#I CAN DRAW NON HUMAN CREATURES BUT WHEN IT COMES TO NORMAL ANIMALS I AM. UM. NOT GREAT AT IT. THUMBUP

[datastate]

also since i mentioned it: behold. my blobs.

[mayasaura]

Alecto, The River, and Colum Asht

I’ve been working on a few different Harrow the Ninth meta theories, and I noticed some threads that seemed to pull them together. Maybe you could call this another megatheorum, but I’m not sure it’s comprehensive enough for that.

I think whatever kind of monster Alecto is, the clues we need to guess are in salt water and the death of Colum Asht.

Salt water leads us to the River. @ovrgrwn @sauntering-vaguely-downwards ​ and I were talking about the symbolism of salt water in the series, and Ovrgrwn mentioned both that Alecto is a “saltwater creature” and that the River isn’t salt water. The thing is, I realised later that the River is salt water.

One of the biggest puzzles we were left with pieces of in Harrow the Ninth was "What is Alecto?". She's been called a lot of things, but we know very little abit definitively. There’s a theory that I was discussing with @thunderon and @asimovsideburns that Alecto is something like a Resurrection Beast, in that she and Harrow are both communal souls forged through human sacrifice. There’s a theory that maybe she was someone else before the Resurrection and in trying to pull her soul back John accidentally got a whole bunch of souls instead. Or she could literally be Alecto the First the way Harrow is an entire generation of the Ninth, with every soul that used to inhabit the world of the First packed into her body. I like all these theories—it feels like we’re on the right track, but also like we’re missing something. This by itself doesn’t seem like it would be so viscerally terrifying to Augustine and Mercy, who were present for the creation of Teacher and the revenant constructs in Caanan House. If she’s an overstuffed suitcase of ten billion souls, why is she a saltwater creature? Why does Teacher call her tomb a zoo, and why are her eyes Like That?

[Image: It came down around her in shreds, as light and insubstantial as drifts of spiderweb. The water sprayed through white holes, rushing in with a pounding roar: that brackish, bloodied water that only existed within the River. She was bouyed up by a spray of ice water and filth - but she wasn’t; she seemed to be walking down her long black corridor again-]

In chapter 53 when Harrow tears her way out of the bubble of the false Canaan House, the River is described as “brackish, bloodied water”. Brackish water is the water that’s found at the place where a river meets a sea; too salty to drink, but not as salty as sea water. The River is brackish salt water, and Alecto is a saltwater creature.

Brackish water is mentioned only one other time in either book.

[Image: She appeared behind the grey-thing-that-had-been-Colum. She took its twisted neck in her hands as calmly and easily as though it were an animal, and she tilted it. The neck snapped. Her fingertips dipped inside the skin; the eye-mouths shrilled, and the tongue around Gideon’s neck flopped away, and both those mouths dissolved into brackish fluid. The body dropped to the floor—]

When Colum Asht dies in chapter 34 of Gideon the Ninth, a brackish fluid runs out of his eye sockets. Whatever creature was inside Colum, it came from the River. And then there’s the description - it’s too long and spread out to quote in full here, but the details are that his eyes went liquid black, and he moved “like there were six people inside him, and none of those six people had ever been inside a human being before”. There are lights under Colum’s skin and things pushing and slithering along his muscles as he walks. When he opens his eyes again, they’re toothed mouths with tongues, and Colum’s tongue has become long and prehensile and it wraps around Gideon’s neck like a tentacle.

The stoma at the bottom of the the River, the mouths to Hell that only open for Resurrection Beasts and the Emperor, are described like this:

[Image: It was a huge, hideous, dark expanse, and it had seething, weird edges; it took the lights pattering over them for me to see that the edges of the hole were enormous human teeth. Each one must’ve been six bodies high and two bodies wide, with the dainty scalloped edges of incisors. The teeth shivered and trembled, like the hole was slavering. And that hole had nothing in it; that hole was blacker than space, that hole was an eaten-away tunnel of reality.]

[Image: Streamerlike lingual tentacles emerged—the unassuming pink you got on normal, non-Hell-bound tongues—easily a thousand of them, jostling, questing, blindly thrusting up out of that mouth. Pyrrha flinched.]

Colum’s eyes have become miniature stoma. It’s interesting that while the thing possessing Colum advances on and kills Silas first, the stoma don’t open until Gideon attacks it. It uses Colum’s sword to kill Silas, but draws Gideon in with its tongue, like the tongues from the stoma at the bottom of the River draw her father the Emperor and Augustine in. But that’s another meta post.

Perhaps the stoma are creatures, sentient hellmouths lurking at the bottom of the River, and it’s stoma that are possessing Colum the Eighth. Maybe it’s the river itself possessing Colum, and the lights under his skin are souls. Maybe it’s something from beyond the stoma, something that came out of Hell. It’s an important question, but not one I have an answer to right now. I am confident in the connection between the stoma and the Eighth House. In chapter 36 of HtN Augustine accuses Mercy of not taking the stoma seriously “which is why your whole damned House sucks at it like a grotesque teat-”. Mercy’s House is the Eighth House, so whatever the metaphysical effect of siphoning is, it presumably involves the stoma. What interests me most about Colum’s transformation for now is that his eyes went full liquid black, and that he was possessed by a creature that left salt water behind it.

Still with me? Now we tie it all together with Alecto’s eyes, the eyes currently in the face of God, the Emperor of the Nine Houses. Like the possessed Colum, their sclera are black. Unlike Colum, their eyes have irises and pupils. The irises are “dark and leadenly iridescent - a deep rainbow oil slick, ringed with white.” Even before I had any idea about Alecto, I wondered what sort of soul the God who was once a man had consumed to have eyes like that. The way Ianthe’s eye colors swirled and merged when Naberius was fighting her, I wondered if his dark iridescent irises were the colors of ten billion souls swirling together, but that wouldn’t explain the black sclera. Now I think the Resurrection Beasts, the stoma, and these theories about Alecto are offering an explanation.

Perhaps Alecto is an enormous collection of human souls, like in our theories, but she is not only human souls. Whatever was possessing Colum Asht is also a part of Alecto. The black sclera she gets from the River, and the iridescent irises she gets from thousands or millions or billions of human souls. Depending on how you interpret what possessed Colum, that could mean a few different things. Maybe she's a human stoma, a human soul merged with the mouth of hell. Maybe she's a tributary or avatar of the River, and the power of all of history's death runs through her. Maybe she's partially comprised of a creature from the incomprehensible chaos of Hell.

The stoma option seems like the most likely to me, to explain the fear and disgust that Mercy and Augustine feel toward Alecto. An avatar of the River is terrifying, but also awesome. That's not the right vibe for 'put that thing down before it hurts one of us'. It was implied in the conversation about Hell and the stoma at the end of chapter 36 that nothing had ever been observed coming through the other way, and it's plainly stated by the Emperor that nothing which goes in has ever come back. If Mercy and Augustine were aware that part of Alecto was from Hell, I would expect it to be hinted at in that scene, and it wasn't really. I did notice that Augustine is more scared of Alecto than Mercy. When Mercy thought Alecto had come to kill her, she spoke to her. When Augustine thought he had seen Alecto, he turned and ran. Maybe Mercy is just braver in general, but Mercy is also less afraid of the stoma than Augustine.

As a closing note, evoking the stoma or what might lie beyond it would explain the only line in Annabel Lee as a metaphor for Alecto that puzzles me.

And neither the angels in heaven above,

  Nor the demons down under the sea,

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

  Of the beautiful Annabel Lee

[ja-khajay]

Stuff I read (and liked) this year

As promised, here’s a list of the novels, comics, manga, etc... I read this year, focusing on the ones I enjoyed and would recommend to people. Under a cut, this is going to be a little long.

-------- Books --------

Favorite book of the year: Stranger in the Woods, by Michael Finkel

Non-fiction. Based on the interviews of the man himself by the author, it is about a man who felt so unfit for society he decided one day to leave it, and spent the next 28 years as a hidden hermit in forest in Maine. The book details how he survived there, how he was eventually found, and some of his reasons for doing so. It’s a great reflection on the nature of loneliness.

Indian creek, by Pete Fromm

...Yet another detailed tale of living alone in the woods. This time, the diary of a student who spent a winter in the mountains to help tend for salmon hatchlings, and how he spent the rest of his days hiking, hunting, meeting the locals. It’s a fun little book who, being set almost the whole world away from where I live, was a nice way to travel.

Howl’s Moving Castle, by Diana Wynne Jones

I don’t feel the need to explain this one since everyone and their mom has seen the movie adapted from it. The book, that I first read a decade ago before I actually watched the film, is a less romantized, more spirited telling of the same story. The writing is absolutely delightful and so is the world it paints, and it’s the first time in ages a book had me laughing out loud during my entire read.

-------- Comics (BD) --------

Favorite comic of the year: Monsieur Désire?, by Hubert and Virginie Augustin

A discreet young woman becomes a maid for a decadent, unbearable, byronesque young lord. Caked in the rigid and oppressive social hierarchy of the victorian era, you follow a mental and verbal joust between the two, as the lord tries his best to offend and corrupt his new unrelenting servant, to little success. The writing and especially the dialogues were stellar, drawing me into the tense atmosphere, watching this trainwreck of a character flamboyantly destroy himself. While there’s no precise content warnings that I can give, this is a mature and heavy story.

World of Edena, by Moebius

Anyone who’s followed this blog for over a month knows how much of a Moebius fan I am. Edena combines the vague, dreamlike, wordless storytelling from stuff like Arzach or The cat’s eyes with an actual plot. While I haven’t completly finished the story, the evolution of the main characters and how the story is told have been great to read through, and as always the art is beyond gorgeous. Unfortunately suffers from some good old sexism in the writing that even if minimal, tasted sour

Le roman de Renart, by Joan Sfar (book 1)

Sfar’s work always has a signature vibe of being dreamy and light without being light hearted, of being down to earth but drifting in the fantastical, and this one is no exception. It’s an adaption of a series of medieval folk tales I grew up with, who uses the same characters to tell an original story. If you’re familiar with icons like Renart as well as other mythological big boys like Merlin you’ll fit right in. There is something special in how the dialogues are written, who feel natural in a way that you’d overhear in a street corner and is very special to me.

The mercenary, by VIncente Segrelles

Another one I post about a lot on this blog. The mercenary is a king on the throne of fantasy cheese. The worldbuilding is interesting at times but the writing is a pretty pathetic display of glorious old time sword and sorcery sci-fantasy 10 years too late for it’s prime (warning for ye old sexism and orientalism that plagues the genre, cranked very high...) but you come and stay for the art. The entire thing is drawn in a series of hyper detailed oil paintings with an insane eye for technical detail, from the engineering of the weaponry, to the architecture and weather, to the anatomy of the fantasy creatures... Each panel stands out as it’s own painting which makes even flipping through it without reading the scenario a treat. Click here to see more of the art, in my Segrelles tag.

The ice maurauder, by Jacques Tardi

A short story about mad scientists entirely drawn like a 19th century engraving. In great Tardi tradition everyone is ugly and mean, it ends terribly, it’s both a hommage to the genre of late 19th cent. to early 1900s dramatic adventure novels and a critical eye on it, and it’s morbidly funny. Most people I saw online hated the way this was written but I’m not them and I really recommend this book. Die mad

-------- Manga --------

Favorite manga of the year: it’s a tie between the following two.

Cats of the Louvre, by Taiyo Matsumoto

Most wonderful comic I have read in ages. The story follows a bunch of semi-feral cats secretly living in the Louvre museum’s attic, and the small group of humans who share their life, walking through the museum as the night watch. When the cats are together, they are represented in a humanoid way, but still act like animals, and “become” cats again when a human is nearby. The plot is a sort of supernatural mystery centered around a kitten who walks around paintings. It’s a love letter to art, sincere and beautiful, with a unique art style and great characters.

Memoirs of amorous Gentlemen, by Moyoco Anno

A sex worker in early 20th century paris starts writing down a diary of the clients she meets, in a quest to cope with the troubles of her life. You follow her, her colleagues, and her bittersweet relationship with an abusive lover. I don’t have much words about this comic, but the art and writing both are amazing, it’s the perfect length and drew me in like little series had before. Obvious content warnings as this is an adult story that talks about sexuality, but also depicts both mental and physical abuse.

Hana, also by Taiyo Matsumoto 

A very short story, this was not made to be read as a comic originally, but served as storyboarding and visual development for a play, and the way it is written follows that. Hana is a slice of life story set in a fantasy world, of a young boy, his family, his village. Despite the setting being an original one, the character interactions are refreshingly... normal, and there is no huge plot to speak of, just a bit of the life of these characters. The art is beautiful, entirely black and white, with a scratchy style and an emphasis on contrast. Matsumoto is on a speedy road to becoming my favorite manga artist haha

Delicious in Dungeon, by Ryoko Kui

While not marked as my year’s favorite, I still consider this series among my favorite manga ever. The art and writing are amazing, and it’s both heartfelt, well concieved and plain hilarious. The story follows several parties of dungeon diving adventurers each on their little quests with a premise of our protagonists, on a panic rescue mission, surviving in the dungeon by cooking and eating the monsters they come across. From a DnD party turned cooking manual dinner of the week beginning, the plot creeps up on you and slowly thickens. I don’t want to spoil anything about the overarching story of this because it was a delight to discover for myself. While everything about DinD rules, I am especially fond of the design philosophy of the author, who puts great detail in the practicality and biology of what she draws, as well as the character writing. Everyone even side characters has so much charm and depth to them, the cast is so diverse and entertaining...! Each character is just a bit lame enough but endearing, and has their own little backstory that shows in the way they exist. It’s a delight

Chainsaw man, by Tatsuki Fujimoto

I went into CSM expecting a borderline campy hyperviolent dumb fun thing to read and was very surprised to find an uncomfortably well written story about a teenager being groomed. The hyperviolent dumb fun fights are here nonetheless and the series still qualifies as shonen for some reason, but the more mature character writing as well as some truly outlandish visuals make it something very special. If you can’t stand shonen, not sure you will like it, but if you don’t mind it, worth trying.

Witch hat atelier, by Kamome Shirahama

The oh so elegant fantasy seinen every cool kid started posting about this year, who I also succumbed to and fast. Witch hat is hard to explain, as most of it’s plot revolves around the rules of the world it’s set in, specifically the regulations around it’s magic and the social and historical reasons for them. It’s about growing up, learning, disability, making art. You follow a little girl taken in by a witch as an apprentice, her magical education, and learn little by little why her lovely teacher is so willing to break a lot of rules... While a bit too gentle and pretty for my taste at times, Witch hat has great worldbuilding and explores sensitive themes I rarely see in manga, much less in fantasy. And Berserk wishes it had art this good

[sammystep]

No One Lives Forever- CH7

(AO3 link)

Stardust Crusader Wolf Pack AU

[From the beginning- CH1]

<Previous Chapter   Next Chapter>

It took Polnareff some time to cool off from the implications that the mysterious and frankly frightening man he met all those years ago was now behind some other shady business involving wolves, but by the time he reached the vehicles abandoned on the side of the road he was able to focus on the task at hand. Both were unlocked so it was easy to take a look inside the white van first. Opening the back door revealed the cargo area had been partitioned with metal cage sections like those in the backs of police cruisers.

