#there’s just something about horror that takes place in the 1800s that hits different

[nooskadraws]

amnesia the dark descent sketchdump ✨🥀🕯

[tokoyamisstuff]

Scandal Ch. 5 - Loki x Reader

Summary: Loki returns to claim what is his - willing to kill everyone in his way.

Warnings: Angst.

Words: ~1800

I Story Masterlist I General Masterlist I

Taglist: @catlover092402152, @hi-there-x, @haloangel391, @misssilencewritewell, @babayaga67, @accioremuslupinn, @mochimommy2002, @just-someone-who-likes-to-write, @damalseer, @bethanystan, @loser-alert, @star017, @nina1800, @queenariesofnarnia, @n1fangirlsblog, @vengefulsokovian, @lunamoonbby, @freyagallileaevans, @emmojoy, @literate-lamb, @aninnai​, @justsomerandompersonintheworld​

A/N: Sweet little Feedback Anon, I took your suggestion. You know which one I mean if you see it. (:

Btw guys I have like 60+ Drafts I need to finish so pls be patient with me.

Word sure spreads fast among the folk of Asgard, about Odin’s shame and your innocence.

Since his lies had weakened the favor among his subjects, the Allfather was desperate to clean his name and reputation, ultimatively inviting you to come back.

But you declined, stating that this wasn’t your homeland anymore ever since they betrayed you to fullfill their selfish ambitions.

However, Asgard’s hypocrisy wasn’t the only reason you chose to stay on Midgard - you just knew that it would break your heart every day you’d spend on a place with so many memories connected to your deceased husband.

Earthlings, the people of S.H.I.E.L.D and especially Thor’s friends Jane and Erik Selvic had basically become like family to you. Even though they could never fill the void Loki had left in your heart, things being like this was more than you could wish for.

“Lady Y/N!” a familiar voice greeted you, yet his worried tone startled you. Thor was already standing in your room, practically kicking in your door as he was visibly upset.

Immediately, you put Liam into his crib and rushed to his side. “What’s the matter?!”

A strange mix of horror and excitement was stretched across his face, making your heart sink to your stomach.

Actually, you didn’t want to involve yourself with the Asgardians any further. All you ever wanted was for your child to be healthy and happy, no matter where this was possible.

But Thor was still your cherished brother-in-law, as well as a wonderful uncle, never ceasing to provide for you and Liam, even when everyone else had forsaken you.

Yet what he was about to tell you let your blood run cold: 

“Loki is back.”

Immediately, all the walls you had built up over those past months were crumbling as you collapsed to the floor, crying out of anger and relief.

“H-How? How is this even possible?! He’s dead! Loki died!”

“Pull yourself together, Lady Y/N!” Thor has always been a rather touchy-feely kind of person, in opposite to his raw and bulky appearance.

But right now, he wouldn’t dare to hug or console you, like he’d usually do. Instead, he was offering you a hand to help you get back up - which you wouldn’t be able to take just yet. “There’s no use in overthinking this! We need to hurry!”

“What do you even want me to do?” you wondered, because if your husband was really alive, you’d doubt him wanting to see you. “He’s changed...killed a lot of people before he disappeared. And still, I don’t wanna fight him. How can I be of any help at all?!?”

“We know he’s probably after you and the child” the God of Thunder stated coldly. “So you need to be transferred to a safe location.”

What can be more safe than a base of S.H.I.E.L.D? If only you knew he had already demolished a whole, giant outpost of them with ease...

“I’ll explain everything to you on the way.” “Let me quickly get the baby.”

“What, did you forget the name of your nephew already?” you chuckled awkwardly, but seeming to have struck a nerve.

Thor was only slowly approaching the crib in which your lovely baby was resting, staring at it with awe while his trembling hand caressed Liam’s cheek.

“Incredible...” he whispered mainly to himself,  as if this wasn’t the thousandth time he would lay eyes upon him. “He’s just like I remember him.”

Something was off.

Of course Thor had a spare key to your flat, but you had never heared him unlock it - he had just kind of appeared in the middle of the room. Could as well be that you had been to invested with something, or buried in thought to notice him, and yet...

“Wait” you stated, making him flinch away from the child and turn around. “My knees are still weak. Help me up first.”

With heavy steps, Thor would force himself away from the crib and towards you again, lending you another hand and easily pulling you up - just for you to point a sharp dagger to his throat.

“Lady Y/N, when did you summo-”

“Shut up!” you hissed, and the god held his hands into the air to assure his goodwill. "Drop the disguse. Now!”

The man let out an amused huff, a taint of green covering his body to revert it back to normal - revealing your husband.

His hair had become longer, and dark rings showed how devastating those past months went by for him. Yet still, he was unmistakingly your husband.

Yet a faint, mad spark in his eyes was what worried you the most.

Now he was holding a knife as well, both circling around the crib with a knife at each other’s throat, as if to dance with each other.

“So it’s really you, Loki?”

“The one and only” he declared, chest swelling with pride at his performance and completely ignoring your hostile undertone. “I missed you painfully, my sweetling.”

He looked to the side where your son was still sleeping soundly, regret clearly visible on his face. “Wha- what name did you give our child?”

“Liam it is.”

The smallest of smiles tugged on his lips, swallowing harshly to surpress the sobs wanting to break free. “Beautiful name. Very well chosen.”

Pain was stretching across your features, desperately trying for the dam of emotions to not break. The dagger in your hand vanished, rather choosing to reluctantly caress his cheek - to make sure this was really him, and not one of his illusions.

And it was really him, leaning into your touch with a content purr. “Yes, my love, just like tha-”

A loud noise drang to his ear, effectively cutting him off. He needed a second to understand that it was in fact you slapping him what caused the interruption.

“Dear, wait, I-” Another hit, this time it was your knee digging into his groin, making him gasp in pain.

With his current power, it would be a piece of cake to block you - yet he knew that after everything that had happened to you, and everything he had done...

...it was what he deserved. So he would allow you to let off some steam.

Yet much to his surprise, you were done already - now grabbing desperately on his cloak and pulling him in for a passionate kiss.

He immediately reciprocated, dropping his weapon as well to embrace you fully, lips mingling with each other over and over again.

Oh, how long had both of you craved for each other?

“Sorry” you panted as your lips finally parted, “Just needed to get that off my chest.”

“Do not apologize, my love” Loki declared, chin resting atop of your head, still no intention to let go off of you. “I deserve far worse than that.”

You looked up to him, the kiss having made something surface in his eyes: So solemn, and incredibly fragile, it made your heart ache.

“Wha- what happened to you? Where have you been all this time?”

Loki’s face contorted at the question, as if the thoughts in his mind were physically painful. But his mind was clouded, unable to make his proper memory resurfacing. “Places far beyond your imagination, dear. And I have learned many things.”

“I-I thought I had lost you...” you ultimatively began to sob, face dug into his chest.

“No” the god whispered softly, his gaze still unwavering. “You always have me. I promise.”

“What now?” you sniveled as he gently pet your head, just as back in good old times. “Where do we go?”

“What do you mean?” Loki’s features creased into a slight frown, “We stay here. There’s no need to leave or flee.”

“Bu-” you hesistantly took a few steps back, to take in his full reaction. “But you’re a wanted criminal, Loki! On Asgard as well as Midgard!”

His manner became more defensive again, glee radiating off of him. “Oh, my sweet, innocent Y/N...still the idealist, I see.”

“And you are still insufferable” you scoffed back, crossing your arms. “What do you mean?”

Actually, you dreaded the answer.

The man seemed to be thinking about many things at once, eyes narrowing before he finally took a hold of your hand, squeezing it ever so slightly when he saw that you were still wearing his ring - even after everything that had happened.

“Y/N, my love, those deaths were a necessary evil.” He tried to peck a quick kiss on your hand, but you pulled away at those words. “The only crime I feel guilty for is having left the love of my life. But don’t you worry, I’ll make up for it.”

He summoned a staff, glowing in the same blue as the tesseract - and much to your terror, his eyes started to adapt to them as well.

“I will create my own kingdom, Y/N! Here on Midgard, with you as my queen! This is what you deserve, my love! You and our child will have everything you desire and more!”

“This is madness, Loki!” It wasn’t the first time he had heared that.

People always treated him wrongly, afterwards wondering why he was trying to create felicity on his own. “Is it?” he croaked, “Is it madness for a person born to rule two kingdoms to create a home he never had?”

His plan did not merit awe or any such feelings he hoped you to have - the only person in the world he thought would understand him.

“Loki, what your parents have done to you is inexcusable, yet-”

“They’re not my parents!” he screamed enraged, eyes then widened in shock that he had raised his voice at you. “My apologies, I...”

“They have kept the truth from you so that you’d never feel different. You know you’re their son, and the Asgardians are your family. You must know that!”

“You speak like mother” he spat, and still Frigga’s words he could not shake off as easily as Odin’s. “There is no going back to that place, and Jotunheim I never had a connection with. You most likely heared that I tried to kill Laufey, yes?”

Nodding in silence, you nervously bit your lip. “Please...” Wrapping your arms around him and placing one ear at his sternum, you could clearly hear how his heart was fighting a war, struggling to decide.

“You can still stop whatever you were gonna do. We can start anew somewhere, lead a peaceful life with Liam. I don’t need wealth or power, and you clearly know any of this wouldn’t give you the satisfaction you’re searching for!”

“As always, you’re right” he grumbled deeply, already regretting what he was about to do. “But it’s not that easy, my naive little dove.”

“No~” With his hand on the back of your neck, he infused a powerful magic inside your body, slowly shutting down your nervous system completely. As careful as possible, he cradled you in his arms and slowly led you to the floor, then proceeding to take his heir.

“The only thing I need for myself is our little family - and I will avenge you by murdering anyone that did you wrong, or tries to separate us again.”

[vanillann]

5 star conversation (reggie peters x reader)

I SAW THIS REQUEST AND SCREAMED I WAS SO EXCITED!!

word count: 4.9k (i can’t believe i wrote that much omg)

5 star conversation masterlist

place one: a 1 star motel

“I can’t believe this!”

Julie and I gave each other warnings look as he leaned against each other. That was Flynn’s “Something is going wrong and it’s the other person's fault” yell, and with how stressful the bus ride was I could tell this was worse.

“What’s wrong?” Reggie leaned over in his chair, his hood covering his face as we hid from camera flashes in the corner of the fancy hotel.

Julie shrugged, looking back to her phone and the Instagram edits of the band she had been tagged in.

“Guys, guys,” Alex did a awkward jog as he came back from the bathroom, the iconic pink hoodie pulled over his head and the front of his baseball hat sticking out.

“What?”

“I don’t think we have rooms,” Alex fell back beside Luke, his anxiety radiating from one person to another.

“Huh?”

We’ve had the tour planned out for months, each state planned and perfectly laid out for the perfect amount of work and play. There wasn’t a chance that we didn’t have the room for tonight, impossible.

“Flynn is too smart for that,” I leaned back, ignoring the way Reggie still leaned forward while his elbows on his knees watching me. It was weird, I knew it was Reggie but the way he sat and the fact I couldn’t see his face made it feel like a different person.

“(Y/N) right, Flynn way to put together for that,” Julie brushed off, hitting my shoulder to show me the edit she had found. It was of Reggie and I from a few shows ago, Flynn had been taking videos to help keep the fan active on us and she caught a video of Reggie and I fake rocking out on the empty stage.

It moved from that to a picture of Reggie and me in the costume store for the Halloween show, little fairy-like hearts floating around us. I smiled at the thought, grabbing Julie’s phone and sending the edit to me.

“Well, we don’t have rooms,” Flynn walked back, not giving any warning as she collapsed on top of Julie and I.

“I told you!”

Alex stood up, pointing his finger between Julie and I, a little smirk forming before he realized the weight of the words.

“What happened?”

“They didn’t tell me that rooms held for over 2 months have to be reinstated two week before or they cancel it,” Flynn didn’t move, laying over Julie and I with a broken spirit.

“I was looking forward to sleeping in a room, those bed’s on the bus suck,” Luke crossed his arms and pouted, looking like a kicked puppy.

“I don’t mind them,” Reggie smiled, bouncing in his seat slightly.

“It’s because you’d never fallen off the top,” Alex bit back, still mad about the sharp turns that have sent him flying the last few nights.

Flynn finally moved off Julie and I, saying nothing as she typed away on her phone. She walked away without another word, looking us back in the corner with hoods up.

I played with the sleeves of my own hoodie that had the new Julie and the Pathoms merch sketch.

“Oh look at this one!”

Julie showed me her phone again, this time a thirst trap edit. Her excitement bought the boys attention to us, all moving to look over my shoulder at the edit.

It started with a few of Julie with her amazing stage gear and a few photos from her instagram, neon letters over her head read “The Singer''. Then jumped to the few videos and pictures of Flynn that Julie and I would post behind her back, this time the neon letters read “The Manager''. Next was my face, bright smiles and a few of me backstage with an old Sunset Curve tee and sweat rolling down my back, the words said “The Designer ''.

I read the caption, smiling at “They carry the band” and laughing as the guys talked about the story behind each photo.

“I took the one of you in my old shirt,” Reggie smiled, staying beside me with his arm around the back of my seat. I did my best to ignore the butterflies, which became easy when Flynn came back with a smile.

“I found a motel across the street that will take us,” she spoke with pride, rightfully so as she saved us from another night on that bus.

“Oh I love you,” Alex jumped up, his arms wrapping around Flynn in a heartbeat. Julie smiled, standing up and putting the phone in the pocket of her hoodie.

“Come on, up,” Reggie jumped up, holding a hand up from me as I had started to slip down in my seat. I smiled, taking his cold hands and standing completely up with a smile.

“Thank you Reginald,” I winked, following the others as we made our way to the front of the hotel. I could already hear the crowd waiting for us, their cameras probably at the ready to take some pictures of the uprising band.

“Hoods up soldiers,” Luke announced, keeping Julie close as they were already openly in a relationship so nothing too bad could be made out of them. Alex stood in front of me, Flynn close behind as Reggie was an inch behind me.

I said nothing when I felt a small hand on my back, too caught up in the loud voices and the calling of our names.

“(Y/N)! Is it true you are jealous of the band!”

“(Y/N), Did you sleep with lead singer Luke even with him dating Julie?”

“Are the rumors of Reggie and you true?”

I was thankful we had made it cross the sidewalk when a large bus cut them all off, giving up enough time to make it to the motel without a problem. I was thankful once we made it inside but not for long as I took the place in.

The plants in the corner were dead, the desk was dusty and the couches looked to be from the 1800′s, not the good kind.

“How many stars does this place have?”

“Uhm, 4?” Flynn voiced jumped up, saying nothing to us as she walked up and dinged the bell on the front desk. I rolled my eyes, pulling out my phone and opening it to Google.

“What are you goggling?”

“Google, and this motel,” I corrected Reggie, doing a quick search of my location and found the name of the rusty place. When I saw the rating I almost screamed.

“This place just barely has one star!”

“What,” Luke ran from the random statue he was messing with to my side, tugging the phone so he could read the reviews.

“Apparently they had a rat in a bed once,” I spoke, reading over the words in horror.

“Nope, I’ll stay on the bus,” Alex let his hands fall to his side, walking back to the door before he noticed that the camera flashes had almost doubled and no way he could make it out without a panic attack.

“Evening.”

When I heard the vile voice I jumped into Reggie's side without thinking, looking up at the older man who was looking Flynn up and down like meat.

“I need six room,” Flynn didn’t waste time, holding the credit card in between her fingers as she did her best not to be a coward.

“He looks like the witch from Hansel and Gretel,” I whispered into Reggie’s ear, ignoring the way his arm seemed to drift to my waist.

“I don’t know how that is but I agree.”

“We only have only three rooms, little lady,” the man spoke, reaching for the credit card before Flynn moved it out of reach.

“You told me on the found you had six,” Flynn bit back, I admired her confidence in this moment as everyone was slowly losing there the longer we stood in this lobby.

“The paparazzi will have fun with this,” Julie reached my side, looking over her shoulder and the few shots they could get through the windows of the dusty place.

“Got that right.”

“Fine, will bunk up,” Flynn gave up with the man, it wasn’t any use and we were all tired of setting up the stage and soundcheck today. I had spent hours hunched over the computer trying to get the mercy drop reaching tomorrow morning, my back sore and my head hurting.

The man passed Flynn the keys, after she watched him closely to make sure he didn’t charge us extra. She walked over to us, obviously annoyed but calming down the closer she got to us, she knew how to manage her anger until it was only Julie and I around.

“Julie and I will take one room, Alex and (Y/N) will take another-'' I smiled as Alex was my go-to room partner.

“-And Luke and Reggie got the last,” Flynn started handing out keys when Luke started to pout.

“Last time I slept in the same room as Reggie he talked the entire night,” Luke pointed at Reggie, causing the boy beside me to frown.

“You sleep talk? I’ve never heard it,” I shrugged and looked at Luke who was confident that “Reggie sleep talks”.

“Why can’t I take Alex and (Y/N) take Reggie?”

This felt so out of character for Luke, he never missed an opportunity to hang out with Reggie, they always bunked together. It was weird how everyone agreed, which felt even more out of character.

“Okay it’s settled,” I wanted to say something, as a night in a room alone with Reggie would be horrible for my crush, but I didn’t want Reggie to think nobody wanted to bunk with him.

Reggie shrugged, taking our key from Flynn and grabbing my go-bag I’d set on the ground of the dirty motel.

“I’ll get our bags, I know you’ll sit with Fylnn and Julie before you come up,” he didn’t sound mad or upset, he was smiling widely as he skipped to the elevator before stopping halfway through and going to the stairs instead.

“What a gentleman,” Luke winked at me, smirking between the group as if he had done something.

That’s when it hit me, he had done something.

“Oh, you liar,” I pointed my finger at Luke’s chest, my pout similar to his earlier as I looked up to someone I called a close friend, basically family.

“I did nothing of the sort, he did talk all night last time we bunked together but it was because we decided we wanted to pull an all-nighter,” Luke shrugged, looking at the other three in the loony, all smiling at me.

“You’re all vile people,” I spoke, looking to Alex who wanted to laugh so bad by the look on his face.

“And you, why would you do this to me?”

“Because I’m so tired of Reggie and you dancing around each other,” Alex gave me a stern look, making me deflate slightly but that didn’t stop me.

“We do not,” the group finally started to move again, since Reggie would already be in the room and we didn’t want him suspicious.

“Oh no, you’re the liar now,” Luke sang over my shoulder, grabbing his and Julie’s bag, Alex getting him and reaching for Flynn bag who insisted she had it.

“His hands were all over you this morning on the bus,” Julie jumped in, grabbing my shoulders and leading me through the stairway.

“He was teaching me how to play bass,” I crossed my arm, knowing this conversation wasn’t going anywhere.

“Reggie never lets anyone touch his bass!”

I rolled my eyes, they were all insane at this point.

“The reason there are so many ship edits of you guys is that you give them so much to work with,” Flynn said from the front of the group, a kick in her step about the entire idea.

“It’s because fans are crazy,” we had finally made it to the third floor, opening the door and all walking into the smelly hallways.

“It smells like a pack of cigarettes,” I almost coughed as I spoke, watching Reggie’s back open the door and slide into our room.

“You coming to sit with us?”

“No, I’m mad at you all,” I frown, but none of my friends worried as I’d forgive in the morning because they were impossible to stay mad at.

“Suit yourself, also he didn’t have any two bedrooms so have fun sharing a bed,” Flynn gave me a sweet kiss on the cheek and skipped to her and Julie’s room.

“I’ll kill you,” I yelled at Flynn as she walked into her room, Julie giving a sweet waver over her shoulder.

“I wonder if they have a mini-fridge,” Luke spoke, opening the door as the two boys gave me an exciting wave as if they weren’t making my life harder.

“(Y/N)? Why are you yelling?”

I looked down a door or two to see Reggie leaning against the doorframe of our room with a white tee and black and red plaid pajama pants.

He was going to be the death of me.

“Uhm, Fylnn told me they didn’t have a breakfast bar,” I did my best to lie, smiling as I made my way to the door Reggie leaned against, his little smile made me feel light and fluffy.

“I’ll get us one of the Ubers to take us to that little diner on the corner,” Reggie smiled, not moving from the doorframe once I reached it.

I didn’t want to slide past him but I did, doing my best not to come in contact with him as that may just make it worse but luckily he moved back so that didn’t happen.

“Thank god, I like the layout of it.”

I saw the single Queen bed in the center of my room and my heart broke as I thought about Fylnn’s words, she wasn’t just trying to get under my skin.

“Yeah, I know you love dinners that look like they are from the 50s.”

My heart shouldn’t have been on fire because of his words but it 100% was. He remembered those little quirks and it started to make me feel light-headed.

“Yeah they’re my favorite,” I smiled over my shoulder, reaching for my bag I had packed for the night in the motel, luckily bought my sleep stuff and asleep attire.

“There was one by my house back in the 90s, it was right out of that movie you had me watched,” Reggie fell back on the left side, leaving the right side open for me.

He knew what freaking side of the bed I slept on, I was going to combust.

“Grease,” I ignored the way his arms bulged as he laid them behind his hand, looking up at me as I looked through my bag for a few more things.

“Yeah that one, I think I should do my hair like David-“

“Danny,” I corrected as I made my way to the bathroom, leaving the door cracked so I could keep the conversation but still closed enough so I wasn’t worried about Reggie seeing me.

“Oh yeah, I should do my hair like him.” I smiled to myself, imagining Reggie dancing around as a Danny from Grease, the excitement he would have.

I tried not to think about how hot he’d look with his hair slick back.

“Do it for Halloween next year,” I spoke up, splashing water on my face to make me feel a little calmer.

“But I thought we would do a matching costume?”

I was going to scream and cry if he didn’t stop acting like the perfect boy. How do you lie because Reggie Freaking Peters and not fall in love with him?

“You could be Sandy!”

I felt myself smile again, looking down at the short and long shirt I had stolen from Alex that sat on top of the toilet.

“You can have red lipstick and those leather pants,” he sounded like a child that was just given candy, he was jumping just at the thought of the costume together.

“The fans would love it,” maybe it wasn’t the best idea to bring them up, but I couldn’t stop myself from saying it.

“They would! They’d probably talk about how cool you look for months,” I finally got the shirt over my head, looking at myself in the mirror, my nerves calming the longer the conversation went on.

Reggie wouldn’t make this awkward on purpose, I knew that.

“Yeah, but they’d like us matching. They wouldn’t let the dating rumor die though”, I stepped out from the bathroom, careful not to hit the creaking floorboard I found earlier.

“Oh, I didn’t think about that,” I watched his face fall and maybe my heart broke a little, but it was probably better. If it didn’t I would have possibly let this crush grow more and more and I didn’t need that.

“Eh, I don’t really care what the fans think.”

Heart please don’t explode, you have a merch drop tomorrow.

“Must be nice,” I fell back on the bed, laying the same way as Reggie as we looked at the ceiling that could probably fall in any second now.

“Why do you care?”

I watched him flip on his stomach out of the corner of my eye, him watching me but my eyes didn’t leave the ceiling.

“They just like making rumors with people that aren’t in the band sometimes more than the ones in the band. You four are more open than Flynn and I so they can only make so many rumors, but Flynn and I,” I trailed off, not knowing if he wanted this conversation to get too emotional.

“Yeah I noticed that, I mean you're cheating with Luke!”

I laughed at this tone, that definitely was a real crazy one that just started.

“I literally hit him in the head with the mic stand yesterday and kept walking and people think we’re dating”, I laugh at the afterthought, Luke's face when the mic stand went by his face. He was fine, but I didn’t have time to help him up and he understood that.

“That was great to watch, I haven’t seen Luke that confused since we landed here,” I spotted his show stopping smile in the corner of my eye.

“He’s a mess that’s why.”

“All three of us are a mess, without you, Julie, and Flynn we would be dead.”

“You’re already dead,” I tried to keep a straight face but as soon as I looked at Reggie my giggles filled the room, a hand on my stomach as I rolled over slightly.

“You’re horrible! You’re laughing at my death!”

I kept laughing, looking over at him a few times but it only caused me to laugh harder.

“I can’t believe I was excited to have a sleepover with you,” he had a goofy smile on his face as he watched me roll around.

“You 're excited,” I was finally calming down, trying to blame my racing heart on laughing.

“Yeah!”

He was so confident in his answer it felt like he meant it, like he wasn’t just being nice or just happy to be close with his friend.

Reggie liked being with people, he was a people person, and I was a person.

“I was excited too.”

Wow (Y/N) don’t you love your loud mouth.

He looked around my face, his eyes tracing my features with a smile painted across his face. I was shocked someone could be so happy like looked at me, but he did and it felt nice.

