#about the most daring direction her character has gone for ages now is the reveal she has contingency plans to kill most of the main cast

[chikaiomoi]

take the fire from within, you won’t break me

characters: LOV, hawks (eventual dabi x hawks x female reader)

title: ‘take the fire from within, you won’t break me’ (lyrics from ‘tourniquet’ by breaking benjamin) | part one

words: 5k

warnings: dark themes, drug mention, guns, knives, gangs, shigaraki being... shigaraki, cops, suggestive themes. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

synopsis:

it’s the end of the university semester and you’ve returned home for a break, excited to see your loving parents and your adorable younger sister, himiko. however, something is off with your sister. you follow her, only to be dragged into the world of underground criminals and gangs.

[quirkless au/modern au]

Fresh blossom and cinnamon — the scent of home. It greets you as you walk inside, returning to your family home after weeks away at university. Of course, it’s not the only thing that greets you.

“Welcome home, onee-san!” The voice of your younger sister chimes. Himiko bounds down the stairs, skipping every other step as if falling down was simply impossible. She jumps on you, throwing her arms around your tired form to embrace before you have a chance to drop your heavy belongings. She mewls with excitement, kicking her legs in the air as she hangs from your shoulders before finally letting go. 

She looks the same as she had the last time you were home - blonde hair in messy buns on either side of her head. Still in her high school uniform, she must only have returned home recently.

You grin at her and pat her head whilst dropping your bag on the floor, shoulder thanking you for relief from the weight. “Missed me, huh?” you tease as you remove your shoes and slide on the slippers eagerly awaiting your return. 

“Duh,” Himiko scoffs and practically drags you into the living room. She plops down onto the small couch, but so kindly left room for her big sister. “Who else am I meant to annoy when you’re away? Can’t you come home more often?” she whined.

Her golden eyes peer up at you with such a desperation that you’re almost tempted to say yes, but you know it’s pointless; you’ll only disappoint her in the future. Life as a medical student is hard and you’re busy studying so much of the time, as well as working part-time to support yourself. The least you can do is spend as much time as possible with her whilst visiting home.

“I wish,” you sigh and lean back, stretching out your legs, stiff from the train journey. “Why don’t we go to the convenience store, buy some snacks, then come back and have a movie night?” It’s a good suggestion, usually. Although you have different tastes in movies, the two of you always have fun. 

But Himiko sighs. “Can’t tonight — gonna hang out with some friends.”

Friends? Friends?

Himiko has never been good at making friends. As much as you love her, she’s too forward and overwhelming. If she has friends, you can only imagine they’re of a similar calibre to her.

You might have pouted and begged her to stay if the thought of your sister finally having friends didn’t fill your chest with joy. You grin and poke her arm. “Friends, huh? What are their names? Are they from school? What are they like?”

The blonde rolls her eyes at the sudden barrage of questions. “They’re cool, that’s all you need to know.” Those are the only answers you’re getting for now — you’ll press for more later. 

It’s then that your parents come down the stairs and greet you with bright smiles. Only, they’re dressed in fine clothes and your mother has makeup on, which she only ever wears when going somewhere fancy. You pout. “Are you going out too?” 

Your father holds up his palms. “In our defence, you weren’t supposed to come home until tomorrow.” 

Your mother squeezes your cheek as if you were still six years old. “There’s leftovers in the fridge, plenty to choose from.” 

Wonderful. Your first night back and you’re spending it alone. At least you don’t have to cook for yourself. 

Your parents leave before Himiko does, but once they’re gone, she hurries up to her bedroom to change. After sliding your feet out of your slippers, you curl up on the couch and grab your phone to flick through social media. Friends post pictures of their cakes from cafés, or snaps from their evening at karaoke, or even pictures of the evening sky. You could have joined along if you hadn’t come home a day early. 

After half an hour, Himiko skips down the stairs, dressed in casual clothes, hair still as it was before. Dropping her backpack onto the floor by your feet, she goes into the kitchen. “Do you want a drink? I have stuff for tapiru,” she calls. “I’ll make you one before I go — a way to say sorry for abandoning you tonight.” She giggles and your lips curl up into a smile.

“Yes, please!” 

Your legs spin over the edge of the sofa, ready to jump up and join her in the kitchen, but her backpack is slightly open and the ceiling light reflects off something that catches your attention. Glancing up, you make sure she can’t see before you peer into her bag. 

You gasp, hand shooting to your mouth. 

A gun. A silver handgun. It’s not a toy. No, by the weight of it, it’s real. When you push it aside, you see a sheathed knife too. 

Why the fuck did she have these?! 

It had to be these new friends of hers. Yes, Himiko had always been a little crazy and had a bizarre obsession with slasher movies. In this regard, the knife didn’t startle you that much. But the gun? No, no… Himiko hadn’t liked guns, would never use one if given the chance. Not personal enough, she would say.

Your first instinct — out of fear and concern and anger — is to yell at her and ask her why she had dangerous weapons. But a tiny voice in the back of your mind stops you. 

If Himiko finally has friends, your concerns won’t be enough to stop her. Friends are all she has ever wanted; even the pleas of the sister she loved dearly won’t be enough to pull her from that friendship. 

You must be pale when she returns with bubble tea, because she giggles as she hands the cup to you. “You’re not afraid to be alone tonight, are you?”

Forcing a smile to your lips, you shake your head and take the tea. “No, just tired. Thanks, Himicchi.”

The nickname makes a wide grin spread onto her face, revealing the two pointed teeth that always make her stand out from the crowd. Your mother has a similar shape of canines, but you inherited the blunter ones of your father. 

Once you taste the tea and she knows you like it, she scoops up her bag. “See you later, onee-chan!”

Your stomach turns with uncomfort, twisting and clenching. Your little sister… with a gun. 

When she leaves, you watch her from the window, and it takes all of your strength not to follow her.

Fuck that, you don’t have the strength to sit idle. You slip on your shoes, pocket your phone, and follow your sister.

When you were younger, you were always better at hide-and-seek than she was, which might be why you’re able to follow her through the streets without her noticing. If she has noticed, she hasn't said anything or tried to throw you off her trail. 

The building she approaches is concerning – it’s old, abandoned, and derelict – but it’s not that which concerns you the most. It’s the group of men, all your age or older, hanging outside, greeting her as she approaches. Two are smoking, and from the shape of the piece in their fingers, you can’t tell if it’s tobacco or weed. One is sitting on top of a car, counting notes before handing a lump to Himiko. He pats the top of her head before returning to counting bills. 

From the dark doorway, two other men approach. One is tall, easily the oldest of the group, wearing a waistcoat and a tie like a dodgy businessman. The other you can’t make out that well. His raggy blue hair covers most of his features. At their gesture, the others and Himiko go inside.

Your heart sinks into your stomach. 

You ought to run in and shout at them. What do they think they’re doing hanging around a sixteen year old? And what were they paying her for?! You ought to rush in, grab your sister’s hand and drag her out of there.

But doing so might only push her away from you. It could do more harm than good.

So, instead, you go home and wait for the night to be over.

*

Eyes narrow as you glare at the run-down building, which only looks worse in daylight. It’s a Friday and Himiko is at school, giving you the chance to finally approach the scumbags. They’re in there – you watched them saunter in ten minutes ago. 

You’re too concerned with your sister’s safety to think about your own, to consider that they likely have weapons with them, and you storm into the building, burning with fury. Your hands shake and your heart pounds at one million miles an hour, but you don’t care. They need to know just how scummy they are, how disgraceful it is that they’ve roped a teenage girl into whatever gross activities they get up to. You follow the sound of voices and slam open the door. Six heads snap in your direction.

“What the fu–” a blond man starts, but you cut him off.

“How fucking dare you,” you growl, fists clenched at your sides to hide the trembles. “Do you know how old she is?! She’s sixteen, for fuck’s sake! What are grown men doing hanging around a sixteen year old? She’s still in school! Are you fucking perverts or something?! And what are you paying her for, what sort of…”

You trail off when your eyes register the barrel of a gun pointing at your head. 

The blue-haired man, who looks your age up close, holds the handgun, pressing the barrel against your forehead. A sickly grin spreads across his face, chapped lips revealing teeth. “You must be Himiko’s older sister.” He laughs and the sound shakes your bones – it’s dark, it’s unnatural, it’s predatory. Then, the grin drops and his crimson eyes bore into you. 

“Let me lay this out for you,” he says. “None of us have even looked at your sister that way. We’re not that kind of criminal.” His words earn chuckles from the others behind him. “Pretty bold of you to storm in here like a trembling doe. If you know your sister has been hanging out with us, then surely you know how dangerous we are?” As if for emphasis, he releases the safety on the gun.

You swallow the lump blocking your dried-up throat. Your stomach turns, threatening to bring up breakfast. 

“We’re not very nice people,” he continues. “Not very nice people with scary guns are very dangerous. If you say or do the wrong thing, you could end up with a bullet right between those pretty eyes of yours. I should kill you for trespassing, really, but I’m not that cruel.” Another sick laugh escapes him as he lowers the gun. “I can be nice when I want to be. So, I’m going to make you a deal.”

He holsters the gun and grabs you by the shoulders, fingers digging into your flesh. “There’s a job you can do for me. I’m sure you’ll say yes. After all, you don’t want to die, do you? And you certainly won’t want little Himiko doing it.” With a wave of his hand, he gestures another man over. 

One of the smokers steps forward, holding up a tightly sealed package. You’ve seen enough crime shows and documentaries to know what it is – drugs. The dark-haired man smirks at the way your eyes widen, throat bobbing as you try to form words, but your voice fails you. 

“I’ll forgive you if you deliver these,” blue-hair speaks again. You assume he’s the leader, even though he looks the youngest (aside from Himiko). “Take Dabi with you. I don’t want you running off to the police crying and begging for help. We’d know if you did, you see, and we’d make sure you were very, very sorry.”

Sucking in a slow, shaky breath between your lips, you nod. You couldn’t refuse. Refusing means a bullet in the head. Refusing means your sister will have to deliver the drugs instead. Although your body trembles and begs you to run away from it all, you allow Dabi to grab your elbow and drag you out of the building. He opens the door to a black Ford Mustang, decorated with blue flame decals by the wheels. It’s tacky and cringy and under normal circumstances, you would pull a face and comment on it. But not now. 

Now, your life is in danger.

“Put your seatbelt on,” Dabi’s gravelly voice sounds as you both get into the car. “Don’t want you flying through the window if we crash.”

“Are you that bad of a driver?” The comment leaves your mouth before you have time to consider his reaction. The moment you hear the words yourself, however, you flinch and look away.

He doesn’t snap at you, though. He chuckles and ignites the engine. 

“So… Thought you could burst into our hideout and actually frighten us?” he laughs, glancing at you from aside with those piercing blue eyes. “Where do you get that confidence from? I’d love to know.”

Your face heats up, cheeks turning red, and you roll your eyes. “I wasn’t thinking,” you murmur. “I was just mad. All I knew was that my little sister was hanging out with adult men. Do you know how suspicious that is?”

Dabi scoffs. “I get your point, but as the boss said, we’re not like that. I like women, not girls.” The corner of his lips curl upwards. “I like smart women. Independent women. Women who go out there and do what they want to do.” He pauses, then continues. “I like women who secretly enjoy reading manga. I like women who sing in the shower like no one is listening. I like women who come home to their families a day early.”

You narrow your eyes. “Himiko has mentioned me, hasn’t she?”

“Maybe,” he chuckles.

You roll your eyes again. “Dick.”

“Thinking about that, huh?”

His words only turn your flush redder. “I’m not interested in men like you.” Even if he is pleasing on the eye, he’s a criminal, certainly not someone you want to take home to your family. He’s the sort of guy you’d fuck one night if confident from alcohol in your system, no the sort of guy you’d go on a date with. 

The rest of the journey is mostly silent, save from the music playing almost inaudibly through the speakers. You don’t recognise any of the songs, and when you ask him who the artist is, he names someone you have never even heard of. Not that you have any intention of listening to it when you return home. 

Eventually, the car stops by an empty alleyway, relatively dark considering how bright the sun is. “Here we go,” he said, unclipping his seatbelt. He passes the package to you and smiles. “Don’t be long. I’ll be here if something goes…” his voice trails off when he peers out of the window and down into the alley.

You shrug it off, grab the package, unbuckle your seatbelt, and open the car door.

Dabi grabs your wrist. “No, no, stay here. I know that guy.”

A brow on your forehead raises. “So? Let me go, I need to do this jo--”

“No, you’re not. I went to high school with him, he’s not the kind of guy to want drugs.” 

You sigh. “Maybe he’s changed since high school. Himiko never used to be the kind of girl to join a gang, but here she is. I never used to be the kind of girl who would sing in front of others, but now I go to karaoke with my friends every weekend. People change, Dabi. Now let me get out to do this job.”

He looks at you, head tilting ever so slightly. “You go to karaoke every weekend?”

With a scowl, you shake off his grip and get out of the car. In a hushed voice, he tries to summon you back, but you ignore him and approach the man waiting.

He looks no longer than you, messy blond hair pushed back, headphones around his neck. There’s a cigarette between his fingers, which he drops and stomps out with his boot. “I wasn’t told I’d be getting eye candy too,” he chuckles, plastering a grin on his face. His hand thrusts out. “I’m Hawks.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Is that your real name?” You don’t shake his hand.

“Of course not. You think I’m going to use my real name for this?” 

You hum and hold out your hand. “Money first, please.” You’ve never dealt drugs before, but you’ve seen enough crime shows to know that the dealer never hands items over without feeling the payment in their hands.

Hawks laughs at you but he doesn’t argue. He pulls out a wad of notes from his pocket and drops it into your open palm. 

A fake smile finds its home on your lips and you hold the package out. 

“Oi, get back here!” Dabi shouts from the car.

Hawks’s expression drops. He tosses the package behind him and grabs your wrist, spinning you around. He pins you to the wall just as you hear tyres screeching. Dabi’s car is no longer in sight when Hawks speaks again.

“You’re under arrest for the intent to supply,” he says, and reads out the rights to you, but his voice fades into nothing.

You hear nothing. You only feel the cold, metal cuffs clamped around your wrist. Your body doesn’t react as a police car pulls up and Hawks pushes you into the back of it. 

Nothing. You feel nothing.

Numb. 

Numb. 

Empty.

Until the police station comes into view and your body fills with fear. “N-no, you’ve got this all wrong, I’m not-”

“I caught you in the act, sweetheart. Unless you’re going to tell me that wasn’t cocaine in that package?” 

You fall silent again, only speaking to answer questions when they register you at the front desk. You don’t even speak when they pat you down. Then, Hawks takes you through to an interview room, tells you to sit, then takes off the cuffs. 

He sits opposite you and leans back, crossing his arms. “Detective Takami Keigo. Want to tell me what you were doing dealing drugs?”

Your throat dries up and you force yourself to swallow before you even try to speak. “I-I…”

“The front desk couldn’t pull up a criminal history because you have none. How did you get roped into this?” he asks. 

“I was trying to protect my sister,” you mutter. So much for helping her… Now she was going to find out what you tried to do. It’s so easy to picture the face she’ll make when you return home; the way she’ll cross her arms, the downward turn of her lips, the crease between her eyebrows when she frowns. 

“Protect her from what?” Keigo asks.

With a sigh, you rub your eyes. He’s a detective. If you’re honest, surely, he will understand and you won’t be in trouble? “Yesterday I found out that my little sister is hanging around men much older than her. So, today, I found them and I… Well, I told them what I thought of them. What else was I supposed to think they were doing? She even had a gun in her bag, she’s never had one before. But then the leader - I can’t remember his name - pointed a gun to my head and said if I didn’t do what he asked, he’d kill me. He said if I did this, then it would mean my sister didn’t have to.”

He studies you as you speak. When you finish, he leans forward. “The gang leader, what did he look like?”

Your face contorts into an expression of pure disgust. “Like he needs to invest in moisturiser. And needs to take a bath. His hair is blue and it hangs over his face so you can’t really see what he looks like, but when he gets close, he has the sickliest of smiles.”

Keigo hums. “Shigaraki Tomura. We’ve had our eye on him for a while. We know he’s up to something more than simple drug-dealing, but we don’t know what, yet. If we arrest him now, he’ll not be away for long enough. He’s tricky, though. Always goes under the radar just when we think we have something.” 

“Detective Takami, please…” you say as you lean forward, hands flat on the wooden table between the two of you. “I just want to protect my sister and get out of there alive. I didn’t want to do anything illegal. I’m a university student, I want a good life.”

His lips grow into a faint smile. “Then I’ll make you a deal. You and your sister will be granted immunity… if you feed information on Shigaraki Tomura to me.”

Your chest squeezes tight. “H-how do I do that?”

“You’ll have to go back.”

“N-no, please, I can’t-”

“If anything gets too dangerous, then I’ll get you out of there,” Keigo promises. He grabs your hand across the table and squeezes it, his palm warm over your skin. “But if you help with my investigation, then I promise both you and your sister won’t face criminal charges for anything you’re involved in.”

You take the deal. Of course you do, you’d be a fool not to. This morning you promised to yourself that you’d protect Himiko. Then, you had only intended to shout at those guys, but now… Now you’re helping with a criminal investigation. 

Fuck.

A police officer drives you home, but you ask that he drops you off several streets away from home. You don’t want your family to see you get out of a police car, so you walk the rest of the way. Your parents aren’t home yet, but Himiko is.

She’s waiting for you, arms crossed as she stands in the doorway, eyes narrowed, that crease between her brows. “Dabi told me what happened,” she says, her voice colder than you’ve ever heard it before.

“Himiko-”

“How could you be such an idiot?! You should have listened to him, you wouldn’t have been arrested if you had!”

You’re too tired to argue. Too tired to shout at her for joining a dangerous gang. Too tired to explain your reasons. You can’t, anyway, it would jeopardise your deal with Detective Takami. Instead, you apologise and go to bed. Himiko doesn’t bother you for the rest of the night.

Your plan is to wait a couple of days before returning to the hideout. Given how afraid you were, if you go back straight away, it might just look suspicious. It gives you time to psych yourself up for going undercover, anyway. 

You wander out to the convenience store down the road, craving something sweet and overwhelmingly carbohydrate. You’re browsing the selection of sweet breads when an arm drapes itself around your shoulder. 

You gasp and squirm away, only to come face-to-face with Dabi when he pulls you back to him. “Thought you’d be in a prison cell.”

Cheeks flushing bright red, your gaze darts around quickly to check no one heard him. “They let me go seeing as I have no other offences. I claimed I had no idea what it really was. Don’t think they believed that, but I don’t think I’m the type of person they’re after.” 

His azure eyes pierce through yours, searching deep into your core. If he stares at you for too long, you might just crack under the pressure and blurt out the truth. Thankfully, he looks away and grabs two melonpan and gestures for you to follow him. Once they’re paid for, he guides you out to his car. “Get in.”

You do as you're told because, quite frankly, you’re too afraid to say no. He drives off and bites the corner of the plastic off the wrapper, then bites into the melonpan. The taste makes him groan, and you wonder if, beneath that tough criminal exterior, he’s a normal guy who likes the taste of good food. 

“So,” he starts mid-bite, because obviously he lacks manners. “What exactly happened?”

“Like I said, they let me go.”

Dabi scoffs. “Bullshit. Tell me the truth.”

You huff. “I am telling the truth!”

He just laughs and shakes his head. Of course he doesn’t believe you.

Shigaraki doesn’t believe you when you tell him, either.

“Do you think I was born yesterday?” he asks, glaring at you beneath thick blue hair. “They wouldn’t just let you go. Tell me what happened.”

“As I said-”

His hand drops to his gun.

“O-okay, okay, that’s not what happened…”

Shigaraki chuckles and moves his hand away from the gun. “Good girl.” He studies you. “They asked you to relay information to them, didn’t they?”

You start to wonder how he worked it out so quickly, but in all honesty, you’re not surprised. He’s probably more organised than your class notes. 

He walks closer to you - so close that you can smell the overly-sweet aroma of his breath from the energy drink he downed when you walked in. “You’re going to feed the police incorrect information, do you understand? Because if you don’t…” His face contorts into a tormenting smirk. “I’ll break your kneecaps. Then, I’ll break your elbows. Once I’ve done that, I’ll put a bullet in that pretty head.” A bony hand caresses your cheek, brushing hair away from your face. “But not before I do the same to little Himiko.”

Your heart stops. 

No.. No, not to Himiko.

Your sister’s smile pops into your mind and you can hear her laugh. Not your little sister. 

“A-alright…” you mutter and clench your fists to hide your trembling. “I’ll do it.” 

Shigaraki pats your cheek. “Good girl.” He moves away and waves his hand. “Take her home, Dabi.”

The journey home is so silent you think you’re going to suffocate on it. Yet, at the same time, there’s nothing you can bring yourself to say. Dabi doesn’t even play that shit music he had on yesterday. 

When he pulls up outside your house, you both remain there, quiet, until he leans a little closer and his arm drapes over the back of the passenger seat. “I know this is frightening for you. Shigaraki can be overwhelming and intimidating and fucking sick and scary.” A heavy breath escapes from his nostrils and he reaches into your pocket, swiping your phone. You try to grab it back, but he holds it away and types something in. “There’s my number. I’m here if you need anything, alright?”

You look up at him with a frown as he hands back your phone. “Why?” you mutter. “We’re strangers, we don’t know each other.”

His eyes search your face as he chuckles, and you take the chance to do the same. Scars line his sharp jaw, although it’s not obvious we’re they’re from. His hair is dyed - you can tell by the hint of white at his roots. Well, it’s either that or he’s going grey early. His face is young, perhaps only older than you by a year or two. He’s handsome. Incredibly so. When you think of criminals, you think of rough-looking folk, but he is nothing of the sort. The bright blue eyes are incredibly charming, as is the smile on his lips. 

The smile he forms because he notices you’re staring at him.

You look away, your cheeks turning pink. With a huff, you hold out your hand. “Phone.” When he gives you it, you type in your details, then shove it back into his hand. His fingers graze over yours, warm but calloused. The contact makes you suck in a breath, and you mentally scold yourself for reacting in such a way, 

Dabi leans closer and his voice lowers in tone. “If you need anything, just text me, or call me. Anything.” He leans even closer and you think he’s-

Knock, knock, knock.

