#Doomed to an existence serving as a living power source?

[fourfuckinghorsemen]

Interesting.

[bracketsoffear]

Propaganda for Antigone: her story is deeply embroiled in the metaphorical aspects of the Buried. Literally from birth she is trapped by destiny and societal stigmas declaring her existence wrong and shameful. She leaves home out of obligation to her father and lives in poverty with him (Buried as financial pressure). She is then denied the chance to see his grave, which she very much wants to do (and this no doubt plays into later choices). After the war, she is once again bound by familial loyalty, as well as the crushing weight of religious creed--she MUST bury her brother, even though this will doom her, or he will never be at peace. Consequently, she is sentenced to be buried alive in a tomb; when Ismene tries to share in her fate, she indicates that she CHOSE those under the ground (the dead) and her soul is "already dead," and denies Ismene the chance to die by her sister's side. This could be construed both as Antigone formally declaring allegiance to an otherworldy power associated with burial by pronouncing herself as someone whose human self has died in favor of serving a higher force, and in the process passing the Buried onto Ismene by leaving her to bear the guilt/shame/grief alone. When she is entombed alive, she hangs herself--choking is a very Buried way to die, and this particular method of suicide is representative of the burden of her familial trauma (as it is how her mother killed herself). As a result of her suicide, her fiance/cousin (yeah I know) and aunt both kill themselves out of grief, once again passing on the Buried--not just to the dead relatives, but also to Creon and Ismene, who are left with the emotional weight of her actions and the task of burying the ones they love and dealing with a probable war caused by Creon's refusal to bury the dead soldiers. In short, while mostly dealing with the metaphorical aspects of the Buried, Antigone's story is that of a troubled young woman crushed by intractable forces at every turn from the moment of birth (like a pseudo-Agnes) who turns to the Buried as a source of comfort and power and drags everyone around her down with her by inflicting the Buried on them as she discards humanity for another life--if this was a TMA episode, she'd be showing up later as an Avatar for sure. If Joy Wang could win the Vast bracket on the metaphorical Vast, then I think Antigone stands a fair chance on these merits.

.

[valorxdrive]

Magic Power/Heart Power

Distinctions and central vein.

Within the KH Mythos, there are two different gauges where one can draw upon strength from my gained understanding. For this Headcanon I’d love to go into a breakdown of how Sora finds himself intimately involved with both aspects. It will pertain to the power of the Heart, the central core of all life within the KH series, and an importantly pivotal subsection known as mana.

Let’s begin with Mana itself!

Mana within KH is an energy source that is derived from the Heart. It doesn’t directly tap into the primordial forces of light and darkness like Heart, rather, it serves as the intermediary energy for all beings in order to create Magic of countless various forms. The sublime and searing heat of fire, to the subzero intensity of Blizzard, to the golden lances of crackling Thunder as per some examples. While the spells can be overlaid with Light or Darkness in order to increase a pole of potency like Dark Firaga, and to a point, find spells that harmonize with either primal element like Holy, Dark Haze, Doom. The Heart itself never fully brings these into generation alone.

That said, unlike Heart Power that finds itself in leagues more vaster abundance, mana is often bound to sputter for brief periods for Sora after unleashing a high volley of spells or particularly strong ones without appropriate preparation to his reserves. When that transpires, for a brief time he’ll be unable briefly weave together these intricate abilities as he enters the ‘Recharge’ state, a hidden boon of Heart power that allows people to gradually replenish their own reserves for a given bit of time as their Heart transforms primal elements into mana.

This can become less of a drawback as he draws better mastery to the Heart ability known as MP Hastega, allowing the recharge limitations to dramatically reduce in town, or just drinking an appropriate mana refreshing potion can help rapidly refresh him. (He still has to abide by the rules of a human stomach however!

Being able to utilize mana is what allows him to bring forth the enriching arcane arts into reaction. He can refine his power into various applications, increasing their potency and potential in many ways that normally depending on primal light and darkness can not, which always serves as pivotal reason why Keyblade wielders and mages in general can always garner special edges?

So where does that leave the following?

Heart Power.

This is the manifestation of life itself within the KH Mythos. An energy that’s as intrinsic to the Greater World and the countless universes that’s held within its cradle. Tapping into and harnessing this very potential is more of a spiritual journey, a culmination of experiences that fosters the inner light and darkness of an individual. This sadly, can come ill prepared and often to dangerous extents to those who have life experiences involving darkness before they’re truly ready.

Heart is what allows the keyblade to become empowered to the many dazzling and wild degrees you witness (otherwise it remains a useless hunk of matter). It’s what can create shells from non-existence itself that paradoxically remain upon the living plane, and also become avatars for Darkness itself. While empowering these fundamental concepts and legendary weapons, what else does it stretch to?

For Sora’s particular case, it allows him to bring life into the might of his connections, empowering his allies and Keyblades alike the more he comes to learn and grow. It’s the root source he taps into when it comes to aspects like this Drive Transformations, the usage of Summons that immediately draw allies from even light years away to join by his side, to also becoming the point where even his Anti/Darkness based forms drink deep from the well of might.

Heart power is wholly dependent on the state of the being in question. It’s why within KH that the state of a person’s spiritual state holds a high ground of importance. It allows them to resist the more infecting call of Darkness while being in active combat against it. (A natural affinity for keyblade wielders and active warriors.) Just being within the vicinity of Heartless causes the surround areas and attacked to be drawn into it’s corrosive/poisonous clutches, or become deformed into a more fitting state for the Heartless in question.

Bringing Sora back into the question, this is the primary power source that he alongside many individuals use to battle within the series. The potential of Heart is inexhaustible as long as resolve can be found. In terms of techniques, this is what he utilizes in order to make use of Keyblade Transformations and their particular elemental affinities. When Sora finds himself using elemental affinities in these states, even while manaless, it’s due to the particular Keyblade being a conduit.

Each Keyblade and keychain in existence has its own special Formchange that can be utilized, transforming it into an array of weapons that can give another edge in battle. These transformations are more taxing on the Heart, which brings that said energy a condition that can be met to keep it in constant supply ‘active battle.’ Experience is not only gained to empower the Heart, but that same surplus can generate excess that can be used as a less taxing way to transform them into multiple weapons.

A Formchanged keyblade comes with its own fundamental ways of attacking. Hammers, glaives, staffs, bows, all while a particular elemental affinity are naturally assigned and given. It can range from all elements, to light, darkness and nothingness itself.

There’s truly no shortage when it comes to possibilities and the Heart. There’s a reason why its referred to as the mightiest (yet most vulnerable) weapon in KH.

[theomnicode]

Y'all I just realised. Something horrible about the future of Genos. Cuz of Nysh's post about Genos and WC panel.

Spoilers from my musings about divine power stuff in relation to the WC stuff and Genos core:

That if Genos core keeps the divine power imbuement from Saitama (the flow of all energy in the universe and whatdduja know, he goes full megaman mode and uses elements to his advantage), he might be in danger of going insane from the divine power.

That it'll be Genos too who will be in danger of losing his humanity because Saitama wanted to protect his and the remainder of Genos so badly that he imbued his core with divine power. Power that makes beings drunk with it and same type of divine power that God uses to create monsters, divine powers that one gains when they break limiter and Genus specifically notes that such growth would make beings go insane. Same power that Garou notes that being with that kind of power would not be able to keep their right mind.

Godly powers are too great for mortals to bear. Saitama knows this firsthand.

And fuck me, if Genos actually goes insane from divine powers... that would make him the Mad cyborg. If he got sent back in time, which Saitama just conveniently learned and he went full crazy mode. That he would engineer his own creation and we'd avoid a time paradox, but Genos would murder his own fucking family and town because in twist of irony, he got exactly what he wanted too; the source of Saitama's powers. And his earrings serve this purpose of memory bank to tell him this, in case.

The moral dilemma of letting it happen so Genos continues to exist as he is or not letting it happen and Genos current self would just vanish and everything he did after becoming a cyborg... sounds like ONE's type of horror story writing.

God no please no...no... just let me be wrong...

Don't let me be right in this prediction.

And we only need to see the next chapter to know what happens to that core and if it has kept any divine imbuement.

Fuck.

Edit: AND KUSENO FUCKING KNOWS THATS WHY HE ENTRUSTS GENOS TO SAI'S CARE! BECAUSE HE WAS THERE AND HE KNOWS HOW IT HAPPENS!

FUCK!

I hate this.

Now it makes sense why he hasn't updated the WC if the new revised storyboard involves time traveling that he could not just bust out of his ass with no setup to explain why Genos is Mad Cyborg, cuz divine powers don't have appearance in wc at all but they do early on the manga. And it would ruin the insane surprise too.

Hopium is that Saitama actually saves Genos family from certain doom and Genos only thinks he murdered them, so they can have a happy reunion later. But still...

Edit 2:

I hate this. It's actually being foreshadowed.

Genos just coincidentally looks like a Terminator here. Which also went back in time to ensure it's own creation. And Kuseno initiates talk about the Mad cyborg here after Genos tells him he wants to get stronger.

I had thought about once before that "haha Genos looks exactly like terminator on that one panel haha" and now I'm no longer as amused.

In light of my theory, this panel is chilling in it's implications. The inhumanity of Genos being visible once you peel out that human layer. The intent of destruction of the Mad cyborg by his own hands until there is nothing left.

If Kuseno knows, this development is troubling because he had hoped beyond hope, that Genos would stop chasing the Mad cyborg. That his anger would fade and he would live a normal life. And he warns him to not do anything rash. Ironically, Kuseno also knows exactly how dangerous the Mad cyborg is, if he's helping him get stronger.

But hoping beyond hope is not enough when there are time loops that inevitably draw closer to tie up those loose ends.

Yet, if Genos prevents the destruction of everything and the Mad cyborg from prevailing, he himself would stop existing if he is the Mad cyborg.

What a horrible, horrible time paradox.

ONE has a tendency to give characters their wish fulfillment. But it ends up as something they do not want.

[vegaaman-wins]

Brutality Blog Presents: The Terrifying Tale of the Flood in the Halo Universe

Exploring the Dark Heart of Gaming's Most Feared Parasite

Logline: Delve into the spine-chilling world of the Flood, the iconic horror of the Halo franchise, and uncover the sinister secrets behind its creation and the relentless terror it continues to sow.

Dramatic Question: What is the origin of the Flood, and how has it managed to endure as one of gaming's most fearsome and unforgettable antagonists?

“In the vast and intricate tapestry of the Halo franchise, there exists a malevolent force that has sent shivers down the spines of gamers for decades - the Flood. This insidious parasitic species, with its nightmarish ability to assimilate and transform, embodies the very essence of horror within the Halo universe.”

Origins of the Flood:

The terrifying Flood story begins with an ancient conflict, a battle between the advanced Forerunners and the intriguing Precursors. When some of the Precursors were defeated, they crumbled into renewing dust, which became the source of the Flood. This hideous mutation resulted in the creation of a horrible creature that lived on devouring all lifeforms in its path.

A Grisly Method of Propagation:

The Flood's dissemination strategy is both horrific and horrifying. It spreads from host to host, mostly by the ingestion of infected Pheru, a species discovered on the planet Pheru. Those who devoured Pheru flesh unintentionally became vectors, encouraging others to consume contaminated tissue and thus perpetuating the horrible illness cycle.

What's more, the Flood can exploit any abandoned biological material, such as limbs or organs, to spread its infestation. This macabre component instills fear, as the fallen might contribute to the spread of malevolence even after death.

The Gravemind: A Nightmare Incarnate:

The Gravemind, a massive, sentient entity that serves as the parasite's core intelligence, is at the heart of the Flood's collective consciousness. The Gravemind's appearance alone is terrifying: a horrific mixture of twisted flesh and sinew, with numerous writhing tentacles writhing with malignant purpose.

The intelligence of the Gravemind is vast and clever, capable of strategic planning and manipulation. Its presence exudes old malevolence, and its words can freeze even the bravest of souls. The Gravemind's intelligence, along with its terrible look, makes it a particularly terrifying opponent.

Inescapable Doom:

One of the most frightening characteristics of the Flood is the sense of impending doom. Whatever your opponent's strength, the Flood's ability to integrate and adapt means that even the most powerful soldiers can become tools of their own death.

Meeting the Flood in the Halo games is a visceral experience. Their scurrying bodies, the uncanny cacophony of their gibbering, and the persistent assault on your senses all contribute to an unsettling environment. Your once-human adversaries have been transformed into ugly, twisted versions of themselves, driven by an insatiable need for more victims.

The Chief's Desperate Battle:

Throughout the Halo series, players take on the role of the Master Chief, a super-soldier with unrivaled skill and bravery. But even this renowned hero is not immune to the Flood's wrath. Chief is compelled to confront the Gravemind several times in order to stop the parasite's spread.

The battles against the Flood are fierce and tense. The Gravemind's insults reverberate in your ears as you battle for your life. It's a tribute to Halo's horror themes that even a renowned character like the Master Chief may find himself in heart-pounding, life-or-death scenarios.

The Haunting Resilience of the Flood:

As if the Flood's capacity to integrate and infect wasn't frightening enough, the parasite's tenacity is as terrifying. Even when it looks to be defeated, it possesses an extraordinary ability to survive. The Flood's tenacity and adaptability instill fear that lasts long after the fights are ended.

The Flood's capacity to return after apparent annihilation is a continual cause of fear in Halo lore. It's a reminder that the horror is never fully defeated in the Halo universe, always lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike again.

Conclusion:

The Flood from the Halo franchise is a masterwork of horror narrative in video games. Its origins in an ancient cosmic struggle, its brutal means of dissemination, the horrifying presence of the Gravemind, and the unavoidable doom it signifies all combine to create a terrifying atmosphere that has left an indelible stamp on gaming history. As players explore the Halo universe, they are reminded that true terror can always find a way to claw its way back into existence, even in the face of the most advanced technology and great heroes. Copyright © 2023 LUiS Thompson | Designed by: VegaaManDesigns | Brand: Urban Royalty Graphics | IG: luiswrotethisblog | X: LUiSWroteThis | YouTube: VegaaManWins

[maddie-motley-sez-things]

You know, I noticed an interesting trope in media that I sorta want to dissect a bit. Gonna go through a few different places with this, so bear with me.

Warning before we go ahead, this post is going to mention a LOT of torture and slavery, so if you don't want to go into that, skip over this post.

In the Amnesia game series by Frictional games, all the major plots revolve around a resource called Vitae (literally "life" in Latin), that can be used to heal any wound, reverse aging, and even used as a combustible power source. The kicker is that Vitae is a human bodily substance, produced only through extreme anguish and trauma. Through all three mainline games, there is a timeline of sorts, showing how far the "refinement process" for Vitae harvesting gets.

Dark Descent is about it's discovery in the early 19th century, as nobles and researchers at a castle in central Europe experiment on people using torture and controlled memory-wiping. Soon after in the sequel, A Machine for Pigs, an English industrialist discovers old research notes on Vitae, and secretly puts them into production on a massive scale, with the goal of enslaving London, and later, the world. Amnesia: Rebirth, the latest in the series, caps it off by showing an alien civilization that had perfected the harvesting process, and torments comatose humans by the millions to survive. Depending on the endings you chose, your player characters can either side with the villains and benefit from this industry, or in the "perfect" endings, they can tear it all down for good.

