#the events leading to all this are held together by a bunch of plot holes. it's just frustrating

[rubykgrant]

I'm TRYING to re-think the order of some of the events in my RVB story-line, so it flows a little better as an actual plot (to be fair, the actual series would often leave the end of a season sort of up in the air, and come back with a non sequitur after a lot of time passes, so. shame on me for trying so hard, I guess). I have a lot more little details involved (I'll ramble about those below), but these are the BIG PICTURE aspects that everything else is framed around

The Interviews involve the Reds, Blues, former Freelancers, Doc, Locus, and a few friends from Chorus talking about what they've been through (with some flash-backs thrown in, showing what they aren't all telling). During the Vacations, Donut goes on a big spa-spree, the Grif sibs go back to Hawaii (without a big fuss, Kai may like the attention, but Grif doesn't want people bothering him about being the Famous Orange Soldier), Simmons tries to track down his family (he can't find them), Sarge goes back to sulk in Blood Gulch alone, Wash goes looking for the Triplets, Doc spends some time with Dr Grey and thinks about trying for a medical degree again, Lopez is allowed to just be by himself (and he's honestly kinda bored), Caboose goes back to the Moon, Tucker searches for Junior, Carolina attempts to dig up info about how deep Charon/Project Freelancer really got into all the crime BS, Locus tries to turn himself into the authorities on Chorus (being all "I deserve to die" about it) but Kimball gives him a "life sentence" of community service. Everybody misses each other, and are drawn back together like a bunch of planets caught in the same gravitational pull

-Sarge is contacted by a UNSC group that wants to give soldiers who were Sim Troopers and members of the Flag Zealots "new training", and he doesn't hesitate. He has fun with it for a while, and this is where he meets Poppy... she is how he finds out a lot of the people here were given the option "join this training program or face prison time", which really isn't much of an option at all. He thinks about how the Red VS Blue war was a lie, he thinks about Project Freelancer manipulating the agents, he thinks about Wash having a villain moment to avoid being locked-up, he thinks about Locus believing soldiers are supposed to kill without ever asking questions... and Papa Warcrimes decides he actually hates the military (it's a sign of the apocalypse!). Meanwhile, Carolina has finally gotten some leads about Charon, and she meets Junonia, who helps her find out more regarding the past and what Hargrove is still up to. Gene has also been around, trying to be a solo villain, but he's BARELY a one-man Team Rocket. Finally, the insidious purpose for all this new training is exposed, and Red Team (with their new member, Poppy) gets to have the spot-light when they fight the villain

-Everybody finally goes back to Earth together, and this time, a big celebration is held for their return. They spend most of their time out of armor on Earth, so the general public leaves them alone. Some fun shenanigans with everybody finding ways to amuse themselves (Sarge doesn't like going outside, the sky is too BLUE). Now that she knows where they are (thanks to the welcoming celebration), Tex finally catches up with everybody, revealing that when Epsilon Deconstructed, the information from his memories transferred back to the original Beta unit, reviving her. The Director had this whole plan for eventually bringing Allison back with a synthetic human body made from her DNA sample, but he could never make it "perfect" (Tex isn't an identical clone, more like a genetic "sibling" to Allison). She isn't the only one who found them; the parents Simmons went looking for finally show up (now that their son is a famous space hero). He's more than happy to get their attention, and they have him join their work at a bio-tech company (everybody else immediately recognizes the parents as a-holes, and the business as shady, but try telling Simmons that). Tex was initially hesitant to reveal the other AI Fragments were also revived, what with some left-over sore feelings regarding Sigma and Omega (Wash is ironically more willing to forgive them for everything; he wishes he had been able to do that BEFORE, instead of fighting against them as the Meta, and the whole spiral from there). Carolina talks through emotions with Sigma, and Omega compliments both Doc and O'malley for finding their back-bone. Everybody else is happy to get to know the Fragments better. Some Drama happens with the Reds, but Simmons finally sees his parents don't really care about him, and they all figure out that the bio-tech company has the original Alpha Unit hidden away. They rescue Church, who has the chance to be in his own synthetic body based on the Directors DNA (again, not identical, just similar)

-Everybody gets to CATCH THEIR BREATH, Caboose and Tucker have Church back, Church and Tex get to do people things, hooray! A distress call out there in space tricks Tucker into thinking Junior is in trouble, so he heads out to find his kid (most of the others join him, but a few stay behind because of recovering injures, etc). This turns out to be a trick, Hargrove and Temple are both being jerks. The rest of the gang arrives for a rescue, and Church has each of the Fragments assist his friends for the escape; for Hargrove, this was his attempt to test out a "new version" of scanning a mind to make his own AI (his tech is wonky, and will definitely kill people it scans). For Temple, he's under the impression that if he helps, he can have his own mind scanned, thus giving him a "recreation" of Biff from his memories. Hargrove REALLY wants people who have interacted with the AI Fragments as experiments, since he thinks there is important data to be found from minds like that. Temple just wants to kill the main group because he hates their guts, and it isn't FAIR, why do they get their dead friend back? Also, everybody finds the AI file for Sheila! When things settle down, Grif and Simmons talk, and at last they are on the same freaking page

-After the rescue, Hargove escapes again, and the group hears a distress call from Chorus. Some old problems are going on again, so they swing by to help out. Hargrove has one last-ditch effort to get what he wants in terms of AI experiments... Felix didn't just come back wrong, he came back WORSE. Well, everybody has the chance to work through some unresolved negative emotions aimed at him (Kimball, Locus, Tucker- everybody gets a stab in!). Felix wants to use his sword again, but it recognizes him as "dead". He tries to use a temple that "revives echoes" for key holders, but this just gives him a ghost of Doyle ("It was mine before it was yours"). The Echo also brings back other AI like Santa, who have been programmed to make certain events happen... while everybody tries to deal with Felix AND finally catch Hargrove for good, the Echo creates a whole third problem. At last, a group of aliens arrive, alerted by the Echo, and in the group is- Junior!

-Some happy family reunion time for Tucker and his boy. Junior explains what he's been doing for so long; he wasn't trying to avoid his father, but there are dangerous groups out there trying to kill him, and he's been hiding while also trying to save others. The strange "prophecy" about him, as well as things involving a "Great Destroyer" is indeed true (Gary admits he kind of just made up what it was about, but it really WAS real!) have become more urgent. Somebody who wants to take over and wipe-out anybody who opposes them has been targeting Junior. There are also many other half human/aliens like him, an attempt to create as many potential "prophecy children" as possible, but all were rejected by their human parents and only seen as tools by the other aliens (except for Junior, who is actually loved by his dad... even though they haven't been able to spend much time together). Another temple out in space supposedly has the power to give "continuous life", and the villain intends to use that to win. Tucker and the others try to protect Junior, but the temple doesn't work the way they all think...

-Back on Earth again, life seems to give them all a break... but unusual things begin happening. It eventually becomes clear that there are "new AI gods" toying with them (some are just playful, a few are genuinely malicious). This involves somewhat amusing, if a little annoying, shenanigans (like Wash getting turned into a cat, and a tiny 7-year-old Sarge showing up), but also very dangerous situations. Alternate time-lines and realities collide, some arguably "worst-case scenarios"

-It finally becomes necessary to confront the cause of all this. The group gets pulled into a pocket dimension where a lot of realities intersect. One AI god demands people fight for their amusement, and the winner will get to return to the "reality they want". The group really just wants weird paradox stuff to STOP. Church, Tex, and the Fragments figure out a way to keep everybody from dying, even the enemies they have to fight, until they have the chance to take on the one trying to control everything. Just when it seems like that issue is solved... Donut throws up. Weird, cosmic throw-up, like if the big-bang was a liquid. Being the one who has been traveling through time and reality the most, he's kind of absorbed a LOT of cosmic energy, and he can't control it. A big monster-transformation happens, but everybody figures out how to fix it so they can save Donut. Are we done? Are we DONE now???

-Yes. Everybody has the chance to live their lives, whatever that means for each of them. They get to be happy. Sometimes, bad things still happen, it can be difficult and unpleasant to live- but they still LIVE. Eventually, they pass on too (and that also means different things for some of them). When all is said and done, they're mostly glad they all got to be here~

[hotpinkandsparkly]

show notorious for an awful ending comes back from the dead and has an even worse second ending

[diminished-fish]

References for “A Portrait in Synesthesia”

This fic is COMPLETE now, so anyone who might have been hesitant to follow a wip, here you go! The whole synesthetic package, wrapped up with a nice lil bow on top. :3

For those who might have missed the masterpost: the fic was my contribution to the good omens big bang and is a sweeping, canon-compliant romp through history, told in (almost) all original scenes, with lots of nature imagery and T.S. Eliot. Kind of my own cold open, but with way more feelings and flowers. Also the sea. And an emotionally significant comet.

I had the opportunity to throw all of myself at this project and really enjoyed making it an intense focus for a while. In a way, it was an experiment to see how much I was capable of, which as it turns out, is more than I thought! (there’s a lesson here, probably...). Going this deep with the research and worldbuilding is not something I will likely be doing often for fic writing, but since I did with this one, I figured I’d share a bit of the process.

Under the cut are major spoilers for the timeline, story, and historic events in my recent fic, A Portrait in Synesthesia. I had originally planned to post this information in the end notes of the fic, but at some point, the list got way too long and posting it here became the sensible choice. There is a link to this post in the end notes of the fic, so it will be easy to find your way back here if you get to the end and want to know a bit more about the writing and research process. 

The Title:

Putting this bit at the top because I don’t know where else to put it: The working title for this fic throughout the entire writing process was “In Synesthesia.” I almost changed the final title in the eleventh hour to “The Still Point of the Turning World” because of what a prevalent theme Eliot became (that line was also slipped into the story three times at important moments — once for each POV character). I also briefly considered “Always, We Were Enough” as a title, since the conversation with Adrielle at the lighthouse kind of... accidentally became the thesis of the whole story, but that was a bit too sappy even for me, a Confirmed Sap. 

And while I’ll be questioning my choice of title for the rest of forever (titling things is hard, y’all), I ultimately thought the more descriptive title was best, and wanted to keep the nod to the song that inspired it all.

Speaking of the song... have you listened to it yet?? It’s great, I promise!

Synesthesia:

This was my research starting point. Before I dug into any of the historical or astronomical research or even started any serious plotting, I started reading about synesthesia, or, as Psychology Today defines it: the neurological condition in which the stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway (for example, hearing) leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway (such as vision).

Full disclosure: I do not have synesthesia. I spent a LOT of time researching it for this fic and did my best to portray it accurately, in spite of the fantastical elements I added. If I’ve overstepped or gotten something wrong and there are any synesthetes out there who would like to talk about it, I am very open to those discussions. The AO3 comments are always open to that, or you can message me/send me an ask here if you would like a less public forum.

I probably read r/Synesthesia in its entirety, but this thread of first-hand accounts was one of the most interesting to me and provided a lot of the inspiration for how I used the emotional synesthesia imagery. 

Besides everyone’s favorite research staring point of Wikipedia, this link is one I got from Boston University’s Synesthesia Project, and it is a pretty exhaustive list of research and books, as well as art and poetry about synesthesia. I have also been working my way through The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Other Clinical Tales, by Oliver Sacks which is the book that came most frequently recommended to me in my search. It’s an extremely approachable and interesting look at neurological conditions, synesthesia among them.

As it appears in the fic:

In a broad, generalized sense, Aziraphale and Crowley have a few types of synesthesia in this story. Obviously, I gave it a supernatural/celestial twist and a healthy glug of magical realism, but I did try to keep it firmly rooted in the actual condition. The types of synesthesia they have are:

Chromesthesia: they both have this. Sounds, specifically each other’s voices, have a color association

Lexical-gustatory synesthesia/emotion-flavor synesthesia: Aziraphale has this. Words (in this case, emotions, specifically Crowley’s emotional state) have a taste.

Odor-color synesthesia/emotion-odor synesthesia: Crowley has this. Words (again, emotions, specifically Aziraphale’s emotional state) have a smell.

One of the defining characteristics of synesthesia is that it is constant. If a synesthete connects the number 9 with the color blue, for example, then they will always connect them in this way. This was the major difference between real synesthesia and the fantasy synesthesia in this fic. The sensory/emotion connections for Aziraphale and Crowley changed in subtle ways as their relationship evolved through the ages.

The “binding thread” also had nothing to do with synesthesia. That was me wanting to make the spool analogy work for the body swap, baking it into the entire fic because I liked how the imagery fit with the synesthesia, and then leaning into the magic and the soul memory so hard that I fell flat on my face into magical realism. (A True Fact: I have spent a fair amount of time lying on the floor in the past 6 months, shaking my fist at the cute little plot bunny who grew fangs and claws and dragged me down a rabbit hole that ended up being 100k words deep). 

Anyway! Research!