Other gear was scattered around the back near the rear doors for easy access. Some more guns and ammo boxes and an overturned bin of the collar devices that they found on the bodies. Nothing really caught his eye but he took pictures on his phone for future reference. The keys were still in the ignition so he started up the vehicle and moved it off the main road to not draw unwanted attention.

It felt rude to go sniffing through your car, so after a brief look through the windows to confirm the hunters left no surprises, he opened the door and put it in neutral. With a few strong shoves he was able to rescue it from the shallow ditch it had been driven into. Your keys were also still in the ignition and luckily it started, but a few lights on the dash lit up- probably more internal damage than he first assumed from the crash. Driving slow and steady he was able to get it back to the cabin.

The slamming of the car door must have alerted the rest of the pack to his return, he saw Avdol peek through the window as he made his way to the door. Inside he was glad to see you moving about mostly unaided on your own, your wounds must be healing well thanks to Avdol’s expert care. Producing your car keys, he hands them over, “I was able to drive it back, but I don’t think it’s up for any longer distances without repairs. I thought you would want your things back though.”

You sigh as you realize you really are stuck with this pack, not that you mind them but the sudden loss of freedom is disheartening. You thank him as you take back your keys.

“Pol, did you find anything else? Any link to who sent them?” Jotaro asks as everyone stares intently at him, the rest of the pack must have already been brought up to speed on the situation.

“Just more of the same gear. I moved their van off the road so no nosey troopers get involved, at least not right now. Took some pictures of the inside in case you guys see anything I missed.” Polnareff hands over his phone to Jotaro who scrolls through the images before handing it to Avdol. Walking over to the table where the hunters’ things are still laid out Polnareff absently fiddles with the extra ammo before picking one up to examine more closely. “Hmm, that’s odd. There are no makers marks on this?”

“What do you mean?” Joseph scratches his beard as he holds one up as well.

“It’s weird that there’s no markings whatsoever. Silver bullets are always homemade but the quality of these, they look mass produced but have no manufacture marks.” Polnareff’s face is grim as he makes the connection.

“What does that mean? Is that unusual?” You ask as you try to understand the significance.

Jotaro sighs as Polnareff hands him the piece he was holding. “It means this group of hunters is experienced enough not to leave evidence linking to them. And their operation is probably much more complex and much bigger than the group we encountered here. The tech, the mass manufacture of silver ammo…”

“And the van was modified for prisoners.” Polnareff shakes his head and sighs.

“Polnareff, you said before you recognized the smell of one of the hunters.” Jotaro rolls his eyes as Joseph lets out a fake cough that sounds a lot like ‘DIO’. “Ignoring who it may or may not be for now, how do you know that scent?”

“I don’t know how else to describe it other than it smells like magic. It’s like nothing else I’ve ever smelled. There was only one person I’ve ever encountered that smelled like that.” Polnareff sits heavily in the nearest chair as the pack reconvenes at the table. “It was about five years ago now, before I met you Mr. Joestar. I was in New York City for the first time, trying to follow a lead on a case but having no luck. I heard rumors of a man who knew what had really happened to… in the case.” Polnareff gets a little choked up but controls himself and continues. “I was able to set up a meeting, but when I went to the spot, everything kind of… shifted? It felt like I was in a dream: it was hard to move, like weights on my feet. Everything looked just slightly wrong too, hazy like in a fog. I remember there was some sort of party going on, a lot of people everywhere like a medieval banquet or something. That’s where I met him. He introduced himself as Dio and I could tell he wasn’t human but couldn’t place what he actually was. He claimed he had the information I needed, but it would come at a price.”

“What do you mean by ‘investigation?” you tilt your head in confusion as you try to analyze his story so far.

“Ah, you wouldn’t know yet chérie but I’m one of the best private investigators in New York, probably the whole east coast!” Polnareff brags, jabbing his chest with his thumb.

“Focus Pol! What was his ‘price’?” Joseph groans out, exasperated with the younger man’s need to show off. “And why did you even need supernatural help? Not to inflate your ego any more than it is, but you are a good investigator.”

Polnareff looks down to the table, all sense of cheerfulness gone from his face. “The case had gone cold. It’s actually the reason I became a PI in the first place. My family, the whole town… they were murdered!” He slams his fists on the table as he shouts. “And not by just some maniac in the night! It was something inhuman! That’s the reason why I needed his help or whatever info he had on who did such a terrible act.”

You are frozen to your chair in shock with this new information. It seems to have taken the younger members of the pack by surprise too, Joseph and Avdol only nodding along in understanding. “The whole town murdered? You don’t mean…The one north of Quebec City, that was your home?” you say quietly.

Polnareff’s eyes shoot to yours, “Oui! Do you know of it?”

You swallow nervously as all the attention turns on you, “I heard of it, that was about seven or eight years ago right?” Polnareff nods and you continue, “That was about time I left my parent’s territory to try and find or start my own pack. They made me promise to not go that far north to Quebec, they were afraid whatever did that would get me too. They say the whole town was… torn apart.”

Polnareff hangs his head and you can see tears gather in his blue eyes. “Yes. It’s been years now but the pain… I wasn’t there when it happened, I was off in Quebec City partying while my family… When I got back, I was the one who found them. It wasn’t just a burglary gone bad or even ‘normal’ murder. Whatever killed them had used silver to do it. All of them, the whole town,” he chokes on his words trying to get the next ones out, “some of the bodies were eaten. Not by animals, by something almost human. I didn’t rest for days afterward. I swore I would hunt down the thing, the demon that did this to them. Unfortunately, I was not as good a tracker then as I am now, and the trail grew cold fast. So, I became a PI to try and keep looking and hone my skills.”

“That Dio guy, did he help at all? You said his help came at a price.” Jotaro directs the conversation back to the mysterious encounter.

“His price was too steep. He wanted information about other supernatural beings, to keep tabs and report to him directly.”

“Do you think he really did have the information though?” Kakyoin questions as he steeples his fingers together in front of him while he considers the information of Polnareff’s story.

Polnareff shakes his head, “It’s impossible to know now. He was so confident, about everything. I think I surprised him when I refused though. For a moment, it was like I saw his true face through the fog, he was suddenly terrifying and not at all charming. But I figured if he knew something, with all the people he had surrounded himself with someone else was bound to know as well. Whatever secret knowledge he had, it wouldn’t be secret for long. And why pay such a price for something that I could get for free later?”

“Did you ever find out his secret?” Avdol leans in as he asks, enraptured by Polnareff’s tale.

“Non, I don’t even remember leaving the place he brought me to. The next thing I remember after turning down his offer is, I suddenly found myself sitting in my car ready to head back to my motel.” He clasps his hands together and you can see his knuckles turn white from the tension. “I tried to find him again to, I don’t know… stop him? His intentions for the info on other creatures… It couldn’t have been good. And the slip of his façade I saw. The man, that creature is bad news. But he might have well been a ghost. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since.”

Polnareff turns to you, “A few years later I got hired by Mr. Joestar to keep an eye on a shady landlord working for him, and I guess the rest is history.” He shakes his head, “Who would have thought joining your pack would lead back to Dio again. Non- this is fate.”

Avdol gives Polnareff a pat on the shoulder before turning to Joseph. “Mr. Joestar, I think you should tell us what you know about Dio, or at least the person you know as Dio. I think it’s time the younger ones hear this.” Avdol says as he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms.

Joseph nods and runs his hand through his hair before he begins, “Right. Ahh, well,” he pauses to gather his thoughts for a second, “I know this is going to sound crazy but I guess there is no way around it. When I was young, I lived with my granny Erina, my parents were either dead or missing and her husband Jonathan had been dead since before my father was even born. Now’s not the time to get into the details of that but Granny used to tell me all kinds of stories from when Jonathan was alive. And most importantly- the majority of them involved an evil man named DIO! My grandfather’s adopted brother!” Joseph doesn’t control his volume in his excitement and ends up shouting his last sentence.

“Being an adopted son in a werewolf pack was strange enough, but Granny could tell there was something ‘other’ about Dio as well. Then one night, his schemes and plans finally came to fruition! There was a massive fight at the house, Granny said Jonathan would not speak of it except that his father George had died saving him from Dio’s magic and in the fight the manor was set on fire and burned down. Jonathan made it his life’s mission to find and destroy Dio, not for revenge but for the safety of England and the world!” Joseph turns his attention to look directly at Jotaro, “Dio was a changeling child. His actions confirmed it that night. He was one of the last remaining Fae on earth. And apparently not of the good and benevolent kind. So, you see why it could be possible that this man may be the same one my grandpa tried to destroy more than a hundred years ago.”

“That… that’s impossible! The Fae, they all disappeared long before that to Avalon.” Kakyoin is wide eyed as he tries to process the information. “I know some humans still believe in them, but…”

“I know! I know! I thought they were just stories from my granny too!” Joseph exclaims and puts his hand to his eyes, “But one time… I don’t think I was supposed to see it, but I found an old photo album. There was a family photo of my grandfather, his father, and Dio.” He turns to Polnareff, “Pol, the man you met. Did he have blond hair, angry eyes and three moles on his left ear?”

It’s Polnareff’s turn to go pale as he slowly nods.

Jotaro growls as he tilts his hat to hide his eyes before snapping his head up to face the pack. “As impossible as this all sounds, it doesn’t change the fact that someone is hunting down wolves. I don’t give a shit if it is Dio or not, or an extinct Fae or not. We are going to put an end to this.” He looks around the table for a second and you can tell his eyes linger on yours longer than the others. “If anyone has an objection to this say it now. There will be no opportunity later.”

Joseph slams his hand to the table palm down, “I’m in! lets show this bastard who he’s messing with!”

Joseph’s enthusiasm is contagious and you and Polnareff slam your hands to the table as well, surprising the group with the fire they can see burning in your eyes. “Hell yeah! They think they can just take me? No way! I’m going to help tear this guy to pieces! I’m with you all the way!” You say as you look directly at Jotaro. You’re not sure but you think that’s a look of pride on his face as you make your declaration.

Avdol and Kakyoin keep their cool but you can see the determination in their eyes as they nod and place their hands on the table as well. Joseph is grinning like a feral maniac and you suddenly believe his stories about saving the world with how excited he looks to do it all over again. “Then it’s settled! I’ll call Caesar and let him know to gather the Zeppeli pack too.” Joseph pauses as he stands and looks at you, “Oh, and (Y/N)?” you tilt your head at him to continue. “Welcome to the Joestar pack.”

 <Previous Chapter  Next Chapter>

Author’s Note:

Sorry for the slow update! Guess who’s not good at regulating her personal time? This gal! I had to change up the process of how I’m writing this cause just trying to type on my computer had too many distractions and next thing I know I’ve been playing Stardew Valley for  3 hours.

Anyway, I have a favor to ask- I need a name for one of the dead bad guys. So leave a comment with a first name for the guy from Jersey, can be a bad ex, terrible boss, friend you want to embarrass by getting their name in a fanfic (first names only please- no doxing!)

[anaismariarose19]

Marauders Era AU if Voldy didn’t exist

I always like to imagine how all the marauders era characters would turn out or become if there wasn’t the presence of Voldemort. 

For me; I do not see James as being a Auror in an AU world. I like to think that after Hogwarts James joining the Wimbourne Wasps Quidditch Team (they are the team local to Godric’s Hollow) as a Chaser for a few years gaining stardom.

Remus works here and there in casual retail and hospitality jobs in both the muggle world and wizarding world due to his condition affecting his employment opportunities. Peter gains employment at a little photography shop that creates moving images which he greatly enjoys and becomes highly proficient at. 

And Sirius spends the first few years post-Hogwarts running amuck, splurging his inheritance on nights out, making out with Veela and spending his time fixing vintage cars into magical objects developing quite the nice car collection. 

All their lives change when Rita Skeeter a young journalist early in her career uses her Animagus skills to discover a spicy secret about Quidditch Star James Potter -- that he and his mates are unregistered Animagus, frequently let loose their werewolf friend near parks and forests risking lives. naturally She delights in this and knows it will be just the story to transport her to the front page. 

The aftermath is quick and brutal; The marauders spend a 6 month sentence in Azkaban after James tries to use money and fame to lighten their sentence from the standard 3 year term. James is kicked off the Quidditch Team. 

The public interest in their case though turns out to be positive down the track as academics begin to research werewolves behaviours and mannerisms around other animals magical and non-magical during the full moon. This leads to a proposal to the Ministry of magic in the Department of the regulation and Control of Magical creatures to create a magical habitat blocked off to humans where magical animals run free and Werewolves on the ministry list are invited to experience their transformation in there and roam free as an cheaper alternative to the wolfsbane potion.

Once the marauders sentence in Azkaban ended they were released back a bit more mature and wizened then they were beforehand. One night whilst cuddling  his wife Lily at home, Lily introduced to him muggle TV and the Monty Pythons. James immediately fell in love and decided that the Wizarding world should have their own wizarding channel where shows similar to this can exist. James, Peter, Remus and Sirius come together to invent a wizarding channel that can be accessed on normal TVs UK wide -- Peter decides to be the camera man and Director, Remus writes and edits scripts/skits and Sirius uses his prowess at enchanting muggle objects to create the wizarding channel. All together they do their own marauder skits and film together. 

The Marauders quickly develop a cult audience of primarily muggleborns and half-bloods who are keen to see muggle and wizarding culture co-exist and enjoy the Marauders humour. 

A petition started by Lucius Malfoy attempts to get rid of this magical technology with suggestions that the Marauders are risking muggle exposure to the Wizarding World. This petition gains lots of popularity in more traditional circles and the Ministry slaps a huge fine on James. Albus Dumbledore however; persuades the Ministry that this is a wonderful development of modern magic and it rids of another barrier that prevents the magical world co-existing with muggles. 

The show’s skits grows in popularity in wizarding communities world wide and soon other wizards/witches eagerly ask to create their own shows on this channel. 

Whilst James and Sirius are drawing up a contract at Gringotts with UK Quidditch teams to have sporting shows on their channel -- Peter decides that his cut from this deal is far below what he expected and feels rightfully justified that his camerawork should earn him a larger sum. Upon receiving a owl with a latter from the Daily Prophet offering both a large sum for the rights to use their magical channel and a well-paying job for Peter should he choose to film the Daily New with The Prophet -- Peter decides to take the deal and leave the Marauders. 

This is seen as a massive betrayal to Sirius and James particularly and is the end of their relationship with Peter -- Though Remus attempts to try and fix things between the group. 

The expansion of the magical channel Sirius created that is unlocked via a tap of the wand on the remote and a password, “I solemnly swear I am up to no good” leads to news reports by Witch Weekly in the morning and the Daily Prophet at night, commentary and footage of Quidditch matches as well as the American sport of Quodpot. 

The marauder’s tv show helps Remus work whilst managing his lycanthropy as his mates give him a flexible schedule and magical folk watching him on screen overtime created more relaxed attitudes towards werewolves. 