A terrifying, disturbing premise, for sure, but it's far from the only work that does something similar. The 2016 Doom reboot series shows humanity drawing on Hell as an energy source, which in turn comes from their process of torturing soul energy out of living victims. The Matrix series, famously, has humans being kept in simulated stasis for their brains to be used for electricity generation and additional processing power. Humans in the movie Daybreakers are lobotomized and kept as breeding cattle and blood-generators for the vampire ruling class. In the Dark Crystal, the evil Skeksis extend their lives using hypnosis and torture to drain other sentient beings of life. Even the world of Monsters, Inc needed the screams of children to power their electricity, with a plan in place to forcefully extract it through kidnapping, only to switch when they discovered laughter serves a better substitute.

Souls, blood, life-force, energy, brain-power, it's all interchangeable really. The key point is that in all these stories and more, suffering is a resource. A commodity that is collected on an industrial scale.

This concept doesn't come from nowhere. Humanity has a well-documented history of exploiting others for their own purposes. Slavery was a common practice in many cultures for centuries, and still takes place to this day. Human trafficking organizations kidnap and sell people across the globe for sex and forced labor. Prisons in the US and elsewhere use convicts for menial labor where ever they can. Even paid workers have a history of being exploited, forced to take dangerous tasks with minimal pay, and high risks of injury and death. In some places it's a dull, painful existence in wage slavery, for others the excruciating work of sweatshop industry. To whatever extreme, life in service and production isn't great to say the least.

It might not be outright torture for it's own sake, but for these people, it might as well have been. If there really was a way to get a tangible resource out of suffering, then we would have discovered long ago. People have tried multiple times in history to find it, but were never successful. This archetype in fiction speaks on some level to the hellish truth of exploitation. The dread knowing that it still goes on, and the extent fear of being exploited yourself. And for some, that fear is so powerful it goes into the territory of delusion and outrage.

If anyone had any alarm bells ringing in their head from reading the summary for Amnesia, I don't blame you, you're not alone. It reads heavily like a Q-Drop "history" tale about adrenochrome. Blood libel conspiracies against Jewish people and others through out history were based on similar ideas. Beliefs in Satanist cabals, secret child slavery rings, aliens, lizard people, all center around similar ideas: humanity is being exploited for labor openly, and being harvested like cattle secretly. They're so afraid of being exploited, or facing "revenge" for benefiting from exploitation. So they concoct plans to overthrow these imaginary puppet-masters, and become the ruling class themselves. Often, with tragic, disturbed results.

As any researcher of conspiracy theories can tell you, the people who believe that horseshit might believe it literally and metaphorically at the same time. They say "Democrats run a satanist pedophile ring draining children of blood," but on some level it's more a statement of emotional "truth" than literal. They think something evil is happening behind closed doors, and that they're the victims of it, but can't put it into words. Really, they just think ____ people are responsible for all the bad things, and want to attack them for it. Exact reasons don't matter, just the vibes of wanting control and disliking whoever seems to have some superficial benefit at the moment.

It parallels the "suffering as a resource" works heavily, and might even have the slightest half-truth within it. People are being exploited to some extent, life is getting worse because of it, and everyone wants to bring it down. However, the fictional worlds are showing a metaphorical dramatization. Society has a banal evil to it, using and disposing of people regularly, but it's not an malevolent force that drinks blood. It's a complicated, interconnected system of selfishness and shortsightedness that needs to be carefully addressed. Conspiracy theorists, instead, combine the metaphor with mythology and magical thinking. They want to overthrow the ambiguous, all-encompassing evil in one fell swoop, hoping that killing the monster makes everything better on it's own. They target anyone and everyone as no sacrifice is to high for this lofty goal, as long as it doesn't hurt themselves. And the enterprising few who are the true exploiters and bastards purposefully direct this mob into a frenzy. Make themselves the main characters, the heroes destined to save the world, when really they want nothing more to enslave it themselves.

The "suffering as a resource" trope has it's merit. It mirrors the harm that can be done to people for the sake of personal gain, and transliterates it into a easily digestible tale of oppression and eventual liberation. It speaks to everyone on some level. Yet for as pointed and direct as you can make it, you must always be wary of how the fantastical elements can be twisted from hope and relief for those in need, into a fallacious narrative of victim-hood and wrath by grifters.

[wormstacheangel]

Suptober Day 1: Harvest

wc: 1.7k tags: fluff with the side of tiny case fic, established relationship, spoilers but cw they are drugged with cider,

It was a long hunt. One that they accepted as their last one, but, of course, they can never sit still enough not to take an easy local hunt. By local, he means a two-day trip away, but still, they saved a couple of old folks from a ghost, which was fun. Dean sure enjoyed getting thrown around until Cas finally burned the dentures.

Like he said, long hunt.

They stayed at a nice little Airbnb overnight. During breakfast, their waitress told them of the Harvest Festival a town over. Cas was still a little bruised up, but Dean convinced him to go, at least to try their famous apple cider.

“We’ll make a day of it! Just me and you.” With that, Cas agreed, taking Dean’s waiting hand across the table.

The festival was lively when they arrived in the afternoon, with more people than they expected considering the small town they were in but apparently when they say famous they meant it. The tents lined up with food from funnel cakes, donuts, chicken, and some pumpkin spice beer that Dean chugged down even though it tasted like shit.

They eventually ended up with bags filled with treats and souvenirs to take home to the kids--Sam and Eileen fall into the kids’ category. They each held a bag while Dean held Cas’ hand tight in his own, dragging him around from seller to seller, buying and tasting as he went.

“We should start heading home, or soon you’ll be too full to drive.” Cas teased as Dean finished off their bag of apple crisps. “You think we’re feeding an army.”

“Considering how Jack eats, we might as well be.”

“He gets that from you, you know.”

They continued their banter as they made their way out of the festival and to the parking lot.

Then they were stopped by a woman wearing a volunteer pumpkin shirt, “Aw, leaving so soon? Don’t ya wanna stay for the fireworks?”

That quickly took Dean’s attention, brightening up his whole face so much that once again, Cas couldn’t find it in himself to refuse. Instead, earning himself a small kiss on the cheek as a thank you before being was dragged to the car to drop off their items.

Once back in the festival, they walked around until another volunteer told them about the amazing view of the fireworks at the middle of the corn maze.

“It’s a small maze, but in the middle is a little hill. So it’s usually first-come, first-serve. But I haven’t heard of anyone taking it as of now.”

Once again, Dean was easily hooked in and took Cas along for the ride. Not that he was complaining. He enjoyed watching Dean get excited over small things, things he wouldn’t have permitted himself to get excited for before. Of course, it helped when Dean hooked his arm around Cas’s waist to tug him close, whispering, “Ever kissed someone in a corn maze, Cas?”

“You know I haven’t, Dean.”

That did it for Cas. A promise of a spectacular kiss that will put the fireworks to shame.

At the entrance of the maze stood a cider cart, and Cas made a beeline for it. “I at least wanna be warm if you are going to make me walk around in the cold.”

“On the house.” The saleswoman winked at them, and something uneasy passed through them, but they ignored it as she motioned them to go right on in that the fireworks should be starting soon.

They took their hot cider and walked right in, taking hold of their hands as they walked through the maze in comforting silence. Watching the sky above them change from orange and pinks to the dark night sky.

When the maze opened up to a clearing, Dean started to run—taking the small space on top. It was tall enough to see over the cornstalk and watch the lights twinkle from the festival up ahead. They could even see groups of people exiting the maze from their left, and for a second, Dean wondered why they didn’t run into anybody on their walkover. It looked like a lot of people were going through the maze, but nobody passed them.

That thought was quickly dismissed as the first firework lit up the sky, cheers from the crowd echoed the loud boom, and Dean felt secure with an arm hooking around his shoulders to bring him in closer. So they sat there watching the firework show and polishing off their now cold cider until Cas couldn’t wait another second.

Gently, he turned Dean’s face just enough so they could start the kiss slowly. The snap crackle pop of the fireworks above their heads just kept lighting up the fuse between them until Cas asked for them to find another place to spend the night.

“Should we go now?” Dean kissed down Cas’s jaw, feeling the hastily nods instead of seeing it. “Okay. Okay, let’s go.”

They both stood up and took one last look at the view before they got down. Turning left, where they were sure they saw the other folks exit from before. Every few steps, they pulled each other for another kiss-- smiling into them like giddy newlyweds--until they started to realize they’ve been walking for way too long.

The fireworks had long been over, and they soon realized it was their only source of light. It soon became so hard to see anything that they didn’t dare let go of each other’s hands. They tried to go back to the hill to see if maybe they could see the trail from there, but it was like it never existed in the first place.

“Fuck!” They turned the corner to find another dead-end. “Isn’t this shit for children!”

“You know we haven’t seen or heard anyone in a while. Not since-”

“We came in here. I know. I was thinking the same thing earlier when we were on the hill.”

“Why didn’t you say anything then?”

“Cause you stuck your tongue in my mouth and impending doom took a backseat.”

They started to run, calling out for help as they did, but it only felt like they were going in circles.

Then Dean yelled, “Hallelujah!” When a flashlight shined into their faces.

“There you two are. It’s time to go.” The old man sounded so relieved to find them. He didn’t look sinister. He didn’t even make it sound like they were gone for that long. “You two okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah. We got lost, I guess.” Dean shrugged, watching as Cas stared ahead of him.

“Many people do. But they always find their way out, though.”

They followed the man out of the maze while Dean’s knuckles brushed alongside Cas’. They were listening to the man recite a memory when suddenly Cas tugged at Dean’s arm.

“Dean.” It was a shocking gasp.

“Cas?” Dean turned around to watch; Cas’s eyes rolled to the back of his head before dropping like a ragdoll. “Cas!”

And just like that, Cas was out to the world.

Dean fell to his knees to take Cas into his arms, but it was useless. He was heavy, and Dean’s body was starting to tingle, his muscles becoming weaker with every passing second.

“Don’t you worry about your little friend.” The man flashed his light on Dean’s face. Blinding him, but Dean kept glaring up at him. “Just like you, he won’t feel a thing.”

“What did you do to him?” He tried to growl, but it came out too breathless for it to be threatening.

“Same thing we did to you. Same thing we do every year to a couple of tourists.”

Dean could feel himself slipping out of consciousness, but he kept trying to shield Cas from whatever was coming.

“Don’t fight it, boy.” The man walked over to him, raising his flashlight high above his head. “Hate it when they struggle.”

And with a single hit, Dean was knocked out. Falling over Cas. Hoping that at least he gets killed first this time around.

Dean woke up again when he felt someone kicking his legs with little to no effort. His arms were numb, and he realized it was because they were pulled back and tied around some huge boulder.

“Dean?”

Dean recognized the voice and happily groaned out a complaint. “Hate small towns. Creeps. All of them.”

Cas chuckled in relief. “Glad you’re okay.”

Dean blinked a couple of times before his eyes focused, looking across from him to find Cas in the same position as him. Cas looked dirty, a few scratches on his face from being dragged, which made Dean furious—tugging at the ropes that hold him back from checking for any more injuries.

“Fuck! Shit! You okay? They hurt you?”

“Not as much as they did you.” Dean didn’t feel much pain besides the stretch on his shoulders and a raging headache. “I guess that’s not true. You have a swell on your head.”

“Yeah, well, I went down swinging. Unlike you.” Cas didn’t look amused, but he looked concerned. Dean followed his gaze, looking for an explanation or a way out. “I guess we’re either bait or dinner.”

“I’m used to being bait.”

“And I’m used to being dinner. Well, aren’t we a match made in heaven?” This time Cas glared, and weirdly enough, it made Dean relax a little. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”

The plan was simple, while Cas may not be a full-powered-up angel, he was still an angel. And he was stronger than an average human. So with a little more force, Cas had his arms free, rubbing his wrist while shrugging at Dean, “I always see humans do this.”

“Yeah, cause it hurts, so if you can just-” Dean motioned for his arms and Cas quickly reached to untie him. Then, when they were both free, they once again started to look around the empty cornfield. “I say leave now and call for backup; come back in the morning.”

“Considering we have no weapons, I think that would be for the best.”

“So much for date night.” Dean took Cas’s hand, and they quickly started to get themselves out of there. Running like maniacs as they pushed through the endless corn.

“I actually enjoyed myself today. You know, before the whole being drugged and left for dead part.”

“Really? That was my favorite part.” Dean joked, squeezing Cas’s hand as they made their way to safety. “You think all the stuff we bought was drugged?”

“Won’t stop me from having another donut.”

“Man, I love you.”

[chainofclovers]

Ted Lasso 2x7 Thoughts

“Headspace” is a very apt name for this episode, in which we learned almost no new information about the characters in Ted Lasso but learned a great deal about the way many characters’ brains work.

Most of the episodes this season have been so full of new information (if you wanna know something about how my brain works, the critique that early s2 episodes lack conflict does not compute), so full of dramatic irony (Sam and Rebecca don’t realize they’re messaging each other on Bantr! Rebecca’s voicemail to Ted doesn’t actually indicate that she spent a significant portion of time panicking and looking for him!), and misunderstandings that it was really nice to spend a bit over thirty minutes on an episode with very easily mappable plotlines.

Ted and Sharon and Therapy

Ordinarily in my little recaps I talk about the characters as real people making their own decisions, because every character on this show feels very real. But I have to take a minute to just, like, celebrate the acting in these scenes. Sarah Niles and Jason Sudeikis brought the perfect energy to each of their three scenes in Dr. Sharon’s office.

The drinking bird toy! The way he switches from nodding along with it to shaking his head no while the bird continues to shake its head yes, just like Ted shook his head no while saying yes, they should hire a sports psychologist! The way he finally stills the bird in the final therapy scene in the episode...but performatively throws the tissue box.

(Someone is going to need those tissues, Ted. It might be you.)

I also LOVE that this is the first time we see Sharon in an extended scene that takes place in a session. We’ve seen her rapport with the players, we’ve seen the results, and we’ve seen the things she does to make someone feel comfortable at the start of a session, and that’s all the information WE need to know to feel confident in her excellence as a psychologist. But because Ted hasn’t been able to fully appreciate those things, it’s so fitting that his sessions are a time for us to learn more about Sharon’s approach along with him.

It’s just...such good acting. The way she tells him he doesn’t need to worry. The kind of charming (but not performatively charming, just...charming) smile on his face when he claims he knows he doesn’t need to worry. And the way his voice changes a little as the conversations progress—deeper, less controlled, with some very genuine Midwestern “ma’am”s.

Sam and Rebecca and Awkwardness

Sam and Rebecca were so awkward when talking to each other in the hallway! If I had been in that hallway I would have been physically unable to stop myself from doing something even more awkward and diverting to make it stop. (I say this as someone who is neither disgusted by or delighted by the direction of the Bantr storyline. This is a good story about two good people who are in very different places in their lives existing in both a manufactured connection and the real, and very different, connection they have when they aren’t glued to their phones. This story is supposed to be awkward and uncomfortable.)