It was creepy or uncomfortable, nothing with Reggie ever was. He made everything feel easy, and maybe that’s why he has plagued my thoughts for so long.

“We should head to bed,” I could speak above a whisper with the way he was looking at me, the way his eyes traced my nose and my eyes.

“Yeah.”

We didn’t move, just watching each other as if it was supposed to be sleep for us. I wasn’t tired watching him like this, how could I be tired when he made me feel more alive than ever.

The loud knock on the door brought me out of my trace, my fear of what could be at the door had me moving closer to Reggie without thinking.

I felt the side of the move, Reggie slowly walking to the moldy wooden door with the small peep hole, or more like someone put a nail though and took it out.

He looked through it, reading to each for the candlestick before he rolled his eyes and swung open the door. Alex stood with an awkward smile, doing an odd dance before smiling at Reggie and I.

“Alex?”

“Can I use your bathroom?” I finally realized why he was dancing and smiled to himself.

“Sure but why?”

As soon as he heard my yes he pushed past Reggie, running into the thin wall bathroom without an answer until I heard him yell “Yes!”

“Our bathroom had some weird bug in the toilet and Julie and Flynn’s bathroom was connected to some weird old dude who fell asleep on the toilet,” Alex responded through the door, the excitement obviously in his voice.

“Looks like I got the good room,” Reggie smiled but I was hoping Alex would catch on to my comment and by the way he laughed I think he did.

“Shut up (Y/N)!”

Reggie knocked on the door jokingly as he passed, making his way back to the other side of the bed.

“How did Julie and Flynn get a conjoining room?”

“I don’t know and I don’t want to,” Alex yelled back, the sound of running water confirmed he was now washing his hands.

“You don’t have paper towels,” Alex opens the door, holding his hands in front of him as he looks like a kicked puppy.

“Use your shirt,” Reggie nodded at him, both him and I on our side as we watched Alex.

“It’s not mine! It’s Willie’s.”

“We won’t tell if you don’t,” I smiled back, giving Alex a wink.

“I accidentally told him,” Alex muttered as he started walking to the door, waving back at us and he left to go back to his own room.

As soon as the door shut I let myself laugh a little at my close friend, slowly reaching for the lamp and lifting the covers up. I could feel Reggie doing the same as the cold air hitting my skin when it moved and disappearing once it fell.

“Must I say, this motel isn’t that bad.”

I turned to look back at Reggie, the only reason I could see his face was because of the city lights from the window that danced across his face.

“What?”

“Don’t get me wrong, this place breaks every violation ever, but I think places like this bring out the best stories,” Reggie moved to look at me, his nose close to my own and he smiled at me.

I smiled, it was truly the Reggie-ish thing I had ever heard.

“I believe that,” I spoke softly, watching him again but this time the tension was thick, it felt so much calmer.

“Julie and Flynn will never forget the creepy guy, Alex and Luke will laugh about Alex blatter, and I’ll never forget the best sleepover ever,” each word brought a little larger smile on his face, my heart racing again at his words.

“I mean that much to you?” I said the words jokingly, placing a hand over my heart as I spoke but Reggie took it differently.

“Most definitely,” his words are soft, making my eyes grow tired as his breath fan across my face.

He was watching me again, this time he looked like an angel with the way the city light bounced off his cheeks and bought out his pink lips.

“Yeah?”

“Yep,” his face looked like it was moving closer to me but I knew better than to think that, but that didn’t crush that little hope in the back of my head.

“If you were there in the 90s, I’d probably still be alive,” eye contact was made and I thought I would jump him there.

“I wasn’t alive then.”

“I know, but you’re alive now and I feel alive,” Reggie shrugged as if his words didn’t mean everything to me.

Like he didn’t mean everything to me. I felt myself break eye contact, smiling like a fool as I looked to the tv that was barely hanging on the wall.

“You’re cold,” I spoke softly, because what else was I supposed to say?

“You’re warm,” as he spoke he grew closer to me, resting his head near my collarbone as he waited for me to speak but it never came.

“Can I lay my head on your shoulder?”

“Most definitely,” I repeated his rooms from earlier, smiling when I felt his hair brush my cheek and he drew close to me.

“Goodnight (Y/N),” he spoke softly, his words causing shivers to run up and down my spine like a track race.

“Goodnight Reggie.”

A loud bang on the door woke me up, causing me to almost fall from the bed if the hand that grabbed my shirt wasn't a tiger. His arms weren’t around me, simply holding me closer by my shirt, his head still on my shoulder as my head laid on his.

“Flynn has coffee!” Julie’s voice was joyus, making a smile spread across my lips. My friends knew me so well, my hands gently pulling Reggie’s fist from my shirt. I carefully pulled myself from the bed, tip-toeing across the room to the door. I didn’t even need to look through the peephole to know who was on the other side.

“Did you get a cup for your neighbor?”

Flynn smiled, dropped, and the coffee she held out to me was brought closer to her chest.

“And to think I gave you a kiss yesterday,” I rolled my eyes, reaching out for the coffee that was easy to pull from her hands.

“Luke and Alex are stealing breakfast from the hotel we were supposed to be staying at,” Julie brushed past me, stopping in her tracks when she noticed Reggie's sleeping body, obviously splashing on both sides of the bed.

“How are they doing that?”

“I don't wanna know, but I do wanna know what happened here last night,” Julie  spun around, pointing at Reggie over her shoulder.

“We talked and went to bed,” I shrugged, doing my best to keep my voice down but it wouldn’t change anything, Reggie was a heavy sleeper.

“I thought you would make a plate on the floor or something,” Flynn spoke as she joined us in the room, slowly walking to Reggie and inspecting him.

“That felt rude,” I sipped on the coffee, smiling when I realized Julie and Flynn got my order right.

“Or,” Julie turned around, poking my side with a goofy smile. I rolled my eyes, my excitement from last night and the presents of my friends was sending me through the roof and I don’t think I could handle it much longer.

“Guys!”

I looked down the hall, smiling when I saw Alex and Luke breathing heavily with large bags of hopeful food in their hands.

“Is that from the hotel?”

“Of course,” Luke smiled as he slipped into the room, handing me one of the bags so I could place it on the small table in the motel.

“We got chased out but we did it!”

I laughed at Alex's face, the anxiety was obvious but the smile told me he was fine and there wasn’t much to worry about.

“Well well well,” Luke walked around the bed, smiling at Reggie’s sleeping form.

“Don’t say a word,” I opened one of the bags and pulled a small piece of pancake off, and threw it in the air, catching it in my mouth easily. Perks of being friends with Luke, he teaches great party tricks.

“Aren’t you two the cutest,” Luke came over to my side, waving Julie over to show me something on her phone. I looked over my shoulder, watching a new edit that was posted maybe an hour ago.

“Reggie and (Y/N) were seen awfully close leaving their hotel last night,” the E! News reporter said, the edit jumping to a meme I had seen of a dude crying. Next thing I knew pictures from last night flash across the screen, Reggie’s hand on my lower back. The edit jumped to other pictures of us joking around followed.

I smiled, turning back to the bag and pulling another piece of pancake out.

“Awh look at that,” Flynn pitched my cheeks, smiling at my as I laughed it off. Butterflies were flying through my stomach but I didn my best to hide it.

“What?”

Everyone turned to Reggie once sleeping form, his eyes scanning the room before he fell back to the bed.

“Did anyone knock?”

“We did,” Julie smiled, flopping on the bed so her head laid on his legs.

“I wasn’t informed,” Reggie sat up, looking at me with a grumpy frown. I shrugged, taking another bite of pancake while smiling at him.

“What? You wanted me to wake you?”

“Most definitely,” Reggie smiled, the conversation from last night still floating around his brain.

I nodded, looking down at my hands and thought back to the late night we had with nothing but calming security.

He was right, crappy motels brought the best memories out in people.



[isnt-it-loverly]

little birdie (4)// five hargreeves

Warnings: blood

Summary: When Five lands in the Sparrow Academy, he must convince one of them to help him reset the timeline. 

Word count: 1800

Author note: sorry if this is bad, ive been in a rut as of late. Once again thank you so much for all the love and support. I hope you enjoy :)

part one, part two, part three part five

You knocked softly on the door of apartment 217. An elderly lady opened the door with a bright smile on her face. 

“Hello, my little birdie! It's been so long!” She said while pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. The wool of her sweater scratched against your skin, and the smell of freshly baked cookies and wild flowers filled your nose. She pulled away and placed her gaze on Five. 

“Oh, you’ve brought a friend!” She added gleefully. 

“Yes, Granny, this is um… Aidan! We met at the karate class my father has me in,” You explained. You hated lying to such a sweet old lady, but you knew the truth would be too much for her to understand. Plus you really didn’t have the time to explain everything. 

You turned back to Five and have a shrug of your shoulders. He was right, he didn’t need a normal name. Five was just too fitting. She moved closer to him and grabbed his cheek, making him very uncomfortable. 

“You’re father is just terrible for making you kids do that! Look how roughed up the pair of you are, come inside and we’ll get you cleaned up” She said solemnly. 

Five walked beside you and grabbed your arm firmly. Pulling you to the side he whispered a quick “what the hell” in your ear. 

“She thinks she’s my grandma,” you replied bluntly, “just go along with it.” 

Five sighed in exasperation, this was not helping him find his siblings. He followed you into the apartment begrudgingly, trusting that you were not just yanking his chain. The old woman excused herself and said she would bake a fresh batch of cookies. After she left you grabbed his sleeve and whispered, “follow me.”

You lead him into a side bedroom. It was small and quaint, very homey compared to the academy. 

“Remember when I said that I’ve lived a million lives? Gertrude was one of my first, I got stuck in her mind for weeks, and I learned a lot about her. Her husband died right before I got trapped in her noggin, so I switched some memories then added some new ones. I’ve been visiting ever since,” You explained. 

“Do your siblings know?” He asked, worry dripping in his tone. 

“Not to my knowledge, I don’t think they’d appreciate me having a life outside the academy,” you answered with a shrug. 

Five was utterly perplexed by you. You were an enigma, so eager to trust others, so kind, and selfless. How did you end up so different from the others? He watched as you opened a drawer of the cedar chest that was in front of the bed. 

“Sometimes, I like to take things from the people I’ve been. Just as little reminders. I think I have some clothes in here that might fit you,” you said with extreme focus. You pulled out a tee-shirt and jeans, something Five was not accustomed to. He turned his nose slightly.

“I’d rather choke on my own tongue than wear that,” He groaned. 

You shook your head in annoyance, pulling out a set of clean clothes for yourself as well. You enjoyed civilian wear, it made you feel normal and secure- something your academy uniform could never. 

“Just put on the damn clothes before I make you short stack,” you snapped back. Your eyes glowed s brighter blue for a moment and Five now knew he didn’t have a choice in the matter. 

“At least turn your back,” he grumbled in response. 

You gave him a small laugh and did as you were told. You crawled to the other side of the bed and slipped on your new clothes as well. After a few minutes, Five gave you the clear. 

“Wow, unknit that eyebrow and wipe that frown off your face, and you look almost normal,” You said with a smile. 

It was true, he looked like a regular ole teenager. Something you know that he has never been. You give him a look over before your eyes stop at his forearm. An umbrella tattoo, of course, he would have one. 

Five noticed you staring, he followed your gaze to his arm. He lifted it so you could see it better, and an ever-present scowl on his face. 

“Do you have one?” He asked. 

You nodded solemnly and pushed up your sleeve. You placed your arm against his, the bird and the umbrella practically touching. You wondered why your Father loathed them so much and then it was quiet for a moment. 

“The houses of Capulet and Montague,” you spoke up in a mocking tone. 

“I didn’t ask you to betray your entire family,” He said. His voice was deep and rough, a sense of anger could be detected. 

“No, but you really twisted my arm showing me the whole apocalypse thing. I’m an empath idiot, your feelings became mine,” You were quick to snap back. 

Five liked that about you. You were nice and helpful, but you also knew when to stand your ground. He could compare you to a coin, two different sides yet well balanced. A perfect equilibrium. 

“I’ve helped you,” you murmured, “now I think you owe me.” 

He raised an eyebrow at you, curious and intrigued at what you were going to say. 

“I’ve only done this once and it didn’t end well. I need you to keep me grounded, do whatever it takes to get me back. My father believes that I can project my consciousness onto someone without looking into their eyes, so I’m going to try to do that to your sister, Allison,” you explained. 

“You said it didn’t end well? What happened?” Five asked, very concerned. 

“It takes a lot out of me, I couldn’t get into anyone’s mind and it almost killed me,” You confessed. 

“I’m sorry, did you say killed?” He responded wide-eyed. It warmed your heart that he was at least concerned about you. 

“Look, do you wanna find your family or not? Unless you have a better plan?” You asked with a slight raise of your voice. 

Five shook his head, knowing that this was the best plan You sat on the plush bed, curling your fingers around the soft comforter. You took a shaky breath and closed your eyes tightly. Running the fabric between your fingers you counted every stitch. You pictured his sister’s face in your mind, paying extra intention to her eyes. Five watched intently as you did, he was worried about you- you were an important asset and a powerful ally. It would be a shame if you died. Your eyes opened abruptly and to Five’s amazement and horror there was just white and a soft blue emanating from them. 

When you opened your eyes again to find yourself sitting at a kitchen table. Looking up you see Allison sitting across from you, intently reading the newspaper. If she was there, then who were you? Looking down and the palms of your hands the words ‘hello’ and ‘good-bye’ were splayed across them. 

“Well shit, I’m the pretty one,” You mumbled to yourself. Although you were very glad and very surprised that you had managed to pull this off, you would have to thank your father for the extra training the past few months. 

“What are you on about now, Klaus?” Allison said utterly unamused. 

“Actually it’s number five. Not your Five, the other five. Sparrow Five. Ya know what I’m rambling, I’m (Y/n),” You spit out quickly. Holy shit this man’s brain was fried. Everything was happening at a million miles an hour, you couldn’t keep up.

You watched as her expression changed, she stood up abruptly in the same fighting stance Five had used earlier. Her eyes watched you like a hawk and if looks could kill you’d be dead. 

“Your family killed my brother, now I swear if you harm one hair on Klaus’ stupid head. I’ll end you,” She spat venom dripping in her words. 

“He’s not dead! Five is very much alive, and we’re looking for you guys. So all we need is an address and we will be on our way,” You replied with a smile. 

“Yeah right, why would I trust you?” She questioned. 

“Look, Five is hurt really badly. This astral possession thing is gonna knock me on my ass, I won’t be able to protect him from my siblings. If you don’t help us, well, we’re both already dead,” You said in a somber tone. 

 You could tell that the gears we’re winding in her head. You felt a pain in your head that radiates in your chest, you coughed slightly and blood appeared on your hands. Shit its starting, you couldn’t stay much longer. You felt blood begin to slowly drip from your nose. Double shit with a cherry on top.

“What are you doing to him?” She yelled.

“Allison,” you choked, “he needs you.”

“Fine, just stop whatever you are doing to him!” She yelled in fear of her brother, Moments later she revealed the address, perfect that’s all you needed. Now you could get back and share your triumph. 

You closed your eyes tightly and the world began to spin. Round and round, faster and faster.  Until finally, you felt your legs give out but you didn’t hit the floor. You opened your eyes slowly to find yourself in Five’s arms. He was looking down at you, fear present in those emerald eyes. He let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank God, you started pouring out blood like a fountain. I thought you were dead,” He scolded. He sounded like an old man when he spoke, it was almost endearing. 

You touched your nose and wiped away some of the fresh blood, staring at it intently. You felt so weak, that was too much and you vowed never to do that again. The cost was far too high. You sat up and you felt Five’s hand on your back- ready to steady you if you need it. You had really scared him, he didn’t know why. He had just met you, so why did the thought of losing you hurt so badly.

“I did it,” You mumbled hoarsely. 

“Did what?” Five whispered in a soft voice. The tone was foreign even to him, but right now he felt like you needed a friend and not a sarcastic asshole. 

“I found them, I found your family. They aren’t far from here,” You breathed out. 

Five hugged you tightly and gave you a sincere thank you. You hugged back gently, you couldn’t remember the last time someone hugged you. It was a feeling you could get used to, warm, secure, and safe. You also couldn’t remember the last time you felt any of those things. Perhaps these umbrellas weren’t so bad after all.

“Come on,” You said breaking away, “let’s get some of those cookies, hit the road, and get you back to the right timeline.”

Taglist: alexander-hamilhoe

[trashyswitch]

Ethan and Mark Experience Torture Methods (Feat. Jacksepticeye)

Ethan experiences getting tickle tortured by jack while Mark gets Chinese water tortured (But then gets tickle tortured because he's impatient)

I wrote this fanfic for @pebblee-penguin and @anxious-cherryblossom! I hope you enjoy my take on the Unus Annus video that never came to be!

Unus! Annus! UnUS! ANNUSSsss...

Mark and Ethan started off on screen. “Waterboarding. A torture method that goes as far as the 1800’s, and was used by many countries in World War 2.” Mark explained. “The simple torture method that involved a cloth and water...that caused mental pain to victims, yet rarely injured or killed.” Mark explained. “Thousands of people have been waterboarded before. But what is it really like?” He asked rhetorically.

“How do you feel about it, Mark?” Ethan asked.

“Huh?” Mark muttered, turning to Ethan.

“How do you feel about being waterboarded?” Ethan asked again.

“...I’m not doing it.” Mark replied.

A record scratch sound effect went off in the background. “Wha- Oh yeah!” Ethan started laughing. “Then why did we start it out like this?” Ethan asked.

“For-for the anticipation! There’s only so much adrenaline you can experience before you die. I wanted to get the people...ya know...hyped up!” Mark explained.

“...Only for them to be surprised over nothing.” Mark added as he started laughing.

“Alright! So because waterboarding is actually really dangerous and could kill people either immediately or hours after experiencing it…” Ethan explained.

“We’re gonna go for something that’s a lot less severe: Chinese water torture.” Mark told them.

“What’s that, Mark?” Ethan asked in a scripted voice.

“It’s basically getting tied to a table, and getting a constant drop of water onto your head...for hours.” Mark said to the camera.

“So...we have a table for the waterbo-Chinese water drips on the right-” Ethan hit the table, “Right here.” Ethan explained. “And a towel underneath for that.” Ethan added as he pointed to the towel. “And, we have a padded table on the left, with comfy handcuffs. Please don’t ask where we got these…” Ethan warned as he started giggling. “We also have ankle cuffs and a high table filled with…” Ethan turned to Mark. “...Eeempty. Is there supposed to be something on here?” He asked.

Mark looked at the camera and smirked. “Yup.”

“Where is it?” Ethan asked.

Mark continued to look at the camera. “You’ll find out soon enough…” he said before looking away again. “Alright. Let’s get you in.” Mark told him as Ethan laid down onto the table.

“Wait, do I need to get the thing?” Ethan asked, motioning to the empty high table.

“Nope. We’ll get it soon.” Mark replied as he tightened the wrist straps. “This good?”

Ethan nodded. “Why am I stretched out like a star?” Ethan asked.

“Because it’s how people do it.” Mark replied.

“Huh...Wait, people do this?! They willingly get tied up and tickled?” Ethan asked.

“Yup.” Mark replied confidently. “It’s how I found the idea.”

Ethan looked at Amy, who was holding the camera in a worried/confused expression. “So, there are people who openly admit they like being tickled?” Ethan asked.

“Yes, there are. And they openly agree to be tied down, tickled and recorded.” Mark explained.

“How do you know they want it?” Ethan asked.

“Some of them say it in the thumbnail. Others don’t, but we can just assume they want to be this vulnerable.” Mark replied.

“Is it a fetish?” Ethan asked.

Mark stared at him, and blinked a few times. “...It can be, yeah. But there are people who innocently enjoy it too.” Mark explained.

“Oh.” Ethan reacted.

“Why? Do you have a tickle fetish?” Mark asked.

“No! Oh my god no.” Ethan replied, visibly disgusted.

“Do you enjoy being tickled?” Mark asked.

“I mean...I don’t hate it...It depends on the person.” Ethan replied.

“Yeah, same here.” Mark replied.

“Like, if it was you tickling me, I don’t mind. You’ve already tickled me on multiple occasions, actually.” Ethan added with a giggle.

“The painting our bodies video...We had to skip out on your armpits for that one.” Mark admitted.

“First of all, I said we could! YOU, were the one who got uncomfortable and cowered away.” Ethan argued. “And second of all, I was talking about the massage video; the one where we facetimed your Mom.” Ethan added.

“Ohoho yeah...I remember. You were double chinning and full on kicking your feet- you were a mess that day.” Mark admitted.

“Ihihit tickled! It’s like your neck! Your chin is a weakness, and the back of my neck is a weakness too!” Ethan reacted.

“You would not relax for the life of you! Even as we yelled for you to relax!” Mark added.

“I know. I’m super ticklish back there.” Ethan told him.

“I know.” Mark snuck his fingers on the back of his neck. “I can tell.”

Ethan giggled and squealed, wiggling his neck away. “Noooohohoho! Ahahare wehehe stahahartihihing?” Ethan asked.

“No. Just warming you up a little.” Mark admitted.

“Should we bring Jack in?” Amy asked behind the camera.

Mark looked up. “Yeah. Did he arrive yet?” Mark replied.

“Jack?” Ethan asked.

“Yup. He just arrived.” Amy replied to both of them.

“Is Jack here?” Ethan asked. Amy nodded back.

Suddenly, Jack’s voice could be heard praising Chica and giving her attention. “Hi Jack!” Mark greeted.

“Hi Mark!” Jack greeted back. “Is Ethan ready?” He asked.

“Yup! He’s all tied up.” Mark replied.

“Perfect. Can’t wait.” Jack said back. “Is this the tray of tools out here?” Jack asked.

“Yup! On the counter.” Mark replied.

Jack walked into the room eagerly with a tray of...a weird collection of tools. Jack placed them onto the side table beside Ethan and let Ethan look at all the tools in horror. “I love the tool variety! You even got 2 different types of toothbrushes!” Jack added. “Manual, and electric!” He said, showing them both off to Ethan and Mark.

“WHAT?! MARK, WHY?!” Ethan yelled at him. Mark and Jack both started laughing at his reaction. “NOOOooo! Is that a paintbrush too?! Remove that. Right now. Get rid of the feathers too. That’s not allowed. And- oh no not those cat toy fishing hooks...” Ethan reacted in horror.

“Now, I left one thing off the tray, specifically to get Ethan even more nervous.” Mark pulled out a medium-sized bottle and handed it to Jack.

“Baby oil?!” Jack reacted, laughing.

“Yup. I did some research and apparently, baby oil is supposed to enhance the ticklish feeling.” Mark explained. “People seem to use this on the feet most often, but I don’t think Ethan’s feet are ticklish. So, you can use it wherever.” Mark replied.

Jack started to giggle evilly with the pink bottle in his hand. “Ohohoho boy. I’m lathering this stuff everywhere.” Jack told him.

“NO! PLEASE DON’T! I’M PLENTY TICKLISH ALREADY! I DON’T NEED THAT-” Jack ignored Ethan’s cries and grabbed the paintbrush from the tray. “NO! NOOOO! I’m getting wax video flashbacks.” Ethan whined.

Jack bursted out laughing. “Oh! Oh! I should fill your belly button with baby oil like I did with the wax.” Jack said out loud, giggling evilly with a huge smile on his face.

“Jack, please no! JAAaaack...” Ethans protests quickly turned into whines and whimpers as he watched Jack pour baby oil right into his belly button.

“Ooooookay!” Jack lifted the bottle up. “Perfect!” He reacted. “Look at that! Filled his little belly button.” Jack declared. Ethan was already giggling and whining a little in anticipation. “Getting nervous yet?” Jack asked.

“Ihihi gohot nervous the moment yohou walked in hehehere with thehe trahahay.” Ethan admitted.

While Jack was getting Ethan oiled up, Mark had laid himself down on the other table. “Alright. Jack, can you get me tied up here?” Mark asked.

“Yup!” Jack twisted the baby oil cap back on and placed it onto the tray before coming over to help Mark.

“Just need to be tied up.” Mark told him.

“Do you want your belly button filled with oil too?” Jack asked as he started tying Mark’s wrists to the table.

“No thanks. I’m fine.” Mark replied. “My belly button isn’t ticklish anyway. It would just get messy.” Mark told him.

“Ok.” Jack tied the waist rope onto Mark’s waist. “There.” Lastly, Jack tied his ankles to the table. “You good?” Jack asked.

Mark tried shaking and wiggling, and only moved an inch or so. “Yup.” he replied.