[imaginesforallkindoflove]

Writing commission for @soulnottainted ! Thank you so much!!! I really hope you like it!! 💕💕

Sitting down with a sigh on the soft grass, the young woman closed her eyes, concentrating on the sounds of the vast nature that surrounded her. She had taken her drawing kit for the day, wanting to practice her art outside, rather than the warm and cosy inside of her home. It was sunny, and birds were chirping… For a moment it felt like a true lost paradise. Then, the tree besides her started to move slowly. The woman did not move, instead, she started sketching with a smile as the tree formed into a humanoid figure, made of woods, with a kind but stern face, red spitting fire as veins and blood and beautiful brown and amber eyes. It was taller than any house from the area, and looked very threatening to someone who didn’t know the creature. The woman didn’t fear him. How could she? 

“Good afternoon, Yew.” She softly greeted, not glancing at him. 

“Hello, young one.” He said, bowing his head a little. “What are you doing?”

“Drawing and painting, as usual.” 

“You are right to do so. Art gives the ability to humans to show what they don’t see clearly. Some are so fogged into their dark views, and seeing a painting may open their minds." The giant tree explained. 

Kelsey nodded as she listened, knowing how wise the being could be. She had grown up next to him, her parents telling her amazing stories about the tree that could take a human form, giving words of advice but also incredible tales for the people he chose. 

People would find him terrifying, as he was so tall and had a deep voice. Also, he was not something you could observe any normal day. After what her parents recalled of him, Kelsey realised how much time the man tree spent with her. He always was present, like a grandparent figure to her and gave her sweet advice on how to handle life. 

She cared a lot about him, and he was feeling the same way about her. 

"What are you doing out there, didn’t you have your… exams to do?" Yew asked in a hesitant voice, trying to not make the young woman anxious. 

"I finished them actually." She replied with a smile as she glanced at him. "I am drawing you." 

"Are you?" He questioned, surprised. "Can I see?" 

The young woman nodded and stood up with her artwork. She handed the piece of paper to small branches that grew out of Yew's body, and watched with amazement as the drawing made its way toward Yew's face. He was such a beautiful, tender, caring and intelligent being. 

"I believe it is well made!" He exclaimed lovingly as he dropped the drawing back to its artist. "You always had so much talent, little one." 

"Thank you! You pushed me to do the best, you know? I am glad you are here with me." She smiled again, rushing to hug him.

Well, hugs were something difficult to do with Yew. He could crush with so little efforts, but he always made sure to not hurt her during those sweet moments. He never had been close to anyone but her for a long time. Sometimes he had been lonely for years, without anyone to speak to!  

But they found a way luckily. Yew would grow smaller branches, looking like arms, and Kelsey would hug him, feeling warm and bubbly as the tree branches touched her skin. She truly considered him like a grandfather, and always was fascinated by his stories. She regretted that sometimes, she was too caught up in her work and busy with life in general, she would leave him alone for some days. But, the young woman always came back to him, apologizing about it, and Yew didn’t seem to mind. He understood perfectly, always wishing her the best in life. 

“Are you interested in a story, little one?” He asked. “One with a moral perhaps?” 

“Oh yes! You know how much I love your stories!” The young woman replied, her eyes shining with excitement as she sat down on the grass.

The creature lowered his head too, his body cracking in multiple places, but he showed no sign of being hurt or being bothered by this. He thought for a few moments, closing his eyes to choose his next tale. Kelsey watched him patiently, but bearing a soft smile on her face. She was very interested with what the giant will share with her.

“There once was a lion, a mighty one, the king of all in the land. He was fierce, strong, powerful and everyone respected and feared him. As he was sleeping, a mouse had accidentally woken him up. The king was absolutely furious about this, ready to assassinate the one who had bothered him in his sleep. However, the mouse implored for his life, telling the lion that killing him would solve none of his problems, and that the mouse would be a pity prey to kill. The lion agreed with this, and released the young mouse.” Yew started. “Later, as he was roaming around his kingdom, the lion king fell into a trap: a solid net that he could not escape from. Feeling the poachers would come soon for him, and seeing he could not free himself from the trap, the lion roared, in hopes someone would realise he was in danger or needed help. It was indeed a lucky day for him! The mouse he had spared earlier came to save him! The little animal ate the net, and helped the lion out. As they escaped the poachers together, the lion thanked the mouse, and promised him to never hunt down one of the mice.” The tree being finished. “So, tell me, little one, what do you think the moral of the story is?” 

“That poaching is bad?” 

Yew laughed at that. It was certainly true, hunting animals for their furs, or killing them for sport, or to have trophies were horrible and bad. He wondered how some humans could do that. 

"Non."

“Sparing someone is good because they can help you back?” Kelsey managed to reply, after thinking intensively. 

“Not quite, but you got the spirit. Actually, you can give a story like this multiple meanings. If the lion didn’t spare the mouse, he would have been murdered by the hunters. Every little act of kindness like that can lead to something greater. At least, that is how I appreciate that story.” 

“Also, small friends can be powerful allies!” The woman exclaimed. “So, Yew, am I your little mouse?” She chuckled.

“I believe you are, my little one.”

After that tale being told, Kelsey laid down next to the sitting giant, observing the sky. Finally, she was done with her mid terms. It was something that had bothered her, and she really hoped she did good! But with Yew, she felt her anxiety dying down. The tree giant emanated a kind and strange aura that always seemed to appease her, and anyone around. She didn’t know much of the giant’s story, only that he was there to help those that were, sort of, misguided by life. He would tell them tales, and ask for a story in return. He helped them realise something about their lives, and managed to turn whatever situation into a good one. 

He never spoke of those cases. It was perhaps the reason why he was created. He didn’t know who did, and never intended to find out. He had helped so much people in the past, and sometimes would disappear for a little more than a week. In Kelsey’s eyes, he was a hero to help those poor unfortunate souls. Yew would argue that he had to do what he had to do. It was not like it was his choice, he was called by those people.

“Yew?” 

The giant tree made a grunt in response, telling her he was awake and would listen to what she has to say. 

“Did you sometimes fail at… saving people?” She asked carefully, not wanting to scare him off with her question. 

He was silent for a moment, and the young woman feared she had hurt his feelings. She stayed quiet too, not wanting the situation to worsen. 

“I did, in fact, fail. Sometimes… Sometimes you can’t always change people, or heal them. Of course, I never really pushed them to do the wrong thing… But…” He sighed. “But I wish that some cases wouldn’t have finished in the way they did. It is hard to watch those little humans, those complicated beasts, struggling to understand, and failing to do so. I wish I could have done more for some men and women. I have to admit, sometimes, I do feel like a puppet, and I want to be freed from my chains, to help them more. I always come back anyway to my principles.” 

“I am sorry you feel that way, Yew.” The woman said, putting her soft hand on his wooden body. “You are nothing of a monster.” She chuckled, remembering how some would call her precious grandfather figure. 

“I do not care about how they speak of me. I do like that nickname tho. It makes me feel… powerful, and bigger.” 

The woman snorted at that. Her own father had known Yew since he was a young child, and would call him the Monster too, but in a more… loving way. When her father would tell her stories of how he used to sneak out to hear the giant tree’s tales, she only thought he had a huge imagination as a child, and here she was, befriending him and always seeking advice from him and his stories. She truly felt like Yew was her grandfather, and she believed he felt the same way about her. 

The first time she met Yew, she was about the same age as her father. She was playing around the old and tall tree, then fell asleep and woke up to a giant man holding her in his hand carefully. She did not scream, because she immediately felt connected to him, and since this day, she made sure to visit him often. 

“Can you tell me a story?” She asked Yew. “Can you… create a tale? Just for me?” 

“Just for you?” 

“Just for me.” The woman repeated. 

“Alright… Once upon a time, there was a young girl with a creative mind. Some people would have expected her to be lonely, fearing that the other children would cast her out. But no, she became very popular in her school, as she was unique. The other children weren’t, and they celebrated her uniqueness with her. There was one boy, however, who didn’t celebrate with the others. He was just a regular boy, quite a strange one if you asked the older women who gossipped between themselves as they watched the children. The young girl saw how alone the boy seemed to be, and tried to approach him many times. The boy pushed her away each time.”

“That is sad and unfair. Why would the boy do that? She is just trying to befriend him!” The young woman said.

“Patience little one. You have asked for a tale, and here it is. The boy was lonely, and seemed to hate the other girl. The latter told him if he wished to be with her, then she would welcome him with open arms. At one point, she stopped seeing him and the boy realised that being alone was not something he wished. When the girl stopped coming for him, stopped talking to him, he felt like a hole had been opened, and he needed her to cure him. So, at the end of the day, he joined the others to celebrate her uniqueness with everyone else. He confessed to the girl that he missed her, and revealed that no one had been making him feel this way, because she had revealed his own uniqueness. They celebrated their new friendship quickly after that meeting.” 

“It was a weak story... “ She chuckled. “But I like it. It was cute.” She yawned.

“Come child, you are tired. You have to rest.”

The young woman nodded, and slowly made her to the giant. He offered her his giant hand for bed as usual, and she laid down on it happily, knowing she was safe.

“Rest now, Kelsey.” Yew breathed out gently as he watched after her.

[terramythos]

TerraMythos 2021 Reading Challenge - Book 1 of 26

Title: Annihilation (The Southern Reach #1) (2014) - REREAD

Author: Jeff VanderMeer

Genre/Tags: Horror, Science Fiction, Ecological Horror, Cosmic Horror, Weird, First-Person, Unreliable Narrator, Female Protagonist

Rating: 10/10

Date Began: 1/01/2021

Date Finished: 1/05/2021

Along an isolated stretch of coast lies Area X, a pristine wilderness which appeared decades ago and decimated all human civilization within its borders. The only people to enter since have been official expeditions overseen by the mysterious Southern Reach. Annihilation follows the twelfth expedition, an all-female party of four including a psychologist, an anthropologist, a surveyor, and a biologist.

The biologist has a secret; her husband was a member of the doomed eleventh expedition. He returned a shell of his former self before being quarantined and suddenly dying of systemic cancer. She seeks answers for what happened to him. But after the party discovers a strange underground staircase with a manic sermon written along the wall, she soon finds herself infected by Area X itself.

I am walking forever on the path from the border to base camp. It is taking a long time, and I know it will take even longer to get back. There is no one with me. I am all by myself. The trees are not trees the birds are not birds and I am not me but just something that has been walking for a very long time... 

Full review, some spoilers, and content warning(s) under the cut.

Content warnings for the book: graphic violence and gore. Lots (LOTS) of body horror. Some non graphic sexual content. Mind control/hypnotic suggestion is a plot point, but there's an implication it goes beyond that. There's a pervasive sense of unreality. 

Part of me wishes I could read this book, and series, for the first time again. Annihilation is a short read with a weird, disturbing horror story at its core. Area X feels vibrant and alive in creepy ways, and the mental effect it has on the few human characters is profound. It's basically a peaceful nature preserve, but there's something deeply unsettling about the state of decay, oddly aware creatures, pervasive sense of being watched, and how it twists the minds of the characters. The biologist's asocial view of the world colors how she interacts with the setting and the conclusions she draws about Area X, The Southern Reach, the Tower, the lighthouse, and everything in between. The result is an eerie story with a scientific, almost clinical narrator experiencing something beyond human understanding.

But only parts of the overall mystery surrounding Area X are solved in Annihilation; there is an explanation, there are enough hints to figure it out, but good fucking luck. You learn there's some kind of conspiracy and shady shit going on, and the biologist gets some things right... but also some things wrong. This is either infuriating or enough of a tease to encourage one to read the rest of the series (back in 2015, I was the latter). While Annihilation is self-contained, it leaves more questions than answers.

On a reread, everything is different. One thing I admire about VanderMeer is how he integrates hints and foreshadowing without making them too obvious; something I noticed with his Ambergris series as well. In Annihilation, some of this is thematic stuff that doesn't pay off until later books ("desolation tries to colonize you"). Sometimes the biologist draws the right conclusion for the wrong reasons (everything about the psychologist and how she seems burdened). Or some things are way more horrifying with later information (why the moaning creature is Like That even though the dolphins and other animals are almost normal).

Probably my favorite example, though, is eight pages in, the biologist mentions a weird vision she had. It's a throwaway line; just one of a dozen examples on how Area X affects the mind. With later knowledge, though, it's literally foreshadowing the biologist's fate in the final book, Acceptance. You can piece together later bits within Annihilation to see how significant this moment is, but I don't think most will. And there's just tons of stuff like that that doesn't come off as important, but is a little treat for anyone rereading the story.

I guess what I'm saying here is that as much as I like the base story of Annihilation, it's better in many ways on a reread. I wish I could remember my original impressions, because now they're inextricably affected by my knowledge of what happens later in the series. I know that the mystery of it all enthralled me, but I also know lots of people drop the first book due to a lack of concrete answers. If I were to read it again for the first time, who would I be?

Besides that, something I like about this book is the gradual dissemination of information. We start in the thick of Area X and the doomed twelfth expedition, but there are several sequences where the biologist will reflect on her past and her relationship to her husband, which add context to everything else. It's just a structural choice, but one I personally like; it makes her backstory relevant without detracting from the horror or killing the pacing. I like the glimpses of her “ordinary” life and how it juxtaposes/complements the bizarre nature of Area X. 

And the horror factor is just on point. VanderMeer really shines when writing horror because everything just feels... off. Something terrible is happening, but a lot of it is psychological or just out of reach. And when the creepiness is more overt (i.e meeting The Crawler), it's great, jarring cosmic horror.  Lighthouses are a special interest of mine, so I love seeing a horror story with one as a focal point (so to speak). I dig how Area X feels like a character in the story; the mark of a good setting, especially in horror.   

To me Annihilation is a comfort read despite being a disturbing horror story. I like seeing all the moving parts and knowing how it works, and it's a very short novel compared to Authority and Acceptance. I highly recommend this series if you're looking for a creepy, cerebral story which uses nature as the backbone for cosmic horror. For those who have seen the movie, it's a much different story with a similar tone, so if you wanted more... good news! Read the books! But they're also pretty weird and sometimes dense reads, so not for everyone.

I'll be rereading Authority next, which I remember is longer with slower pacing. Let's see how it goes!   

[thetravelerwrites]

Geyarajan (Gandharva)

Rating: Teen Relationship: Female Human/Male Gandharva Additional Tags: Exophilia, Gandharva, Childhood Sweethearts, Puppy Love Content Warnings: Blood, Broken Limb, Separation, Memory lapse Words: 4600

A commission for @floral-and-fine​, who did the lovely artwork above of Geyarajan! An angsty story about childhood love that gets torn apart by family, race, and circumstance! Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

In Hinduism, the Gandharvas are male nature spirits and husbands of the Apsaras, the spirits of clouds and air. Some are part animal, usually a bird or horse. They have superb musical skills; they guard the Soma and make beautiful music for the gods in their palaces. Gandharvas are frequently depicted as singers in the court of the gods.

Gandharvas in the historic sense acted as messengers between the gods and humans; today they are depicted as imitators, cheaters, liars and those who have tricked themselves 'into being god'. In Hindu law, a gandharva marriage is one contracted by mutual consent and without formal rituals.

You couldn’t remember exactly how old you were, perhaps six or seven, when you first met Geyarajan. You’d heard singing in the forest as you played in the garden behind your house, and though you knew you shouldn’t go into the woods alone, you couldn’t ignore the draw of the sound. After maybe ten minutes, you stumbled upon a clearing wherein a boy was singing, though he was unlike any other child you’d ever met.