I did like the parallels of their friends sort of urging them on/coaching them through the inherent panic of the three dots that appear and disappear—a source of panic whether you’re the one creating the dots on the other screen or watching them and feeling at their mercy.

I like that in this episode both Ted and Rebecca are loudly broadcasting “I AM NOT IN THE RIGHT HEADSPACE FOR A ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP”—Ted with his rueful awareness that Michelle would be upset if she heard him still referring to her as his wife, Rebecca with her insistence that relationships are doomed and awful even though she’s talking to two people (Keeley and Higgins) in committed relationships.

Roy and Keeley and Space

This plot was a really wonderful...counterpoint? complement? to the places both Ted and Rebecca are in as Ted starts to come to terms with the fact that he’s going to have to deal with his past and the losses he’s suffered (including the loss of his marriage) and as Rebecca questions whether she’s really going to embark on the next phase of a relationship with someone whose identity she does not know.

Because Ted and Rebecca are stuck apart, it was great to see Keeley struggle with needing space from Roy without worrying for a second about whether or not this challenge was a threat to their relationship. (Keeley and Roy aren’t used to long haul relationships, so they both see it as a threat, but the audience doesn’t have to.)

There was so much going on in that boot room. I love the coexisting realities there—Rebecca and Keeley and Higgins treating the boot room as their personal room for secret smoking, but as the crowd grows all these other unspoken dynamics emerge (it’s been two days since the panic attack and this is the first time we see Ted and Rebecca in the same room and there’s no evidence that they’ve talked about what happened with the panic attack or Rebecca’s parents or any of the big stuff).

Everything about Keeley’s plotline this episode reminded me of how Ted and Keeley are so similar (and, to a lesser extent, Rebecca and Roy are so similar). Rebecca and Roy both tend to write things off (Rebecca is so certain any relationship she has will be doomed, but it’s just because of how hurt she already is; Roy wanted to convince himself he was happier as a pundit than as a coach, but it’s just because he was scared of how much he wanted to be back on on the pitch), only able to deal with things when a safe person like Ted or Keeley sort of startles growth out of them. (We talk a lot about how Rebecca should be in therapy, but Roy should too.) And Ted and Keeley! Everything’s great, everything’s sunny, but look at how Keeley stands on her couch and screams in sadness and anger when she blows up at Roy and he leaves.

This time, things work out between Roy and Keeley because he figures out what Keeley was trying to communicate and respects what she needs, but in the future she’s going to have to figure out how to articulate herself more clearly. (And so will Ted...not only in therapy with Sharon, but as everything with the other coaches and the team and Will and basically everyone in his life come to light.)

Nate and Beard and Twitter-Insecurity-Rage

Ahhhhhhhhh.

This plotline made me feel almost as nervous for Ted (the things he doesn’t know) and Beard (the things he knows) as it did for Nate and Colin and Will and everyone.

At first I was really bothered by the repetition of Nate checking Twitter. We know! He’s on Twitter a lot now that he’s semi-famous! He’s obsessed! But then it occurred to me that it’s extremely perfect that Nate checking Twitter becomes this silent refrain building him up or tearing him down based on the latest 280-character compliment or take-down. Because this is how the internet works! You get obsessed with something on it and then check it a million times per day until you feel sick. It could be a dating app, or a trending story, or almost anything. If you check it often enough, the internet won’t even have anything truly new for you...it just feels like it does. So the repetition of Nate scrolling Twitter wasn’t meant to deliver us new information, but rather to mimic the old information coming through again and again.

I feel so deeply for Nate, who’s brilliant about football but unfit to coach because the power dynamics of coaching are a totally foreign concept to someone like him, who relies entirely on external inputs to take his actions. Ted and Beard and Roy all go and learn things and bring them back to the pitch, but none of them have had the capacity to teach Nate how to do this. Even Nate’s private thoughts, which he wrote down during s1, only come to light when Ted prompts him. And when your external inputs are coming from social media and an unappreciative father and a hyper-awareness of insult after years spent on the receiving end of bullying...it’s very dangerous. Maybe even literally physically dangerous.

I also feel so deeply for everyone who interacts with Nate right now, particularly Will.

Some Bonus but Never Extraneous Trent Crimm

Trent in the pub made me NERVOUS. Seeing him in this new place where Ted goes to wind down, almost coaching Ted through lying to him about having had food poisoning?! When they both clearly know that isn’t what happened?!?

It felt very fitting that this uncomfortable yet kind-of-mercifully-executed lie takes place towards the end of an episode full of such positive and negative growth for the characters. Such movement. It felt all wrong (in a good way), like covering something new and smooth and precious with spackle because maybe you actually wanna paint something else after all even though it won’t serve you in the long run to do it. To paraphrase Dr. Sharon, the truth will set you free but first it will piss you off, and Ted’s conversation with Trent is a reminder of all the layers there are to cut through on the way to the truth.

If Apple TV could simply release 2x8 - 2x12 this week, I would bargain with something crazy and miserable like giving up caffeine until October 8, the air date for the season finale. I continue to love this season and to feel the serenity of watching excellent actors execute on excellent scripts...but we’re getting to the point where the momentum’s built up and is heading to ever-scarier places, and I neeeeeeeeeed to knoooooooow.

[sumsebien]

by design prologue // Prince Friedrich

series masterlist

summary: y/n and friedrich find out who exactly they are betrothed to

word count: 2,6k

warnings: bad parenting

a/n: this is the 5th time i have rewritten this how crazy and has been changed 3 times since i posted that sneak peak :)) i am nuts. also, i am running out of gifs so i am working on a collage i promise

When Friedrich Wilheim Ludwig was born, his father had asked his advisors to draw up a route. Friedrich would study in Prussia, marry a Prussian lady and ascend to the throne as a true son of this great nation, like all of his predecessors.

What he did not plan, however, was that his wife, Frederica had no intention of continuing that tradition. Frederica had other plans for her son. She wanted Friedrich to be the man he wanted to be, not the prince or the king that his father wanted him to be.

She did everything in her power to teach her son just that. Before anything, he was a human being first. Not his title, not the heir, a person.

The King, had he stayed at home for more than a day, would have seen that Friedrich was shaping into a different man than his father had envisioned. He was independent, easygoing and humble.

When the King did realize it, it was too late. It was the summer before Friedrich was to enter a prestigious Prussian university. His aunt Charlotte came to visit with an invitation for his son to study at Cambridge. The King laughed, there was no way his son wanted to go there. Then the next morning, Friedrich had gotten everything ready to go, he was dead set on Cambridge.

There was nothing more the King could do.

The next thing he knew, his son wanted an English wife. It was a complete disaster. And it was all his incompetent wife’s fault. “Let him live on his own. Get all the reckless impulses out,” she said. Stupid women.

“My love, whatever is bothering you.”

The King looked over to his side, meeting the eyes of his mistress. Sweet Bernadine. She was the only thing he looked forward to all day. “Friedrich. He’s not accepting any of the women he was supposed to marry.”

“And why, may I ask?”

“Because they are not his type. Nice sensible Prussian girls. What is wrong with him? He asked me for a deal. Ridiculous!”

“Maybe you should agree.”

“That is the most absurd thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Is it?”

What the King was going to find out was that Bernadine had a sister who became a Duchess in England. And she had all the gossip sources in the world. She knew absolutely everything about the ins and outs of the ton and she had a beautiful daughter, unwed.

The English girl his son had been eyeing was already in love with someone else. And Friedrich did not seem like the type to force her into a marriage against her will.

If he took his son up on that deal, he’d win.

...

One can count on many things in life. For the ton, it is that grief will not put a stop to Lady Trowbridge’s annual balls. The recently widowed lady’s celebration seemed to be even more flamboyant than when her dear husband was still alive.

And even more scandalous.

Last night, the Incomparable of the season was seen changing her horses in midstream.

To refresh your memory, dear readers, Miss Bridgerton caught the eye of the Duke of Hastings at the beginning of the season. However, for reasons unknown, the Duke was hesitant in asking for her hand, letting Miss Bridgerton slip from his grasp into the hands of a Prince. Our most promising Debutante was then seen exclusively with the Prince of Prussia-the royal suitor of our dreams at balls and promenades for the whole of last week. It would also appear that the Duke had moved on with Miss Y/N Y/L/N, daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Clarence and heiress to their lush family fortunes.

There were talks today that both men might even take their final steps in securing a ring on their ladies’ fingers by the end of the night.

Miss Bridgerton did emerge from the Trowbridge estate engaged. But not to whom we thought she would. It was the Duke of Hastings that captured the heart and hand of the Diamond of the Season. Miss Y/L/N and Prince Friedrich were both left empty-handed.

This Author is seasoned enough to say she is not easily shocked by scandals nowadays. However, that is not to say the events that transpired last night didn’t raise her eyebrows.

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

...

“Your Highness. Pst. Your Highness!”

Friedrich sighed, turning over in hopes silence would return to him. He had just fallen asleep finally. It couldn’t possibly be morning already.

“Your Highness.”

The voice grew from a whisper to a normal speaking voice which was too loud for someone who was hoping for silence. He peaked open one eye and closed them again after he recognized the familiar face of his valet, Heinrich.

“Not now. I am sleeping.”

“Your Highness, it’s urgent.”

“It can wait until I wake up.”

There was a pause. “It’s your father, sir.”

Friedrich sighed. “Then it can definitely wait.”

Getting out of this bed would be to accept the truth. He should have known that his father would always get his way. But that was definitely for later. Right now, sleep.

Friedrich waited for the sound of footsteps and the click of the doors so that he could finally get the peace he was aching for. But it never came, which meant: ”Why are you still here, Heinrich?” he mumbled into the pillow.

No answers came.

Friedrich groaned and sat up.

Of course, Heinrich was still there. At the sight of the Prince finally giving in, Heinrich rushed to open the blinds but was stopped by the hand Friedrich raised. “If you want to wake me up and listen to what my father has to say, you’ll leave those curtains alone.”

“Very well, sir,” Heinrich nodded, folding his arms behind his back and cleared his voice. “Your betrothed is Lady Y/N Y/L/N, daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Clarence. Your father also asked that you confirm a couple of details for your wedding at Sanssouci Palace.”

“I am not getting married at Sanssouci.”

“Sir, I don’t think that’s wise.”

“Heinrich, I will not look at his smug face when he sees that he has won. I will get married here.”

“But you leave today.”

“Then I will marry before I leave.”

Heinrich had been his valet ever since he moved to England. At first, Friedrich thought Heinrich was spying on him and reporting all of his activities to his father. But after one incident which involved a very drunk Friedrich, a lost key, Friedrich trusted Heinrich with his life. They had even grown to become close friends.

“Very well, sir. I will get the carriages ready.”

Before Heinrich left, he placed a small stack of paper on the desk, telling Friedrich to read it. There were numerous types of documents, all on the Lady Y/N Y/L/N, his betrothed.

Friedrich flipped through as he continued on with his morning routine.

Highborn. Excessively rich. The typical lady of the ton. So far there was nothing that gave Friedrich a reason not to dread his future. Because there was probably nothing. He thought bitterly.

When Friedrich suggested the deal, he didn’t think he’d lose. If Friedrich found himself a wife by the end of the London season, he would get to marry her. If he did not however, his father would have every right to intervene.

How hard could it be to fall in love?

As it turned out, it was not. It was quite simple. He met her, spoke to her and knew. He loved her the moment she laughed ridiculously loudly at his compliment. Her hair, her eyes and of course her laugh which very much alarmed the Queen. She wished to have a large family, like he always wanted as a kid but never got. She was wonderful at conversations. She was perfect...well she would have been perfect, had she been in love with him.

Now, he had lost both the girl and control of his fate. He was now doomed to live the rest of his life with a choice made by his father. Someone who was definitely pretentious, incurious and worshipped titles-everything his father wanted in a wife. Friedrich knew his father would have done anything for his mother to be like that. He felt fortunate that she had never been and never would be one of those things.

Now he could only hope his future children were going to be half as lucky.

...

You were stirred from a dreamless night of sleep by the click of the doors. Truthfully, you hadn’t been sleeping that well these past few days, even the slightest of noises could wake you. You prompted yourself up on your elbows, seeing Olivia-your lady’s maid at the door. She peeked her head in, only coming in when she saw that you were awake.

“Do you have my Whistledown?” was the first thing you asked.

It had become your custom. Your mother wouldn’t let you read the words of that vile woman, lest you learn from the actions of those scandalous ladies. She always acted as though she was above gossip when the entire ton knew the centre of her existence was the scandalous tales told behind the curtains at Madame Delacroix’s fitting room.

Olivia handed you the papers and rushed to your dresser, digging for a dress. “You must be quick. They are asking for you in the drawing room. I told them I was coming to get you.”

You immediately jumped out of bed, knowing your father’s temper all too well. “They’re home again?”

Olivia nodded. “Another cook has been fired. I am scared I might be next.”

That was odd, to say the least. Everything around the house had been a little off lately. Normally, from the moment you woke up until afternoon tea was served, you had all the peace and quiet to yourself. Both of your parents usually left by this time, your father was with his business partners and your mother with Madame Delacroix and her gossip sources. A couple of household staff had also been sacked. It was probably because your father had been even more quick-tempered lately.

Or could the events of last night be the cause?

You knew they were disappointed when you came home without an offer from the Duke of Hastings. But the season hadn’t ended yet. There was still time to consider your other suitors. Besides, it was absolutely no surprise that his heart had belonged to Miss Bridgerton. The dances and the flowers he gave you were nothing more than politeness and perhaps to sooth the jealousy he felt seeing his love with another man. A Prince for that matter.

You got ready quickly, racing down the stairs. At the sound of your footsteps, your mother swung the door open and tugged on your wrist.

“Quickly!” she spat and gave Olivia a glare before closing the door in her face.

Your father sat with his eyes closed, barely breathing. He was completely still, almost statue-like.

“Darling,” your mother chirped, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder as if to send some life into him. He opened his eyes. Dull grey, stern and void of hope or happiness.

You knew this look. It had been the source for all of your childhood terror, the look of disappointment and ominous news.

“Get ready. You’re marrying the Prince of Prussia.”

You choked back a breath, feeling all of your blood draining from your face to your neck. You felt like you were burning but at the same time freezing cold. You couldn’t say anything. Not just because you were speechless. You were not allowed to. The only thing you could do was nod, say ‘yes, sir’ and do exactly as you were told.

You were their only daughter.

Throughout your childhood, your father made no attempts to hide his disappointment in you. And your mother was always too afraid to ever do anything. She couldn’t give him another child so they had to learn to tolerate you. They would rarely take you with them anywhere. It was as though you had never existed. You’d always feel proud after finishing a piano piece or after a painting was fully colored but they never cared. For a long time you thought that all parents acted this way, that it was normal. It wasn’t. Other parents took their children to the park, bought them puppies when they succeeded. For you, it was your job and you got no pay, no praise. Nothing. Ever.

You accepted that because there was no other way. And at some point along the way, you stopped looking for their approval. It didn’t mean that they stopped having control over you though. If you wanted a peaceful life, you had better obeyed.