“Perfect. And now, the water.” Jack tied a reusable water bottle with a tiny spout, onto a rope that was hanging down from the ceiling. “There!” Jack watched the first drip of water very slowly develop, to fall onto his forehead. “Start the timer, timer man.” Jack ordered.

Amy showed the timer in front of the camera and clicked the start button before moving it off screen.

“Woman. Timer woman.” Jack corrected with a giggle.

Mark anxiously waited for the building drip of water to build up enough, so it could fall off the spout and land onto his forehead. Another minute later, and the drip of water finally fell and splashed onto his forehead. The drip fell down the right side of his forehead onto the towel pillow.

“Drip number 1.” Mark told him.

“Oh no, oh no-” Jack’s paint brush touched down onto the belly button. “JahahahaHAHAHACK! AHAHAHAHAHAHahahahaha!” Ethan yelled, laughing almost immediately.

Jack was dipping his paintbrush into the oil and lathering the oil onto his entire belly. Ethan would giggle and move his belly around when the oil was being lathered, but would squeeze his eyes shut and throw his head back in strong laughter when the paintbrush would simply dip a few times into his belly button. Mark was right: the baby oil enhanced EVERYTHING! His belly button was DRENCHED in it, and his belly was slowly getting covered.

“I need more baby oil.” Jack muttered to himself as he reached for it.

“Noooo you don’t! My belly’s already ticklish! Why are you adding more?” Ethan whined.

“Because I wanna! And you,” Jack poked his navel with his finger, “Can’t stop me.” Jack wiggled his finger in his belly button with a mischievous little giggle.

“HAHAHAHAHA! JAHAHAHACK NOHOHOHOHO! GEHET OHOUT- GEHEHEHET OHOHOUT OHOF THEHEHERE!” Ethan shouted, wiggling his belly around as much as he could to get his finger out.

Jack followed what he said, but put some more baby oil onto his belly. “There we go. And nooow: a painty-painty-painty-paint! Aaaand a brushy-brushy-brushy-brush.” Jack teased surprisingly well as he spread the baby oil all over his abdomen and belly region.

“NAHAHAHAHAHA! IHIT TICKLES SOHOHOHO MUHUCH! HAHAHAHEHEHE!” Ethan laughed and giggled.

“Really? I had no clue! I thought you were just laughing for no reason, to be honest.” Jack joked.

“SHUHUHUT UHUHUHUP!” Ethan yelled.

“You guys wanna know something?” Mark asked.

“Sure.” Jack replied, still tickling Ethan.

“Ethan’s laugh is getting on my nerves more than the dripping itself.” Mark admitted.

“Mark!” Amy yelled from behind the camera.

“Wow! That’s really rude.” Jack warned. “How would you feel if Ethan proclaimed that your laugh was annoying him?” Jack asked.

Mark looked over with his jaw slightly dropped. “I wouldn’t give a shit!” Mark reacted.

“JAHAHAHahahahack, Ihihihi neheheheheed ahahaha breheheak! Plehehease gihihihihive mehehe aha breheheheak!” Ethan begged.

“Is that how tickle torture is supposed to work?” Jack asked.

“THIHIHIHIS IHIHIHISN’T EHEHEHEVEHEHEN TOHOHORTUHUHURE!” Ethan protested.

Jack shrugged his shoulders. “Okay.”

Jack stopped tickling Ethan and put the oily paintbrush down. “Alright. How are you doing, Mark?” Jack asked.

Mark grabbed the water bottle and yeeted it across the room. “Mark-” Amy reacted.

“The dripping isn't doing anything. I need tickle torture.” Mark told him.

Ethan and Jack looked at each other in surprise. “I...Really?” Jack asked.

“Are you even ticklish though?” Ethan asked. Mark kept staring at him expressionless till Ethan looked up at Amy. “Is Mark ticklish?” Ethan asked.

“Yup. He’s quite ticklish. He’s not ticklish like you, Ethan, but he is ticklish.” Amy replied, confirming his point.

Jack looked at Amy with a smile while he untied Ethan. “Where?”

Amy pointed at Ethan. “Just follow his lead when he’s out.” Amy told him.

Ethan smiled as he got off the table. He quickly remembered the one spot he hated: his chin. Ethan’s face slowly grew into a smirk as he lifted his chin with his left hand, and skittered his fingers right under the chin with his dominant hand.

“eeEEEEK! ETHAHAN YOHOU JEHEHERK!” Mark yelled at him.

“So...his chin?” Jack asked him.

“Yup! Go for his armpits too.” Ethan suggested. Jack smirked and quickly skittered his fingers in his armpits.

ETHAN- IHIHIHI’M GOHOHONNA KIHIHILL YOHOHOHOU!” Mark yelled before throwing his head back to let his laughter out.

Jack shook his head with a laugh. “I love how you’re pissed at Ethan, and not even considering the person who’s actually tickling you.” Jack admitted.

“YOHOHOU CAHAHAME HEHEHERE SOHO YOHOHOHOU COHOULD DOHOHOHO THIHIHIS!” Mark yelled back at him.

“Awww! How thoughtful of you to consider me!” Jack admitted before removing his fingers from the armpits. “And now, my favorite part: the baby oil!” Jack declared as he grabbed the bottle and the paintbrush. “Time to lube you up, my dude!”

Mark’s eyes widened as he looked at the baby oil. He was quickly starting to regret bringing that out. “Now hohohold ohon: Hohohow ahabout nohohoho?” Mark asked.

Jack tapped the brush handle on his own chin. “Hmmmm...How about yes?” Jack considered out loud before dipping some baby oil into a bowl. “There! Now it’s JUST like the wax video! Except this time, it’s Mark getting tickled!” Jack declared. “And his armpits are gonna be EXTRA ticklish!” Jack added as he brought the oiled-up brush to his open armpits.

“Nohoho! NOHO! JACK! BEGONE! DOHON’T YOU FUHUCKING DAHAHARE! NAH-” Mark wheezed and shook his head as the baby oil was lathered all over his right armpit. “NAHAHAHAHAHAHA! *quick breath* NOHOHOHOJAHAHAHAHACK!” Mark begged.

“No what, Mark? No tickling? Or no armpit tickles?” Jack asked. “Cause even if you meant one of those things:” Jack leaned closer into Mark’s mic. “I don’t care.” Jack replied.

Ethan decided to grab a big paintbrush that was on the tray. Oh boy! Now he could see why Mark was excited about this! “Alright! I’ll get the left armpit!” Ethan called out, tiptoeing happily in a Grinch-like fashion, to the left side of Mark.

“Here; let’s share the bowl.” Jack suggested as he put the styrofoam bowl onto the end of the table. Ethan took some of the baby oil from the dipping bowl and spread it onto his other armpit.

“NONONONONOOOHAHAHAHAHAHA! MEHEHEHEANIHIHIES!” Mark yelled at them both.

“Aww, is Marky too ticklish in his armpits?” Jack teased.

“I think he is.” Ethan added.

“WHYHYHY ARE YOHOU EHEHEVEHEHEN HEHEHELPIHIHING?!” Mark asked Ethan.

“Cause I wanna! And cause Jack untied me so I could!” Ethan replied.

“Yeah! Don’t be questioning our choices, Mr. Victim.” Jack warned.

Jack dipped the paintbrush deeper into the liquid. “Diiiiiip-” He said. “Aaaand tickle~!” Jack sing-songed as he covered his armpit with more baby oil.

“STAHAHAP IHIHIT! STAHAPITSTOPITSTAHAHAHAHAHA!” Mark begged.

“Is poor Markimoo too ticklish in his widdle pits?” Jack teased. “Now what if I were to take advantage of my small brush here…” Jack pushed his chin back slightly to prevent him from clamping down, “Aaaand a coochy coochy coo! A coochy coochy coochy coochy coochy coochy coo!” Jack teased.

Mark had a huge, toothy grin on his face as he shook his head to get Jack’s hand off his chin. This was truly vulnerability at its finest. And Mark...didn’t know how to feel about it.

“IHIHI’LL KIHIHILL YOHOHOU! IHIHIHI’M GOHOHOIHIHING FOHOHOR YOHOHOUR RIHIHIGHT SIHIHIDE WHEHEHEN IHIHI GEHET OHOHOUT!” Mark warned.

“Uuuuh...I thought the point of me coming over was to purposefully tickle you?” Jack reminded him. “Plus, you literally told me ‘I need tickle torture’. Those were your exact words.” Jack reminded him.

A quick flashback played, showing the very moment.

Mark growled. “IHIHIHI KNOHOHOW, BUHUHUHUT- JAHAHACK STAHAHAP LEHEHET MEHE TAHAHALK!” Mark shouted back.

Jack nodded back and retreated the paintbrush. Ethan retreated his paintbrush as well.

“Ihi’m tired. And Ethan’s not supposed to be tickling me. You’re supposed to be tickling Ethan and myself as well.” Mark explained.

Jack looked at the camera. “Now am I supposed to tickle two people at once?!” Jack asked.

“I can do it.” Amy replied. Jack turned to her. “I can do it. I just need to set up a tripod for the camera.” Amy told him.

A quick static TV transition happened and next thing we know, the four of them are ready with a timer in the corner of the screen. The camera is set up to view both men strapped down, Ethan and Mark are now both shirtless, and the wired mics are strapped around both boys' necks. The bottle rope above is no longer hanging down, and the high table with the tools has moved to the middle between the two beds. Amy is standing above Mark with a makeup brush in her hand while Jack is standing above Ethan with a fluffed Q-Tip in his hand.

Jack looked at Amy and started counting. “3...2...1...”

“GO!” Amy and Jack both shouted!

The timer had started and Amy had already started pushing Mark’s neck back lightly. Jack shoved the Q-Tip into Ethan’s belly button almost immediately, emitting a loud burst of giggles. Amy fluttered the makeup brush all over Mark’s neck and chin, causing a huge toothy grin, yet no laughter.

While Amy kept the fluttering going, Jack kept on switching tickle tactics constantly to determine the best reactions. Jack went from swirling the Q-Tip around in his belly button, to spinning the Q-Tip back and forth in between his palms.

“JAHAHAHACK! DOHOHOHON’T SPIHIHIN IHIT LIKE THAHAHAHAHAT!” Ethan shouted to him.

“Why? Is it working?” Jack asked innocently.

Ethan nodded and wiggled around as he threw his head back and laughed.

“Just because you can still move a little, doesn’t mean you should.” Jack warned with a giggle.

Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, wheezed and shook his head. “SHUHUT UHUHUHUHUP!” Ethan yelled back.

Meanwhile, Mark was getting super close to breaking. He was tittering a little through his teeth, and squeezing his fists, so he did not break without a fight.

“Don’t make me go for your armpits.” Amy warned. “I will go for the armpits if you keep this up.” Amy mentioned.

Jack looked up. “There’s a bottle of baby oil over there. Would that maybe help?” Jack asked.

Amy looked up to Jack and looked at the baby oil. “Not a bad idea...But I feel like that would be cheating because it’s enhancing the tickling. It’s making it worse than it’s meant to be.” Amy admitted.

Jack laughed a little. “Well, I already used it multiple times. So, I think it’s allowed at this point.” Jack replied.

Amy with some hesitance, dipped the makeup brush into the styrofoam bowl of baby oil and spread it onto his neck and chin. Surprised by just how much the tickling was enhanced, Mark finally bursted! “PPFFFFTTT- HAHAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHANDS OHOHOFF!” Mark laughed, shaking his head and struggling to get the brush away from him while tied.

“What do you mean, ‘hands off’? I’m barely using my hands on you!” Amy reacted.

“Yeah! Who needs hands when you can use tools?” Jack added, looking at the camera.

Suddenly, Jack put away the Q-Tip and grabbed the toothbrush while he watched Ethan’s eyes just about widen to the size of dinner plates.

Jack turned it on. “NO! JACK! PLEASE, NO!” Ethan begged.

Jack’s hand with toothbrush got closer and closer to the belly button while the video zoomed closer and closer as well.

“NO! NOOOO! AAAAAAAAAHHH-”

The video cut to black, before the timer showed up, ticking and counting down...

[myhahnestopinion]

THE AARONS 2020 - Best Film

Believe it or not, there were movies released last year - 75 of them at the very least, as that’s how many I watched. That’s 30 less than last year, even though I spent approximately 300% more time inside my home, but I’ll cut myself some slack. 2020 may have been a loss, but there were still some real winners to come out of it. Here are the Aarons for Best Film:

#10. The Assistant

It’s a sin of omission: No name is spoken in the film. No crimes are labeled. The towering chair in the middle of the shot sits empty, and yet the dangerous jaw of the doorframe is unmistakable. Kitty Green’s office procedural is made more nauseating in its minimalism; loosely based on the Weinstein sexaul assault scandal, The Assistant counts on a viewer’s familiarity, not just with the broad strokes of abuse, but the minutiae that enables it. By following a junior employee, played by the always tactful Julia Garner, through a series of daily mundanities, Green’s film shifts the spotlight, questioning our collective culpability in creating toxic environments. Every act must be an act of rebellion, the film says, or else we are assisting.

#9. Happiest Season

Happiest Season hit a snag last year: what was set to be a landmark in wide-release studio rom-coms became another victim of a pandemic that pushed people apart for the holidays. The homey movie might have hit harder in its Hulu-Original release though, as a needed reminder of the power of patience during difficult times. Harper (Mackenzie Davis) waits too long after an invite home for Christmas to tell her girlfriend Abby (Kristen Stewart) that she’s not out to her parents, imploring they keep the relationship a secret for the time being. It’s an unreasonable ask, prompted by unjust circumstances. By honestly exploring that conflict in hilarious, heartfelt fashion, Happiest Season was the most wonderful time of an interminable year.

#8. Wolfwalkers

Wolfwakers doesn’t run in a pack with the output of other animation studios, despite sharing a similar gravitas to the best of the Disney Renaissance. The wild style of its swirling sensory colors shed realism for an immersive, uninhibited fantasy world. Formatted like a proper fairy tale, the film centers on a moral: as wolfhunter’s daughter Robyn gains the ability to transform into the animal at night, the film walks viewers through overcoming fear of “the other'' in order to identify the true monsters among us. The howl of its voice actors, backed by a repurposed single by singer Aurora, completes this captivating creation. Released on the Apple TV+ streaming service, the film can rightfully boast of being one of the best of the year, so there’s no need to buy a wolf ticket.

#7. Onward

Onward put Pixar back on a forward-thinking path after a series of skippable sequels. Like director Dan Scanlon’s previous effort, it’s a smaller-scale saga for the studio, riffing on a classic comedic conceit rather than voicing existential crises: in a modernized fantasy world, two brothers take a road trip to locate a mystical artifact that can bring their father back for one more day. The quest is Pixar at its most magical, tweaking traditional tropes and tugging at one’s heartstrings. Despite the pieces being present, the film circumvents the jealousy of “knowledge vs. natural talent” that fueled Scanlon’s Monsters University; its vulnerable, supportive, affectionate sibling relationship made Onward especially moving. 

#6. The Vast of Night

The Vast of Night plays on the vastness of imagination, tracking a young radio DJ and a switchboard operator through interviews that untangle the extraterrestrial events of their small town. In effect, the film is the Super 8 of the podcast world, plugging into the particular power of its medium by way of a retro-sci-fi adventure. For those on that wavelength, the atmospheric indie is an equally eerie and enticing beacon to the thrill of discovery. This audial focus doesn’t come at the expense of its visual format, mind you: the film’s hypnotic hold is only broken once - by the absolutely stunning construction of its midpoint tracking shot, one for the record books. 

#5. Tenet

A question of cause-and-effect: did Christopher Nolan’s newest blockbuster fall into my top five for the year, or was a new Nolan novelty destined to place there before the year even began? His filmography has been on a roll since its inception, and the director keeps that forward-momentum going with the twisty Tenet, a time-bending thriller about agents unraveling a temporal cold war. Any way you look at them, the innovative, physics-based action scenes astound. Meanwhile, the midpoint movement turns on wondrous, child-like glee. With this grand of a scale, it’s a shame that Nolan’s devotion to the big screen despite the pandemic hampered the release; it seems some of the director’s tenets are better than others.

#4. His House

The works of Jordan Peele will likely be at the forefront of a viewer’s mind during His House, but, make no mistake, the film has horrors all its own. It’s a similar set-up to Get Out: a South-Sudanese refugee couple endure the various racist micro-aggressions of trying to assimilate or accommodate to an unwelcoming environment, even before learning their government-mandated housing is haunted. While that’s the foundation, His House’s ultimate form is unexpected, linked not to the guises of progress, but to the guilt of the past. Its supernatural sequences are made more startling by the raw performance of stars Sope Dirisu and Wunmi Mosaku; they own His House. 

#3. First Cow

Behind every successful man, there stands a cow. Director Kelly Reichardt continued her career-long deconstruction of the Western last year in her best bittersweet concoction, First Cow. Pioneers Cookie and Lu seek the promise of the frontier in 1800s Oregon Country, sneaking milk from a wealthy land-owner’s cow to start an oil-cake business. The camaraderie is lovely, but that contract is a lie: the truth is a world in which only capital begets capital, where the rich are more concerned with having something than using it. Reichardt doesn’t beef up this drama with overblown conflicts, instead milking the minimalism to ‘udderly’ devastating results: they were the first, but we’ll all be waiting on that Western promise of prospect ‘til the cows come home. 

#2. The Invisible Man

Often, movies will ask viewers to look at their monsters as metaphors; sometimes, they’re just monsters through and through. The Invisible Man, an update on the classic Universal film, polishes up the original’s special effects, but makes its titular character much uglier. Bringing the invasive nature of invisibility to the surface, the film reinterprets the character as a domestic abuser, gaslighting his ex, Cecilia, from beyond his supposed grave. Elizabeth Moss makes it a must-watch, never letting the audience look away from the trauma and terror of that situation. It’s highly-disturbing horror, made more so by an ending that leaves viewers in the dark, and the craft is always phenomenal. Director Leigh Whannell clearly had vision since his very first film project, but after The Invisible Man, everyone will be saying, “Saw who?” 

AND THE BEST FILM OF 2020 IS...

#1. Straight Up

Straight Up? One of the best rom-coms of recent memory, and my favorite film of an odd year. It’s a fittingly off-beat premise after all: a young gay man and an equally-witty young woman, each struggling with intimacy in different ways, explore an unusual romantic relationship with each other. In a time when we were all cut off from connections with other people, Straight-Up reexamined internalized phobias and millennial malaise to forge new ones, uncovering the rare occurrence of a platonic ideal. With whip-smart dialogue, reflective filmmaking, and two star-making central performances, you will surely fall as in love with Straight Up as I did, and that is nothing less than My Hahn-est Opinion.

NEXT UP: THE 2020 AARON FOR WORST FILM!

[peter-laufeyson]

i'm the bad guy

Summary: Ben and Rey's daughter goes missing. The reader has a dark ending as she then realizes who she is deep down inside.

Pairing: Ben Solo x daughter!reader

Word Count: 1800+

Warnings: Violence (nothing too bad)

Author's Note: Sheesh. Sorry this too so long...

HIS heart stopped faster that what he could've possibly imagined. He sat in silence and fear as it dwelled over his body.

Rey stood next to him feeling his and her own emotions. She wondered where their beloved daughter could be.

"Where was she last seen?" Ben finally spoke to the palace guards.

"Just outside the palace gates." He paused, "My King, there was a note left in her room next to a dagger covered in blood, saying Ben Solo owes me a life."

Rey eyes slowly grew wide as she touched Ben's shoulder. He knew who it was. What he didn't know is where he would've taken her.

Ben dismissed the guards and order half his troops to search far and wide across Alderaan and other planets.

When the two royals arrived in their chambers, Ben slowly sank down into the bed and tears fell down his face. Rey wiped his cheek and kissed his soft skin and she removed to crown that sat upon his soft wavy hair.

"She's stronger than she looks" Rey encouraged. Although Ben seemed as if he didn't even hear the words that came out of her mouth.

"Something is off. The palace guards would've never let her get close to the palace gates without our consent" Ben trailed off.

"Are you suggesting there is a mole upon our troops?"

"[Y/N] loves to be adventurous, but she wouldn't leave" he thought harder, "and if that was her blood than she wouldn't have been able to make it all the way to the gates with out dying. The palace is ways away from the gates."

"Unless the blood wasn't hers" Rey suggested.

"Or she used the force to heal herself" Ben continued after her.

The two stared at different places of the room.

What really happened?

---

"I didn't know the Princess of Alderaan was so beautiful" the man walked behind your tied down body as he touched your hair gently and slowly crept his hand down your neck.

"What do you want Arius?" [Y/N] questioned firmly and he pulled his hand away.

"Ben Solo, I hate that name. It sounds too heroic."

"Are you suggesting that my father the King of Alderaan is a foolish man?"

"He was leader of the Nights of Ren. Kylo Ren had everything except the feeling of love. That is why he has become Ben Solo." He spat the sentences in [Y/N]'s face. This angered her because she knew her father, the King, was more that a ruined man who's parents have died.

"So why did you want me?"

"When your father first joined the First Order he was thriving in darkness. He had no ounce of pitty or care for anyone. He was absolutely ruthless."

He paused and looked at the wall. You could tell by his facial expressions that he was going into the real details about the story.

"When he was developing the Knights of Ren, he searched different planets to complete his Knights. Although, when he burned down the temple he took some kids with him. That night I was planning with him how we were going to convince other students to join us, he left me there in the fire to die."

Your eyes slightly widen. You wondered if his story was completely true. You know that your father burned the temple and took a handful of students.

"Why didn't he let you go with him?" You asked, breaking the silence.

"Because I wasn't dark enough."

"So what your going to kill me to get back at my father?" You wanted to know the real reason why he took you.

"No" he smiled wickedly then continued, "I heard from a palace guard that your a kind, adventurous, and loving princess. I heard that your so kind that even though your palace guard attacked you and you stabbed him, you healed him."

You wondered where he was going with this.

"Do you want me to do something dark?" You suggested.

"Yes, actually if you truly want to leave and reunite yourself with your family, you'll have to do it on my terms."

"Your terms? Who the hell do you think you are? I am Princess of Alderaan. You are just my pathetic subject who can't seem to get what he wants." You raised your voice in authority. It took you a second to realise what you said but even when it hit you, you didn't want him to see you surprised with your choice of words.

"Me? Pathetic? Look at you! A stupid Princess tied up to a chair!" He mocked. Your body was starting to boil in anger.

"Look at me girl! You will do as I say."

He pulled out a lightsaber from underneath his garments and you could recognize it as Kylo Ren's crossblade.

"What are you going to do with that?" You asked, a bit of shock as to how it has it.

He walked behind you and quickly ignited it and he slashed the ties that held you down. "I won't be doing anything with it," then he walked back in front of you and handed it to you, "you will."

"What do you want me to do with that?"

"I want you to take me back to the Kingdom and I will surrender myself. All I want you to do is take the lightsaber with us."

You frowned. Why would he do all of this just to take him back to Alderaan? Something was sketchy.

"You won't try to kill me on the way there?" You asked the obvious.

"How could I kill you? You will have the lightsaber in your hands."

You decided to take him back to the Kingdom and quickly boarded the ship. You'd rather let the King decide what to do to him.

---

You landed the ship a little ways from the town. And walked behind him to ensure you kept your eyes on him.

As you walked through the town the crowd seemed to recognize you and they bowed in respect.

Although something didn't feel right. You senced something was wrong. Taking him to your Kingdom seemed like a stupid plan.

BLAST

You were shot by Arius and he stood there with his blaster pointed at you. You feel on one knee and yelled in pain. The crowd around you seemed too terrified to watch, so some left to find guards to assist you and other stayed to watch incase you absolutely needed help.

You healed yourself within two seconds and stood back up. You ignited the lightsaber he gave you and its vibrations almost made you feel terrified and frightened at the same time.

He shot you again but you deflected it. Then he kept shooting constantly as you tried to keep up with dodging the blasts.

Arius' gun overheated and you turned the lightsaber off and ran to him.

The punching between [Y/N] and Arius was harsh and neither held back on hitting each other. On both faces small spots of blood and bruises could be seen.

In the distance you could heard the Royal Guard and you felt the distant presence of your parents. Although it didn't stop you from holding back. The one thing they both forgot was the small crowd watching their beloved Princess get beat and be aggressive back.

You rapped your arm around his neck and held him tightly. The Royal Guard and your Parents stood there in shock.

"Let him go [Y/N], people are watching" your mother, the Queen, warned.

You didn't care. You thought about everything he said about your father and it angered you. You wanted to kill him.

"Do as your Queen says [Y/N]" your father said sternly. It sounded as if he was mad at you.

You released him and stood up. After you dusted yourself off, you sent a force push at him as it made his lungs hurt. Arius felt as if something stepped on his chest.

Arius stood up. And you gave him a death stair.