Before I get into space and history and flowers... Yes, I admit to absolutely making up some wacky shit about Europa for the sake of fun banter and making a metaphor work. All those pre-Fall scenes on abandoned Earths are 100% a fantasy setting and I exercised the super fun right of a fantasy writer and embraced the worldbuilding (moonbuilding?). I also just thought Crowley would have delighted in tying a moon’s guts in knots, and Aziraphale would have delighted in the idea of whimsy-for-whimsy’s-sake. Please don’t lose sleep over the scientific inaccuracies.

Halley’s comet:

I promise not to bog this down with a billion comet facts, but there were a few particular things about Halley’s comet that had me gasping dramatically about how it’s “A.J. Crowley, but a comet!!” Specifically, it’s orbit and it’s structure. 

Halley’s retrograde orbit gives it one of the fastest velocities (relative to Earth) of any object in the solar system. I never explicitly worked the “you go too fast for me” line into the fic because I was trying to do original scenes (this particular story lived between the lines), but... just know that tidbit is there and join me in these emotional dire straits. If you like.

The comet’s structure is what is known as a “rubble pile”, meaning it’s made up of a bunch of smaller rocks held together by gravity (read: a hot god damn mess held together by stubbornness). 

As it appears in the fic:

The nucleus of Halley’s comet is shaped like a weird lopsided peanut. In fact, one could almost look at it and say it resembles a contact binary star, if such a thing could be a shriveled, misshapen pile of rubble.

Officially, Halley’s comet might have been recorded as early as 467 BC (a comet was recorded in Greece that year— unclear if it was Halley’s, but the timing and the fact that it was visible to the naked eye suggests that it probably was). This was the year I had Aziraphale making the scroll that causes Crowley’s panic in Athens (390 BC). I like to think that some human, at some point, caught a glimpse of it and tried to bring it to light, only to be written off as a crazed conspiracy theorist.

The apocalyptic depiction of Halley’s comet in chapter 9 (Bithynia) is actually based in fact. The comet made its closest approach to Earth (in human memory) in 837 AD, passing within 5 million kilometers. Its tail stretched halfway across the sky and it appeared as bright as Venus to the naked eye.

1910 Halley’s Comet panic. Bonus: c o m e t  p i l l s

Where 1910′s appearance was a spectacular sight and one of the closest approaches on record (coming within 22 million kilometers of Earth), 1986′s was the worst viewing conditions in 2,000 years. The comet passed within 63 million kilometers at its closest approach, and had the sun positioned between it and Earth, making it impossible to see from areas with any amount of light pollution, and almost invisible to all of the northern hemisphere. 

Historic events and settings:

Chapter 6 (Ostia): This was one of the chapters that I did a bunch of arguably unnecessary research for, since the history and the meat of the setting faded into the backdrop as the scene itself focused on dialogue and train of thought. The port town of Ostia was incredibly engrossing to read about, and between wikipedia’s ever-branching paths, ostia-antica.org, and ancient history encyclopedia’s entry, it ended up being one of the deeper rabbit holes I went down. My original intent for Aziraphale being in town was as a response to pirates sacking Ostia in 68 BC. I had him stationed there to guard against further attacks as the town rebuilt, and had him lingering because he was swept away by the romanticism of the art and the sea and the constant ebb & flow of people. I never found a way to work this in that didn’t feel super awkward and expository since the chapter was Crowley POV, so it was just left it as background noise.

Chapter 6 (pyramid of Cestius): Beyond being a magistrate of one of the four great religious corporations in ancient Rome (the Septemviri Epulonum), little is known about who Gaius Cestius actually was. As the city expanded, his lavish tomb was absorbed into the city walls (circa 3rd century AD), where it remains what he is remembered for to this day. I took most of my information from here (cross referenced with our lord and savior, Wikipedia) and had a chuckle at this poem by Thomas Hardy.

Chapter 8 (Plague of Justinian): The Yersinia pestis bacterium leaves no indicator on skeletal remains, meaning we rely on written records to track its path through history. The 6th century plague pandemic is the first recorded outbreak of bubonic plague, and for the purpose of our story, a certain distraught chronicler was the one on site, writing that history.

A note/cw: I wrote chapters 8 and 12 in October and November, respectively, and did much of my research for them over the summer. I imagine, given the current covid-19 pandemic, these sources would be less fun to follow up on now. Please be aware that the podcast episodes linked here, and the book cited in the miscellaneous refs section, get into pretty grisly details about illness and pandemics.

Chapters 8 and 12 (bubonic plague/The Black Death): I took a fair amount of my notes on bubonic/pnuemonic plague, specifically it’s path of destruction through Europe in the 14th century, from the two plague episodes of This Podcast Will Kill You. It’s pretty fascinating stuff and the Erins are great hosts, so check it out if you’re into delightful nerds bantering about epidemiology! 

Chapter 9 (the death of Peter of Atroa): Peter of Atroa was an abbot whose fame as a miracle-worker landed him in a scandal accusing him of exorcising demons by the power of Beelzebub, rather than God. Theodore the Studite’s letter cleared his name enough to avoid execution, but his reputation didn’t fully recover until after his death in 837 AD, when he was canonized as a saint. Peter and Theodore were tough to find extensive information on without passing through a paywall, so I took these scraps and ran a mile with them.

Chapter 13 (Tlatelolco, the Aztec Empire, the Feast of the Dead): I used this site as the source and starting point on much of my research on the Aztec Empire. And listen… I know it looks like a website for babies, and yes, I’m aware that a lot of the articles are literally written for a pre-teen audience, but it’s also one of the most concise, thorough, well-researched, and — perhaps most importantly — easily-searchable sources I found. Most of the pages cite papers and archaeological journals and I was able to jump to SO many other great sources of information. Mexicolore has my undying love and devotion for making my research process easy and fun and also having lots of pretty pictures.

Most of the physical descriptions for Tenochtitlan and Tlatelolco (surrounding landscape, canals and causeways, chinampas, etc.) started here.

Tenochtitlan and Tlatelolco were independent cities, but shared a border (kind of like a city and a suburb) and the small island on Lake Texcoco (located where present day Mexico City is). Tenochtitlan was the capital city of the Aztec Empire, and besides cross-referencing Mexicorlore, the link in the previous bullet point, and Wikipedia, I got a fair bit of information from these essays. 

Tlatelolco’s market was the major hub of trade and commerce, and saw 20-40,000 people trading PER DAY. Research on the market started here.

Chapter 14 (Terschelling and the Brandaris lighthouse): While I strove for historical accuracy as much as possible in this fic, I did take some liberties— especially with the island of Terschelling and the Brandaris lighthouse (yes, it’s real!) circa 1350-1435. 

The village of Brandarius is based on present day West Terschelling— a settlement founded as a direct result of the lighthouse. In the middle ages, both the village and the lighthouse were named after Saint Brandarius (or Brendan of Clonfert: ‘The Navigator’, ‘The Voyager’, ‘The Anchorite’, ‘The Bold’; patron saint of divers, mariners, and travellers). It’s still a relatively small village today, and it was a surprisingly difficult task to find historical records for Brandarius/West Terschelling dating back to the 14th century that say much beyond “it existed.” I loosely based the village off information found here, and named it “Brandarius” instead of “West Terschelling” based on the information found here. 

The original lighthouse was built in 1323, destroyed by the sea in 1570, and rebuilt in 1594. Since there were no records (that I could find) of what the original lighthouse looked like, I loosely based the height and floor plan on the current tower, and made up everything everything else about the interior. The interior was based on information about other live-in lighthouses, specifically this one which is roughly the same height as the Brandaris.

The present day Brandaris lighthouse sits directly in the middle of West Terschelling. For the sake of that sweet Self-Imposed Exile + Cryptid Lighthouse Keeper drama, I took the liberty of making my fictional village of Brandarius teeny tiny and setting it slightly apart from the lighthouse. 

Miscellaneous references:

In addition to the podcast, details about plague in chapters 8 and 12 were gleaned from the book The Great Mortality by John Kelly. It’s a cool read if you’re into nonfiction that reads like fiction, but does have some rather graphic passages so proceed with caution.

Yaretzi’s maquizcóatl/Aziraphale’s memento. To clarify, they were NOT the same item. I pictured Aziraphale cherishing the memory of the day by the lake with Yaretzi so much, that once he acquired the bookshop and had a place for all his kitsch, he hunted down a bad luck dragon of his own.

Here is the Aztec creation story about sun cycles and Earth’s rebirths that Yaretzi told Aziraphale. Another version of it.

In the scene in Mexico where Aziraphale briefly remembers, I used an analogy about a moment that hovers and flits away as “quick as a hummingbird.” Besides just liking the words, this was a nod to the legend of the cempasuchil flower. I originally had Yaretzi telling Aziraphale that story too, but the chapter was just way too long and something had to go.

In my very first outline, I had Aziraphale’s grief and personal growth chapter taking place at a Día de Muertos festival in Mexico. When the plot and the timeline finally got ironed out and I realized only half of that story was going to take place on Earth, I ended up focusing on Aziraphale’s brief relationship with Yaretzi instead of the festival itself (she was always the important bit). I also found myself married to the idea of that chapter happening in the 14th and 15th centuries, which meant the scenes in Mexico take place before Spain invaded and the festival was based solely on its Aztec roots. Because the plot shifted in this way, a lot of research went on behind the scenes that never made it into the fic, but for anyone interested in the Aztec Feast of the Dead, Mexicolore was my starting place again. From there, I found my way to reading about Mictecacíhuatl, the Aztec goddess of death, who was the main focus of the festival.

This isn’t research, but it might interest, like… three of you, so here you go. The scenes in Heaven (Aziraphale’s solo chapter in general tbh) were hard to write. One of those walls you hit with writing where you kick and punch and bang your head against it for months (literal months, I started wrestling with it in August and it didn’t come together until the end of January) but can’t seem to make any breakthroughs. Inspiration truly comes from unexpected places though, and when @gottagobuycheese sent me this Gregorian chant generator it actually… worked? I cranked that hum slider up to 100 and left it there for a few days (to the chagrin of my spouse) and lo— Zophiel.

There’s a cool legend about Saint Brendan of Clonfert’s sea-faring journey in search of the Garden of Eden that has nothing to do with this fic beyond being neat parallel. If that happens to be anyone’s cup of tea, the story is here. The tl;dr version is here. My original vision for the lighthouse included carved whales (St Brendan’s attribute) over the front door, and images from this story (the island of sheep, the Christmas island, the paradise island of birds) drawn on the walls of one of the bedrooms used by previous keepers’ children. Continuing the theme of “how stories echo” if you will. It felt really awkward and out of place once I wrote it in though, and that chapter was already so long once I got through all the plot bits I wanted, so it was left on the cutting room floor. 

Speaking of taking liberties with the 14th century, I did fudge the timing a bit on the art created by Crowley and Adrielle. Drawings, especially pencil sketches, have their historical roots in the late 15th century, and I’m chalking this one up to the fantastical setting of the Good Omens universe. In a fantasy world where angels and demons walk among us and the earth is literally 6,000 years old, I feel like inventing pencils 100 years early is small potatoes. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

This is the edition of A Midsummer Night’s Dream that Crowley nicked in Norwich. There are some really wonderful illustrations and scans of full pages under that link. I may or may not have lost a few hours down that research rabbit hole for a few throwaway lines (no regrets, I fall like Crowley). 

One last rabbit hole...

I saved this bit for the end of the post since it’s not really research and I don’t know how interested people will be in this kind of thing. Also... this is a lot more emotional and personal than the historical aspects of the fic. This is just what I was feeling and thinking while I was writing, and this story is absolutely the kind of thing I expect everyone to take something different away from. If you read the fic, took your own meaning from it, and want to keep that meaning without me tarnishing it by babbling about symbolism (first of all, high five, I love you, thank you for hanging out with me and my stories), then feel free to skip the rest of this post. <3

But! For anyone who wants to know more about what I had in mind with the flowers and nature metaphors I worked into the story, read on!

The tag “it’s an OT3 where Earth is the third” is something I really worked to pull to center stage. In my mind, Earth was a fully formed character who also spent the pre-Fall storyline being jerked around by God and having its memory wiped. It experienced transformations, pain, heartbreak, joy, and love just like Aziraphale and Crowley did, and I wrote it as falling in love with the two of them over the course of the Earth Project, then remaining very much in love for the entirety of iteration 23 (the current iteration). “Memories that are buried in places deeper than the mind” referred to the soul imprints being formed, but also Earth’s buried memories— seeping through the cracks to connect them via synesthesia in emotionally charged moments, allowing them to find each other from orbit in iterations 20 and 21 (music and the sea), and pulling them together in moments of distress like Constantinople and Barcelona.

In the vein of “Earth as a character,” I used plants (mainly flowers), topography, and weather as Earth’s “voice” in the grief chapters when Crowley and Aziraphale were separated from each other and going through their individual arcs. I’m not sure it technically counts as flower language, since all the flowers featured in the fic were wild and growing in nature, but (almost) all of them served a metaphorical purpose.

Flowers:

Jasmine (for the moon): Aziraphale’s flower. Love, beauty, sensuality, good luck, purity. The rational hedonist.

Marigolds (for the sun): Crowley’s flower. Grief and remembrance of the dead, lost love, the fragility of life, creativity, winning the affections of someone through hard work. The fallen artist.