Your heart nearly jumps out of your throat as you snap towards the window. 

Himiko glares as Dabi rolls down the window. “Oi, stop flirting with my sister.”

“H-he wasn’t-” you quickly say, but he just laughs.

“Aw, Toga… I’m just having fun.”

Himiko rolls her eyes and yanks the car door open, practically dragging you from it. “Goodbye, Dabi!” she says as she slams the car door shut. She doesn’t let go of your hand until you’re both inside the house and she huffs, poking your warm cheek. “Don’t blush at his words. He’s a player.”

Maybe he is, but all you can think about for the rest of the day is the warmth of his breath against your skin as he leaned closer. All you can imagine is what might have happened if your sister hadn’t interrupted. 

Lying in bed that night, you stare at his contact details. Maybe you should text him… Just to say thank you for driving you home, right? Your finger hovers over the screen.

Ping.

Remember, I said you can contact me for ANY reason. I don’t care what. 

You roll your eyes and type back.

I know what you mean, you pervert.

You stare at the three dots that bounce on the screen whilst he types back. For some reason, you’re eager to see how he’ll respond to such name calling. Naturally, he lives up to it.

I look forward to receiving one of your late night texts, then, when you just can’t sleep because of the throbbing heat between your legs.

You pull a face at his vulgarity and set your phone down to close your eyes. But then… That throbbing heat between your legs disrupts your attempt to sleep.

You won’t text him. You won’t. 

So, you don’t, and you fall asleep completely unsatisfied. 

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

The Whole Truth - 3

(Chapter 3, and something has started to happen! Read the whole fic on AO3, or ask to be tagged as I post to Tumblr.)

Tuesday

Aziraphale bustled around behind the customer, who had been keeping him from his work all day.

Well, not all day, but for at least forty-five minutes, which was long enough. He had given her several hints to leave, yet she continued to wander about his shop, grabbing up volumes as if this were a common Waterstones.

“Look at this! A first edition, how marvelous.” She hefted the hundred-and-fifty-year-old book, riffling through it excitedly.

“Yes,” Aziraphale reached to take it from her hands. “It took me rather a long time to find, and I’d…”

“The illustrations! Exquisite!”

“Yes, they are very good, if you could just…”

“How much are you asking for this?” She flipped to the front cover, nearly tearing a page in the process.

“More than you’re willing to pay,” he said firmly, relieving her of the book.

“Oh, no, name your price! Money is no object.”

Behind her, a dark shape lurched through the door, hands in his pockets.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, we just closed.” He pushed the clothbound book back onto the shelf and gave her his most courteous smile.

“But I was offering you—”

“I have watched you walk around this shop, madam,” he continued, smile not wavering, “and in my expert opinion, you would take that poor book home and utterly destroy it. Now, please leave, I would like to go and speak to my friend.”

The door locked firmly behind the aghast woman, Aziraphale turned to the demon lounging on his sofa. “New way to chase them off, Angel? You’re rarely so direct.”

“Yes, it does rather take the fun out of it. Tea? Something stronger?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

“After that woman, I don’t think there’s enough brandy in the shop, but I’ll see what I have.” He hurried into the back room, humming happily. He selected a bottle from the corner of the shelf, hidden behind a few others.

“Is that…” Crowley lounged against the doorframe, dark glasses tipped down to reveal the shine of golden eyes. “That’s the Cognac you picked up last time you were in France. You said you were saving it for something special.”

“Did I? Oh.” Aziraphale stared at the bottle, and almost had to force himself to return it to its place. “Yes, I…I’m not really sure what I’m saving it for.” He stared at the rows of bottles, feeling oddly puzzled.

“Just grab that stuff we had last time.” Crowley wandered up behind him. “Look, this one, this was fine.” A dark sleeve reached over Aziraphale’s shoulder and plucked up the half-empty bottle of brandy.

“You would say that, Crowley. With your palate, I could serve olive oil and vinegar and you’d hardly notice.” He reached for the glasses.

“Ooh, what’s gotten into you, Angel?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Aziraphale sat at the little back table, settling himself comfortably while Crowley poured.

“I can always tell when you’re in a bad mood. Bit of cheek and all that. But today,” Crowley set down the bottle and sat across from him, first edges of a grin appearing on his lips, “you’re downright sassy.”

“I’m an angel, my dear fellow, I don’t sass.” He took a sip of the brandy – a little sharper than he liked, probably not aged properly. A little miracle fixed that. “As for my mood, well, you saw that customer.”

“Hmm, yes, how dare she come into a bookshop and expect to buy a book. The nerve.”

“Well exactly.” Aziraphale waved his drink. “It’s probably because I let that young man take home a few paperbacks last month. The word is out now. There’ll be no end to them.”

“That’s a right shame.” Crowley wasn’t even trying to hide that awful smirk now.

Aziraphale set his glass down sharply. “You could try to have a little more sympathy. I’ve only got three and a half days left to decipher that book. I don’t need nuisances. Every moment is critical.”

“Is it?” Crowley’s eyebrows shot up, drawing Aziraphale’s attention to a strand of hair that had broken loose from the gel’s hold. It looked ridiculous, hanging across his face like that. Aziraphale’s fingers itched to tuck it into place. “Well, perhaps I should leave you to it.”

“Oh, nonsense, Crowley, you’re never a nuisance.”

They both leaned back in surprise, Aziraphale taking another sip to try and hide the flush creeping up his face. What on Earth had made him say such a thing?

“You take that back,” Crowley said, sounding mystified.

“I only meant I enjoy talking to you,” Aziraphale found himself elaborating, rather to his horror. “I’m always glad when you show up. It helps me think.”

“Does it now?” Crowley leaned forward, elbow resting on the table, smile on his face predatory in some entirely new way. “Please, go on.”

“I – I – I – that doesn’t mean I have time for small talk.” He finished his glass quickly and stood up. “I need to get to work most urgently. But…er…” He really ought to give Crowley the hint to leave. It seemed a pity – he’d only just arrived – but already things were getting out of hand.

Already Crowley was getting to his feet, disappointment clear in the slump of his shoulders.

“I do…there are some odd diagrams of plant life in this book. I could use your help deciphering them.”

Crowley’s hand shot to his glasses, adjusting them, pressing them against his face. “Are you asking me to help you on an assignment? An actual research assignment from Heaven?”

“I…suppose I am.” Aziraphale caught his hands twisting, and quickly set them to smoothing his waistcoat instead. “I told you, I only have three days, and anything could be a clue. And I know research isn’t - isn’t really what you do, but I would nonetheless appreciate your assistance and —” 

Your company. He barely stopped himself from saying the words, but they hung in the air anyway, filling the space between them.

“Angel...”

“You don’t have to stay,” he desperately tried to backpedal. “Especially not if you’re going to—”

“I’ll help.”

Simple as that.

Why was it suddenly so difficult to breathe?

--

Late in the night, Aziraphale bent over the book again, glasses perched on his nose. He traced his fingers across the strange characters.

There, that looked like – no, it was gone. Surely this word over here had Sanskrit roots…no, he couldn’t make it out. And that one? Looked like a name. A real instinct or a wild guess?

He bent over the book, surrounding himself in the smell of dust and spice.

--

(Thanks for reading! More around noon EST!)

@black-velvet-roses-tea

[jamesginortonblog]

He's just broken the nation’s hearts as the tragic anti-hero of BBC One’s Sunday-night sensation The Trial Of Christine Keeler – but James Norton’s next role has made the heartthrob actor “proud to become an honorary Welshman”.

In the title role of new film Mr Jones, Norton – already a favourite with bookmakers to be the next James Bond – takes on one of the most challenging projects of his career, playing a real-life yet forgotten hero from Wales who dared to combat and uncover one of history’s most shameful episodes of “fake news” from nearly a century ago.

James Norton at the Mr Jones screening at the London Film Festival

“Playing Gareth Jones was sometimes a tough call,” says 34-year-old Norton, known to millions from small-screen hits Grantchester and Happy Valley.

“In fact, when I first got the part and they told me it was going to be a Welshman who spoke both fluent Welsh and Russian, and all of it in a Welsh accent – that felt a bit scary!”

He needn’t have worried. As Gareth Jones, the mild-mannered young Western Mail reporter who travelled to Russia in 1933 and ended up blowing the whistle over the appalling truth about Stalin’s “Utopian” regime – and a hushed-up famine that killed untold millions – Norton presents us with a charming, softly-spoken hero with just a hint of a refined Welsh lilt.

It’s a million miles from those cliched, grating attempts at Welsh accents so often taken on by other English actors. ( Stephen Graham’s DCI “Taff” Jones in ITV’s White House Farm, anyone?).

Reports have emerged this week of Gareth’s great-nephew attacking the film for having “invented multiple fictions” – but as far as Norton is concerned, he feels the film stands as an honest and heartfelt reflection of Gareth’s character and incredible yet fatefully short life.

“We decided it was important to respect and honour Gareth’s journey – this Welshman from a small coastal town who ended up on this huge, bizarre and brave mission taking on one of the pillars of the 1930s political landscape in a very dangerous, pre-war Communist Russia,” says Norton, who worked with two Welsh dialect coaches to perfect his accent.

“So it made sense that Gareth would have maybe intentionally softened his Welsh accent, having been educated at Cambridge, in order to ingratiate himself in the community and then travelling the world. We wanted to keep it there without making it too distracting.”

Nevertheless, Norton – London-born but raised in North Yorkshire – was still required to speak Welsh in a few scenes, and Russian as well.

“I’ve never spoken either language before and I’m not a linguist – so I had my work cut out,” says Norton, who can also currently be seen on the big screen in the Oscar-nominated hit movie Little Women.

“But for those few months, I was very proud to become an honorary Welshman. My scenes with Julian Lewis Jones as my dad – when Gareth goes home to Barry – were challenging, but Julian was amazing helping me with my Welsh.

“Julian occasionally texts me in Welsh now, which is hilarious, as I think he’s forgotten I don’t actually speak a word!

“It’s pretty nerve-racking doing scenes where you’ve got to speak in a particular accent opposite someone who’s completely fluent in that language, so to have Julian put his hand on my shoulder and say, ‘You’re doing good, kid!’ was so reassuring.”

Learning dialogue for his Russian scenes was even harder.

“I had to learn all the Russian phonetically – it’s like learning music,” he explains. “I’d spend hours walking around wearing earphones and I’d look like a crazy person talking to myself, repeating phrases animatedly. But now I have Russian people coming up to me in the street, speaking Russian at me!

“Weirdly, I’ve done three jobs where I needed to speak Russian – War And Peace, McMafia and now this. I seem to have become the go-to guy for English-speaking Russian roles!”

The new film Mr Jones, directed by internationally-renowned Polish film-maker Agnieszka Holland, begins with Gareth Jones gaining fame in the early 1930s after his report on being the first foreign journalist to fly with Hitler.

Gareth, who’d graduated from Trinity College, Cambridge, in 1929 with a first-class degree in French, German and Russian, has also landed the job of foreign affairs advisor to former Prime Minister David Lloyd George.

With the Russian “utopia” all over the news, Gareth is intrigued as to how Stalin is financing the rapid modernisation of the Soviet Union and in March 1933 he decides to travel to Russia in an attempt to get an interview with Stalin himself.

However, on hearing murmurs of a government-induced famine – a secret carefully guarded by the Soviet censors – Gareth travels clandestinely to Ukraine, where he witnesses the atrocities of man-made starvation, as all grain is sold abroad to finance the Soviet empire’s industrialisation.

Deported back to the UK, it’s the Western Mail that publishes Gareth’s article revealing the horrors he has witnessed, but the starvation is denied by Western journalists based in Moscow, all under pressure from the Kremlin. As death threats mount, Gareth has to fight for the truth – and, meeting a young author called George Orwell, Gareth shares his findings... helping to inspire Orwell’s great allegorical novel Animal Farm.Gareth’s great-nephew Philip Colley made headlines recently, accusing the film’s scriptwriter of “inventing multiple fictions”, including wrongly suggesting he was an accidental cannibal.

Colley told the Sunday Times: “In the film, they have got [Gareth] up a tree eating bark, eating human flesh, tripping over dead bodies. They’ve made Gareth a victim of the famine, rather than a witness.”

Norton, however – interviewed prior to Colley’s remarks – says he received plentiful support from a number of Gareth’s surviving relatives, who came to early screenings of the film.

“They were all lovely in their support and they gave us their seal of approval, which was very touching,” recalls Norton.

“Our film’s screenwriter, Andrea Chalupa, was in touch with a lot of them early on. There’s so much literature and academia about Gareth’s work as a journalist, but Andrea found out some lovely titbits about his more private character.

“For example, when he went home to Barry he’d love being with his nieces and nephews and he became a big kid. His great-aunt told Andrea about one day when he came back home and he was rolling around with them like a labrador. That kind of story was invaluable to me.

“He wasn’t just this very earnest, principled man, there was a childlike, playful quality to him and he was almost a little bit gauche, a little bit awkward. You also want to honour his memory for his family.”

The main source of the film is a biography of Jones entitled More Than A Grain Of Truth, written by Gareth’s niece Dr Margaret Siriol Colley (Philip’s mother) and his great-nephew Nigel Colley (Philip’s brother), both of whom share a credit as the film’s historical advisors.

The book sparked Chalupa’s interest and she started corresponding with Margaret Colley soon after its publication. When Margaret died in 2011, aged 85, Chalupa remained in contact with her son Nigel, who became “heavily involved” in discussing ideas for the film. Nigel died in 2018.

Filmed predominantly in Poland, homeland of Warsaw-born director Agnieszka Holland, Mr Jones does contain some breathtaking snowbound scenes shot in Ukraine, where Gareth gets first-hand sight of the horrendous famine.

“We filmed in a tiny little place called Doch, which is three hours north of Kiev, in the middle of nowhere,” says Norton. “We’d drive for hours on these very unsafe roads, jangling your bones around. It was freezing cold in the snow.

“It was so remote that we had to put the word out to local farmers to come along as extras and we had a strict cut-off time – we had to wrap up at 5pm because they all had to go back and feed their animals!”

When it came to filming the scenes in Wales – notably Barry and the Western Mail’s offices in the film’s gripping finale when Gareth’s whistle-blowing scoop hits the presses – Norton reveals: “I’m really sorry to say they’re all filmed in Scotland! About an hour north-east of Edinburgh. A lot of those villages there have a quality of that small fishing town, for the Barry scenes.

“The other reason is that the film is partly funded by Creative Scotland and there’s that responsibility you feel to film there. But I think it worked well. It was a shame not to film in Wales, but we had a fantastic collection of Welsh players there, including Julian, so it felt home from home.”

Agnieszka Holland, of course, is not the first female director to work with Norton. He acted under the helm of Greta Gerwig on Little Women and with a largely female crew on the six-part TV drama The Trial Of Christine Keeler, which finished last Sunday, earning him rave reviews for his heartbreaking performance as Stephen Ward, the tragic scapegoat figure in the Profumo affair which brought down the UK government in the early 1960s.

“I’ve not gone out of my way to work with female directors, but I have great agents who always look for the best projects – but I really hope it’s a sign of the times,” he says. “The Christine Keeler story has never been properly told from a female perspective before, so that was the real attraction. Agnieszka, meanwhile, is the best of the best – the fact that she’s a woman is almost irrelevant.”

How does he feel about the fact that Greta Gerwig has been denied a Best Director Oscar nomination for her lauded version of Little Women, in which Norton plays eligible suitor John Brooke to Emma Watson’s Meg March?

“I can stand as witness to Greta’s brilliance and the fact that Little Women is up for Best Film and Screenplay is testament to her brilliance,” says Norton. “She singlehandedly redefined the story for a modern generation and it would have been wonderful to honour that in the nominations for direction – so it’s a horrible and unfortunate omission.”

It was while starring in McMafia, the gritty 2018 BBC1 thriller series with scenes of him bow-tied and gun-toting, that Norton’s name was first added to the list of contenders to play James Bond when Daniel Craig retires from the role after the next 007 movie No Time To Die. Remind him of that now and he laughs it off.

“It’s very humbling, it’s lovely and bizarre to be included in that conversation, but beyond that it’s all very speculative,” he says. “I think at the moment everyone’s concentrating on Daniel Craig in his final Bond film – for me, he’s a fantastic Bond and I’m sad he’s retiring.”

Right now, however, it’s Mr Jones and the legacy of that film’s largely unsung Welsh hero that are uppermost in Norton’s agenda. Tragically, Gareth Jones’ life was cut short on the eve of his 30th birthday in 1934, when he was allegedly shot by Mongolian bandits while travelling in Japanese-occupied China on a fact-finding tour.

“There’s much speculation about Gareth’s death at such a young age and there was a lot of evidence suggesting that it was orchestrated by the Soviet forces as revenge for his blowing the whistle on the hidden famine,” says Norton.

“His stories in the Western Mail were incredibly important. The more we can learn about Gareth Jones and recognise his extraordinary legacy, the better. And the fact is that right now, as politics becomes more polarised, we need more people like Gareth – investigative journalists to uncover the truth, with no ideological agenda attached.

“If this film encourages any future young Gareth Jones, then that’s fantastic. It’s a crime we don’t know more about these forgotten events and hopefully this film will remedy that.”

[zdbztumble]

“Jewel of the Seven Pokemon!” Chapter III

As a huge fan of both Tim Burton and Sir Christopher Lee, writing from the POV of characters who weren’t impressed with their Pokeverse equivalents was quite the challenge.

Chapter I Chapter II

FF.Net

AO3

---

The drawing room set was perfect. Everything Misty had ever imagined while reading Jewel of the Seven Pokémon was here. The dark aquamarine walls with white molding and filigree, the silver-plated gaslights, the deep crimson velvet of the chairs and sofa, a fireplace so big it could fit a Blastoise; even the prop for the professor’s custom phonograph had the Aerodactyl teeth lining two sides. And with all the light and sound equipment gone, there was hardly anything that gave away this was a set; except for one camera in the corner, it seemed so real.

It all would have looked even more beautiful under the proper lighting, of course, instead of the harsh florescent work lights, but Misty loved it all the same. The one costume left on set – the heroine’s dressing gown, with colors and patterns inspired by Milotic – was so wonderful that the only way Misty could keep herself from trying it on was to link arms with Ash and make him look at everything too.

“We’re here to help save this movie, y’know,” he muttered; apparently, the fineness and shimmer of the gown’s silk didn’t mean anything to him. “And Cilan’s doing his interviews right now.”

“I’m listening!” Misty hissed. Was it so hard to believe a girl could multi-task? “Besides, that director’s not gonna have anything useful to say anyway.”

Will Hampton wasn’t what Misty expected of a film director. He was a short, spindly man, with black curly hair, black scraggly beard, black baggy suit, black-rimmed blue shades, and a sickly pallor. A real weirdo – that’s what he was. He also didn’t same capable of forming a complete sentence.

“But you really have no idea where the Cofagrigus were brought from?” Cilan asked him.

“Nah,” said Hampton. His hands never stopped moving when he talked. “The producers…from what their…I think they…wasn’t important.”

Cilan looked stumped by that answer, and Misty couldn’t make any sense of it either. But Hampton apparently knew what he was doing with movies; Sir Bela called him his favorite director. “Knows exactly what he wants,” he’d said, and he could somehow make out what exactly that was; he was the only one nodding along.

“Hmm…” Cilan started to pace, his magnifying glass held to his chin. “And you had no signs of trouble from them until the jewel appeared on set? They weren’t hostile to direction, in other words?”

Hampton shook his head. “Nah. They were…did the thing…yeah.”

“And what about Bisharp?” Cilan asked Sir Bela. “Was there any sign he might be under a definite influence – Hypnosis, perhaps, or Psychic? Or even an indication he might have had a problem with the production?”

“No, but it’s funny you should say that,” said Sir Bela. “Because Bisharp is quite attentive to my feelings on our films. And he has heard me, many times, say about the Blasko series – well, they made far too many of them, of course. And they did not use Hunter’s lines, they did not portray Hunter’s character, and –”

“Who’s Hunter?” asked Ash.

“Saul Hunter, Ash,” Misty groaned. “The author of Blasko – The Un-dead and Jewel of the Seven Pokémon.” Honestly, why did she have to go and like such an uncultured boy? It was exasperating.

Sir Bela went on without any mind to the interruption. “I do seem to recall saying to Bisharp on the plane that having a prince’s jewel instead of a princess’s worried me, that it was a sign of another poor script from Hunter’s work. All in jest, of course. Naturally, I’d already read the script – it’s superb. Superb. And given over to one of the great directors of our age.” He swept a hand to indicate Hampton, who giggled nervously and tugged at his hair. Misty shared a skeptical look with Ash.

“And you said that to Bisharp too?” asked Cilan.

“Of course.”

“Do you remember your exact words?”

“…I do, and now that you mention it – I never did say explicitly that I was joking on the plane. And between takes on the first day of filming, I may have said ‘I’ve never seen a director like this.’ Meant as a compliment, of course, but…”

“Are we getting somewhere with this?” Iris moaned. She was hanging upside-down from an empty line set by her legs, rocking impatiently. What a kid, Misty thought. Of course, from what Ash had said about Iris, Misty guessed she was thinking the same thing. What was it that made some people their age act so much more mature than they really were? And they never realize it, either…

“I think I know where you’re going with this, Cilan,” Misty said, drawing herself up tall. “Bisharp got the wrong idea from what Sir Bela said, and thought he wasn’t happy with this movie. And that’s why he’s disappeared – he didn’t want to be in a film he thought his Trainer didn’t like!”

“You think so?” said Ash, sounding impressed.

“Pika?” concurred Pikachu, still on Misty’s shoulder.

“Osha!” Oshawott, still in Misty’s right arm, clapped approvingly and nuzzled her shoulder with his cheeks.

Cilan, however, shook his head. “That doesn’t explain what’s happened here.”

“Huh? Why not?” Misty frowned. What else could he have been driving at, with those questions?

“Elementary, my dear Misty.” It was a standard line of the Mycroft Abode character; Misty suspected Cilan had been itching for an excuse to say it. “The unusual behavior started with the Cofagrigus, not Bisharp. And any misgivings Bisharp may have had about the production shouldn’t have mattered to the other Pokémon in the cast and crew. They may have made him more susceptible to whatever’s causing this mystery, but they don’t explain it.”

