! I was scared to death!” Viktor nodded and apologized, telling you he was actually recording the whole conversation. That way he had enough evidence to give the police. 

“I’m sorry I took so long, but I just needed to make sure this guy was gonna end up in jail.” You nodded weakly, wrapping your arms around his waist. You could hear the sound of sirens in the distance, and you knew Viktor was the one who called the police. 

“Lets go home…” 

 A few years later. 

“Once a week now instead of twice, right?” 

She nodded at you and closed the files. She offered you a gentle smile and patted the folder of papers on her lap. “I see you’ve been progressing this rather well. I think you don’t need that much sessions anymore.” You giggled and nodded, packing your stuff and swinging the backpack onto your shoulder. 

“Right… Thank you for everything.” She smiled and nodded, waving you off as you left her office. You walked out of the building. The bright blue sky along with the sun blinded your sight for just a moment, but your vision quickly adjusted to the sudden change in light. You tugged at the loose tank top you were wearing, trying to cool down a bit and keep yourself from sweating through the thin fabric. 

 A honk grabbed your attention and you smiled as you noticed a certain Russian waiting fro you in his bright pink car. You giggled everytime he picked you up in that car, not believing he actually bought something like that. You jogged towards the pink vehicle, and opened the passenger seat. 

 “How was your session?” He asked you curiously, as you buckled your seatbelt and grabbed the sunglasses he offered you. You nodded and smiled brightly at him. A smile that had been almost extinct a few years ago, but eventually repaired itself as you got help from him and your therapist. 

“Great! I now only have to go once a week!” Viktor showed you the same toothy smile you had given him, leaning over to peck your cheek. He was truly happy everything turned out okay. You were happy again, and enjoying life like you should have. 

“That’s amazing! Let’s go celebrate!” You nodded and giggled as he cheered for you. You playfully punched his side and watched him with a mesmerized look. Viktor was truly beautiful, inside and out. He had helped you recover from your traumatic experience, and you wouldn’t know what you had done without him. 

 You leaned forwards and captured his lips in a loving kiss. Viktor froze, slightly taken back by your actions, before smiling against your kiss and returning it. “Thank you, Viktor, for everything.” He stared back at you and nodded, cupping your cheek and caressing your cheekbone with his thumb. 

“I love you, Y/n.” 

“I love you too, Viktor.” 

 “Make sure we don’t see you here again.”

 The guard closed the gates behind him, locking it and returning towards his post. A wicked smile appeared on his face, and his fingers clenched around the box of belongings in his hands. He licked his lower lip and chuckled darkly. 

“See you soon, Y/n.”

[mysteryshelf]

BLOG TOUR - Hiding

Welcome to

THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF!

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Hiding

by Jenny Morton Potts

on Tour May 1-31, 2018

Synopsis:

  Keller Baye and Rebecca Brown live on different sides of the Atlantic. Until she falls in love with him, Rebecca knows nothing of Keller. But he’s known about her for a very long time, and now he wants to destroy her.

This is the story of two families. One living under the threat of execution in North Carolina. The other caught up in a dark mystery in the Scottish Highlands. The families’ paths are destined to cross. But why? And can anything save them when that happens?

  Book Details:

Genre: Psychological Thriller Published by: Cahoots Publishing Publication Date: February 2018 Number of Pages: 323 ISBN: 1976862817 (ISBN13: 9781976862816) Check out Hiding on Amazon | Goodreads

  Read an excerpt:

Chapter 2

Death Row June 2021

There was a walk now. They passed doors, like random choices. They all looked the same, all the colour of pale nicotine. But some of those doors were in the business of living and some were not. As you walked past them, you could feel hope slipping away. Which door? Which one? It was like a game the devil might play as you entered hell. Eventually the passengers reached the end of their journey and were shown into another room which was similar in size to the last but with what looked like a window on one side. The window was dark for the moment, with a black blind pulled down and opposite, there was a gallery with seating. The seating was slightly raked, like a theatre. They were here for a performance.

‘That’s 11.30 gone now,’ someone said from the far end.

‘Show must go on.’ Keller mumbled.

There was a crackle and then an audio test from the speaker in the corner. Keller imagined that President Descher had arranged a televised viewing and that all over the State the people could see and hear this: factory workers, grandmothers, schoolchildren, stopping what they’re doing and watching. From the audio speaker, Keller recognised words from the phonetic alphabet, then the date, today, June 23rd 2021, the location, the prisoner’s name and number HCI 72259-931 and the time scheduled for execution.