Purple Hyacinth: Earth’s flower. Regret, sorrow, a desire for forgiveness. The witness. These were the wildflowers that grew in the orchard/vineyard on the penultimate Earth, where Aziraphale and Crowley managed to work out the differences they couldn’t by the sea. Hyacinths are also the hazy images they would see in those moments of vulnerability, compassion, and compromise. 

A fun aside! In very early drafts, the placeholder name I was using for angel Crowley was Jacinto, which is a Spanish/Portuguese name meaning “Hyacinth.” It was meant to be a reference to both the flower and the Greek myth of Apollo and Hyacinth, but my brain absolutely could not disconnect it from Manny Jacinto (and kept insisting on imagining Crowley calling Aziraphale homie and calling everything dope). Eventually I leaned into the Latin and landed on Joriel, then attached my banner to the Achilles and Patroclus myth instead of Apollo and Hyacinth, but the name Jacinto still makes me think of starmakers.

Honeysuckle & morning glory, climbing the oak tree: Aziraphale + Crowley + Earth. Seen in chapter 10, when Aziraphale and Crowley shake hands on the Arrangement. Two plants whose vines grow in opposing spirals. In nature, they have a symbiotic relationship, twining around each other in order to climb trees, walls, and fences, allowing both of them to grow higher than they could alone. 

Or: local woman sees this tweet, hasn’t known peace since.

The deasilwise / widdershins (clockwise / anticlockwise) thing got sprinkled throughout the story, with deasilwise being the “angel direction” and widdershins being the “demon direction.” Halley’s comet, with its backwards orbit, orbits the sun deasilwise, even after Crowley becomes widdershins.

Amaranth: Immortality, unfading affection, finding beauty in inaccessible places. 

The garden in the dunes and Petya’s travelling garden:

Where Aziraphale took a methodical, Kubler-Ross approach to dealing with loss, Crowley’s process was meandering and chaotic. The garden in the dunes was where it all came to a head— his way of throwing all of his emotions on the ground like a big jumbled pile of pick-up sticks, then slowly sorting through them and putting himself back together. There was a whole lot of Earth/flower speech going on in those scenes.

With the exception of zinnias, the garden was made up of perennials or self-sowing flowers. This happened “off-screen” as I could never find a decent way to work it in, but... the zinnias which Crowley bullied into being perennials returned to being annuals and died off after he left Terschelling and sometimes I still cry in the shower about it. 

Zinnias: Adrielle’s flower. Endurance, lasting friendship (especially friendships lasting through absence), goodness, daily remembrance. This one is also a small self-indulgence on my part since Adrielle was something of a self-insert. My mother loves zinnias and, growing up, our house was absolutely surrounded by them in the summer. Anywhere there was a free patch of dirt, Mom planted zinnias. They’re a scrappy, weird looking flower that doesn’t have a smell and a lot of people find rather ugly... and I love them with my entire heart. There is no flower on this earth that fills me with more whimsy, nostalgia, or childlike contentment. Also butterflies love them.

Chamomile: Patience. Fresh chamomile flowers are very aromatic and smell like apples.

Daisies: Transformation. Also simplicity, loyalty, and new beginnings.

Poppies: Restful sleep or recovery, peace in death, remembrance.

Tulips: Each tulip color has its own meaning, but the most common thing they symbolize is deep love. That said, I mainly chose this one for their prevalence in the Netherlands, as well as being very colorful perennials.

Pansies: The love or admiration that one person holds for another, free thinking, remembrance.

Lily of the valley: Rebirth, the return of happiness. They also have a very strong, very sweet smell and can grow in cool climates. These were the main reasons I chose it, rather than any of the religious connotations.

Lavender: Silence, devotion, serenity, grace.

Orchids: There’s... actually no deep symbolism with this one. Nothing intended anyway. Orchids, lavender, and cranberries are the dominant native plants on the island of Terschelling. I thought they’d be pretty in the dunes.

I am also a music-must-be-playing-at-all-times kind of person and I came out the other end of this project with FIFTEEN (15) playlists. Some of them are all instrumental playlists that I used to set the mood while I wrote certain scenes/segments, others are lyrical and tell a story or helped me sort out the story, some chapters got entire playlists all to themselves (looking at you, 14th century). The main playlists are linked in the notes on AO3, but I may collect them all in a tumblr post at some point if there’s an interest.

This entire project was an enormous labor of love that took up pretty much all of my free time for six months. So, if you read this far... thank you for coming on such a long journey with me!! Truly, deeply, and from every corner of my heart, thank you for reading. <3

[acrobaticcatfeline]

The Fear of the Dragonwitch (Triplets Rolorem AU) Chapter 2!!!

Word Count: 2738

TW: Remus, vague mentions of deceit, swearing, arguing, anxiety, self deprecation, that’s it I think, lmk if I missed anything!!!

Notes: Ok so we have a second chapter!!! First chapter here! I have a whole plot line planned out for this fic y’all don’t understand. This chapter is just family dynamics, but next chapter should have more interaction with the other characters. Hopefully I get to a bit of Logan centric things soon but who knows, I certainly don’t! I hope you like it, I really do!

Pairings: Vivian x Mimi (OCxOC), pining demus possibly more in the future!

Summary: “wait you can sing?” roman was just trying to tell his family about this lifechanging event, and no one is taking his concerns seriously! though, maybe a bit of confidence and encouragement from the right people might sooth his anxieties enough for him to actually be excited instead of dreading what was going to happen tomorrow.

“wait you can sing?”

While it was an expected outcome, Roman was in fact rather upset at how quickly his brother had brushed off the important part of his confession. yes, in fact, he can sing but that’s not the point! The point was that he was now being thrown headfirst into a leading role in a musical in front of way more people than he was comfortable with and he was expected to sing and dance as well? While he was catastrophizing Logan pulled up to the curb, stopping to let them get in the car. Unfortunately, while Roman was ready to just drop it and move on, Remus had other plans. As they strapped into the car Remus kept running his mouth.

“seriously though, I've literally never heard you sing how can you be lead role worthy when you’ve never sung in your life? I mean like congrats I guess but like, I dunno if your teachers all that-”

“Remus if I had brought this up so you could tell me how unqualified and bad I was in general I would have asked this morning. I mentioned it because I'm terrified of doing any of this and I can’t let down my teacher. Yes, I can sing, I do it often you just never pay attention to anything in the world other than your stupid bubble. I should have known better than to talk to you about this, of course this is how you'd respond.”

“what's this about?”

Oh yeah, Logan was there too. Well he should probably know too-

“Roman randomly sung in his drama class and got chosen to play the leading role in the schools musical for this quarter.”

Well then. Guess he didn’t need to explain himself. He turned around in his seat, giving a look of ‘what the fuck???’ towards Remus before settling again, ready to be interrogated. However, Logan simply smiled.

“so, your friends absolutely hate you for singing huh?”

“no… shut up!!!”

“hey, congrats ro. You deserve it.”

“no??? no I don’t???? Logan you don’t understand I didn’t even audition!!! He just gave me the part!!! Like firstly that’s unfair to the rest of the kids who actually want parts, and secondly, I don’t want the part?????? This isn’t a ‘congrats!’ occasion!!! This is an ‘oh shit you just got roped into complete life ruining changes because you're an anxious mess who is too afraid to disappoint your teacher’!!!”

“one is easy, the auditions were last week. He already heard all the other options and decided you were the best. You should feel good about that Ro. Two, also simple. I know how much of your free time you spend wishing you could be the one on stage, I see you humming and swaying around the house restraining yourself, you want to do this, you're just scared.”

“…”

“third, change isn’t going to ruin your life. he's not changing your classes, he's not taking you off the tech crew, not much is actually changing. You're using your teacher as extra justification to do something you’ve been dreaming of. You’ve let your anxiety blind you from knowing what you really want. You can’t let it control every aspect of your life.”

“… stop being ‘wise beyond your years’ with me its uncalled for and I'm feeling attacked.”

“listen what do you want from me, I have the knowledge what else am I supposed to do with it at this point?”

“stupid jerk prodigy brother… you stole all the brains from us I can promise.”

“I was by far the smallest of us, I did not absorb your brains.”

“pics or it didn’t happen.”

“insufferable”

 As soon as they were home things flipped on their head. Remus had a call and suddenly he was having a breakdown. He wouldn’t even tell anyone what had happened he was just pacing back and forth with wide eyes filled with tears. He was half delirious and Logan was trying and failing to reason with him.

Re, you're walking a hole in the floor you need to calm down. I know you're having an anxiety attack but-”

“IM NOT HAVING AN ANXIETY ATTACK!!!”

“Remus stop yelling-”

“NO, YOU SHUT UP!!! IM NOT ROMAN I DON’T HAVE ANXIETY IM NOT EVEN STRESSED SEE I AM FINE JUST LEAVE ME BE!!! YOU HAVE THE WRONG BROTHER”

Roman and Logan sat in stunned silence as Remus ran off to his room. Roman gave Logan a look and Logan straightened his back and shook his head trying to be composed, though his steadily shaking hands sold him out. He turned away from where Remus had previously been standing and looked back at Roman, moving his offending hands behind his back.

“well it seems like he refuses to be reasoned with. I suppose we have to wait for mother to get home to fix whatever is bothering him.”

“its not your fault lo.”

“… yes. I- of course I know that why would you think I thought otherwise. It was clearly whatever stressor acting on him and not my involvement. I know that. Of course. It’s the only logical conclusion.”

And almost right after their mom walked in the door. She held a large satchel thrown crossbody and her hair was slicked back held in place with a little hairspray and a bunch of bobby pins. It was styled in a neat bun with her bangs framing her face perfectly. She had small black glasses and little silver earrings and had a simple matte red lipstick perfectly in place. She was wearing a light blue button up shirt and a black blazer with matching dress pants and flats. She looked perfectly put together as she tossed off her shoes and threw her bag onto the couch. She smiled at her kids and finally let herself slouch and look a little more like the mess she felt like.

“hi kids, how was school today?”

Roman shot a look at Logan before answering.

“well, um there was a lot, and though I want to tell you, Remus had a meltdown and we need help to get him back. Logan tried but he wouldn’t listen.”

“oh, geez ok um, Lo could you please grab my computer from my car? I have to finish something up later, and Ro could you pop the clam chowder on the stove? It was gonna go with dinner, but I know how much Rem loves it. Besides there should be plenty of the French mac that Mimi makes to feed us tonight. I’ll go work things out with him.”

 “hey kiddo? Can I come in?”

Vivian Royale had a knack for pulling her kids out of their heads enough to actually fix problems, but her son Remus was usually rather self sufficient in that regard, while Logan and Roman both had anxiety and Roman had the rest stacked on top, Remus was rather neurotypical and usually had less issues that required her intervention. That was, until high school hit. His mental health took a rapid hit as soon as he had started high school, and no one quite knew what happened. She knocked on his door, waiting for his answer before stepping in.

“hey bud. What's wrong? I heard you had a bit of an outburst. Can you tell me what happened?”

Remus sat on his bed, a green octopus comforter laid on the bed and his Cthulhu plushie was in his grip. He hid his face in the toy as he mumbled something into it.

“Hun I'm gonna need you to speak up ok? We can’t fix anything if I don’t know what's wrong.”

“it’s dumb.”

“obviously its not to you. If it was it wouldn’t have affected you enough to cause you to yell at your brothers.”

“… I just- it’s so dumb I don’t wanna say it!”

“you're safe here Rem.”

“my friend got asked out by this lame dude in our class. And- and I think I have a crush on him. My friend I mean! And- and I don’t know what I'm supposed to do, I can’t tell him, what if he hates me? I just. I don’t know how to feel I just know it sucks.”

Vivian set a gentle hand on her sons’ shoulder and gave him a soft smile. She took his hand and gave it a squeeze.

“I understand Rem. That’s sort of how it felt when I realized I liked Mimi. I've known Mimi since we were kids and it wasn’t until after me and your dad broke up that I realized that I loved her. We were in our twenties and I had three newborns and my best friend jumped headfirst into that without hesitation. Is he actually going on the date?”

“no. he's not his type, I guess. That’s what he said at least.”

“then ask him out! He's not interested in them, and he called you to tell you. You obviously matter to each other, even if he doesn’t like you back, I don’t think it would change anything. Just go for it, what's the worst that could happen?”

“…you're right. I-I guess I’ll talk to him later.”

“atta boy!!! Now come on, Roman has clam chowder on the burner and Mimi should be home soon!”

 The four of them sat down at the dining table eating and Logan and Remus recounted their day to their mom, Roman staying quiet for the time being, only wanting to say his announcement once. It was 15 minutes before Mimi got home in her fancy outfit. Her red hair was everywhere, curled and messy and absolutely her. She wore a black dress that had a cat head shape on it, with a pink bow at her waist and where the cats head didn’t cover was a see-through mesh. She had a light pink tank top under it and had a pink and white jacket about 2 sizes too big for her on around her shoulders. Her shoes were shiny pink stilettos that made a pretty click clack noise as she walked. She held a pretty black purse and she had little unicorn earrings that looked adorable with her pink lipstick and black to pink cat eye. She set her bag down on the table next to the door and slipped out of her shoes neatly setting them next to the door before slipping over to the table where everyone was sitting. She ruffled Roman and Remus’ hair before giving a big smile to them all.