"Stupid girl. Did you really think it would be that easy? I thought a spoiled little brat would be smart enough to realize the man in front of you."

The tension was rising and you could feel your body wanted to do something rigorous.

He kept talking but you were so caught up that the words were no longer going through your ears.

You quickly force pushed him to the wall and ran to put your forearm against his throat.

"Keep talking and I'll make sure you won't be able to say another word" you threatened.

"[Y/N]!" You were slightly shocked to hear your father in that tone. He never raised his voice at you because you never given him the reason to.

"You will release this man and retire to your room immediately!" He added. But you felt so rebellious and you didn't want to listen.

"Oh look the little princess just got in trouble by her daddy." He mocked you. That was it for him.

You used the force to choke your parents and the guards. With your other hand you used the force to bring the lightsaber to your hand and quickly ignited it and brought it against his neck.

"So what are you now? The little bad Princess?"

"I'm the bad guy"

With that you sliced his head off and everyone ran away screaming.

The Royal Guard and your Parents were released and they stood there in shock. They were only able to see your back because you weren't facing them.

"What did he do to me?" Your tone was unrecognizable.

"Baby, put the saber down" your mother suggested.

Ben felt as if it was his fault. He could see himself in her the night he burned down the temple.

"How did he make me feel this way?" You started to lightly cry in horror.

"Its okay. We can help you overcome these feelings." You heard you father say with a loving tone.

You mumbled somthing but they couldn't heard you.

"What did you say" the Queen asked.

"I don't want to overcome these feelings. I feel so different and powerful now."

They were so shocked. They couldn't believe what you just said.

"I will miss you dearly" you say before running off quickly towards Arius' ship.

They all tried to run after you but you were far younger and they couldn't keep up.

"What is she going to do?" Ben asked Rey almost terrified to even ask in the first place.

"She will try to conquer the galaxy as you once desired. Then if she needs to, she will return back here to seek revenge" Rey replied.

"What revenge does she want with us?" Ben questioned.

"The dark side tends to make you do things you didn't want to do before. You should know that."

They both looked up at the direction that your ship left and they wondered if they should go looking for you ever again. Or if they should wait for the day of your return.

[babbushka]

Healer

Hi friends i’m currently suffering with a killer headcold and i have no one to take care of me so i am living vicariously through fanfiction!!!! please enjoy Kylo taking care of his girl!! 

Word Count: 1800

Warnings: None

“You’re what?” Kylo asked, speaking into the small comm on his wrist.

He had just gotten out of a very successful meeting when your call was patched through your private channel with him, and he had answered it immediately, eager to speak to you. One could only imagine his dismay when he could barely understand what you were saying – too caught up in coughing fits to speak clearly.

“Sick.” You repeated yourself. Stars, you sounded miserable, he thought. Frowning immediately, he began walking towards your quarters.

“How?” He asked, probably too harshly, because the small static of a huff just sounded through the comm – and then another round of coughing.

“What do you mean how, just last week we went off ship. I probably picked something up at the transport station.” You groaned.

Kylo slowed his gait until he was standing in the middle of the hallway, stormtroopers and mouse droids doing their best to not dare bump into the Supreme Leader.

“I don’t…know what to do about sick.” Kylo said, his brow creasing with worry as you hacked up a lung.

Were you dying? Would this be how you met your end? Panic hit him hard, and he started walking in five different directions, not sure where to go or what to do. Of course a medic would be needed, he needed to get you to the medbay – he needed to get you away from anything that might make this worse –

“Kylo, surely you’ve had a cold before.” You said once you finally caught your breath.

“No. The force burns all my illnesses away.” Kylo replied, having made up his mind and going straight to your shared wing of the ship.

To his mild relief, you laughed.

“I don’t believe that.” You replied, before hesitantly asking, “Can you please stop by the cafeteria and bring me back some soup when you come home?”

He turned on his heel at once and stormed through the hallway towards the cafeteria. He face was set in a menacing expression purposely, he didn’t want anyone getting in his way. Taking care of you was more important than anything a petty officer needed him for.

“Of course I can, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Kylo said, before hanging up.

After demanding four different kinds of soup and having a droid carry them all – you needed variety, of course – Kylo knocked gently on the door before punching in the access code and entering the foyer.

The droid went ahead and placed the wrapped bowls of soup on the table to be dealt with later, first he needed to hold you in his arms and check the status of your illness.

“(Y/N)?” He said, loud enough for you to hear him, but not loud enough that it would hurt your ears if you had a headache. “It’s me.”

“Uuuuuuuuuggh.” A pitiful groan followed by a wheezing cough came from the bedroom, and Kylo’s worry only magnified.

He stepped through to your bedroom, where you were laying very much how a corpse lays – limbs sprawled out in no coherent manner, one leg off the bed entirely, an arm thrown over your face. You were surrounded by crumpled up tissues, and your hair was stuck to your cheek.

“I missed you too.” Kylo tried joking, but he could feel his own heart speed up, he had never seen you like this before.

Don’t come any closer! You thought to him, too tired to use your words now that he was close enough that you could communicate telepathically.

“But, I love you.” He frowned, and the innocence in his tone made your already stinging eyes tear up.

I love you too but I’ll get you sick. You said with a shake of your head.

He only grinned, and shook his head right back at you.

“I told you, I don’t get sick.” He left the bedroom momentarily to go grab one of the styrofoam soup bowls from the dining room table. “I brought you soup.” He held the bowl up so you could see, and then set it down on the nightstand as he hovered.

Thank you. You smiled weakly at him, eternally grateful for his care.

Kylo wanted to sit with you, but you looked disgusting. Like an angel, as always, but…one that was absolutely crawling with being sick.

“You’re going to shower, and change into some clean clothes. Then soup, and rest.” Kylo decided, taking his boots and cape off. He would of course be joining you for all of those activities. He mostly needed to keep reassuring himself that you would be okay, and what better way to do that than to watch over you and witness your recovery himself?

You’re supposed to be in a meeting right now, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to interru— You frowned, feeling guilty, but he put a stop to that right away.

“Don’t even think about apologizing.” He reassured you. You tried to get up but you were too weak to, groaning and using the headboard for support. “Please, let me.” He rushed to say, scooping you up in his arms.

He carried you to the ‘fresher, where he stripped and then helped you undress as the water in the shower got hot.

You leaned on him for support as he ran his fingers across your back and neck, trying to massage some of the knots out. He lathered shampoo in your hair and scrubbed at your scalp in a way that made tingles shiver down your spine, and he could have cried from relief when he saw your bright smile at the feeling.

“Which one today?” He asked, pointing to the range of conditioners that you had collected from the trip off ship.

The blue one. Can you tell me about your day? You replied, wanting to hear his voice. It was the most soothing sound in all the galaxy to you.

“Hux was…manageable, for once. He’s been wholly more pleasant ever since promoting him to Grand Marshal. The meeting in the morning went well, we’re arranging a gala to assemble dignitaries to strengthen loyalty to the Order.” Kylo said as he coated your hair in the conditioner, before using the leftover in his hand to nourish his own head of hair.

Will I get to wear the nice dress? You asked hopefully, making him chuckle.

“You can wear anything you want, my love.” He kissed your forehead, and you just looped your arms around his neck, still needing him for support, but also simply wanting to be close to him.

He lathered up a big fluffy sponge with a shower gel that made the whole room smell like a tropical paradise, or at least that’s what the bottle said. When you both were squeaky clean and had all the product rinsed out of your hair, Kylo shut the water off.

“Alright, out you go.” He said, kissing your cheek.

Can’t I just sleep naked? You pouted, not wanting to leave his side.

Kylo shook his head and stepped out of the shower, holding onto your hand so you wouldn’t trip as you followed. He wrapped the both of you up in a towel, before reaching into the small ‘fresher closet.

“As much as I would love that, I’m sure you’d rather prefer to wear…” He trailed off as he grabbed what he was looking for and held them up, “Your fluffy robe and matching socks.”

Your face lit up – you and Kylo had gotten matching robes and socks shortly after getting married. They were both black and incredibly soft, with satin detailing around the cuffs and collar. They had the first letter of your names embroidered on the left breast, and you wore them constantly.

Will you wear yours too? You asked, taking the robe in your now dry arms.

“Anything for my girl.” Kylo nodded, reaching into the closet for his own set.

Two bowls of soup later, the both of you were curled up on the couch. Kylo had the droid change the sheets so that when it was time for a nap you wouldn’t have to lay in a gross bed, and had his schedule cleared for the rest of the day so that he could be with you. He was scrolling through the holonet for something to watch that you had seen a hundred times so you wouldn’t have a problem falling asleep.

“Can we watch the one about the oceans of Arkanis again?” You asked, seeing it on the directory of channels.

“Which episode?” He asked, holding you close. You were laying across the couch, your head in his lap. His fingers were idly combing through your still-wet hair as his other hand scrolled, and you sighed, snuggling happily into him.

“You pick.” You said, already yawning.

“You really worried me earlier.” Kylo said softly, as the soothing voice of the narrator began describing all sorts of horrors of the deep seas. He had no idea how you weren’t completely terrified by this sort of stuff.

“I’m sorry. I’ll be okay, these things pass.” You said, smiling up at him.

Suddenly, he remembered something – something he had learned nearly twenty years ago, in another life.

“Here, let me try something.” He said, nervously licking his lips. “Close your eyes.”

You let your eyes slip closed, and he placed a hand on your forehead. Closing his own eyes, focused in on the feeling of the force flowing through his veins, trying to hone in the healing qualities of it.

The force wound its way through his fingers into your skin, and began cooling your slight fever, making you sigh happily.

Kylo focused on it as long as he could, entering almost a meditative state. He thought about nothing other than making you well again, making you feel better. The force responded in turn by minimizing your pain, and he was grateful for its cooperation.

“I love you.” You murmured, falling asleep. Now that you didn’t have a throbbing pain in your temples, it was easy to get comfortable in your husband’s arms and drift into a dream.

“I love you more.” Kylo whispered, leaving the holo on and carrying you to the bed.

He tucked you in and followed suit, watching as your breath evened out. The droid looked at him expectantly, and he gave it a kind pat on the head, before dismissing it.

Not leaving your side for the remainder of the evening, he was glad he could take care of you in your time of need. There was something special about being able to help you, to heal you, he thought as he settled against the pillows. 

The galaxy could wait for him for another day, but you couldn’t and he wouldn’t make you, not his girl.

Tagging some friends! If you’d like to be added to the tag list please just send me a message!  @fullofbees @spinebarrel@oh-adam @dreamboatdriver @bad–bad–man @thecurlycaptain@bourbonboredom @driverficarchive @aweirdlookingtree @rosalynbair@redhairedfeistynerd @adamsnackdriver @glitzescape

[qm-vox]

The Far Realms vs. Obyriths: Cosmic Horror in D&D

Shout-out, once again, to Afroakuma, from whom I learned most of the material I’m about to explain and with whom I’ve had many fascinating discussions about this topic.

It’s ya boi Vox, back at it to complain about RPG shit in an educational fashion again. Remember when I did a whole article about (evil) gods in D&D, arguing that they have more potential than to be used like supervillains? We’re gonna do that again, but this time with incorporating cosmic horror elements into your D&D campaign. Some of this advice may also be useful for games similar to D&D but for the sake of my own sanity I’m gonna confine myself to the one system or I’m gonna be here until my kids are in college.

This article will be broken down into three parts: an overview of cosmic horror’s origin and original thesis (in which we travel my favorite magical land, Full And Complete Context), a breakdown of the Far Realms in D&D (including older takes from late 2e & 3.5, how those changed in 4e, and their ambiguous state in 5e) & how you might use them for a cosmic horror campaign, and a breakdown of Obyriths in D&D and how you might use them in your campaign.

No discussion of cosmic horror is complete without some Content Warnings. Right up front: cosmic horror has its roots in extremely racist fiction, and I’m going to be talking about that straight-up. Also included in this article will be body horror, descriptions of mind control and mental corruption, supernaturally-induced madness, violence, and medical horror, among other things. This is a genre that hit the ‘fuck shit up’ button with its face on fuckin’ Zero Day and does that but again every time we successfully write something in it. Additionally, spoilers for some of Lovecraft’s work will be in here, with absolutely no tags and no warnings before they happen. You have been warned; do as thou wilt.

HP Does A Racism - Origins Of Cosmic Horror

Yeah, I’m about to be like that about it.

In the beginning there was Howard Phillips Lovecraft, an absolute garbage fire of a human being whose personal issues are such a knotted mess that I’m half-sure that the concept of the Ouroboros is just the echo of his bullshit reaching backwards through time. Like many authors of his time, Howie Love here was born into significant wealth, and while his education would be cut short (he had some manner of health problem in high school that ended his attempts at schooling) it was pretty high-quality, as it tends to be when you’re rich and white in the late 1800s. When he began writing his most famous body of work, Lovecraft had three attributes which would shape it: EXTREME racism, an incredible love for the works of Edgar Allen Poe, and every fucking phobia ever turned loose on God’s green Earth.

If you want to know more about that first point, try looking up what he named his cat; Lovecraft was so racist that even other racists thought he was too racist. Mother fucker was so racist that he wrote about the dangers of contaminating one’s bloodline with French-Canadians. His racism made it into all of his works in some way, shape, or form; many had themes of miscegenation, plenty included people of color only as deranged cultists of terrible powers, and as we’ll get into later in this segment the very racism that caused him to do these things also made him write the...let’s say ‘villains’ for lack of a better term, of his ongoing body of work as thinly-veiled stand-ins for white people.

No, really.

Lovecraft’s early work included a few short stories in the American Gothic style, the most famous of which is The Rats in the Walls. It’s a fairly classic story as far as those go, but Howie Love would soon abandon American Gothic for the genre he founded and defined: cosmic horror. Keep the racism and phobias in mind going forward, they’re about to become real important.

Howie Love Clowns On Himself - Themes And Thesis Of Cosmic Horror

While Dagon is generally accepted as the ‘first’ cosmic horror story, I prefer The Colour Out Of Space as the definitive example of the original thesis of cosmic horror at its most clean and clear (it’s also the work of Lovecraft’s that has aged the best; I highly suggest it if you haven’t read it yet!). In it, an alien presence - arguably but not necessarily an entity - crash-lands outside the fictional town of Arkham. Our narrator, a surveyor, coldly investigates the horrors that occur after and learns the sorry tale of a family destroyed by this alien presence as it blights their land, corrupts their bodies, and drives them to madness. The presence leaves, but not wholly; a fragment of itself remains behind, alongside the chilling possibility of a repeat performance.

The Colour Out Of Space, and indeed most of Howie Love’s work, was written at a time in the United States and the United Kingdom where human exceptionalism was the norm. Humans were not merely important, but special, chosen, exalted in nature and placed in a universe whose sole purpose was to be the stage for our domination. The Colour Out Of Space proposed a different idea: that we ain’t shit. Not only is humanity not exalted, but humanity is insignificant, existing at the mercy of fate, able to be casually annihilated at any time by forces we do not understand. It was a shocking proposal when it was published, and though the zeitgeist that gave it power has faded (most people realize we ain’t shit these days, can’t imagine how that fucking happened) it still resonates with many people.

The later works that defined the Cthulu Mythos would build on this theme, introducing powerful beings which claim dominion of Earth or of all reality. You’ve probably heard of most of them - Cthulu is the big one, of course, but there’s also Yog-Sothoth (The Dunwich Horror), Azazoth, Catboi Slim (Nyarthalotep), and many more, not all of which were written by Lovecraft himself. These beings are gods, or else so far above humanity that the difference is academic, and this brings us to the second defining theme of cosmic horror that Lovecraft would lay out, that of forbidden knowledge.

Protagonists in Howie Love’s stories have a tendency to lose their minds. Later authors would chalk this up to the idea that witnessing these gods or their works is so inherently horrifying that the mind simply snaps in their presence, or even that these gods are bound up in the concept of madness (this second one is a rather incompetent reading, not that I’m thinking of any PAIZO in particular that just ran with it in their RPG setting), but Howard’s own work doesn’t always bear that out. The protagonist of Call of Cthulu is not driven mad by that being - he is driven towards the brink by the realization that the Cult is still out there (and coming for his life), and that Cthulu will only rise again. Our viewpoint character in At The Mountains Of Madness realizes he has committed unspeakable atrocities on living beings much like himself by mistake, and that if further explorers come to disturb their slumber they will only repeat the same errors and lead to mankind’s annihilation. It’s not just that these ancient powers are terrifying or even that they are alien, but that to comprehend them is to understand that humans are so far beneath them that their attitude towards us cannot be thought of as ‘benevolent or ‘malevolent’, because we are beneath their notice, lesser in comparison than even a bacterium. In such a context, all humans do is consume resources better used by our superiors, and thus our existence is a profanity upon the divine. The only moral action, the stories argue, is self-annihilation; only ignorance permits us to justify our own existence to ourselves.

Sound familiar? Almost like this is the exact argument chucklefuck racists make about the existence of people of color, Jews, and anyone else they happen to not like? Yeah. This is the part where Lovecraft accidentally made himself the villain of his own work. Congratulations Howie, you played yourself. And since his audience was largely fellow white men also hard up on that whole racism thing, this idea of human profanity tapped a deep well of anxiety. I’m not about to argue that racism is over (it isn’t) and that’s why this vision of cosmic horror is less popular; indeed, it’s retained a pretty solid cult (heh) following, in part because the idea of such beings is inherently kinda terrifying. But I’d be remiss not to bring up the fact that this terror has its roots in racism, so...there you have it.

Other authors also built on the Cthulu Mythos, with Lovecraft’s enthusiastic blessing. These days their works tend to be mistakenly attributed to Howie Love himself, but that’s not actually his fault; they were published on their own, under their own authors’ names, and as far as we can tell Howard never tried to take the credit. These other authors had a tendency to substitute the indifferent divinity and corrupted humans of Lovecraft’s work with direct malice; their vision of these god-like beings was one in which they noticed humanity and did harm to it, creating a movement away from Howie Love’s original thesis (”human insignificance will lead to the unimportant and unmarked event of our destruction” & “seeking knowledge can only lead to self-annihilation”) during his life which only picked up momentum after his death. Indeed, most modern attempts at Lovecraftian horror mimic this overt malevolence, often without even lip service to the original thesis. It’s not necessarily an unworkable angle of horror, and it definitely has bones in with its origins; “God is real and He hates you personally” is a terrifying idea! But this movement away from the cold indifference of stories like The Colour Out Of Space definitely contributed to the current climate of...sloppy adaptations, let’s say.

Not that I’m thinking of any Paizo in particular.

So Should I Use Mythos Content Directly In My D&D Game Or What?

No, because I will cry and tell everyone that you punched my children and kidnapped my girlfriends.

More helpfully, probably not. The presence of other divinities, but especially evil divinities like Erythnul (Greyhawk) or Malar (Forgotten Realms) makes the thematics of cosmic horror pretty fucking weird. If you really wanted to, your best bet is to not use the published system of divinity at all (see the previously-linked article, up at the top of this one) and instead make Lovecraft’s gods the setting’s only gods. That means asking yourself some hard questions about clerics in your game world and possibly divine magic in general - that’s a separate article though - and even then you’re in for a rough row to hoe. D&D’s characters tend to be competent, dynamic, empowered - a far cry from the educated but otherwise fairly helpless protagonists on which cosmic horror tends to trade. Themes of futility in the face of incomprehensible beings don’t really make for good D&D most of the time, not when so much of the system (any edition, it doesn’t matter) is set up to create and reward cunning and heroic struggle. Classic cosmic horror, in the original proposed form, is not a good fit.

Thankfully, we have two solutions to give you what you crave in-house. Let’s start with the one that is somehow both the closer fit and the further fit.

You Have Fucked Up - The Far Realm Overview

Originally introduced in late AD&D 2e, the Far Realm as an idea hit its stride during 3.0/3.5 before getting a major rework as part of 4e’s cosmology, where it became the source of most/all aberrations. We’re gonna go ahead and pretend 4e didn’t happen, not because 4e is bad (and for the love of fuck please don’t start an edition war on my cosmic horror post) but because 4e’s cosmology just doesn’t really fit in with any of the rest. 1e <-> 3.5 is more or less coherent and you can beat 5e into line with a wrench and some harsh language, but 4e...well, anyway.

The Far Realms is outside reality. No, not in another dimension, we know what those are - those are the Planes. It’s outside reality; it is Somewhere Else. “It” is probably even the wrong term, since by definition any place (”place”) that isn’t the multiverse as D&D knows it is the Far Realm. To paraphrase Afroakuma, if the Great Wheel is a Lego brick, the Far Realm is a giant squid; if the Great Wheel is a bowl of Fruit Loops, the Far Realm is the theory that intelligences from Pluto rig the results of major sporting events. The contexts are not compatible. These two things do not go together in any way. Combining the two can only end in sorrow and woe.

So mortals try to combine the two all the time, because we’re dipshits like that.

Every now and again, some truly, monumentally stupid person - usually but not always someone inside reality - breaches the skin that contains reality inside itself, and lets in the essence of Outside. This is a phenomenally bad idea; the immediate result is corruption in both directions as the essence of each form of reality bleeds into the other. Both attempt to ‘scab’ the breach, translating the foreign substances and beings into something more like the reality they have moved to. If a breach happens, there is one of three outcomes. If you are very, very lucky, no being on the other side notices the breach, and you’ve ‘merely’ blighted and corrupted a vast stretch of land, tainting it with something sort of like, but not enough like, Chaos and Evil for millennia to come - maybe even forever. If you’re not lucky, a being on the other side notices the breach and acts to seal it, the ripple of which causes you to not have a nation or continent any more as said corruption absolutely consumes the lands in which you live. And if you are phenomenally unlucky, the being on the other side is just as stupid as you are, and it comes through. The last time that happened the original Gnomish pantheon got murdered. Their homeworld doesn’t exist any more.

There is no ‘good’ outcome. This is the repeated and absolute theme of the Far Realms; whatever your reasons for getting involved with them, whatever you wanted, whatever you were seeking, you don’t get it. Mortals fuck with the Far Realms because our inability to comprehend them leads us to think of them like things we can experience. The scabbed-over beings we meet that are from there (Psuedonatural creatures; see the Alienist prestige class in Tome & Blood and Complete Arcane, as well as the bigger version in the Epic Level Handbook) are Chaotic Evil because that is how reality translates them. They aren’t Chaos, they’re another reality, and their unwilling and unwitting corruption of all around them gets redefined as Chaotic Evil in order to reduce their damage to all of existence to a manageable fucking level. Were you seeking the Far Realms in order to harness power for great change? Get fucked, you can’t control what happens. Were you seeking magical power? Get fucked; the reason people go mad when exposed to the Far Realms isn’t just that the knowledge they gain makes no sense, it’s that the complete lack of context means all of the stuff you killed and stole and lied and cheated for is more or less completely goddamn useless. Trying to escape existence for some reason? One, death is faster, but two, hope you enjoy suffering the entire time you die - and that’s if the breach stays open long enough for you to be able to enjoy death as a concept before you get sealed away in a place where mortality doesn’t meaningfully exist.

You don’t get what you want. This was a bad idea. You fucked up.

5e, the most recent edition of D&D, mainly continues this trend. It has suggestions of the lazier interpretation of Lovecraft’s work tied to the Far Realms, which I heartily suggest you ignore, but some of the other ideas are phenomenal. The Great Old Ones Pact for Warlock has one in particular that I like quite a bit, which suggests that the Warlock-to-be created an unintended connection to a Far Realms intelligence and gained power against both of their wills and possibly without the intelligence in question even noticing. You don’t need to change a lot in 5e’s run to bring out the extant themes of the Far Realms - though admittedly this is greatly assisted by the fact that 5e barely has any Far Realms content to begin with, so there’s not a lot to edit. That also means there’s not a lot to use, so if you want to use Far Realms stuff in 5e you’re gonna have to get ready to spend a lot of time making your own. Which brings us to...

Who The Fuck Funded This Research?!? - Using The Far Realms In Your Game

Considering that all-important theme - “this was a bad idea” - the Far Realms are likely to be antagonistic in nature in your game, even if ‘antagonistic’ isn’t the right term. Published adventures have used Far Realms content as a sort of backdrop (Firestorm Peak comes to mind here) before, and you can easily make Far Realms creatures a more direct problem for your PCs by centering the campaign around a cult or research team attempting to cause a new breach. This could be a great time to engage with player-side themes such as the ethics of magic use, the cost of power, and the burden of responsibility for said power, assuming your group is down for it. Even if they’re not, horrifying monstrosities that by definition have no place in this universe are great to kick in the head(s).