Your village was human only; beasts and monsters were not allowed to settle there. In fact, non-human merchants were discouraged from selling their wares in the area and non-human travelers weren’t welcome in the taverns or inns. In your short life, you’d only seen a person who wasn’t human maybe twice, and only in passing. You didn’t quite understand why, but you were a small child and didn’t think to question it.

Not until you met Geyarajan. When you first saw him, you were mesmerized by his music. You sat and listened as still as a statue, afraid of spooking him, except when he stopped singing, he looked right at you and smiled as if he’d been waiting for you to come. He hopped off the rock where he had been sitting, and you got a better look at him.

He wore no clothing, but from the waist down, he was all feathers. His legs were long and spindly, ending in three-toed claws like that of a purple heron. The feathers extended up his back to his large wings, heather-grey in color, which were folded at rest behind him.

His hair was long and falling around his shoulders in ringlets, the same heather-gray as his feathers. He had a four streaks of black, two on each side, running down his neck, one stripe down his arms to his wrists, the other down the inside of his shoulders and disappearing into the feathers near his hips. His skin was dark brown and his eyes were sharp in shape, amber-gold in color, and hawk-like.

Though he was much taller than you because of his long legs, in his face, he looked to be about your age, perhaps slightly older. He was slender and graceful in his movements, taking careful steps toward you as if not to scare you, though you didn’t think you could possibly be afraid of him.

“Aren’t you from the village?” He asked, his speaking voice as musical as his song suggested. “Won’t you be in trouble for coming into the woods? My parents say that humans are scared of the woods.”

“I’m not scared,” You said, puffing up. “Papa says I’m a big girl. I can go to the corner store all by myself now. I only came ‘cause I heard you singing.”

“Oh,” He said, frowning. “I must be too close, then. I should go.”

“Wait!” You reached out, grabbing his hand. “Stay and play with me, won’t you? What’s your name?”

“Geyarajan,” He replied, not attempting to break away from your grasp. “You’re the girl who lives in the house near the river, right? What’s your name?”

You told him. “How do you know me?”

“I’ve seen you sometimes,” He said, leading you to the rock where he was sitting before. There was a bushel of flowers laying there. He began to weave them into a ring. “When I fly above the town. I know you from the ribbons.” He tugged at the blue ribbon you wore in your hair, which matched your pristine dress. Your mother insisted on dressing you like a doll, always making you wear frilly dresses and putting ribbons in your hair.

“You can fly?” You whispered in awe.

“Well, sure,” He laughed, fluffing his wings a little. “These aren’t fake, you know. I have to fly pretty high, so the only thing I can see of you clearly is the ribbons.”

“Why do you fly so high?” You asked him.

“Mother says it’s too dangerous to fly too low over the town,” Geyarajan said. “She says the people don’t like us, that they’d be mean to us if they knew we lived in the forest next to them.”

“Oh. That’s a shame. If it’s dangerous, why don’t you move?”

“Our kind lived in these woods before those humans ever settled here,” He said, pointing toward the village. “Why should we have to leave?”

“That makes sense, I guess,” You admitted. “I don’t see people like you in town. It’s only humans. I don’t know why.”

“Mother and Father say it’s because humans hate us,” He said morosely, looking at his hands as he continued to weave the garland. “Do you hate us?”

“No!” You said. “You’re so pretty! Can I… Can I touch your wings? I’ve never met a person with wings before.”

He regarded you warily, but said, “Okay, but only for a minute. Mother says our wings are a sign of divinity, that they make us holy.”

“Divine? Like an angel?”

“What’s an angel?”

You tried to explain what an angel was to him, but he just looked confused.

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Do you want to touch my wings or not?” He asked impatiently.

“Yes, yes!” You exclaimed. You reached out tentatively and ran your fingertips gently down his proffered wing. He watched you carefully, his hands stilling in their work.

“Wow,” You breathed. “It’s so hard to believe they’re real.”

“Well, they are,” He sniffed, eyeing you. “It’s weird.”

“What is?”

“Well, I’ve never met a human, but my parents said they’re all cruel and heartless. They call your kind monsters, but you seem nice.”

“I am nice,” You replied. “I’m friends with everyone in town. I want to be your friend, too. Can I call you Rajan?”

“Why?”

“It’s a nickname!” You said. “It means we’re friends.”

“Oh,” He replied. “Yeah, I guess so. Can I give you a nickname?”

“Sure!”

“Alright, how about…” He looked around for inspiration and his eyes fell on the flowers in his lap. There were wild daisies, coneflowers, purple poppies, blanket flowers, black-eyed susans, and blush-pink primroses. “What about Primrose?”

“I love it!” You said excitedly. “Primrose and Rajan.”

Rajan giggled.

“What’s funny?”

“Well, my whole name, Geyarajan, means ‘king of songs,’” He replied, finishing the crown of flowers and placing it on his head. “But Rajan just means ‘king.’”

You giggled too. “I like that! You can be the king of the primroses! It’ll be a kingdom just for us!”

“Sounds fun!” He said. “Let’s play Kings and Flowers, then!”

“That’s not a real game!”

“Is too! I just made it up!”

The two of you played until it started to get dark, then Rajan escorted you home. He stopped about thirty feet away from the treeline, where you could hear your mother calling.

“I can’t go closer,” He said, still wearing the flower crown. He took it off and placed it on your head. “You should run home now. I’ll watch you to make sure you stay safe.”

“Alright,” You said brightly, standing on your tip-toe to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you again soon!”

He blushed and touched his cheek, frozen. You laughed joyfully and ran back to the garden behind your house.

“There you are!” Your mother shouted as you came out from around the house. “Where have you been? Look at the state of your dress!” She fussed. “It’s ruined! Do you know how long it took me to sew that?”

“Just make me a normal dress, Mama,” You said. “A plain one I can play in.”

“Nonsense,” Your mother said, taking your hand. “I’ll not have my daughter wallowing in the muck like some street urchin. To the bath with you!”

As she dragged you along into the house, your lovely flower crown slipped from your head and floated away on the breeze.

“Oh, Mama, my crown!”

“Leave it,” She said.

“Oh, but it was--” You stopped short before saying a present. You didn’t want your mother asking from whom. You watched as it floated into the road and was trampled by a passerby. Sighing with disappointment, you followed your mother inside.

Geyarajan became your best friend from that day on. You had to be careful, though; you couldn’t go too deep into the forest for fear of dangerous creatures and he couldn’t get too close to the village, or he’d be seen and possibly captured by the townspeople. As such, you could only see each other once a week or so, and on the days you agreed to meet, often you’d sneak out to play for a few hours after bed.

Having a secret friend was thrilling. It made you feel special and important. He’d told you that he hadn’t told his parents about you, either, because he didn’t want them to be mad at him for getting so close to humans. It was as if the pretend kingdom the two of you built together was real, and you were the only two in it.

It didn’t take long at all for you to develop a crush on Geyarajan, and it seemed to be mutual. He always held your hand whenever the two of you walked together and you often gave him quick pecks on the lips to see the surprise and delight on his face. It was the pure, innocent love of childhood, and though your time together was limited, you were both happy.

Of course, secrets are never meant to last.

Time passed. One evening when you were eleven, after you’d snuck out to see him, the two of you were stargazing in a clearing, making up constellations, your fingers intertwined loosely.

“See there,” He said. “That’s the raven. It’s good luck.”

“Who says?” You asked, laughing.

“I say!” Rajan said. “I’m a king, aren’t I?”

“Oh, right,” You replied. “Papa calls that the eagle. And that’s the dog star.”

“Why do they call it the dog star?”

“I don’t know,” You said. “Tell me another one.”

He squinted. “I can’t see it all that well from here. I usually look at the stars from up in the trees. It’s harder to see them all clearly on the ground like this.”

“How high up do you go?”

“The top, obviously,” He said, sitting up and pointing straight up to a nearby oak tree. “The tallest, strongest branch. That’s the best place.”

“I’d be scared to go that high,” You said, shivering a little.

“I could help you,” He said. “I’d fly you up there.”

“Aren’t I too heavy?” You asked him skeptically. “I was the last time you tried to lift me.”

“That was a year ago! I’m much stronger now.” He hopped to his taloned feet and flexed his skinny arms. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

“Are you sure?” You asked as you took his hand.

“Come on, you trust me, right?”

You straightened up and smiled at him. “Yeah, of course I do.”

He grinned back. “I won’t be able to take off from the ground,” He said. “We’ll have to climb up a little ways so I can do a drop. I’m really good at those.”

You frowned at the thought, but since he knew way more about flying than you did, you didn’t argue. Swallowing down your nervousness, you followed him up the tree.

You hadn’t known how to climb a tree when you first met him; your mother had forbade such things. Geyarajan had decided immediately that it was inappropriate for anyone to be unable to climb a tree and taught you how to do it the second time you met. You got pretty scraped up the first few times, which you had a hard time explaining away. Now, you were an expert. You were even able to keep leaves and dirt off of your nightgown.

Of course, Geyarajan was much faster than you, since he’d been climbing trees before he could even walk. We was already on the branch he planned to launch from, waiting patiently for you to catch up. He wasn’t above heckling you, though.

“Are all humans as slow as you?” He teased. “I could be halfway to the coast by the time you get up here.”

You stopped for a moment to blow a raspberry at him. In the few seconds that you were distracted, you misstepped, your foot sliding out of your evening slipper and catching you off balance.

Geyarajan leapt, reaching out to catch you, but he was too late. You fell straight down, landing on your right leg. It snapped in half upon impact. The pain shot up your body and struck your brain, and you screamed like you never had before. Geyarajan landed next to you, panicking, trying to figure out what to do. You were crying too hard to speak.

“Hold on, Primrose, hold on,” He lifted you as carefully as he could and began to run through the woods. The pain and smell of blood made you violently sick. “I’m taking you home, just hold on.”

“No!” You managed to gasp. “You can’t go there!”

“I won’t be able to stay, but I can get you there, I promise,” He said.

“No!” You said, beginning to struggle, squealing as the movement made the pain worse. “They’ll kill you! You can’t go to the village!”

Geyarajan stopped in his tracks, breathing hard and looking toward the village and back into the forest.

“I’ll get into a lot of trouble, but there’s only one other place I can take you,” He said, sweating and shaking with fear. “Hold on to me. We’ll be there soon.”

What happened next was a blur of pain, color, noise, voices, and a terrible sick feeling throughout your body, the only familiar thing through all of it was the sound of Geyarajan’s voice and his hand holding yours. At some point, you blacked out completely.

You woke up to the sound of screaming. You were lying in the back garden of your own home, a large, grey feather in your hand, and your mother rushing over to you, checking you frantically.

“Oh, god, are you okay?!” She asked. “Where have you been? What happened to you?” She saw your leg and shrieked. “Who did this to you?!”

Her shouting had attracted the attention of several men, all of whom looked tired and held burned out torches. One of them dropped their spent torch and lifted you up, carrying you into the house. There was noise and shouting and confusion all around you, made worse by your mother’s constant shrill crying in the background. You let them do as they will in silence, clutching Geyarajan’s feather.

Your leg hurt, but nowhere as badly as it had before. You looked down and saw to your surprise that the leg had been wrapped set, wrapped in cloth to stem the bleeding, and was in a makeshift splint made of straight wooden rods and vines.

The physician was called and examined your leg. During this time, you learned you’d been missing for four days. The men with torches were part of the search party, tirelessly searching the woods for any trace of you. When they found blood on the grass and a fragment of your clothes, along with several large feathers, they thought some massive monster had gobbled you up.

The physician determined that your leg had been expertly set, however, meaning it was no monster that had taken you. Since you couldn’t remember most of your time missing, you kept silent, which made everyone grim-faced. They assumed the worst and decided someone had taken you and kept you in the woods somewhere, and you were so traumatized by the incident that you’d blocked the entire event out. You couldn’t exactly argue with them, but you knew Rajan would never hurt you. Not that you could tell them that.

The search began anew, only this time it wasn’t retrieval. It was revenge. You wished you could tell them that it wasn’t necessary, you wanted to stop them, but you couldn’t do anything without telling them about Rajan and his people, and you had promised never to do so. So you could only watch anxiously as the townsfolk worked themselves into a froth, looking for a predator that didn’t exist.

Bedridden and helpless to stop the villagers from their crusade, you spent many nights crying and wishing you could see Rajan. It was too dangerous now; you thought you wouldn’t see him for a long time. You were surprised when, a week later, Rajan came straight to your window late one night. He opened it and hopped down.

“Rajan!” You breathed, elated, and reached out your arms to embrace him from the bed. He stayed out of your reach. You couldn’t see his face well in this light, but his body radiated distrust.

“How could you?” He said whispered, pain seeping into his voice. “I thought you were my friend. How could you do this to me?”

You dropped your arms. “Wha… How could I what?”

“You know what!” He retorted angrily, his voice rising in anger. “You told them! You told the humans about us! You told them where to find us!”

“I didn’t!” You replied, stricken. “I would never, you know that! I never told them anything!”

“Liar!” He snapped. “Men came! They set fire to our colony! We have no home now because of you!”

You ignored the pain in your leg and swung around to sit up properly. “I didn’t tell them anything! I don’t even know where your colony is! I’ve never been there!”

“You’re lying! You were there! My parents cared for you, they fixed your leg! This is how you repay their kindness?”

“What?” You replied, confused. “I… no, I… I don’t… I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything. The last memory I have before waking up in the garden was you carrying me. We argued because I didn’t want you to come to the village. I was worried you’d get hurt--”

“Stop,” He said, raising a hand. “Enough of this. My parents were right. You can never trust a human.”

“Don’t say that! How could you have so little faith in me? We’ve been friends since we were little! I’d never do anything to put you or your family in danger, you know that! Why would I do that?”

The light from the moon caught his face, and the pain in his eyes stopped your heart.

“You tell me.”

He climbed up onto the windowsill, walked out on the roof, unfurled his wings, and took off. You fell to the ground with a loud thump. Your father came in to find you sobbing in anguish. He lifted you and put you back to bed, petting your hair and telling you it would be alright. But it wouldn’t.

You decided that once you were healed, you’d go and find Rajan and keep protesting your innocence until he believed you. You didn’t count on your parents’ plans.

Another week passed, and your mother came into your room.

“How are you feeling, love?” She asked.

You shrugged your shoulders. You’d been sullen and depressed since Rajan’s visit. Everyone assumed it was because of your disappearance and you made no attempt to correct them. The guilt of his family’s home being destroyed weighed heavily on your mind. If only you hadn’t tried to climb that tree.  

“I’m sorry, darling,” She said. “I can’t believe monsters were living right next door to us in the woods. It’s become too dangerous in this place. Look at what they did to you!”

“They helped me!” You shouted. “They’re not monsters!”

Your mother rounded on you, her face pinching in suspicion. “How would you know that? What do you know about them?”

You scowled at her and remained silent.

“I knew you were lying when you said you couldn’t remember anything.” She stood up and looked down her nose at you. “That does it. We’re moving to Dunmountain.”

“What?!” You cried. “No! I don’t want to move!”

“The decision has already been made,” She told you, pulling out your luggage and starting to pack. “Your father and I can’t abide those disgusting creatures living so close.”

“But there are people like them in the city!” You argued.