...

Friedrich pulled on his gloves as they made their way quickly into the abbey.

He hated being late and he was late. They were running behind schedule too. Had Friedrich not squeezed a last minute wedding ceremony, he would have already left for Prussia by now.

Needless to say, there was no time for a traditional ceremony. They were getting in and out of the abbey in half an hour or else they would have to wait until tomorrow for another ship.

At the end of the aisle, Friedrich was greeted by his father’s old friend and his future father-in-law, the Duke of Clarence. The man was the picture of a typical aristocratic Englishman with his hair styled neatly, a cane in his hand. Next to him was the Duchess of Clarence, a lanky woman with hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes. There was an air of intimidation about them. Friedrich did not know enough to be afraid of them, though, he could imagine most of the ton were.

“Welcome, your Highness. It is a pleasure to see you again.” He bowed his head. “You’ve certainly grown since the last time I saw you at Sanssouci Palace.”

Friedrich only smiled. He did not remember ever meeting the man at all but did not mean to be impolite.

The Duchess spoke in a sweet voice, extending her arm towards the door. “Well, come, Y/N! We shouldn’t keep his Highness waiting for long.”

Friedrich felt his throat closing as his heart picked up its pace. It wasn’t the good kind of nervous butterflies one got from being near their beloved, it was anxious anticipation for his fate to be revealed.

From behind the archway came a beautiful young lady. He recognized you. You had briefly met before at the Salisbury ball before but never engaged in a dance.

“My Lady.” Friedrich bowed his head.

You were a little distracted, as if you did not hear him at all. He smiled, about to greet you again when the most bizzare thing happened.

Your father cleared his voice and flicked his cane against the skirt of your dress. That snapped you right out of your daze, your eyes lowered immediately as you bent your legs into a curtsy like a well-oiled machine. “Your Highness.”

Friedrich could not believe his eyes.

He turned to Heinrich to find his friend’s eyebrows tipped inwards. So it wasn’t just him who saw the strange way your father treated you. Like some kind of circus animal.

Friedrich nodded to you but kept a close eye on your father. The man smiled when he caught Friedrich staring. But there was something eerie about it. His mouth stretched into a smile but his eyes stayed stern.

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[ohmygodtheywereparabatai]

Salt Takes: The Double Standard of Child/Adult Soldiers

—

The last thing I want to do is get tangled in ATLA fandom drama, but I choose violence, so short and sweet it is.

This scene.

People race to defend Azula here, claiming she was a child who didn’t understand the full atrocity of what she was witnessing. That she was molded from the beginning to believe her cold sneer and clutched fist were her faith in justice served showing. Then all fingers point to Zhao as the grown adult who displays full-blown sadism.

Cool. So, er, half-assed interpretation and apologism at its finest.

Look, ya big brained. You want to pick apart early psychological development in the Fire Nation princess? Great. You’re onto something. But this scene, at face value, is blatant characterization. Azula has no remorse. She thinks what she’s seeing is deserved. These statements can and should co-exist before further analysis, because the first statement is visibly, directly implied for seven year olds to pick up on and file away.

Kids’ show. Aired on Nickelodeon. 6-11-year-old demographic. Gucci? Gucci.

Zhao, on the other hand, is the bass-boosted version of S1 Zuko. He’s not a child soldier, damnit, but he is a soldier.

When Zuko knocks him down in their Agni Kai, the instinct to, uh, avoid getting your face burned off is overridden because he acknowledges the hand dealt to the loser, stares right back at him, and says - “Do it.”

A bit gorey to imagine what would have happened if Zuko obliged.

When they face off in the North, Zhao makes his position clear: “You're the Blue Spirit, an enemy of the Fire Nation! You freed the Avatar.”

“You should have chosen to accept your failure, your disgrace. Then, at least, you could have lived!”

So aside from the fact that he is, by definition, doing his duty by dispatching a disgraced prince responsible for treacherous action... it’s also his character. Azula is as driven to perfection and loyalty for her nation as she is conniving and vicious. Zhao is as driven to immortalizing himself in history and bulldozing the enemies in the Fire Nation’s path as he is a smug, walking dick. They’re both every inch the product of an imperialist agenda as they are the villains of their respective seasons. They’re bad, they’re rotten, but they’re soldiers.

To drag the comics into this for a moment, the vilification of the other nations began as early as pre-genocide. Soldiers were brainwashed into associating the Avatar and his people with their own doom. It’s no mind-blowing inference that the same notions were hammered into cadet Zhao, or that little Azula was spoon-fed the same story.

Shifting the lens when they’re in the same shot - assigning sadist status to one and victim status to the other, ain’t gonna fly. Try again.

Ahh, and someone was slick enough to point this out, but Iroh’s flinch in this scene, next to Azula’s fist of satisfaction?

Oop!

Perspective is so funny, isn’t it?

Next thing - the godforsaken ‘Zhao is a creep’ angle.

I don’t even want to dig my fingers into this one. This take is so obviously for purposes of Zuko whump that I’m going to spare myself the loss of braincells. While I have nothing against exploring this in fic, don’t even try to tell me it’s rooted in canon. It’s 100% true that interpretations of source material are infinite, but that doesn’t mean all of them are right.

What happened to the creep angle during this scene? Oh, yeah, it sparked hot, steamy Zucest.

I found about two to three sources while hunting down these images alone that (aptly) explained Azula’s sexualization as a “temptress” femme fatale-esque character, and even touched on Grey DeLisle’s sultry voice acting that did nothing for the portrayal of a fourteen year old girl. I’ve got nothing against any ship as long as the shippers are respectful... but hmm, do I spy another Zhao-Azula double standard?

(You okay back there, Iroh?)

Oooohh nooo, it’s the predator eyeing his next prey!! It just can’t be Jason Isaacs’ “wonderful, cunning evil vibe” poured into another role... Do I have to pull up several Lucius Malfoy/Harry Potter oneshots based on the scene where he hooked his cane on his shoulder to show you how asinine this take is?

Azula and Zhao both target Zuko’s insecurities to get a rise out of him. Azula and Zhao are both complicit in the conquering of the Earth Kingdom. Azula and Zhao both believe (respectively) that they were given divine right, that they wield the superior element. Azula and Zhao both grin like maniacs while Zuko is getting his face torched - it’s who they are. They align so closely that exploring the weight of a poisoned upbringing, deadly ideals, and raw firebending power drawn from a different root than the first masters is impossible without owing consideration to both characters. Both their arcs end in fucking insanity. Nationalism does that to people. Talk to me about that next time.

Jesus. I need a cold shower. Thanks for reading.

[morgulscribe]

Mordor Timeline

Here is a timeline of Mordor through the First Age to the Third Age. I used the Thain’s Book as my source, which uses as its source the Tale of Years and information from the Appendixes. Please note that this also serves as a timeline for my fanfiction series, The Circles. Therefore, some of the events listed on the timeline pertain to the story and are not canonical. These entries have been marked with italics.

First Age Tolkien implied that Mordor existed as far back as the First Age. Most likely the land was created by Melkor during the Years of the Trees. Did anyone live there prior to the Second Age? One can only speculate.

Second Age c. 500 - Sauron begins to stir again in Middle-earth. c. 900 - THE CIRCLES: After being driven out of northern Nurn, the ancestors of the Dolrujâtar come to Lithlad. 1000 - Sauron establishes Mordor as his domain and begins to build Barad-dur. 1200 - Sauron leaves Mordor to go to Eregion to instruct the Elves in Ring-craft. 1600 - Sauron comes back to Mordor and forges the One Ring. 1693 - Sauron leaves Mordor with a great force; the War of the Elves and Sauron begins. 1701 - Sauron returns to Mordor after being defeated by Elves and Numenoreans. 1800 - Sauron begins to extend his power eastward. 2251 - The Nazgul first appear. 3262 - Ar-Pharazôn assails Mordor; Sauron surrenders and is taken to Númenor. 3320 - After the destruction of Númenor, Sauron returns to Mordor. Númenóreans refugees found the countries of Gondor and Arnor. As part of the watch on Mordor, Minas Ithil is constructed on the western eaves the Mountains of Shadow. 3429 - Mount Doom erupts in fiery fury. Sauron launches an attack on Gondor, capturing Minas Ithil. The Gondorians manage to drive Sauron back to Mordor. 3434 - War of the Last Alliance: Sauron's forces are defeated at the Battle of the Dagorlad, and siege is laid to Barad-dur. 3441 - After three years of siege, Sauron leaves Barad-dur to fight Elendil and Gil-Galad. His physical form sustains fatal injuries and Isildur cuts the One Ring from his finger. His spirit goes into hiding.

Third Age After the defeat of Sauron in the Battle of the Last Alliance, the Gondorians build Cirith Ungol and the Towers of the Teeth to keep watch over the land in case Sauron should return. THE CIRCLES: Gondor establishes various other fortresses throughout the mountains as well as establishes remote outposts in Mordor and Nurn, which are manned by occupational forces. 1050 - Sauron establishes Dol Guldur as his new base of operations. 1300 - The Witch-king establishes the northern realm of Angmar. 1636 - The Great Plague severely diminishes the population of Gondor, and the Gondorians withdraw from Mordor. 1856 - Eight Nazgûl may have returned to Mordor at this time. THE CIRCLES: Khamûl and Zagbolg return to Mordor, where Khamûl sets himself up as the Sultan of Nurn. The other Nazgûl remain in Angmar, Rhûn, and Harad. 1975 - The kingdom of Angmar in the north falls; the Witch-king is without a realm to rule. 1980 - The Lord of the Nazgûl returns to Mordor and organizes the other Nazgûl. THE CIRCLES: After the destruction of his kingdom, the Nazgûl Lord takes what remains of the Angmarian forces as well as a large number of refugees and travels to Mordor. He plans to use the Dark Land as a staging ground to launch an attack on Minas Ithil, both to avenge his losses as well as create a new kingdom to stand in opposition to Gondor. Although he faces initial opposition from Khamûl and Zagbolg, he persuades them to join him. He then sends messengers to the other Nazgûl, who more eagerly rally to his cause. 2000-2 - The Nazgûl besiege Minas Ithil. Two years later, the city is theirs. 2942 - Sauron returns to Mordor in secret. THE CIRCLES: In an attempt to regain part of the power which he lost after the Battle of the Last Alliance, Sauron demands that the Nazgûl return their Rings, for he plans once again to wage war against the West and conquer all of Middle-earth. There is a nine-year conflict between the Nazgûl and Sauron as the Nazgûl attempt to resist their master. This conflict ultimately results in the fall of Minas Morgul to Sauron's forces and an epic battle between Sauron and the Witch-king in the year 2951. 2951 - Sauron declares himself openly and begins to rebuild Barad-dûr. 2954 - Mount Doom bursts into flame. 3018 - The Hunt for the Ring begins. 3019 - THE CIRCLES: Sauron's forces attack Gondor, and the Battle of the Pelennor Fields is a victory. Ten days later, Sauron regains the One Ring.

[the-phantom-ender]

Can I request Ranbob and Foolish? Wanna see how our favorite Dream kinnie would interact with our favorite totem god.

So. This is the first time I’ve ever attempted to write Ranbob. Forgive me if he’s a tad ooc ;^^ This might have to be the last request for tonight. I got a little carried away and it’s… past 2. 

ITS UNDER A READ MORE THIS TIME BECAUSE ITS ACCIDENTALLY LIKE 1.2K WORDS

To every power, there was a weakness. Every ability had a drawback. This was the nature of existence, a law of the universe. An action had an equal and opposite reaction, this was just how the world worked. And Foolish was as bound to the rules of the universe as any mortal man.

The acute awareness at death had long since been a thing he’d tuned out. Being a deity of the living and the dead, sensing every fallen existence was overwhelming, at one time. But eventually it had dulled into background noise. As familiar as breath. There were times, however, where a particularly tragic or abrupt death caught him off guard.

Long after the land of the Dream SMP was ancient history, regarded as folk tales and mythology, he felt this painful tug. There was a whisper, in the edges of his mind. The ocean itself seemed to be mourning, death and tragedy occurring under her blanket of darkness. His oceans did not cry out often, it was always oddly unsettling when they did. Perhaps a sailor had been caught in a storm and the waves regretted aiding in their passing?

For whatever reason, be it idiocy or curiosity, Foolish decided to check on things. To follow his ocean’s call to where she mourned. This led him to a vast underwater city. Now, of course, the god didn’t approach this place as himself. Instead, he shifted his appearance into that of a small catshark. Still a dangerous animal in a sense, but small and unassuming. Sharks were… his thing, alright? 

The city was alight with fire, water flooded into a room with a burning tree. Dark ash and smoke stained the sea black. Foolish just hardly noticed the body of a man among the wreckage. His heart was heavy. Certainly, the glass dome would shatter under the water pressure and send shards into the water, polluting and harming the environment. Once again, his heart ached for his ocean.

Gathering himself, he cast out his mind, sensing one living being in the entirety of the city. Abruptly, he shifted his appearance back into that of his own (albeit small enough to fit the halls of the city), appearing outside the ruined dome. He scanned the area sadly, drawing his attention to the opposite end of the hall. A man emerged, clearly startled by the presence of another. A bloodstained sword hung at his side. Foolish understood what this meant.

“Ah! Greetings!” The man spoke, a false sense of friendliness in his tone as he wiped the blade clean on his suit,” What brings you to Mizu? Do you, too, have an interest in the history of the great Dream SMP?” 

Right. So this was one of those people, huh? Not that Foolish had anything wrong with historians, of course! It was just… funny to see people tell tales of people he’d known. Especially if they were completely off base. And considering the familiar half toned appearance of the man before him, there was a decent chance he was. 

“Uh… something like that, yeah.” 

A smile grew on the man's face, Foolish noting the similarity to another smile he knew. “Right! Well then, my name is Ranbob. I am a descendant of the great and wise historian Ranboo! You’ll have to forgive me, I was not… expecting guests.” 

It took all the will he had for the god to not burst into laughter. The great historian Ranboo, eh? So that’s what history decided he became. That was a more flattering title than some past acquaintances of his had gotten, to be fair. 

“Foolish. It’s a pleasure to meet you Ranbob of Mizu.” A proper title. Foolish extended an arm for a handshake, emerald eyes sharp and dangerous. 

The handshake was taken, a handkerchief in between them. Ranbob’s eyes seemed cold. There was the same expression he’d seen in so many others in those eyes. A man who had given away his humanity in pursuit of a goal. The willingness to kill for their own gain. Still… this man was a descendant of Ranboo. There was still the clear haze of forgetfulness in his eyes. A trait that never went away, it seemed. 

“...Likewise.” a beat “Would you like a tour?” 

“If you'd like to give one.” 

Foolish stayed silent as he was brought between rooms. He knew this was a set up. He could tell that the person leading him was dangerous. Still, despite this, there was an odd charm to him. He’d learned, at this point, to appreciate the beauty in death. Sometimes, that was all you could do in the face of tragedy. By gods had Foolish seen enough tragedy to have a bit of beauty. 