What motivates people to cause a breach? Mainly stupidity, but the special kind of stupidity you only get when someone is highly educated and deeply intelligent. For awhile, in the real world, there was a burst of designers making D20 heartbreakers - successors to D&D 3.5 meant to fix its many catastrophic flaws. Each person thought they had it, the secret to make the system they both loved and hated finally function, and they were all wrong. Causing a breach into the Far Realms is like that. Every sign points to it being a bad idea. Reading the research and spells of the last people who tried it reveals that it’s a bad idea. All of the diaries and primary sources of those who did it and those who stopped them say it’s a bad idea, but that’s okay because I, Wizardhat von Dipshit, am not like those fools. I will be more careful, and the power to reshape the Planes will be mine!

The easiest way to make Far Realms creatures for use in your campaign is to start with an existing monster and fuck it up; rearrange its abilities (adding or emphasizing mental attacks and psychic damage, if you can), alter its physical form, and generally just make that shit wrong and fill its blood with spiders. If you want to get more alien from there or make something original, the best guideline I can offer for you is that aboleths were the result of Far Realms taint in the beginning of this reality (it’s telling that the closest thing reality could translate their progenitor into was a Greater Deity).

No one wants power for its own sake, of course, but what your antagonist actually wants is more or less irrelevant because the important bit is that they had every chance to know better and they’re about to make this bad decision on purpose anyway. This is how the Far Realms brings out cosmic horror themes in a heroic context; power that is beyond both mortal comprehension and control, which has no place in this reality and recoils from us as violently as we recoil from it. Like Lovecraft, whose stories revealed a deep cynicism about knowledge and science, your antagonists will be erudite individuals whose ruinous plans are only possible because of what they have learned and, in turn, chosen to ignore. If nothing is done, unstoppable catastrophe will be unleashed, and with it will come madness and desolation. If only some heroes were on hand, eh?

The disconnect the Far Realms has from classic cosmic horror is also the source of why they fit; they don’t belong here. In Lovecraft’s work, it’s humanity that doesn’t belong - we are a blight upon the rightful property of higher beings. The Far Realms are instead an intrusion, something from Elsewhere which doesn’t want to be here as much as we don’t want it here. That helps those classic cosmic horror themes work much better in this context, but maybe you’re looking for something else, something from here. Do the Planes have cosmic horror from within the shell of Reality?

Yes. Oh yes, they do.

Ancient Evil Survives - Obyrith Overview

In the beginning, there was war.

The primordial War of Law and Chaos is the greatest conflict to have ever rocked the Planes. It was so destructive, so all-encompassing, that it consumed entire Material Plane worlds, reshaped the nature of the Planes themselves, and is still happening, even now. It began in the early days of the Great Wheel and was prosecuted by Chaos, led by the self-styled Queen of Chaos, over a single question: should reality be real? Should effects follow causes, should gravity exist, should fire burn and light reveal, should things age and die, should...

The forces of Law said yes to these questions and fought to establish and maintain an order and logic to reality. Chaos fought for an unbound reality, one in which each individual would be completely free to express their own true essence as tangible changes in the existence around them. The War was never truly won or lost, but the imprisonment of Miska the Wolf-Spider broke the backs of the Chaotic coalition and brought the War to a stalemate of sorts, in a reality which, if not dominated by Law, is definitely Law-leaning. Mortals are familiar with the terrible demons used as footsoldiers by the Abyss, the Tanar’ri, who reign yet in that terrible place. But it was not the Tanar’ri in command of Chaos, and not the Tanar’ri who prosecuted that terrible War. Indeed, the beings we now recognize as demons rose up against their creators, the Obyriths, after the imprisonment of Miska. They overthrew the Obyriths in a great slaughter and replaced them as the dominant exemplars of Chaotic Evil.

The Obyriths are not dead. They plan, and they wait, and they wage war and slaughter upon their wayward slaves in the Abyss. Every last one of them burns to reignite the War and achieve their vision of unbound reality, free of the wretched Law and all too weak to survive without it.

Prisoners Of The Flesh - Obyrith Nature

So what are Obyriths? The easiest answer is that they’re demons - the first demons, in fact, which preceded the more famous Tanar’ri (when you think of demons in D&D chances are you’re thinking of a Tanar’ri), and while this answer is entirely correct it is not the whole story. Tanar’ri are famously Chaotic Evil; they revel in corruption and destruction and are driven to maliciously annihilate or taint all they come across. A demon army marching across the land will stop to personally kick every puppy between point A and point B and they will absolutely mutiny against you if you try to stop them from doing so. What is good and pure must be soiled; what exists must be made to not exist, its foundations shattered, its virtues turned against themselves, its values abandoned. Tanar’ri respect only raw might, and only as long as they think they can’t defeat it.

But Obyriths, their progenitors, are Evil Chaos.

Let’s have some examples. This little guy is a draudnu, a kind of Obyrith made from the bones of chaotic celestials which post-dates the ‘end’ of the War by a pretty significant amount of time. They’re on the weaker side for Obyriths.

(You’ll find this boi in Monster Manual V for 3.5 incidentally.)

Take a nice long look. Really take it in - because that’s not the draudnu. That’s the prison of flesh, the scab, that reality has forced on the draudnu, that the terrible Law has locked it within. The actual draudnu looks like it’s inside me God it’s inside me I can feel it growing and twisting it HURTS get it out, it’s seeping into my blood it’s inside me it’s INSIDE ME -

Let’s have another example. This is a sibriex, recently re-published in Mordenkeinan’s Tome of Foes for 5e with no mention of Obyriths, which is a damn shame. They were instrumental in defining the forms of the common breeds of Tanar’ri.

Fun, right? But again, that’s not a sibriex; the actual form of a sibriex is perfection. Absolute beauty and grace. I am nothing compared to this perfection. I am no one in the face of this perfection. My existence can only profane this perfection. I must serve the Perfect One. I must let it remake me and reshape me, I must appease it, I must make amends for the crime that is my trespass upon the reality made for the Perfect One.

Those two are ‘common’ Obyriths, examples of that race of demons which have peers who are much like themselves, but the Obyriths still have extant Demon Princes. The Queen of Chaos is still alive and nursing her ancient hate. Pale Night’s true form is so profane that reality cannot stand its existence; when she reveals it to you, the multiverse destroys your soul so that knowledge of her truth does not exist. Obox-Ob, murdered by the Queen of Chaos, yet exists as an Aspect of himself - and the Planes live in fear of the rise of the Prince of Vermin, whose truth is agony, rot, and corruption, such that even if you magically remove memory of it from your mind you continue to die from the soul outward.

And Dagon plots within the depths of his palace, sponsoring and advising Demogorgon - the Prince of Demons - and contemplating unimaginable lore of evil. The Demon Prince of Depths looks like this.

This is the form carved on blasphemous altars in the depths of the oceans, where sunlight has never reached. This is the form worshiped by mortals who delight in corruption, destruction, and fear, who dream of a sea where vision is a distant memory and predators hunt by the scent of blood. It is the form sought by those who lust for ancient lore, kept in places far from mortal sight and utilized by an evil older than many gods and mortal races, a form whose mere touch can taint a body of water, mutating & mutilating all within and unleashing their fury, their terror, their slaughter, for ages to come. And it is not Dagon. Dagon’s true form, imprisoned within that flesh, is I’m drowning in the cold dark, I can feel my bones breaking, my eyes are bursting, I’m blind and I’m drowning and I can’t die, my lungs are gone, the water is seeping into my blood I’m drowning and I just want to die make it stop I’m DROWNING.

It’s telling that witnessing Dagon’s true form, his Form of Madness, can give even creatures that breathe water, or which do not breathe at all, crippling hydrophobia.

The true forms of Obyriths are not flesh or matter; they are not, by nature, Material beings the way other Outsiders and mortal things are. Their true forms are that you, personally, are going mad. You, personally, are being assaulted, violated, and infected; you, personally, are being victimized, corrupted, consumed, and betrayed. Imagine if the act of pouring flesh-eating beetles into someone’s eyes had a personality, will, and desires - not the person doing it, the act itself - and that’s an Obyrith. They are evil because what they are is evil, much in the way Erythnul is evil. Unlike their creations, the Tanar’ri, Obyriths aren’t in it to kick every puppy that has ever existed. They want to throw off the yoke of the Law and release their unbound forms. They want an existence of darkness and isolation in which all beings are free to express their true essence to the limit of their might and their will.

They just wanna be themselves.

No matter who has to die.

The Foes Of All Reason - Using Obyriths In Your Campaign

Do you enjoy life’s little conveniences, such as cause-and-effect, linear time, predictable & observable physical laws, not having your body boil away beneath the agonizing will of some random asshole, and the capacity to recognize patterns in nature? Then Obyriths are your enemies. As demons, Obyriths can be summoned and are thus easy to use in the sort of ‘guest star’ role that Tanar’ri are often used in, even if it takes a moon-sized pair of brass balls to decide you can contain one. However, this use - while valid - is not a good way to bring out their cosmic horror themes, and since you decided to read an article about cosmic horror in D&D this far down I’m going to go ahead and assume you’d like to do that.

As one of the Planes’ most ancient and active evils - arguably the most ancient one that hasn’t died or otherwise fucked off - Obyriths are absolutely prime for campaigns that deal with ancient lore, primordial conflict, and unreality. If you like the idea of long-burn plots by masterminds with the patience of aeons, Obyriths are definitely for you. For an example of one such story, check out The Tale of the Whale, written by Afroakuma. The downside to using Obyriths in this way is that if you want to do so in canon settings, you need to be prepared to do some absolute fucking deep dives on the lore, which may require access to books or PDFs as far back as 1e & 2e. If you’re using your own setting this problem is lessened, though at that point you do have to manage to sell the ancient nature of such beings in a way that makes them feel suitably eldritch.

For more...let’s go ahead and say modern for lack of a better word, takes, keep in mind that Obyriths are not Tanar’ri. They do not scheme to overthrow the government of a nation; your pale, fleshly shadow of the Law is nothing to them. The plots of Obyriths upend the Laws which underpin reality itself. Could the great contract that details the alliance between the tribes of Men and Cats be found and perverted, turning each against the other in all reality? Could the insects of this realm be infected with the essence of Obox-Ob so that the Demon Prince of Vermin can feast on mortal souls and effect his own return to power? Could a bridge linking the Deep Ethereal to the Abyss be constructed, permitting the sibriexes and their master, the Prince of the Chrysalis, to shape new slaves from the very essence of raw Potential? Obyriths pervert what is and should be, not just because it suits their end goal of chaos unbound, but because corruption and violation is their very nature. It’s how they think, how they move, what they believe in, love, and value.

Obyriths have a lot to suggest for them when it comes to cosmic horror stories in D&D’s context. They bring out direct themes of madness, terrible truth, malign alien intelligence, and reality-unreality. You can comprehend their motives and even their nature, sort of, but their end goal is completely alien to mortal beings; the reality they want would be completely unrecognizable to the denizens of the current one. They are evil as mortals understand the concept, but not in a way that matches or even relates to their peers, which means they act in surprising and unpredictable ways.

All of this of course damages their ability to fulfill the classic cosmic horror thesis, but there’s something to be said about the idea that an alien intelligence, to be horrifying, needs something humans can attempt to relate to. It certainly makes writing for them easier.

If you’re using Obyriths in 3.5, you’re set to go; look for them in the various Monster Manuals, as well as Fiendish Codex. If you’re attempting to use them in Pathfinder, good decision but you’re gonna have some stat block converting to do. Trying to use them in 5e is gonna be the absolute bitch of a job, and I’m not sure where to even start on those suggestions except to note that the signature trait of Obyriths - the thing that makes them them, mechanically - is a Form of Madness ability, where they reveal their truth to their victims. Forms of Madness are mind-affecting abilities which hit all non-demons near the Obyrith, tainting them in some way. You can see some example ideas above, and the ones from 3.5 in the published books I just mentioned, but here’s hoping I can find an expert on 5th Edition’s mechanics kind enough to lend me a hand here.

I hope this article proved helpful to you! As with all of my work, questions and critique are welcome. Thanks for reading!

[luki-fanfic]

A Kingdom For A Book: Good Omens/KHR Fic

So...guess what I’ve been watching obsessively the last few weeks?  Had to try and hash some of this out before the weekend so I could concentrate on DK&T. 

A Kingdom for a Book Good Omens/Katekyo Hitman Reborn

Tsuna, Yamamoto, Gokudera and Ryohei are in Italy, having breakfast with Nono and his respective guardians when it happens.

The Tenth generation had been invited (or, translated into civilian, abducted in the dead of night the day after graduating middle school) to spend the summer break at the Vongola Mansion.  However, Hibari had been...forceful, in his refusal, while Mukuro and Chrome had declined and vanished before anyone could talk them into it.  Lambo, while excited at the idea at returning home, had refused to leave Nana alone, and had been given the ‘very important job’ of protecting the woman while the teens were away.  

Tsuna rather sorely wishes he could have traded jobs with his young lightning.  The ‘break’ part of the trip had turned out to be very apt, because tutoring on Vongola grounds was ten time worse than in Namimori, where Reborn had to at least pretend he was bound by foolish things like land ownership, Hibari’s territory issues and physics. The hitman had been enjoying every minute of Tsuna torment, to the surprise of absolutely no one.  As such, nobody is really surprised when Reborn walks in and slaps four airline tickets on the table.  

“It’s time for your Vongola Negotiation Trial,” he says, as if it explains anything.

Granted, it’s Reborn, so explanations have always been optional.  If not for the fact that the man-turned-baby-and-now-rapidly-going-through-puberty-again-teenager always landed on his feet, Tsuna would swear blindly that he just made things up on the spot.

“What’s a Vongola Negation Trial?” he asks, mostly to get things over with. If he doesn’t ask what Reborn is talking about, Yamamoto will, which will set Gokudera off on a giant rant only 2 people in the room can follow, and it’s just too early in the morning for that.

To his surprise, Nono is the one that answers, folding his hands and smiling at his heir.

“It’s a right of passage for all young mafia” he explains.  “Especially those in boss positions.  It’s a test to show your intelligence, charisma and skill at obtaining objectives.”

Yamamoto laughs and leans over to wrap an arm around Tsuna’s shoulders.

“This’ll be easy Tsuna,” he says.  “Those are some of your best qualities.”

“Hieee?”

“Don’t touch the Tenth so casually!” Gokudera hisses at the rain, before he face does some spectacular muscle rearranging to smile at Tsuna.

“But he’s right Tenth!  This will be a cakewalk for you,” he insists.

“Sawada can negotiate to the extreme!” Ryohei agrees.

“What?  But I’m not good at-”

“Regardless,” Reborn say, talking over him.  “As the future Decimo, your role will require exceptional negotiation skills. Granted, this is something you have proven to have a knack for, so this is merely a formality to prove your prowess.”

Tsuna stares at the delighted faces around him and sighs.  

As much as he wants to keep arguing, he’s acutely aware of the pointlessness of such an act.  At least a ‘negotiation trial’ probably won’t be as violent as Reborn’s usual training.  If they have to leave the country, the man can only have so long to-

Oh crap...he’s sending them to a war zone isn’t he?

“Hieee...”

The hitman pretends he doesn’t hear Tsuna’s squeak, and pulls out what appears to be a photograph from his suit pocket.

“The Ninth gave me a selection of possible outbreaks and riots that require ceasefires” he explains.  “However, as your tutor, I believe in pushing you to great things, and for that reason, I have decided to give you the toughest negotiation challenge known to man.”

Tsuna pales as he watches Nono’s guardians pale, the man himself leaning forward in something resembling horror.

“Reborn, you can’t possibly be planning to send him there...”

Tsuna watches in astonishment as every mafioso in the room steps back, the photo dropping from Reborn’s hand to the desk.

“Sawada Tsunayoshi” his tutor says.  “You must enter the shop of A.Z.Fell & Co in London, and leave with a legally purchased book.”

“...I’m sorry, what?” Tsuna says, just before the entire room erupts in full on outrage.

“Reborn, you cannot be serious-”

“There are limits to your madness-”

“At least give him a fighting chance!  A gang war in Nicaragua started a few days ago, send him there!”

Tsuna can only stare at the horrified Mafioso in pure confusion, before picking up the photograph.  It boasts an old brick building, with an older gentleman on the stair just exiting the door.  He’s dressed a good century out of fashion, but there’s a presence, even in the photo, that makes Tsuna feel he’d look more out of place in modern clothing.

“This is Mr. Fell?” he asks, once the yelling calms down.  Everyone in the room sort of glance at each other, before sagging back down into their seats.

“One of them” Nono replies.  “The book store has been open since the 1800’s, passed down his family, and has been the bane of many a collector. There are few rare texts, especially of the biblical or prophetic nature, that Fell & Co do not possess.”

“But, then why is it a bane?”

The entire room offers a mirthless chuckle.

“Because the Fell family go to extreme lengths to make sure they never part with a single volume” Coyote explains.  “It hasn’t so much as broken even since it opened.  We’re not even sure why they have the bookshop rather than just a private collection.  It’s got to be some kind of tax thing, though we’re still not sure what considering how immaculate they appear, but regardless, just because those books are in a shop, does not mean they’re for sale.”

“...Has anyone ever succeeded?” Tsuna asks.  Everyone immediately turns to Reborn, who is wearing his trademark look of smug, and Tsuna sags.

“Let me rephrase. Has anyone human ever succeeded?” he rephrases, and Reborn chuckles.

“There are stories that suggest the sixth Manachelli boss managed to make it out with a ‘wicked bible’” he tells him.  “But given that all ten known copies are currently recorded elsewhere, nobody believes it.”

“Tsunayoshi...” Nono begins.  “While I have full trust in Reborn’s decisions, I must tell you that there is no dishonour in failing this trial.  Many mafioso have failed.  Even Xanxus could not pry a volume from Fell’s hands.”

“Xanxus tried?” Tsuna squeaks, and Yamamoto gives a low whistle while Gokudera splutters.  Nono just nods.

“Nearly every family has attempted it in recent history,” Nono continues.  “As such, if you reach a point where you feel you have exhausted every avenue, please retreat, and I will insist upon a different challenge.”

The Don glances over at Reborn.

“That will be acceptable, yes?” he asks the hitman.  Reborn merely adjusts his hat.

“I have full confidence in my student,” he replies.  “But I can accept those terms.  What do you say Dame-Tsuna?”

Tsuna drops his eyes back down to the photo.  Takes in the unassuming man and the shop.

Well, at least it’s not a literal war zone.  

Looks like he’s going to London.

---

All things considered, Tsuna finds himself pleasantly surprised by London. While the architecture is western and the streets crammed with people of every colour and shape, it lacks the sheer chaotic violence that seems to encompass Italy each time he sets foot there.  Instead there’s this subconscious politeness that everyone acknowledges exists (although not necessarily acted upon) that his Japanese upbringing just finds pleasant.  While he’s certainly not about to up and move, it’s less of a culture shock than his first unchaperoned visit to Rome.  

His guardians seem to be enjoying the trip too.  Ryohei’s exuberance and yelling get him some amused looks, and Yamamoto has been taken photos since they got off the plane.  Gokudera’s had a giddy look on his face, and while he’s not mentioned anything, Tsuna spotted him grabbing a handful of pamphlets from the hotel’s tourist section regarding ghost tours.  He’ll have to remember to ask Yamamoto to ‘guard’ him one night so Gokudera doesn’t feel guilty about slipping away.

In fact, Tsuna is surprisingly optimistic about the whole thing, right up until they reach the area of Soho and gets hit with the sheer oddity of the shop.  His trio of guardians, equally enamoured by London’s streets, quickly spot the issue itself.

“How is this place still standing?” Gokudera asks, glancing around at the high street retail brands and expensive bistro bars, before turning his attention back to the dull red building that takes up a significant chunk of the corner.  “It’s got to be the only independent building on the street.”

“It’s really well located too,” Yamamoto says, pushing up on his tiptoes to look inside the windows.  “My Dad would kill for this kind of location, but there’s no one inside.  There should at least be a few window shoppers, right?”

“This is insane,” Gokudera continues muttering.  “Surely the local council would have slapped a compulsory purchase order on the owner by this point.”

Ryohei is frowning too, walking forward and frowning at a sign on the door.

“These opening times are crazy to the extreme.”  

He’s not wrong. Tsuna almost finds himself gaping at the ramblings provided.  This shop’s opening hours are the business equivalent of a 100 sided dice roll.  Judging from his expression, Gokudera can’t decide if he’s frustrated or impressed.  Yamamoto already had his phone out and snapping a photo for posterity.

Astonishingly enough though, while the opening hours are few and far between, the shop is currently open, and with a very put upon sigh, Tsuna pushes the door open and steps inside.

---

His plan is simple. Walk in, find a book that looks particularly cheap or badly damaged and then hope his intuition helps him struggle through the haggling.

Unfortunately, this plan immediately hits a snag when he walks into the shop and feels his intuition goes crazy.  There’s no danger or alarm...it just...really, really doesn’t want to be there.  It sort of does the mental equivalent of whimper and curl up into a small ball underneath a metaphysical table, and Tsuna wants to about face and walk straight out the door.

Unfortunately, that isn’t an option, because his three friends are still blocking the way, and Gokudera is already hyperventilating, eyes locked on a bookshelf that’s almost changed colour from the amount of dust.

“Is that a first edition Liver De Coloribus Coeli?” he squeaks.  “In a bookshop?”

Tsuna has absolutely no idea what a ‘liba de colour bus’ is, or what is so surprising about finding it in a bookshop, but he leaves his right hand to salivate (already the bomber has about five books in his arms, clearly forgetting the odds of leaving with any one of them), and walks around the room.

The building itself doesn’t seem dangerous, but there’s definitely something off about it.  There’s an odd damp smell that sticks in your nose and is decidedly uncomfortable.  The books themselves are in no clear order, strewn about almost haphazardly, and not a single staff member in sight...which is definitely odd considering Tsuna has it on good authority that this is a store that ‘sells’ the literary equivalent of diamonds.  There should at least be a guard, surely?

His intuition peeks out from underneath it’s metaphysical table just long enough to nudge him in the direction of a back room, but the closer he gets, the more awkward the building feels.  He tests his intuition by doing an 180 and walking towards the door, and is utterly baffled by the feeling of ‘yes! Yes! Do that!’ that follows.

“Is it just me?” Yamamoto begins as he inspects a half empty bookshelf near a window, hand rubbing the back of his neck where hair is standing on end.  “Or does this place feel really unpleasant?”

“It is extremely uncomfortable” Ryohei agrees, leaning next to the door, and that has Tsuna standing up a little straighter.  It’s one thing for his intuition to be upset, another thing entirely for Ryohei to pick up on it.

Gokudera seems to realise this as well, because he’s paused in his manic search for books to glance around the building.

“It’s as if the building itself is telling us to go away,” he concludes, and his face lights up.

“Maybe it’s a ghost?  A real, live UMA here in London.  This shop is old, it’s entirely possible.  Dammit, I should have brought some equipment!”

Yamamoto is grinning at the bomber, and Tsuna sags.  Any desire to leave has quickly vanished in the wake of ‘supernatural-oddities-are-afoot-Hayato.’

His attention is only drawn away from his storm when he hears the rather dismayed gasp that comes from the other side of the room.

‘Customers, oh dear.’

Tsuna swings round to take in the very well dressed man who looks very disappointed to see them.  

‘Ah, hello,’ Tsuna begins, frantically trying to remember his English lessons. ‘We, um, looking for, ah-’

“I speak Japanese” Mr Fell interrupts.  “But you really should leave now.  I don’t have any stock you would be interested in.”

Gokudera immediately moves forward, gesturing to the dozen books now in his hands.

‘I need all of these!’ he says in English with a grin.  ‘Name your price. I can’t believe they were all just sitting in the open.’

This just makes Mr Fell go from disappointed to horrified, and Tsuna winces.  Gokudera’s forgotten the point of this whole trip – the books must be truly incredible for his right hand to be this obsessed.  Which doesn’t bode well for anyone.

“These books aren’t for children,” Mr Fell replies.  “Please put them back where you found them.”

Gokudera’s smile vanishes.

“Are you kidding? There’s a genuine ‘Anatomy of a Chupacubra’ and ‘Fantasy of a Star’s Soliloquy’ in here.  You know how long I’ve been looking for copies of those?”

“There are extremely rare,” Mr Fell agrees.  “Which is all the more reason to put them back before you damage them.  Please, some of those volumes are fragile.”

He moves to take the books forcibly from Gokudera’s hands, and the teen moves back. Before Tsuna can even consider interjecting, Yamamoto is already slipping between the two with a smile.

“Won’t you reconsider?” he asks.  “This is a book shop, we’re book buyers. Everything can work out, don’t you think?”