“There are rules for them there,” Your mother said. “Most of them are ring fighters or laborers. They don’t practically nest  in the backyards of decent people.”

“Who said you were decent?” You screamed. “You can’t make me go!”

“Who’s going to stop me?” She shouted back. “Your father has agreed. We’re going!” She threw your bag on the floor next to your bed. “Pack your things yourself!” With that, she turned and walked out, slamming the door behind her and leaving you to weep bitterly into your blanket.

You had no choice. Within the month, you were all packed and in a wagon headed to the city. You had become withdrawn and quiet, unlike the girl you had been before. Your father worried over you, but your mother told you to suck it up and get over it. New city, new life, new start.

She was more right than she knew. In the city, you were a new person. The cheerful child that was friends with everyone she met was gone. You were shy, introverted, and taciturn, only speaking when spoken to. You found it difficult to make friends and were quick to tears.

Your mother, in an effort to desensitize you to “monsters,” took you to the gladiator’s ring and made you watch them fight each other. You hated it; the sight of them viciously attacking each other for no other purpose than to entertain humans made you physically ill.

As you got older, the people of your neighborhood began to call you the monster girl because of your tendency to go to the ring and talk to the fighters. Just talk. Some of them were willing participants, but there were others who were forced to fight. People with debt, criminals, the homeless, the mentally ill; anyone society deemed abnormal. Their jailers seemed to forget that they were still people.

You’d often sit outside of their cells and talk to them, comfort them, even write down messages to give to their loved ones. Your mother despaired of you, and the humans thought you were weird, but the creatures of the fighting ring called you an angel.

One day, when you were nineteen, there was a new arrival at the jail, a young woman with wings and bird feet. When you were told, you immediately went to see her first.

“Hello?” You called softly, tapping gently on one of the bars.

“Who are you?” She asked.

You told her your name. “I come here to talk to the fighters and help them when I can. What’s your name?”

“Aashiyana,” She replied. “You can help me?”

“I can try,” You replied. “Why are you here?”

“I caught a deer in a field near my home,” She said. “It was apparently owned by a nobleman or something. What kind of person owns a deer?”

“People with too much money,” You replied, laughing. “How long is your sentence?”

“Until my fine is up. Six months, I think they said.”

“How much is the fine?”

“300 gold.”

“That’s highway robbery!” You exclaimed. “Let me see what I can work out.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that,” She said. “This city is stifling. I hate it here.”

“So do I,” You replied, standing. You were about to turn and leave, but you were compelled to ask. “By any chance, do you know a boy named Geyarajan?”

Aashiyana sat up straighter and peered at you. “I did know a boy by that name, yes.”

Your heart hammered in your throat. “Did?”

“He doesn’t go by that name anymore. His name is Gaveshan now.”

“Why did he change his name?” You asked.

“How do you know him?”

“He saved my life years ago. He… was my friend.”

Her eyes widened and jaw dropped. “Are you Primrose?”

Your expression matched hers. “Yes! How did you know about that?”

“We met!” She said, her eyes lighting up. “Your leg was broken and my mother set it. She was the colony’s healer. You stayed in the colony with us until she felt it was safe to move you.”

“I don’t remember,” You told her. “I don’t remember anything. I was with Rajan when I broke my leg, and then I passed out. When I woke up again, I was back home and I’d been missing for four days. I don’t know what happened during that time.”

Aashiyana frowned. “You don’t remember me at all?”

You shook your head sadly. “I’m sorry. What happened to the colony?” You asked her, putting a hand on hers around the bars. “Rajan told me that it was burned, but he didn’t give me any details.”

“Men came out of the forest with torches. They set fire to everything. We had to flee with nothing. Some didn’t make it.”

“Oh, god,” You said, covering your mouth in horror. “I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t fallen out of the tree…”

“Did you tell the men how to find us?”

“No! I swear I didn’t! I don’t even remember being there!” You said. “I swear, Aashiyana, I swear on my life.”

He deep brown eyes searched yours for a moment, a discerning look on her face, and she said, “I believe you.”

Your face crumpled as the tears began to flow. “Thank you.” You wiped your face on a handkerchief and straightened yourself. “Let me see what I can do for you. I’ll get you out of here.”

“Thank you,” She said.

It took some time, but you managed to make a deal with the judge. It was a lucky thing that your parents were in good standing with the stadium, as your father was a financier, so you were able to pull a few favors. You returned to Aashiyana’s cell three days later and directed the jailor to open the door.

“What’s happened?”

“I’ve made a deal,” You said. “You’re free of the fighting ring, but in exchange, you must work. I’ve made arrangements for you. I’ll tell you about it once we’re in the carriage.”

“Carriage?”

You took her by the arm. “Come on.”

Outside the jail, a carriage was indeed waiting for you. You opened the door and assisted her in getting inside, as the steps weren’t built for her large claws, and got inside after her. The carriage began to move.

“So what deal did you make?” She asked.

“You are to be my personal servant for the remainder of your sentence.”

She balked. “What makes you think I want to be a slave any more than a punching bag?”

“I have no intention of giving you any order,” You told her. “But if you wouldn’t mind, I’ll like you to take me to see Geyarajan. Or Gaveshan, I guess.”

“Do I have to stay with you?” She asked, eyeing you.

“Of course not,” You replied. “You’re free to go as soon as we get out of the city limits, as far as I’m concerned. I have no intention of ordering you around.”

“Can’t you get into trouble for this?”

“Of course. The penalty for assisting a criminal escape is taking their sentence plus five years.”

“If you know that’s going to happen when you come back, why would you do it?” She asked you, horrified.

“Simple. I’m not coming back.”

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[geek-patient-zero]

Part 1, Chapter 4

Or:  AAAAARRRRRRRRRTTT!!!

Blood War: Masquerade of the Red Death Trilogy Volume 1

Washington, DC--March 11, 1994

Meet Makish, another Assamite assassin. He’s waiting in front of Union Station for a two o’clock AM meeting with his “mysterious employer.” It’s 1:59.

A small, slender male, with mahogany skin, slicked-down black hair, and too-wide smile, Makish attracted little attention other than that of an occasional bum asking for a handout. Or a hooker hoping to make some spare change. The few policemen, anxious to make it through the shift without any trouble, treated him as if he was invisible. Whenever one of them walked by, Makish grinned widely and sang out in a high-pitched, nasal voice, “Good evening, officer. I am waiting for my ride home, officer. Good to see you, sir.”

The “act annoyingly nice” method of getting city people to avoid you works, but I’m not sure it’d go so well for a clearly non-white dude doing it to a cop.

Union Station is the most secure building in DC’s southeast side. Half of the capitol is apparently like something out of a Snake Plisskin movie, or the beginning of Demolition Man where the street gang had anti-aircraft weapons.

The nation’s capital was infested with drug lords, crime bosses, and crooked politicians. Each controlled packs of thugs who engaged in a violent, ruthless war for territory. The small, outmanned, and outgunned District of Columbia police force had long conceded the street to the outlaws. North and West, where the major government buildings stood, were comparatively safe. The National Guard helped keep the peace. South and East, near Capitol Hill and the train station, justice came from the muzzle of a gun.

Remember the author’s note at the start of the book: the setting is a harsher, crueler version of our own world. What this usually means when it comes to Vampire: The Masquerade is that even ignoring the vampires, demons, etc., things are worse than in real life. The gap between rich and poor is larger. Slums are more run down and unlivable. The crime rate, especially homicide, is higher. The politicians and police are more corrupt. Corporations are more untouchable and all-powerful. There’re more specific examples too, like the levees in New Orleans being more poorly built and prone to breaking and flooding the city. Obviously that bit didn’t age well after 2005.

I know what you’re thinking. The most obvious and cynical take here’s that, except for all the supernatural crap, there’s no actual difference between real life and the World of Darkness. It’s 2019, and Poe’s Law reigns.

But whatever the case, this theme is usually subtler elsewhere than here in Blood War, where the fucking capital of the United States is under siege by street gangs to the point where the National Guard has to defend the seat of power but leave the rest to the street gangs and the drug lords and politicians they secretly or not so secretly work for.

Makish looks down on DC’s criminal element. See, he’s not just an assassin. He’s an artist.

Makish couldn’t understand the senseless violence. The cheap hoods who killed for gang honor and loose change disgusted him. They acted like wild animals, with no appreciation for art. Murder needed to be done with style, with panache. Makish was a connoisseur of extermination. Most Kindred thrived on blood. Makish drew his sustenance from murder. He was the supreme assassin in the world of the undead.

Fun fact. In later editions of the tabletop, the Assamites have three different castes: warriors, sorcerers, and viziers. Viziers are the “scholars and artisans” of the clan. Like Makish, they take their art seriously and obsess over it. Unlike Makish, the art doesn’t have to involve killing people. It’s easy to think Makish is a vizier, but since this book came out early in the tabletop’s existence I don’t think viziers were a thing yet. At least not like how they’re described in the link. So he’s more likely just an eccentric warrior.

“I believe you are waiting for me?” asked a voice slightly behind and to the right of Makish. It was exactly two hours past midnight.

“That’s how you arrive exactly on time, McCann, you wuss.”

Makish is caught off guard, since no one’s passed by him for a few minutes. The speaker, a tall and lean figure in a raincoat and slouch hat that hides their identity, appeared from nowhere. He beckons for Makish to walk with him out to the streets, saying that it’s more private outside and “there is work to be done.”

Their destination is east, in Washington’s worst slums. During their walk, they talk business, and we learn that Makish was the one who hired McCann’s would-be assassins on his employer’s orders. The employer’s aware that the assassins died, but he’s all “as expected, things are going exactly as planned” about it like a Greg Weisman villain.

“The other arrangements you requested proceed on schedule,” said Makish. “The work will be finished tomorrow.”

“Excellent,” said the stranger. “Though I expect no less. You come highly recommended. And cost too much for the services you provide.”

“I charge what I am worth,” replied Makish. “Success cannot be measured in mere dollars.”

“A wonderful sentiment for these times,” said the other dryly. “You have an artist’s temperament. In a few minutes, we shall discover if your skills match your arrogance.”

Then raincoat guy’s stripping.

Reaching up, the stranger removed his hat. Makish’s eyes widened when he saw his employer’s features. The speaker’s chalk-white face was that of a long-dead corpse, with decayed skin stretched across his hairless skull. Streaks of crimson stained his cheeks and forehead. With a smile, the horror turned to the assassin. “I am known as The Red Death. Touching my flesh would be a terrible mistake.”

Ah. It’s just Red D. revealing his identity to Makish.

Makish nodded, watching the stranger remove his raincoat.

Underneath the raincoat, the Red Death is still wearing the tattered shroud held together with moldering bandages he had on at The Club Diabolique. He knows enough to hide his identity in public with a coat and hat, but doesn’t want to compromise on his ancient horror look by putting on a pair of sweats or some shoes. The narration said earlier that the streets are empty because it’s the middle of the night and there’s a cold snap, but that’s no guarantee someone isn’t watching. If I were hanging around a slum at two AM, an ugly stranger wearing a coat but no pants or shoes would draw my attention more. I’d think he’s a flasher and I was about to get an eyeful of his withered zombie penis.

Or, that he’s a sitcom protagonist on his way to his girlfriend-of-the-season’s place with a sexy surprise, but uh oh, her parents are visiting, and after some wacky misunderstandings and pratfalls they’ll get an eyeful of his withered zombie penis.

No, wait, you know what he looks like, with his coat and hat over his shroud and wrappings? Imagine a cosplayer who’s been walking the floor of a convention for hours. They’re tired, their makeup and costume’s getting messed up, they’re cold, and they clearly don’t give a shit anymore so they just put on a coat over their elaborate get-up and wander around for another half hour before calling it a day.

They’re still walking east through this crime-infested neighborhood, Makish presumably dressed like a normal person and the Red Death like a half-naked mummy (though not a World of Darkness mummy, as they’re yet another creature that exists in it). The coat and hat aren’t mentioned again, so it seems that Red D. just dumped them on the sidewalk somewhere, like a normal person would. He’s also got his Body of Fire discipline activated.

Though he stood several feet away from the grim figure, Makish could feel the heat emanating from the Red Death’s body. It felt as if the mysterious vampire was on fire, without the flames.

Things have gotta feel awkward for Makish right now. The Red Death makes things even more uncomfortable by changing the subject immediately after revealing himself to grill Makish about his past.

“You are a renegade, no longer obeying the commands of your clan?” said the Red Death. It was more statement than question.

“The Society of Leopold killed my sire,” declared Makish defensively. There was little respect among the Kindred for those vampires without a clan.

They don’t use the word here, but Makish may be what Kindred call an antitribu. Antitribus are vampires who reject the political loyalties and culture of their clan, usually by joining the opposing sect or going independent. Think of a Brujah in the Sabbat, or a Lasombra in the Camarilla. Makish has left the already independent Assamites to become a free agent. Next book, we'll learn he's willing to take contracts on other Assamites, which is forbidden in the clan. While I’m not sure if that makes him an antitribu if you go by the strictest definition, I think it’s close enough that you can call him one.

Makish was one of those vampires who’re close to their sire. He wanted revenge on the Society of Leopold for killing them, but the Assamite elders at their main base in Alamut, Iran refused, concerned that letting him go all Death Wish on human enemies would jeopardize the Masquerade. Remember, while the Camarilla are the sect most obsessed with upholding the Masquerade, according to this book it was first started by the methuselahs after the fall of the Second City, so all vampires are supposed to follow it. Makish ignored orders and killed the humans involved in the hit. And the humans who ordered the hit. And their families. In total, Indian Charles Bronson here killed one hundred and fourteen people to avenge his sire.

“I thought it only proper to make a personal statement of my grief. My sire deserved a fitting memorial.”

Phht. Artists...

The elders at Alamut don’t tolerate loose cannons even if they’re damn good cops assassins, and attempted to summon Makish back to “explain [his] actions.”

“I politely but firmly declined the invitation. That was when I began working as an independent contractor.”

“Six Kindred disappeared delivering that request,” said the Red Death, chuckling.

“They refused to accept my decision as final,” replied Makish. He spread his arms out, as if appealing to a jury. “I had no choice but to convince them that I meant what I said. Five further failed attempts finally convinced Hasan’s minions to leave me alone.”

Makish notes that the Red Death knows quite a lot about him.

“My plans involve both the Camarilla and the Sabbat,” said the Red Death. “While the Camarilla claim this city, there are traces of the Sabbat here as well. I require an assistant loyal to neither sect. You are the best available choice.”

Remember back in the previous chapter when I was ranting about how some of the mystery around the Red Death was compromised so soon after his introduction? You notice how I never brought up how he just straight up announces his Sabbat affiliation? That’s because he was lying about that.

They’ve walked three blocks since the start of their conversation. The narration gives us another taste of the World of Darkness’s version of Washington, DC.

They were deep in the heart of gang territory. With the ruins of rusted cars, weed-infested lots, and seedy tenements, the street resembled photos of war-torn Sarajevo more than the capital of the United States.

Laying it on a little thick there, Mr. Weinberg.

The Red Death stops in front of a deserted-looking building, described as a “gutted brick structure.” He senses some vampires inside.

“The Camarilla rules the capital, but they cannot be everywhere. A Sabbat pack controls the drug traffic in this part of the city. It is time for them to learn the meaning of fear.”