“how are my boys doin? I see Viv pulled out the chowder, I hope everything is good!”

“I'm really gay!”

“me too Hun, what's new?”

They all let out a fit of giggles. Mimi went to serve herself a bowl of soup and Logan and Remus repeated their day back to her. When they had finished and Roman still hadn’t spoken, she leaned on her arm with a gentle smile and encouraged him to speak. He nodded and cleared his throat.

“um… it was pretty average all around, but this morning Mr. Sanders heard me singing and um, well he uh,”

Logan gave his hand a small squeeze from under the table. He swallowed and finally finished.

“he cast me as the lead in our coming musical.”

Mimi and his mom stopped mid bite of soup, staring at him intently and he wanted to melt through the floor. They swallowed their mouthfuls and looked at each other before turning back to him with wide smiles. Suddenly Logan and Roman clasped their hands over their ears as the two started squealing at the top of their lungs, Mimi jumping out of her seat, jumping up and down. when they finally stopped screaming, Mimi was still bouncing and had Vivian’s hand in hers.

“oh my god Roman!!! Our baby boy oh I'm so so proud of you!!!!!”

“Roman sweetheart, that’s incredible!!! Wait, but weren’t auditions last week?”

“yeah, um, he just had me sing and dance again and he gave me the part.”

“Roman that’s incredible!!!!!!!!! Oh, I knew it!!! Didn’t I tell you Vivi? Didn’t I tell you that Ro was gonna be an incredible performer? I remember, I remember when I first saw him when he was an itty-bitty peanut that I told you he was gonna be a star in the showbiz!!! Oh, he's our little star oh I'm so proud!!!!!!”

“yes, babe I remember, calm down you are going to make him explode! Roman I really am so proud of you honey.”

“oh, oh oh!!! Roman you should sing for us!!! You always stop singing whenever either of us enter the room, I want to hear you sing!!! If you're ok of course, no pressure”

Roman’s face was the shade of an apple. His stepmom was always over the top with support, but this was more than he expected. He was about to nod when he heard Logan make a confused noise.

“am I really the only person who has heard him sing? He never stops singing its like his default mode! He's always making music whether through his fidgets or humming or singing, I don’t know how you guys have missed it!”

“I mean, I do my best to keep people from hearing me but you're sorta the exception. You're calm and you won’t like, smother me.”

“… well then. I also vote for a song.”

“hold on, lets get dinner ready first and then we can fully focus on him”

 They had sat down with their plates and Roman was playing with his ring to keep him calm as 4 pairs of eyes stared at him waiting to hear him sing. Logan gave him a small smile and that was enough to help him start.

As the smile fell from your face, I fell with it Our faces blue There's a heart stain on the carpet I left it, I left it with you Yeah, the truth is that I'm sorry Though I told you not to worry I'm just some dumb kid Trying to kid myself That I got my shit together So go, get to runnin', won't you hurry? While it's light out, while it's early Before I start to miss any part of this And change my mind, whatever

Logan’s smile widened as he recognized the song. Remus mom and Mimi sat still, with looks of… awe? He was too nervous to analyze their expressions while he was singing. He continued on.

I say I wanna settle down Build your hopes up like a tower I'm giving you the run around I'm just a lost boy Not ready to be found Not ready to be found I'm just a lost boy Not ready to be found

He let his eyes close and his body sway to the song playing along in his head. He didn’t see the looks his moms gave each other, he didn’t see Remus shove Logan with a jealous look screaming that he was bitter he hadn’t heard him sooner. He was absorbed in the song.

I don't care much for locks on the window To keep me at bay I'll leave you one last kiss on your pillow Before I fly away Yeah we knew from the beginning That this wasn't never ending Shouldn't stay too long Cause we're both too young To give into forever

So what are you waiting for? Cause someone could love you more I'm just a lost boy, lost boy So what are you waiting for? Cause someone could love you more I'm just a lost boy, lost boy So what are you waiting for? Cause someone could love you more I'm just a lost boy, lost boy So what are you waiting for? Cause someone could love you more I'm just a lost boy, lost boy

Roman quickly finished the song and hesitantly opened his eyes. The amazed faces that they all had completely floored him. Mimi got out of her seat and surrounded him in a hug, which was objectively adorable due to her barely reaching his collarbone. Remus had an odd look on his face with a mixture of awe and curiosity. Mom sat with a wide grin on her face that matched Logan’s. He felt happy and at ease and calm. And he felt much better about his new part in the musical seeing his family filled with some interesting type of pride.

Taglist: @fivebyfive-finebyfive @tacohippy56900 @analogical-mess @crookedlyoptimisticdestiny @angels-and-dreams @fandomloverangel @demented-dukey @karmels-stuff @demented-dukey (sorry if you didn’t want to be tagged, you seemed interested in it)

Let me know if you want to be tagged in my writing!!!

Thank you for reading I will see you later ladies lords and nonbinary royalty!!!

[shewhowantsmouseears]

Shattered, chapter 8

Notes: As always, big thanks to my amazing editors, Drucilla and BlueShifted!

This chapter has probably had the least amount of changes to it since I first thought it up years ago. Other than that, not much to say, and hope you enjoy it.

Summary: The new journey stops as abruptly as it began, and with it, Minnie discovers more wonders than she ever thought existed.

Donald, at least, had enough sense to make sure they didn't go traveling in their ballroom outfits. Daisy had fussed about it, but eventually Minnie was back in her original outfit, along with the beautiful red shoes, while Donald and Daisy chose thinner, plainer outfits – although for Daisy, “plain” still meant plenty of ribbons and sequins.

In addition, Daisy made a brief announcement to the townsfolk about the journey, which brought waves of fear and hope to her people. There were just as many people who thought they'd never return as those who wanted a fighting chance. The final preparations were made after a good night's rest, and in the early morning Donald, Daisy, Minnie and Ratface were off.

Donald sat atop the carriage to lead two mud-brown horses, and Ratface perched on his shoulder to pester Donald about which direction was wrong. Within the carriage, Daisy fussed with Minnie's hair as Minnie thought of the night's events.

“You know,” Daisy was saying as she began to braid Minnie's locks, “sometimes when my mother did something wrong, my father would insult her alphabetically. Atrocious, boring, cowardly, the like. By the time he got to the Ps, she usually begged him to stop and admitted she was wrong. Maybe we can do something like that to the Snow Queen! Annoy her into submission!”

“Then we've got the right people for the job,” Ratface quipped outside.

The princess huffed. “I truly don't care for your traveling companion, darling Minnie. If he has been gifted the power of speech, he should only have nice things to say.”

Minnie, who didn't mind being pampered by Daisy, glanced back at her friend. “So it is true... birds aren't supposed to talk like he does.” At times she had wondered if, like so many other things she was learning, it was merely her village's lack of care to inform her.

“Of course not!” Daisy turned Minnie back around to face her. “Oh, there are many pretty birds who can sing sweet melodies and repeat phrases back to you, but I must say, I've never heard of a bird as smart and ill-tongue as this one. I'd say he's been blessed by an angel, but for us it's more like a curse.”

There came that odd word again, and now seemed a good as time as any to inquire about it. “What's an angel?” Minnie asked, hands politely laying on her lap.

Daisy tsked, pulling out her now trademark fan from her sleeve. “Honestly, I must have a word with your teachers, my sweet, for they have hardly told you a thing! But, never fear, I shall be your tutor from now on in all the ways of the world! You shall be as brilliant as you are beautiful, and become the envy of all!” She flipped the fan open, and held it flat on her palm. “Now, to answer you... long ago, when the world was still fresh and new, there were only two things that existed – angels, and demons. They were both incredibly powerful magical creatures, but they were constantly fighting each other.”

Minnie tilted her head. “What for?”

“Oh, who knows, people always find some silly reason not to get along.” With a dismissive wave of her hand, Daisy continued. “Eventually they decided that the world could use more than just themselves, so they finally came to a truce and began to create life. At first, it all worked out. They made plants and animals, and let those roam about, but when they started making humans, that's when it all got tricky. The angels wanted to guide people to a pure and proper path, and the demons wanted people to cause chaos and trouble. Next thing you know, the war's started up all over again, and their numbers dwindled just like that.” She snapped her fingers before holding up the fan again. “Only this time, it was worse, because they began to get humans involved. The demons kept trying to trick people into harming angels, while the angels did their best to protect those poor souls from the demons' wrath. Soon it got so intense that it became their sole reason for existing – to get revenge on the other half.”

Minnie was already thinking of a few plot holes and gaps in this story, but she didn't want to interrupt. It all seemed so terribly black and white, and one of the things she'd been learning was that things were rarely so simple. “What happened then? Who won the war?”

“No one did,” Daisy answered with a half shrug. “It got so bad that they wiped each other out. Though there are those who say a handful still exist and guide us to this day. It's said that the little voices you hear in your head are the demons and angels trying to lead you toward their path.”

As if to check this for certain, Minnie paused, glancing upwards, to see if she'd hear any voices. She could only hear herself. “Have you ever seen one? An angel or a demon?”

“Goodness, no, no one's seen one for years,” Daisy replied, resting against the plush seats. “It's a shame, really. We could use some angels on our side to help us against the Snow Queen.”

“It's a load of hogwash,” Donald said outside, his voice gruff and irritated. “There's no such thing as angels or demons! It's just a bunch of made up stuff folks use to try and explain away your conscience. 'Oh, I didn't do it, the demons made me!' Ah, phooey. If you did something bad, you should own up to it. End of story.”

“Sir Donald is so wonderfully wise, isn't he?” Daisy sighed, hands clasped together, eyes shimmering in adoration.

Minnie thought it amazing that Daisy could still hold a bright and burning torch for Donald after he yelled at her so harshly the night before. Was it because Daisy was just that ditzy, or was this the ongoing power of love? Minnie looked outside as they passed fading hills of grass and gray clouds darkened their path. They were headed toward a dangerous woman who had forbidden love, yet Daisy wasn't doing anything at all to suppress her feelings. She didn't even seem to be making an effort.

For the first time in days, Minnie thought about the words the Snow Queen had said when she came to take Mickey away.

I make this world safe for you, and I am repaid in defiance.

Love brings you nothing but pain.

Yes, you'll live much longer this way. Isn't that for the best?

“Have you ever seen her?” Minnie asked softly, and when Daisy blinked in confusion, she continued. “The Snow Queen... she personally came to take Mickey. But at your kingdom, it was only the soldiers. Why was that?”

Daisy “hmmm”ed this over loudly, propping up her beak with her fan. “I've never seen her, no, no. But it's said she used to make appearances long ago, when she first inflicted those awful rules on the world. After that, she must have gained enough soldiers so she didn't need to visit every single place herself...” She trailed off, eyebrows furrowed as the question lingered. “Indeed, why did she show up at your little village, to take away one single boy? Your Mickey must be something incredibly special.”

“He is,” Minnie replied automatically. “He's very smart, and very kind, and he never gives up on anything and anyone.” She didn't know why these facts made Daisy grin, she was merely stating what was true. Why, if anyone met Mickey, they'd agree with all of it within seconds.

“Oooh-ho-ho-ho~!” Daisy suddenly had her arms around Minnie and pulled her into her lap, nuzzling her beak to Minnie's cold cheek. “I see how it is, most wonderful Minnie! You can't hide such things from me,” Daisy tittered, ignoring Minnie's quiet protest that she wasn't hiding anything at all, “Your Mickey may be very special to the Snow Queen, but he is most special to you, is he not? Your prince charming, your knight in shining armor, your one true love?”

“My...love?” Minnie repeated slowly, the idea fresh and new to her. It sounded so foreign – Minnie had been so desperate to eliminate all traces of the very idea since she was locked outside on that awful day years ago, that she never thought of the concept again. That same fear rose up again, clenching her throat. “He's my friend. I'm going to save him because he's my friend, and the village needs him.”

“Hush hush, I know these things when I see them.” Daisy rocked Minnie back and forth in her arms. “This is an epic, romantic quest, the likes of which will be sung throughout history! Mickey and Minnie, destined for one another, a love that cannot be conquered! A love that cannot be defeated! A love that-”

“Will you please stop saying 'love'!” Donald squawked from his seat, nearly shaking the carriage with his temper. “Why don't we just send out fancy invitations for the Snow Queen to find us?! Jiminy Cricket, we'll be lucky if we survive the day!”

Minnie jerked, and then rushed for the door. “Wait, Donald, don't-”

But it was too late, and Ratface was flying into a rage. “DON'T YOU DARE SAY THAT WORD!” he screeched, wings in the air and flapping in Donald's face. “DON'T YOU MUTTER IT, DON'T YOU THINK IT!”

Donald yelped, trying to pull the horses to a stop with one hand and protect his face with the other. “What's going on?! You'll poke my eye out, you dumb bird!”