Yamamoto’s easy going grin can and has eased the ire of more than one Mafioso over the years, but Mr Fell however is not included in that number.  He’s looking even more upset at being kept from his stock.

“This is doing nothing to convince me you can have ownership of such valuable items,” he says.  “Do you even know what they cost?”

“We have money,” Ryohei offers, and Mr Fell scoffs.

“Money does not buy respect or protection,” Mr Fell replies, and glares when Gokudera snorts in laughter.  

Tsuna isn’t even certain how he does it.  His intuition twinges, and he thinks he hears a finger snap, but quicker than the eye can follow, the man has plucked almost every book from the bomber’s hands, vanishing them under the counter.  Gokudera only stops gaping in shock when the man returns to grab the last few books in his hands, clutching them tightly to his chest.

“Fuck you!  I’m not leaving without them!” he swears.  Mr Fell just purses his lips.

“Yes you are.  Put them on that table this instant, or I will be forced to do something I’d rather not.”

Tsuna’s intuition spikes.  The man isn’t bluffing, and Tsuna doesn’t have the information to know exactly what he’s promising.

“Gokudera, drop them” Tsuna pleads, and while Gokudera looks at him in dismay, something in Tsuna’s face makes him capitulate.  Tsuna is far more relieved than he should be when the bomber submits, placing the books on a nearby table with almost tender care.  A hand brushes the top volume with a move one would almost call tender had it not been from Gokudera, while Yamamoto tugs at his other arm.

“I’ll be back for you,” he whispers, only to turn and scowl at Mr. Fell as he’s guided to the door.  The book owner seems quite delighted that everything went so smoothly, but Tsuna hesitates as he reaches the door.

“I can’t leave London without a book,” he tells Mr. Fell.  The man gives him a tight smile.

“Then I hope you enjoy London,” he says.  “You’ll be here for some time.”

The man moves forward and ushers Tsuna out the door.  He stumbles as he trips on the top step, only saved from falling down the lot by Ryohei, and turns to see Mr Fell lock the door and swing the sign from Open to Closed.

“What an asshole,” Gokudera growls.

“Now I get why everyone got extremely worried when we came here,” Ryohei agrees. “He’s an extremely challenging opponent.”

Tsuna nods as he pulls away from the boxer, gingerly walking down the steps.

“Lets go to the hotel,” he says.  “I think we might need to call some people.”

His friends grin as they head down the street, shoulders loosening when the realise Tsuna isn’t all that upset about getting kicked out.  To be honest, he’d have been more surprised if they hadn’t been.  It’s not like he’d expected to succeed on the first try.  

But maybe it’s time to get some more data to work with.

[silasmadams]

My Problem with a “Darker Shade of Magic” by V.E. Schwab

So I’ve been meaning to talk about V. E. Schwab’s A Darker Shade of Magic. I know it’s got plenty of love behind it and its got its fair share of fans but I can’t for the life of me love this book and yes I mean only the first book because that’s as far as I read in the series. I have a similar relationship to this as I do Children of Blood by Tomi Adeyemi in that I completely understand why people like it, I just don’t. 

I’m also going to give a trigger warning that I will be talking about sexual assault, violence, and general gore so if that makes you uncomfortable give this a skip. I’ll give a trigger warning again when I’m about to speak in-depth on the previously mentioned subjects. I will also warn you when I’m about to head into spoiler territory, though I won’t be going into particularly big spoilers.

Summary

For those of you that don’t know, A darker shade of Magic is the first book in the Darker Shade of Magic trilogy by V. E. Schwab. It’s about three separate Londons, Red, White, and Grey. Red is the London with lots of magic, it’s the pretty and bougie London. White is a cesspit of violence with very little magic forcing its inhabitants to cling onto any magic they can for dear life. Their leaders are cruel and it's not uncommon for them to be usurped. Generally to get ahead in White London you need to be vile. And Grey London is our world's London roughly around the 1800s, since King George III is alive but very old and dying. So the conflict is about Black London, the fourth London that was cut off from the others because their magic consumed the people and the land. Kell an antari, a super magical person, is able to travel through the three londons and he ends up getting caught up in some big conspiracies and power grabs. Interesting premise right? I agree but the execution ehhh. Ok, let’s start first with the pros of the book.

Style

Her style isn’t anything too extravagant. But that doesn’t mean that it’s bad. It’s nowhere near bad. She’s got quite a few descriptions that really draw you in. Her opening lines are damn near perfect. “Kell wore a very peculiar coat, It had neither one side, which would be conventional, nor two which would be unexpected, but several, which was, of course, impossible” [pg 11]. It doesn’t reveal much but it sort of tosses this thread out there for you to follow into the larger narrative. It’s got almost a rhyming quality to it, a rhythm that you can feel yourself saying as you recite the lines aloud. It gives you just enough to keep you invested but not enough to reveal anything of importance. All of the writing in this book has a similar draw to it, it’s simple and intricate all at once and it’s very precise in what it’s trying to say. When Schwab describes something in the narrative, you can imagine it very clearly. Just listen to how she describes the marketplace. "The subtle scent of flowers was lot beneath the aroma of cooking meat and freshly cut fruit, heavy spices and mulled wine. A man in dark robes offered candied plums beside a woman selling scrying stones. A vendor poured steaming tea into short glass goblets across from another vibrant stall displaying masks and a third offering tiny vials of water drawn from the Isle, the contents still glowing faintly with its light..." [pg 45 and 46]. Overall Schwab knows her craft and it’s clear that she’s confident in her writing because she should be, she’s got the technical and stylistic aspect down to a tee.

Setting

The setting is amazing, but and there is a big but which includes minor spoilers so run away now if you want to read this book. I will say that it’s a good book, it’s just not a good book to me. If you’re into other world fantasies and cross-dimensional travel you’ll probably like this. I’m into that too but the problem is that this book has a lot of missed potential for me. So if the previously mentioned description sounds interesting or if the summary I gave sounds interesting to you, leave, go read the book and come back. If it doesn’t sound interesting or you don’t care about spoilers then I guess stick around if you want.

So the premise is amazing. These three different Londons that all exist in different dimensions that only a select few, two people to be exact, can travel to are vastly different from one another. Their landscapes, their people, their overall geography, it’s all completely different, the only overlapping aspects that they all have are their names and the two travelers that can move about their kingdoms, those two being Kell, one of our main characters and Holland, one of our main antagonists.

I think Red London is overall well done, Schwab captures it perfectly. A land of flowers and joy with obvious problems and tensions but out of the three London’s is clearly portrayed as the best. So I’ve got no qualms with that.

What I found upsetting though was White London and Grey London. For White London, it was this hellscape of a city that had so much room to be this horrible torturous place and Schwab touches on it, she grazes the surface of it ever so slightly but she never manages to hit the mark completely. When you tell me White London is a grimy and gross place filled with power-hungry bastards and bitches what’s to stop me from going “well isn’t that just normal London aka Grey London but with magic?” I needed more of White London, I needed more of that seedy underbelly to better contrast with Grey London. With Grey London, we see the horrors of the land through the character of Lila Bard who has a difficult life, who needs to survive on her own in this terrible place, no offense London. I think the best way to have fixed this was to have more focus on Holland, the character that was from White London. If we were to have three POVs from Holland, Kell, and Lila, instead of just Lila and Kell, this problem could be solved. It would convolute the story because of the twist about Holland and his involvement in trying to help the twin rulers of White London take over Red London but I feel like that’s an ok thing to lose in order to gain a better understanding of White London and have a more fleshed out narrative of all three kingdoms.

Characters

I hate these characters. Ok, that’s kind of a strong word, I don’t hate them. I don’t hate all of them at least. And I know plenty of people love and adore these characters, I’ve seen the artwork and the time and effort people put into these characters and it’s all amazing but I just do not get the hype. I didn’t like them.

See, my thing is that I hate characters that don’t reach, what I see as their true potential. Which is just a roundabout way of saying that I hate characters that are boring. I mean I can enjoy a badly written character as much as the next person but the thing is that a boring character is not enjoyable for anyone, especially when you see threads of a character and know that they can be something more. Now I haven’t read either of the other two books so maybe the characters are different there, I don’t know. All I know is that I either found the characters to be boring, cliche, or just annoying.

The first character to make this most egregious mistake on the part of being boring, would be none other than Kell. So Kell is the adopted Prince, the older brother of Rhy. He was taken away from his family at a young age and brought up in the palace because he was an Antari, which again is a super magical person that can travel through the different Londons and is an expert in various other types of magic, natural or otherwise. So Kell loves his brother and he has issues with his adoptive parents because he feels that they see him only as a tool. Now, this is good, this has potential. The problem here is that we never see moments of the King and Queen treating Kell badly and they don’t even need to necessarily treat him badly they just need to drop hints of how they clearly favor Rhy. And I didn’t see those hints. As far as I could tell, both boys were treated relatively equal, Kell had a lot more work on his plate but that was because he’s an Antari, he’s the only Antari. To really drive home that feeling of isolation and of Rhy being his only real family among the royals there needs to be more memories of their childhood where the King and Queen picked Rhy over Kell and it was because of them seeing Rhy as their real son and Kell as more of a soldier. There is also the issue of Lila just dismissing these feelings that Kell has about his family not loving him but we’ll get to that in a bit. All that aside, Kell just isn’t interesting. You could replace him with a cardboard cutout and I wouldn’t know the difference. He’s just not an engaging character, he’s got the threads of an engaging character but he himself is not one. Whenever I was back to his POV I didn’t know whether to groan out of boredom or to just be glad we weren’t in Lila’s head. I decided to go with the former because Lila is fun to hate, Kell is bread, he’s not even toast, he’s bread, soggy bread. Ok, that’s enough.

Now Lila, Oh Lila. How I despise thee. I get what Schwab was going for with this character. She was the badass cross-dressing thief lady that could cut you down. Lila is an orphan that had to fend for herself after her father basically tried to sell her off. She’s got a good introduction and it bleeds into some good first few chapters. Now warning I’m about to talk about sexual assault and just general violence so skip to the next paragraph if you don't want to read that. In one of the earlier chapters, Lila comes home, her home being a docked ship that she stays at. The ship is owned by an older man who she basically pays rent to. When she gets back, the guy, Powell, asks for his cut. He’s drunk out of his mind which is also not unusual for this character. When she says she doesn’t have anything to give him today, he responds by saying he can take something else from her, clearly implying sexual favors. So she straight up fucking murders Powell "Dead. Dead... and making a mess... She crouched, wiped her blade on Powell's shirt, and recovered the silver from his pocket. And then she stepped over his body, retrieved the revolver from its drawer, and got dressed" [pg 69]. And then to cover her tracks, she sets his boat on fire and dips. "Lila stood on the dock and watched the Sea King burn. She stared up at it, face warmed by the fire that danced on her chin and cheeks the way the lamp light had before the constable.'It's a shame,’ she thought. She'd rather liked the rotting ship. But it wasn't hers. No, hers would be much better" [pg 70]. Come on, tell me that’s not a great anti-hero introduction? Because it is.

That being said, the more time I, as a reader spent with Lila, the more I realized I hate her. I mean at least I felt something towards her, unlike Kell. So the first problem with Lila is that she is the epitome of “I’m not like other girls” Every chance she gets to put down anything girly or to put down other women she takes. Or, she just jumps at the chance of being called not like other girls. Which Kell often obliges in. And, this would be ok if it was criticized within the story, if it was properly examined why she feels this way, because there could be a lot of reasons, one of which could be that she realized behaving in a more aggressive or traditionally masculine way allowed her to have autonomy and allowed people to not talk down to her but to be afraid of her. There are a lot of ways in which this could go but it didn’t. And there’s nothing wrong with liking more traditionally masculine things, the problem is the way in which Lila clearly needs to put other women down in order to feel special about herself. I also mentioned earlier about my issue with how Lila undermines Kell’s feelings of his adoptive parents never really loving him and seeing him only as a tool. Again, this could have been played up a little more and Kell could have properly called her out instead of just being the meek bread he is and letting her essentially tell him that his emotional struggle doesn’t matter cause he’s rich. I get where Lila is coming from in this scenario and I do like that she treats him like that in terms of his emotions because it’s very telling of her own upbringing. The problem is that she very clearly makes it about herself and her problems. This could have worked better if she simply dismissed his feelings, got angry at him for basically swimming in cash, and then stopped there. We should have gotten an insight into her thoughts of why she feels this way or have it implied why she feels this way, rather than have her outright say it, because in this case, when she voices that and shifts everything back to herself it feels very purposeful and mean on her end rather than it just being her natural reaction. Instead of going “oh my life was terrible and way worse than yours” it would work better if she just called him a brat, told him to shut up, and then moved about her own business. That could also add a more interesting dynamic to these characters by having Kell be the emotional one and Lila be the one who Kell has to urge out of her shell by being the emotional support. It would be a role reversal of the traditional way most romances go, and again, I think Schwab was trying to do that, but the execution of it fell flat. My final gripe with this character is that she isn’t feral enough, and if Schwab had just made her more feral, this character would fit in perfectly. What I mean by feral is, exactly that honestly. She was too put together, too suave and cool and always knew what to say. If you’re gonna tell me this street urchin type orphan in 1800s London is cool and suave I’m gonna call bullshit cause no way this girl isn’t straight up feral and ready to bite someone’s nose off at the drop of a hat because that’s what she’s gotta do to survive. I just wish Schwab had gone down this route instead of the Lila we got, but oh well. It is what it is.

I’m only briefly going to talk about Rhy, Kell’s younger brother, because there isn’t too much I have to say about him and I feel like this is already long enough as is. Rhy is basically a cut and dry trope of the rich prince boy with a heart of gold. I love that archetype so I like Rhy, but to an extent. He seems to be only that trope and that’s it. There isn’t much more to him. Though he’s not as boring as Kell or as annoying as Lila so that’s a plus. I haven’t even talked about the twins that rule White London or Holland but again this is already too long, don’t need to make it longer and they also involve a lot of major spoilers that I don't want to get into.

Pacing

I know earlier that I said Schwab’s style of writing was very well done, that she clearly had a kind of rhythm for the writing itself, and I stand by that statement but the pacing is not good. It’s all over the place, it’s either too slow or too fast or just nonexistent. I’m going to use romance as an example of how the pacing is bad and I think you can tell that with a lot of books. If they have romance in them, which if we’re being real, they probably do, then the way in which the romance plays out can often be a good indicator of pace. The relationship is wonky so the pacing is wonky. To be honest, the relationship was something I didn’t buy. It went by too fast and when Lila kissed him it felt very robotic like they were just getting together because they were the breeding pair. They had no chemistry whatsoever even as friends. As friends, they were at least somewhat more tolerable, but like romantic partners, I just didn’t see it. The stilted romance was awkward and dumb and again, there was no chemistry, they were just shoved together because they were the only guy and girl and both had a POV.  I don’t know the overall pacing was slow, and I don’t mind slow build-up books. One of my favorites, Strange the Dreamer by Laini Taylor is a very slow build-up book but it’s well done, it doesn’t drag. This book drags and the romance in it drags. When the pace picks up it’s like going a thousand miles an hour. When shit hit the fan in the book, I get that it was supposed to be fast-paced and tense but I was never tense while reading it I just kind of wanted the whole book to end so I didn’t have to keep slogging through it. I guess I just hoped that the ending would tie it all together and fix the pacing which is stupid on my part because that’s not at all what happened.

Conclusion

Well, that’s all I gotta say about it, I gave it three stars on GoodReads.

Buy the book here:

https://www.amazon.com/Darker-Shade-Magic-Novel-Shades-ebook/dp/B00ME0TBFE

Buy it Used here:

https://www.abebooks.com/Darker-Shade-Magic-Schwab-Victoria-Titan/30413099967/bd?cm_mmc=ggl-_-US_Shopp_Trade-_-used-_-naa&gclid=Cj0KCQiA4NTxBRDxARIsAHyp6gDRNRjl8x-ktniE3IUmecyE1lDYlPxglxoLpBAYEt7C3ivyt9PPabkaAmTGEALw_wcB

or here 

https://www.thriftbooks.com/w/a-darker-shade-of-magic_victoria-schwab/9043358/item/16041243/?mkwid=MUQmUYQc%7cdc&pcrid=70112856192&product=16041243&plc=&pgrid=18035380632&ptaid=aud-305373123344%3apla-459905910383&utm_source=google_shopping&utm_content=MUQmUYQc%7cdc%7cpcrid%7c70112856192%7cpkw%7c%7cpmt%7c%7cproduct%7c16041243%7cslid%7c%7cpgrid%7c18035380632%7cptaid%7caud-305373123344%3apla-459905910383%7c&gclid=Cj0KCQiA4NTxBRDxARIsAHyp6gDXbz2350Y8Tse02z5fKP_TgnPIH1DXhILOWkgk260VeZzQwUCgXbEaAsH5EALw_wcB#isbn=0765376466&idiq=16041243

Or just get it at your local library.

[luckyspike]

Adventures in America, Ch. 10 - Haunted Doll Watch

In which Adam and Lucky have an unexpected encounter with the supernatural, and two more immortal idiots enter the playing field in spite of the ref’s strict no-interference declaration

Start with chapter 1 here (not on AO3 yet!)

Refresh on chapter 9 

or check out my fanfic tag for all your fanfic needs

-

As with most such places, the first several haunted locations Adam and Lucky wandered through the next day, after rolling out of bed at the crack of eleven, were not actually haunted. Adam had a knack for picking up on that kind of thing, in spite of never having seen a ghost, and although he stepped into every place with an open mind and a hopeful heart, for the most part he only found dust and tourist traps. By the fourth stop on the walking tour, he was starting to despair, although Lucky was convinced they’d already encountered about five ghosts, and was trying to explain to Adam why a creaky door on mis-matched hinges meant the old house they’d just left was definitely haunted.

He knew, based on his similar experiences around England, that most places that were purportedly haunted actually weren’t, but still, he’d been hoping America would be different. A part of him - a part of him that was still a kid playing with the Them in Hogback wood - thought maybe after all those gangsters and cowboys had died in this country, a few of them had stuck around. 

Still, Lucky was having a good time, and in spite of the disappointing lack of ghosts, Adam was having a good time tagging along behind. Some of the places had free wifi too - after days out in the Great Plains, where cell service was sparse, much less wifi, this was a welcome development that he was taking full advantage of to message his family and friends. Brian had been shocked to hear there wasn’t a tornado in America every day, and once they hit the free wifi at the next haunted house, Adam read through ten more messages with increasingly-dramatic expressions of disbelief. He read them aloud, too, to Lucky and the two of them laughed, before sending the other boy a picture of the awkward-looking wax sculpture in the entryway of a home that declared itself “Actually haunted!”

“Put money on it?” Lucky offered, picking a tri-fold brochure up off of the desk in the entryway. “I bet it’s actually haunted.”

“I’ll give you two dollars if it is,” Adam wagered. “And if not, I get two dollars.”

“Deal.” Lucky looked thoughtful. “How will we know if it’s haunted?”

Adam raised his eyebrows and asked, mildly, “How have we known with any of the other places?”

“... You have a point.” He thought further. “Maybe something more indisputable? Not just creaks but like, an EVP or an apparition or … ?”

“You have something to record EVPs?”

Lucky shrugged and brandished his phone. “Just this. Could be worth a shot.”

Around them, the old house creaked as tourists moved through it, and outside there was the sound of traffic and pedestrians and general city life. The boys exchanged a look. “Could be tough,” Adam said, unnecessarily.

“I still wanna try it.”

“Okay.” 

The house was a late-1800s Victorian-inspired monstrosity; a rabbits’ warren of small rooms and narrow hallways strung together in such a way that you really could only see bits and pieces of the house at a time, with the exception of whatever room you happened to be standing in. The furniture, too, was authentic to the period. Aziraphale, Adam thought as he looked around, probably would have loved it. He pulled out his phone and snapped a few pictures, making a mental note that once he’s on wifi, he should send them to Crowley for Aziraphale to look at. 

Maybe he could even video call them later, he thought, tapping the back of a chintz wingback chair, before the hideous pattern called to him, and he took a close-up photo of that as well. 

“Looking for orbs?” Lucky asked, as he wandered by, looking around the room like he wasn’t sure what to examine first. Which, Adam figured, he probably wasn’t. “Good idea.”

“Oh, yeah. Totally.” And then, to confirm the story, he looked to the phone’s screen and flipped back through the photos he’d just taken. Chintz furniture, glass-front cabinets, and out-of-style curtains, nothing more. No orbs, no shadow people, no ghosts. He told Lucky so, and the other boy sighed.

“Let’s try another room. It’ll be quieter in the basement, maybe we can even get some EVPs down there.”

“Lead the way.”

The did not have better luck in the basement, although had either Adam or Lucky been Foley artists they would probably have been fairly well-pleased with the ‘footsteps crunching in old basement’ recording they managed to get while waiting for some kind of ghostly reply. His enthusiasm waning, Lucky led the way back upstairs, all the way upstairs, to the top floor. Adam poked around in the bedrooms while Lucky explored the maid’s quarters in the attic, theoretically trying to get some EVPs up there while Adam photographed the rooms below for orbs. Neither had much luck, and, discouraged, they re-united in one of the child’s bedrooms.

“I think it’s a bust,” Lucky sighed, obviously disappointed. “Maybe it’s that it’s daylight, you think? Not that we’ll be able to be in any of these places at night, but I wonder if we’d have better luck then, like, when the spirits are more active, maybe?”

“Maybe,” Adam said, sympathetically. “Probably, yeah?” The bed was old, and the quilt covering it looked fairly ancient as well, visible as it was beneath a mass of dolls that looked like they’d been plucked from the nearest antique store with the primary intention of being as unsettling as possible. He picked up his phone to photograph it. “Maybe one of the next few houses? We could stop for lunch, then hit a couple more -”

Lucky made a noise that might have been agreement, and turned to leave. And then both boys froze, because one of the dolls spoke in a tight, squeaky voice. “Antichrist!”

Lucky was the first to recover, mostly because Adam had gone very, very still and very, very pale. He was still and pale even while Lucky shouldered past him, the better to get closer to the bed, and lean in to the dolls. “You heard that, right? You heard it talk?”

“Oh, yeah.” Adam swallowed. “Yep, for sure.” He took a step backwards.

“It said ‘antichrist’ I think.” He looked over the assembled dolls. “Is that right? Which one of you said that?”

When the dolls answered, it was in unison, a heavy buzz coursing through them and coalescing into a word. “Us.”

“Okay, I’m out.” Adam stumbled backwards, his shoulders bumping into the doorframe. He made to spin, to duck out of the room, but the door swung shut in his face and he yelped, scrambling backwards into Lucky, who had frozen in front of the bed, eyes wide, fixed on the dolls. Several of them - not all, which made it more horrifying, somehow - were now hovering a foot or so above the bed.

“Antichrist,” they repeated, in the same awful sound that made Adam’s eardrums tremble. “Antichrist. Beware, Antichrist.” Lucky was backing up, shoving Adam with him, until Adam felt the old door at his back. Not taking his eyes off the dolls, he started to fumble for the knob, even as they continued to speak. “Beware the Duke. Beware the Warrior.”

“I can’t find the doorknob,” Adam whispered to Lucky, frantically. “I can’t find it, I can’t look to -”

“You hear us, kid? Beware!”

Several things happened at once. The dolls, as one, throbbed with a single pulse of hot, orange light, and the room, for a brief second, stank of sulfur and, interestingly, Adam thought distantly, given as he was to unique insider knowledge about the infernal and divine, warm printer paper. A warm breeze blew through the room as well, ruffling the boys’ hair. Instinctively, they both closed their eyes, Lucky with a whimper, until the breeze died down. And then everything grew very still and quiet and Adam, fully expecting to see a demon or an angel, cracked his eyes open a fraction of a millimeter.

The dolls were sitting neatly on the bed as though they had never been disturbed. Sunlight shone through the window, and, if possible, the room looked just a little cleaner, less dusty than it had before. 

The door opened at his back.

They didn’t talk as they left the house. Adam just grabbed Lucky’s shirt by the collar and pulled him back, out of the room, until they were in a wider part of the house. Adam looped his arm around the taller boy’s shoulder then, and they walked outside into the daylight, pale and quiet and walking in lock-step.

The old house was near to a little green space, not a park exactly, but just a handful of square feet that was tended and allowed to grow grass and two anemic-looking trees. Optimistically, someone had once set a bench between them. It was vacant now, and Adam and Lucky sat on it, Lucky slouched back, loose-limbed and vacant, while Adam curled forward, elbows on his knees and hands folded in his lap. He stared at the grass, focused.

They didn’t really keep track of time. Some cars drove by, people walked past, and the shadows grew a little longer, though not much. Eventually, Adam sat back, and Lucky sat up straighter and then, with a quiet rustle just audible over the hustle of the city around them, two dollar bills emerged from Adam’s pocket, and found their way into Lucky’s line of sight.