He knew he was nearing the end of this encounter as Ranbob mentioned idols. Right, yes. Time had a tendency to turn normal people into those, putting them on a pedestal. Foolish had the excuse of being an old, old god. Even by the time that he’d met those of the Dream SMP, he was practically unheard of. At least it meant that he wasn’t recognized right away. Though… his temple was still standing. 

“Everyone in this place has their idols,” Ranbob hummed, leading him into a room that was immediately a red flag,” Would you like to know mine?”

Neon green.

“Who might that be, kid?”

“Dream! The god of the server! I aim to follow in his footsteps, to do as he did!” 

“You serve a false prophet, Ranbob.” 

“... What? No, no, don’t you say something like that. I know the history, my family wrote it!” The man gritted his teeth, expression souring,” I know what I know! And one thing I know for certain is that no one leaves Mizu alive!” 

And all at once, he charged. Foolish made no effort to deflect him, of course. His eyes simply glinted as the blade glanced off of his body- clearly making no dent in him. A green hue glimmered around him and his face fell. Ranbob hadn’t let him reason, it was a shame, honestly. He seemed to be a smart man.

“Dream is no god,” Foolish hummed, easily disarming Ranbob, who was promptly scooped up into a bear hug restraint,” He was a foolish mortal man with one hell of a god complex, though. You could stand to learn the lesson he never did. Cruelty is learned, life and death aren’t unkind, history is always doomed to repeat.”

“Let me go!” Ranbob thrashed in his iron grip, ears tilted down,” Let go of me! You know nothing! Nothing I say!”

“The totem knows nothing, eh?”

“N-no! The totem god isn’t- real! That was a myth even in the time of the SMP!”

Foolish squeezed the man harder, not quite hard enough to hurt. Ranbob’s goggles fell over his eyes as he tossed his head around uselessly. His heart hammered hard enough that the god could feel it in his grasp. This man was a murderer, sure, but Foolish didn’t like scaring others.

“Ranbob. If you’re looking for a god, I’m your best bet. Dream was a kid with a complex and, well, XD doesn’t exactly deal in mortal affairs unless someone’s breaking a rule. Or you’re GeorgeNotFound, but George is long dead at this point. If you want someone to teach you history, I have much scripture in my temple. If you’d like me to teach you, I can.” 

“Wh- huh?”

“You like history, right? Who’s a better source than someone who lived it?”

[mornyavie]

Glossary of references in The Bifrost Incident

 It’s Very Long and yet also not really complete. If there are any questions / clarifications I can add, or I’ve messed anything up and need to fix it, let me know!

The tl;dr is that nearly every word in the album draws from either Norse mythology or the Lovecraft / Cthulhu mythos, directly or indirectly.

@moony221b here’s that glossary that I promised forever and a day ago.

Edit: I decided to create this document of annotations (x). Lyrics taken from Genius; I’m not totally sure how accurate they are, but hopefully they help get the point across! Again, questions and complaints both welcome.

Arcomba

I can’t find anything on this, would be interested if someone knows.

Asgard

One of the Nine Worlds, specifically the one where most of the Æsir (the subset of gods most associated with humans, including the well-known ones like Thor and Odin) live.

Thus Asgard is the planet on which the most powerful inhabitants of the Yggdrasil system, and those named after the gods, are found (though the subjugation / colonization relationship does not exist in myth).

Azathoth

This one’s from Lovecraft; Azathoth is the greatest of the Outer Gods, often served and worshiped by other gods themselves. Often described as mad, a demon, a sultan, or putting it all together as the Mad Demon Sultan. Resides at “the center of the universe,” where he appears as some sort of vast, amorphous, bubbling, roiling mass of “nuclear chaos.” (Nuclear probably refers to center, not nuclear power, which didn’t really exist when this was written). Servants about him play drums and flutes.

Mentioned briefly as the train travels through the Bifrost and into his realm, and a lot of the narration in those few verses draws directly from Lovecraft’s descriptions.

Baldur

The god of light and beloved by all, Baldr was killed by Loki in his final betrayal of the gods. After the murder Loki was tracked down and imprisoned, and will escape at the start of Ragnarok. In particular, Loki used a spear made of mistletoe... or, in the album, missile two. And tricked another god into throwing it, which I think is mimicked in the distance and impersonality of the crime. Look up more of his story if you want, it’s interesting and important, but that’s the relevant info here.

Bifrost

The rainbow bridge that the gods use to travel between worlds. 

Which is, of course, directly analogous to the wormhole-ish extradimensional-ish space of “shifting, undulating hues” through which the train travels.

Edda

The Prose Edda and the Poetic Edda are the names given to two pieces of literature that are most people’s main source for Norse mythology. The Prose Edda was written by Snorri Sturluson around 1200 to teach his (mostly Christian) contemporaries about the mythology and mythological references that made up a big chunk of Norse literature. The Poetic Edda is a set of poems that serve as a major source for Norse tales.

This is partially just a way to connect our hero Lyfrassir Edda to the Norse traditions, but also definitely a reference to their (presumed) role as the main “recorder” and source of information to get out of the Yggdrasil system.

Fate

Honestly the way the Mechanisms deal with fate in general is very interesting and arguably sometimes quite Nordic... but in particular, Bifrost Incident references fate or destiny a number of times and features a number of situations where the outcome is fixed and can’t be changed, but you have to fight anyways: “Killing me won’t save your world” “I don’t care” or how Loki and Sigyn can’t stop the train, but can only delay it. A lot of Norse tragedy revolves around people heading into battle knowing that they’re doomed and fighting anyways, or around the cycle of conflict that marked the cultural requirements for avenging insults. And the myth cycle is notable for the fact that the gods know, explicitly, exactly what Ragnarok is, what’s going to happen, and how they’re going to die, but will fight in it anyways. 

Inevitability and helplessness in the face of what you can’t possibly understand, let alone fight, which is a depiction slightly sideways of the Nordic version, are very Lovecraftian themes.

Fenrir

A wolf, child of Loki and father of Skoll and Hati, who was chained by the gods (particularly by Tyr, who placed his hand in the wolf’s mouth as “hostage” to assure him they would unchain him later, and lost the hand). He will break free at Ragnarok to join the battle against them and kill Odin.

With his association with monsters and with Loki, it’s fairly clear why he was aligned with the resistance movement. He’s serving “five life sentences” as a reference to his being chained, and the whole motif of the train’s journey being hijacked for a prison break certainly references the various characters who will be freed or break free as Ragnarok begins.

Frey

The brief reference of Frey being killed by the raging fire of the sun, with “no weapon, no defense,” is a direct translation of the god’s role in Ragnarok, when he will be killed by Surtr. Frey gave away his sword for the opportunity to woo his eventual wife, and so will be armed only with a stag’s antlers in his final combat. Also called Freyr.

Freya (“weeps tears of red-gold”)

Like her brother Frey (and yeah, these names get confusing), Freya is associated with harvest and fertility, though unlike him she also gets battle. In the song she weeps red-gold tears at the death of her husband Odr, which in myth she is said to do when her husband is absent. Also called Freyja.

Garm

Garm is another wolf, who guards Hel’s gates. He also breaks free at Ragnarok, and his howling heralds its coming. As in the album, he will fight and kill Tyr. Also called Garmr.

Hati

There’s a lot of wolves in Norse mythology. This one is a child of Fenrir. He chases the moon across the sky, and will swallow it when Ragnarok comes.

Mentioned briefly only as one of the resistance members on the train.

Heimdall

Heimdall is the watchman of the gods, with keen eyes and foresight, and guards the Bifrost as the entrance to Asgard. He will blow his horn to summon the gods to the final battle during Ragnarok, and he and Loki will kill one another. Also called Heimdallr; you’re probably noticing a pattern. It’s a grammar thing.

Mentioned as guarding the train and “doing his part.” His dying screams initiate the train’s destruction and echo throughout it, which presumably recalls the horn thing.

Hel

Another daughter of Loki, and, as the name will imply to English speakers, a guardian of the dead. She refuses to give Baldur back to the world of the living after Loki kills him. Also the name of the realm in which she resides, and to which go those who die of disease or old age. Doesn’t necessarily have the same bad-punishment connotation as modern Hell. I don’t know whether there’s any indication of what she herself is doing in Ragnarok, but many of her people and associates are certainly fighting against the gods, and I’m fairly certain the ship Naglfar, which carries Loki and his allies to Ragnarok, sets sail from Hel.

Hel as a prison colony clearly references the various characters the gods have chained or otherwise imprisoned (though, in myth, not all within Hel) as well as her alignment with “other side” during Ragnarok, and the jailbreak the resistance members are planning recalls the breaking of all these bonds as Ragnarok begins.

Hoddmimis

The woods in which Líf and Lífþrasir (see Lyfrassir) will shelter to survive Ragnarok and the various disasters accompanying it. 

So, good news! We can be marginally assured of Lyfrassir’s survival after taking shelter at the mining-colony of Hoddmimis.

Jormungandr

The world serpent, which lives in the seas and encircles the earth. Will arise during Ragnarok, causing great floods, and fight Thor; Thor will slay the serpent, but in turn the serpent’s poison will cause his death, after he staggers “nine steps back.”

Thor’s fight with Odin-turned-serpent is pretty clearly analogous to this, especially the taking nine steps to the window before destroying it with his hammer, resulting in both their deaths. I don’t think there’s any mythological basis to Odin turning into the serpent, though

Kvasir (“blood drained out”)

Kvasir was a very wise man/god and the originator of poetry. I’m leaving out a fair amount of his birth and life; the important information here is that two dwarves who were jealous of his knowledge tricked him, killed him, drained his blood, and mixed it with honey to make mead. Any who drank of the mead gained the gift of poetry / scholarship; eventually the gods stole it.

I’m not sure if there’s a reason they decided to specifically describe him as a resistance member, but there’s a clear parallel in Kvasir’s blood being drained and used to power the train, especially with the language of glyphs and sigils providing power.

Loki

Ah, Loki. Male in the general canon, though not without genderbending (he turns into a mare and gives birth to Fenrir, Hel, and Jormungandr, for instance). Inasmuch as the Norse myths we have can be organized into a “chronology,” you could do it (in my opinion) along Loki’s path from a mostly benevolent trickster god whose antics occasionally cause trouble to a genuinely malevolent figure. Associated with wit, magic, and trickery. Despite how modern lore (I suspect influenced by Marvel) often portrays Thor and Loki as brothers and children of Odin, in the myth Loki and Odin are bonded as blood-brothers. But Loki also often appears alongside Thor. As mentioned, parent of three of the main figures of Ragnarok. In the “final” myth, he jealously arranges the death of the god Baldr, who was loved by all; then he appears at a feast, where he exchanges insults with the other gods. This is the last straw; they capture him and chain him to a stone, over which they tie a serpent. Venom drips from the serpent’s fangs, causing him great agony. His wife Sigyn stays by his side, catching the venom in a bowl, but when she is forced to leave for a moment to dump it out his thrashing causes earthquakes. He will break free at the start of Ragnarok and sail to Asgard, where he and Heimdall will kill each other.

Hopefully that’s enough to give you a good background for Loki’s role in the album... it’s pretty clear why she’s framed as the opposition to the gods and the “leader” of the resistance movement, as a call to her role in Ragnarok. Her association with magic and trickery make sense for her being the “expert” in the twisted Lovecraftian “science” that produces the train. It also parallels her role in myth; her actions often get the gods into trouble, but they just as often need her wit and knowledge to get them out of it, as Odin needs her knowledge despite her taking action to destroy the train. And the setup at the end - drip, drip, drip, her face twisted in pain, her wife beside her, her “release” heralding the end of the world - precisely echoes the language of her bondage in myth; though her mind-destroying imprisonment by Odin also invokes this.

Lovecraft(ian)

A highly influential horror writer from the early 20th century. He’s largely credited with the creation of the creation of the “cosmic horror” genre, a type of horror which emphasises a vast, unknowable, uncaring universe against which we cannot hope to even begin to fight. His ideas and the gods / demons / creatures he created form the basis of the “Cthulhu mythos” or even “Lovecraft mythos,” which today is a sort of standard set of assumptions on which writers can build. Lovecraftian themes of apocalypse, inevitability, and powerlessness are highly prevalent in the album. Several of the gods in this mythos are used; in particular, Yog-Sothoth (see below). Also, a lot of the general description (madness, roiling chaos, undulating colors) draws from his distinctive vocabulary that remains staple of the genre. It’s worth noting that Lovecraft was a horrible and very racist person, but the genre today is widely used by people who are not terrible.

Lyfrassir

Líf and Lífþrasir in Norse mythology are the two humans who will survive Ragnarok and rebuild humanity; a hopeful sign for our album’s protagonist!

Midgard

In Norse mythology, the “middle” world where humans live. Earth.

Nagthrod

I don’t know this one.

@acorn-mushroom pointed out that it may be a mis-transcription of Naglfar, the name of the (ocean) ship which will carry Loki and his followers from the shores of Hel to the battlefield at Ragnarok. It’s made of dead men’s nails.

Odin

The king of the gods in Norse mythology. As the god of both wisdom and madness, Odin’s role in the album as a researcher and technological ruler whose discoveries drive her slowly mad is both very Lovecraftian and a reasonable leap. I could say a lot about the figure of Odin, but I think this character is one of the most divergent from the myth, in detail if not in role.

Odr

Óðr is Freya’s husband.

Outer gods

A Lovecraft thing referring to several of the most horrible and powerful gods, including Yog-Sothoth.

Ragnarok

The apocalypse, basically, in Norse mythology. Proceeded by various catastrophes, especially a very long winter, mentioned in the album, culminating in a great battle between the gods and their enemies, and resulting in the death of the majority of gods and other creatures of the world.

Ratatosk

A squirrel who runs up and down Yggdrasil, carrying messages between some of the tree’s other inhabitants and sowing discord. The Ratatosk Express links the worlds of the Yggdrasil System, and causes “discord” in the resistance’s opposition to it.

Sigyn

Loki’s wife. See Loki for her role in his imprisonment.

Skoll

Sköll in Norse mythology is the wolf that chases and will someday eat the sun. Association with Fenrir (another wolf) and other monsters motivates his inclusion in the list of resistance members.

Thor

A Norse god, associated with war, lightning/thunder, strength, and in general sort of... common people, as opposed to Odin’s association with kings and royalty. Prone to anger, which makes sense with his depiction as a volatile military leader in the album. He is heavily associated with his hammer mjölnir, hence jokes about “throwing a hammer in the works” and whatnot. Often associates with Loki, both as friends and as enemies as Loki progresses from a mostly-harmless trickster to actively opposing the other gods; thus how in the album he and Loki were once friends. See above for his death fighting Jormungandr.

Tyr

Another Norse god associated with war. He sacrificed a hand to bind Fenrir, and will be killed by Garmr during Ragnarok, both events referenced in the album.

Yggdrasil

The world-tree of Norse mythology, which supports the nine worlds of the cosmology. 

Yog-Sothoth

An Outer God of Lovecraftian mythos; also called the Gate and Key. It is associated as sort of the substance of time and space, binding together the cosmos. A lot of the description during the Ragnarok sequences draws directly from the “canonical” descriptions of this deity, and the invocation spoken by Lyfrassir in Red Signal draws from a story about this creature, The Case of Charles Dexter Ward.