“Hmm…he’s right,” said Ash. Misty tightened her grip on his arm until he winced. “Whose side are you on anyway?” she hissed.

“That wouldn’t account for the missing equipment either,” said Cilan.

“Or the missing producers,” added Sir Bela. “They left for the front office after informing us about the suspension. I expected them back by now.”

“Well, that’s…I bet they…executives…lunch meeting…all day.” Hampton shrugged.

“…Yes. Er – are there any Pokémon left at all?” Cilan asked. “If so, they could have some insight. Ash’s Pikachu could question them and report – Ash is quite gifted at divining what Pikachu means.”

“Hey – yeah!” Ash said, with a snap of his fingers. It did seem like a good idea – not that Misty was about to admit it, after hers was shot down like that.

“There are no Pokémon left that were directly involved in the production, I’m afraid,” said Sir Bela. “None that I’m aware of, anyway. But I do have two more on me – they never took to filmmaking, but they travel with Bisharp and I and know him well. They haven’t been out since we’ve arrived here, but they may know something about his state of mind.” He reached into his jacket and drew out a Dusk Ball and a Luxury Ball. The Dusk Ball went out first, flashing as it opened to reveal –

“SHEDINJA!” Pikachu and Oshawott went flying. Iris and Cilan winced at the scream. Misty sprang onto Ash’s back, wrapped her arms and legs around him, and pulled and twisted until he was a complete shield between her and that horrible buggy ghost.

“Is there something wrong?” Sir Bela asked.

“Misty’s got – ack! – problems with Bug-types,” Ash wheezed. Pikachu moaned in agreement; he and Oshawott had landed in a pile on one of the chairs. Misty was about to apologize when the Shedinja floated closer. She tightened her grip and buried her head into Ash’s shoulder instead.

“Really now,” Cilan said crossly. “There’s no time for this. We have a mystery to solve, and there’s no need to be upset by a friendly Pokémon that means us no harm and –”

POP! Misty dared a look up to see what came out of the Luxury Ball. It wasn’t another bug, thankfully; it was actually kind of cute. A feline Pokémon, with a violet and cream coat and sleepy green eyes –

“PURRLOIN!” she heard Cilan shriek, and saw the green blur of his mad dash for cover behind the sofa.

***

This movie can’t be worth it, Iris thought. She ran her hands down her face and bit back a groan as the clock made one tick closer to a full hour since they’d come into this set. The time would be easier to take if anything were actually happening, but…

The first hang-up was that this Bela Christopher guy’s Purrloin was really offended by Cilan freaking out around it, and it took forever to convince it to help out. Then Purrloin and Shedinja had to go in the corner with Ash and Pikachu, a “safe” distance from Cilan and Misty. Cilan would shout his questions across the set, Pikachu would give them to the Pokémon, they would answer, and Ash would try and figure out from Pikachu what the answers were before shouting them back to Cilan. A process that had told them nothing so far, because Shedinja and Purrloin didn’t seem to know anything about why Bisharp would disappear. Not that we need it anyway, Iris thought. My sixth sense is going off like crazy in this place, but of course the Detective Connoisseur wouldn’t trust that…

Meanwhile, Iris was stuck with creepy Christopher and his fan club. The director just sat in his chair doodling, but Misty and Cilan were gathered around Mr. Christopher as he told story after story after story. Apparently, he remembered every second of his long film career, and had no problem talking about all of it.

“…I had no idea what it was going to look like. Had no idea! And of course, the effects were very primitive in those days. We had Scorbunnies casting Flamethrower at odd angles to create the animation of the shadows…”

They just went on and on, and he never let any interruptions get in the way. And Cilan and Misty were eating it all up! Sure, Cilan gave Ash a new question every few minutes, and Misty gushed over Oshawott now and then, but for the most part, they were completely under the guy’s spell.

“…nearly severed my finger clean off. It’s still bent out – you see, here. But that was the first sword fight I had in a film. There were many, many more. I think the most difficult one was…”

It was a weird combination of boring stories and creepy storyteller. Iris liked scary movies, but a guy who was in them all the time sent out bad vibes. And those eyes…Cilan told her once that red eyes were “fetching,” but to Iris, they were nothing but bad news.

“…and he finally said to me, ‘you’re too tall to ever be an actor.’ A ridiculous thing to say to somebody. Of course, this was near the end of the war, when I was stationed in Azure Bay. I’d been seconded to the Dragon Squad as a liaison, and –”

“‘Dragon Squad?’” Iris inched closer to Mr. Christopher’s chair. “What ‘Dragon Squad?’”

It was Cilan who answered. “It’s a famous unit of the Galar Air Force, Iris. They ride Dragon-types instead of planes and serve as a special attack squadron.”

“And you…you were in that?” Iris asked Mr. Christopher. And these two were asking you about movies!?

“Well, I was an officer in the GAF. I was attached to the Dragon Squad from time to time –”

“Axew! Axew!”

“Huh? What is it, Axew?” Iris asked. Axew’s head and arms were poking out of her hair. He pointed up towards the catwalks above them. With the work lights on, it was hard to make much out, but Iris saw it too – a big, boxy shadow in an open doorway.

“What is it?” Misty asked, but Iris didn’t answer. Instead, she ran over to the fly system, shimmied up one of the ropes, jumped onto a high line rail, and swung herself up onto the catwalk. Axew gave a little cheer, and Iris gave him a little pat on the head. Now about that shadow…

Shadows seemed to be all that was up here. The work lights were all hung below the catwalks, so only a little of their light came up from below. Everything was painted or plated black. But the doorway Iris and Axew saw was filled with a dim blue glow. Inside the room, a small square closet, was light after light after light – all turned off, along with microphones and boom poles and cables.

“Hey, guys!” Iris called over her shoulder. “I found the missing film equipment! It’s all – um, Axew? Do you hear that too?” Axew nodded and slunk down into Iris’s hair. It was a faint, muffled whirring sound, hard to place. There was something mechanical to it, and it seemed to be coming from more than one spot. It’s like it’s in the walls or something. I wonder if –

The boxy shadow reappeared on the wall; a few seconds later, its source materialized. Its four arms spread wide, its red eyes lit up below the mask on its forehead, and its gold and jade body took on a horrible shine in the blue light.

“AUGH! I found a Cofagrigus too!” Iris yelled. “And I don’t think it’s friendly!” As if to confirm that, the Cofagrigus reached out with two of its hands, blue and violet flames surrounding the long fingers. From the set below, Iris heard a crash, a shout, and a menacing cry of “Cofa!”

And there’s supposed to be seven of these things…great. Battling them would be much easier with help, if only she could get away. “Axew, Dragon Rage!” Her Pokémon popped out of her hair just long enough to fire the blast, which struck the Cofagrigus right between the eyes. As soon as it reeled back, Iris dashed for the exit. She jumped over the catwalk railing, grabbed at the closest rope, and slid all the way down to the set, just in time to see Purrloin, Shedinja, and Pikachu chasing another Cofagrigus out the open side door to the stage. Ash was sprawled out on the ground with his head and shoulders on Misty’s knees, inches away from the ruins of the sofa; it looked as though it had been flung at the ground, and Misty had pulled Ash out of the way. Mr. Christopher was leaning heavily on his cane, with Cilan at his elbow for support. And the director was still doodling, as if nothing had happened at all.

“Iris, what’s going on up there?” asked Cilan.

“It’s a Cofagrigus!” Iris pointed up toward the catwalk. “There! It – it just passed through the walls! I don’t know where it’s going, but it was guarding a closet with all the film equipment that’s gone missing.”

“The one down here just jumped us,” said Ash, with a slight tremor to his voice. “There was this sound – whhhrrrr – all over, and then – boo! – and – crash!”

“So you heard that noise too.” At least it had gone; the only sound left in the room was the director’s pen scratching on paper. Strange noises before ghost attacks…strange behavior and disappearances with no explanation…yep, my sixth sense doesn’t lie about things like this. Iris put a hand to her chin. “Well, you know what I think?”

Cilan scowled. “Iris, please. This is no time for superstitious –”

“I think there’s a curse going on here!” cried Misty. She stood up so fast that she knocked Ash off to the side.

“You what!?” Cilan and Iris gasped together – Cilan in horror, Iris in delight.

“Think about it,” said Misty. “This only started when those Cofagrigus saw that authentic jewel. Jewel of the Seven Pokémon was based on real legends; maybe jewels from that ancient civilization really can hold lost souls, and the one in the jewel Sir Bela brought is possessing the Cofagrigus and the other Pokémon on the set!”

“Exactly what I was thinking!” Iris hopped over to stand side by side with Misty. “I’ve had a premonition of something like this ever since we came in here! You know –” she leaned in closer to Misty – “you might just be alright, kid.”

“Well, I’m surprised at you, Misty,” Cilan tutted. “Any supernatural occurrence has a scientific explanation, and this is no exception. Surely you recall The Houndoom of Harkershire, where the haunted moor turns out to be just a thief and his Pokémon?” He nudged Mr. Christopher with his elbow and winked at him; it must have been another of his movies.

Misty scowled and put her hands on her hips. “Well, what about The Night Train to Snowpoint, when all the clues turned out to be wrong, and it really was a ghost channeling the Froslass?” She advanced on Cilan; Iris stayed back and slapped a hand over her face. Not another one of these…

“But you recall Mark of the Golbat, where the supernatural events were a tool of the investigation to wrest a confession from the murderer?” said Cilan, not backing down.

“And Kiss of the Golbat has the vampires use a ‘rational’ explanation to fool the heroes until it’s too late! I wish you could have played the head vampire in that film, Sir Bela…”

“Bah! You’re forgetting Galar after Midnight, where –”

“ENOUGH!” Iris shouted. “No more movie talk! We have two Cofagrigus to worry about, and one of them might still be in here!”

Pikachu and Mr. Christopher’s Pokémon came back over from the door. Pikachu hopped onto Ash’s knee and gave a few chirps and gestures. “The other one went to the stage next door,” Ash reported.

“The cave sets are in that stage,” said Mr. Christopher.

“Then it looks like we need to split up,” Iris declared. It was about time someone took charge. “Half of us will stay in here to try and find that Cofagrigus, and the other half will go next door. And I’m going with Ash and Mr. Christopher.”

“What?” Cilan and Misty looked like they’d both been slapped, but they were just going to have to deal with it.

“I told you,” Iris said, “I’m done with the movie talk! And I’m sure you’re driving Ash and this poor old guy nuts.”

“Now, really!” Mr. Christopher snapped.

“I don’t care, Iris…” Ash started; Iris silenced him with a wave. She linked arms with him, then with Mr. Christopher, and marched toward the side door.

“We’ll take the cave,” she said over Cilan and Misty’s sputtering. “You two and the director check out the rest of this place.” Of course, Iris was the one who had seen the Cofagrigus in this set, but she just wanted to get out for a while. It was hard to do, though, when her companions were resisting.

“I really must protest –”

“Iris, our Pokémon!” Ash dragged his feet so that Pikachu could catch up and jump onto his shoulder, and Mr. Christopher recalled his two Pokémon. But when Ash drew out Oshawott’s ball, the Water-type shook his head frantically and waddled over to Misty, latching onto her leg as hearts lit up his eyes again.

“…Fine,” Ash sighed. “But if she needs you to battle, you’d better do it.”

“Wait, what’s that supposed to mean?” said Misty.

“You’ll find out,” Iris snapped. “Now meet us outside in an hour!” She pushed her two partners ahead and started shoving them from the back to get them to the door faster.

“Young lady,” grumbled Mr. Christopher. “I do not need shielding from fan inquiries.”

“You don’t need to be nice about it, sir,” said Iris. “It’s got to be annoying, all those silly movie questions. Now – about that Dragon Squad…”

[firelxdykatara]

Alright, so I’ve finished the first season of VLD and had time to let things stew and simmer. Here is how I envision the Lion-Paladin bonds playing out (with bonus Castle inhabitants), and why, with the caveat that I am loosely adapting the VLD lore to fit the story, so if later information comes up as I continue the series I may either adapt it to what I’m building now, or disregard it entirely (so I don’t care if anything here is ‘wrong’ because it’s right for the story I want to tell).

Disclaimer: I’ve given the Gaang surnames (except Toph, who already had one), for worldbuilding purposes. This whole thing is like a giant Modern/Sci fi AU, I haven’t fully decided how the world of Avatar fits and I’m still on the fence re: bending, which wouldn’t be super useful in protracted space battles, they they may retain lesser bending abilities. Depends on how things shake out as I get further into the planning stages.

Black Lion: Sokka Nutarak

I know, I know, Lance is supposed to be the ‘Sokka’ of VLD, but hear me out. Sokka may have started the series as the comic relief in dire need of a whole lot of Respect Women juice, but by the end of the show he had truly come into his own as a brilliant strategist and leader. He didn’t start out perfectly suited to the Black Lion, but it was the one for whom he had the most potential. It seems to me that the Lions sort of function like the Sorting Hat--it’s not just about happening to find someone who starts out perfectly suited to pilot them, but who has the best potential to thrive with them. Sokka, who at the start is a bit of a joker who has a hard time taking his responsibilities seriously (he was This Close to washing out of command school entirely), truly comes into his own when thrust into the position of a leader. He has to learn to not only respect his teammates and their abilities, but to respect his own skills and potential, and it’ll culminate in him becoming a true leader who is capable of seeing the abilities of his people and directing them where they’d be best utilized, but also recognizing when to take a step back and trust that they can handle some situations themselves.

Red Lion: Zuko Himura

This one is a little more obvious than Sokka’s placement, but listen, the parallel between needing to earn the respect of his lion and needing to win back honor he’d lost is just too delicious to pass up. Obviously, since Zuko is starting out as part of the Voltron team, his personal story is going to be considerably different than it played out during AtLA. He’s carrying a deep, dark secret that’s going to come pretty close to tearing the team apart later down the line, and may have a moment of making the Very Wrong Choice (I know that Keith is revealed to be half-Galra later on, but Zuko starts out knowing full well who his father is [he still has the scar, and he’s very sensitive about it for obvious reasons] and struggles a great deal with the knowledge that he was sent to retrieve Voltron for his father and was never supposed to pilot one of the lions), and part of coming into his full abilities as a paladin and bonding fully with his lion is discovering and accepting his own self-worth.

Blue Lion: Katara Nutarak

This one was probably the hardest for me to place. Personality-wise, Yellow might seem like a more obvious choice, but in keeping with the theme of the lions choosing a paladin who would have the most potential to thrive and come into their own as they bonded, I went with Katara. I think her personal arc fits more with what I see as Blue’s--she is confident in herself and her abilities, but has trouble allowing herself to express it because she’s so used to being the Woman of the House that she never really had a chance to let herself be anything else. She wanted to leave home and go to flight school and learn how to fight, but her father was already gone to the front lines with the rest of the adults in her family, her brother was on the verge of flunking out of the command track, and she had the rest of her family to think about and provide for (giving her and Sokka a slew of younger siblings and cousins standing in for the SWT). She only wound up out on the edges of known space with the rest of Team Voltron because she heard that Sokka had taken a shuttle and hadn’t been heard from in over a day and she was planning to find him, kick his ass for scaring her like that, and then bring him home.

But damn if it didn’t feel so fucking good--no, so RIGHT--the second she slid behind the controls of big Blue and shot out into open space for the first time in her life, demonstrating a natural, raw talent she’d never gotten a chance to explore outside the crappy flight simulator in her room back home. And suddenly she was on a mission to save the universe. Her personal arc for the purposes of this fic is one of self-discovery and awareness, of finally shedding the shackles she placed on her own life since the day her mother died, of accepting her own strengths and using them not just to save the world, but for the sheer thrill of it. Of learning the joys of letting loose and being free. And of discovering she’s a damn good pilot.

Yellow Lion: Toph Beifong

As tough as Blue was to place, Yellow was arguably harder, because if not Team Mom, then who? But then, that was always supposed to be intrinsic to Toph’s character arc, wasn’t it? Going from this gruff loner who didn’t need help from anybody ever, to learning to rely on others and put their needs before her own? Learning to work as a team, learning to be the bedrock on which the others could always depend to be firm and steady. Yellow picked Toph not because she started out as the heart of the team, but because she needed to open up her heart in order to realize her true potential. And the thing about being the leg of Voltron, lifting them up and holding them together? That’s where Toph is truly going to shine, when she learns not to try and solve every problem herself but to give the others a rock-solid foundation, and to trust that they will carry out their parts just as efficiently.

Green Lion: Suki Park

Last, but certainly not least, there’s Suki. (I know, ‘what about Aang?’ Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten him--he’s coming up later.) Green is inquisitive and daring, and of the five of them, Suki is the one who has the easiest time bonding with her lion because she’s the closest to being self-actualized. I’m not sure how I’ll adapt the Kyoshi Warriors, but by the time Team Voltron forms, Suki is the one who is most secure in herself and her abilities, position, and worthiness to be on the team. Her personal arc, then, is going to be more external--she’s used to leading, not following, and will butt heads a lot with Sokka, as she doesn’t think he has what it takes to be a leader in the beginning (and it takes him a while to really start guzzling that Respect Women juice). Further, she’s got a great deal of pride (as she should, but pride goeth before the fall and all that) and even more than not trusting Sokka as a leader, Suki is used to doing things her own way and doesn’t hesitate to rush off on her own--daring can be a good quality, but it also veers all too easily into brash recklessness, and Suki has to learn to be a team player and consult with everyone before making decisions and haring off on her own.

Now, what about Aang, you asked? Which brings me to....

Avatar Castle: Aang, the lost prince

Aang: I slept for a hundred years in an ice berg! Allura: hold my fucking beer

No, but all jokes aside, this actually made the most sense to me. Like Allura, Aang is the one who, because of his past and his destiny, brought Team Avatar together. This is the aspect of the story I’m the least sure on at the moment, though I think he’s essentially the last remnant of the his planet which will be, functionally, the ‘original world’ of Avatar. His people had bending abilities, a la the original show, and the royal family was what brought the four nations together, and were the only bloodline capable of bending all four elements. They were a planet of peace, and Voltron was originally created by all four nations in concert with the royal family as guardians, once they attained space travel and discovered the brewing war. Voltron was a neutral party, meant only to protect its home planet, but the Royal family couldn’t just stand by and watch as planet after planet fell to the onslaught of darkness, so Voltron was ‘upgraded’ with offensive capabilities, and then bonded--meaning each lion would find and bond with a single paladin, to prevent it from being used for evil.

Aang was very young, only fifteen (aged up slightly, as everyone else is too) when the tide of war finally overtook his people. His parents fell in battle, followed quickly by the paladins, and in a panic (as his parents’ last words were to keep Voltron from the enemies hands by any means necessary) he scattered the lions and fled in the castle--but something went wrong. Instead of making it to safety, recalling the lions and searching for new paladins, the castle shut down, and Aang went into stasis, and would remain there for several centuries, until the new Team Voltron manage to find and wake him up. (I’m still fuzzy on the details, and some of this may change when I finish hashing them out, but anyway.)

AND THAT’S HOW I PICTURE ATLA!TEAM VOLTRON.

Good gods, I rambled on so much I fucking better sit down and write this fic at some point lmfao.

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball 102

Last time on Dragon Ball... OH FUCK KRILLIN’S DEAD

He had gone back to the arena to fetch Goku’s Nyoibo and Four Star Dragon Ball, and then Goku found him and the World Tournament Announcer laid out on the floor.   The Announcer, at least, is okay.   He explains that some monster barged in and took the Four Star Ball and a copy of the Tenkaichi Budokai roster.   Krillin tried to fight the creature, but it was just too strong.  

Goku is livid.   A lot of people have asked why Goku didn’t just turn Super Saiyan right here.   Personally, I think there’s more to turning Super Saiyan than the emotional shock of your best friend getting killed.   For one thing, Goku wasn’t there when it happened.    I think there’s a difference between finding Krillin’s dead body and watching him get slaughtered while you’re powerless to stop it.  Also, Goku isn’t nearly as strong now as he will be on Namek, and I think that has a lot to do with it.

Nevertheless, this scene has a lot to do with Goku being a Super Saiyan.    It’s all well and good to talk about Goku “transforming” into a Super Saiyan, but you can argue that he always was a Super Saiyan, since he eventually figured out how to tap into that form.   And this righteous fury we see from him is what sets him apart from most of his species.   Nappa and Raditz never felt this way in their lives, or they never allowed themselves to feel this way.   Goku has this capacity throughout his whole life, and so when he’s finally strong enough to cross the threshold, he has the emotional intelligence to carry him to the other side. 

He grabs his Nyoibo, asks Bulma for her Dragon Radar, and rushes off to hunt down Krillin’s killer.   Roshi tells him to wait, even orders him to stop, but to no avail.   After all, Goku’s hungry and tired, and any monster who could beat Krillin so easily would probably be too much for Goku while he’s less than 100%.

Oolong finds a piece of paper on the floor with a mark on it.  

And once Roshi sees it, he realizes that he knows who’s behind all this.

King Piccolo.  

Okay, so here’s my perspective on this.   I watched DBZ first, and it was pretty clear from casualy watching the early episodes around 1998 or so that Piccolo was the bad guy before Z got started.  All we really knew about him was what little the edited dub revealed in flashbacks or exposition.   Goku said that he wanted to take over the world, though he never understood why, and it was pretty clear that Goku had been the only thing standing in the way of that goal.    While the early sagas of DBZ involved the good guys having an uneasy alliance with Piccolo, it was clear that no one really trusted him, and they were terrified of what he might do if left unchecked.

All of this led me to wonder just what Piccolo had done as a villain.   I think he struck me as a sort of Dr. Doom or Skeletor archetype at the time.    He wanted to conquer the planet, which suggested that he probably pulled some schemes that might have almost worked if Goku hadn’t come along and punched him in the face.   Yeah, he was super strong, but he must have been fairly restrained if the world was still in one piece.

Then I finally get to the first episode of the King Piccolo Saga, and it turns out to be way, way worse than I ever imagined.   Krillin’s dead, and that’s just for openers.   Piccolo had once terrorized the world a long time ago, and he had a horde of demonic creatures helping him kill innocent people right and left.  