Keller knew that the duration for the poison to act was ten minutes maximum and that the ratio to be injected was set against the inmate’s weight and height.

Somewhere behind him, Keller could hear mumbling about the victims’ families and an officer explained that they were seated separately, in another viewing room. He imagined that the families’ room was crowded, since eight victims had lost their lives that day.

At 11.45 am, the time was announced once more on the speaker and the blind was pulled up manually, revealing the execution chamber. Keller had forgotten who was seated directly next to him now, but whoever it was flinched.

The prisoner was already strapped onto the gurney. There was a sheet over his body but you could see where the constraint buckles jutted up into the clean white cotton. His left arm was exposed however and the intravenous tube was already in. He was clean shaven. Keller had never seen him without a beard. He could almost pretend he did not know him.

Three Harfield guards came into the chamber now. They did not look at the window, which to them was a mirror. Who would want to see themselves doing what they were about to do, even if it was their duty. The three guards were each handed a syringe. The content of one of the syringes was deadly and the other two contained a harmless fluid. The guards would never know who among them administered the lethal injection.

The condemned man’s chest began to rise and fall. He blinked rapidly and his Adam’s apple bulged in his throat, as he struggled to find an impossible place between dignity and the screaming of his nerves to stay alive.

Keller murmured, ‘There is nothing to do now but die.’

A man in the chamber who had been out of their view, moved into sight. He was dressed in a plain dark suit. He identified himself as Warden James and held up a chart. His hand was steady enough, his white knuckles though suggested a very tight grip on that chart.

Keller stared down at the inmate who seemed to be staring back, though Keller knew that the glass was one way and that all the condemned could see was a reflection of his own final scene. All the same, their eyes met.

Warden James turned to the prisoner. ‘Is there anything you would like to say or read before we administer this lethal injection?’

‘Yes.’

Keller frowned down at the neighboring lap. It was the redhead next to him, the PhD student, twisting that engagement ring. The girl who more than likely had it all, the girl who could not cope without her cell, was barely coping at all. Keller could feel her trembling against the length of his torso and the anger in his veins burned. The young woman held her hand up to her mouth and whispered into it, ‘God, dear God.’

The Warden lowered his eyes to Prisoner HCI 72259-931 on the gurney and blinked several times. He said to the inmate, ‘Go ahead, what do you want to say.’

‘I would like to ask a question.’

‘What is your question?’

‘I would like to ask a question and have it answered.’

Warden James looked around the room at the other officials.

‘Go ahead and ask your question.’

‘Not until you tell me that I will have an answer.’

Keller smiled and nudged the redhead. ‘You see? Make the most of every goddamned moment.’

The young woman was on the edge of her seat and on the edge of tears.

In the chamber, the suits and uniforms huddled and muttered amongst themselves and the Warden came free of the pack once more.

‘We shall try to answer your question. And cannot commit beyond that. I ask you therefore again, is there anything you would like to say?’

The inmate tried to lift his head but the strap across his brow was held tight. He cleared his throat and said in that thick Carolina accent that Keller thought he’d forgotten but which now reignited in his memory and ripped through his heart.

‘I want to know if my son can see me.’

***

Excerpt from Hiding by Jenny Morton Potts. Copyright © 2018 by Jenny Morton Potts. Reproduced with permission from Jenny Morton Potts. All rights reserved.

  Author Bio:

Jenny is a novelist, screenplay writer and playwright. After a series of ‘proper jobs’, she realised she was living someone else’s life and escaped to Gascony to make gîtes. Knee deep in cement and pregnant, Jenny was happy. Then autism and a distracted spine surgeon wiped out the order. Returned to wonderful England, to write her socks off.

Jenny would like to see the Northern Lights but worries that’s the best bit and should be saved till last. Very happily, and gratefully, settled with family.

She tries not to take herself too seriously.