[thewidowsghost]

The Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 9

(Y/n)'s POV

It doesn't take me long to pack. I decide to leave the Minotaur horn in the cabin, which leaves me only an extra change of clothes and a toothbrush to stuff in a backpack Grover had found for me.

The camp store loans me one hundred dollars in mortal money and twenty golden drachmas. The coins are as big as Girl Scout cookies and have images of various Greek Gods stamped on one side and the Empire State Building on the other. The ancient mortal drachmas had been silver, Chiron had told us, but Olympins never used less than pure gold. Chiron said the coins might come in for non-mortal transactions - whatever that might mean. He gives Annabeth, Percy, and me canteens of nectar and Ziploc bags full of ambrosia squares, to be used only in emergencies, if we were seriously hurt. It is god food, Chiron reminds us. It would cure us of almost any injury, but it is lethal to mortals. Too much of it would make a half-blood very, very feverish. An overdose would burn us up, literally, Fun.

Annabeth is bringing her magic Yankees cap, which she tells me had been a twelfth-birthday present from her mom. She is also bringing a book on famous classical architecture, written in Ancient Greek, to read when she gets bored, and a long bronze knife, hidden in her shirt sleeve. I'm sure the knife is going to get us busted the first time we go through a metal detector.

Grover is wearing his fake feet and his pants to pass as a human. He wears a green rasta-style cap, because when it rains his curly hair flattened and you can just see the tips of his horns. Grover's bright orange backpack is full of scrap metal and apples to snack on. In his pocket is a set of reed pipes his daddy goat had carved for him, even though he only knows two songs: Mozart's Piano Concerto Number 12 and Hilary Duff's 'So Yesterday,' both of which sound pretty bad on reed pipes.

We wave good-bye to the other campers, take one last look at eh strawberry fields, the ocean, and the Big House, then hike up the Half-Blood Hill to the tall pine tree that used to be Thalia, the Daughter of Zeus.

Chiron is waiting for us in his wheelchair. Next to him stands the surfer dude I'd seen when I was recovering in the sick room. According to Grover, the guy is the camp's head of security. He supposedly had eyes all over his body so he could never be surprised. Today, though, he's wearing a chauffeur's uniform, so I can only see the extra eyes on his hands, face, and neck.

"This is Argus," Chiron tells me. "He'll drive you into the city, and, er, well, keep an eye on things."

I hear footsteps behind us.

Luke comes running up the hill, carrying a pair of basketball shoes. "Hey!" he pants. "Glad I caught you."

Annabeth blushes, the way she always does when Luke is around.

"Just wanted to say good luck," Luke tells us. "And I thought . . . um, maybe you could use these."

He hands Percy a pair of sneakers, which look pretty normal.

Then, Luke says, "Maia!"

White bird's wings sprouted out of the heels. The shoes flap around on the ground until the wings fold up and disappear.

"Awesome!" Grover exclaims.

Luke smiles. "Those served me well when I was on my quest. Gift from Dad. Of course, I don't use them much these days...." His expression turns sad.

Annabeth stomps down the other side of the hill, after arguing with Percy, where a white SUV waits on the shoulder of the road. Argus follows, jingling his car kees.

Percy picks up the flying shoes and then looks up at Chiron. "I won't be able to use these, will I?"

Chiron shakes his head. "Luke meant well, Percy. But taking to the air...that would not be wise for you."

I nod, getting an idea, "Hey, Grover. You want a magic item?"

His eyes light up. "Me?"

Pretty soon, we'd laced the sneakers over his fake feet, and the world's first flying goat boy is ready for launch.

"Maia!" Grover shouts. He gets off the ground, okay, but then falls over sideways so his backpack drags through the grass. The winged shoes keep bucking up and down like tiny broncos.

"Practice," Chiron calls after him. "You just need practice."

"Aaaaa!" Grover goes flying sideways down the hill like a possessed lawnmower, heading towards the can.

But before I can follow, Chiron catches my arm. "I should have trained you two better, Percy, (Y/n)," he says. "If only I had more time. Hercules, Jason - they all got more training."

"That's okay. I just -" I stop myself.

"What am I thinking?" Chiron cries. "I can't let the two of you get away without these." He pulls two pens out of his coat pocket and hands one to me and one to Percy.

Looking down at it, I see a teal-colored gel pen. Maybe cost thirty cents.

"Gee," Percy says. "Thanks."

"Percy, those are gifts from your father. I've been keeping them for years, not knowing you two were the ones I was waiting for. But the prophecy is clear to me now. You two are the ones."

Instinctively I take off the cap, and the pen grows longer and heavier in my hand. In half a second, I am holding a shimmering bronze sword with a double-edged blade, a teal and silver leather-wrapped grip. This is the first weapon that feels balanced in my hand.

"That sword has a long and tragic history that we need not go into," Chiron tells Percy. "Its name is Anaklusmos."

"Riptide," Percy translates.

"I have never seen anyone use that sword that I'm aware of," Chiron says, turning to me. "Yours is named Τυφώνας."

"Hurricane," I translate, surprised that the Ancient Greek came so easily to me.

"Use them only for emergencies," Chiron says, "and only against monsters. No hero should harm mortals unless absolutely necessary, of course, but neither sword would hurt them in any case."

I look down at the wickedly sharp blade. "What do you mean it wouldn't harm mortals? How could it not?"

"Those swords are celestial bronze. Forged by the Cyclopes, tempered in the heart of Mount Etna, cooled in the River Lethe. It's deadly to monsters, to any creature from the Underworld, provided they don't kill you first. But the blades will pass through morals like an illusion. They simply are not important for the blade to kill. And I should warn you two: as demigods, you can be killed by either celestial or normal weapons. You are twice as vulnerable."

"Good to know," Percy says.

"Now recap the pens," Chiron says.

Percy and I touch the pen cap to the sword tips and instantly Riptide and Hurricane shrink to ballpoint pens again. I tuck it in my pocket, a little nervous because it's pretty easy to lose a pen.

"You can't," Chiron says.

"Can't what?" I ask, slightly confused.

"Lose the pens," he says. "They're enchanted. They'll always reappear in your pockets. Try it."

Warily, I throw the pen as far as I can down the hill and watch it disappear in the grass.

"It may take a few moments," Chiron tells us. "Now check your pocket."

Sure enough, the pen is there.

"Okay, that is extremely cool," I admit.

"But what if a mortal sees one of us pulling out a sword?" Percy asks.

Chiron smiles. "Mist is a powerful thing, Percy."

"Mist?" I ask.

"Yes. Read The Iliad. It's full of references to the stuff. Whatever divine or monstrous elements mix with the mortal world, they generate Mist, which obscures the vision of humans. You will see things just as they are, being a half-blood, but humans will interpret things quite differently. Remarkable, really, the lengths to which humans will go fit things into their version of reality.

I put Hurricane back into my pocket.

For the first time, the quest feels real. I'm leaving Half-Blood Hill. I'm heading west with no adult supervision, no backup plan, not even a cell phone - Chiron said cell phones were traceable by monsters; if we used one, it would be no worse than sending up a flare. I have no weapon stronger than a sword to fight off monsters and reach the Land of the Dead.

"Chiron . . ." Percy says. "When you say the gods are immortal . . . I mean, there was a time before them, right?"

"Four ages before them, actually. The Time of the Titans was the Fourth Age, sometimes called the Golden Age, which is definitely a misnomer. This, the time of Western civilization and the rule of Zeus, is the Fifth Age."

"So what was it like...before the gods?"

Chiron purses his lips. "Even I am not old enough to remember that, child, but I know it was a time of darkness and savagery for mortals. Kronos, the lord of the Titans, called his reign the Golden Age because men lived innocent and free of all knowledge. But that was mere propaganda. The Titan king cared nothing for your kind except as appetizers or a source of cheap entertainment. It was only in the early reign of Lord Zeus, when Prometheus the good Titan brought fire to mankind, that your species began to progress, and even then Prometheus was branded a radical thinker. Zeus punished him severely, as you may recall. Of course, eventually, the gods warmed to humans, and Western civilization was born."

"But the gods can't die now, right? I mean, as long as Western civilization is alive, they're alive. So...even if I failed, nothing could happen so bad it would mess up everything, right?" I ask, feeling rather uncertain.

Chiron gives me a melancholy smile. "No one knows how long the Age of the West will last, (Y/n). The gods are immortal, yes. But then, so were the Titans. They still exist, locked away in their various prisons, forced to endure endless pain and punishment, reduced in power, but still very much alive. May the Fates forbid that the gods should ever suffer such a doom, or that we should ever return to the darkness and chaos of the past. All we can do, child, is follow our destiny."

"Our destiny...assuming we know what that is," I say grimly.

"Relax," Chiron tells me. "Keep a clear head. And remember, the two of you may be about to prevent the biggest war in human history."

"Relax," I say. "I'm very relaxed."

When Percy and I get to the bottom of the hill, I look back. Under the pine tree that used to be Thalia, daughter of Zeus, Chiron is now standing in full horse-man form, holding his bow high in salute. Just your typical summer-camp send-off by your typical centaur."

Argus drives us out of the countryside and into western Long Island, It feels weird to be on a highway again, Annabeth and Grover sitting next to me, Percy on the other side of Grover, as if we were normal carpoolers. After two weeks at Half-Blood Hill, the real world seems like a fantasy. I find myself staring at every McDonald's, every kid in the back of his parent's car, every billboard and shopping mall.

"So far so good," Percy tells Annabeth. "Ten miles and not a single monster."

She gives Percy an irritated loo. "It's bad luck to talk that way."

"Remind me again - why do you hate us so much?" Percy asks.

"I don't hate you two."

"Could've fooled me."

Annabeth folds her cap of invisibility. "Look...we're just not supposed to get along, okay? Our parents are rivals."

"Why?" Percy asks.

Annabeth sighs. "How many reasons do you want? One time my mom caught Poseidon with his girlfriend in Athena's temple, which is hugely disrespectful. Another time, Athena and Poseidon competed to be the patron god for the city of Athens. Your dad created some stupid saltwater spring for his gift. My mom created the olive tree. The people saw that her gift was better, so they named the city after her."

"They must really like olives," Percy comments, and I stifle a snort of laughter.

"Oh, forget it," Annabeth grumbles.

"Now, if she invented pizza - that I could understand," I add, in a slightly teasing tone.

"I said, forget it!" Annabeth says, hitting me lightly on the arm.

In the front seat, Argus smiles. He doesn't say anything, but one blue eye on the back of his neck winks at me.

Traffic slows down in Queens. By the time we get into Manhattan, it is sunset and starting to rain.

Argus drops us at the greyhound Station on the Upper East Side, not far from my mom and Gabe's apartment. Taped to a mailbox is a soggy flyer with mine and Percy's picture on it: Have you seen these children?

Percy rips it down before Annabeth and Grover can notice.

Argus unloads our bags, makes sure we get our bus tickets, then drives away, the eye on the back of his hand opening to watch us as he pulls out of the parking lot.

I think about how close I am to the apartment. On a normal day, Mom would be home from the candy store by now. Smelly Gabe is probably up there right now, playing poker, not even missing her.

Grover shoulders his backpack. He gazes down the street in the direction I am looking. "You want to know why she married him, (Y/n)?"

I stare at him. "Were you reading my mind?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Just your emotions," Grover shrugs. "You were thinking about your mom and your stepdad, right?"

I nod.

"Your mom married Gabe for you and Percy," Grover tells me. "You call him 'Smelly,' but you've got no idea. This guy has this aura . . . Yuck. I can smell him from here. I can smell traces of him o you, and you haven't been near him in a week."

"Thanks," Percy grimaces from Grover's other side. "Where's the nearest shower?"

"You should be grateful, Percy. Your stepfather smells so repulsively human he could mask the presence of any demigod. As soon as I took a whiff inside his Camaro, I knew: Gabe has been covering your scent for years. If you hadn't lived with him every summer, you probably would've been found by monsters a long time ago. Your mom stayed with him to protect you. She was a smart lady. She must've loved you a lot to put up with that guy—if that makes you feel any better."

I soften, looking down a the ground. I'll see her again, I think. She isn't gone.

You will be betrayed by one who calls you a friend, the Oracle whispers in my mind. You will fail to save what matters most in the end.

The rain keeps coming down.

We get restless waiting for the bus and decide to play some Hacky Sack with one of Groer's apples. Annabeth was unbelievable at it. She could bounce the apple off her knee, her elbow, her shoulder, whatever. Percy wasn't too bad either, but I found that I wasn't that great at it.

The game ends when I toss the apple towards Grover and it gets too close to his mouth. In one mega goat bite, our Hacky Sack disappears - core, stem, and all.

Grover blushes. He tries to apologize, but Annabeth, Percy, and I are too busy cracking up.

Finally, the bus comes.

I am relieved when we finally get on board and find seats together in the back of the bus, Me and Annabeth in one row, and Percy and Grover across from us. The four of us stow our backpacks.

I glance over at Annabeth beside me, who keeps slapping her Yankees cap nervously against her thigh.

As the last passengers get on, Annabeth claps her hand onto my knee. "Look!"

An old lady had just boarded the bus. She is wearing a crumpled velvet dress, lace gloves, and a shapeless orange-knit hat that shadows her face and she is carrying a big paisley purse. When she tilts her head up, her black eyes glitter.

I see Percy slump down in his seat.

Behind her comes two more old ladies: one in a green hat, one in a purple hat. Otherwise, they look exactly like Mrs. Dodds - same gnarled hands, paisley handbags, wrinkled velvet dress. Triple demon grandmothers.

They sit in the front row, right behind the driver. The two on the aisle cross their legs over the walkway, making an X. It is casual enough, but it sends a clear message: Nobody leaves.

The bus pulls out of the station, and we head through the slick streets of Manhattan.

"She didn't stay dead long," Percy says, his voice quavering a little. "I thought you said they could be dispelled for a lifetime."

"I said if you're lucky," Annabeth murmurs. "You're obviously not."

"All three of them," Grover whimpers. "Di immortales!"

"It's okay," Annabeth says, obviously thinking hard. "The Furies. The worst monsters from the Underworld. No problem. No problem. We'll just slip out the windows."

"They don't open," Grover moans.

"A back exit?" she suggests.

There isn't one. Even if there had been, it wouldn't have helped. By that time, we are on Ninth Avenue heading for the Lincoln Tunnel.

"They won't attack us with witnesses around," I say. "Will they?"

"Mortals don't have good eyes," Annabeth reminds me. "Their brains can only process what they see through the Mist."

"They'll see three old ladies killing us, won't they?" Percy asks.

She thinks about it. "Hard to say. But we can't count on mortals for help. Maybe an emergency exit in the roof . . . ?"

We hit the Lincoln Tunnel, and the bus goes dark except for the running lights down teh aisle. It is eerily quiet without the sound of the rain.

"I need to use the rest-room."

"So do I."

"So do I."

All three demons start coming down the aisle.

"I've got it," Annabeth says. "Percy, take my hat."