This is one of the best filler scenes I’ve seen so far.   While Roshi tells the story of King Piccolo’s first reign of terror, we’re treated to this horriffic sequence of scaly green monsters flying around, blasting energy beams out of their mouths, stalking frightened humans, and crushing any and all resistance.  

This monster was about to descend on an innocent woman, until some guy tried to beat him up with a pipe.   But the pipe just bent around his body like it was nothing, and then the monster mauls him instead.    Now imagine that the entire world is like this, and you start to understand the horror of King Piccolo.

And through it all, King Piccolo’s just enjoying the whole thing.    Why did he do all of this?   Why turn the whold world into a charnel house?   We never really get an answer to that.

Piccolo’s monsters eventually came after the dojo that Master Roshi and the Crane Hemit used to belong to.   He doesn’t really mention why this conflict happened, but my guess is that that Piccolo’s creatures were just going after everyone.    There was probably no strategy to it at all.

I’m pretty sure these are Roshi and the Crane Hermit, although I have trouble telling which one is supposed to be which.  The one on the left looks a little more like Roshi, though.   

I’m not sure when this was supposed to have happened.   I’m pretty sure the Funimation dub established it was fifty years ago, but that doesn’t make much sense.   For one thing, of all the characters Roshi is telling this story to, only Tien has even heard of King Piccolo, and he hasn’t heard much.  If King Piccolo had been around only fifty years ago, then Bulma’s parents would probably know about him, since her grandparents would have surely lived during that time.

Also, Roshi is well over 300 years old, so if he looked this young fifty years ago, he must have aged really badly since then.   So I’m pretty sure Funi goofed, or I’m misremembering something.   It makes a lot more sense if the King Piccolo crisis happened a lot longer ago.   Two hundred years, minimum.

Whatever the chronology, Roshi and the Crane Hermit were only able to beat back Piccolo’s minions, and never King Piccolo himself.   Not even their master, Mutaito, could stop Piccolo, although he swore to oppose him with all his power.   

Piccolo wounded the guy, but he managed to survive, thanks to his superhuman vitality.   Only, he left Roshi and his other students before he was healed, and he promised to return one day.

Roshi thinks that the magnitude of the Piccolo crisis was what turned the Crane Hermit into the villain he is today.   That’s pretty heavy stuff.  Piccolo is so evil that he inspired other evildoers to turn to evil. 

Getting back to the story, one day, years later, Mutaito returned, having finally mastered a technique that would save the world from King Piccolo.

So he went right up to King Piccolo and zapped him with the Mafuba, also known as the Evil Containment Wave.    It didn’t kill Piccolo, or even hurt him...

Instead, it directed him into a vessel, which could be sealed with a sacred talisman.   I don’t know why he picked a rice cooker, but his options may have been limited in those days.

The only downside to the Mafuba is that it kills the user.   So it was up to Roshi to deal with the imprisoned King Piccolo.

So he dropped it into the bottom of the sea.    The only way King Piccolo could possibly have returned would be if someone found the jar and opened it.   Tien and Chiaotzu wonder if the Crane Hermit might have done it, but Roshi says that he never would have dared to unleash such horror again.   So the question is: Who would be dumb enough to find King Piccolo and set him free?     What sort of colossal idiot would... oh, who are we kidding?   It’s Emperor Pilaf.

Worse, Pilaf told Piccolo about the Dragon Balls.    He thinks King Piccolo would want to wish to rule the world...

But no.    Conquering the world is easy for him.   What he wants is eternal youth, so he can have the vitality and longevity to rule the wold forever!

Pilaf tries to suggest that Piccolo should share half the world with him in exchange for all of his help.    It was Pilaf who found Piccolo’s jar, released him, set him up in this cool airship, and he told him about the Dragon Balls and the Tenkacihi Budokai.   Piccolo replies that he’ll think it over.

As for the Dragon Balls, Piccolo has one of his goons named Tambourine looking for them, and he’s on his way back with one right now.    What the Pilaf gang doesn’t understand is why he had Tambourine steal the tournament roster while he was at it.    Piccolo explains that it was a martial artist who sealed him away for so long, and so he considers martial artists to be the only possible threat to his plans.   Any one of them might possibly know or reinvent the technique that sealed him away, so he plans to kill them all, and the Tenkaichi Budokai roster makes a nice list of strong fighters to kick off his purge.

Back at the arena, Roshi has reached the same conclusion.  

Meanwhile, Goku, who knows none of this, has finally caught up to Tambourine. 

[ofwizardsandmen]

If I were you and you were me

Characters: Tara Lee, Mark Yang, Jason Yang, Tyler Lee, mentions of other minor characters

Word count: 4k

Genre: angst

OST: NCT 127 - Replay 

Tara takes a deep breath as she approaches the front steps of Nº10 Queen’s Gate. The Georgian house stands in one of London’s most fashionable addresses, looking opulent and imposing. Nothing Tara hasn’t seen before, but she still has to admit to herself that maybe, just maybe, she’s feeling a tad nervous.

Once she steps on the threshold, she stands in silence for a few seconds, wondering whether to ring the bell or bang the large golden door knocker. Ultimately, Tara reaches for the bell with a trembling hand that makes her feel unlike herself for the umpteenth time that day.  

Holding her breath as though the sound of her lungs filling with air would prevent her from hearing if footsteps approach from the other side, Tara straightens her back and throws her shoulders back. She stands there with images from the first time she walked through that door flashing through her mind. One after another, different scenes appear as though a movie is being projected on to the sides of her eyelids and Tara has to force herself back to reality, fearing that someone might open the door and would find her looking like a lost puppy. But a minute passes and then two and there are still no signs of movement inside the house.

Tara feels the impulse of turning round and walking away, feeling almost relieved at the lack of response. It is probably for the best given the fact she has been improvising all along and she hasn’t stopped to think if her presence in that residence would be well received. Maybe not after the headlines in the morning paper. Or Gossip Witch’s latest tip.

Running a hand through her hair, Tara curses quietly upon recalling the latest post on the goddamned blog: a picture of Darius Black and her at the Montrose Magpies’ match, accompanied by a headline that read “One good scandal deserves another. Little T’s revenge on ex(?) boyfriend Mark Yang”. The mere recollection makes Tara buff as she messes her hair up in frustration. A terrible idea if you consider that the door cracks open without the slightest notice and reveals a short adorable woman whose genuinely surprised expression and eyes widening bore a strong resemblance to Mark’s

Although her train of thought abruptly stops, Tara’s first instinct is to bow, almost reaching 90 degrees. As her head goes down, she mentally pictures her grandmother and how she would react if she were to see her doing something she strongly disapproves of (because no one is important enough to deserve such courtesy from her family) in front of a muggle. Well, standing there would be a whole atrocity in the eyes of the Fawley matriarch considering that according to her strict protocol rules, one should never show up unannounced to places either.

Yet there Tara is, risking it all in a visit that, judging by the way Mrs. Yang’s brows furrow, already appears to have been a bad idea.

“Good evening, Mrs. Yang-“ Tara hesitates for a second, unable to bring herself to speak, the unreadable expression on the woman’s face making her insides twist painfully. “I… Is M-“ But Mark’s mother ignores whatever Tara had planned to say and pulls her into a hug.

“Tara, my darling-“ Caught off guard at Mrs. Yang’s warm welcome and knowing very well that she doesn’t deserve her kindness, Tara’s eyes fill with tears. “I had no idea you were coming, my dear. Mark said you were out of town.” Tara blinks rapidly, fighting the tears back before pulling away from the hug and looking at Mrs. Yang with a raised brow.

“Yes, he said you were visiting your brother and… oh-“ Tara and Mrs. Yang look into each other’s eyes, simultaneously realizing that Mark has lied to his mother. And the reason is probably obvious to Tara, but Mrs. Yang doesn’t seem to fully understand what has happened between the two. Tara figures out that although at this point rumors about her and Darius are everywhere, Mark hasn’t told his family anything about it yet. She feels another rush of guilt assaulting her.

“Well… I was, but I took the first train to London.” It isn’t entirely a lie, but Tara is so ashamed of facing Mrs. Yang with half-truths, that she can feel her cheeks redden “I couldn’t possibly skip his birthday, right?” she forces a smile as she looks down at the gift bag she’s been holding this whole time. A present she has been preparing for months, hoping to surprise Mark.

“He will be very happy to see you” Mrs. Yangs seems to guess exactly what’s going through Tara’s mind and smiles at her supportively. “But come through, Mark is showing Donghyuck around the house.” The woman reaches for her hand and pulls Tara into the elegant lobby.

“Donghyuck?” Tara repeats, trying to control the way her shoulders tense up.

“We prepared a little welcome party for Mark and the boys. You know, it’s been a while since the last time they all came here as a group and Donghyuck hasn’t seen the backyard yet” Mrs. Yang candidly speaks as she throws an arm around Tara and pats her arm.

Tara gulps at the mention of “the boys”. As if the prospect of facing Mark alone wasn’t terrifying enough, there is also the added challenge of facing his group mates —or as Jane liked to call them “The MPS” (Mark’s Protection Squad).

“They’ll be happy to see you too, I heard Johnny asking about you” Mark’s mom says distractedly and Tara can’t do anything but nod and force a smile. However, as they step closer to the living room, Tara can hear voices drifting out from the kitchen, saying things like “Shut up, I can’t hear anything”, “I can’t believe she dared to show up here” and “I spilled my wine” and she automatically knows —as a matter of fact—, that The MPS won’t be too happy to see her.

And she’s not entirely mistaken.

Tara enters the kitchen acutely aware all eyes will turn to her. And effectively, as soon as she walks through the door, the members of NCT stop on their tracks and stare at her in silence, appraising or judging her —or both in Jaehyun’s case—. It takes Tara a few seconds to realize Mark is nowhere to be found, although Donghyuck is there, glaring at her as though she were a criminal.

It's hard to ignore the frowns and the palpable tension her presence has caused. With her mind is all jumbled up, Tara opens her mouth but no sound comes out of it. But what is there to say, anyhow? That she’s sorry? That everything is a misunderstanding? As if that would change the fact they’re all disappointed and offended.

“Hey” Johnny is the one to speak first, making his group mates' eyes turn to look at him skeptically. In response, Johnny, as tall as ever, appears to shrink in size, seemingly hesitating on what to say next. However, there’s no need to say anything because someone else does it on his behalf.

“Look who’s come all the way here to congratulate Baby Mark on his birthday” a teasing voice speaks from behind Tara. She swings round to see a pleasant-faced man, tall and whose uncanny resemblance to Mark is a little hard to miss, smiling at her adoringly.

“Oh God, Jae. What are you doing here? When did you arrive?” Tara looks at Mark’s older brother, Jason (Jaeseop) up and down. She hasn’t seen him in ages and she has to use all her willpower not to throw herself into his arms.

“Oh, the Sweet Tara” The man enthusiastically reaches to hug her. “So nice to have you finally gracing us with your presence. I was starting to believe I wouldn’t see your face before going back to New York.” He says, lifting her up into the air.

“Jae, what are you doing? You’re leaving me breathless!” Tara’s complaints are cut by a fit of giggles from Mrs. Yang and a familiar grumble from a figure that walks past the kitchen door and disappears in the direction of the living room. Tara’s heart squeezes in her chest painfully.

“I have something to show you!” Once Jason puts her down, he pulls Tara to the staircase in the back of the room excitedly, ignoring the way Mark’s Protection Squad is looking at him —as though he had suddenly grown a second head—. “Come on!” He snatches the bag with Mark’s birthday gift from Tara’s hand and replaces it with his own hand. Then, he practically drags her upstairs as Mrs. Yang laughs from the kitchen door.

Jason eagerly pulls Tara across the length of the large hallway on the second floor. As she tries to keep up with him, her heels sink into the Oriental carpet that has been in the family for four generations. Though the young woman can barely take a moment to appreciate the exquisite decoration, she notices the Yang residence is as impeccable as ever. The only visible changes are the ivory silk curtains framing the large windows, the bouquet of orchids resting on top of the white console table from the XVIII century Mrs. Yang treasures so much. And… there’s something else. The neon sign taped to the door of Mark’s room is gone.

Tara’s legs stop moving, almost without her knowing.. The sign had been a birthday gift she had bought for Mark during her first summer vacations in Seoul. It was enchanted so it would glow only at night and it had been there for about 15 years.

“That…” Jason turns to look at her and gulps quietly “He took it off as soon as he arrived.” He says and for the first time since they know each other, his words come up as unpleasant to Tara.

“It’s ok. It was starting to look childish anyway” Tara tries to convince herself that it means nothing. But she knows it does, so her heart sinks; dread settling in the pit of her stomach like a heavy rock.

It seems like Mark has been trying to erase all traces of her from his life.

Tara delves into some recesses of her mind thinking about how her past arguments with Mark wouldn’t even last a day. Now they’ve gone through months of radio silence. What is she supposed to do if Mark doesn’t want to see her anymore?

“Just talk to him” Jason pulls Tara from her trance by placing a hand on her shoulder. “I refuse to believe you don’t have feelings for each other anymore. You two have been in love for years, how can that disappear overnight?”

Tara wonders the same, but she’s unable to find a satisfactory answer to that question. Except that she was angry and jealous and she felt lost after finding out through those Korean tabloids that Mark had run to Mindy as soon as they broke up. There were pictures of them hanging out in Hannam and Jamsil; Mark holding Mindy’s hand and laughing.

And it hurt Tara so much that she had behaved like a vengeful immature teenager, getting drunk and making out with random guys at Enzo’s private parties.

Initially, she hadn’t even felt sorry about that morning’s news.  She had to admit that she looked good in that black outfit (a gift from Enzo) and Darius Black, looking like a million-dollar man next to her, was the perfect accessory.

Of course, she wasn’t proud of herself either. She didn’t want the world finding out about her recent drunk escapades through the press. But at least, it was the perfect message to tell Mark that she didn’t care about his new relationship or the fact he had found refuge in Mindy’s arms after their split.

And then Jane had apparated at her Tyler’s match, looking as though she would murder her without the tiniest bit of hesitation.

And now, Tara knows that Mark never saw Mindy after their breakup and that everything was part of a publicity set-up from Mindy’s PR company.

And evidently she feels stupid and childish, but it is a little too late for regrets. And probably too late to ask Mark for forgiveness too.

“I did some stupid shit,” Tara says, exhaling air like a deflated balloon.

“We all have done some stupid shit at some point” Jason addresses her a sympathetic smirk “But your relationship with my little brother is worth fighting for, isn’t it?” He asks, ruffling her hair brotherly. “He also screwed up with the Mindy drama and he is actually aware of it. That’s why he was planning this huge apology event at his concert tomorrow-“

“What?” There’s another rush of guilt flooding through her. Jason only nods and eyes her apologetically.

“I mean, before watching that picture…” He says putting on a pained expression.

“That picture is just a picture. Nothing ever happened with Darius. I’m not dating him.” Tara tries to explain in a rush, although the whole story is more complicated than just denying the reports of some tabloid. “I thought Mark and Mindy-“ Tara doesn’t seem to find the courage to complete that sentence, but Jason understands what she means and nods his head. “I ruined it, Jae”

“Don’t say that, you two are just having a crisis. It’s going to be ok”

“But what if he doesn’t want to talk to me?” Tara asks, voicing her fears for the first time. “What if he doesn’t want to hear me?”

“Then he’s an idiot and he doesn’t deserve you,” Jason says pulling her into a hug for the second time that day.

Tara buries her face in his chest, finding comfort as he pats her head. They remain that way for a few seconds.  Until a creaking sound echoes throughout the hallway and Tara jerks out of Jason’s embrace to find Mark standing at the end, expressionlessly looking at the two of them.

“Well, I was just about to leave” Jason turns around, wearing a perfectly evil, cat-like smile.  “Good luck, T” he whispers in Tara’s ear before disappearing down the stairs.

Across the hall, Mark stands at the door of his music studio with his hands shoved in his pockets and looking handsome despite the fact he’s now glaring at his ex-girlfriend with his jaw clenched. For an awful moment, Tara believes he will ignore her, but then he invites her to walk into his studio, with a simple head movement.

Once Tara steps into the room, her eyes meet his for the first time in months and she notices immediately how troubled he looks and how much weight he seems to have lost since she last saw him.

The guilt is heavier in her chest.

Mark too notices changes in Tara, but the most evident one is the jittery air tainting her generally confident appearance. His anger is quickly replaced by sadness and all he suddenly wants to do is throwing his arms around his girl and tell her that everything will be alright. But Mark resists the temptation as he reminds himself that Tara is no longer his girl and that things would never be back to what they once were now that she is dating someone else.

“Happy birthday” Tara eventually pushes herself to say, breaking the silence that settled in the room.

“Uhm. Thanks” Mark turns his back on her and stands by the window, not daring to look at her.

“How was Paris? I heard your concert yesterday was-“

“Cut the crap, Tara. I know you didn’t come all the way here to talk about Paris” Suddenly Mark turns to her, his voice chilly and his eyes sharp with anger. Tara looks at him like a deer caught under the highlights, unable to mutter a word.  “Why don’t you get straight to the point and save us both the time and the bother?”

“Mark-“ Tara looks down and only then she realizes that Jason took Mark’s birthday gift with him. She curses mentally thinking how stupid she must be looking right now, wishing him happy birthday empty-handed and right after the news of her engagement to a guy she had always claimed she disliked. “I only wanted to see you” she says, pretending her heart isn’t doing wild flips in her chest and her pride is not bruised.

“Why?” Marks asks flatly. It’s not a question that’s meant to be answered because he immediately adds “Did you already grow bored of Darius? I thought it usually took you a few months, or years, in my case.” Although he knows he’s acting like a complete jerk and he hates himself for it, Mark still has the nerve to smirk scornfully at her.

Minutes ago, he felt he had been punched in the gut when he opened the door and saw Tara hugging his brother. But now that she is standing in front of him, sparkling like a vision in a white dress, he can hardly breathe, his chest aches and his reasoning is blurred by the anger coursing through him. Mark has never talked to Tara that way, but he wants to hurt her like she hurt him, like her dating another man is hurting him right now.

“I know you’re mad, but at least hear me out first,” Tara says, looking into his eyes. It makes Mark become aware of her earnestness, but he quickly looks away before her pleading expression breaks down his resolve.

“If I do, you’ll leave sooner, right?” He retorts, making Tara flinch as though he had insulted her. A tinge of guilt shoots through him, but he knows she’s tougher than she looks right now. She had been tough on him when she broke up with him and even tougher the following weeks when she cut him out of her life, while his world crumbled around him. She didn’t care back then, so he wants her to know that he doesn’t care now.

Tears fill the wells of Tara’s eyes and she knows they could roll down her face with the very next blink. Panicking, the young woman takes a step back towards the door, unwilling to let Mark witness her breakdown. He has never seen her cry and she doesn’t want him to see her like that —weak, vulnerable and guilty. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Of course you shouldn’t have, but you came anyway,” Mark says, his blood heating. “Do you enjoy torturing me, Tara? What did I ever do for you to hate me so much you can’t even let me spend my birthday peacefully?” Mark’s voice rises in a surprisingly deep tone that makes Tara aware of the mistake she’s made willingly going there to have Mark humiliate her.

“I think I should go” She says, trying to reach the door as she gives another step back. It could have been a good move if she hadn’t twisted her ankle while doing it and if Mark wasn’t reaching out to catch her right now.

Time slows down as his hands close around Tara’s waist to steady her and stop her from hitting the ground. They hold each other’s gaze for a moment, but Tara gently pushes him off, attempting to escape before she can’t hold herself back anymore and tears start to stream down her face.

“I should go-” Tara stops when Mark doesn’t let go of her and instead tightens his grip.

“Why?” He pulls their bodies even closer but is momentarily distracted by the fact Tara feels thinner than she ever was when they were together. It’s ridiculous, but he can’t help but wonder if this new relationship with Darius or her newfound interest for tight designer clothing are to blame. “Is your new boyfriend waiting for you?” He adds another painful question, smiling viciously.

“This is about enough” Tara composes herself and gathers the courage to push Mark away, her face quickly regains some of the confidence she has been lacking all this time. “I came here to apologize and tell you the engagement news are only a misunderstanding, but you’ve done nothing but ridicule me.”

Mark has already drawn breath to answer, but the shock of what she’s said renders him speechless. He looks at her sheepishly, but she goes on, without paying too much attention to his embarrassed expression.

“And I get it, Mark.” A chuckle of bitterness slips through her lips ”You’re hurt and you’re trying to get back at me acting like an idiot, but we both know that’s not who you are, or who I came looking for.” Tara fixes the cuffs of her chiffon dress distractedly before leveling her eyes to him “I am truly sorry, Mark. For everything. For the way I ignored you these past weeks and the ridiculous drama. I never meant to hurt you, the guys or your family.”

Mark sighs and runs a hand over the back of his neck, trying to process it all and find the right words to apologize. But Tara keeps going.

“And I’m sorry about Mindy and the fact I didn’t talk to you about it first, but it just didn’t make any sense that I loved you more than I loved myself.” Mark glances at the floor, his face losing all color. “It still doesn’t, to be honest”

Before Mark can reply or do anything at all, Tara turns on her heel and walks out of the room. She doesn’t want Jason or Mrs. Yang to see her leaving because she’s pretty sure they will try to stop her. Against her better judgment she disapparates as soon as she closes the door behind her.

Within a few seconds, Tara materializes in her apartment. Her unexpected arrival catches her brother off guard, making him drop his phone.

“Tara, for fuck's sake, you’re going to kill me next time you-“ he stops abruptly when he notices how Tara swipes the back of her hand across her cheek. His heart clenches.

Is she crying?

The mere thought appears ridiculous to him. Tara doesn’t cry. She didn’t cry when she fell from that tree in the backyard of the Fawley Manor when she was 3 years old. She didn’t cry when their mother and grandparents forgot her sixth birthday. She didn’t cry when Tyler’s pet ate one of her bunnies. Tara didn’t cry when that awful ex boyfriend of hers moved halfway across the globe. Damn, Tara didn’t even cry after breaking up with him.