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BLOG TOUR – Hiding was originally published on the Wordpress version of The Pulp and Mystery Shelf with Shannon Muir

[fathersonholygore]

Many drugs are mind altering. Opioids, and specifically heroin, are life altering. I’ve never taken heroin, even though I’ve seen others take it and had it offered to me. My addiction was contained to many of the other opioids, from oxycodone to Demerol to garden variety morphine. Nine years clean and I still remember the stranglehold they held on my life, intent on ruining everything good in my life. It wasn’t exactly Trainspotting. Still, I’ll always understand Mark Renton (Ewan McGregor) and the lads, to some extent. Opioids pull you away from the world, both with an otherworldly physical sensation and in the mental isolation they instil in the user, effectively shielding them from reality. On an existential level, they end your life. The addict becomes suspended in a space somewhere between fantasy and reality, as if experiencing a form of spiritual death. Danny Boyle’s Trainspotting is a humorous if not bleak look at the truth that hard drugs are, for the junkie, a version of the afterlife, during which they experience heaven, hell, and purgatory at various intervals. Boyle’s choice to weave the gritty life of a group of heroin addicts shot, by necessity, in a low-budget style with moments of magical realism captures the process of addiction in vivid and at times terrifying detail. It’s like a 20th-century version of Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy narrated by a lad from Edinburgh hooked on skag. Renton guides us from Inferno to Purgatorio and finally to Paradiso. This journey is facilitated by Boyle’s use of magical realism to convey the fantastical, if not devastating effects and consequences of taking heroin.

  “In the middle of the journey of our life/ I found myself within/ A dark woods where the straight way was lost.” – Inferno; Canto I lines 1-3

Immediately, the “Choose Life” monologue from Irvine Welsh’s book – originally located around the middle of the text, moved to the beginning of the screenplay by Boyle and screenwriter John Hodge – is essentially the anthem for all narcissist drug users. The viewer has no doubts about Renton or his friends Spud (Ewen Bremner) and Sick Boy (Jonny Lee Miller) being addicts right from the opening scene. The “Choose Life” monologue also reveals the utter obsession of the addict with nothing else except getting high. Renton could’ve chose any number of paths, and yet he chose one that lead him into those dark woods of Dante. Nevertheless, those dark woods, for him, are just as good as heaven if he has heroin to guide him. No matter how it appears outwardly to the non-addict, junkie heaven is the high itself. Boyle puts us directly in the midst of all the needle use and the decrepit apartments in rundown public housing complexes. He never glorifies the drug lifestyle while not shying away from illustrating how much an addict enjoys being high. After spending so much time in heavenly bliss, the junkie gets so desperate to crawl back to that chemical fantasyland they’re willing to mentally bend reality themselves to get there. Even when Renton decides on getting clean he’s desperate enough to go fishing in a nasty pub toilet for opium suppositories he lost. The Worst Toilet in Scotland scene is prefaced by Boyle adding “The Worst” and “in Scotland” to the toilet door’s label, similar to Dante’s vision of hell where a sign hangs above the entrance warning: “All hope abandon, ye who enter here.” The toilet transforms via the junkie mind into a clear pool of water. In the throes of desperation, Renton is suddenly no longer a junkie – he’s a diver searching the ocean floor for glorious, valuable pearls. Boyle doesn’t let the viewer stray too long, though. He reels us back up out of the water and into the stall of that hideous toilet where – just as it does when baby Dawn perishes from neglect partway through the film – the reality of the junkie once more returns in all its brutality.

“I did not die, and I alive remained not/ Think for thyself now, hast thou aught of wit/ What I became, being of both deprived.” – Inferno; Canto XXXIV lines 25-28