Lucky looked slowly from the bills, to Adam, and, delicately, raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

It felt good to laugh. It wasn’t really a ‘ha-ha-funny’ kind of laugh, more like a laugh that comes when you’ve escaped death, when you’ve skirted around a pit and come sliding onto solid ground on the other side. A laugh that’s just to the up-side of crying, there when the dam breaks and there’s not enough restraint in the world to hold back the bubbling of relief and joy and residual horror. They laughed, and Lucky snatched the dollar bills and tucked them away into his jeans pocket. 

“That was,” Lucky said slowly, after they were done laughing and had settled down to breathe together, “super fucked-up.”

“Yep,” Adam agreed, sitting back against the bench and scrubbing his face with his hands. “Yeah, it was.”

“What was all that about the Antichrist?” Lucky frowned, staring into some empty middle-distance. “Antichrist, the Duke, the Warrior …” He waved a hand. “Like, beware the Antichrist is a pretty solid piece of advice, but it was more like, like …” He made a face and cocked his head. “Like the ghost was warning the Antichrist to beware, instead of the other way around. Beware of the Duke, and the Warrior.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“No,” Adam lied. He shifted on the bench, uncomfortable and quiet. “No, it wouldn’t. Antichrist is supposed to be the biggest bad guy around, right?”

“Yeah. So why would he need a warning?” He put his head to the side again, another thought occurring to him. “And also, why would they warn us?”

Adam forced a laugh. “Beats me.” He looked at his phone - extended network, no wifi. He wondered how soon they could get somewhere with wifi so he could call someone, Crowley, yeah, and Aziraphale, he needed to call them in the worst way, but he didn’t have service, couldn’t talk to them about all this in front of Lucky right now -

“Maybe it’s referencing tarot,” Lucky murmured. “Are there warrior and duke cards in tarot? The Antichrist would be The Devil …”

“Don’t think there’s a duke or a warrior,” Adam said, knowing full well that this was the case. He’d never really been interested in tarot, but Anathema was adept at it, and he’d hung around her enough to pick up on the basics. “Nothing really makes sense in tarot for those.”

“Guess not.” He stood, and stretched, and then hunched back down, hands in his pockets. “Think I’ve had my fill of haunted houses for today, what about you?”

Adam raised his eyebrows and looked up to Lucky. “If you were looking for proof ghosts exist, I think you found it, huh? Don’t really need to go wading around looking for more.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I got … well, more than I wanted, honestly.” He sighed, and whatever slouch he could still muster up came out. “I could go for some barbecue. You?”

“Yeah.” He stood up, following Lucky through the city - they very definitely skirted the haunted house, staying clear on the other side of the block - toward a place that Google assured them was a very well-reviewed barbecue spot. “You don’t think it’ll follow us, do you?” Adam asked. It had been bothering him, and he found himself glancing around, looking for a warrior, or a duke, or an angel or a demon. He frowned, and his fingers brushed the edges of his phone in his pocket. 

“It probably can’t.” Lucky forced a little wry laugh. “I mean, okay, not like I’m an expert on ghosts or anything, but if a ghost has been in the same place for like, a hundred years, it probably can’t leave.” He rubbed his eye. “Man, I have a headache. Did that all really happen? I didn’t … maybe I was just hungry.”

“Oh, no, no, it really happened. Definitely happened.”

“And then it said ‘kid’, right? What was that about?” He spread his hands. “All that ‘beware’ and cryptic stuff like you expect from ghosts, like in the movies, right, and then ‘you hear us, kid’. Like, what was that about? Weirdly personal.”

“Very weird,” Adam agreed. Indeed, though the entire brief event had been terrifying, and all the stuff at the beginning that did sound like it came straight out of a movie chilled him, the most frightening part had been at the end. Because the voice had sounded … weirdly familiar, under the warping of the dolls and the buzz of whatever energy the thing had been drawing on to speak. He couldn’t place it, but he’d heard it before, or at least he thought he had, but then again at its core it was just a man’s voice, with an American accent, and certainly that wasn’t that rare.

“You know,” Lucky said, as they turned a corner and the strong scent of barbecue hit them both square in the face. Adam, lost in his thoughts though he was, started salivating. “You know it’s super weird, my nanny -”

“The Satanist?”

“Yeah, her. She used to call me ‘the little Antichrist’. Plus other weird stuff, Hellspawn, little demon, you know. Pet names but like, from a Satanist.You think it knew?” 

Adam blinked. “Um, weird.”

“And she’d go on about like, me rising up and commanding the legions of Hell or whatever, but I figured she was just being motivational? In a weird way.” He snorted. “Listen, I know I make her sound crazy when I talk about her, and she was kind of crazy - okay, yeah, really crazy - but like she was actually really nice? But either way, for the ghost to -”

“What’d she look like?” Adam jogged around to face Lucky and stopped, blue eyes fixed on the other boy’s dark brown ones. “Sorry, I know, weird question, but what’d she look like? I swear this is relevant.”

Lucky looked confused. “Uh, I … how’s this relevant?” Adam didn’t answer, and he shrugged. “Uh, I dunno. Tall, always wore black, always wore sunglasses, Scottish -”

“Red hair?”

“Yeah. How’d you know that?” 

Adam looked down, tapped a few things on his phone, and then turned the screen to the other boy. Lucky’s mouth dropped open. “Familiar?”

“I didn’t …” He looked at the picture, which showed Adam maybe a few years younger, smiling, holding the camera for the photo at arm’s length, and a woman with dark hair and round glasses holding up three tickets to a movie or something, and, most importantly, a man all in black, with red hair and dark glasses, who looked like he was trying very hard to be serious, failing miserably, and also flashing a sign of the horns behind Adam’s head. “I never knew Nanny had a brother,” Lucky concluded, finally, taking the phone and studying the photo.

“Don’t think she does. Here.” He pulled the phone back, flipped through a few more photos, and then displayed another one for Lucky. “How about that guy? Is he familiar? Like the gardener, maybe?”

This one showed a gathering on a beach, although it was definitely British because beach or no, everyone had jackets on. There were other kids in this one, trying gamely to start a fire by the looks of it, and there was the woman with the round glasses again, sitting in the sand and leaned up comfortably against a dark-haired man, also in glasses. And there, toward the edge of the picture, was the man that could have been Nanny’s twin brother, still all in black and wearing sunglasses, a thermos in one hand and his other linked with another man, white-blond and all in shades of dun. Lucky angled for a better look - Adam was clearly indicating the blonde man with Nanny’s brother - and then frowned and shook his head back and forth. “Nah, Brother Frances was way older. Same hair color, though.” He shook his head. “So weird, he could be Nanny’s twin.”

“I think he is Nanny, Lucky.” Adam grabbed the phone back one more time, flipped through a few more photos, and settled on one. “Did your Nanny drive a big, black, really old car?”

He looked perturbed. “I … don’t remember? I was little, but Nanny …” He looked at the picture that Adam held up then, of an old, black car, the blonde man leaning over the hood and pointing toward a map, scowling at the other one - Nanny, Nanny’s twin brother, whatever - gesturing in clear frustration toward something outside of the shot. 

But it was the car. The car growled in the back of Lucky’s memory, deep in the recesses of his hippocampus, and suddenly he was six years old and sitting on the wide bench seat, Nanny driving while Queen - she always listened to Queen, how did he forget that? - was blasting through speakers that Lucky never really saw. She always let him have a pain au chocolate in the morning when she would take him with her into London, “for being so infernally well-behaved and gluing those coins down so securely”, and every time when they drove home she would tell him, “Now, mind the crumbs, little devil, or no biscuits in bed tonight.” And sometimes, on occasion, she would smile, and tap him on the nose, never taking her eyes off the road. 

It was the car. 

“Oh, my God.” He looked up to Adam. “Who - how do you know her - him? Who are they?”

“He’s my godfather. Sort of.” Adam sighed, and looked from Lucky, into the street, his expression absolutely wretched. “I think we ought to talk about some stuff. I’ll buy the barbecue.”

-

The boys, slowly, stepped into the barbecue restaurant. Across the street, perched on the low stone wall fronting a bank building, two figures watched them. One was dressed all in gray, a light linen suit in deference to the heat, his hands tucked into his coat pockets. The other was in black head-to-toe, save for a sheer red scarf draped around their shoulders and a red knit beanie. The black-clad figure was eating an ice cream cone.

“Do you think,” the gray-clad figure asked, after the door swung closed behind the boys, “we did the right thing?”

“Self-reflection, from you?” the shorter one drawled. Their tongue - black as tar - licked at the ice cream cone. Had a casual observer paused to take notice, they would have noted that the little black sprinkles all over the cone were not actually sprinkles and were, in fact, flies. A few flew off. “Heat’s getting to you, Gabe.”

Gabriel frowned, and stuck his feet out, making a show of studying his shoes. “Raziel did say we weren’t to interfere. But then Sandalphon said he talked to Metatron -”

“Ugh, spare me.” The short one rolled their eyes. “Falling wasn’t enough, you have to keep talking about Sandalphon? My torture will last for eternity.”

“He said,” Gabriel went on, “that, you know, the Great Plan just had a little hiccup, we need to go forward, and Metatron talks to God, and Sandalphon is his twin, so …”

“You never considered that Sandalphon might have lied? The great smiter? He really loves smiting.”

Gabriel scoffed. “Of course I did, Beelz, why did you think I called you? But Raziel said no interference, and if anyone’s still in touch with Her, it’s him. So maybe we really shouldn’t have.”

Beelzebub licked the ice cream again, chasing a melting rivulet down the outside of the cone. “We’re barely interfering. All we did was make some dolls spooky and tell the kiddo to watch his back. End of story.”

“I don’t know.” He sighed. “It’s definitely something, though. What’s to say -”

“For an archangel you sure do doubt a lot,” Beelzebub pointed out. “Watch you don’t trip. It’s quite a fall.”

Gabriel scowled at zir. “I don’t doubt Her,” he snapped, defensive. “But, you know, the Great Plan all turned out to be what? A joke? Or just the end of the first installment? She’s playing a game, Crowley was right, but I want to do my part, help out, do the right thing, but -”

Beelzebub smirked up at him, mocking. “What a good little angel you are.” Ze licked the ice cream again, and smiled serenely as the flies scattered. “For my money, Crowley and Aziraphale had it right all along: the whole thing’s fucking ineffable, and we can just sing along as we go.” Ze sighed, slouched back on a braced arm, and studied the remains of the cone, covered as it was in flies. “Either way, fuck it, right? Whatever keeps me from having to organize everybody again. Ugh.” Ze licked zir ice cream. “What a nightmare.”

“Hm.” A thought occurred to him. “You sing?”

“Not literally, no. Don’t be stupid. Demons don’t sing. Might as well ask you if you dance.”

“You dance?”

“Not with you.”

“Hm.” Gabriel studied his shoes again, and leaned back as well, his elbows propped on the wall as he scowled at his feet. “I don’t like these shoes.”

“Get a new pair, then.” Beelzebub considered the shoes, and then, delicately, smushed zir ice cream cone onto Gabriel’s left toe. “Now you have to.”

Gabriel flicked the cone off, irritated but not angry. “You didn’t have to do that, now my sock’s going to be sticky.”

“Make it miraculously not sticky.”

“I’ll know it was sticky. It’s sticky on a spiritual level.”

“Life is suffering, Gabe.” Ze sighed, a deep, soulful sigh that seemed to bubble up from the pits of Hell, carrying with it all the boredom, despair, and frustration of middle-management. “Speaking of, I should get back to work. When the boss is away …”

“The ducks will play,” Gabriel finished, solemnly. Beelzebub stared at him for a minute. 

“That’s not how that phrase goes. Not at all.”

“I could never get the hang of mortal phrases.” He heaved a sigh, a more ethereal match to Beelzebub’s, warm and worried and, yes, filled with the frustration of middle-management. “You think we should do a little more? We’ve already done this much -”

Beelzebub raised an eyebrow. “In for a penny, eh?” Ze hopped off the wall, and brushed zir jacket sleeves off. “I’m against it.”

“Why?”

The look the Prince of Hell gave Gabriel could have best been described as ‘withering’, although that would not have done it justice. Considering Beelzebub’s astonishing power, crammed as it was into a five-foot-nothing human corporation, there had to be somewhere for the excess energy to vent out. Gabriel had often figured that the vent of choice was condescending facial expressions. “It’s one thing to skirt the rules of whatever Her plan is,” Beelzebub said slowly, as if speaking to a particularly stupid child, “but it’s quite another to go directly against it. Trust me. I speak from experience.” Ze waved a hand. “We did our part, gave the kid a heads-up, now we’re out. No interference.”

Gabriel made a face. “Aziraphale and Crowley did it and they’re … not … whatever they are.”

“They went against the Great Plan, which clearly was different than the Ineffable Plan. Did you talk to Raziel about Armageddon beforehand?”

“Not really. Didn’t think there was a need to, since it was written,” he intoned, a little bitterly. “Wonder what he’d actually had written for all that.”

“You’ll probably never know.” Beelzebub took a step away from Gabriel. “Keep me posted.”

“Will do.”

“Have fun with your sock.”

“I won’t,” he replied, annoyed. He’d been trying not to think about it. “Damn you.”

Beelzebub shot him a very small, nearly imperceptible, smile over zir shoulder. “Already checked off the list, Gabe. See you Sunday. Bring your notes.”

“Yeah, alright.” He watched the Prince go, and then glared at his sock, until it realized the error in its ways and stopped, on the physical level, being sticky. 

It still felt sticky anyway.

---

Now with Chapter 11!

[taz-writes]

Introduction to Nymia/Colorverse

I mentioned making a post about that other secondary storyverse the other day, right? Well, here it is! (Fair warning, this is less of an active WIP than a concept I like to play with—I probably won’t create any finished product for this world for a WHILE. It’s more of a creative sandbox than a proper novel-in-the-making.)

TLDR; magical girls/boys in a fantastical 1800s steampunk-adjacent setting work together (with varying levels of success) to right the wrongs of the world they live in. Although they were all trained together for a few years in their early teens, it’s been a while since they’ve reunited, and they’ll have to contend with challenging geography, a generations-long war, and their own clashing ideologies before they’ll be able to start figuring out what the problem is. The whole thing’s 90% driven by my love of dramatic irony and secret identities.

Genre-wise, this is another fantasy, but it has a very different flavor from Feilan. It’s also a bit more mature in general, straddling the YA/NA line because of the ages of the protagonists. The timeline flipflops and some scenes are set during the squad’s Academy days as young teenagers, but the real plot happens when they’re in their early 20s. I wouldn’t say this is darker--Feilan gets super fucked up in places--but it’s probably going to feel a little less optimistic, and there are more shades of grey. 

The Colors

Regardless of where in Nymia one hails from, everyone knows of the colors. You may know them as gods, or archetypes, or spirits, or ancestors, but their influence is ever-present and ever-powerful regardless.

The colors are manifestations of human symbolism and belief. They began as formless congregations of a natural energy that flows throughout the planet, and as early humans developed civilization and encountered them, they began to take on the traits of certain colors in the spectrum of light. They are influenced by humanity, and influence humanity in turn—more like primal forces of nature than thinking, feeling beings. Despite this, though, they have clear wills of their own and personalities. They’re sort of... human-adjacent, but ultimately something greater. Human mages are able to draw on the powers of the colors and cast magic based on their color of choice!

The precise meanings and powers of the colors vary by the culture and social class of the believer, but they are worshipped across Nymia, and plenty of patterns pop up. Unfortunately, most of Nymia doesn’t get along—of the four realms consisting the continent, two have been at war for generations, and the remaining two are somewhat isolated from both the warring countries and each other.

Each generation, the colors choose humans to wield their powers and enact their will to encourage peace and balance throughout the realms. These humans are called the Paladins. They’re not very well-known, though, because the last few generations of paladins were not strong enough to make a significant difference or achieve much of anything. This generation, those paladins are our protagonists! Which brings me to...

The Characters

This storyverse is WAY more character-driven than my other WIP, which is why I keep dodging around it and hiding from a plot, but the characters are the best thing I’ve got going here. I won’t beat around the bush, just introduce them.

Talxin Zatruc is the Paladin of Red! He’s really short, he barely hits 5’3”, but there’s a lot of intensity packed into that petite form. Red is the color of plague, poison, decay, and death. As such, they tend to be vilified in most places, and redmages aren’t winning any popularity contests. To Talxin, though, red means something else. He was raised dirt-poor in the country by parents trapped in Elcrin’s broken legal system, and to them, red is the color of justice. All things are equal in death, after all. His red magic isn’t limited to just killing people. He’s not a very trusting person, and he tends to stammer a lot and bow out of conflict, but there’s a core of steel under his surface. He’ll cross any line if it means achieving a better world. He’s like, my way of protesting about how badass Anakin Skywalker could’ve been if the Star Wars writers gave a shit.

Syzyga Lazuli is not in fact associated with the color blue! She’s the Paladin of Orange, who represents exploration, navigation, innovation, and human ingenuity. In her native country of Kelrie, she’s in constant demand fixing trade ships and assisting mapmakers, but her true passion lies elsewhere. Syz is an avid inventor, constantly creating new ways to make the world a better and more exciting place. Remember Master Builders from the LEGO movie? That’s basically what Syz’s orange magic does, it’s pretty cool. One of her trickiest creations is the wired mechanical “exoskeleton” she wears on her arms (cooler name pending), which compensates for an extreme hypermobility disorder she’s dealt with since childhood. Her ultimate dream is to create a functional flying machine—something that many orangemages have attempted, but none have succeeded in so far. She likes pointy things, stargazing, and using said hypermobile hands to occasionally one-up Nyrene’s attempts to freak people out.

Soenya Arrenya is the Paladin of Yellow. The emoticon :} is an accurate summary of her personality. Yellow is associated with weather and natural disasters as a trickster archetype, but they are also a patron of underdogs and comedians. They’re one of those archetypes whose interpretations vary wildly by location. Soenya hails from a remote town in the northern Sapiran tundra, the kind of place where ice tornadoes are things that exist, and her notion of practicality is... we’ll just say, it’s a bit different from the city-dwellers’. She doesn’t have much concept of property damage (or property). She’s really flirtatious and will hit on just about anyone, which embarrasses her colleagues sometimes, to the point where most of the other paladins figure she’s just doing it to mess with them. She and Nyrene do NOT get along.

Darrus Colere is the Paladin of DICK MAGIC Green, and I did NOT draw him buff enough in this picture. He needs to be like twice as buff and twice as Big. He’s almost 6’4” and deserves to be built like an Olympic deadlifter. Green is associated with healing, plant life, fertility, and sexuality. They’re one of the only two colors ever given a gender, as in Sapir Green also represents masculinity. Darrus is valid to fuck. Unfortunately he’s also easily flustered and a little bit dense, he tends to get strange ideas in his head and it takes a LOT of pushing to redirect him. He’s got inertia. Darrus cares more about plants than most people, he will run after you crying if you step on “his” grass. He and Talxin shared a room at the Academy as baby 13-year-olds and they’d fight constantly because Talxin kept accidentally killing Darrus’s houseplants with poorly-controlled red magic. Also, he’s genuinely terrified of Talxin, which in terms of sheer physicality is hilarious. At his core, he’s a very caring person! He expresses affection by lecturing people on your behalf. It’s kind of sweet. He’s from Kelrie like Syz, but the other side of the country.

Anlied Atidae is the elusive Paladin of Blue. Raised in the upper echelons of Sapiran society, she’s still grappling with the extremely repressed behavior she was raised to exhibit, but even behind her veil of mystery she’s a strange and deeply thoughtful individual. Blue is the archetype of thought, philosophy, emotion, and the human mind. In Sapir, Blue represents femininity. Although private, Anlied is very sincere in her desire to help others. Her life of privilege and nobility tends to blind her to the reality she lives in, though, and even as an adult she is very naive. She’s all about the conceptual thought exercise of fixing the world but stalls short in horror when presented with an actual problem. Despite using magic that specializes in emotion and the mind, she has very little awareness and understanding of her own emotional experience. Rationality is prized above all else in Sapiran society, particularly in the noble circles Anlied grew up in, and it is considered taboo to express any kind of emotion outside of a Blue temple. As emotions are sacred to Blue, they should be shown to Blue alone. Some Sapiran royals will even veil their faces in blue fabric as the ultimate expression of non-expression. This culture.... this culture seriously messed with Anlied’s head.

Nyrene Enkeli is the Paladin of Purple and the team’s most infamous wildcard. She’s tall, skinny, pointy, and an avatar of mayhem—literally. Purple is, among other things, the archetype of chaos. They also represent cycles, wisdom, and the passage of time. Nyrene really likes knocking people off-guard, and can produce an impressive variety of disturbing noises. She also swallows swords, spits fire, and juggles like a fiend. She’s the sole representative among the paladins of Nemmonay—an elusive free state off the coast of Kelrie that shelters pirates, outlaws, and a dozen other criminal elements holding each other together in a perilous state of organized anarchy. Nyrene is the embodiment of that trope where a character has to remove all their weapons, and holds up the line for 20 minutes picking tiny knives out of their hair and bootsoles. Upon first glance, she seems like she’s totally off her rocker. She says weird stuff that doesn’t make sense, and does weird stuff for shock value alone, and generally moves like a cat that’s seen a ghost in the corner. What she really is, though, is a bona fide genius. Nyrene’s purple magic allows her to travel through time to a certain extent, and she’s often balancing two or more perfect loops at once, with some really bizarre caveats added to make sure the streams don’t cross. She has a lot of ulterior motives. She considers Syzyga her best friend, because Syzyga is the only person who hasn’t panicked at the sight of spontaneous sword-swallowing. She really doesn’t get along well with Soenya.

Pariya Spinel is the current Paladin of Pink, though she wasn’t the first in this generation. The OG pink paladin turned out to be such an unspeakably awful person that Pink themself appeared to strip her of her status. Pariya joined the group late and didn’t have much time to get to know the others, which she’s rather self-conscious about, but pretty much everyone likes her. She doesn’t have too much to worry about. Pink is a tricky archetype to pin down. They’re associated with creation, they’re the pantheon leader, and they have symbolic ties to space and the heavens. In practice, this means Pariya has the power to create things like energy constructs or even just simple objects. It’s a difficult and tiring power to use but has the potential to be super broken. Pariya isn’t very good with her magic, and she’s extremely anxious and self-conscious about it, to the point where her nerves may be preventing her from doing much of anything at all. She’ll get there, one day...

So, yeah! That’s the squad! Not pictured is Rovato, whom I’ve mentioned briefly on this blog before—he’s the main antagonist in this universe. He’s a paladin of Silver. Silver used to be part of the pantheon, once upon a time, but they’ve been forgotten over the last few generations for an assortment of reasons. Most of those reasons have to do with Rovato. As purple represents chaos, silver represents order, and the exertion of will upon the whims of the natural world. Silver once had different aspects in the same way the other colors do, and in Sapir they actually represented change and manipulation—this is the aspect Rovato exploits. He’s used some loopholes in the magic system to make himself into a near-immortal shapeshifter and he wants power and stuff. I’m still working out the plot, so this could change, but that’s what I have right now. 

The general backstory is that the Paladins were gathered together by the elusive headmaster of the Academy, a school on an unclaimed island meant specifically to train each generation’s set of paladins and prepare them to bring peace to the world. While at the Academy, they were not allowed to share their real names or anything about their origins, so that they couldn’t judge each other for their differences and stuff. The paladins are spread across the continent to represent all four realms and every end of the class spectrum and the whole point of the team is to encourage unity. Can’t have them being racist at each other! Unfortunately, the status quo of the war between Sapir and Elcrin shifted dramatically during their third year at school, and they were sent back home before being allowed to learn each other’s names and origins and all that stuff. Now, approximately five or six years after the Academy disbanded, something is happening that can only be resolved by the paladins themselves. So now they have to get the team back together, and seek each other out across national borders and geographic obstacles and LOTS of weird culture clash. I’m still working on figuring out what’s happening. Like I said, the plot’s a work in progress.

And that’s that! I don’t know how much I’ll talk about these guys here, since the colorverse story has been on my back burner for a LOOOOONG time, and I still want to get through Feilan in the next century. But I wanted to introduce them, so I could talk about them without confusing literally everyone. They’re my second-oldest set of OCs after the fairies and I care about them quite a lot. 

[tinydumpsterfire]

Alastor hated stupid idiotic people. People who dragged him to parties when he just wanted to stay home and read a book. People who were going to be stabbed in their sleep. To say that Alastor was not a party person would be a huge understatement. The twenty-year-old liked parties that didn't have loud music and had wine. But, according to the miscreants that had dragged him out of his apartment those weren't real parties.