Tyler thinks over everything he could recall about his sister. Now that he thinks about it, he has never seen Tara cry. He has seen her annoyed. He has seen her angry. He has seen her happy. He has seen her feigning politeness. He has seen her frustrated. But he has never seen her cry. Tara is never weak. She seems to have a backbone made of steel. Nothing ever seems to penetrate her walls.

Not until this moment anyhow. In this moment he can notice a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes.

“T, what happened?”

She doesn’t answer so he reaches across the distance separating them, but she draws away from him, probably too embarrassed to let him get any closer.

“Tara, what happened? Are you ok?” Tyler has no experience whatsoever dealing with complicated emotions, so he feels as though he’s tiptoeing around broken glass. When there’s no response, Tyler attempts to get close to her for the second time. And he fails again because Tara starts sobbing louder and tears stream down her cheeks, ruining her flawless makeup.

Her reaction unnerves and distresses Tyler.

“Oh, T. Stop crying, please” Tyler finally manages to move beside her and awkwardly wraps an arm around her. “I can’t bear to see you cry”

“I can’t help it” She gasps through gritted teeth. “Do you think I want to?”

Tyler pats her arm softly, apologetically and then pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket and pushes it into her fingers with silent sympathy, though he still doesn’t understand what is going on.

“What happened, T? Please talk to me”

“I’m heartbroken” It’s all she says before giving in and burying her face in the crook of her brother’s neck.

Tyler attempts to comfort her, but without even noticing he clenches a fist, muttering an oath under his breath.  Whoever is to blame for his sister’s breakdown will surely pay for it. And he thinks he has a slight idea of who that is.  

***

[kitchenwitchsuperwhovian]

We’re All a Little Mad Here

Pairings/Characters: Loki x Reader, Mr. Gold, Captain Hook, Prince Charming, Jefferson/Mad Hatter, Steve, Tony, Sam, Wanda, Vision, Thor, Natasha x Bucky mentions

Summary: Loki is surprised by the reader and what a surprise it is.

Prompts:  The TV Show Once Upon a Time and the Marvel character Loki.

Word Count: 5,231

Warnings: Nipple play, ice play (maybe?), bareback sex (it’s fiction people: Wrap it before you tap it.), shapeshifting, & marking the skin.

A/N: This is for @angryschnauzer and @feelmyroarrrr #FallForYou challenge. Hope you lovelies like my little spin on a somewhat classic fairytale. I know that I’m a bit late because life sucks sometimes so thank you for waiting so patiently. I did change some of the Marvel storylines to fit my story so any mistakes, I claim freely as mine. Thanks to my grammar beta, @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid.

*All Gif’s/Images used are not mine*

“Natasha, you grab the drinks and popcorn and I’ll start the que. Extra butter please.” Y/N shouted as she got comfortable on her beige couch.

“Yea yea yea, you heathen! Extra butter for you and cinnamon sugar for me. So, what episode are we on now?” Nat asked while noisily munching on her snack.

Y/N shot her a dirty look and smirked when Nat gave her the cross eyes while shaking her head back and forth. “Your favorite. How Jefferson became the Mad Hatter…” A faint blush rises on Natasha’s cheeks as Y/N snorts in glee.

Natasha gives her the stink eye and pushes her lightly in jest. “I never should have told you I think he looks like a younger, sexier Bucky. I’m never gonna live this down, am I?” Nat smiles widely as Y/N shakes her head no and continues to chuckle softly.

With the back to back missions lately, finding time to unwind with her fellow Avengers has been scarce. After a mission gone bad two years ago, Nat and Y/N became as thick as thieves, lending each other the support needed to come back to a small semblance of the new normal. Nat watches Y/N out the corner of her eye critically and her rapid-fire thoughts make a quick connection. Now to be subtle and ease the confession out of Y/N is the tricky part. She’s almost as good at keeping secrets as Fury and her.

“I have an idea. Why don’t we play the shots game with Once Upon a Time? F.R.I.D.A.Y. can record the rules and let us know when to take a shot or do a dare or truth or something. Like every time Gold says “dearie” or Snow gives a hug and so on. Come on, Y/N. We deserve to let loose after the shit we’ve seen in the last few weeks. PLEASE!” Natasha begs as she crawls over Y/N’s legs and pouts in her face using her best puppy dog eyes.

“FINE! But none of that nasty ass tequila. Tony still won’t let me use the pool by myself after last time….” She mumbles as Nat squeals and heads for her private stash of vodka. Y/N is in awe as she sees her remove a back panel of the freezer to pull out her almost full bottle of Diva Vodka that Tony lost to her in their last game of poker.

“Been saving this for just the right occasion. Tonight sounds good. Tony really knows his alcohol…” Nat murmurs as she sips the deliciously crisp vodka with a satisfied smirk on her ruby red lips.

Y/N eyes the shot glass like it’s going to jump up and bite her. She hesitantly downs the shot and comes back up gasping for air at the wicked burn the alcohol has going down her throat.

“Fuck Nat! Warn a bitch why don’t you? I really don’t want to know how much this costs do I?” Y/N wheezes as Nat sends a saucy wink her way.

“Nope. Just know that Tony never does anything by halves, alcohol especially. So let’s get started.”

As both women laugh while they make a standard set of rules, the men of the Avengers are back from a grueling mission. Mostly scratches and battered, war-torn suits but luckily the men walk away with no major injuries.

“Debrief and then take the rest of the week off guys, no missions pending of course. Thanks for the assist Thor and Loki.” Steve thanks them as he and Bucky discuss seeing a ball game tomorrow instead of staying in. Tony is helping Bruce to his quarters so he can de-stress from Hulking out for most of the mission which leaves Loki and Thor with no immediate plans.

“I think that a certain female would like your company brother.” Thor laughs while heartily patting Loki’s shoulder hard as Loki throws him a glare and a grimace.

“No idea what you mean. And take a shower. You smell like burnt wiring.” Loki huffs as Thor laughs at his poor mis-direction.

“I do believe the fair Natasha and Y/N are engaged in a... oh yes…. A binge in the entertainment room.” Thor suggests kindly as a brief flash of green sparks in Loki’s otherwise emotionless face.

“Brother, a word of advice, if I may?” Thor asks softly.

Loki sighs in resignation and faces Thor, standing resolutely still in a closed off position.

“As if I could stop you. Go on, Oh Great and Wise King.” Loki snarks as Thor waits patiently for some sign that Loki is open to what he has to say. Once he sees a slight softening of his posture and his eyes express his inquisitive nature does Thor impart his thoughts.

“Waiting too long and keeping secrets leads nowhere. Look at Father. Tell her how you feel before it’s too late. Or she may find another...I believe the Captain said that he admired her greatly the other day…” Thor states boldly as he sauntered out of the room, leaving Loki to ponder his words carefully.

“She would never be interested in someone like the good Captain Rogers. His is too by the book. She takes risks all the time. Well-calculated but risks just the same. She needs someone to fuel her passions as well as her mind and Rogers is a dullard in comparison to her wit and beauty.” Loki mumbles as he slowly proceeds to his debriefing.

After a quick shower and change of attire, Loki makes his way towards the entertainment room only to come to attention at Y/N’s shout, “NATASHA!”

With daggers is both hands, fingers gripped tightly to control his anger and magic, Loki stalks towards the slightly ajar door to be faced with the most unusual sight he’s ever seen. And he’s thousands of years old.

Natasha is standing in front of the viewing screen making kissing faces at the face of a man who looks suspiciously like a younger Barnes while Y/N cackles from the couch, steadily counting down to one.

“Three...Two...One! No more making out with Jefferson. I know he looks as fuckable as Barnes, Tash, but the amount of tongue you just used has me wondering just how cozy you and Winter have been lately….” Y/N pouts as Natasha takes a shot and plops down onto the couch with a silent sigh.

“Fine, I’ll tell you but you gotta swear on your collection of Howlies comics to never repeat what I tell you or I’ll burn them in Tony’s fireplace.” Nat whispers as Y/N’s face suddenly becomes serious. She takes a couple of moments to study her friend who has suddenly gone quiet and contemplative over her empty shot glass.

“Deal now what's going on in that spider-brain of yours?” Y/N whispers back as she gets comfortable in her mound of stolen pillows.

“James has been having frequent nightmares for the last few months with the upsurge of Hydra takedown missions. A lot of it is just memories of the torture he was inflicted but a couple times have been where the team was the people he killed. He sleeps better with a warm body by him at night to whisper things like what year it is, where he is, his full name and birthdate. Then he has someone to ground him in this reality.”

“Some nights he just needs a release, like something or someone to wear him out enough to get some solid sleep. So two months ago, we kinda hooked up. And they do not lie about super stamina!” Nat laughs at Y/N’s wide eyed stare.

“Details woman! I need details! Size, shape, favorite move, all of it girl!” Y/N squeals as she hugs Nat tight.  As she fills Y/N about the nitty gritty details about her and James, Natasha spies a certain God standing still in the doorway, taking in everything Y/N is doing. She has enough sobriety in her system to catalogue his reaction to Y/N’s more than oblivious nature.

“So while we’re talking about attractions and likes, anyone catch your eye?” Nat smirks as Y/N drunkenly tries to pour another shot. Some spills on the table and in a surprising move, she swipes up the liquid with her tongue and smacks her lips in satisfaction. Y/N fails to hear the low groan of hunger from the doorway as Nat laughs at her friends drunken antics.

“Well, Hook is hot cause ya’ know, badass and all. Charming is okay for like the one night stand. So is Jefferson to be honest but I think I’d rather bang Gold. Just imagine the experience the man has plus the accent combines with his magic, fuck I could come just from his dirty talk alone.” Y/N sighs as she looks at Tasha through hazy eyes.

“Oh sweetie, I meant the real world, you know like Sam or Cap or Tony. Why the men from the show though?” Nat asks honestly as Y/N takes a moment to collect her scattered thoughts. Dark smiles and lingering gazing float heavily in her mind as with a sigh, Y/N hugs a pillow tight to her chest as she feels the tears start to gather in her eyes.

“You know how everyone says that they’ve been in love, Nat. Even Tony, the…..how did he put it? Billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. I’ve never been in love and no one has loved me either. Family love is different than romantic love. Who wants to be with a woman who can do what I do, Nat? I’ve always been on the sidelines looking out at the world as the world around me falls in love. Hell, Cap experienced love before the ice so that means I have a chance though, right?” Y/N whispers with a choked hiccup, as she valiantly tries to suppress the deep sadness her disclosure revealed.

“Sorry for the sudden pity party Tash. I just needed to get it out into the Aether so I can move on. Who knew a woman of my age still dreamt of her own Prince Charming? I think it’s time for bed for me though. Stay and finish the episode and keep taking care of James. I know you both need each other more than you let on. Goodnight sestra.” Y/N kisses the top of her friends head and walks quietly back to her room with a melancholic air. She just misses the slight flash of green of Loki’s magic as he makes himself disappear. She also doesn’t acknowledge Tony or Sam as they pass her in greeting and both look to Loki with questions he cannot answer.

A few days pass and things seems to get back to normal. Y/N keeps up the cheerful face her friends have come to expect from her but a pair of somber forest-like eyes watch as cracks appear in her facade which none but he and the widow catch. Nat corners Loki later in the library and confronts him on his feeling for Y/N. Once she judged him sincere, they plot of a way to show Y/N how appreciated she really is.

Y/N is laying facedown on her queen size bed, pillows strewn haphazardly around her frame, covers bunched over her cold feet to ward off the sudden chill in the air. When she notices a puff of white breath escape her lips, she rolls her eyes and shouts for Loki to enter. He laughs low and mischievously and it resonates through Y/N’s frame like a lust-filled fog.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, oh God of Mischief and Revelry?” Y/N snarks as his grin grows slightly wolfish.

“Do I need an excuse to see such a beauty as yourself, oh sweet princess of my heart.” Loki states softly as he stands near the head of her bed, looking at hY/N expectantly with his hands crossed over his heart and his lashes flutter like a cartoon princess.

A soft blush graces her cheeks as she scoots over to allow room for his lithe form.

“Join me in the clouds, Prince Loki. It will be an experience you shall never forget.” Y/N coos as she gives him a sultry pout. His sudden bark of laughter has a spark of glee flashing in Y/E/C eyes.

“Seriously, park it oh great and powerful God. I want snuggles and your body has a nice chill I like to cuddle with. Don’t tell Tash or she’ll mess with my thermostat again. A whole month of near freezing temperatures is cold enough for me….” Y/N whispers as she resettles the pillows around her head.

Loki removes his green leather cover and unfastens his weapons belt to gently lay them both on her black recliner. Another moment has his shoes kicked under the bed and his shirt unbuttoned and falling to the floor with a soft thud. Y/N barely bites back the moan at the sight of his unblemished skin but something catches her eye. A deep scar appears on his torso but the next second, is winked out in favor of smooth skin.

As Y/N continues to stare at Loki’s chest, he begins to fidget and squirm under her intense scrutiny. He is stunned when she quickly rises to sit at the edge of the bed, firmly grabbing his sides and places his form directly in front of her panting lips. She licks her lips slowly in concentration and the low growl he emits shocks her out of her focused inquiry.

“Loki, is this an illusion?” She whispers while trying to read the truth in his eyes. By the darkening of his pupils and his sharp intake of air, a moment of stillness takes over the once over-loud room.

He coughs a little to clear his throat and croaks out, “Everything can be an illusion with the right mindset.” He watches on in fascination as she seems to sweep away his illusion to reveal bits of his Jotun form. He growls low in warning as she edges closer to his natural state. His illusion is completely shattered by her actions as she gently places a kiss to the deepest of the scars and murmurs a low hum of sorry’s that have tears falling from both their eyes. His in shame and fear and hers in sorrow and pain for the tortures he had to have faced to garner such scars.

A quick knock on her door has both jumping apart in guilt as Y/N yells a watery, “Come in.”

Steve pokes his head around the corner of her door with a sheepish grin. “Sorry if I’m interrupting anything but have you seen Buck and Nat? We’re supposed to have a TV marathon of one of the shows on my list and I’ve looked everywhere.”

At Loki’s snort and Y/N’s giggle, Steve looks them in the eye and tries to use his best “dad voice” to get some answers.

“Sorry, Steve but I think that you’re shit out of luck on this one. Ask Sam and Wanda to watch with you since Tony, Thor, and Vision went out earlier.”

With one last questioning look, Steve huffs out the door, kinda pissed his so called friends decided to ditch him. As the door clicks shut once more, bothe occupants burst into maniacal laughter at their truly clueless friend.

“You would think one in such an advanced age might catch on to the fact his two best friends have hooked up would cross his mind but he really is that clueless…” Loki mutters as Y/N takes in his relaxed demeanor. She gently takes his hand and pulls him to sit next to her on the bed. They both take a moment to relish the comfortable silence as peace settles over their minds.

“How did you see? Not even Thor can see through the elaborate illusions I create. Fools him every time, the dolt.” Loki asks in honest curiosity.

“It’s a part of my unique ability. I can see to the heart or the truth of a matter, if I concentrate enough that is. I’m an emotional empath on a good day but wading through so many emotions constantly clouds the pathways. I guess it was the right time to see the unseen. Are you mad?” Y/N asks softly as she nervously fiddles with her fingers in the blankets.

“Mad, no. In awe, yes. You have no idea how much I need someone to see. Not just the illusion but to see the real me and not cower in fear or to rise in anger to battle.” Loki whispers as he gently takes her twitching finger and places them in his hands calmly. He clears his throat and asks in trepidation, “Do you wish to see it all? My true form. I must warn you, it is quite a shock.”

“If I can handle a naked Bruce after a Hulk-out, I can pretty much handle anything.” Y/N states proudly as she squeezes his hands in reassurance.

With a flurry of green flashes, Loki’s Jotun form pops into existence. Where once pale skin and forest-green eyes was, a sky blue of swirls and scars shadows a sullen and wounded crimson eyes of red. A subtle flinch is the only reaction he has as she gently traces the patterns across his cheeks and brow. At a nearly silent sniffle, Loki meets her teary eyes and she whispers it’s okay as he clings to her trembling frame.

A harsh bark of laughter proceeds the psychological breaking of the dam of Loki’s emotions that is released in the arms of an understand Y/N. As she gently coos nonsensical words while rubbing calming circles in his war-torn skin, Loki feels a feather-light touch in his heart as a glow of warmth fans into an ember of peace. The ember flames into a warmth that he has not felt since he was in Frigga’s last gentle embrace. The rush of emotions leaves Loki weak and tired so Y/N gently lays him in her bed and makes to leave so that he may rest.

“Stay, love. I need...well…” Loki trails off as his illusion gradually returns him to his former state. However the lingering look of pain, panic, shame, and fear in his emerald eyes have Y/N pulling back the covers and snuggling in close to his slightly chilled chest. With a sigh of acceptance, they both drift off to sleep, dreaming of each other.

The perception of a cool breeze across her neck has Y/N stretching into the sensation. As the breeze descends her body, gooseflesh rise in reaction across her flesh.  Her nipples pebble as she moans in sweetest of agony when the breeze seems to swirl and suck as a lilting male voice whispers from her dreams.

“Open your eyes, Y/N. Dreams are meant to be made into reality.” Loki whispers across her chest as the chilling sensation ebbs and swirls around her neck like a gentle kiss.

Y/N gradually opens her sleepy eyes to see a smirking God lingering over her scantily clad chest.

She watches in fascination as a cloud of cold air escapes his sinful lips to twirl and twist around her beaded nipple. A low moan escapes as Y/N arches into the phantom lover. “Loki, please.” She begs as the wind gets harsher and colder. Just as she’s on the razor’s edge of ecstasy, the mist disappears as if it never was.

Y/N’s harsh panting has a smug grin forming on Loki’s lips as she tries to collect her thoughts in order. They scatter like the wind as Loki gracefully slides his slender fingers along the bottom of her lace bralette, looking in her eyes for permission to continue. At her shallow nod, his grin turns wicked as he tears it in two and descends on her breasts like a man starved. He manages to nip and lick at every sensitive spot except the beaded pearls throbbing for his touch.

A pained groan of denied pleasure has Loki chuckling darkly across her sensitive flesh. “Did you wish for something, my dear? Or is it someone you wish for?” He whispers as he suddenly changes into Prince Charming.

“Do you wish for a noble knight to take you to heights of pleasure you’ve only dreamt about?” he whispers as he lightly pinches her left nipple.

“Or do you wish for man to make you mad with desire?” As Loki morphs into Mad Hatter, dark kohl-lined eyes and all as he harshly nips and licks the throbbing tips.

“Or do you wish to be taken over and over again until nothing but the sea can calm you?” Loki whispers as with a flourish of green mist, Hook appears with a realistically sharp hook on his left hand. Y/N watches in equal parts fear and fascination as he takes the tip and gently rakes it across her sensitive tip, grinning in approval at the lusty moans Y/N tries to suppress.

“Or would you rather have a Dark Lord magically make every wish come true, dearie?” Loki pants as his features transform into Gold, wicked grin and all. “Do you wish for magic hands or teeth, my dear?” He asks in his gravel-laden accent as phantom hands play with her over-stimulated breasts while sharp teeth nip and bite her painfully hard nipples.

“Hmmm, dearie. What will it be: A Prince, a Madman, a Pirate, or Me? Choose wisely for magic always comes with a price…” Gold whispers into her ear as everything suddenly fades into silence. Y/N takes a deep breath and looks at the illusion of a forgotten fantasy as soon as her Dark God appeared next to the God of Thunder all those years ago.

“I choose you. The God of Mischief and Revelry, Loki Laufeyson Odinson. All parts of you, Jotun included love.” Y/N whispers as she hangs all her hopes and future dreams on the one being with the ability to crush her into dust, if he so chose.

All of the illusions fade away to reveal the crimson orbs of her love, silent tears falling down his beautiful sky-colored face. In a voice choked with emotion, his whispered plea reaches her ears on a breath of chilled air. “Again, my love. Say it again.”

“I.” *kiss* “Love.” *kiss*  “You.” *kiss* “Loki.” *kiss*  “Only you.” Y/N murmurs softly against his tear-stained cheeks, ending with a soft press of lips and a sigh of relief.

The kiss quickly turns hungry as Y/N moans at the chilled relief to her pleasantly tortured nipples. Loki uses his magic to make all of their clothing disappear. At the insistent throbbing of her core, she surprises Loki by rolling them until she is riding his thick, muscled thigh. The delicious friction of his flexing thigh has Y/N panting as she glides her wet, swollen lips over his muscles, straining for the release she was denied with Loki’s earlier teasing.

“Pet, slow down. We have eternity to seek these pleasures. Let me show you how to be worshiped by a God.” Loki pants as Y/N’s slick leaves a trail up and down his thigh, her leg occasionally brushing his shaft. Her mewls of need cause the rise of his magic to ebb and flow around her tender and aching bud in a swirl of suction. Y/N’s eyes go wide before they roll back into her head and she screams his name to the heavens in release. Her fluids run free down his thigh and pool under him while she shivers and shakes.

She slumps onto his ridged form and attempts to even her breathing. Y/N absentmindedly is tracing circles and swirls around his sensitive nipples and with a sharp flick of a nail, she grazes the tip. A stuttered moan from Loki has Y/N looking at him in a haze of lust. A truly sinful smile graces her features as she rises above him to rest her mound on his torso. A slow roll of her hips as she braces her hands on his shoulders has his eyes crossing in pleasure and Y/N chuckles darkly over his lips.

“Ready for more, my Dark God?” She pants as she grinds on his shaft, her juices coating his painfully hard cock.

“Are you, Y/N?” Loki breathes across her lips as he suddenly grasps her sides with his nimble fingers and glides them across her dewy skin.  She moans quietly as his hands and magic work in tandem across her back and ass while he sucks a dark mark upon the delicate curve of her neck.

“Loki.” She moans and he helps her grind across his aroused flesh by grabbing fistfulls of her ass and directing her motions. A drop of precum oozes from his shaft and his mind is suddenly overrun with filling her with his seed. Y/N feels his shaft throbbing and with every slow grind across her clit, the waves of her arousal threaten to break.

“Loki, more please. I need you...oh” Y/N cries out as a tendril of his magic pulses within her depths. As he sucks and bites at her nipples, his magic thrusts gently into her sheath with a life-like intensity that sends her senses reeling.