When Renton overdoses in the apartment of his dealer, Swanney a.k.a Mother Superior (Peter Mullan), he passes between life and death; not quite alive, never fully dead. Boyle’s magical realism here is a double dose of symbolism. After Renton shoots up, he literally sinks into the carpet. On one hand, this is a metaphor of the opioid high itself, as the warm, fuzzy carpet hugs him into it with open arms. It’s also symbolic of the antisocial nature of heroin; the retreat into the carpet is the junkie reverting completely within themselves. On the other hand, Boyle shows us the banal, everyday death of the junkie symbolised by the carpet transforming into a coffin, and the floor of the apartment acts as a grave. D.P. Brian Tufano’s camera assumes the point-of-view of Renton, pointing up through the opening of the makeshift grave while Mother Superior looks down upon him. The viewer becomes a corpse looking out from a carpeted grave. When Renton makes it to a hospital and the nurses give him adrenaline he comes back to life, even though he wasn’t totally dead. He then re-emerges from the carpet-lined coffin. As if hovering on the line between life and death wasn’t disturbing enough, it’s Renton’s drug purgatory where the actual horror begins. Following his overdose, Renton is forced into a cold turkey, homemade rehab by his mother and father. This is his personal purgatory, or as he describes it himself “the junkie limbo,” before any of the nastier symptoms take hold. Withdrawals turn fantasy into terror, and those happy, cosy fantasies of junkie heaven are subverted into nightmares. Magical realism is now horrific realism. He see his friend Begbie (Robert Carlyle) under his sheets representing the social shame of being a junkie. He sees his parents on a television set answer game show questions about AIDS, which symbolises his fear of the consequences of his intravenous drug use. There’s also the most harrowing representation of heroin’s consequences: baby Dawn, who was found dead in her crib by the group of junkies, now crawls along the ceiling, and her head spins around, before she falls down onto Renton in bed. Later comes the guilt when he sees Spud in prison chains after Renton managed to escape any charges for their doomed robbery, and he sees Tommy (Kevin McKidd), who he introduced to heroin, in a wretched state of advanced addiction; both of which signify his own psychologically debilitating guilt. His parents assure him he will get through it, just as Virgil tells Dante in Purgatorio: “My son/ Here may indeed be torment, but not death.” Torment doesn’t necessarily end there, either. The worst comes after purgatory when the junkie must return to reality. They’re not able to sweat and vomit the guilt out, neither can they rid their system of the damaging memories of the things they done and what they’ve seen. Suddenly, life is hell, which is no less difficult even if it’s part of the route to heaven.

“You dull your own perceptions/ With false imaginings and do not grasp/ What would be clear but for your preconceptions.” – Paradiso; Canto I lines 88-90

Renton remarks that “once the pain goes away that’s when the real battle starts” because Trainspotting’s vision of junkie hell is real life itself. After first kicking the habit, Boyle’s magical realism vanishes. For over a half hour near the end of the film the viewer and Renton experience unfiltered reality. Even when he relapses the ugliness of reality does not leave because his eyes have opened from the slumber of addiction, and while physically he’s falling back into drugs he refuses to fall back there mentally again, too. This is punctuated by Renton witnessing his maniac friend Begbie cause a violent, bloody scene in the pub for no other reason than his own clumsiness and anger. He sees the destructive reality of his life in no uncertain terms, which only fortifies his will to make an actual, lasting change. Ironically, Renton’s betrayal of his friends is the absolute best personal choice for him, and the only way he can truly escape addiction. Just as it is in real life, sometimes to be free of addiction we must shed the skin of our former life, even though our friends are a part of what makes up that skin.

“Open thy mind to that which I reveal/ And fix it there within; for ‘tis not knowledge/ The having heard without retaining it.” – Paradiso; Canto V lines 40-42

Boyle’s magical realism puts the viewer through the afterlife of drug use and addiction alongside Renton. More importantly, it acts as a guide along the journey. We experience the heavenly hallucinatory highs of heroin with him, then we go through the purgatorial space of withdrawal, as well as the hell of real life where there’s no more fantasy, just pure and honest reality. This doesn’t mean there is no hope for Renton. Dante’s Divine Comedy is thematically concerned with sin, in that it suggests the individual must recognise and accept one’s sins in order to find a path to heaven. Once Renton fully accepts his addiction and the magical realism slips away, he experiences a version of hell, yet in a sense he’s also able to move closer to a real heaven that’s non-drug induced; reality instead of fantasy. Although Trainspotting ends on a bittersweet note with Renton betraying his longtime friends, this is actually his salvation. It isn’t exactly what Dante would’ve envisioned, though it’s as close as someone like Renton will get to salvation. If someone like him – or me, for that matter, nearing a decade into my own recovery – can escape that life and the cycle of addiction, it’s attainable for anyone willing to undertake the journey. This is why Renton narrates the film to the viewer, almost as if he’s our guide, similar to how Virgil was a guide for Dante. If we consider where he ends up in the sequel, T2, at least we know that he’s able to stay clean for many years. What neither Mark Renton nor the rest of society can afford to forget is that addiction never leaves us, it’s a force we must constantly battle even after the addict is clean. This means that the important lessons of Trainspotting are pointless if they’re forgotten.

TRAINSPOTTING; Or, Renton’s Divine Comedy Many drugs are mind altering. Opioids, and specifically heroin, are life altering. I’ve never taken heroin, even though I’ve seen others take it and had it offered to me.