“Ratface, stop!” Minnie begged, her head sticking out the open window. “Ratface, he didn't know! Please calm down!”

“What in the world is happening?!” Daisy tried to keep steady in her seat as the carriage now bumped and bucked, the horses startled by all the sudden noise.

“Luck is a horrid curse, a blight on humanity!” Ratface flew all around the carriage, yelling at the top of his lungs. “Anyone who says they have it should be thrown off the edge of the world! It's a threat, it's a danger, and so long as I am here on this journey, it shall never be uttered again! Or this will be the last you hear of me!”

As tempting as it was for Donald to say otherwise to that, he was more focused on getting the horses to settle. Minnie held out her hand, hoping Ratface could see it. “It was one mistake, pretty bird, it won't happen again! Come here, we won't say it anymore. You trust me, don't you?”

Ratface flew another circle around the carriage before landing on Minnie's arm, and she drew back inside, sitting him on her lap and smoothing down his feathers with her fingers. “There now... do you feel better?”

Daisy lightly swung her fan at Ratface, eager to clock him but not wanting to cause Minnie distress. “You nearly made us crash! If anything had happened to Sir Donald or my Minnie, I'd have every one of your feathers plucked! I wish you could never speak again!”

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us,” Ratface huffed, turning his head away.

Donald was pulling the carriage to a stop, climbing down so he could make sure the horses were all right. Minnie looked down at the bird in her lap, curious once more. “Ratface... were you not born this way? Did something happen to you that made you speak?”

The raven said nothing, but his eyes didn't turn in Minnie's direction at all, which to her was an answer. He could feel Daisy glaring daggers at him, and he huffed once more, fluffing his wings. “Must you all make such a deal out of my speech? So I talk. What of it? I can't do anything else. I can't fight, I can't create, I am merely a bird with words. I don't fit in with other birds, who can't understand what I say, and I can't fit in with those who talk, since they only see a filthy animal. I belong to nothing and no one.”

“That sounds very lonely,” said Minnie, who now had more questions than ever about the odd bird. The one special thing about him, and it made him an outcast – she thought of Mickey again, whose liveliness made him admirable and despised. Mickey had dealt with it since childhood – how old was Ratface, who, when Minnie found him, had been all alone in those winter woods?

“Don't go looking for pity here,” Daisy grumbled, although she was starting to feel it.

“I wasn't asking for any.” Ratface stuck his tongue out at the princess. “Nor do I deserve any.”

“He's not a bad bird,” Minnie insisted, hugging Ratface close to her chest. “He's tried to help other people to the Snow Queen, and he saved me from a very bad woman. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't have gotten this far.”

Daisy's eyes lowered to Ratface, and she raised an eyebrow. “And what does he get out of it?”

“Isn't helping people good enough?” Minnie asked in return, because she couldn't think of any actual reason Ratface would do the things he did. He gained nothing from this journey except danger.

Yet Ratface's body seemed to sag then, his eyes distant and voice shallow. “You're still naive as ever, pretty girl.” His voice was so soft Minnie almost didn't hear him at first. “Let it be known, no one ever helps another without wanting something for themselves. Even if it's impossible to get.”

Naturally both girls would have asked more endless questions, but as these things happen, they were interrupted  - there were sounds of hoof-beats, but they didn't belong to the horses. All three looked out the window to see a herd of reindeer clopping along the beaten dirt path – a strange sight in of itself – but even stranger to see they were all being ridden by grown men in shabby cloaks, each one wearing a tiny black mask over their eyes, laughing and hollering and hooting. The furthest reindeer in the back were dragging a caravan with broken wooden wheels, the patchwork covers suggesting a long and sordid history.

Donald drew back, worried. “Beagles!”

Daisy gasped in terror. “Beagles!”

Minnie cocked her head. “Beagles?”

Ratface, not wanting to be left out, added “Beagles! … What are Beagles?”

“Those are the robbers who assaulted me!” Daisy pulled Minnie back into her arms. “Oh, if they recognize me, we're in trouble!”

Donald came to the door, his back to the window, ready to protect the girls. “It was over a month ago, maybe they won't know who we are. We'll let them take the carriage, and they might leave us alone. Everyone, just stay calm.”

“Says the man who has an infamous temper,” Ratface chirped before Minnie clamped his beak shut with her fingers.

“HOW IS THAT HELPING?!”

The reindeer circled around the carriage, and the masked men – of all shapes and sizes continued to laugh darkly at their captors, swinging around shoddy weaponry. The biggest of the caravan's tents began to open up, and a portly woman climbed down, wearing the same silly mask as all the men, her gray hair tied up neatly behind her large head. She adjusted her yellow hat, smoothed down her quilt-patterned dress, and walked step by step to the carriage. “All right, boys, everybody shut up!” In that second, all the men were silenced. “There, now I can hear myself think.” Satisfied, she stood in front of Donald, eyebrows raised. “Nobody here wants any trouble, now do they? Of course not. You want safe travel from the Golden Kingdom to... wherever you want to be. And we can arrange that!”

Donald was clearly struggling not to make some sort of smart remark, and he swallowed hard. “We would... appreciate that, miss.”

The woman paused, then squinted. “Say... have we met before, young man?”

“You most certainly have not!” Daisy shouted within the carriage, causing Ratface and Donald to mutually slap their foreheads.

Minnie frowned – perhaps a fresh face would confuse their memories enough to let them pass. She shifted Ratface onto her shoulder, and gently pushed the door open, even as Daisy whined otherwise. “Excuse me, miss,” she said politely as ever once her feet were on the dirt ground. “Is there a problem?”

For a moment, this did the trick – Minnie's blue lined-body was enough to stun the entire family of thieves into silence, greatly startled at her appearance. So much that when the woman started up again, she had to clear her throat, completely forgetting why she had stopped in the first place. “There's no problem at all, little girl! Unless you count paying taxes as a problem. And anyone who wants to cross these roads needs to pay up.”

Minnie opened her hands to show they were empty. “I'm afraid we don't have any money.”

“Which is why we'll gladly let you take the carriage,” Donald said quickly, making sure to step in front of Minnie. “It should pay enough for all of us!”

The woman clicked her tongue. “And that's all you have? Oh, I do hate to call you young ones liars, but these are dangerous times you live in. You can't trust anyone. But we have ways of finding out the truth.” She then placed one hand on her hip, and the other near her mouth, and hollered, “GOOFY! GET YOUR LAZY, SCRAWNY, USELESS BEHIND OVER HERE, PRONTO!”

There was a yelp and a crash within the very last of the caravans – the smallest and dirtiest as well – and finally someone tumbled out of the entrance and onto the ground with a loud THUD. While this was clearly a canine in nature, he didn't resemble any of the Beagles at all – he was far too thin, and colored in rich black as opposed to his brown brethren. As he stood up, all of his clothes shifted to one side, as if he'd been wearing the same material for years – Minnie, who had gone through the exact conditions at home, recognized it at once. Yes, he, like she, had been made to wear the same thing even when it had ripped and torn and he'd been forced to sew it together. However, the rest of the Beagles' clothes appeared neat and tidy, as if they were allowed to buy – or steal – new ones whenever they pleased.

He pulled up his pants to make sure they wouldn't sag any further before walking up to the woman, his back bent so he could try and match her eye, hands together in a pleading fashion. “What can I do fer ya, Ma?” He smiled, his buck teeth catching his mother's reflection.

“Why don't you come as soon as I call you?” Ma snapped, grabbing a fistful of Goofy's ear and dragging him down further. Several of the Beagles began to laugh, and Minnie felt her heart twist.

“But, but I did! I came as soon as you said my name, Ma, I really-”

“Don't you backtalk to me! If it wasn't for me, you'd be starving on the streets!” Another hard tug of his ear, and Goofy bit down on his lower lip. “Now try and be useful for once!” She let him go with a push. “These folks say they only have the carriage, and nothing else to pay with. Use that weird gift of yours to find out the truth.”

“Yes, Ma.” Goofy rubbed his aching ear, and then calmly approached the two horses. He cocked his head once, and then reached out to tenderly stroke the first one's hair. “Howdy-doo, fellas. Mind if'fn I ask you a question or two?”

Minnie glanced to Donald, her eyes asking if this had happened the last time, and Donald glanced back, shaking his head. This was new to him.

The horse made a soft noise, and Goofy nodded. “Thank ya'kindly. So, we was wonderin', these nice people you're pullin' along, did they bring anythin' valuable with 'em? Not valuable for a horse, I reckon, 'less they got some juicy apples tucked in somewhere.” He chuckled at his joke, but when he looked at his mother for approval, he only got a harsh glare. He gulped. “Uh... what I mean is, they stash any gold or jewelry in this here carriage?” The horse shook its head no, and Donald's jaw dropped.

Daisy lowered her voice to a whisper inside the carriage, trying to keep her head low. “Minnie, am I hearing things, or is he actually talking to the horses?”

“Yes,” Minnie answered, “And what's more, they understand him.” She knew many animals could understand people, but only for certain commands and after many, many attempts. This was instant, as if they were merely speaking the same language.

Goofy turned back to his family. “He says... neigh!” He grinned, hoping this pun would land. Daisy tittered within the carriage, Donald rolled his eyes, Ratface stayed neutral, and Minnie made that odd noise in her mouth that she didn't understand was the sound of giggling. Even a few Beagles covered their mouths with their hands. But Ma continued to glare, arms crossed, one foot tapping the dirt. “See, uh, cause, 'neigh' sounds like 'nay', which means no. It's a play on words, Ma, it's, uh...just a joke.”

“Feel like tellin' jokes, do you?” Ma growled deep in her throat, and then arched her back. “Hey, boys! What do you call the biggest idiot with the smallest brain?”

“Goofy!” they all cheered in response before devolving into more hysteric laughter, and Goofy's eyes fell to the ground, fingers twiddling together.

“That's not a funny joke at all,” Minnie said, frowning.

“I daresay it was more of an insult than a punchline,” Daisy agreed, sticking her head out the window. “To think she could say that about her own child!”

Donald held up a hand. “I don't like it any more than you do, but we can't play hero for everyone. We'll give them the carriage, and then we're off.”

The laughter eventually died down and Ma sighed, feeling better. “At least he's good for something... All right then! We will take your pretty little carriage as payment. Everybody out!”

That only meant Daisy, and she took her time stepping out, nervously grasping for Minnie and Donald's hands for comfort – both were squeezed in assurance. Ma paused, then snapped her fingers. “Bigtime! Bouncer! Burger!” Three of her sons climbed down off their reindeer, stood next to their mother and saluted. “Is it just me, or does that blonde missy look familiar?”

The trio cupped their chins and gave it serious thought.

“Now that you mention it...”

“I feel like I've seen her somewhere...”

“I could use a sandwich...”

“Oh, I got some snacks!” Goofy offered, digging into his pocket as he began to walk over. “I was gunna save 'em for the reindeer, they get awful hungry, but I can always get more-” How he tripped over his own feet, Minnie didn't know, but Goofy did exactly that, landing in front of Donald, Minnie, and Daisy. He blinked up at them, connecting the dots. “Say, Ma, didn't you say you once tried to rob a princess? She sure is pretty as one, what with that nice dress and all. And ain't this one fancy carriage for just a couple a common folk?”

“Princess!” Donald was quick to speak, throwing his hand about. “You must be nuts! What would a princess be doing out here, without any guards or any treasure?”

The Beagles murmured about this, coming in an agreement. Minnie, wanting to help, added a few more details. “Why would a commoner like myself be with a princess?” She curtsied, showing off her ragged dress from the village. “We used all our money to buy this carriage, that's why there's nothing else for you to take.” Ratface nodded in quiet approval.

Ma tilted her head back and forth, jostling around her memories. “I guess it might've just been my imagination. That bratty, foolish wart of a royal surely isn't stupid enough to bother my neck of the woods.”

“Absolutely right!” said Daisy, hands on her hips, standing on her toes, in full confident display. “And the princess of the Golden Kingdom, who I'm definitely not, is such a kind, generous, beautiful, loving person, so even though I'm astonishingly beautiful, humble, and wonderful to a fault, there's simply no way I could ever be her!”

This time Minnie joined in with Donald and Ratface in slapping her forehead, although she didn't know why.

~*~

“I can't help but wonder if this is my fault,” Daisy whispered, trying to adjust herself to be more comfortable, although this was difficult, seeing as she was stuck in a small iron cage.

“It might be,” Minnie replied, sitting in a similar cage next to her, rubbing her hands together for warmth. The sun was falling, and they were far away from the campfire the Beagles had set up for the night.

Donald was still wrestling with the lock to his cage, as if the several dozen attempts before had somehow weakened it and surely this time would do the trick. But they hadn't, and it didn't, and he let out a furious stream of quacks as he flailed about in his cage. All that managed to do was tilt it to its side, so Donald landed on his hip and he quacked again in pain.