“Fuck, oh, Loki, I, oh…” Y/N moans as his magic sends tendrils of icy waves to caress her g-spot with an insistent rhythm. With a choked cry and tears of joy streaming down her face, Y/N’s cunt spasms uncontrollably as her second orgasm breaks and her vision goes white. When she comes back to herself, she is lying on the bed with Loki’s face poised above her clit. With a gentle puff of air across her clit, Y/N whimpers as the over-sensitive bud throbs in time with her erratic heartbeat.

“Welcome back love. Ready for more?” He whispers as he adjusts his position and his shafts glides smoothly across her slick covered lips, flushed red and pulsating in need. She lazily drapes her arms around his neck and gently guides his lips to hers as she whispers her wish.

“Make me yours, my Dark God.”

Y/N has no time to brace herself as Loki takes his shaft in hand and guides it slowly into her quivering sheath. Once his hips rest flush against Y/N’s, they both take a moment to relish the closeness of being joined as one. Y/N looks into his eyes and watches as a spark of magic swallows the pupils while they darken to a midnight sky, Loki pulls his shaft out till only the tip is resting inside Y/N. He waits a heartbeat, waiting for a sign from Y/N’s body that she is ready for him.

When she squirms and tries to lower onto his shaft, he grins wickedly and licks his suddenly dry lips. “Loki.” Y/N whines and the air leaves her in a rush as he grips her legs and spreads them as wide as they can go while gently pushing them out till she is white knuckled and gripping her knees tight to her chest.

“Hold on, love.” Is Y/N’s only warning before Loki begins a punishing pace of thrust and retreat. The very air is lost to Y/N as each stroke fuels the raging fire and passion that is Loki. All the while, his lips hover over her ear, crooning filthy words of lust and desire.

“I'm going to fuck this pussy so hard that you won’t be able to walk for a week. Look at this cunt taking me so well. Can’t wait til you strangle my dick as you cum from my voice alone. You’re just a slut for my cum, aren’t you pet?  Do you want that, Y/N? To be my little cum slut? Want me to cum in you all night and day, only stopping to sleep. I want to cum so hard Y/N that my cum will leak from you for hours after I’m done with you. I’m going to cum in this pretty little pussy. You’d like that, wouldn't you pet? Your hungry little sheath milking me dry, waiting for my seed to take root. Will you let me take you, anywhere, anytime, just a receptacle for my cum until your belly is nice and round with my child?”

At the image of being pregnant with Loki’s child settles in her mind, Y/N screams her release into the room, Loki’s pleasured grunt echoing shortly after as he picks up the pace of his thrusts. She feels a foreign pressure below as her cunt flutters with her ongoing climax. Loki looks her in the eyes and when he has her full attention, he slowly licks her nipple and sucks it into his warm mouth. Her eyes widen in arousal and a tiny bit of fear as he suctions hard and nips the aching bud between his teeth. At the exquisite pain, her sheath clamps down once and Y/N’s entire body bows hard as a sudden rush of liquid gushes around his shaft. The pressure sends her senses into overdrive and without a break in its intensity, Y/N is rendered unconscious.

“Y/N!” Loki shouts into her chest as his neck strains and his back bows hard while his shaft pulses warmly within her clenching walls. He collapses ungracefully onto her unconscious form as his cock continues to spasm and jerk with his prolonged release. He lets out a ragged sigh as the pulsing of her walls slows to a gentle throb which caresses one final pulse of cum from his sensitive cock.

Loki lifts his head to ask Y/N a question and is startled to see her snoring softly with a blissed out expression on her face. He gently moves around a little so that she is not crushed under his weight without removing his cock from her depths and settles in to sleep. He likes feeling connected to her and when they wake, they can work out where they wish to go from here. All he knows is that without her understanding and loving nature, he might as well be as Mad as a Hatter.

Source link: Diva: the premier bottle of Diva Vodka - $1,000,000.

Sestra: Sister

[thecomicsnexus]

Superman vs. the Cab Protective League

ACTION COMICS #13

JUNE 1939

BY JERRY SIEGEL, JOE SHUSTER, GARDNER FOX, PAUL CASSIDY AND FRED GUARDINEER

SYNOPSIS (FROM DC WIKIA)

Clark Kent is traveling in a cab which is hit by a rival company's cab driver. When he questions the driver, he says that the rival driver is a member of the Cab Protective League, an organization that victimizes independent cab companies.

Superman visits the independent Carlyle Cab Company. He discovers the boss being threatened by a member of the CPL. He reveals himself and beats up the racketeer, then picks him up and leaps into the air. The racketeer tries to stab him, causing Superman to crash into a building, leading the racketeer to fall to his death.

Mr. Reynolds, the boss of the CPL, calls Mr. Carlyle and asks whether he's going to pay for protection. Carlyle refuses, so Reynolds and his henchmen go to confront him. Superman destroys their car, and also makes them all destroy their own cabs. Superman also makes Reynolds confess to ordering the deaths of other drivers, and he gets arrested.

As the police drive him to the station, Reynolds lights a cigarette. The cops realize too late that the cigarette contains a poison gas. Superman finds an abandoned police car right where the police were last seen. He hurtles through the roof of the cabin, where he finds Reynolds, who now introduces him to his boss, the Ultra-Humanite, the most intelligent man on earth. Superman approaches the Ultra-Humanite and is caught in a wave of electricity that temporarily knocks him out. The Ultra-Humanite quickly has Superman tied to a board and fed into a sawmill.

But of course the saw blades have no effect on Superman. In fact, one of the blades breaks off and kills Mr. Reynolds. The Ultra-Humanite calls some henchman, who carry his paralyzed body away to a nearby special airplane, and then start the cabin on fire. Superman wakes up and escapes the cabin just before the fire can kill him. He super-leaps up and crashes into the Ultra-Humanite's plane, destroying it. However, the Ultra-Humanite's body is nowhere to be found.

Zatara is called to Carolina by Fred Hodges, who's the last surviving male member of his family. On their way, Zatara and Tong hear the faint sound of a woman's scream. Turning himself and his servant into a gust of wind for faster travel, Zatara heads in the direction the scream came from. They come across an old crone and a large brutish figure (Martha and Jon) carrying an unconscious young woman in his arms. After reverting back to their human forms, Tong attacks the brute, while Zatara rescues the girl. The brute matches Tong in strength, and begins to strangle him. Zatara uses his magic to shrink the brute to be knee-high in size. He and Tong take the girl back to the car and drive out to Fred Hodges' estate. The young woman turns out to be Fred Hodges' sister, Elanor, who disappeared on her way home from their uncle Karl's place. Zatara presses them for information on the ugly old hag and the brutish fellow they met in the swamp, but the Hodges clan suddenly seem to become gripped in fear, and Neither Fred nor Elanor will tell Zatara why the witch kidnapped her.

Even the next morning, while Fred is giving Zatara a tour of his cotton plantation, the magician is still unable to get him to talk about the mysterious swampland figures. That night, a scream sounds from Eleanor's room! Zatara and Tong race to the scene, finding Eleanor lying on her bed, under a deep hex, and nothing they do wakes her. It's time for a straight answer, so Zatara places Fred under hypnosis, and soon learns through Fred's subconscious speech, what was really happening around here. His Uncle Karl had warned the Hodges siblings to leave the old hag and the brute alone, as they were related to his family through the old blood, from the "evil bloodline" that their family was cursed with for generations! Fred was afraid they were after his riches and his plantation, yet he dared not do anything, lest the embarrassing truth get out, of his family's bloodline.

Zatara believes Fred's story to be ridiculous, but it has Fred and Elanor scared enough. Zatara changes his and Tong's forms into shadows, and they swiftly visit the home of Karl, the Hodges' uncle. The old hag and her brutish son are already there, with Karl, who mentions the hex he put on Eleanor should be working soon, sending her sleepwalking through the dangerous Swamp of Satan, where she'll surely meet her doom! Leaving Tong at the Hodges' house (for which he is glad, being eager for another chance to prove himself against the brute), Zatara flies out to verify Karl's words. He eventually spots Elanor, and she is indeed sleepwalking, through the swamp towards a deadly pit of quicksand. Zatara magically creates a safe path for her to follow, then manages to safely guide her past the dangers of the swamp, until they are safely back at her brother's estate. Karl is already there, delivering the tragic news of Elanor's death, when she suddenly walks through the door with Zatara, looking healthy as ever, much to his surprise. Outside the window, the old crone watches with wicked glee as the brute pulls out a gun and shoots Zatara and Tong! The bullets pass through them without doing any major damage, but when they finally come around, they are alone in the house. Fred and Elanor were gone, likely abducted by Karl and the "evil blood family".

The Hodges siblings are led to a small cottage in the center of the Swamp of Satan, where they are tied up. Karl demands the deed to the plantation, threatening to make it worse for them the longer they hold out. Zatara's astral form observes this, and Zatara teleports himself, and Tong, to the cottage for the rescue. Tong bursts through the door, and this time he's ready for the brute's strength! He throws punches at the brute, beating him back. Karl pulls out a pistol and prepares to fire on Tong, but then Zatara appears, turning Karl's gun into a snake! The crone tries to run, but Zatara melts her with a curse, letting her essence seep into the slimy waters of the marsh! The brute runs from Tong, who gives chase, wanting to finish their fight. But the swamp ends the battle for him, as the brute falls into the quicksand and continues sinking until he is completely buried. When the duo return to the cottage, they find that Karl has died from heart failure. Zatara frees the Hodges, and together, they all set off back to the estate. Leaving the evil Swamp of Satan behind.

REVIEW

Sometimes Golden Age details change with time (as more information become available), but the Ultra-Humanite is the first Superman villain, and one of the first (if not) super-villans in comic-books. Technically, the first supervillain debuted a month before. Phantom Blot, a Mickey Mouse villain.

Ultra-Humanite in his first appearance already has all the tropes. He explains his motivations without anyone asking him, he thinks he already won, he leaves the hero to die (without making sure he does), and he appears to die but his body is never found.

People also say that one of the Henchmen looks like Luthor... I am not convinced.

But let’s talk about death and morality, because this issue of Action Comics comes packed with extra death. In the Superman story alone, almost all his enemies die. One of them slips from his arms and plummets to death. And Superman reaction was “meh, he deserved that”. Another interesting thing about the Superman story is his power set. He can basically leap and has invulnerability. But he can die in a fire and he is affected by electricity. With these limitations it is understandable that his morality has limits, after all, he can die. Still, a bit odd, even for modern age readers. And in the end he makes the plane crash. There is no hijacking it or anything, he is just looking for the bodies.

The Zatara story is equally inappropriate.  Tong is still a mystery. I am not sure why he is a slave or why he isn’t allowed to wear clothes. The character didn’t make it to our times. Again, in this story the villains die. One dies of a heart attack, of course. But Tong sees one die (trying to escape quicksands) and his reaction is pretty much “meh, he deserved that”.

The art on the Superman story is a bit more “pulp” than usual, perhaps because of Paul Cassidy, but more likely because the story happens at night.

I give the issue a score of 7

[crazypercheron]

The Haunted Manse

Foreword

I’m restless right now, so I decided I might as well start finally typing up my silly fanfiction that I have been working on since *squints at date on note book* the 24th of May, holy smoke has time gone by fast! And with time, the story actually dramatically changed not even halfway through the beginning so things are a bit off kilter I’ll admit but heck it, buckle up because you are going in for one heck of a dumb ride (just like the manor itself). I’m not a proficient writer I’ll admit and I do not claim to be one, but this fan fiction is only just for fun and for my reading enjoyment so if you find the fiction hard to read or just simply do not like the direction the story is going, sorry but I’m just going to have my fun. Besides, there are other extremely talented people out there who have written Haunted Mansion fan fiction better than I can so please go read and support their works of fiction instead of wasting energy to bash on my fun side project.

Anyways, I am going to base this Mansion off of the Original one at Disneyland with some hints of the other mansions tossed in with it, but appearance wise it is the one in California. Now this is my interpretation of the story with what little information I have, it will be based off the book The Unauthorized Story of Walt Disney's Haunted Mansion by Jeff Baham (Which I thought is a good read if you are interested in the story of the Making of the ride, not actually the story of the ride itself) as well as some information from awesome members of this fandom, I seriously love your guys works and major thanks to especially @asktheghosthost for allowing me to borrow their interpretation of, well, The Ghost Host. 

This is a muse/self insert fan fiction with my interpretation of Foxy the Pirate being an animatronic possessed by the spirit of a child since, well, there’s admittedly not that much information to what kind of character Foxy is -like is he a rival to Freddy or a friend?- and as morbid as it is, I’ve always actually liked the idea of a ghost helping a mortal out and following them around. Back then I use to watch a lot of those Ghost Adventure like shows and thought it’d be cool if like a Victorian era ghost follows and helps ghost hunters communicate with spirits and solve like murder mysteries and such. I should also warn you, the main character does not step foot in the mansion until Part 2, so if you want to get straight to the Mansion stuff, uhh, just wait until then. Anyways, enough with the rambling, I’ll post more later thoughts on future ‘Author’s Notes’, lets get on with the fiction.

Warning: Some strong language ahead

The Haunted Manse Part I

Chapter 1

Her boots pounded hard on the carpeted hallway as she rushed to find a place to hide. Anywhere in this contorted house. Despite a row of doors on either side of her flying past, Wren knew it was much more wise to run than to stop and waste precious time trying to open up one of those doors. Most commonly they were either locked forever to time or if they were left unlocked, they revealed nothing more than another corridor or that blasted wallpaper of the house. Besides, she had a destination in mind and she’d be damned if she allowed it to get any further. 

Finally reaching the door at the end of the corridor, Wren threw herself into the door and fumbled for the key in her pocket, not daring to look back as she could hear the crazed laughter coming for her, literally flying down the hallway. She cursed as the brass key fell from her grasp but snatched it up in her other hand and proceed to shove it back into the key hole.

Rusted with age, or perhaps with the magic of this damn mansion, the key protested with a squeal as she turned to unlock the door. The key was turned, but a lip on the deadbolt caught the door frame, preventing it from opening. Frantic, Wren tried rattling the door, casting a glance over her shoulder to see the eerie blue specter rush in for the kill. His cutlass raised high above his head.

With a crack of distant lightning, the sword swung down at her.

Suddenly her phone rang loudly, rattling the the brunette from her reading. Holding the town magazine in one hand, Wren reached into her bag and dug around until she grabbed her cellphone, answering it. With the blaring J-Pop ringtone silenced, Wren could hear a mechanical whirl over her shoulder, but she ignored it.

“Hello sir?” she answered.

“Songbird,” the gruff voice answered on the other end. “Good morning, just calling to check to see if you have gotten that email about your new job assignment?”

“Is it another pizzaria?” she joked, placing the magazine facedown to ‘bookmark’ her place to free up her hand to grab her cup of coffee.

The man chuckled. “No, at least, not for a while anyways since that Fazbear Pizzeria had closed down for good and no one is looking to hire any more security. So sorry Wren, no free pizza for you.” The voice continued, “Anyways, your new job assignment is at a memorial park. The last guard quit just a few days ago.”

Wren rolled her eyes. “I thought so, though let’s be honest, you sending me into a different county I think is worse than working at a cemetery,” she sighed into her cup. While the email didn’t named the new job location, it did provide an address to which she googled online. “Let me guess, ghosts scared him off?”

“There’s that, and apparently he had discovered that he had a paralyzing fear of dead bodies,” he added.

“What is it with you assigning me to places that are haunted? You think I’m some sort of ghost expert or something?” Wren laughed, “You know I have necrophobia as well, Bob.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not going to be assigned to the morgue if that is what you are afraid of,” Bob assured her, “We just need someone to just drive around the park, you know, make sure all the mausoleums are locked at dusk, and -uh- chase away any hooligans that this it’s funny to drink and drive on -uh- Gravity Hill.”

“So I’m working the night shift? Fun.”

“Someone has to, last month someone tried to steal an urn from the Lilac Mausoleums. They broke the glass to the case but luckily it was cemented to the wall.”

Wren frowned, “Ouch, someone actually tried to do that?”

“Well,” Bob said, “It’s not so much as the cremains they were after, err- rather it was the urn itself. Lilac Mausoleum is one of the oldest crypts, like -uh- a century old or so, I think. Back then, they prided themselves in art so that urn is nothing but pure bronze. Already the crypt vases for the -er- flowers have been taken to be melted down for money by thieves.”

“Oh, that sucks, but it does make sense.” She could picture a cat burglar with a black mask on making off the property with a bag full of loudly clanking brass crypt vases. 

Bob continued, changing his voice tone to change the subject, “But the park has added security cameras to the entrance and finally some bars on top of the display window so you’re just going to be doing patrol duty is all. Mostly at . . . uh,” he paused as Wren could hear him shuffling through paperwork, and shuffle back a few pages when he remarked, “Had the info right here, ah found it. Yes, they are hiring the extra guard to watch over Canson Cemetery. Apparently Floral Estates has noticed that there’s been an increase of trespassers.” 

By now, Wren had the phone on speaker and laid it on the table, picking up her knitting to keep her hands busy. She was used to Bob’s excessive conversation and wondered how the other employees managed to listen to him ramble on for hours. The again, there had always been, without fail, a vacancy or two in the company now that Wren was thinking about it.

“When questioned upon being detained, the security guards noted that they have video cameras and the trespassers -uh- have admitted to trying to film a ghost or some paranormal event for their UView channels,” Bob had said.

“Oh yeah, I was just reading about it just now,” Wren chimed in, picking up the magazine she had forgotten on the table to read the previous article. “Yeah, right here, it says ‘Canson Cemetery rings in another century of Ghost stories.’“

“That’s it, but it seems they want to actually -uh- get into the mansion next door. But the cemetery is much more easier to access since it’s open to the public.”

Wren paused for a moment. “The what now?”

“A mansion. It’s a real nice looking house, too bad it was the scene of an awful murder, but I suppose the long history behind it may be enticing to some paranormal hunters as well. Anyways, we’ll talk more later.” As if he sense that Wren wanted to ask him something, he also added, “And yes, you can bring your robot with you. You will be working at night, so not many people will see him anyways.”

“Alright, thank you, Bob. I’ll make sure to get there on time then since you send me so dang far away. Alright good bye.” The security guard pouted slightly after she hung up, leafing through the pages of the magazine. “Mansion? How rich are these people there?” Not a few pages in, Wren finally found the grand house she assumed her boss was speaking of.

It is indeed a nice house, painted white with beautiful scroll ironwork balconies and at the entrance stood four tall columns that reminded her of a Greek temple. Mechanical servos whirled again lightly behind Wren and she could sense that the robot behind her was trying to look at the magazine as well. “I think this is it, Foxy. It says here . . .” she skimmed the paragraphs briefly, “Yup, ‘Site of unsolved death, but the steward of the home, Eugene Davis, has refused to comment about the story of the house. . . While the home appears immaculately clean on the outside, residents as well as visitors to Canson Cemetery report eerie energy that radiates from the mansion.’” 

The animatronic fox let out a huff. Wren agreed, “Well yeah, no duh, they’re in a graveyard. ‘Some people believe that the murder cursed the house. Jerry, who is a gardener at Canson, said “Yeah, I’ve worked here since ‘94. . . There’s also a private cemetery on that property. I don’t understand how that guy and his coworkers deals with the creeps”. . .’ And just a bunch of dudes talking about hearing screams at night and seeing . . .” Wren had to not only reread the last sentence, but she even held it up to her eyes to make sure she was reading it correctly. “. . . And seeing what appears to be ghosts standing by the road sticking out  thumb as if asking to hitch for a ride?’ OK, that’s a load of bull.”

However, Foxy continued to stare at the photo, as though he vaguely remembered it from somewhere before.

Deciding to arrive early, Wren’s tiny car pulled up into the newer addition of the cemetery. The office building and morgue sat in the same asphalt parking lot she was parked in.

Floral Estates Memorial Park had to be one of the largest cemetery in not only Canson, but rather the entire state of California. While the corporate name is fairly new, there had always been cemetaries that dotted the immediate hill area, with Canson being the oldest. But eventually when Floral Estates was established about 100 years ago, they took in a lot of the older and more historical plots under their care and just expanded their property from there.

The Sun was still hanging over the horizon, but she could see a security truck pull out of the back of the employee lot and start driving towards the park. No doubt they were getting a head start in going to the far back of the cemetery to clear out the visitors before the sunset. Wren sat back in her car, pulling out a burger from a paper fast food bag and took out her phone too.

The large, furry red fox was also sitting in the back of the car, his yellow eye that was not hidden under an eyepatch gazed out the car window to observe the people getting into their cars and leaving the park. Wren paused her internet browsing as she glanced back up at the corporate office as she realized something. She lifted her phone up to take a photo of the Floral Estates building in front of her car then proceed to post the photo on her social media profile, captioning the photo, “That awkward moment you’re eating lunch in front of a building full of dead people.” She smirked to herself. Though who were the dead people? The cadavers or the employees themselves? she thought to herself.

Suddenly, Foxy’s ears perked up and he lifted his head slightly, the movement caught Wren’s attention. An older man had parked his truck the next car over to Wren’s car, but as he got out and walked over to her he waved. “Ey, Wren, good to see you again.”

Aw crap, she thought, I forgot he worked here too. She put on a big smile on her face as she opened the door. “It’s good to see you too, Dale,” Wren answered back, stuffing her unfinished burger into the bag and got out of the car. “So you’re going to be my tour guide for tonight I take it?”  Wren felt slightly embarrassed that she forgot that he still worked for the company. Perhaps she could lie that she lost his contact number if he asked why she didn’t stay in contact with him, though she prayed that he wouldn’t.

“Something like that,” he replied with a shrug, “Hello to you too, Foxy. Say, no Skye?”

“Not tonight,” balancing the drink and bag in one hand, Wren opened the door for Foxy to climb out, then shut and locked the car. “I heard there was coyotes and mountain lions here, so I didn’t want her chasing them thinking she could be friends with them.

The mustached man nodded. “And wolves too, yeah, Foxy could handle them I bet. So you’re going to be with me and I’ll show you the lock up procedures. It’s very simple, just walk through the mausoleums, remind any visitors still hanging about that we are closed, then you lock the doors and that’s it.” Dale continued on as the three climbed into the truck, “And then after that, you just drive around for the rest of the shift and the morning crew will open up. I’ll show you around the park where you will be working at. It’s got a nice view of the valley.”