[casualarsonist]

Parental Guidance: Madagascar

I, for one, don’t quite understand the Madagascar media empire. I’m yet to watch the sequels, and I suppose a better reviewer would have researched a bit more about the films and games and spin-offs that sprang from this original movie, but I’m intentionally keeping myself in the dark so I can avoid an outside influence in my uncovering of these films. Which means I’m going to have to watch the other two. Which is something I just realised and I’m not particularly excited for. And now that I’ve cast a pall over the review by making such comments in the opening paragraph, let’s move on so I can give a more detailed description of all the reasons why this movie is just okay. 

Madagascar is the tale of Marty the zebra (Chris Rock), at least for the first third of the film, who is getting restless after a lifetime of being stuck in Central Park Zoo. He yearns to go to the ‘wild’, a dream spurned on by the bright mural of rolling grassy plains and dense forest wilderness that covers the wall opposite his enclosure. His friends, Alex the lion (Ben Stiller), Melman the hypochondriac giraffe (David Schwimmer), and Gloria the sassy hippo (Jada Pinkett Smith) are all far more adjusted to their life of luxury and the routine of the their day-to-day lives and fail to give much creedence to Marty’s complaints, until the day he goes missing. Assisted by a quartet of the best characters in the film - penguins intent on making their way to Antarctica (Tim McGrath, Chris Miller, Jeffrey Katzenberg, Christopher Knights) - the animals escape the zoo, wander the streets of Manhattan, are rounded up by animal control, and, their escape being seen by the public as a sign of their loathing of captivity, are shipped across the sea to Africa. During the long boat journey, the penguins take command of the ship...somehow...and in the ensuing chaos the four friends fall overboard and are beached on the coast of Madagascar. As the others adjust to life on the island, Alex, unused to hunting, begins to find himself hungry, and starts to see Marty as less of a friend and more of a meal.

At this point we’re about 45 minutes into the film and the first hints of a narrative arc are beginning to show their face, and I found myself engaged for the first time by the glimmer of hope that Alex’s transformation exhibited. But sadly, this glimmer amounted to little more than that, because at this point the movie is too far down a hole of narrative unfocus, and here we encounter my main problem. Y’see, there’s not a single coherent overarching story in Madagascar. It has fragments of a story, sure -  Marty’s story is that of a zebra in captivity that yearns for the wild, and finds it to be exactly as good as he hoped; Alex’s story is that of a lion happy to be caged, who is dragged along into an unfamiliar environment and confronted by his innate desire to hunt his friend; Gloria and Melanie’s stories are...that they get to come along, I guess? The penguins also have a separate story in which they wish to travel to Antarctica. They get there, and in 5 seconds decide that it sucks, and leave in order to appear again at the end and set up a sequel. The closest of these that comes to an actual character arc is Alex’s, but let’s take a look at the way a three-act narrative arc should pan out, and discuss why Madagascar manages to bungle it by lacking focus and a consistency:

ACT 1 - The set up. The characters are introduced and a premise is established.

In this case, it’s that Marty wants to go to the wild, and his friends get dragged along. It seems that Marty is the main character, because the plot developments are all driven by him; he’s the only character with any desire for change, and he's the only person that takes action; all the other characters are padding and are simply dragged along by the plot.

ACT 2 - Confrontation. The characters are faced with a struggle that they must overcome.

At this point, Marty’s goals have been achieved without struggle, so the focus shifts to Alex, who can’t eat what the others can and begins to starve, leading to him reverting to his predatory ways and becoming a threat to those around him. It now seems that Alex is the main character because the plot developments are driven by him, but this feels incongruent given that he never wanted to leave the zoo in the first place, so there’s no lesson to be learned by the character undergoing the struggle, and no struggle undergone by the character that catalysed the plot of the film.

ACT 3 - The resolution. The characters overcome their struggle and (usually) become better because of it.

Alex isolates himself while repeatedly wondering aloud what is happening to him. It’s clear that he’s starving for meat, but for some reason none of the characters address this or try to solve the problem - they simply treat him as if he were crazy. Marty comes to find him in his isolation and is attacked by some carnivorous Foosa. Alex fights them off, and then, despite the fact that his wildness has only been temporarily suppressed, they’re all friends again. After the emotional climax of the film has passed, the penguins feed Alex sushi and everyone is happy once more, except for me as this final development is clumsily shoe-horned in at the end as if it wasn’t the resolution of the story driving the entire second act of the film (as well as being inconsistent with the internal logic that establishes that Alex is bad for wanting to eat other animals, but for some reason fish and beef don’t count).