“I knew bringing you along was a bad idea,” Ratface commented, sitting atop Minnie's cage. The Beagles had let him be, thinking him an ordinary bird. Whenever he was sure the Beagles weren't looking, he fiddled with Minnie's lock, and only hers. The thieves were celebrating, because surely the kingdom would pay handsomely to get their princess back. So they drank and ate to their heart's content, thinking that anything they'd waste tonight they'd make up for in the days to come. Ma was laughing the loudest, and drinking the most, throwing her empty mug into the fire and cackling as it burnt up.

Minnie heard her stomach growl – she hadn't eaten since they first left the kingdom. The Beagles had let her keep the satchel, as it had only contained old vegetables and blades of grass, nothing of worth to them. She opened her satchel and tried to calculate how much was left that she could split between her and her companions. Maybe if she gave up her share, the others could eat more, and that seemed like a fair trade to her. She'd gone many times without a meal back in the village, she could certainly do that again here.

“Soup's on!”

The three prisoners weren't expecting a visitor, and especially not the cheerful Goofy, who casually picked up Donald's fallen cage and placed him back into the empty traveling caravan without missing a beat. He closed the flap behind him, making sure no one could see them. “It ain't much, but it'll warm your stomachs plenty.” He slid wooden bowls into the cages, sitting bow-legged in front of them with a never-ending smile. The broth was milky white, with bits of cooked meat floating about.

Daisy haughtily turned her head away. “Why should we trust anything from you? I won't touch it, it's probably poisoned!” The dignified response was promptly flattened when she heard a distasteful slurrrrrrrrp to her side, and stared slack-jawed at Minnie, who had promptly downed her entire bowl.

Minnie didn't realize she was being stared at until she had started licking the bowl. “What? I'm hungry.”

Donald snorted, and then picked up his bowl. “Well, if she's not getting sick...” He took a few sips, grateful to have something in his belly.

Daisy puffed out her cheeks, but after a few more seconds, gave in and delicately sipped her own. “If it is poisoned, I promise I'll haunt you forever.”

“Aw, they wouldn't poison me,” Goofy replied, although he did have to think it over now that he said it. “At least, not on purpose.”

Minnie stopped licking again, raising her eyebrows. “You? … Are you saying this is your food?”

“Mmm-hmm. Ma said not to waste food on you all, since you're our hostages and what not, but, well, didn't sit right with me. You might be hostages, but you're still guests, and gotta treat guests proper, 'cause you never know when you're gunna see them again.”

Donald looked down at his half-empty bowl. “Is the guy who helped kidnap us really trying to make us feel sorry for him?” He'd have preferred poison over guilt.

“It's not fair if you starve because you helped us,” Minnie protested, and she pulled out a wilted head of lettuce from her satchel, trying to fit it between the bars. “Here, take this. It's not much... Oh!” She then added the blades of grass. “And these are for the horses. Could you make sure they eat up too?”

Goofy's eyes widened, and he slowly took the plants from Minnie, weighing them in his hands as if they were golden treasures. “Gee... really? You might be the nicest hostages we ever done had. No one ever gives a hoot about the animals.”

Minnie sat up straighter in her cage. “You can speak to them, right? Isn't that what we saw?”

“Aw, anyone can speak to an animal,” Goofy said with a shrug of his shoulder. “But not everyone can listen. Been able to do that since I was born... just a little talent I got, ain't nothin' special.”

“It is special!” Daisy insisted, grabbing the bars with her hands. “I've never heard of anyone being able to translate what an animal says or means! How can you not be special? That's absurd! I declare you to be very special.”

Goofy blinked – this overwhelming abundance of positive comments was brand new. “But Ma says it ain't, and Ma's always right about everything. Whatever she says, goes. Why, it's the only thing I can do right, so she says it's lucky that -”

In an instant Minnie reached up to grab Ratface's legs through the bars, preventing him from going on another tirade. “No, no, no, no! Ratface, this is not a good time!”

Ratface screeched, but let himself be yanked, not wanting to accidentally hurt Minnie with his talons. “Why does everyone insist on saying that horrendous word!”

Goofy triple-blinked. Though he'd spent a lifetime communicating with animals, this was the first time he'd heard one speak so clearly like a person. Aside from that, he didn't give it anymore thought. “Aw gee, Mister Ratface, I didn't mean to upset you! But, uh, what'd I do wrong this time?”

“Aside from caging us?” Donald grumbled.

Minnie pulled Ratface into the cage with her and sat him on his lap. “He doesn't like that... word that begins with L.”

“Oh. Ain't that a coinky-dink,” Goofy mused to himself, eyes rolling upward. “Snow Queen doesn't like a L-word herself, right? It's a real shame, missin' out on words. Y'know, I always wondered why the queenie up and forbade that. Maybe if the Snow Queen allowed us to love all normal-like, Ma would treat me better... she says she can't be nice to me, or else the Snow Queen would up and take her away.”

The prisoners highly doubted that was the case. Daisy whipped out her fan, hoping to cool down her soup. “Well, when I was a little girl, the story was that a mirror came to life, and couldn't stand the thought of anyone loving anyone but itself, and that's the Snow Queen's true form.”

“Nah, nah.” Donald waved a hand. “Way I heard it, a bunch of demons were trying to carry a mirror up a mountain, but then they broke it, and the shards became the Snow Queen.”

Goofy scratched the bulbous bump on his head. “Huh... I got a bunch brothers who say the story in a bunch of different ways. Y'think any of them could be the right one?” Now everyone's attention was to Minnie, curious about what her past said about the Queen.

But Minnie didn't have any stories, and she suddenly felt a bit ashamed of it. “Oh... well... I don't think we ever really tried to find out where she came from, in my village. We always just accepted she was there. I've never heard a single story about the Snow Queen, just her rules.”

Ratface walked out of Minnie's lap, and right out of the cage. He didn't look at any of them, but he spoke in a distant matter. “The night is long. Perhaps it's time I gave you a story, pretty girl. Your first story.”

Minnie leaned forward in the cage, trying to understand. “Ratface?”

He still did not look back, and there was a trace of moonlight that slipped into the tent, encasing the old bird in its glow, and his green eyes shimmered in a despair that none of them could truly grasp.

“Maybe it's true. Maybe it isn't. You can listen, or you can ignore. But I will speak it anyways, and then never again. So do well, pretty girl, to make up your mind.”

“This is a story... of a man who destroyed his lover for luck.”

[gryndboxstudios]

Ghost Ship Review

by Matthew Arce-Phillips

First things first, what the actual fuck?!? The movie didn’t really make a lot of sense, but I think that’s a good thing? Try and hear me out. This movie’s first scene is both amazing a stupid at the same time. I’m gonna spoil this scene because I don’t think director understood how height or angles works. And also because the movie came out in 2002 and if you haven’t seen it yet then you probably aren’t gonna watch it. Unless my words persuade you, then that would be awesome! Anyways, the first scene attempts to give us or first glimpse of how scary this movie is gonna get, spoiler, it doesn’t get much scarier than this. In a nutshell this is what happens.. We see a little girl playing with some toy, bored topside of the boat and then someone who is assumed to be the captain, asks her to dance with everyone else. There’s at least 30 people dancing on what looks like a tiny dance floor on top of the ship “Antonia Graza” and everyone is having a grand ‘ole time. Next we see a mysterious hand pull some kind of lever that then begins to reel in a metal wire that so happens to enclosing the dance floor. The tension of the wire finally breaks and, BAM the wire slices everyone on the dance floor in half! The scene is both fills with gore and suspense. At first all the dancers are shocked and no one reacts, but of course how could they? Then, one by one their bodies begin to spilt in half horizontally and we see the true chaos of the trap. Intestines, limbs, and blood fill every inch of the floor! There’s even people trying to put themselves back together! It’s a truly imaginative sight to see and I give whoever came up with that idea huge props. But then we see the little girl completely unscathed by the incident, but the captain that was dancing with her was somehow cut by the wire directly between his mouth and cheeks and we watch the top portion of his head slide off with ease. Now, I’ve watched this scene 5 times over and over, paused, then play, zoomed in, and got figure out how this little girl survived and the captain lost his head and not his body! I looked at all the other bisected bodies that surrounded them and saw no heads decapitated anywhere! I get it, she needed to be able to walk away for plot or whatever, but how are you gonna tell me that they both were in the middle of the dance floor and didn’t get cut in half?? And then to show the captain being the only one to literally loose his head??? I’m not good at math, but none of that shit adds up. 

Regardless of this confusing as hell scene, the movie the picks up 40 years later and introduces us to the “Arctic Warrior” crew, a sea salvaging team in the middle of hauling some rust bucket of a boat to port. Murphy the capitan, Epps the first mate, Greer the guy who steers the boat, Santos our Hispanic mechanic with a love of low riders, and finally Dodge and Munder the two handy men of the crew pretty much. The movie tries to emphasize how truly great this crew is at doing their job by making the boat they’re pulling start sinking and quickly fix the hole as if it was second nature to them. Alright, cool, we got it. But another weird thing, I couldn’t tell if the captain had a Irish accent or not. His name was Murphy, kinda Irish, but he talked so low in most of the scenes it just sounded like he was trying hard to make the accent but couldn’t really pull it off.  Finally we get some story as to what the movie is gonna be about. Some scrawny looking guy named Jack Ferriman approaches the crew as they’re drinking, enjoying themselves and explains that he found an unknown ship out in the Bering Sea and convinces them to find the boat, bring it back to port, and get rich. Simple enough right? After sometime the crew finds the ship and realize it’s the “Anontia Graza”! The ship from the beginning of the movie, who would’ve expected that! After some exploring around the ship one of the crew members falls through the floor and everyone scrambled to pull him up! The girl that’s barely hanging on to his dumbass sees a little girl in the background and freaks out. From here on out she sees the girl in different areas of the boat and the movie kinda shifts into a thriller of sorts. Like I mentioned before, the movie isn’t really scary. Like, at all. There’s a bit more gore-ish parts here and there, but nothing that screams BOO to your face. As they explore the boat a little more things start getting bad for the crew. They realize the cruise ship needs some repairs before bring it to port and the tug boat they arrived in needs repairs as well. Epps falls into an empty pool, hits her head at the bottom and somehow manages to spill a tiny bit of blood from the 6 foot drop. But does not have a concussion at all... oh ok. The blood is then sucked into some bullet holes and I’m assuming this awakens the spirits? At least that’s way it seems. Because from here the other ghost start acting on the crew. After a few scares Epps and Ferriman find a vault full of golden bricks which they all think this is their ticket to easy street, so they all say fuck it a decide to take the gold home instead of the boat. Semi good choice. We see Santos and Greer making some progress on repairing the boat as the other prepare to move the gold from boat to boat. But, just as Santos has finally fixed the problem, some ghost or what have you opens a gas valve dispensing it in the air. As Greer turns the key the boat fucking explodes destroying the boat, killing Santos, and stranding the remaining crew to the “Antonia Graza”. I’m gonna give a quick rundown of events only because the ending gets bad then good then bad again. So, Murphy who was a recovering alcoholic runs to the captains quarters to snag a drink while the rest of the crew argues on what to do next. Obviously, fix the boat and try to make it home. Greer come with the idea to make a raft with is just fucking stupid. Dodge is mad at Ferriman for showing them the boat, Munder doesn’t seem to care about anything but the money, and Epps is just trying to keep everyone together. In the captains quarters Murphy sees the dead captain and finds some photos showing how the gold got on board of the cruise ship in the first place... along with a picture showing a mysterious man that freaks out Murphy. Greer gets seduced by an Italian singer ghost that tricks him into plunging down an elevator shaft and lands onto some broken rebar. Murphy racing to find the crew starts to hallucinate images of the new crispy Santos and believes Epps is trying to kill him. Ferriman knocks out Murphy and they all put him in some tube thingy waiting for him to sober up.  The rest of the crew then begin to fix up boat, starting with patching a giant hole in the side then pump out the water the has flooded the lower half of the boat. Epps finds Greer then the ghost girl from earlier leads her back to the little girls room and explains what really happened that night. And it’s a bunch of bullshit that’s what happened! Pretty much, some of the crew start poisoning passengers, murdering them with guns in an attempt to steal the gold. It’s a bunch of back stabbing as the crew eventually turn on themselves leaving just the Italian singer who we find out was manipulated by........ JACK FUCKING FERRIMAN!!!!! Get it? Ferriman? Ferry man? I’ll explain in a bit. Anywho, Epps runs to free Murphy who has now drowned in the tube thingy, but somehow he carried that picture with him and it’s reviled the picture is of Ferriman. She scrambled to warn the rest of the crew that Ferriman is some ghost or something but is stopped by him. He doesn’t know she knows just yet. Oh yeah, Munder dies getting sucked up into a gear and gets torn to pieces. Dodge is put in charge of watching Ferriman, Ferriman tried to escape, Dodge shoots him. Epps finds Munder’s corpse by the water pump. Now it’s finally shown that Epps knows Ferriman was on the ship 40 years ago and asks for an explanation. Now here is one of my biggest problems with the movie and why I felt the need to explain everything fucking thing in this movie. Jack explains that he works someone “downstairs” and that he collects souls to make them happy. This is his job because he has lived a life full of sin. Pfft, who hasn’t buddy. Now is where I explain the Ferriman shit. In Greek Mythology Charon is the Ferry man that carries newly dead souls across the Rivers styx. But, In Jacks explanation he makes it seems like he works for Satan himself. Seriously, what the fuck? How are they gonna try to combine two different religions and expect everyone to except that? I just could t believe it when I heard it. That explanation was just terrible... After this, Epps defeats Ferriman, the souls are freed, and she drifts out into open sea only to be picked up by another cruise liner. Back on shore she’s loaded up into an ambulance and she watches the crew of a cruise ship load luggage on board and among the crew members is fucking Jack Ferriman in the flesh. Of course, the circle continues. I know it seems like I’m complaining a lot but I actually did enjoy this movie. It wasn’t super terrible but not super good either. When looking into this movie I read that originally the movie was going to be a physiological thriller called Chimera, but for reasons unknown the script underwent tons of rewrites and became Ghost Ship. I remember hearing about his movie when I was a kid and thinking it was dumb, but of course only because I was too scared to actually watch it. Now that I think back to it I’m glad I never watched it. I probably would shit myself in the first 30 minutes. Oh yeah, I hated scary movies as a kid. It’s definitely a movie that has not aged well at all. The cgi and backdrops are pretty bad looking. But when you see the open waters it’s beautiful, that I don’t mind. Personally I’d probably watch this movie one more time if I ever needed time to kill or was just bored. It held my attention the first time really well, but I’m not sure about a second. I give Ghost Ship 6 bacon and cheese Whataburgers outta 10. I ate one while watching the movie and I also ate while writing this review.