Some of the polished black headstones that laid on the ground caught a glint of sunlight, making the green hills glitter in gold as they drove by on the winding steep roads of the park. The thicket of trees cast long, dark shadows on the hill as they finally reached the crest and just as Dale said, it was a lovely view of Canson and perhaps all of Secret County below them. 

“Alright, this is your first stop. I like to start here, you get a good view of the lawn to see if there’s any visitors still remaining,” Dale started, getting Wren’s attention. “It’s a big mausoleum, but you just have one hallway you go straight down and that’s it.”

“And if , by the off chance, there’s someone who refuses to leave?”

“Eh, you just call one of us and we’ll come over. Jeff is usually close by. His lawn is Peony Peace lawn. Plus he claims that he has a good view of the lawns,” Dale replied, leading Wren and Foxy up to the entrance of the Mausoleum and held the glass door open for them to enter. 

It was one of the modern mausoleums, with floor to ceiling glass windows at the entrance and surrounding the columbariums. Through the glass windows, Wren could see the urn niches, some of them stuffed with photos of the deceased person inside propped up among stuffed animals, others with marathon or military medals proudly on display, and some with rosaries of their respective religion surrounding the urns. Soft piano music was playing over the speakers, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the sound of Foxy’s mechanical gears grinding and moving his legs forward. 

As the trio passed the first hall though, Wren felt a chilly breeze blew past them. She swore she heard a chuckle, like the voice was . . . . amused at seeing Foxy since it sounded like it was directed towards the robot. “What did you say, Dale?”

“Hmm?” he looked over at Wren, “I didn’t say anything.”

Wren looked up at the speakers; they were still playing soft classical music, so doubtful that they made that strange sound too. “Sorry, must have heard the music.”

Finally securing all the mausoleums, Dal brought Wren back to the Main parking lot where her car was, the Sun had fully set beyond the horizon and was giving way to the silver glow of the moon and the orange lamps of the streetlights. 

“And that’s about it,” he finished, putting the truck in park. “Then sometimes, I sit out here. . . Make sure no one tried to climb over the fence. But you can drive around and I’ll let someone else watch it for you.”

“I’ll do the watch, it gives me time to finish knitting this sweater I’ve been working on,” she offered, getting out of the car. “Thanks for showing me around, Dale. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“No problem! You be careful driving home, say hi to your dad for me!”

“Will do! Come on Foxy.” Foxy, who was now sitting in the bed of the truck, rose up and hopped over the side of the truck, making it rock from the sudden lack of weight as he made his way over to join Wren’s side. “Say, Dale, I forgot to ask,” Wren started when she paused her walk over to her car. “Is it true? I mean, I heard that there’s like this . . . mansion that people have been trying to get into?”

Dale rubbed his chin, “Mansion? Oh yeah, there is this mansion-er I believe it’s called Hightower Manor? Yeah, it’s over there west of this road. . .” He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “Say, you’re not trying to get inside too, are ya?”

She shook her head, “Oh no-no, it’s not that, I heard that is why I was assigned here. To help with the increase of trespassers here trying to get into that manor?”

“Hmm, yeah that's true. But I’ve seen these ‘ghost hunter’ trespassers in all the lawns and even properties I’ve worked at,” he shrugged, “That mansion is no different than the cookie factory I worked at before it got closed down for that shopping mall. Besides, it looks quite nice and there’s people who live there so I don’t think there’s nothing to worry about. Give it a year, people will forget about it and go elsewhere.”

“Right, well, it’s getting very late-I mean, early morning. Thank you again for showing me around,” Wren interrupted as she pulled back her sleeve on her jacket to dramatically look at her watch. It was only 1:30 in the morning, she had gone to bed on work nights way later than that, besides even on days off she would stay up almost all night long. Of course, now she had Foxy to blame, ever since the pizzeria had closed down sooner than scheduled, Wren was allowed to take Foxy’s internal hard drive from his old and heavily rusted animatronic body and replaced into a new animatronic frame. Needless to say, it was not a cheap thing to do and sometimes as Wren could hear him stalking around the house, she wondered if she had made a mistake bringing him home.

“Of course, I’ll get the gate for you.” He pulled away to park next to the gate as Wren helped Foxy get into the car. As she took her seat in the driver’s side, Wren looked over at the huge robot crouched in her backseat.

“What do you think? Should we drive by? Just to take a peek?” Foxy furrowed his brows and frown. Turning the key, Wren tried to convince him, “Oh, come on, I’m not going to stop, we’ll just drive by. Besides, Tasty Burger is in that direction I believe.” If he could sigh, surely he didn’t need to do so audibly as Foxy’s shoulder sloped down as if he did sighed and rolled his eyes in defeat. “Thanks Foxy-Loxy, you’re the best.”

The car puttered off of the cemetery lot and turned left on the road. Streetlights were placed so far apart, most of the road was almost pitch black with trees and bushes heavily lining one side of the road opposite of the cemetery property. No doubt it was to try to block the homeowners’ view of the cemetery and reminder of the inevitable just across the street. Soon the rolling tall hills with glinting flat headstone markers gave way to the taller, much more impressively ornate headstones and monuments that glowed an haunting white aura under the pale light of the moon and streetlamps. 

Finally, a tall brick wall severely cut off the field of tombstones and it was replaced with a huge lawn of grass, pruned shrubbery and trees. Wren slowed her car down to a coast and both she and Foxy craned their heads to get a look. There, sitting atop a hill as it almost on cue sat the mansion.

It appeared to be a fairly large home instead of the much giant castles that Hollywood stars of now live in, but this was surely the same home, Wren recognized the four distinct pillars that marked the entrance of the home. Unable to see much of the home due to how strangely dark the property was, Wren frown. “Hah, well Foxy, that was anticlimactic-”

She gasped as she turned her attention to the road. Wren slammed on the brakes and swerved into the next lane, then fishtailed back into her original lane before, with tires screeching, her car took a skidding slide across the entire road and finally came to a skidding halt in the shoulder of the opposing traffic lane. Thank God she was the only one in the road, she thought to herself, feeling her body running ice cold with the sudden adrenaline spike surging through her, gripping the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip.

Once the car had came to a complete stop, Foxy lift his head from his brace position and leered at Wren. She took noticed in the rear view mirror. “Hey now, don’t give me that look, Foxy! I just saw someone close to the street!”  

The petite woman placed her car in park and staggered out of the vehicle. She cursed under her breath as she walked over to the street, shining her flashlight down the road. “Alright jerk, where the hell. . . are . . . you?” Wren swept the light side to side down the road, but all she saw was the tire marks on the road that emitted the smell of burning rubber still. A glint suddenly flashed in the shadow of the bushes, making her step back. “What the-?”

“Miss! Hey, miss!” a voice called from behind. Wren turned to see she had stopped her car next to the gated entrance of none other than that of the grand house. There on the other side of the gate was an elderly-looking man, white hair stuck out in wild tufts from underneath his cap. He wore a green scarf around his skinny neck and his clothes and jacket just seem to hung off his hunched frame like it was one size too large for the man. “Are you alright? I-I heard the sound so I came over to see if I could help,” he stammered.

“I’m fine, just. . . just almost hit a deer or something,” she lied, looking over her shoulder at where the flashlight had caught that glint. whatever it was, it was gone now. She approached the man at the gate, getting a good look at his appearance and noticed he looked quite unnaturally gaunt. His cheeks sunken in his face and in his right hand, he held aloft an old-fashion oil lantern.

He sighed in relief. “Good, well I’m glad you are OK, miss. The roads are quite dangerous if you are not careful.”

“I now see that they are. Umm, thank you sir for checking on me, I’ll be leaving then.”

“Oh, alright,” the man said, watching her go back to her car. As Wern opened the door, he quickly called out, “You be careful now!” Wren gave him a wave as she reversed her car off the grassy shoulder and, once she was clear that no cars were coming down the road her way, drove back over to her side of the road. The mansion slowly fading from her view and into the darkness.

A few more seconds of feeling Foxy’s gaze of concern on the back of her head got Wren to finally answer him. “Yeah, I’m not really feeling like burgers tonight. Let’s . . .  Let’s just go home, Foxy.”

[pocthiccnessimagines]

Listening Party

Harry Styles // POC reader ~ Ed Sheeran // POC reader 

Written by A on 5/23/18

Warnings: None 

Plot: Harry setting up Ed and Y/N at Ed’s listening party/

*NOT my gif, but aren’t they so adorable. 

Y/N and Harry had been friends for ages. But he didn’t know that she had a huge crush on his best mate until a few weeks ago Y'all were playing drunk truth or dare and she just exposed herself and now Harry knew that she had a crush the size of the Pacific ocean on none other than Ed motherfuckin’ Sheeran. So Harry hatched this whole plan that Y/N knew nothing about. Ed was having an album release party and he would bring Y/N along and somehow get them alone together. Y/N forgot that she even told Harry about her crush because he didn’t bring it up ever since it had been revealed. 

Maybe he forgot? Maybe he was too drunk? Well, that was no skin off Y/N’s teeth if he had forgotten that means that he couldn’t tease her about. Y/N was chilling at her apartment when she got a text that Harry was coming over to tell her some good news. Texted him back: 

Door’s unlocked. 

She went back to her computer mixing some music that she had to do for an indie gaming company. She loved getting gigs like this because they gave her artistic freedom and she got play their games for free. The doors open not to long after she was finished mixing everything. “Hey Harry I’m in my room,” she calls. Harry walks into her room carrying tacos, sets them down on her end table and kisses her on the cheek then sits down on the seat beside her.

“Hey, Harry before you give me your good news can you listen to something for me real quick it’s for that game I was telling you about and I think I’m finally done with it but I’m not sure and you are really good at pointing me in the right direction. And just remember that this whole song is going to be laced within the game so some bites of it for the opening theme of the game then throughout and ending credit. They will cut and spice what they want for the game.” Y/N looks up at Harry with Y/E/C big doe eyes, he smirks and just nods. “Thanks so much, Harry”, she kisses his cheek.  

After listening Harry had so many questions about the upcoming game, under contract she wasn’t supposed to talk about it, but it was just Harry. “Well it’s an indie game that just recently to use the Pikachu character as a travel companion, but within the game someone is trying to steal your Pikachu because they are so rare and they believe that you have last living one so the whole jist is that your protect Pikachu and get across the board and complete challenges along the way. I’m not sure if I’m doing it the justice it deserves with me explaining it but it looks really cool. Anywho what’s the news?” 

“Well, one of my good mates is having a listening party and I think you’d like his music because you’re into singer-songwriter sounds. You wanna go? It’s tomorrow night if ya free.” Harry holds in his snicker as tomorrows event play in his head. “Yeah, sure sounds like my scene but aren’t listening parties usually intimate with close friends and other musicians. I don’t even know this per...” Yeah, well you’re my plus one,” Harry cuts her off before she can dig herself into a whole of self-doubt of being an important enough person to attend an event like this. She always does that, she makes amazing music yet still doubts herself as an artist. She just nods her head in defeat knowing that Harry wouldn’t take no for answer. 

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

Y/N looks herself over in the mirror again. She put on one of her Fashionnova Racer Neon Orange dresses and strappy black heels. 

She sported a more natural look for makeup, just some light foundation mascara, and some gloss. She then waited for Harry to come pick her up, not even 5 minutes later Harry knocked on the door. His jaw dropped, Y/N was looking amazing and well if she hadn’t played right into his plan to get her with Ed because she was wearing one of his fave colors. Harry shook himself out his stooper smiled at Y/N and opened his arm for Y/N to hold like she was royalty being walked into a ball. She giggled but humored him and took his arm and they walked to the car. 

What were the chances? When Harry turned to car back on one of Ed’s song from his previous record was playing on the radio, Y/N fidgeted for a moment then relaxed. The drive took only about 20 minutes, so they talked about up and coming projects for the both of them and what the did earlier in the day. Harry parked his car in the driveway, there weren’t many cars in the vicinity. Y/N looked around and frowned at Harry, “Where is everyone? Are we early?” she questioned. “He wanted to keep it small so most of the people are here and there are a few more coming,” he retorted.

 They got out and walked into the house. They walked into the living room and we met with boisterous voices and people milling around, drinking and munching on snacks. Harry told Y/N to wait in the living room while he went to go look for his friend to introduce Y'all. You stood off to the side near the CDs cabinet, you were too entranced with the amount and genres of the music that you didn’t even her Harry come back with Ed. Harry cleared his throat and Y/N whipped around and met 2 familiar faces, Harry and Ed. Y/N’s jaw dropped, but she quickly recouped and plastered a smile on her teeth. 

“Hi, Ed thanks for letting me come to your listening party,” Y/N said through partially gritted teeth. Her eyes roamed over to Harry and gave him a questioning look and a smug smirk lay across his face then she knew that he didn’t forget about the drunken confession of her feelings about Ed hadn’t gone forgotten. Ed speaks up, “Hey Y/N, long time no see and no problem you’re welcome ‘round anytime.” He reaches out for a hug and kisses her on the cheek. He holds her longer than is considered to be a friend hug but she doesn’t mind. 

By the time they release each other Harry is nowhere too be found, so they start talking. They find out that they have more in common than they think. Ed keeps looking at Y/N in an odd way their whole entire conversation, so Y/N wants to ask him about it ans she does. “Why do you keep looking at me like that? And don’t say like what youn know what way you are looking at me.” Ed bite his lip in thought trying to carefully choose his words before responding. “Well...,” he starts. “you just look amazing and you’re wearing my fave color, I apologize for my brashness but you look like a whole meal and your coconut and shea butter are intoxicating.” 

He leans away from Y/N waiting for her to respond with his cheeks tinted pink. He hopes he hasn’t been too forward with her. But whenever she’s around he can’t think straight. Ever since he met her he thought Y/N was fascinating, but they never had a moment together it was always fast meetings and an occasional hi or bye. After Harry told him that she was here and has the same feelings for him, he coudln’t wait to talk to her. 

“Harry told you didn’t he? That bugger, always meddling,” she says with a laugh. She hasn’t looked up at him yet she is staring at her hands. She takes a steady breath and looks up at him. All he does is nod and smiles. He moves to sit closer to her and takes her hand in his. “And I like you back, you goddess of a woman,” he says before intertwining their fingers together. 

Let me know what you think part 2 coming soon :) 

~A 

[araitsume]

The Acts of the Apostles, pp. 419-427: Chapter (39) The Trial at Caesarea

This chapter is based on Acts 24.

Five days after Paul's arrival at Caesarea his accusers came from Jerusalem, accompanied by Tertullus, an orator whom they had engaged as their counsel. The case was granted a speedy hearing. Paul was brought before the assembly, and Tertullus “began to accuse him.” Judging that flattery would have more influence upon the Roman governor than the simple statements of truth and justice, the wily orator began his speech by praising Felix: “Seeing that by thee we enjoy great quietness, and that very worthy deeds are done unto this nation by thy providence, we accept it always, and in all places, most noble Felix, with all thankfulness.”

Tertullus here descended to barefaced falsehood; for the character of Felix was base and contemptible. It was said of him, that “in the practice of all kinds of lust and cruelty, he exercised the power of a king with the temper of a slave.” —Tacitus, History, ch. 5, par. 9. Those who heard Tertullus knew that his flattering words were untrue, but their desire to secure the condemnation of Paul was stronger than their love of truth.

In his speech, Tertullus charged Paul with crimes which, if proved, would have resulted in his conviction for high treason against the government. “We have found this man a pestilent fellow,” declared the orator, “and a mover of sedition among all the Jews throughout the world, and a ringleader of the sect of the Nazarenes: who also hath gone about to profane the temple.” Tertullus then stated that Lysias, the commandant of the garrison at Jerusalem, had violently taken Paul from the Jews when they were about to judge him by their ecclesiastical law, and had thus forced them to bring the matter before Felix. These statements were made with the design of inducing the procurator to deliver Paul over to the Jewish court. All the charges were vehemently supported by the Jews present, who made no effort to conceal their hatred of the prisoner.

Felix had sufficient penetration to read the disposition and character of Paul's accusers. He knew from what motive they had flattered him, and he saw also that they had failed to substantiate their charges against Paul. Turning to the accused, he beckoned to him to answer for himself. Paul wasted no words in compliments, but simply stated that he could the more cheerfully defend himself before Felix, since the latter had been so long a procurator, and therefore had so good an understanding of the laws and customs of the Jews. Referring to the charges brought against him, he plainly showed that not one of them was true. He declared that he had caused no disturbance in any part of Jerusalem, nor had he profaned the sanctuary. “They neither found me in the temple disputing with any man,” he said, “neither raising up the people, neither in the synagogues, nor in the city: neither can they prove the things whereof they now accuse me.”

While confessing that “after the way which they call heresy” he had worshiped the God of his fathers, he asserted that he had always believed “all things which are written in the law and in the prophets;” and that in harmony with the plain teaching of the Scriptures, he held the faith of the resurrection of the dead. And he further declared that the ruling purpose of his life was to “have always a conscience void of offense toward God, and toward men.”

In a candid, straightforward manner he stated the object of his visit to Jerusalem, and the circumstances of his arrest and trial: “Now after many years I came to bring alms to my nation, and offerings. Whereupon certain Jews from Asia found me purified in the temple, neither with multitude, nor with tumult. Who ought to have been here before thee, and object, if they had aught against me. Or else let these same here say, if they have found any evil doing in me, while I stood before the council, except it be for this one voice, that I cried standing among them, Touching the resurrection of the dead I am called in question by you this day.”

The apostle spoke with earnestness and evident sincerity, and his words carried with them a weight of conviction. Claudius Lysias, in his letter to Felix, had borne a similar testimony in regard to Paul's conduct. Moreover, Felix himself had a better knowledge of the Jewish religion than many supposed. Paul's plain statement of the facts in the case enabled Felix to understand still more clearly the motives by which the Jews were governed in attempting to convict the apostle of sedition and treasonable conduct. The governor would not gratify them by unjustly condemning a Roman citizen, neither would he give him up to them to be put to death without a fair trial. Yet Felix knew no higher motive than self-interest, and he was controlled by love of praise and a desire for promotion. Fear of offending the Jews held him back from doing full justice to a man whom he knew to be innocent. He therefore decided to suspend the trial until Lysias should be present, saying, “When Lysias the chief captain shall come down, I will know the uttermost of your matter.”

The apostle remained a prisoner, but Felix commanded the centurion who had been appointed to keep Paul, “to let him have liberty,” and to “forbid none of his acquaintance to minister or come unto him.”

It was not long after this that Felix and his wife, Drusilla, sent for Paul in order that in a private interview they might hear from him “concerning the faith in Christ.” They were willing and even eager to listen to these new truths—truths which they might never hear again and which, if rejected, would prove a swift witness against them in the day of God.

Paul regarded this as a God-given opportunity, and faithfully he improved it. He knew that he stood in the presence of one who had power to put him to death or to set him free; yet he did not address Felix and Drusilla with praise or flattery. He knew that his words would be to them a savor of life or of death, and, forgetting all selfish considerations, he sought to arouse them to a sense of their peril.

The apostle realized that the gospel had a claim upon whoever might listen to his words; that one day they would stand either among the pure and holy around the great white throne, or with those to whom Christ would say, “Depart from Me, ye that work iniquity.” Matthew 7:23. He knew that he must meet every one of his hearers before the tribunal of heaven and must there render an account, not only for all that he had said and done, but for the motive and spirit of his words and deeds.

So violent and cruel had been the course of Felix that few had ever before dared even to intimate to him that his character and conduct were not faultless. But Paul had no fear of man. He plainly declared his faith in Christ, and the reasons for that faith, and was thus led to speak particularly of those virtues essential to Christian character, but of which the haughty pair before him were so strikingly destitute.

He held up before Felix and Drusilla the character of God—His righteousness, justice, and equity, and the nature of His law. He clearly showed that it is man's duty to live a life of sobriety and temperance, keeping the passions under the control of reason, in conformity to God's law, and preserving the physical and mental powers in a healthy condition. He declared that there would surely come a day of judgment when all would be rewarded according to the deeds done in the body, and when it would be plainly revealed that wealth, position, or titles are powerless to gain for man the favor of God or to deliver him from the results of sin. He showed that this life is man's time of preparation for the future life. Should he neglect present privileges and opportunities he would suffer an eternal loss; no new probation would be given him.

Paul dwelt especially upon the far-reaching claims of God's law. He showed how it extends to the deep secrets of man's moral nature and throws a flood of light upon that which has been concealed from the sight and knowledge of men. What the hands may do or the tongue may utter—what the outer life reveals—but imperfectly shows man's moral character. The law searches his thoughts, motives, and purposes. The dark passions that lie hidden from the sight of men, the jealousy, hatred, lust, and ambition, the evil deeds meditated upon in the dark recesses of the soul, yet never executed for want of opportunity—all these God's law condemns.

Paul endeavored to direct the minds of his hearers to the one great Sacrifice for sin. He pointed to the sacrifices that were shadows of good things to come, and then presented Christ as the antitype of all those ceremonies—the object to which they pointed as the only source of life and hope for fallen man. Holy men of old were saved by faith in the blood of Christ. As they saw the dying agonies of the sacrificial victims they looked across the gulf of ages to the Lamb of God that was to take away the sin of the world.

God justly claims the love and obedience of all His creatures. He has given them in His law a perfect standard of right. But many forget their Maker and choose to follow their own way in opposition to His will. They return enmity for love that is as high as heaven and as broad as the universe. God cannot lower the requirements of His law to meet the standard of wicked men; neither can man in his own power meet the demands of the law. Only by faith in Christ can the sinner be cleansed from guilt and be enabled to render obedience to the law of his Maker.

Thus Paul, the prisoner, urged the claims of the divine law upon Jew and Gentile, and presented Jesus, the despised Nazarene, as the Son of God, the world's Redeemer.