The plan’s simple, but a classic villain move. Red D. will deal with the vampires, Makish with the ghouls except one. They’ll need a survivor to tell the story.

Question is, why does Red D. need Makish for this part of the plan at all? He was perfectly capable of leaving witnesses during his rampage at the Club Diabolique, and he shouldn’t have any problems handling mortals. It might have to do with how the Sabbat operates. Their low level cannon fodder troops tend to be vicious, stupid, and treated as disposable. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d do that fight scene thing where there’s one mook standing who’d just watched one guy take down all of their buddies but charge him anyway, kamikazeing on the Red Death’s literally hot bod.

They enter the building and eventually come to a basement stairway, but it’s guarded by two security cameras. The Red Death’ll probably have Makish hack them. In Bloodlines, you’d have to find a computer and have a high enough hacking stat (or more likely just look up the passwords on Gamefaqs, because why waste the experience points when you could just do that). Or he’ll just destroy them. Beyond teleporting, it’s not like the Red Death is big on stealth, dramatic bastard that he is. Or-

“Childish toys,” said the Red Death. “I assume you can neutralize them.”

Makish nodded and pointed a finger at the devices. After a few seconds, he smiled. “I froze the picture on their screen,” he declared. “Anyone monitoring the hall will see nothing unusual. I disabled the traps in the floor and walls at the same time.”

...Or Makish could use his psychic powers to remotely hack the cameras and eliminate all the traps. The fuck!? What discipline is that!? If this were the tabletop this would lead to a long derailing argument with the storyteller.

“Fools,” said the Red Death. “Depending on machinery for protection is the mark of incompetents. They deserve to perish.”

People who say shit like this tend to have had laptop trouble--or since this is 1994, VCR trouble--a few minutes beforehand and are being passive aggressive about it. The Red Death’s probably just pissed that his technological illiteracy made him miss an episode of Beverly Hills, 90210.

They head downstairs to a small foyer with all the security stuff, including the video monitors Makish psychic hacked, and a large biker-looking ghoul.

His first glimpse of Makish was his last. He died silently, his head twisted about a full 360 degrees. Though not very big, the Assamite assassin had incredibly strong wrists.

Impressive, but how did he achieve that? Did he twist the ghoul’s head a few times like a bottle cap? Or did he just smack him so hard his head spun around like that scene from Kung Fu Hustle?

They enter this Sabbat pack’s main headquarters, and Red D. flexes his inner drama student again.

“Greetings from the Camarilla,” he announced in a harsh voice. “I am the Red Death.”

"Yes, 'tis I! The Red Death of The Camarilla! I like to do Camarilla things! Antediluvians don't exist! Diablerie is baaaaad!"

Compared to the Club Diabolique, this drug den is a sad little affair. There’s just two vampires, finishing off a victim, and eight more biker or punk-looking ghouls gathered around a TV and watching Beavis and Butthead. No, really, I’m not making a joke. They’re watching Beavis and Butthead. It’s to show that they’re “typical young punks” but to be fair there’s no proof that the Camarilla vampires from earlier also don’t watch B&B during their free time. They just wouldn’t watch it at the club because the parts where Beavis and Butthead riff on rock music videos would piss off old man Vargoss. 

Anyway, Makish immediately gets to work.

Ghouls were tough, stronger and quicker than normal human beings. The taste of vampire blood heightened their awareness and physical abilities. But they were helpless as children against the assassin.

Again, no mention of the whole “no free will, slaves to their master” deal with ghouls.

Makish moved so fast that his motions blurred. He raced from punk to punk in an intricate pattern, resembling a complex dance. His fingers, hard as steel, ripped and tore at the bodies of his foes.

There’s several sentences about all the geysers of blood he’s causing and how it’s splashing everywhere and how the drug den looks like a slaughterhouse now. Normally a vampire would have trouble controlling themselves around so much spilled blood.

Unlike most vampires, Makish held the beast within his soul under tight control. So much warm blood would have sent other Kindred into a mad frenzy. Not Makish. He drank blood when necessary, for the physical nourishment it provided his body. Killing gave him life.

Sounds like someone’s been getting good hunger rolls. Or is it willpower rolls? I’ve never played the tabletop game.

The Beast. It doesn’t get brought up that often in this book. It’s the name Kindred use to refer to the bundle of monstrous urges and compulsions they constantly have to keep in check. Here’s what the White Wolf wiki had to say about it:

“Beast is a term used by vampires to describe the inner predator that strives for control over a cainite's mind.

[...]

The Beast is an innate demonic predator that awakens within each and every vampire upon their Embrace. It stands in direct opposition to a vampire’s Humanity (and in some cases the Paths of Enlightenment) and is responsible for many of the debased urges Cainites feel on a nightly basis. In times of extreme distress the Beast can overwhelm a vampire forcing them into a state of pure animalistic fight or flight, which is referred to as Frenzy or Rötschreck.”

If they don’t keep their inner beast under control, a vampire ends up going into a frenzy, uncontrollably killing anyone they either perceive as a threat or who they can feed on, consequences and Masquerade be damned. For example, if Makish were to frenzy right now, he’d kill every ghoul in the room against the Red Death’s wishes and then ravenously try to slurp up all the blood he spilled. Or he’d just run away because there’s a fire monster in the room and fire is bad.

All the other Vampire: The Masquerade media I’ve seen, like Bloodlines and L.A. by Night, tend to focus on the Beast with all the drama and pathos you can expect from monsters trying to keep their humanity. Sometimes they get too wanky about it. Blood War is different in this regard. Maybe it wasn’t as focused on in the early days of the franchise.

We get several paragraphs describing Makish’s kills, and learn more about his “artistic” mentality.

“To the assassin, art meant style and substance. Makish served as his own worst critic.

Don’t we all, buddy. Don’t we all.

A satisfactory murder required a minimum of effort with a maximum result. He strove to waste not a motion. Death was a broad canvas on which he painted his masterpieces of destruction. Whenever possible, he worked with Thermit. The explosive powder provided flash and color to an otherwise drab business. Though the assassin’s expression as he worked remained fixed, mentally he strove to attain the blessed state of the perfect kill.

He kills the first three ghouls in thirty seconds, each in different ways.

The first ghoul died with its throat torn out, nearly decapitated. The second collapsed on the floor in a steaming pile of its own insides, ripped from it with a disemboweling stroke of needle-like claws. The third screamed once, then choked to death on his own blood as Makish slammed his nose into his brain.

This is how Makish’s kills are typically described. The ones that don’t involve explosives, anyway. A simple move, and the victim explodes into a pile of gore, described graphically but almost offhandedly by the narration. He’s dancing around killing these guys in varying ways, and the way it’s portrayed I can see how it could be “artistic”. It still gets tiring after a while seeing yet another description like: “Makish slapped the ghoul on the back, causing his entire digestive tract to rocket out of his mouth. AAAAARRRRRRRRRTTT!!!”

The fourth ghoul is the one Makish spares to tell the story later. He smacks him out of the room, into the foyer. Instead of running, the fool conveniently watches in horror as Makish finishes off his buddies in under a minute.

The triumph of his art rushed through him like a powerful drug. He found the exercise an invigorating, if short, encounter. Simple, uncomplicated deaths, they required little effort. The truly satisfying kills, those done with explosives, would come later.

Yadda, yadda, yadda, you get the point. AAAAARRRRRRRRRTTT!!!

Makish checks to see how the Red Death’s doing. The big guy’s got the two Kindred by the throat, one in each hand, and, in contrast to his quicker Diabolique Club kills, is slowly cooking them alive. Soon, though...

The monstrous figure laughed. A wave of incredible heat poured out of his body, sending the temperature of the room soaring. With a faint popping sound, a trace of fire appeared around the Red Death’s fingers, like a crimson set of brass knuckles. The imprisoned Kindred shrieked in unbelievable agony as the tiny flames touched their cheeks, setting them ablaze.

They burned like dry, rotted wood. Flesh melted, eyeballs exploded, bones crackled and burst like rotted sticks. Makish, no stranger to violence, shook his head in amazement.  In a thousand years of murder he had never witnessed anything like this before. The Red Death was approriately named. He was flame incarnate.

Impressive, but remember that during all of this Beavis and Butthead is playing on the nearby TV. Their uhhhhuhuhuhs and hehehehehes would be heard over the Red Death’s little show. It ruins the moment a little.

(Heheheh! Fire! Fire! Fire!)

Their chosen witness runs away, and everyone else is dead. The Red Death is pleased. He expects news of this will spread.

“The Sabbat anarchs will demand immediate revenge against the Camarilla.”

Sabbat “Anarchs” huh? Well, that’s another thing I’ll have to rant about later. This chapter recap’s long enough.

"Prince Vitel and his council of advisors will retaliate swiftly to any such action. They know the Sabbat hungers to control the capital. A push or two in the right direction should finish the job. A single incident will escalate quickly into a major battle between the rival cults.”

[...]

“A Sabbat attack is assured. Leaving me free to pursue my objectives without interruptions.”

The Red Death smiled. “It is almost too easy.”

So Red D.’s acting out false flag operations in order to start a war (a blood war, you could say, and Makish does) between the Camarilla and the Sabbat, which’ll distract both of them from whatever he’s planning. Makish points out that hundreds, maybe thousands of vampires will die. The Red Death concludes by hinting at his true goals.

“The existence of the entire Cainite race depends on the success of my mission,” said the Red Death, all humor gone from its voice. “If I fail, entire generations of vampires will die in a slaughter unmatched in history. I must succeed, no matter the cost.”

*softly, from the other side of the room* “Settle down, Beavis.”

Now there’s one major flaw in Red D.’s plan I can point out. So far, his false flag attacks involved him arriving at a faction’s haven, introducing himself and declaring his allegiance to the other faction before killing a few people. But why is he exposing himself at all? Last chapter, Tyrus Benedict mentioned that the Camarilla has spies in the Sabbat, and presumably the Sabbat has spies in the Camarilla as well. Wouldn’t those spies discover that the same horrible fire vampire is attacking both sides, and come to the conclusion that he’s trying to start a conflict? Even without the spies, wouldn’t they discover the deception when one side, I don’t know, demands that the other side turn over the Red Death or something? Maybe Red D.’s counting on the tit for tat bullshit between the factions crossing the point of no return before it could make a difference? And the Camarilla and Sabbat would never actually team up against him. But he’s still drawing unwanted attention to himself, and at least some resources will be used against him that wouldn’t otherwise if he stuck to the shadows and kept his big dumb mouth shut.

Or maybe I should follow Makish’s lead.

Makish, who had been employed by fanatics many times in the past, knew better than to respond.

[strechanadi]

Swan Lake - no longer a fairy tale

Right, so... Nobody asked me to, but something so marginal cannot stop me, clearly, so I went and translated the longest, the trickiest, the most profound review I have ever written. (And that includes POB Giselle, Swan Lake and Onegin! OK. Maybe not Onegin. But since I’ve done this one I can almost make myself believe I could give translating Onegin a go as well.) (She said and then promptly kill herself before she could made another clearly, completely and utterly deranged decision.)

Half of the things don’t make sense, I’m sure. And I can only hope they made sense in the original. (Which they probably didn’t, let’s be real, but since when this matters to me anyway?) (God, I literally cannot stop babbling, somebody strangle me or something. Or at least take the keyboard from my grabby and apparently very high fingers, that decided to simply vomit words after words for no real reason and with no brain to mouth/fingers filter whatsoever!)

It’s in times like this I truly wish to be able to write in an actual English language. Or for my mother language to be a world language, not some beautiful, hot mess, but a mess nonetheless, from the middle of nowhere. A mess I despite of everything love dearly and even live in this illusion of me being really pretty good in using (or more like playing with) it.

What is also clear - I, for a reason not known to humans, love to write absurdly, ridiculously long sentences. Be it just up to me, I’d write a whole review in one obscure linguistic construction I call a perfectly normal sentence. I was told however, that English doesn’t really do or like such things, so I tried to shorten them. Or some of them. Was really unbelievably succesfull doing so...

No reason to prolong this now, I guess?

So just, please be patient. Or benevolent. Or try to laugh in private at least! Look, I tried and I know it’s actually rather pathetic to be so spectacularly bad in English grammar, that I supposedly learnt from the age of 5 (but then spent more than 15 years actively hating the whole language, which... doesn’t make sense, I admit, but maybe explain some things), but... I mean, it would be better than google translate, if anything else. It HAS TO be!

As always - I appologize for anything and everything I did to the poor English language. It doesn’t deserve such a poor treatment.

Were there anybody who would feel personally attacked by my sheer ignorance of the basics of language of Shakespeare, Byron or Shelley and would want to make this thing better, let me know! (Even though I am afraid there are so many mistakes, your eyes will be bleeding around the end of 2nd paragraph...)

Last one - I have no idea how in/definite articles work!

(Good thing I don’t write fiction of any sort, ANs would be longer than the actual thing.)

Swan Lake, no longer a fairy tale

 Whenever the two words – Swan Lake – were mentioned, everybody had some universally shared idea of the final picture. Nothing has drastically changed with John Neumeier (1976, Illusionen – wie Schwanensee), who mixed the original fairy story with events from prince Ludwig II of Bavaria’s life, nor with Mats Ek (1987), whose prince was torn between imaginary princess Odette and real life Odile, nor with Jean-Christophe Maillot (2011, Le Lac) and new relations between his main characters, not even with Alexander Ekman (2014, A Swan Lake), who came back in time and took a look at the first premiere of said ballet in 1877 and tried to make a rather poetic story about what from certain point was started to be called a fiasco. As if the later Petipa/Ivanov version needs any more boost…

The unshakable certitude was irretrievably broken in 1995 by Matthew Bourne. His Swan Lake was new, daring, bold, with unexpected twists and one could not left theatre feeling indifferent after seeing it. Part of the ballet world turned its back to such profanity of beloved classic. The other part fell for its captivating charm, and since in 2018 Bourne’s Swan Lake came back to his New Adventure’s repertoire for umpteenth time, after hundreds of successful shows, many tours across the globe, adorned with every possible theatre and dance awards, it seems clear who were right then, 24 years ago.

  The most common characteristic of Bourne’s Swan Lake is „the male one“. Prince is in the centre of attention, black swan Odile is changed into unknown Stranger, and most obviously – all the swans became purely men’s business. Which opens completely new perspective for male dancers and saying that this ballet has a major influence to whole generations of artists is hardly an overstatement.

  Bourne follows the original structure and basic frame of Swan Lake. There are still four acts, act one follows the Prince, his character, the environment he’s living in, relations he has, act two is for the swans, act three still represents the ball, and in act four, where traditionally the Prince is coming back to the lake, here the swans appear in prince’s room. Many times even the formal structure is intact – the prince’s solo at the end of act one, pas de quatre of both little and big swans, or Bourne’s take on character dances in act three. Even the entrée of swans in second act follows the same space structure of the Ivanov’s original /aka swans are coming one after the other and crossing the stage from left to right (dancers‘ perspective)/.