"What?" he says with disbelief.

"You're the one they want. You killed one of them. Turn invisible and go up the aisle. Let them pass you. Maybe you can get to the front and get away."

"But you guys -"

"There's an outside chance they might not notice us," Annabeth says as she glances over at me. "You're a son of the Big Three. Your smell might be overpowering."

"I can't just leave you," Percy says, looking desperately at me.

"Go," I say, frowning and Annabeth hands him the cap.

The old ladies are not old ladies anymore. Their faces are still the same - I guessed they couldn't get any uglier - but their bodies had shriveled into leathery brown hag bodies with bat's wings and hands and feet like gargoyle claws; their handbags had turned into fiery whips.

The Furies surround me, Grover, and Annabeth, lashing their whips, hissing: "Where is it? Where?"

The other people on the bus are screaming, cowering in their seats. They see something, all right.

"He's not here!" Annabeth yells. "He's gone!"

The Furies raise their whips.

Annabeth draws her bronze knife. Grover grabs a tin can from his snack bag and prepares to throw it.

Word Count: 3222 words

[multiversecarnavep]

Edit

Hellboy, or "Anung Un Rama" as he was called, was conceived on October 5,[1] 1617, the day his birth-mother, Sarah Hughes, a human woman, was on her deathbed. In life, Sarah was a witch who gained her powers from being a consort of the archdemon, Azzael, an Archduke of Hell, and Hellboy's "biological" father. Taking Sarah's body to hell when she attempted to repent on her deathbed within a church in East Bromwich, England, Azzael burned her away so their child would be born, and chopped off the newborn's right hand to replace it with the "Right Hand of Doom", a relic tied to the Ogdru Jahad. When the other princes of Hell learned of his actions, Azzael sent his half-demon child away while he was stripped of his powers and imprisoned in ice (like Lucifer in Dante's Divine Comedy).

The child is eventually summoned to Earth in the final months of World War II by the "Mad Monk" Grigori Rasputin on Tarmagant Island, off the coast of Scotland, having been commissioned by the Nazis to change the tide of a losing war ("Project Ragna Rok"). As a direct result of this ritual, the child appears on Earth in a fireball at what remains of the ruined Bromwich Church on December 23, 1944. Proving not to be a devil, in the traditional sense, but a devil-like creature, the child was dubbed "Hellboy" by Professor Trevor "Broom" Bruttenholm.[2]

Taken by the United States Armed Forces to an Air Force base in New Mexico, Hellboy is raised by Professor Trevor Bruttenholm in as normal a home environment as possible (and as a Catholic), and the United States Army where the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense (BPRD) a private organization dedicated to combating occult threats, begins. Due to the success of his first mission in 1952, Hellboy is granted "honorary human" status by the United Nations and becomes a member of the BPRD as the "world's greatest paranormal investigator".[3] As such, Hellboy interacts regularly with humans, primarily law enforcement officials, the military, and various "scholars of the weird", most of whom are not presented as overtly reacting to his strange appearance.

As an adult, having matured physically within years yet aging slowly with a teenaged mind, Hellboy becomes the primary agent for the BPRD, alongside other human and quasi-human agents that include Kate Corrigan, a professor of folklore at New York University; Abe Sapien, an amphibian humanoid (Ichthyo sapiens); and Liz Sherman, a young pyrokinetic. Things change dramatically for Hellboy during the events of Seed of Destruction when he searches for Professor Bruttenholm after he disappears during an expedition in the Arctic. He finds his adopted father only to witness his death at the hands of a Lovecraftian frog monster. The search takes Hellboy, Abe, and Liz to the Cavendish Hall mansion, which is a trap established by Rasputin to lure Hellboy into an embrace of his own "destiny", with the assistance of Sadu-Hem; one of the spawn of the Ogdru Jahad. Controlled by the spirit of one of the ancestral Cavendish men, Abe impales Rasputin. Liz's firestorm then incinerates Rasputin's body alongside Sadu-Hem's and destroys Cavendish Hall. Soon after, during a visit to Bromwich Church, Hellboy gets a glimpse of his conception 300+ years ago and learns he has two human half-siblings; a nun and a priest whose spirits haunt the church after their deaths, attempting to stop Azzael from claiming Sarah.

During the events of Hellboy: Wake the Devil, Hellboy's journey of self-discovery leads him to Romania to investigate the theft of an ancient box containing the corpse of Vladimir Giurescu, a Napoleonic officer who was, in fact, a vampire before he was "killed" on the order of a fearful Adolf Hitler. The culprit of the theft is revealed to be Ilsa Haupstein, one of the surviving members of Project Ragna Rok, who was revived from suspended animation and then aided in Giurescu's resurrection. Finding Castle Giurescu after splitting up with the other search groups, Hellboy learns that the source of Giurescu's rebirth is the ancient goddess Hecate. Though Hellboy destroys Hecate's original body, he faces her again after Rasputin unintentionally provides her with Ilsa's iron-maiden encased body. Hecate swallows Hellboy, but he returns to his own reality after he denounces the dark purpose he was born to perform.

Hellboy later learns that Liz is dying after losing her powers when she accidentally revived a homunculus while searching another location for Giurescu, finding Roger in the events of Hellboy: Almost Colossus as he convinces the homunculus to save Liz's life. Following the events of Hellboy: The Right Hand of Doom, gaining insight about his stone hand and being referenced as a harbinger of the Apocalypse, Hellboy is accompanied by Abe to hunt down the warlock Igor Bromhead in Box Full of Evil. But it turned out to be a trap conducted by Bromhead and the demon Ualac to capture Hellboy, using his True Name, Anung Un Rama, to restrain him, so that the latter can claim Hellboy's normally invisible Crown of the Apocalypse to increase their power. But this act, however, proves to be counter-productive, as it allows Hellboy to no-longer be controlled by his true name, Anung Un Rama (as one of the translations of this name is, lit. "and upon his brow is set a crown of flame"; with the theft of his crown, the name is no longer accurate), and he kills Ualac's mortal body before the demon and the crown is taken to Hell by the archdemon, Astaroth, who is later revealed to be Hellboy's paternal uncle.

In the aftermath of Hellboy: Conqueror Worm, assisted by the ghost of Lobster Johnson, Roger, and Abe, a disillusioned Hellboy resigns from the Bureau before it later gains new agents in Johann Kraus, the spirit of a German medium kept in a containment suit; and Captain Ben Daimio, a special operations soldier that became an Olmec were-jaguar. From there, Hellboy decides to find out the truth of his existence once and for all. But, as revealed in Hellboy: Strange Places, Hellboy ends up being stranded on an island where he inadvertently resurrected an ancient mystic who gained knowledge of the secret history of the creation of Ogdru Jahad and the Right Hand of Doom.

6 years later, as Hellboy: Darkness Calls opens, Hellboy's search takes him to England where he finds himself in the middle of a power vacuum caused by Bromhead incapacitating Hecate in Italy. Refusing to serve the witches as their king, Hellboy ends up in the dimension of Baba Yaga, a witch whom he encountered in the past and happens to be an ally of Rasputin's. Managing to defeat Baba Yaga's champion Koshchei, Hellboy returns to his reality and is led to Bromhead after he became monstrous and in agony from his attempt to take Hecate's powers for his own. Hellboy gives Bromhead a merciful death before returning to England during the events of Hellboy: The Wild Hunt where he encounters Alice Monaghan, a young woman he saved as a baby from a fairy named Gruagach who has revived the lunatic sorceress Nimue to fill the void left by Hecate.

During that time, Hellboy encounters the spirit of Morgana le Fay who reveals to Hellboy both the names of his parents and that Sarah Hughes was her descendant, which names Hellboy as the last living heir to Arthur Pendragon and the rightful king of England.[4] But as he also learns from Astaroth that he is destined to kill Satan and become the new King of Hell, Hellboy is reluctant to wield Excalibur (which in his hands becomes a flaming sword) and the army of undead British nobility amassed to face Nimue's army. Therefore, enlisting Baba Yaga's assistance with his eye as payment for the injury he did to her in their first meeting, Hellboy decides to face Nimue one-on-one in the events of Hellboy: The Storm and the Fury. But in the aftermath of his battle with Nimue, who was possessed by Ogdru Jahad at the time, Hellboy is killed by the witch in her final moments. As revealed in Hellboy in Hell, Hellboy ends up trapped in Hell, where he encounters what's left of his demonic kin and the souls of the damned, and ultimately comes to terms with the destiny he has been shrugging off his whole life. Hellboy later returns in the mini-series BPRD: The Devil You Know, revived and joining Liz and Abe in the final arc of the series. After defeating Rasputin again, he and Hecate see the fall of the Ogdru Jahad and get back the Right Hand of Doom from the Osiris Club, killing them. Despite their efforts, however, Ragnarok is fulfilled and most of humanity is destroyed. In the end, Hellboy and Hecate fuse together to create a new world on Earth

[kookie-doughs]

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader -Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 10: The Wheels On The Bus Goes Skrt Skrt Skrt

It didn't take me long to pack. I didn't have anything at all, which left me only an extra change of clothes and a toothbrush to stuff in a backpack Grover had found for me and Percy. Both having nothing to carry we decided to share a bag. The camp store loaned us one hundred dollars in mortal money and twenty golden drachmas. These coins were as big as Girl Scout cookies and had images of various Greek gods stamped on one side and the Empire State Building on the other. The ancient mortal drachmas had been silver, Chiron told us, but Olympians never used less than pure gold. Chiron said the coins might come in handy for non-mortal transactions—whatever that meant. He gave Annabeth, Percy and I each a canteen of nectar and a Ziploc bag full of ambrosia squares, to be used only in emergencies, if we were seriously hurt. It was god food, Chiron reminded us. It would cure us of almost any injury, but it was lethal to mortals. Too much of it would make a half-blood very, very feverish. An overdose would burn us up, literally. Annabeth was bringing her magic Yankees cap, which she told us had been a twelfth-birthday present from her mom. She carried a book on famous classical architecture, written in Ancient Greek, to read when she got bored, and a long bronze knife, hidden in her shirt sleeve. I was sure the knife would get us busted the first time we went through a metal detector. Grover wore his fake feet and his pants to pass as human. He wore a green rasta-style cap, because when it rained his curly hair flattened and you could just see the tips of his horns. His bright orange backpack was full of scrap metal and apples to snack on. In his pocket was a set of reed pipes his daddy goat had carved for him, even though he only knew two songs: Mozart's Piano Concerto no. 12 and Hilary Duff's "So Yesterday," both of which sounded pretty bad on reed pipes. We waved good-bye to the other campees, took one last look at the strawberry fields, the ocean, and the Big House, then hiked up Half-Blood Hill to the tall pine tree that used to be Thalia, daughter of Zeus. Chiron was waiting for us in his wheelchair. Next to him stood a surfer looking dude. According to Grover, the guy was the camp's head of security. He supposedly had eyes all over his body so he could never be surprised. Today, though, he was wearing a chauffeur's uniform, so I could only see extra peepers on his hands, face and neck. "This is Argus," Chiron told us. "He will drive you into the city, and, er, well, keep an eye on things." I heard footsteps behind us. Luke came running up the hill, carrying a pair of basketball shoes. "Hey!" he panted. "Glad I caught you." Annabeth blushed, the way she always did when Luke was around. I looked at him with a frown. "Don't look at me like that. I had to find out from the others you're going on a quest." he glared. "So much for the option you won't die at." "I would've told you if you were at the cabin when I got back. Now what's with the shoes?" "Just wanted to say good luck," Luke told Percy. "And I thought... um, maybe you could use these." He handed him the sneakers, which looked pretty normal. They even smelled kind of normal. Luke said, "Maia!" White bird's wings sprouted out of the heels, startling me so much, Percy dropped them. The shoes flapped around on the ground until the wings folded up and disappeared. "Awesome!" Grover said. Luke smiled. "Those served me well when I was on my quest. Gift from Dad. Of course, I don't use them much these days...." His expression turned sad. I didn't know what to say. It was cool enough that Luke had come to say good-bye. But here he was giving Percy a magic gift.... It made me a bit jealous. "Hey, man," Percy said. "Thanks." "Listen, Percy..." Luke looked uncomfortable. "A lot of hopes are riding on you. So just... kill some monsters for me, okay?" They shook hands. Luke patted Grover's head between his horns, then gave a good-bye hug to Annabeth, who looked like she might pass out. The three went to Chiron about stuffs while Luke and I had a staring contest. "So Percy got a present and I only get an I don't know... a hug? Here I thought I was your favorite." "What made you think you are?" He laughed and ruffled my hair. "And no you don't get a hug." "Suddenly I'm not coming back." He smiled and from his back he pulled out a sheathed knife. "I meant to say you won't get only a hug. I noticed you're not a fan of swords. So, I made this my self. I am no Hephaestus child but hey..." He handed me the knife. The sheath was plain colored with a metal chap and locket, it had chains attached to the locket where I could probably put it on something to make sure I bring it with me. Pulling the knife out of the sheath, its knife was around 15 inches. On the blade, Ancient Greek was engraved on it. I think it's my name and the other side is his. "What is this?" I grinned. "I don't know. I ran out of good ideas! I swear I looked up some of Plato and Socrates for that." "And you settled for that?" I laughed. "I am going to take that back now." "Hey, that doesn't mean I don't like it. Thanks." "It's celestial bronze... Half of it at least." "Half?" "I'm sure Chiron won't appreciate it. It will harm both us and humans." "So... It'll hurt both side?" "Yup. And I'm not sure but according to a Hephaestus kid but it's supposed to glow when its near something." "Its not glowing now." "We never said no backsies. I'd like it back now." "I'll take good care of..." I stopped to think of a name and almost immediately remembered a perfect one, "Sting." "I would ask but I already know." Luke shook his head. "Be careful with Sting. It---" "He. Sting is a he, thank you very much." "HE, is lethal. He it can kill us, others close to our kind and normal humans." "Oops I accidentally stabbed myself." With a worried look he pulled me in a hug, "And whatever happens. Put your safety above all. No need to be the hero. If you die in this quest I will get the lord of the dead revive you or kill me." "Ew how sentimental." "Be careful... okay? All of you. Promise me that." "Fine, I promise. On the knife, I'll come back not dead, with everyone." After Luke was gone, I placed the knife on my waist. I went back to Percy. "Okay, that's extremely cool," I heard him say. "What's cool?" I grinned standing behind Percy overlooking his shoulder. "My new pen." He showed me his pen and uncapped it only to show a sword. "I can't loose it no matter what! Its called Riptide." "But what if a mortal sees you pulling out a sword?" Chiron smiled. "Mist is a powerful thing, Y/N." "Mist?" "I just keep hearing that over and over can someone finally explain?" "Yes. Read The Iliad. It's full of references to the stuff. Whenever divine or monstrous elements mix with the mortal world, they generate Mist, which obscures the vision of humans. You will see things just as they are, being a half-blood, but humans will interpret things quite differently. Remarkable, really, the lengths to which humans will go to fit things into their version of reality." Percy put Riptide back in his pocket. For the first time, the quest felt real. We was actually leaving Half-Blood Hill. We was heading west with no adult supervision, no backup plan, not even a cell phone. (Chiron said cell phones were traceable by monsters; if we used one, it would be worse than sending up a flare.) I had no weapon stronger than a knife to fight off monsters and reach the Land of the Dead. "Chiron..." I said. "When you say the gods are immortal... I mean, there was a time before them, right?" "Four ages before them, actually. The Time of the Titans was the Fourth Age, sometimes called the Golden Age, which is definitely a misnomer. This, the time of Western civilization and the rule of Zeus, is the Fifth Age." "So what was it like... before the gods?" Chiron pursed his lips. "Even I am not old enough to remember that, child, but I know it was a time of darkness and savagery for mortals. Kronos, the lord of the Titans, called his reign the Golden Age because men lived innocent and free of all knowledge. But that was mere propaganda. The Titan king cared nothing for your kind except as appetizers or a source of cheap entertainment. It was only in the early reign of Lord Zeus, when Prometheus the good Titan brought fire to mankind, that your species began to progress, and even then Prometheus was branded a radical thinker. Zeus punished him severely, as you may recall. Of course, eventually the gods warmed to humans, and Western civilization was born." "But the gods can't die now, right? I mean, as long as Western civilization is alive, they're alive. So... even if I failed, nothing could happen so bad it would mess up everything, right?" Chiron gave us a melancholy smile. "No one knows how long the Age of the West will last, Percy. The gods are immortal, yes. But then, so were the Titans. They still exist, locked away in their various prisons, forced to endure endless pain and punishment, reduced in power, but still very much alive. May the Fates forbid that the gods should ever suffer such a doom, or that we should ever return to the darkness and chaos of the past. All we can do, child, is follow our destiny." "Our destiny... assuming we know what that is." "Relax," Chiron told me. "Keep a clear head. And remember, you may be about to prevent the biggest war in human history." "Relax," Percy said. "I'm very relaxed." When we got to the bottom of the hill, I looked back. Under the pine tree that used to be Thalia, daughter of Zeus, Chiron was now standing in full horse-man form, holding his bow high in salute. Just your typical summer-camp send-off by your typical centaur. I took Percy's hand and we gave each other a reassuring nod. I wish us luck. Talking whilst at camp drained me. I apologize if I won't be much help. You have stamina? So you aren't a bigshot all powerful god? Without you and I as one. I am nothing. I have given you my everything.