So what are we watching here? If it’s a story about four friends going on a great adventure to the wild, then why is the adventure over half an hour into the 90 minute movie? If it’s a story about four friends being pushed out of their comfort zone and enduring the hurdles of a strange and unfamiliar place, then why is it that only one of the friends involved has trouble adapting? If it’s a story about four friends, then why are Gloria and Melanoma little more than filler characters? If it’s a story about two friends, then why do Gloria and Mailman exist at all? If it’s a story about friendship overcoming adversity, then why is it that Marty and Alex’s friendship is never tested, merely questioned briefly? Madagascar doesn’t know what it wants to say and therefore doesn’t say anything with conviction. The clever moments (and some of the moments are clever) are undermined by the greater inconsistency. This doesn’t make the film bad, just forgettable.

But of course, after all that, I know this is a kid’s film, and it’s likely that you child won’t notice or give a shit about anything that I’ve said, so now that I’ve written about a thousand words regarding the things I dislike, let me try to redeem this review by mentioning that the film is rather harmless otherwise. There are some rough sides to the CGI visible in the low resolution and some of the animation, but everything is pleasantly stylised in a way that transcends any technical limitations and it achieves a rather timeless look. The performances of the leads are competent and Chris Rock is a surprise standout, who, given his capacity for shrillness, avoids much of the obnoxiousness that plagued Shrek’s Donkey. He lends Marty a great deal of emotional range and heart, and is a good foil for Stiller who gives a solid, if forgettable, performance (as recognisable as he is on screen, his voice could belong to almost anyone). Pinkett Smith is strong and sassy as her stereotype demands, and Schwimmer is utterly insufferable, as his stereotype demands, but I was happy to see him getting work (right up until I wanted his character to fuck off). Baron Cohen is also memorable as the lemur king, but I never want to hear the words ‘I like to move it move it’ again, and Cedric the Entertainer is wonderful and dry as his offsider. The best voice performance however, hands down, comes from Tom McGrath as Skipper, the leader of the penguins. Although they’re merely a distraction in terms of the overall story, the penguins are actually one of the most reliably entertaining parts of the film, and it’s easy to see why they became so popular as characters and managed to get their own spin-off film. I’m looking forward to watching that more than I am the Madagascar sequels, to be honest.

All in all, Madagascar is not as good a film as the success of its franchise suggests. It made over half a billion dollars at the box office for some reason, although it’s clearly aimed at a younger audience and relies on a lot of slapstick and bad jokes for laughs so perhaps it was a hit with babies. There are few reasons to preference it over many of the other CGI films of the time, and the inclusion of Mulled Wine the whingey bitch, and that god damn ‘I like to move it’ song make it more annoying than it has the right to be. The sequels are reportedly better, so I’ll get back to you about them some time in the near future. Until then, I’d recommend looking elsewhere for the time being.

Laughs: 6

Occasional laugh-out-loud moments are overrun by rather lame and simple humour. 

Visuals: 7

Another alumni of the CGI-boom era of kid’s films that suffers from the infancy of its technology. Thankfully, its stylised enough that it still holds its charm, but there’s something weird about the low resolution of the images, and the animations. 

Performances: 7

The performances are fine for the most part, but nothing particularly remarkable. Ben Stiller makes a pretty ineffectual lead to be honest. Chris Rock and Tom McGrath are great.

Plot: 5

It doesn’t really seem to know where it’s going for the most part, and kind of wanders around between plot points. The second act is the only part of the film that seems to have any kind of recognisable intention. 

Obnoxiousness: 7

If I hear the words ‘I like to move it move it’ one more time, I’m going to kill someone. Also David Schwimmer’s hypochondriac giraffe needs to be put down. 

Timelessness: 6

The visuals aren’t too bad, and the performances are still peppy enough to keep everyone entertained. The film is predominately let down by the lack of an interesting narrative. 

Hardcore Rating: 2

That’s a light 2 as well. There’s next to nothing scary about this film - everything is cartoony, right down to the drama. Even at its darkest, it’s Lion King Lite. 

Overall: 6/10

I kind of want to give this a 7 because it’s a competent film for the most part, but it’s just not that interesting, frankly. It’s a small cast, so it stings when a few of the characters are gratingly annoying, and it doesn’t do enough with its bare threads of a plot to make it anything special. Its most notable because of the franchise it kicked off, but I personally don’t see why so much came from this film.