  Oedipal Complex, repressed sexuality, low self-esteem

Bourne’s Prince, his personality, is more than ever influenced by his upbringing, by the estrangement of aristocratic background, his world constantly controlled, constricted by rules and rituals, with no spaces for affection, understanding, empathy, every emotion being replaced by duty. Bond between son and mother the Queen (ice cold, distant Katrina Lyndon for whom one cannot feel an ounce of sympathy, or more emotional, but still dismissive Nicole Cabera) is minute, almost non-existent, which has such a strong impact on the introverted, socially inept, insecure Prince, who is on top of all that haunted by strange dreams about swans. The feeling of lacking something gets even worse when he clearly sees his mother is more than capable of showing emotions, particularly towards another young men.

During yet another military parade or boat christening or exhibition opening, the heir to the throne is met with a bit silly, ill-mannered and completely unsuitable girl for his royal life (incomparable Carrie Willis, whose interpretation makes her character pretty sweet with candid, open-hearted warmth), who shortly after became his girlfriend and went with the family to the opera house to watch a ballet performance. Staging theatre scenes within the actual production /we call it theatre on theatre, which probably doesn’t make sense in any other language then ours, sorry/ is always very rewarding. Bourne is on top of that master of choreographic punchline and this scene (to pas de trois from Act I music) combines all clichés from romantic sylphs, awaken Floras, forest beasts to well-built male heroes one could think of and is a joy to watch for its grotesqueness as well as for the subtle details in gestures, ballet quirky manner or choreographic pattern for those, who know where to look for them.

The prince is trying to find his freedom in a night club, but to no avail. He’s met there unexpectedly with his frolicking girlfriend, then he got himself into a fight with one of her suitors (or maybe rather clients) and at the end his soul is beaten for good, when he has to watch the royal secretary paying some money to the one girl, whose affections he believed were genuine. (And it kind of doesn’t matter they most probably truly were.)

The only logical solution for the prince is a suicide. But before he’s able to throw himself into waters of a small park lake, majestic Swan appears and everything is changed at once. Traditional swans‘ corps de ballet danced by women is often associated with delicate elegance, crystalline beauty, dreamy atmosphere and aesthetics of homogeneously moving bodies. Swan is becoming a pure ideal almost as if from ancient Greece. Bourne’s swans are first and foremost animals, he’s not denying their grace, but is showing their slight awkwardness and ridiculousness in some movements at the same time. His swans are wild, independent, fetterless. Looking sinister when lining up to attack the prince, their physical, natural power strengthened by additional slapping arms, stamping feet, hissing and dangerously sharp, audible breathing. The Swan alone is very wary of the prince, uncompromisingly harsh, defensive, with sharp edges of aggressiveness that serves as self-defence of this imposing, powerful creature from anybody who would think of causing any harm. The almost imperceptible gestures calling the prince towards him are even more meaningful then, the moment when he nuzzles prince’s chest indescribably intimate.

Next evening there’s a ball at the palace. And even though it may seem the main reason of it is prince’s engagement thanks to all the ladies present, it’s the queen in her bright crimson dress amongst all black gowns who is in the spotlight. While her son doesn’t even know, what he should be doing with all said ladies. Break from routine comes with mysterious Stranger, whose raw, animalistic charisma draws every female’s attention to him, which he welcomes with great satisfaction. At the same time it also affects, quite unintentionally, the utterly unprepared prince, because Stranger’s arrogant dominance has something from Swan’s animalistic fierce. /Dear English language, you have many words. More than my mother language. But you have exactly nothing that would or could match prchlivost. Or at least I am unable to find it./ As Odile in original libretto, the Stranger dances his way through character dances (the Neapolitan one stands out with its light-hearted fun it makes of cliché Italian relationships) and finds his dancing peak in duet with the queen (music of so called Black Swan Pas de Deux). It is when prince’s psyche breaks and he, in his imagination, is thrown in arms of unknown to be faced with intimacy, sensuality, sexual tension and even the most basic physical contact, everything so strong even person of sound mind would probably find it difficult to cope. Therefore, when the Stranger kisses the queen, prince is there with gun in his hands and complete madness in his eyes. In chaotic situation gunshot is heard (although not by prince’s pistol), prince’s girlfriend falls dead and terrified young man is drawn away.

The tragedy is inevitable. To padded cell, where the prince is held, come doctor with the queen followed by group of nurses with queen’s face, whose hairstyle and white uniform may resemble the demonic nurse Ratched from the Miloš Forman’s film Flew over the cuckoo’s nest. After certain medical procedure (just shy from lobotomy) the prince is taken to his room, where the miserable, wounded Swan emerges from his bed. Shortly after he is followed by irritated flock of other swans, that throw themselves unbridled on the young man and then even on their supposed leader, doing so with brutality growing with every Swan’s desperate attempt to save his prince. The Swan dies at the end after their fatal, almost fanatical attack. And with him die prince’s illusions, dreams, hopes and then he himself. So when the Queen comes in the morning, all she finds is her son’s dead body, the sight of the Swan embracing his prince behind the bed the only, yet bittersweet comfort for the audience.

  As many other versions of this famous ballet, this too strengthens psychological aspect of the story and deepens characters‘ personalities. Here, more than ever, the contours of main characters are pretty blurry. The prince and the Swan are blending into one, they are reflected in the other, full of opposites they are complementing each other, one would say they are like two sides of the same coin. /Ha!/ Bourne on top of that let his characters to blend with different original ones. Where in traditional Swan Lakes it’s Odette weeping at the beginning of the last scene, here it’s the Prince, who is going through mental breakdown in striking resemblance to Giselle’s mad scene. The role of Rothbart, the sorcerer, is played by the royal secretary as well as prince’s own mother, who at the same time plays a part of original Siegfried during the act 3 ball, when being seduced by Stranger, who is Odile. What may seem as confusing chaos at first sight, makes perfect sense in the end and strengthens the unquestionably dark tones of Bourne’s choreographic vision.

  Artistic approaches or One man’s meat is another man’s poison…

As it always is with story ballets, individual artistic interpretation is something that has the power to change the final image of said piece. In case of Bourne’s Swan Lake and its current stars, the outcome may be completely different with each cast.

  Where Liam Mower was bored, annoyed, slightly defiant teenage Prince, Dominic North’s hero was more tired, depressed young man with no illusions, very well aware of all his flaws and inability to fulfil all expectations of his social role, while James Lovell, who seemed most out of touch with reality, emphasized prince’s childishly pure, honest naivety. If the suicide attempt of Mower’s prince was more than anything a dramatic gesture, North was simply resigned to its inevitability, and Lovell threw himself into the waters with absolute, desperate abandon, his mind not able to see any other solution. Each and every prince is then influenced by his Swan and Stranger (and every Swan and Stranger by his prince).

Matthew Ball, the newest principal of the Royal Ballet, can rely on his first-class technique as well as on his unquestionable elegant stage presence. His pliable body felt the music to its very last molecule, every movement full of regal charm and classical beauty, which in a way brought Ball closer to traditional, delicately soft, feminine portrayal of Odette. His Swan was untouchable in his impeccable perfection, icily confident, aware of every gesture he made, of every prince’s fascinated glance. Max Westwell, former soloist of English National Ballet, concentrated more on the raw temperament, natural animal distrust, physical power and ferocity combined with enigmatic magnificence. Dynamics of his movements escalated at all times, was full of unexpected turns and transitions from strong, energetic endings, to exhalation captured in casual, seemingly ordinary movement of hanging wrist.

As the Stranger Ball looked like smug dandy enjoying himself and all the attention, all too well aware of his own youth and beauty, that make everybody fall for him. Personally though I couldn’t help thinking he wasn’t as in charge as it might look at the first sight. He was mocking his prince, showing off ostentatiously. Weswell on the other hand was the embodiment of pure, uncompromising charisma. Interactions between him and Mower’s prince, who was impressed by Stranger’s unconventional, rough manners at first, was quickly becoming a tense fight for power, the prince trying to prove himself worthy of Stranger’s attention, to prove he’s his equal. With Lovell’s prince the seducing, open flirting, blatant sexuality was much more evident, which combined with this prince’s ingenuous innocence made the final picture unpleasantly sinister.

 Regardless of different casts, ending of the ballet became a real emotional roller-coaster. With Matthew Ball and Dominic North equal in their complete despair when being sure of the inevitable death of their partner. Ball’s total resignation the more palpable, the more he was stubbornly, despite his injuries trying to stay or at least look unaffected on the outside. Change of Westwell’s Swan, in act 2 so independent and powerful, was shocking. Now he was utterly, hopelessly, painfully broken. He was defending both his princes against furious swans with rabid determination, with no self-preservation whatsoever, with perfect, devoted abandon. Bond between him and James Lovell’s prince was then strengthened by certain feel of responsibility, by tenderness that felt almost motherly. He was not only trying to protect, but to sooth, to give some comfort to his prince as well with physical contact, with touches stronger, more frequent, more expressive, more meaningful. That was why prince’s positively hysterical, agonizing grief hurt almost physically then.

 Bourne managed something extraordinary. His Swan Lake with costumes by Lez Brotherson is as iconic, as legendary as the original ballet. His vision as strong as let’s say Ek’s Giselle. What’s more, Bourne’s ballet doesn’t age, it hasn’t lost any of its impact – thanks to slight costume, dramaturgic and choreographic changes, that only strengthen its drive. Prince’s hinted homosexuality won‘t shock anyone anymore as well as men swans won’t provoke such controversy, true. But thanks to these examples it is evident, that Bourne’s ballet is so much more than just a gay version of one famous story…

For everybody who actually reach the end of this madness - congratulations. And I am sorry.

[liberatingflame]

1-169, asshole

lol i love you

1: How tall or short do you wish you were?

like 6′ would be perfect

2: What’s your dream pet? (Real or not)

uh. dragon? dragon.

3: Do you have a favorite clothing style?

anything that you look at and you can’t decide if it’s jock or goth

4: What was your favorite video game growing up?

spyro was the only series i was allowed to play and i lived for it

5: What three things/people do you think of most each day:

whatever i’m hyperfixated on that month, sleep, and ciaran

6: If you had a warning label, what would yours say?

warning: nearly pure taurus energy, scorpio ascending

7: What is your opinion on alpacas?

they’re fluffy and better than llamas

8: What is your Greek personality type? [Sanguine, Phlegmatic, Choleric, or Melancholic]

melancholic is what i just got, but it switches between that and sanguine all the time

9: Are you ticklish?

yes. 

10: Are you allergic to anything?

am i not allergic to anything?

11: What’s your sexuality?

pan

12: Do you prefer tea, coffee, or cocoa?

cocoa or tea, just never coffee

13: Are you a cat or dog person?

cat

14: Would you rather be a vampire, elf, or merperson?

merperson hands fucking down

15: Do you have a favorite Youtuber?

bazza or muselk probably

16: How tall are you?

5′6ish

17: If you had to change your name, what would you change it to?

uh. well. you see. it’s jay.

18: How much do you weigh? [Only ask this if you know the user doesn’t mind!]

lmao no

19: Do you believe in ghosts/spirits?

yes, i do

20: Do you like space or the ocean more?

i’m a “look at those stars” kind of person, but my room growing up was painted like it was underwater, so. both.

21: Are you religious?

lmao

22: Pet peeves?

harley licking my things

23: Would you rather be nocturnal or diurnal [opposite of nocturnal]?

i’d rather be diurnal because, uh, functioning human. i am nocturnal though.

24: Favorite constellation?

dickbutt

25: Favorite star?

me

26: Do you like ball-jointed dolls?

i don’t like dolls, but those are the cutest

27: Any phobias or fears?

sure

28: Do you think global warming is real?

look outside right now and tell me it’s not

29: Do you believe in reincarnation?

yeah, there have been enough instances of actual cases that it’s pretty hard for me to personally deny, so

30: Favorite movie?

it cycles, i still love heathers tho

31: Do you get scared easily?

kind of? not really? 

32: How many pets have you own in your lifetime?

not counting fish and including harley, 7

33: Blog rate? [You’ll rate the blog of the one who’s asking.]

valid to eat fingers

34: What is a color that calms you?

blue and certain shades of red

35: Where would you like to travel and/or live?

i’m really liking washington?? i’d like to travel anywhere

36: Where were you born?

sanford, florida. hrugh.

37: What is your eye color?

blue-green

38: Introvert or extrovert?

extroverted introvert? 

39: Do you believe in horoscopes and zodiacs?

it gets spooky sometimes, but like. not on a basic level for sure.

40: Hugs or kisses?

depends

41: Who is someone you would like to see/visit right now?

ngl, my sisters

42: Who is someone you love deeply?

everyone i love? uh

43: Any piercings you want?

re-pierce my cartilage and get a few more lobe piercings and just like stab me and put something in it and i’ll love it

44: Do you like tattoos and piercings?

yes.

45: Do you smoke or have you ever done so?

i’ve smoked weed, but like. eh. cigarettes are gross, they smell and feel and taste awful.

46: Talk about your crush, if you have one!

i don’t have a crush on anyone lol

47: What is a sound you really hate?

ticking

48: A sound you really love?

trains really late at night. 

49: Can you do a backflip?

no

50: Can you do the splits?

the splits? no

51: Favorite actor and/or actress?

winona ryder

52: Favorite movie?

uh h hh h  i already answered this

53: How are you feeling right now?

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

54: What color would you like your hair to be right now?

i just dyed it but i really want it to be red again. it was like a sunset red for a while during the fading process and i’d kill for that all the time.

55: When did you feel happiest?

when a cat touched me with her tiny feet

56: Something that calms you down?

cats and their tiny feet

57: Have any mental disorders? [Only ask this if you know the user doesn’t mind!]

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

58: What does your URL mean?

it’s based on something i said when i was not myself. i said i’d died before and i’d do it again. so i’m functionally immortal.

59: What three words describe you the most?

really fucking tired

60: Do you believe in evolution?

it’s. science.

61: What makes you unfollow a blog?

a lot. i’m not above doing things for petty reasons.

62: What makes you follow a blog?

being interested in what they post??

63: Favorite kind of person:

me

64: Favorite animal(s):

cats, snakes, birds

65: Name three of your favorite blogs.

@heathersadapt​, @heatherspoisson​, @dirtyheathersconfessions​

66: Favorite emoticon:

:}€

67: Favorite meme:

horse memes. like. valid to eat fingers.

68: What is your MBTI personality type?

infp

69: What is your star sign:

taurus

70: Can your dog roll over on command, if you have a dog?

lmao no

71: What outfit out of all your clothes do you like to wear the most?

my work clothes or my pajamas

72: Post a selfie or two?

no

73: Do you have platform shoes?

GOD I WISH

74: What is one random but interesting fact about yourself?

i’m the bird friend

75: Can you do a front flip?

no

76: Do you like birds?

i love birds

77: Do you like to swim?

of course i do

78: Is swimming or ice skating more fun to you?

swimming

79: Something you wish didn’t exist:

do you want to see my blacklist or something

80: Some thing you wish did exist:

fire magic. i wish fire magic were real.

81: Piercings you have?

just ears at the moment, cartilage closed up lmao

82: Something you really enjoy doing:

sleeping, eating ice cream, listening to music. pick from my faves.

83: Favorite person to talk to:

ciaran??

84: What was your first impression of Tumblr?

god it sucks here

85: How many followers do you have?