Argus drove us out of the countryside and into western Long Island. It felt weird to be on a highway again, Annabeth and Percy was sitting next to me as if we were normal carpoolers. After two weeks at Half-Blood Hill, the real world seemed like a fantasy. I found myself staring at every McDonald's, every kid in the back of his parents' car, every billboard and shopping mall. "So far so good," Percy said. "Ten miles and not a single monster." She gave him an irritated look. "It's bad luck to talk that way, seaweed brain." "Remind me again—why do you hate me so much?" "I don't hate you." "Could've fooled me." She folded her cap of invisibility. "Look... we're just not supposed to get along, okay? Our parents are rivals." "Why?" She sighed. "How many reasons do you want? One time my mom caught Poseidon with his girlfriend in Athena's temple, which is hugely disrespectful. Another time, Athena and Poseidon competed to be the patron god for the city of Athens. Your dad created some stupid saltwater spring for his gift. My mom created the olive tree. The people saw that her gift was better, so they named the city after her." "They must really like olives." I interjected. "Not you too! You know what? Forget it." "Now, if she'd invented pizza—that I could understand." "I said, forget it!" In the front seat, Argus smiled. He didn't say anything, but one blue eye on the back of his neck winked at me. Traffic slowed us down in Queens. By the time we got into Manhattan it was sunset and starting to rain. Argus dropped us at the Greyhound Station on the Upper East Side, Percy and I didn't let go. Taped to a mailbox was a soggy flyer with Percy's picture on it: HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOY? He ripped it down before Annabeth and Grover could notice. "They could've at least gotten a better picture." I smirked which caused him to roll his eyes. Argus unloaded our bags, made sure we got our bus tickets, then drove away, the eye on the back of his hand opening to watch us as he pulled out of the parking lot. Grover shouldered his backpack. He gazed down the street in the direction Percy was looking. "You want to know why she married him, Percy?" I stared at Percy then at Grover. "Were you reading my mind or something?" "Just your emotions." He shrugged. "Guess I forgot to tell you satyrs can do that. You were thinking about your mom and your stepdad, right?" Percy nodded. I missed my parents of course, but I had Luke and Grover to talk to which made me less lonely. Percy became an outcast when we got to camp and had no one to talk to. I squeezed his hand and gave him a smile. "Your mom married Gabe for you," Grover told him. "You call him 'Smelly,' but you've got no idea. The guy has this aura.... Yuck. I can smell him from here. I can smell traces of him on you, and you haven't been near him for a week." "Thanks," Percy said. "Where's the nearest shower?" "You should be grateful, Percy. Your stepfather smells so repulsively human he could mask the presence of any demigod. As soon as I took a whiff inside his Camaro, I knew: Gabe has been covering your scent for years. If you hadn't lived with him every summer, you probably would've been found by monsters a long time ago. Your mom stayed with him to protect you. She was a smart lady. She must've loved you a lot to put up with that guy—if that makes you feel any better." I knew what Percy was thinking. He was thinking of the fact we'll get his mom and my parents. How we'll save them all. We got restless waiting for the bus and decided to play some Hacky Sack with one of Grover's apples. Annabeth was unbelievable. She could bounce the apple off her knee, her elbow, her shoulder, whatever. I wasn't too bad myself. The game ended when I tossed the apple toward Grover and it got too close to his mouth. In one mega goat bite, our Hacky Sack disappeared—core, stem, and all. Grover blushed. He tried to apologize, but we were too busy cracking up. Percy pulled me to a corner, after excusing ourselves for a bathroom break. "You finally going to tell me about this quest?" "The truth is," He started. "I don't care about retrieving Zeus's lightning bolt, or saving the world, or even helping my father out of trouble." I gave him a look that reassured him to continue. "The more I thought about it, I resented my father for never visiting me, never helping my mom, never even sending a lousy child-support check. He'd only claimed me because he needed a job done. All I cared about was you and my mom. The underworld god had taken her unfairly, and he is going to give her back." "Percy, we don't even know what's going on. Yeah, he might have her. But what is there's another reason? We don't exactly know anything. I don't even think my parents are with him." "Well, no matter where they are. We will get them back. The least I could do is get them back." He rested his head on my shoulder. "Don't "You will be betrayed by one who calls you a friend," "What?" I froze. "Percy... I would never---" "You will fail to save what matters most in the end." "What are you talking about?" The rain kept coming down. "The rest of the prophecy. Y/N, I don't want you to betray me. Please... don't." I could hear his voice breaking. "Of course I won't. We'll get this quest done. We won't loose anyone and we'll get our parents. Don't worry." I hugged him. "I will stay with you. I won't leave and I won't betray you." "Hey Bonnie and Clyde, we need to go." Finally the bus came. As we stood in line to board, Grover started looking around, sniffing the air. "What is it?" I asked. "I don't know," he said tensely. "Maybe it's nothing." But I could tell it wasn't nothing. I took Percy's hand and started looking over my shoulder, too. I was relieved when we finally got on board and found seats together in the back of the bus. We stowed our backpacks. Annabeth kept slapping her Yankees cap nervously against her thigh. As the last passengers got on, I immediately clamped my hand onto Percy's knee. "Percy." It was Mrs. Dodds. Older, more withered, but definitely the same evil face. I scrunched down in my seat. Behind her came two more old ladies: one in a green hat, one in a purple hat. Otherwise they looked exactly like Mrs. Dodds—same gnarled hands, paisley handbags, wrinkled velvet dresses. Triplet demon grandmothers. And I was now sure, Mrs. Rudolph was one of them. They sat in the front row, right behind the driver. The two on the aisle crossed their legs over the walkway, making an X. It was casual enough, but it sent a clear message: nobody leaves. The bus pulled out of the station, and we headed through the slick streets of Manhattan. "She didn't stay dead long," Percy said, "I thought you said they could be dispelled for a lifetime." "I said if you're lucky," Annabeth said. "You're obviously not." "All three of them," Grover whimpered. "Di immortales!" "Who knows maybe they just want to play?" I said nervously. Annabeth gave me a look of irritation, "Not now," she said, obviously thinking hard. "The Furies. The three worst monsters from the Underworld. No problem. No problem. We'll just slip out the windows." "They don't open," Grover moaned. "A back exit?" she suggested. There wasn't one. Even if there had been, it wouldn't have helped. By that time, we were on Ninth Avenue, heading for the Lincoln Tunnel. "Maybe a nice chat would help?" "They won't attack us with witnesses around," Percy said. "Will they?" "Mortals don't have good eyes," Annabeth reminded him. "Their brains can only process what they see through the Mist." "They'll see three old ladies killing us, won't they?" She thought about it. "Hard to say. But we can't count on mortals for help. Maybe an emergency exit in the roof... ?" We hit the Lincoln Tunnel, and the bus went dark except for the running lights down the aisle. It was eerily quiet without the sound of the rain. Mrs. Dodds got up. In a flat voice, as if she'd rehearsed it, she announced to the whole bus: "I need to use the rest-room." "So do I," said the second sister. "So do I," said the third sister. They all started coming down the aisle. "I've got it," Annabeth said. "Percy, take my hat." "What?" "You're the one they want. Turn invisible and go up the aisle. Let them pass you. Maybe you can get to the front and get away." "But you guys—" "There's an outside chance they might not notice us," Annabeth said. "You're a son of one of the Big Three. Your smell might be overpowering." "I can't just leave Y-- you guys!" "Don't worry about us," I assured him. "Go!" His hands were trembling. But I took the Yankees cap and put it on. And he simply vanished. Mrs. Dodds stopped, sniffing, and looked straight at a spot. My heart was pounding. Apparently she didn't see anything. She and her sisters kept going. "Maybe if they approach us, I could try talking? I really was Mrs. Rudolph's favorite..." I stammered. "Yeah stage is yours." Annabeth answered. The old ladies were not old ladies anymore. Their faces were still the same—I guess those couldn't get any uglier— but their bodies had shriveled into leathery brown hag bodies with bat's wings and hands and feet like gargoyle claws. Their handbags had turned into fiery whips. The Furies surrounded us, lashing their whips, hissing: "Where is it? Where?" The other people on the bus were screaming, cowering in their seats. They saw something, all right. "He's not here!" Annabeth yelled. "He's gone!" The Furies raised their whips. "Don't!" I stepped in front of them shaking. "H-Hi Mrs. Rudolph. W-What could you need?" Annabeth drew her bronze knife. Grover grabbed a tin can from his snack bag and prepared to throw it. To our surprise the bus jerked to the right. Everybody howled as we were thrown to the right, and I heard what I hoped was the sound of three Furies smashing against the windows. "Hey!" the driver yelled. "Hey—whoa!" The bus slammed against the side of the tunnel, grinding metal, throwing sparks a mile behind us. We careened out of the Lincoln Tunnel and back into the rainstorm, people and monsters tossed around the bus, cars plowed aside like bowling pins. Somehow the driver found an exit. We shot off the highway, through half a dozen traffic lights, and ended up barreling down one of those New Jersey rural roads where you can't believe there's so much nothing right across the river from New York. There were woods to our left, the Hudson River to our right, and the driver seemed to be veering toward the river. The bus wailed, spun a full circle on the wet asphalt, and crashed into the trees. The emergency lights came on. The door flew open. The bus driver was the first one out, the passengers yelling as they stampeded after him. The Furies regained their balance. They lashed their whips at Annabeth while she waved her knife and yelled in Ancient Greek, telling them to back off. Grover threw tin cans. It was as if I didn't exist which was kinda offensive. "Hey! I'm also here!" I yelled pulling out my now glowing knife and helped Grover. "Hey!" A voice from the door way echoed. "Percy you idiot! Run!" I yelled. The Furies turned, baring their yellow fangs at him. Mrs. Dodds stalked up the aisle. Every time she flicked her whip, red flames danced along the barbed leather. Her two ugly sisters hopped on top of the seats on either side of her and crawled toward him like huge nasty lizards. I don't know how but I managed to parkour my way to avoid them and get to Percy in no trouble. I raised my knife and stood in between of them. "Perseus Jackson," Mrs. Dodds said, in an accent that was definitely from somewhere farther south than Georgia. "You have offended the gods. You shall die. I suggest you step away from him Y/N L/N." "I liked you better as a math teacher," he told her. She growled. Annabeth and Grover moved up behind the Furies cautiously, looking for an opening. Percy took the ballpoint pen out of his pocket and uncapped it. Riptide elongated into a shimmering double-edged sword. The Furies hesitated. Mrs. Dodds had felt Riptide's blade before. She obviously didn't like seeing it again. "Submit now," she hissed. "And you will not suffer eternal torment." "Nice try," I told her. "Percy, look out!" Annabeth cried. Mrs. Dodds lashed her whip around my sword hand while the Furies on the either side lunged at him. I managed to keep one of them and parried with her using my knife., which turned out to be Mrs. Rudolph. "I hate to admit it but you were my favorite teacher. Why go mean now?!" I struck with the hilt of my knife against her, sending her toppling backward into a seat. I turned to see Percy had sliced the Fury on his right. As soon as the blade connected with her neck, she screamed and exploded into dust. Annabeth got Mrs. Dodds in a wrestler's hold and yanked her backward while Grover ripped the whip out of her hands. "Ow!" he yelled. "Ow! Hot! Hot!" Mrs. Rudolph came at me again, talons ready, but I dove in and got in range to swing Sting at her and she broke open like a piñata. Mrs. Dodds was trying to get Annabeth off her back. She kicked, clawed, hissed and bit, but Annabeth held on while Grover got Mrs. Dodds's legs tied up in her own whip. Finally they both shoved her backward into the aisle. Mrs. Dodds tried to get up, but she didn't have room to flap her bat wings, so she kept falling down. "Zeus will destroy you!" she promised. "Hades will have your soul!" "Braccas meas vescimini!" Percy yelled. I wasn't sure where the Latin came from. I think it meant "Eat my pants!" Thunder shook the bus. The hair rose on the back of my neck. "Get out!" Annabeth yelled at us. "Now!" I didn't need any encouragement. Taking Percy's hand, we rushed outside and found the other passengers wandering around in a daze, arguing with the driver, or running around in circles yelling, "We're going to die!" A Hawaiian-shirted tourist with a camera snapped my photograph before I could recap my sword. "Our bags!" Grover realized. "We left our—" BOOOOOM! The windows of the bus exploded as the passengers ran for cover. Lightning shredded a huge crater in the roof, but an angry wail from inside told me Mrs. Dodds was not yet dead. "Run!" Annabeth said. "She's calling for reinforcements! We have to get out of here!" We plunged into the woods as the rain poured down, the bus in flames behind us, and nothing but darkness ahead.

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UwU Haha this is what the knife looks like since I'm not sure if I describe it that well... Omg I just realized my brother changed the chapter title lmao -kookie-doughs

Just imagine it has your name on the blade.

Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000