So, here Alastor stood in the corner of a house he didn't recognize trying to ignore the aggressive flirting of drunk college girls. The music had to be some techno rendition of a pop song. And while Alastor knew that on some level it must be good, as almost everyone dancing knew the words, he thought it was trash.

Alastor was more a connoisseur of older music. Anything from the early 1800's to the rowdy 50's was a great hit in his books. Though Alastor was also a huge fan of Broadway hits.

His mama was a great influence on his music taste as well as other things. She raised a fine gentleman and anyone who took a look at Alastor would agree. A tall striking figure, strong scar covered muscles bulging out of his buttoned up shirt. Most swooned.

Though by now the carmel skinned man was glaring at anyone who even breathed in his direction.

"Hey loser you still sulking?"

Husker, or just Husk, was a short athletic man with a major drinking problem. Having meet in in their college library while Alastor was studying and Husker had been past out drunk leaning on a bookshelf.

Not that Alastor cared at all about this "problem". Husk was different than any of the other nobody's that Alastor interacted with all day and honestly was a fresh new start.

Instantly he was enamored with the aerodynamics major. And the two had been friends ever sense.

"I'm not sulking. I'm just quietly waiting until Charlie has stopped paying attention to me enough to make a break for it... I have a stream tomorrow"

Husk laughed at his friends antics. Of course he's more interested in his twitch stream than interacting with real people.

"Your really something huh? Yeah, I hear you this party sucks ass anyways."

With that they stood in a comfortable silence. Husk taking an occasional sip from his cup.

"My mom sent me a new batch of brownies she mad..."

Both man looked at each other.

"You know what fuck this shit! I want brownies! Is it the double chocolate or the macadamia nut ones?"

Husk's ramblings caused Alastor to laugh. His friends stomach was always a great scapegoat to get out of social situations. Especially when Husk new his mom dropped off cookies every other day, and wasn't low on them in any capacity.

After a couple of brownies and two horror movies later Husk retreated into his room. Being roommates was definitely something of a new development.

Husk had absolutely refused. But when push came to shove living with Alastor was better then having to move back in with his father. Which was a whole story in itself.

Alastor, after cleaning up the living room, also retreated into his bedroom. Which while being where he slept had also become his place of work after University.

Alastor a medical degree and had even started interning at a mortuary when he learned he loved to entertain. After one post graduation crisis, Alastor learned about Twitch.

And in the beginning the streams were just modest little things that he did for fun. But what Alastor did not expect was the amount of people who enjoyed the chats about serial killers and corpses he had worked on in the past. Soon he had gained a cult following!

Today Alastor wanted to play Friday the 13th with his online friends. As everyone loved seeing how manic the man could get when taunting his friends, hunting them as Jason Vorgehes.

"Hello! Fellow listeners!"

The chat sped fast all full of subscribers who waited 10 whole minutes for Alastor to pop on screen.

Alastors stream had a nicy cozy vibes. Brown and gold trim on the borders with cute little demon deers who would pop up every so often to display donations and new subs.

Alastors room had a soft red glow from the LEDs on the walls. Upon the desk was all of Alastors work gear, and a fan favorite, which included an old radio style microphone. Behind the dest last a black gamer chair with dear headband sitting on top. Curtesy of a fan.

"Ah, Thank you Bluntzøø69 for the 10 month sub! It's been a while since you've watched old friend. I hope the husband and teens are doing well!"

After reading and thanking the other donators, Alastor set up the game and joined the discord call with all his friends.

"ALASTOR!! Hi! Say hi to Alastor chat!"

"Hello to you to Charlie"

Charlie was an old friend. Both going to the same private school from elementary to high school. Charlie because her parents could afford it, and Alastor because he was on a scholarship.

While not having much in common the two became friends from being outcast. Being a bubbly nerdy girl and a darker skinned mixed boy definitely had made them an oddity in the sea of preppy white girls and boys.

By middle school Alastor had finally been diagnosed with Autism. And Charlie had been the only one to stand up for him when the bulling had gotten worse. So all in all Charlie was one if those good ones, though extremely annoying.

"I'm here too nerds, don't go sweet talking my girl Al."

Vaggie was definitely another reluctant friend. On both partys ends, but the punk girl was Charlie girlfriend. And honestly Vaggie and Alastor having similar interests had made it easier.

"I would never my dear, you know no being on earth could take his cold dead heart" Both girls laughed at Alastor's antics.

"Well today I have wonderful news! I get to torture you and our fellow streamers in Friday the 13th!"

"Why don't we playing not scary this time?" While horror games didn't scare Charlie, she would rather play something else.

Alastor readjusted his headphones. While it would be a big deal to change the game for this stream it caused the man a-lot of stress. He had already picked and planned the game, he had played a spooky playlist to get chat ready.

Alastor knew that it really wasn't a big deal. But his brain just wouldn't allow the change.

"How about you ladies play what you would like? I could just join a random lobby for today?"

"Oh Alastor! I'm so sorry it's okay we can play." Charlie had panicked realizing the internal struggle she said accidentally caused her friend.

"Oh don't worry, all is well. I must go out of my comfort zone at some point."

with hesitant goodbyes in his leaving Alastor exited the discord call. Asking chat if a random party game would be of interest. Although the streamer was reluctant if chat though it was a good idea he had to atleast try.

[ecsundance]

A very Long (yet very awesome) Week of Sundance

Organisers of Sundance say in Tryon’s discussion that “If a filmmaker wants to create his or her own idiosyncratic vision, it’s often not worth looking around for a big budget, waiting for others to say it’s okay to make it.  You have to stand up and make the film yourself…” (pg.164) and Kevin MacDonald in Tryon’s discussion talks about how basically all you need to make a movie is a laptop and a video camera, and how amazing it is that we live in a time which we can do this (pg.156)

This is similar to the idea that you can complain about not having enough time or experience to do something, but if you get over yourself and do it either you fail and learn, or you succeed and gain confidence.  If you have a great idea then nothing should hold you back from making it a reality.  Movies with billions of dollars behind them have fallen flat.  So it stands to reason that a movie made on weekends with only a couple bucks could be amazing.

According to Chuck Tryon’s discussion of “Reinvented Festivals” (pg. 160), because there are a lot more independent bloggers/critics now due to newspapers not hiring many, there is a consistent stream of new reviews being released even minutes after a film finishes premiering.  

Taking part in this class and festival and constantly thinking about what I thought about a film plays into this as I (along with my classmates) were some of the first to review some of these films.  It’s such a fun experience to think and talk about film as everyone will have various ways of perceiving and connecting to each film.

Favourite Film From the Festival

It feels hard to choose a favourite because there were so many incredible films which affected me in different ways like Coda, How it Ends, Flee, and honestly most of the films I saw in this year's festival . However, I fell in love with The World to Come when it wasn’t even a movie I initially planned on seeing.

The world to come felt like a poem. It made my heart ache deeply, marinating in feelings of melancholic love, and unexpected loss. Maybe it hit me especially hard because I lost one of the most amazing people I’ve ever had in my life along with family and pets (since they are family too) since the start of Covid: I have regrets and things I never got to say.  Maybe it’s because I’m fiercely fighting with my own identities right now.  Either way, it was hard to watch.  Parts of it still haunt me and still leave me breathless on the brink of tears.  It struck a chord in me which I have a hard time fully putting to words.  I didn’t originally even want to watch this film, it somehow ended up on my list of on demand films, and my mom convinced me to watch it (and I’m so glad she did).

It is a story which about two women which takes place in the 1800s, together in their loneliness who fall for each other behind their husbands’ backs.  They secretly rendezvous in the forest and tucked away corners of their homes when their husband’s are working.  It is beautiful in story and dialogue; it doesn’t get stale.  It feels modern somehow, though it is set in the 19th century, and I’m still processing it all to figure out why exactly.

Least Favorite Film from the Festival...

Eight for Silver by Sean Ellis wasn’t the worst movie I’ve ever seen, but it was certainly not the best;  I would not actively choose to watch this again.  It had interesting concepts such as only natural lighting being used throughout the film and those turned into the werewolf emerging, negatively changed, from the dead animal.  The movie would have gotten 4 stars rather than 3 from me simply by not having a CGI werewolf (unless it was so brilliantly terrifying and amazing it had to be shown) and by keeping the original plot of the Roma’s spells/curses (fueled from the massacre which the targeted village caused).  The scarecrow and buried teeth, and the strange dreams which followed were such a great piece, but they just fell away more and more.  The addition of the religious text (which mentions 30 pieces of silver is unnecessary, and just recycles old vampire movies/myth ) took this film from a great timepiece and cheapened it in combination with the subpar CGI creature, while also making it feel far too Hollywood in a bad way.  Again, some of the ideas, like the person within the wolf were great, but they could have kept it that way and not shown the monster otherwise.  

A list of All Feature Films I Saw:

During the 2021 Sundance film festival I have seen and rated the following:

Coda ***** Sian Heder

The story of a teenage hearing girl who wants to be a singer living with her otherwise deaf family who run a fishing boat.

Cryptozoo **** Dash Shaw

A woman’s attempt to protect mythical creatures in a world where everyone wants to harm them or use them as weapons.

Misha and the wolves ***** Sam Hobkinson

A chilling documentary about holocaust tale with a twist.

Users **** Natalia Amada

A mother’s view of the world, global warming, technology, her children and the relationship between all of this. 

Prisoners of Ghostland **** Sion Sono

Samurai meets the gunslinger Western World in this colourful action-horror (featuring Nicholas Cage). 

Censor **** Prano Bailey-Bond

The story of a woman whose sister disappeared as a child and how her job as a horror film censor helps her uncover the truth.

How it ends ***** Daryl Wein, Zoe Lister-Jones

A walk through the last day on Earth with a woman and her younger self as they make peace with their lives, relationships with others, and their own inner selves.

Strawberry Mansion ***** Dan Deacon

A dreamy/nightmarish surreal tale of a dream tax collector as he falls in love with the younger version of his client.

Cusp ***** Isabel Bethencourt, Parker Hill

A documentary on the lives of teen girls in Texas which delves into rape culture, poverty, and what it’s like to be a young woman.  

Eight for Silver *** Sean Ellis

Werewolf lore set in the 19th century. 

John and the Hole **** Pascual Sisto

A young teenage boy puts his family in a hole in the woods as he tries to deal with the stressors of being a kid and what adulthood holds, entwined with fable. 

R#J ***** Carey Williams 

A modern retelling of Shakespear’s Romeo and Juliet through the age of social media, with a twist or two.

Coming Home in the Dark ***** James Ashcroft

A horror story of  a family who are abducted by two strangers who they later learn they share a deeper, darker history with. 

We’re All Going to The World’s Fair **** Jane Schoenbrun

A showing of loneliness and desperation through an online roleplaying game and it’s after effects.

First Date **** Manuel Crosby, Darren Knapp

A story of a first date gone VERY wrong.

The World to Come ***** Mona Fastvold

A 19th century story of the growing connection between two farmhouse wives.

Violation ***** Madeleine Sims-Fewer, Dusty Mancinelli

A film about a woman’s trauma and how she… Deals with it.

Marvelous and the Black Hole ***** Kate Tsang

A story about how a young teen girl gets through the loss of her mother through forming a connection with a local magician.

The Blazing World ***** Carlson Young 

A traumatised young woman tries to bring her sister back from “the other side” but must really fight her own inner demons.

Mayday ***** Karen Cinorre

A story of a young woman overcoming trauma and fighting back against the man in a dreamlike state.

Night of the Kings **** Philippe Lacote 

A new storyteller is anointed in a prison run by its inmates and he must keep telling these stories until the moon sets to stay alive. (It helps to understand the specific culture more with this one, otherwise it sort of goes over your head.)

Life in a Day 2021 ***** Kavin Macdonald

A grounding compilation of scenes from across the world on the same day, July 25th, with scenes one after the other which either connect or contrasted in an impactful way.

Flee ***** Jonas Poher Rasmussen

A biography told through animation of a young gay immigrant. 

Short Films

Bj’s Mobile Gift Shop- Jason Park

A story of a young guy in Chicago who makes money to support himself and his grandparents by running a mobile gift shop out of a large suitcase.

Flex - Josefin Malmen, David Strindberg

A visual telling of a bodybuilder rubber-banding between insecurity and self obsession through surreal imagery and dialogue. 

The Affected- Rikke Gregersen

A retelling of a college student preventing the deportation of a man back to Afghanistan through the interactions of the bystanders.  

You Wouldn’t Understand- Trish Harnetiaux

A time-warp involving a picnic, a strange character looking for “horsey sauce” and a grocery store clerk armed with a food scanner.

Animations

Ghost Dogs- Joe Cappa 

A family's new dog is “haunted” by the family’s many deceased dogs in squishy colourful 90s/early 2000s style animated short. 

GNT- Sara Hirner, Rosemary Vasquez-Brown 

A woman obsessed with social media tries to make yeast infections popular.

Trepanation- Nick Flaherty

A showing of depression through a disturbing hole ridden entity emerging from a hole and taking the place of the house's owner. 

Little Miss Fate- Joder Von Rotz

A cleaning bird interrupts the fate of a couple going out on a date, leading to disastrous consequences.

Indie Series

I had really wanted to see Seeds of Deceit by Miriam Guttman and Would you Rather by Lise Akoka, (I tried viewing 4 Feet High by María Belén Poncio and Rosario Perazolo Masjoan but there was an issue which Sundance staff never got back to me about, sadly) but I ran out of time.  

However, I did see These Days by Adam Brookes which takes place in New York City during Covid, showing a young woman living alone and how she survives living alone and being unable to work as a dancer.  

New Frontier Experiences

Sadly, I kept thinking I’d have endless time.  I did not engage in the New Frontier experience except for in class on one occasion.  I think it was a great idea and fantastic opportunity and I regret not planning my time better for this specifically.

Talks or Events 

Ignite x Adobe featured shorts films from artists aged 18 to 25 and was very inspiring since I’m in the age range of these artists. 

A few I especially enjoyed were Vigincita, Personals, and Joychild (Although I honestly enjoyed the whole compilation).

Virgincita - A sexual coming of age/ look at mother daughter relationship mixed with religion.

Personals - A sexual encounter between two insecure individuals who find comfort with one another by the end.

Joychild - A documentary piece showing a child discovering and opening up about their gender identity. 

Q&As

I attended a few Q&As, but my favourite I believe was CODA’s.

They spoke about how they worked around language barriers and learned sign language before and throughout production.  Everyone just seemed at ease and like they had a great time in production of the film.

- - -

Overall, I’m quite pleased with how this festival went virtually.  It was a truly amazing experience which I am so glad I was able to take part in.  It was as Immersive an experience as I think could be created virtually and seemed to go relatively smoothly for the most part for having it be the first time this has happened.  

I’m also extremely grateful for the inclusivity which allowed for those who may not be able to travel as easily due to disability, financial reasons, or anything else.  I don’t know if I’d have been able to go otherwise.  

This experience was more amazing than I even hoped it would be.  I feel so inspired that I plan to find out how to submit to Sundance so that I can possibly try to get a short film idea I have done for the short film/18-25 year old category.  I feel like I can actually do this now and I have so many new ideas. 

Thank you!

Tryon, Chuck,

On-Demand Culture: Digital Delivery and the Future of Movies

,  Rutgers University Press, Copyright © 2013.

Mae McCloskey

[kalosstarters]

Hmmm. EdWin, Pearlshipping? :D

OK my answers became so long that I’m gonna save people’s eyes and post pearlshipping separately. EdWin here! (I think you can see from my answers that I was a tiny bit excited to answer this)

This post is 1800+ words long so do whatever you want with that knowledge (I put a lot of thought into my answers and spend like 3-4 hours on this so I’d be happy to know that someone read it)

Who gets excited about Halloween in July:

(We know Ed and Winry do not live in a world with such holidays butlet’s pretend they do in these answers!) Hmm. I drew a conclusion that Ed isprobably someone who doesn’t really appreciate the holidays, no matter what theyare (particularly Christmas and Valentine’s day are totally overhyped in hisopinion) so he would /not/ jump of joy from the thought that they would becelebrating Halloween several months early. Also, having to see all thosepeople he dislikes secretly likes even more? No thanks. But since he can’t getout of that situation, he will try to make the best of it and dress up as Royto annoy him. Winry is a bit more excited, but since she’s a practical person, she’d worry about baking all the goodies and finding an amazing costume etc. so shemight find it a bit stressful. (@fairy-amy said she thinks Ed might enjoy the holidaysonce he has kids and I have to agree with that, he’s happy when his family ishappy :’) So he’d certainly be ready to organize Halloween in July if his kidsso insisted. The poor boy didn’t get to experience these holidays as a kid, his children have to have it better.)

Who starts wearing sweaters and scarves on the first day of September and completely overheats:

Ed is already wearing a /leather jacket/ and a warm looking coat on it soI hope for his sake he won’t wear any more clothes than that, Amestris doesn’tseem like a particularly cold place (minus Briggs perhaps). As for my answer,Ed might honestly be the one who’d go over the top with the clothes.

Who thrives in Fall/Who prefers Summer and warm weather:

OK this is hard. I haven’t really “locked” my headcanons about this topicbut I do think Ed would hate the hottest summer or the coldest winter (becauseof his automail), which would leave spring and fall for him. Thinking about hisdesign and his personality would make me lean more towards the fall, but it’salso a fact that it often rains a lot during falls (which is not enjoyable inhis situation) and he did canonically burn his house in October, so. Maybe hisfavorite time of the year would be the late spring when it’s not too hot yetetc. (He would be relieved when the summer changes to fall though so in thatsense he’s more of a fall person). As for Winry, it’s harder to say but I’mgonna lean towards summer.

Who thinks the other looks so cute when they’re cold and trying to fight it with 50 sweaters:

Winrythinks Ed is cute when he’s trying to fight the coldness with 50 sweaters (orleather jackets). He’s so extra, I swear.

Who offers the other their jacket:

Ed would (after saying something snarky to make sure that he doesn’t comeoff as /too/ sweet. It would be more natural for him after he finally acceptshis feelings) :’)

Who doesn’t want to get out of bed in the morning because it’s too cold and has to run from the warm covers to the shower:

Honestly iirc wehave no canon proof of either of them being particularly sensitive to thecoldness (if you don’t count Ed’s automail) but I feel my answers so far have made itsound like Ed is the more sensitive one so let me answer him.

Who touches the other with their freezing cold feet at night:

Now /this/was the question I was looking forward to answering and there’s 0 doubt aboutthis in my mind: Ed. The dude has a steel leg, which must be cold. as. f.Although, it might happen just once: Ed, that loser, thinks it’s a good idea to tease Winrya little bit (bc come on getting into each other’s nerves is their fave pasttime) but when she feels the cold leg/foot touching her skin, she is very fastto find the closest wrench and you betcha after that Ed doesn’t want to do itagain.

Who makes the hot cider to snuggle under a blanket and drink:

I mean,while Ed (secretly or not so secretly) /enjoys/ snuggling under a blanket withWinry, he would not be the one to suggest such a thing (“too mushy,” he says) soWinry would be the one to make the first move. Her granny has made some niceapple cider that reminds Ed of Winry’s apple pie and he quite enjoys it aswell.

Who loves carving pumpkins and buys about 300:

(also look at the answer below) Ed is so extra that when Winry says she’dlike some pumpkins for Halloween, he’d get /a lot/ of them. However, carvingthem is a very different story. If he had his alchemy, he would just transmutethem to look as edgy as possible, but because he doesn’t have it anymore, hemanages to carve a couple of pumpkins (just eyes and mouth, not well shaped atall) and loses his patience. Winry asks: “why did you get so many then? I’dhave been fine with just a few” and Ed mumbles something incoherent in response(Winry figures out it’s something like “Well… I just wanted to make you happy”)

Who is terrible at carving pumpkins:  

Circles are the only things Ed is good at drawing, and carving requires abit of artistic eye/hands as well so it’s safe to say that after he loses hisalchemy, no one could figure out what he’s trying to do with his pumpkins. Whenhe /can/ still use alchemy, they would naturally be the edgiest pumpkins you’veever seen. (Winry is actually pretty good at the carving, in her work shenaturally has to do a precise job with her hands and she also has to drawthe automail blueprints all the time so she’d be at home with the pumpkins)

Who thinks pulling the pumpkin guts out with their hands is icky:

Probably neither because these guys are in contact with blood and othereven ickier stuff on regular basis. (Ed literally boiled his bloody, dirty shoe and made it edible)

What is their favourite Fall activity:

After Al hasgotten his body back, they all like to rake the leaves in one big pile and thenwatch as Al (who just really loves to feel and see and smell everything in thefall) plays in that pile with Den and throws the colorful leaves all around.His happiness is what makes them so happy. Later on, they love to watch their own kidsdo that same thing :*) (Also, that drinking a hot drink under a blanket soundslike something they love to do, but again, it might be hard to make Ed admitthat)

Who gets scared when they watch Horror movies:

Neither, their lives have been almost like horror movies so fictional horrordoesn’t feel anywhere. However, the fact that their lives had been like that might also affect them in the way that they prefer watching other genres (evenEd).

Who hands out candy to trick-or-treaters:

Winry, gotta make sure that Ed doesn’t scare the kids with his costumes(when Ed does something, he does it 150%. Even when it comes to Halloweencostumes). Though, Ed might make a plan so /he/ can hand out that candy, forexample claim that his automail needs instant fixing and detach it so Winry cango to her workshop to take a closer look… Only to notice that the leg issurprisingly fine. Meanwhile, there are a couple of very scared little girls bytheir door, looking at the one legged… Jigglypuff (THIS WAS AMY’S IDEA BLAMEHER) who is trying to give them their sweets and secretly laughing a bit in his costume.

Who accidentally scares the kids:

^Ed. I probably don’t have to add much here after my previous answer. Edgoes full on with his costumes.

Who suggested the couples costume:

When they go out together on Halloween for the first time, it is Winry(because Ed is a bit slow at warming up to this kind of things) BUT soon Ednotices that he (secretly?) enjoys matching with Winry, and their outfits also stoppeople from hitting on her because she so clearly came with Ed, and that’s mostcertainly a plus in Ed’s eyes :’)

What is their couples costume:

OK I just can’t get over It’s Not a Big Deal (i.e. the best fanfic ever) and Ed and Winry’s matchingHan Solo and Princess Leia outfits (even though they weren’t technically eventogether back then iirc. And wahh the snapchat pics in that chapter were socute. As was the “prank” Ed&co planned. OK now I started fangirling over afanfic instead of answering. But seriously. So good) so I want to stick withthat. It’s totally adorable. And I feel Leia and Han Solo’s personalities kindaremind me of Ed and Winry so that’s why it’s great as well.

What is the best Halloween they ever had:

I feel that these two would like it simple (despite Edgoing a bit over the top with the costume and the pumpkins) and they’d be themost content simply hanging out at home with those whom they care about the most(Al, Mei, their kids for example). Seeing the smiles on their kids’ faces is bothEd and Winry’s favorite thing in the world.

(The nextpart is again Amy’s idea, thanks for helping me!) One of those times when theyare spending Halloween just with their family, Al and Mei go out to look at thestars for a bit (Al still likes the stars even after all those years of staringat them at nights) and when they come back, Mei has a ring on her ring fingerand everyone is so happy they are finally getting married. Later that evening,Winry throws up without any clear explanation (she hasn’t drunk or eatenanything suspicious) and she then remembers she hasn’t had her period in a goodwhile.. Winry doesn’t tell about it to Al and Mei (it was their day, afterall), but when she is alone with Ed, she tells him and Ed will always rememberit as his favorite Halloween ever :’)

What is the worst Halloween they ever had:

I couldtake this to a fun road or an angsty road. The fun road is that one time, Winryconvinces Ed to drink milk, claiming that the drink she’s holding is just coloredto look “as scary as possible” (because milk /is/ scary, says Ed) but actuallytastes very good. At first Ed thinks nothing of it, but when he realizes hereally drank milk, he mopes for the rest of the day and that isn’t particularlyfun for any of them (or maybe it is. Who knows. But for Ed it’s the WorstHalloween Ever.)

The angstyroad is that one time a trick-or-treater, a little girl with two braids, isdressed as a dog-like chimera, and that wakes really bad memories in Ed. He hasto withdraw into their bedroom after that and Winry soon follows, soothing Eduntil he finally calms down.

Who eats too much candy and ends up sick the next day:

Ahahah most likely Ed. He likes eating but does. not. know his limits!(He’s also that person who might sneak some goodies from the bag where they arekeeping candies for the trick-and-treaters)

adsfg I love those nerds so much. Thank you Aleira, you know what I like 8)