Movies by Matt is the newest part of GBStudios’ team, looking to provide entertaining and informational reviews on all our favorite movies. You can follow @movies_matt and Gryndbox Studios on Twitter!

[luminoustico]

@mizjoely asked for #2 from this drabble list: “Can you shut up for five minutes, please?”

So, @conchepcion , @stlgeekgirl , @dmollyc  , @limajoro , @glitterkitty4ever , @introspectivenavelgazer and anyone else who read the first bit of this crack Mummy AU, and wanted it continued, look below.

Warnings for: silliness, SWP (story without plot) and a bunch of favourite scenes from the movie shoved together into one oneshot.

Passenger ship, the River Nile, Egypt, 1926

If he allowed the conventions of society to define his standards, Molly Hooper was not a pretty woman. Compared to the beauty shown in film reels, she was plain and superficially forgettable. 

Yet, she stood before him, eyebrows raised up towards her hairline, her mouth pressed into a thin line, with her hair combed back into a bun at the low of her neck, he found her to be uncommonly pretty.

“A deductive tool?” Miss Hooper gathered up her book and magnifying glass, turning on her heel. She stormed down the way of the barge, towards her quarters. Sherlock stared after her.

It was her eyes that had done it. Made him accept her offer, to travel with them (for that was what she had been offering, from the moment she’d set foot in the prison, an offer driven by ambition). He did not know what it was about them, nor the how of how they’d caught him so. It was something yet to be deduced, he knew.

“Ow!” 

The yelp caught his attention. 

Turning, Sherlock watched a set of crates, piled in twos underneath a set of stairs. One of the crates shifted. Sherlock advanced forward. Reaching back behind the crates, he grabbed the scruff of the intruder’s neck and pulled them forward. One of the crates toppled, falling with a hard thud while Sherlock slammed the intruder against the ship’s wall.

“My old friend, Barry Berwick,” he said with a smile. Berwick, still with shaved head and permanently furrowed brow, cocked a grin, wrestling against the grip of Sherlock’s hand, trying to slide out from underneath. Sherlock caught him again, pressing his forearm to Berwick’s chest.

“Now, now. I saw some Americans boarding this ship at the port. New friends?”

“What you---” On Sherlock’s roll of his eyes, Berwick cleared his throat, correcting himself, “What do you mean, Mr ‘olmes? I ain’t -- haven’t -- seen nobody.”

“Lestrade has made friends with those Americans, and they let slip, as did he, their intended location: Hamunaptra. Only two people on this boat have been to Hamunaptra. You are one of them. You’ve never been a man of great intelligence, so I’m sure I can guess the scam. Take their money and lead them out into the desert to rot, correct?”

“No!” Berwick wriggled. “No, Mr ‘olmes, nah! They’re smarter than tha’.”

Sherlock smirked. Amazing that Berwick had managed to cultivate a career as a conman when he failed to lie quite so easily. But then, tourists eager for gold were willing to look past any idiosyncrasies if it meant wealth beyond their wildest dreams. The wildest of tales could contain the largest of plot holes and no-one would blink an eye.

Realising the implication of his words, Berwick sagged against the ship wall.

“These Americans are smart. They’ve only paid me half -- got to get them back to Cairo before I get the full amount.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, stepping back. “A pity for you.”

“You vowed never to go back anyway,” Berwick said after a moment, narrowing his eyes. “That dig -- what you seen -- you said you’d rather be hung than go back.”

“The word is ‘hanged’. Goodbye, Barry.” Gripping Berwick’s shirt, Sherlock dragged him towards the edge of the boat and threw him over.

“Mr ‘olmes!” Berwick spluttered in the water, roaring up at the ship. “Mr ‘olmes!”

Sherlock turned his head at the sound of a scream. Female. Coming from the quarters. Sherlock’s grin faded.

“Miss Hooper.”

He broke into a sprint.

---

On the other side of the River Nile, the Americans gathered horses on the bank, yelling for their colleagues. In the distance, the passenger ship continued to burn.

“I can’t believe it!” Molly gasped, stroking Toby’s wet fur, shaking and furious. She hushed him, taking breathless gasps, the taste of the ocean still on her tongue. “It -- it happened so quickly… we’ve -- we’ve lost everything! The equipment, my tools...”

She shivered, her breath shaking. A hand gently hovered at her shoulder, long fingers brushing over her skin. Glancing up, she watched as Holmes sank into a crouch at her side. His hand trailed down towards her elbow. He helped her to her feet, a touch of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“HEY! MR ‘OLMES!” Molly and Holmes looked up at the same time. A shaven man, broad-shouldered, stood ankle-deep in the water as the Americans hurried their horses to the shore. “LOOKS LIKE I’VE GOT ALL THE ‘ORSES!”

Holmes slowly walked forward towards the riverbank. His eyes narrowed, staring at the man.

“Hey Berwick!” he shouted finally, in a mocking approximation of the man’s accent. “Looks to me like you’re on the wrong side of the river!”

A look of realisation came over the man. He swore, kicking at the water, turning and hurrying up to the bank. Molly bit back a smile, swallowing her laughter until it was a slight giggle. Hearing her, Holmes grinned. John Watson, Sherlock’s assistant (though he seemed perturbed by the term whenever Holmes used it), rolled his eyes.

“So…” Lestrade said, slumped in the sand, wiping his eyes. “What do we do now?”

---

Finding shelter at a Bedouin trading post, it was with ease that the four slipped into their respective duties. John inspected his gunny-sack, eyeing the small boys and adult men who looked over his weaponry with suspicion, ever the soldier. Miss Hooper set about charming the women of the trading post so much that they ushered her inside and insisted on fitting her a new outfit, free of any charge, and Sherlock sat alone with only Toby as company, idly listening to Lestrade’s one-sided argument about the economy of buying four camels.

“I just want four!” he shouted fruitlessly, as the seller shook his head for the fifth time. “Four! Just---”

“For God’s sake, pay the man Lestrade,” Sherlock called. “We have to be travelling by nightfall at least.”

Lestrade grumbled, fetching out his wallet, snapping it open. With money in his hand, the seller happily handed over the camels. Lestrade glared at Sherlock; shrugging, Sherlock stood and took two of the camels by the reins.

“He offered the camels for free in exchange for Molly. Not on your life obviously, but having just paid that amount of money,” Lestrade grumbled, “tempting.”

At that moment, the flaps of a tent opened behind them, and a train of women hurried out.

“Awfully,” Sherlock said, quirking an eyebrow, though his smile faded as he turned to face the tent and the chatter of the veiled women. Miss Hooper was at the back of the crowd, dressed in suitable black. A veil of thin fabric covered the lower half of her face. Her eyes shone warmly.

“Awfully…” Sherlock repeated, softer than before.

Thanking the women, Miss Hooper approached him and Lestrade. Her brown eyes shined, her smile hidden behind the fabric.

“Shall we go?”

Sherlock caught himself, clearing his throat, shifting his weight. “Yes, of course. Here. A camel, for you. We have to get going. I’ll fetch Watson.” He turned on his heels. “Watson!”

---

Hamunaptra, Ancient City of the Dead, Egypt, 1926

Day 1

Though they reached the site first, it was numbers that led to the American expedition gaining the most space for a dig. Miss Hooper had thus decided upon a crevice near the statue of Anubis as their starting point. Sherlock stood before it as she and Lestrade worked. He gazed up at the sand-dusted stone. Berwick, for all his idiocy, was right. He had vowed never to come back.

Sherlock glanced over at Miss Hooper. She saw him and immediately smiled. A genuine, sweet smile while stood underneath a statue carrying a mystery he still didn’t know the answer to. Perhaps he was always destined to return.

Perhaps she had been destined to make him return.

Avoiding her eye, Sherlock turned away, wandering through the ruins. 

The American’s camp was mostly run by their Egyptologist and the local diggers they had hired. The Americans themselves were like their government; sat on the sidelines, playing poker on a small trestle table and smoking cigarettes. A toolkit was laid forgotten beside one of the tents. Their attention on the game, Sherlock grabbed the kit and hurried away.

Seeing him return, Miss Hooper grinned. She was working with a rounded mirror, antique and rusted at the edges, shifting it so it consistently caught the glint of the sun. Lestrade, stood opposite her, was doing the same.

“The ancient mirror trick, correct?” Sherlock asked. Miss Hooper’s grin widened.

“Yes, Mr Holmes.” Her eyes narrowed at the kit in his hands. “What’s that?”

“You mentioned you didn’t have any tools. The Americans seem to be overrun with tools, so I thought---” Sherlock sighed, shoving it towards her.

“Oh.” Miss Hooper blushed briefly, the tops of her cheeks going pink, as she gently held the kit in her palm. She unrolled it, glancing over the contents inside. She bit her bottom lip. “Thank you.”

Sherlock dodged past her, hurrying towards John, sitting at their campsite in front of his tent, writing in his journal. Penning the day’s events. A tedious pastime, but they’d had that argument a hundred times.

“Other men buy their women flowers.”

“She’s not my woman, she’s nothing but an aspiring archaeologist too hung up on Bembridge. You’re always telling me to help others.” Sherlock ducked inside his tent, only to find Toby curled up on his sleeping bag. Picking up the creature, he held it between his hands, dropping it inside Miss Hooper’s tent, ignoring the brief catch of her scent in his nostrils sinking into his memory. Toby immediately mewled, shooting out from Miss Hooper’s tent and back into Sherlock’s.

Sherlock glowered, stomping back towards his tent. “And it’s only the men without imagination who buy women flowers, John.”

---

Hamunaptra, Ancient City of the Dead, Egypt, 1926

The second night

Molly worried her bottom lip, her brown eyes flicking up to meet Holmes as he wandered closer to the campfire.

“How’s John?” she asked softly.

“Unconscious, but alive,” Holmes replied, sitting beside her. He rubbed his hands together, holding them to the flames. Molly rested her head against his shoulder, taking a deep breath.

“I’m sorry it happened,” she murmured.

“We weren’t to know scarabs were wandering around the temple,” Holmes said, an attempt at amusement, but it didn’t really take. “The wounds on his shoulder will heal soon anyway. Lestrade, I forgot to say -- good quick thinking.”

“War taught me a thing or too,” Greg said, leaning back. He grabbed his satchel, opening it. From it, he bought a bottle of wine. “How to appreciate things, for one. Glenlivet, 12 years old. A vintage year, I pride myself on good taste. Anyone fancy a bit?”

“Not really.”

“No,” said Molly, overlapping Holmes’ dry reply.

“Each to their own,” Greg shrugged, swallowing back a gulp of the wine.

Suddenly, Holmes looked around, alert. A split second after him, Molly heard it. 

The approaching sound of horse hooves. 

Mr Holmes brought out his pistol, standing.

“Stay here,” were his only words. He ran towards the entrance of the city and the sound. Molly was up not a moment later, chasing after him. She heard Greg behind her, calling her name.

“Molly! Stop! Holmes said to stay---”

Hollering sounded. Loud black-clad figures bursting out from the evening on black horses. The Americans scrambled to wake at the sound of the raid, shooting at their attackers. Molly dived behind a column. Greg, holding tightly to his bottle of wine, ducked behind the column next to her. From the inside pocket of his jacket, he brought out a small gun. Gunshots sounded, from both sides. Black-clad attackers fell, diggers scrambled, the Americans screamed as they charged, shooting.

“Hadha yafki!” The yell called over the fighting, authoritative and firm. She frowned, peeking out from behind the column. Holmes was in the middle of the fray, his pistol at his side, staring at the one who had spoken.