222 and only 111 of them are spam

86: Can you run a mile within ten minutes?

in middle school, which was the last time i tried, i ran a mile in 6 minutes and 46 seconds

87: Do your socks always match?

fuck no that’s hard

88: Can you touch your toes and keep your legs straight completely?

yes

89: What are your birthstones?

diamond? stones?

90: If you were an animal, which one would you be?

a cockatoo probably

91: If a flower could aesthetically represent you, what kind would it be?

i don’t fucking know

92: A store you hate?

walmart and the ones that smell bad in the mall

93: How many cups of coffee can you drink in one day?

many, but i hate coffee so i drink none

94: Would you rather be able to fly or read minds?

fly, i don’t want to know what’s going through anyone else’s mind

95: Do you like to wear camo?

no. i did in elementary school.

96: Winter or summer?

winter

97: How long can you hold your breath for?

long enough to cross the bridge in spirited away

98: Least favorite person?

it’s all family all the way

99: Someone you look up to:

myself

100: A store you love?

target, lush

101: Favorite type of shoes

boots!! boots!!!! i also like sneakers

102: Where do you live?

outside of seattle

103: Are you a vegetarian or vegan? If so, why?

no i like meat

104: What is your favorite mineral or gem?

uhhhh opals are the most diverse and coolest?

105: Do you drink milk?

ye

106: Do you like bugs?

ye

107: Do you like spiders?

ye

108: Something you get paranoid about?

hhhh

109: Can you draw:

yes, but is it good? absolutely not

110: Nosiest question you have ever been asked?

this one

111: A question you hate being asked?

this one

112: Ever been bitten by a spider?

i lived in florida. yes. 

113: Do you like the sound of waves at the beach?

i love them

114: Do you prefer cloudy or sunny days?

cloudy, i moved to washington for a reason

115: Someone you’d like to kiss or cuddle right now:

i’m comfortable right now actually

116: Favorite cloud type:

the kind in the sky

117: What color do you wish the sky was?

i wish i caught the sunset today

118: Do you have freckles?

no :(

119: Favorite thing about a person:

varies person to person

120: Fruits or vegetables?

i’m allergic to most fruits i like, but i like them more than vegetables anyways, so.

121: Something you want to do right now:

sleep or play bbs

122: Is the ocean or sky prettier?

they’re both gorgeous, fuck off

123: Sweet or sour foods?

depends on the mood

124: Bright or dim lights?

dim, mostly

125: Do you believe in a certain magical creature?

me, i believe in me

126: Something you hate about Tumblr:

tumblr

127: Something you love about Tumblr:

friends

128: What do you think about the least?

i don’t think about it, i don’t know

129: What would you want written on your tombstone?

believe it

130: Who would you like to punch in the face right now?

i have a list

131: What is something you love but also hate about yourself?

me

132: Do you smile with your teeth showing for pictures?

not normally, no

133: Computer or TV?

computer

134: Do you like roller coasters?

yes

135: Do you get motion sickness or seasickness?

only sometimes

136: Are your ears lobed or attached

attached

137: Do you believe in karma?

no, bad people don’t always get what’s coming to them and it sucks

138: On a scale of 1-10, how attractive would you say you are?

like 5? 

139: What nicknames do you have/have had?

hate nicknames

140: Did you have any pretend or imaginary friends?

nah

141: Have you ever seen a therapist/shrink?

yeah, she sucked

142: Would you say you are a good or bad influence to others?

it depends on the person???? i’m both

143: Do you prefer giving or receiving gifts/help?

both are good!

144: What makes you angry

family

145: How many languages do you speak fluently?

none, i can’t speak

146: Do you prefer boys, girls, and/or non-binaries?

yes

147: Are you androgynous?

god i wish, my boobs are too big

148: Favorite physical thing about yourself:

my hair is so fucking fluffy

149: Favorite thing about your personality:

i don’t have one

150: Name three people you would like to talk to right now in person.

ciaran, i’m good.

151: If you could go back into time and live in one era, which would you choose?

BT: before trump

152: Do you like BuzzFeed?

no, but i’m on it all the time.

153: How did you meet your spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend/partner? [If you have one.]

i met my partner in being broke in high school

154: Do you like to kiss others’ foreheads or hands for platonic reasons?

no

155: Do you like to play with others’ hair?

ya

156: What embarrasses you?

i just told ciaran i wore camo in elementary school and that’s embarrassing

157: Something that makes you nervous/anxious:

anxiety

158: Biggest lie you have ever told:

idk i don’t keep track

159: How many people are you following?

451

160: How many posts do you have on your blog(s)?

14199

161: How many drafts do you have on your blog(s)?

23

162: How many likes do you have on your blog(s)?

4190

163: Last time you cried and why:

i dont remember

164: Do you have long or short hair?

mid length

165: Longest your hair has ever been:

to my butt

166: Why do you like, dislike, or have neutral feelings about religon?

i was raised roman catholic by overbearing adults with racist views so im not friends w religion anymore

167: Do you really care how the universe and world was created?

no

168: Do you like to wear makeup?

sometimes

169: Can you stand on your hands or head for more than thirty seconds? 

no

[hekate1308]

Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now

More Siren!Cas Au. Enjoy!

Dean sometimes forgets that he’s human. Not in any dramatic fashion – he doesn’t try to snare anyone or explode people who annoy him or anything like that. No, he just automatically thinks of himself as part of the monster group of their suburban paradise, maybe because not only do mostly monsters live in their neighbourhood, but because...

Well... in a way, monsters are easy to get. It’s people who are difficult.

He’s reminded of that again when he’s trying to explain to Mr. Adler why it will take a while to get the parts for the car he wants restored.

Most days, he loves the fact that he could finally open the shop of his dreams. When he’s dealing with assholes like this, though...

“Mr. Adler, I have told you that –“

“Oh, Dean, sorry, I didn’t realize you were busy” Gilda apologizes, stepping into his office.

“It’s quite alright.”

And it’s then that Mr. why-can’t-I-have-my-vintage-Lamborghini-yesterday proves just how big of an asshole he is, mumbling “fucking fairy” under his breath.

Dean is about to deck him when Gilda asks gently, “Do whom do you address this insult, please?”

Adler stares at her. “What?”

“It could apply to both of us – to Dean because of his marital status, and to me because I am, indeed, a fucking fairy. In case of the latter – you should learn to treat others with more respect, yet I don’t care that much. If it’s the former... I suggest you leave the premises quickly.”

Adler stares at her, mouth wide open, before he all but flees.

“Nice one, Gilda” Dean says.

“I’m sorry if I scared off your customer.”

“Guy deserved it, and I still have the Lamborghini. He’ll be back. But what were you planning to do? Making buttercups grow around his feet?”

“Something like that” she answers pleasantly, but they both know the threats of a fairy are to be taken seriously at all times. They are not nature spirits for nothing.

It also means Dean is rather more important to Charlie’s girlfriend than he realized.

In the end, he invites Gilda to lunch.

That evening, Jody knocks at their door. Dean knows just from the expression on her face that Adler is enough of a bastard to –

“Sorry Dean, but there has been a complaint.”

As the only human Sheriff brave enough to take care of monster stuff, Jody has long been a respected member of their community. Dean lets her in.

“He called Gilda that?” she fumes after he’s explained. Dean nods.

“I’m not surprised. Guy’s a jerk. She put the fear of God in him, but that’s it.”

“Good to know. I’ll let Mr. Adler know what the police thinks of people who curse at innocent citizens.”

“I think” Cas says quietly after Jody has left, “It’s because we haven’t been citizens all that long. Fifty years ago, monsters weren’t even considered animals.”

“Yeah, but we weren’t even born then! This is ridiculous.”

“I wish everyone was as wonderful as you, my love.”

Dean blushes fiercely.

He’s gotten used to it, really. There are quite a few people who will stare and sneer and take jabs at him once they find out he’s dating a siren. Some of them assume that Cas keeps him around like a hypnotized pet to feast on, which... ew.

Sometimes, he wryly thinks what Sammy would think of all this and smiles. The brother he walked out on because he wanted to study and was convinced Dean would only end up like dead... He certainly couldn’t have seen this coming.

Warm arms wrap around him. “I don’t like that look on your face” Cas whispers against his neck.  

“You can’t see my expression.”

“The window... there’s a reflection.”

Dean chuckles. “My very own Sherlock Holmes.”

“My Boswell.”

He shakes his head. “I was just thinking about Sammy and Dad and... you know how it is.”

Cas nods. “My family stopped speaking to me as well.”

“I’m still very sorry about that. Cas, if there’s a way...”

“I have everything I could ever want.”

A thump on the roof. Dean rolls his eyes. “Even with –“

“Hello boys.”

“Crowley. What the hell were you doing on our roof?”

“Relax, it’s close to Halloween. Just thought I’d put up some extra protection. Excepting yours truly, of course.”

Of course. Life wouldn’t be the same without their demon neighbour being able to zap in whenever he wants.

“Good thinking.”

Halloween can be... chaotic. And by chaotic, Dean means even for them, and that’s saying something. There’s just something about having so many monsters and magic practitioners in one place that seems to make the pull of the night even stronger.

This year, it almost ends in tragedy.

At first, it’s fun. They throw a party – even Rowena attends it in a sparkling red gown – and they’re handing out candy to the monster and a few brave human kids who come to their door.

It’s about ten pm when Jody calls. “Dean, there’s something – I can’t explain it. But there are about three square inches in the street that have just – disappeared. There’s nothing there. As if one was blind...”

Dean listens carefully, then turns and explains the problem. Several enthusiastic voice pipe up, but it’s Rowena who calls out, “I know! It’s a soul eater. Takes the soul and leaves nothing. Don’t let anyone near it.”

“Good God” Jody mutters. “Halloween. Alright, will do. Could you just hurry, please?”

“Of course.”

“Hasn’t it been hundreds of years since the last soul-eater came to earth?” Crowley asks as he, Dean, Cas and Rowena stroll down the street.

“It has, but with the recent concentration of people like us all in one place... the world is turning into something more magical again. Normally I would be happy about it, but a soul-eater always means business.”

“How do we defeat it?” Dean asks.

“That’s the tricky part” Rowena says. “The spell has to be performed in the vicinity of the creature, but it would attack anyone who dares come near, unless...” She trails off.

“He has something else to snack on” Dean says flatly.

“Afraid so.”

“Let me guess. They like human souls the most.” Just his freaking luck.

“Don’t worry” Crowley says smoothly, “Yes, it will try and devour your soul, but that takes a while,. And I’ll interfere if there are any problems.”

“As will I” Cas adds quietly, “Although I wish you didn’t have to do this. What if I –“

“Sorry, Lorelei, it will feel that you have power over other souls, and if there’s one thing a soul-eater doesn’t like, it’s another predator.”

“I don’t prey on people” Cas insists.

“That may be” Rowena replies, “But you still have the powers. And the soul-eater will know that. You probably shouldn’t even go near it.”

“But Dean –“

“Hey” Dean says, taking his hand. “You heard Crowley; I’ll be fine. And you have to help Jody keep the humans away from that thing. It’s Halloween; there’s bound to be some trouble makers around.”

“I trust you, Dean” he says, drawing him into a kiss. “But if you don’t come back to me, I’ll have Rowena resurrect you so I can smite you.”

“You two break my non-existent heart. Can we go deal with this, please?”

“Yeah, yeah Crowley” Dean mutters, pulling back. “Way to ruin my dramatic hero exit scene.”

“There’s not going to be an exit, didn’t you hear me?”

“How do you three get anything done?” Rowena complains. “Now let’s go before we waste the whole of Samhain!”

For the first time, Dean wonders why she suddenly decided to spend the night with them instead of joining a coven for the celebrations. It must be some form of honour, a witch choosing to celebrate Halloween with you.

By the time they reach the street, the soul-eater – the nothing – has grown. Jody has organised several men and women to keep others away, a necessary precaution since “we’re all drawn to it. No one can explain it.”

“A soul-eater with snare magic.” Rowena clicks her tongue. “Castiel, you should definitely stay away. It won’t like your powers at all.”

Jody isn’t all that much in favour of their plan when she hears it. “I’m an officer of the law, I should –“

“Exactly. And you’re the only officer who thought to call us, who ever looks out for the monsters. If we want this to work, if we want humans to grow accustomed to us, we need people like you.”

“You’re human too” she says softly.

Dean grins. “Yeah, but I hardly count as one anymore. Just ask Adler. Just – Jody, we can’t afford to lose you.”

“And you’re expendable?”

“No, but I’m the only human here who has a lot of experience with the supernatural.”

She sighs and acquiesces. “If anything goes wrong, I’ll still shoot you.”

“Get in line, Cas already plans to smite me.”

The power of the thing, Dean muses as he steps closer, truly reminds him of Cas’ snare, back when he was still affected by it, but it’s not quite the same thing. A siren’s powers, whether they use them deliberately or not, are still there to provide them with food and leave the victim unharmed. Perhaps it’s all a bit... unethical, but it’s not evil.

This thing, however? There’s a malice buried deep in the call that makes Dean’s feet walk right up to it.

He takes a deep breath. Concentrate on the important things, Crowley said. Hold on to your soul.

Demon’s creeping in the shadows behind him, so the soul-eater won’t notice him.

And then he feels it. An almost indescribable sensation, as if something’s chipping away at his very core, as if things are slowly growing less important...

He shakes his head. The important things.

Quick. What’s important? His job. He likes his job. He thinks – he’s not entirely sure what he does –

No. Sammy. Sammy’s important. But then why can’t he remember where he is, exactly?

Quick, man, the important –

Important –

Something falls in front of his feet. Dean looks down.

A small black feather.

Feathers, Crowley’s voice says in his head, and there it is.

Cas. Cas, his boyfriend, the love of his life, the siren he’s going to propose to, he decided not so long ago. Their friends already agreed to help him...

And suddenly, it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Cas in the morning, eyes sparkling under his bed head, making coffee –

Cas, laughing as he watches the ghoul children play fetch on the street –

Cas, holding him close at night, writing stories on Dean’s skin –

Cas.

The sensation vanishes as suddenly as it has come, and Dean blinks, noticing Crowley next to him. “I assume the feather was your idea?”

The demon nods. “Thought you might need a little reminder.”

Dean clasps his shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

“Dean!”

He turns to find his boyfriend hurrying over and opens his arms to receive him.

“That was very brave” Cas says as he kisses him.

“Please, have you seen yourself?” Crowley grins. “Dean, you should be sorry you missed it – Cas felled a six-foot drunk body builder who wouldn’t listen.”

“I just did what I had to do.”

“And as always you were amazing” Dean tells him, “I’m sure of it.”

After Jody has thanked them, they return to the party, arriving shortly before midnight.

“Well” Dean says, getting them drinks, “No one can say we didn’t have a scary Halloween.”

“Yes” Cas answers, looking down. Dean frowns.

“Cas? You alright?”

He nods, looking up. “It’s just – Dean, if you hadn’t met me, you wouldn’t –“

“I wouldn’t be the go-to person for soul devouring if we weren’t dating, is that it?” Dean shakes his head. “You know what, sunshine? I’d face one of those things every day if it meant I get to keep this.”

He means it, too.

Cas looks at him, his blue eyes sparkling and, as always, full of love. “And I’d have my whole family denounce me again and again if it led to the same.”

“See? We’re well-matched.”

He kisses his boyfriend and thinks of the ring he’ll create.