They walked forward. A veil covered their mouth. They were smaller in height, leaner than the men who surrounded them, yet they were the one who exuded, demanded, authority.

They pulled back their veil. Tight curly black hair was pulled back into a bun. A woman. She had a striking essence to her, her long face and curved jaw beautiful. Arabic symbols, tattoos, covered the high of her cheeks, underneath dark eyes. A scimitar was at her hip.

“My name is Salama Dey,” she announced to the two camps. Molly walked forwards, down the shallow slope towards Holmes. His hand reached out for her as she reached him. She clasped it tightly, her other hand holding his forearm. She watched the woman, Salama, stare at them and the Americans.

“You have one day to leave this place,” she said, glancing at her troops. She returned to her horse, gripping its reins and mounting it. She gave one final glance over both camps. “We’ll spill no more blood. But heed my warning.”

The woman clicked her tongue, calling in Arabic for her men to follow.

“Proves it!” said one of the Americans, Henderson, square-jawed and blonde. “Seti’s fortune’s gotta be under this sand. No way they’d protect it if it had nothing.”

“Are you truly that idiotic?” Sherlock snapped. “Those people live in the desert. Water is more precious to them than any gold.”

A silence filled the camp. Letting go of Sherlock, Molly headed back up towards the campsite.

“Have to say,” Greg said from behind, following on. “That’s one hell of a woman, that Salama, don’t you think?”

Molly, smiling, rolled her eyes.

As they arrived, Watson, bleary-eyed, stumbled out from his tent. He was topless, his right shoulder swathed in bandages. He gave a slack smile when he saw Molly. She gave one in return, sitting by the fire, stoking it.

“I heard gunfire…”

“A raid,” she explained, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders and reaching for a thick volume, flipping it open. “I think it was the Medjai. I’ve read about them before. Warriors, far more skilled beyond any of us. Even you, Mr Watson.”

Watson winced as he sat opposite her, his face reflected yellow by the campfire. “Since our little incident with the scarabs -- or should I say, my incident -- I’m willing to believe that.”

A wine bottle entered both their vision. Molly looked up, instinctively smiling at Greg. His eyes glittered.

“Anyone willing to take that drink now?”

Molly took the wine bottle, gulping it back, passing it on to John. Greg settled opposite them, stretching out on his sleeping mat, crossing his ankles, tucking his hands behind his head. He closed his eyes.

“Rough day.”

---

Hamunaptra, Ancient City of the Dead, Egypt, 1926

The third night

The problems included with including treasure hunters on an archaeological dig were threefold. The first: treasure hunters never stopped long enough to consider the history they were digging into. The second: archaeologists, too delved into history books, were disinclined to believe anything besides what they could see. 

The third was more of an inevitability than a problem: when the two cultures came together, as the Americans and Molly Hooper’s party decided to do after the raid, something was bound to go wrong.

Molly gasped, breathless and trembling, frozen against the chamber wall. Mr Burns crawled along on the floor, empty spaces where his eyes and tongue had once been, no tears coming despite the pained wailing.

The mummy, the monster, a skeleton of papyrus and bone, his stolen eyes and tongue moving oddly with the rest of him, alive where the rest was dead. He approached her slowly, intent in his flickering eyes.

“Anck-su-Namun,” he growled, his voice beyond the world.

Molly’s throat went dry.

“Please…” she whispered. The mummy inched closer, and closer. Her eyes flicked towards Mr Burns in her desperation. “Please help me…”

“Molly!” She whipped her head round. Through an entrance, Holmes ran into the dark chamber. He carried his pistol, reaching out for her. “Do you think it’s really necessary to -- Jesus!”

He jumped, shuddering, his grip briefly tightening on her hand as he stared. Breathless, they stared at the slowly advancing mummy.

“Molly! Holmes!” Greg rushed in, the dark was lit orange by the flame of his torch. He stumbled back as the mummy turned on him, roaring and growling, his stolen eyes swivelling. Suddenly, his skeleton burst apart, collapsing to the ground. Sherlock’s pistol smoked.

Molly grabbed his hand tighter.

“Come on!” she yelled, tugging him away, down the labyrinth of corridors. “Move!”

She ran, one hand holding Holmes, the other flailing out for Greg, not caring where she was going. Get away, get hidden---

They stumbled out into the cool desert night, into a line of Medjai. All of them had their rifles aimed at the entrance to the temple, to them. Molly yelped, sinking closer to Holmes. His arm held her waist, glaring at the Medjai.

One of the Medjai pulled down their scarf. Salama’s eyes flashed angrily.

“I warned you,” she said, lowering her rifle, stepping forward. “Leave or die. And because of your arrogance, you have given us all death sentences. This is a creature we’ve feared for 3,000 years.”

The Americans cocked their weapons, but Salama only smiled.

“Your mortal weapons will do him no damage, believe me.” She aimed a hard look at the Americans. “Look what happened to your friend.”

At once, two Medjai came forward, carrying Mr Burns. Molly winced, looking away. Under the moonlight of the camp, his wounds were worse, more horrifying. Henderson and another rushed forward to take him from the Medjai, Henderson cradling him. Burns moaned helplessly in his mind.

“You did this?” Henderson spat.

“The creature did,” Salama said. “And we saved him before he could finish the work. So I tell you again: leave or die. I hope that this time, you obey.”

---

British fort, Cairo, Egypt, 1926

Packing for Molly Hooper was a thankless task. As he threw into her trunk what he could of her now scant possessions, she would take them out. If he tried again, she would take them out again, in between hurriedly scanning pages and pages of history books. Sherlock picked Toby up off the few remaining clothes in the trunk, dropping him outside the bedroom door. Discontented, Toby ran back in, mewling furiously and jumping on the bed.

“Forget it,” Sherlock said, sighing, “I fully intend on obeying Miss Dey.”

“What, while a 3,000-year-old walking, talking corpse threatens to destroy the Earth?” Molly scoffed. “We woke him up, Holmes, we need to stop him!”

“You read the book, Miss Hooper---”

“Fine! I read the book, I released him, and I am going to stop him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you cannot stop a mummy!” Sherlock said. “No mortal weapon can kill him, you heard the woman.”

“Then we’ll find some immortal ones,” Molly replied, snatching her books from his grasp, some of them tumbling to the floor. Molly dived down to her knees, gathering them up to her chest. “I know that sounds ridiculous, but if it’s the only way we can stop him, then that’s the only way we can stop him.”

Sherlock frowned. “Again with the ‘we’.”

“From what I’ve read so far, this curse isn’t going to end well for anyone. Look, here!” She flipped open a thin mummification volume, scratched with inked notes in the margins, settling on a page. She pointed at the Egyptian writing, holding it up to his nose. Sherlock frowned, snatching it from her, reading it himself.

“You see?” Exasperated, Molly rubbed her forehead, slapping her palm on the page so that he was forced to look away, into her eyes. “‘Once the creature has been reborn’,” she recited, “‘his curse will spread until the whole of the Earth is destroyed’---”

“Molly!”

She stopped, startled by his use of her name. Sherlock hesitated to touch her, settling his hand on her upper arm. She’d changed from the black dress of the Bedouin; now she wore a white shirt, a cream desert skirt and her nostrils flared with determination.

“You are talking about saving the world. Not history. Not gaining enough experience in the field to impress Bembridge---”

“I’m not---”

“Saving the world.”

“I raised the mummy. You saw the mummy. You know what he could do.” Her eyes widened, beseeching. “Don’t you? Please, Sherlock. Help me.”

Sherlock sighed, running his hand through his hair. Snaking his arm around her shoulder, he pulled her against his chest, holding her close.

The door opened, and Sherlock jumped away from Molly, looking round at the entrant, Greg, closely followed by Watson.

“What is it?” Molly asked, flicking her gaze towards Sherlock. Greg looked pale, but Watson spoke, face grey with dread.

“There’s something you two need to see.”

Heading towards the closed window, Watson threw open the shutters. Sunlight flooded the room, as well as heat. Flames, fire and hail, poured from the sky.

There was trouble, Sherlock thought, and then there was raising-the-dead kind of trouble.

---

Surviving water turning into blood was one thing. Witnessing the horror of the undead creature Imhotep kissing an asleep Molly Hooper was another. Watson dived forward, rifle raised.

“Get off her.”

Molly, her eyes snapping open, shrieked, shoving away the monster, scrambling off the bed, tumbling to the floor. 

Imhotep, his half-skeletal, half-decayed face twisting with a growl, advanced on the three men. Watson fired, again and again, but Imhotep continued forward, hatred in his eyes.

“Uh,” Greg asked, “anyone have ideas?” 

“Just one,” Sherlock replied. Turning, he ran into the foyer. Toby lay on the table, tail swishing idly. Grabbing the cat, thankful for the first time of its presence, Sherlock sprinted back into the bedroom.

He grinned at the advancing Imhotep.

“Look what I have!” He held up the wriggling Toby, who stilled at the sight of Imhotep.

 Imhotep screamed a primordial roar, a snarl. Toby hissed, screeched, yowling until, all at once, sand engulfed the bedroom, a high wind drawing through the air, as if it might suck them all out into the streets of Cairo---

The window shutters slammed closed.

In the silence, Sherlock looked to Molly.

“Are you okay?”

Molly shrugged. “I’m alright… apart from an undead mummy kissing me.” Her eyes lightened with an idea. “But I do now have a good idea of who can help us. C’mon.”

Following her out of the room, Sherlock smiled despite it all.

---

Museum of Antiquities, Cairo, Egypt, 1926

“You?” Molly jerked to a stop on entering the curator’s office, aghast with surprise at the sight of Salama Dey in whispering, urgent talks with her. Lady Smallwood raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest.

“You cannot tell me you are not surprised, Molly. I told you when you first arrived I would give my life for Egypt. Now, what do you want?”

“The -- the, um, tablets,” Molly answered, blinking away her surprise. “I obviously proved the theory right, at Hamunaptra, that the Book of Dead can bring the dead back to life. But I think, if the black book can do that, then the gold book---”

“The Book of Amun-Ra,” Lady Smallwood said pointedly. Molly nodded.

“Yes. I think that might be able to kill him.”

“Well theorised.” Lady Smallwood stood, fetching a set of keys from her desk drawer. “Come. I’ll lead you to them.”

It was at the top of the steps that they heard it. Soft at first, distant. Chanting, seemingly wordless. As the chanting inched closer, the word formed on the lips of the people, their skin covered in boils and sores.

“Imhotep,” they chanted. “Imhotep---”

“My least favourite plague,” Greg muttered from behind Molly, as they gathered at the window above the city square outside the museum.

“This is it then,” Salama said, her voice filled with dark dread. “The beginning of the end.”

“Not quite yet,” said Greg brightly, earning a glare from the Medjai leader for his troubles. He flashed her a grin in return.

“You can leave the ‘I told you so’ for later,” Watson added, following Molly as she turned on the balls of her feet, hurrying towards the display cases, behind which were fragments of stone tablets. Lady Smallwood swung open the doors, and Molly immediately began to frantically scan the tablets.

“Okay, okay… Bembridge scholars indicate that the Book of Amun-Ra is buried at the base of Anubis, but that’s where we found the black book, so---”

“Looks like the boys of Bembridge were mistaken,” Greg grinned.

“Seems they mixed the books up,” Molly explained, still frantically reading, her finger running along the hieroglyphics. “They got the locations wrong -- so if the black book is inside Anubis, then the golden book…”

“Molly, hurry up!”

“I am, Greg, I am!”

Below, the doors smashed open.

“No, I mean -- really -- hurry up!” The chanting was louder than ever, mixed in with roars, the pursuit of the hunt. Greg, along with Sherlock and Salama, glanced over the balcony. The people of Egypt, now no more than shells, Imhotep’s slaves, were advancing up the long winding stairs, smashing their way past artefacts, crushing them underneath their feet.

Greg edged closer to her. “Molly, you’ve got to hurry---”

“Oh Greg, will you shut up for five minutes?”

“Not really!”

“Patience is a virtue,” she replied, her voice sing-song, bouncing on her toes, still reading.

“Not right now, it isn’t!” said Sherlock from behind her, eyes still on what was going on below.

“The front entrance is blocked,” Salama said. She gestured to Greg, beckoning. “You, with me and the American. We’ll go the back way.”

“Happy to!” Greg hurried to follow Salama, pushing the astonished American in front of him, down the path of the landing. As soon as they were out of sight, Molly yelled in delight.

“Ha! I’ve got it! The golden book of Amun-Ra is buried at the base of the statue of Horus!” She pumped the air, beaming as she turned towards Sherlock. “Bembridge can go stuff themselves!”

“Strong words,” Sherlock smirked, grabbing her hand. “Time to go, Miss Hooper.”

[septembersghost]

#yeah some hours later i realized i hate it much more than i thought i did after finishing the episode #the events leading to all this are held together by a bunch of plot holes. it's just frustrating

show notorious for an awful ending comes back from the dead and has an even worse second ending