The Jewish princess well understood the sacred character of that law which she had so shamelessly transgressed, but her prejudice against the Man of Calvary steeled her heart against the word of life. But Felix had never before listened to the truth, and as the Spirit of God sent conviction to his soul, he became deeply agitated. Conscience, now aroused, made her voice heard, and Felix felt that Paul's words were true. Memory went back over the guilty past. With terrible distinctness there came up before him the secrets of his early life of profligacy and bloodshed, and the black record of his later years. He saw himself licentious, cruel, rapacious. Never before had the truth been thus brought home to his heart. Never before had his soul been so filled with terror. The thought that all the secrets of his career of crime were open before the eye of God, and that he must be judged according to his deeds, caused him to tremble with dread.

But instead of permitting his convictions to lead him to repentance, he sought to dismiss these unwelcome reflections. The interview with Paul was cut short. “Go thy way for this time,” he said; “when I have a convenient season, I will call for thee.”

How wide the contrast between the course of Felix and that of the jailer of Philippi! The servants of the Lord were brought in bonds to the jailer, as was Paul to Felix. The evidence they gave of being sustained by a divine power, their rejoicing under suffering and disgrace, their fearlessness when the earth was reeling with the earthquake shock, and their spirit of Christlike forgiveness, sent conviction to the jailer's heart, and with trembling he confessed his sins and found pardon. Felix trembled, but he did not repent. The jailer joyfully welcomed the Spirit of God to his heart and to his home; Felix bade the divine Messenger depart. The one chose to become a child of God and an heir of heaven; the other cast his lot with the workers of iniquity.

For two years no further action was taken against Paul, yet he remained a prisoner. Felix visited him several times and listened attentively to his words. But the real motive for this apparent friendliness was a desire for gain, and he intimated that by the payment of a large sum of money Paul might secure his release. The apostle, however, was of too noble a nature to free himself by a bribe. He was not guilty of any crime, and he would not stoop to commit a wrong in order to gain freedom. Furthermore, he was himself too poor to pay such a ransom, had he been disposed to do so, and he would not, in his own behalf, appeal to the sympathy and generosity of his converts. He also felt that he was in the hands of God, and he would not interfere with the divine purposes respecting himself.

Felix was finally summoned to Rome because of gross wrongs committed against the Jews. Before leaving Caesarea in answer to this summons, he thought to “show the Jews a pleasure” by allowing Paul to remain in prison. But Felix was not successful in his attempt to regain the confidence of the Jews. He was removed from office in disgrace, and Porcius Festus was appointed to succeed him, with headquarters at Caesarea.

A ray of light from heaven had been permitted to shine upon Felix, when Paul reasoned with him concerning righteousness, temperance, and a judgment to come. That was his heaven-sent opportunity to see and to forsake his sins. But he said to the messenger of God, “Go thy way for this time; when I have a convenient season, I will call for thee.” He had slighted his last offer of mercy. Never was he to receive another call from God.

[pinche-vida]

Stars in Your Eyes, Death at your Throat [part 5]

[Read on ao3] [first] [previous] [next]

The world is as disorienting as it has been the last few dozen times he has come to when Lance wakes up in a cold sweat. His muscles tense against the-

Sheets?

He moves the sheets that are comfortably draped over with his (free!) arm and recognizes that for the first time since this hellish turn of events, he's laying down in something reminiscent of a bed instead of strapped to a cold examiner's table.

Something (someone?) tuts and kneels beside his bed to wipe the sweat off his forehead. Lance opens his eyes and his vision is swimming. He forces it to focus on the person next to him.

Blurry blue lines fall into focus.

It's the general that attacked him.

There’s so much anger, so much fear coursing through his veins, Lance can’t tell if his blood is boiling or freezing. This monster attacked him in his sleep, kidnapped him, took him away from his family. They're the reason why he's been tortured for God knows how long.

The general rolls her eyes and grumbles “This is such glorp, why did I get stuck kit watching.” She tries not to complain out loud too much. Lotor had trusted her to keep an eye on his Altean prisoner - why Lotor had said it had to be done in one of his guest quarters was beyond her, but if he instructed her to do something, it had to have been for a good reason. She glances at Lance who's seething and she can see the bloodlust in his eyes. Unimpressed, she lightly press his shoulders to the bed. “Calm your little heart, Altean. You're safe.” She leaned back in her chair before adding, “for now, anyway.”

Lance's anger is far from gone, but the way she said that so factually is… confusing to say the least. “What are you talking about? I'm not Altean, I'm human!”

“Right," she mocks with a slow nod, "and my mother was a Balmeran.” She rolls her eyes, reaches blindly backwards, and grabs a hand mirror from a dresser behind her. She hands it to Lance who warily takes it to looks at his reflection.

He gasps. His fingers shake their way to his cheekbones, both marked with a swooping teal scale. They inch to his ears, now elongated and pointed, then to his hair (while still flawless) is completely silver. He finds himself staring into his eyes, which are still his beautiful ocean blue, but now have a lavender diamond shaped outline around his pupil.

He looks like Allura.

He looks Altean.

Even the most plausible reasoning he can think of leaves him sick to his stomach. Lance feels like his heart is beating so fast, it's going to shatter through his chest. He throws the mirror across the room as if it burned his hand and it bounces to the floor with a resounding crack.

The general uncrosses her legs and raises an eyebrow.  Whatever reaction she had expected, this clearly was not it. “H-hey,” she half-heartedly reaches out to him.

Lance pays no mind to her actions. Instead, he curls in on himself. He grabs fists full of his hair and tugs on it. “What- What did you do to me?” He repeats it, over and over again, “What did you do to me!” He screams. He tries to pull on his hair and his ears. He scratches at the marks on his cheekbones, hoping, praying it'll come off as a sick joke. It does nothing but send sharp, shooting pain across his face, but maybe he's not trying hard enough. Maybe if he sucks up the pain, he can scratch it off and look human again. Be Human again.

“What are you- are you crazy?!” The general leaps across his bed and grabs his wrists. Lance screeches for her to get off and feels terror creeping in his bones. He thinks of his mama y papa. His hermanitos, all waiting for him to come back safe and sound. He always knew how to explain a scar or even a missing limb, it's war, that's what happens in war. But this? He's not human anymore, he doesn't belong anymore. To the one place he's called home, to his family, to Voltron, to anywhere.

The tall pink general appears from the upper corner of the wall and rushes to crawl down next to him. “I got the straps Axca! It's okay little guy, it's gonna be alright!” She tries to soothe him as she restrains him, which Lance thinks would be hilarious if they hadn't just taken everything away from him.

Lance feels his wrists locks down to both sides of the bed, but still tries in vain to wrestle out of them. A few more attempts and he's reduced to erratic panting.

Axca sits back down in her seat to the right of Lance, where as the pink general has pulled up a seat to the left of him. “You could have come in a bit sooner, Ezor.”

The pink general, Ezor, sheepishly smiles, “Sorry! I thought you had it under control.”

His body is heavy with weariness and denial. Lance takes this moment to try to calm his breath and look around. While the two generals are watching him closely, he sees that the room he's in is more of a bedroom then a surgeon’s room or an interrogation area. It's painted and furnished with dark red and brown accents. Colors he frankly wasn't aware the Galra were knew existed outside of bodily fluids. The bed he's in is comfortable, plush, even. The bedroom is a decent size, it would be easy to fit in 7, maybe 8 people.

Axca clears her throat. He glares at her and see how uncomfortable she is, her eyes darting around the room. “For what it's worth, I… I’m sorry for attacking you as you slept. Prince Lotor wouldn't have sanctioned such a dishonorable or reckless abduction, but the mission came from above him.” If she thinks he’s acknowledging her half-ass apology, she was sorely mistaken. He didn't know what she expected from him; A smile? A 'no probs, I hated being human anyway, this is so much better’?

Ezor puts a hand on his bed and pats it softly, causing him to direct his attention her way. “Don't worry, buddy. If anyone can figure out what's going on, it's Prince Lotor!”

Axca hissed Ezor’s name out and gave her a pointed look.

The doors swish open and bring both generals to their feet.

Prince Lotor enters with his hand neatly tucked behind his back and stopping at the foot of Lance's bed.

“Hello Paladin, how are you feeling?”

Lance stares at the Galran Prince. “Are you serious?" He scoffs. "You kidnap me, torture me, shove your fucking hand in my gut, turn me into an Altean, and you ask me how I'm feeling? Go quiznak yourself!”

Axca visibly bristles and seethes out “How dare you speak t-”. Lotor places a disarming hand on her shoulder.

“Now, now, Axca.” He shakes his head as if teaching her how to care for a child, “Almost everything he said is true, he has a right to be upset.” Lotor turns back to Lance, “But I did not 'turn’ you into anything. You were and have always been an Altean. Judging by your hair and eyes, I would say probably more than that.”

“Bullshit,” Lance spits out, “Altean’s haven't existed in 10,000 years.”

Lotor leans his head to the side, contemplating his words. “Not… quite. While Altea was certainly destroyed approximately 10,000 deca-phebes ago, not all Altean's were lost. There were Altean's living outside of Altea, there were Altean's in orbit around the Galaxy. Our Druids are almost exclusively Altean. I, myself, am half Altean. Even your dear Princess managed to live.” Lotor sits at the base of Lance's bed, slowly removing the straps his generals fastened. “Unfortunately, we don't have the luxury to piece together how you came to be where you spent most of your time or how you didn't age. We cannot keep you here for long. In healing and studying your body, your human camouflage fell, revealing your Altean nature. Once the Druids saw you, they refused to touch you any further. Word of this inevitably reached the Witch and when she saw you with her own eyes she ran to inform my father. Unsurprisingly, she left his chamber's shortly after, arriving with the decree for your execution.”

Lance felt his heart skip a beat. “Whu… what? Execution? You just said that Alteans are still around! Why does that mean I get executed?”

“It’s to be expected.” Lotor simply states. “The Galra empire still harbor animosity to the Altean's Kingdom for ordering the destruction of Daibazaal. If we had Princess Allura in our possession, the order would be the same.”

After all the pain and suffering he’s felt over since being taken, Lance is ashamed to feel tears prick the corners of his eyes, “But I'm not Princess Allura!”

Sentry drones enter the room and Lance sees all three half-Galrans tense up.

“The High Priestess demands the prisoner is brought to his holding cell.” One of the drones vocalizes.

The sentries approach his bed and Lotor stands up. “No,” he concedes, “but you are Royalty.” They make their way to the door and leave with a final message. “Believe it or not, My father and I have different ideas, I'll do what I can for you. From one prince to another.” He pauses, at the door’s threshold. “I would not be surprised if your team is able to access our communication channel for the event - you may wish to use that time to make your peace.”

The sentries roughly grab Lance out of the bed and drag him to the hall in the opposite direction of the Prince.

They throw him into a small cell in what must be their holding cells and slam the door behind him. The floor is cold and damp, but Lance can’t bring himself to stand or even sit. So many thoughts were bombarding his mind, that it all just felt like a storm was pushing and pulling him in every direction.

Lance has always prided himself in having good judge of character and being able to read people - it’s what allowed him to be as social as he was.

And as much as he wanted to deny it, or chalk it up to some crazy Galra experiment, he could tell Lotor wasn’t lying.

Altean and a Prince.

Even he can put two and two together.

If he wasn’t about to die, he’d be more than a little grossed out with how much he hit on his (older? younger?) sister, but that’s probably the wrong thing to focus on right now.

There’s also no real point to wonder why the same guy that spent the last whatever pheobs torturing him would even bother being so nice to him all of a sudden, even though it’s clear what his brief appear meant. Lotor didn’t specify when the execution was, but if he went so far out of his way to get Lance that comfy room, it must be right around the corner. Lance crawls to the bench/bed of the left side of the room and uses it to pull himself up.

He sighs.

His hope has just about depleted, but there’s no time to resign to it. If they’re going to make a show of his death, he need to prepare himself.

The bench is bumpy, hard and unforgiving, and exactly what he needs to focus. Lance thinks back to when Allura shapeshifted to look like a Galra. He doubts he could get that good in such a short amount of time, but at the very least…

He grabs a lock of silver hair dangling over the end of his brow. He focuses (on what, he’s not exactly sure), until there is the tiniest sensation tugging up his spine to the base of his neck. Pushing, harder to channel that feeling, he smiles - a genuine smile, when he sees the bit of hair wash over in the comforting brown hue he’s used to seeing.

It wasn’t a lot, but in time like these, any victory is a good victory.

Lance sighs, and nods to himself.

They can kill him all they’d like, he’s going to make sure he can’t die.

(That's a good line, he's definitely going to use that.)

[janeykath318]

[ramajmedia]

Olivia Colman’s 10 Best Acting Roles | ScreenRant

In the last ten years, actress Olivia Colman has shot up from a recognizable and talented British actress to a still very talented household name. Her roles in wildly successful productions like Broadchurch, Fleabag, and The Favourite have left her with 67 award wins and a further 47 nominations. She never shies away from unflattering or dark parts, but she is equally capable of charm and hilarity. Though she’s been acting for ages, her career has no where to go but up. Here are her ten best roles…so far. 

Of course, her first season playing Queen Elizabeth II on The Crown is coming out this fall, so we’ll see where on this list it falls. 

RELATED: Jack Nicholson's 10 Most Iconic Roles, Ranked

10 PC Doris Thatcher — Hot Fuzz (2007)

Police Constable Doris Thatcher is the only female police officer in the Sanford Police Service. She frequently makes sexual innuendos, which can be interpreted as an easy joke about her promiscuity or an attempt to fit in with the rest of the police boys club. She is a hero in the end.

Hot Fuzz is one of Olivia Colman’s earlier roles. Big fans of Colman love to return to this movie as Colman’s “roots,” and celebrate that the woman who played the silly and sole female police officer in this movie went on to be lauded with an Oscar, two Golden Globes, and three BAFTAs, among others. 

9 Hotel Manager — The Lobster (2015)

In a dystopian future, single people are put into a hotel and have to fall in love 45 days or be turned into an animal. If they hunt single people (“loners”) they can have time added to their stay.

This absurdist dystopian dark comedy from Yorgos Lanthimos was the first time that Olivia Colman worked with the director. She played the Hotel Manager, who gave the guests instructions and delivered advice that seems absurd on its face but is wise within the world of the movie. The whole movie is an acquired taste, but if you focus on Colman’s performance you’ll be rewarded with an amazing performance.

8 Hannah — Tyrannosaur (2011)

In this brutal drama directed and written by Paddy Considine, Olivia Colman plays Hannah, a Christian charity shop worker. She encounters Joseph, a man who is followed by destruction and turmoil at every turn. As his life spirals downward, Hannah attempts to help him. But it turns out she’s hiding a secret of her own. 

Colman’s performance as Hannah honestly portrays the ways an abuse survivor can be alternately broken and furious, then in the next breath be kind and compassionate. She seems to be the only sympathetic moral compass in the movie, so when she takes her life into her own hands, her fate feels cruel and unfair.

7 Sally Owen — Twenty Twelve (2011-2012)

In this serial comedy, Olivia Colman plays Sally Owen, a member of the team who must organize the 2012 Olympics in London. Of course, they face many challenges along the way, including an equestrian controversy, a boycott, and cultural issues. The comedy is deadpan, more satire than joking. 

Colman is hilarious in her role as the P.A. to Ian Fletcher, the head of the team who she secretly carries a (dare we say, Olympic-sized) torch for. Naturally, Colman steals every scene she’s in.  Even though this show has gone largely unnoticed in the US, it was very popular in the UK. It’s no wonder she was nominated for a BAFTA for her part.

6 Sue Brown — Accused (2010-2012)

In Accused, an anthology crime drama created by Jimmy McGovern, 10 lives hang in the balance. Each episode follows a different character who awaits trial for a crime they were accused of. A few characters show up more than once, but the stories are largely unrelated.

RELATED: 10 Shows to Watch if You Like Fargo

Olivia Colman shows up in only one episode, but she was so powerful in it that she won a BAFTA for Best Supporting Actress for her part. She plays Sue Brown, who runs a hair salon on her friend Mo Murray. Sue’s son Sean is shot on behalf of a gang, which breaks her heart. The crime is made the more horrible when she learns who committed it, and who has been covering it up.

5 Hope Slaughter — Them That Follow (2019)

This visceral character-study set deep in Appalachia explores the people who believe in handling deadly snakes that prove their devotion to God—and their worthiness as a follower. On the day of her wedding, a young woman reveals that she has a secret that could tear the community apart. 

The movie received middling reviews, but everyone agrees that it was the performances from the cast, especially Olivia Colman as Hope, that saved it. She plays a woman who is deeply religious in a sect of Christianity that is generally derided, but she side-steps the general accusations of “crazy” to portray a deeply empathetic and loving woman.

4 Angela Burr — The Night Manager (2016-)

This British TV show is based on a John le Carré novel of the same name. The first season was directed by Susanne Bier; a second season is forthcoming. Alongside Olivia Colman stars Tom Hiddleston, Hugh Laurie, David Harewood, Tom Hollander, and Elizabeth Debicki. It’s suspenseful, intelligent, and an impressive addition to the canon of spy movies and shows.

RELATED: 10 Fantasy Shows Like Outlander

Colman plays Angela Burr, an intelligence operative who recruits soldier-turned-hotel-night-manager Jonathan Pine (Tom Hiddleston) to infiltrate White Hall and Washington D.C. She is intelligent and tenacious as she orchestrates a mission to take down an arms dealer (Hugh Laurie). She was nominated for an Emmy and won a Golden Globe for her performance. 

3 DS Ellie Miller — Broadchurch (2013-2017)

Olivia Colman’s second time around playing a police officer is a much more serious and dramatic portrayal. The crime drama, which focused on one case per season (as opposed to the one case per episode procedurals), is about as good as drama gets. She plays opposite David Tennant, whom at first she resents for coming in and stealing the promotion that was rightfully hers, and eventually comes to respect and befriend.

Colman as Ellie Miller is so loyal, committed, and welcoming that it’s easy to want to be her friend. Though Tennant’s Alec Hardy is technically the boss who leads the case, it’s Colman’s performance as DS Miller that sets the standard for the show.

2 Godmother — Fleabag (2016-2019)

Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s two series of Fleabag, which follow the life of a sex-addicted woman coming to terms with two recent tragedies, is a dark, hilarious, and ultimately wonderfully redemptive. 

RELATED: Fleabag: 10 Times Godmother was The Worst

Olivia Colman’s role in it is as the nasty Godmother, who inserts her selves into the lives of Fleabag, her sister Claire, and Dad after their mother dies. She is catty and manipulative and selfish—honestly, the worst. But Colman’s performance is a delight, and anytime she’s on screen you can’t tear your eyes away. It’s not ranked as one of her “known for” performances on IMDb yet, but we expect it to float to the top soon.

1 Queen Anne — The Favourite (2018)

Olivia Colman plays the English Queen Anne, a woman whose health has grown frail and is crumbling under the pressure of her role and her life. After 18 miscarriages and the death of her husband, she has become slightly unbalanced and incapable, which is a perfect moment for the conniving Lady Sarah to rule in her stead.

For many, this is Olivia Colman’s best performance (so far). It’s the one that’s earned her the most award nominations and her only Oscar (for now). She’s brilliant in it—alternately repulsive and sympathetic, someone you want to hug and someone you want to shake. 

NEXT: 10 Best Historical Dramas To Stream on Netflix

source https://screenrant.com/olivia-colman-best-acting-roles/

[poorquentyn]

Thanks for the great blog - always a pleasure to read. Was Euron always planning to go to Oldtown? The facts underlying the Eldritch Apocalypse theory (which I love!) would seem to suggest he's had his eye on it for a while, but as recently as taking the Shield Islands, it seemed like his original plan was to sail to Essos. Did the plan significantly change after pushback from the ironborn, or did he simply reshuffle his agenda items and go to Oldtown earlier than he had initially planned?

(TWOW spoilers)

Euron’s initial plan was indeed to approach Dany personally. Perhaps his comment on how the Ironborn’s preference of grapes over dragons altered that plan is meant, like Littlefinger’s aside on how Cersei’s failures have forced him to sacrifice his “four or five quiet years to plant some seeds and allow some fruits to ripen,” as a direct comment from GRRM on how abandoning the five year gap changed the story. Euron might’ve been supposed to return to Essos himself for Dany at some point in the writing process, but the trajectory we’ve got given Sam V AFFC, the visions of Euron that pop up in ADWD, and of course “The Forsaken” works perfectly well on its own. 

Once his followers resisted and he decided to dispatch Victarion and the Iron Fleet to Slaver’s Bay instead, Euron found himself in a position not unlike Aegon’s on the opposite coast: in need of a conquest he could brandish before his men and use as a base of operations while awaiting the silver queen and her dragons. The Griffs went with Storm’s End; at the end of AFFC, it’s revealed that the Crow’s Eye chose Oldtown.

The most perilous part of the voyage was the last. The Redwyne Straits were swarming with longships, as they had been warned in Tyrosh. With the main strength of the Arbor’s fleet on the far side of Westeros, the ironmen had sacked Ryamsport and taken Vinetown and Starfish Harbor for their own, using them as bases to prey on shipping bound for Oldtown.

“Battle here,” said Xhondo. “Not so long.”

“Who would be so mad as to raid this close to Oldtown?”

Xhondo pointed at a half-sunken longship in the shallows. The remnants of a banner drooped from her stern, smoke-stained and ragged. The charge was one Sam had never seen before: a red eye with a black pupil, beneath a black iron crown supported by two crows.

“It grieves me that honest men must suffer such discourtesy, but sooner that than ironmen in Oldtown. Only a fortnight ago some of those bloody bastards captured a Tyroshi merchantman in the straits. They killed her crew, donned their clothes, and used the dyes they found to color their whiskers half a hundred colors. Once inside the walls they meant to set the port ablaze and open a gate from within whilst we fought the fire.Might have worked, but they ran afoul of the Lady of the Tower, and her oarsmaster has a Tyroshi wife. When he saw all the green and purple beards he hailed them in the tongue of Tyrosh, and notone of them had the words to hail him back.”

Sam was aghast. “They cannot mean to raid Oldtown.”

The captain of the Huntress gave him a curious look. “These are no mere reavers. The ironmen have always raided where they could. They would strike sudden from the sea, carry off some gold and girls, and sail away, but there were seldom more than one or two longships, and never more than half a dozen. Hundreds of their ships afflict us now, sailing out of the Shield Islands and some of the rocks around the Arbor. They have taken Stonecrab Cay, the Isle of Pigs, and the Mermaid’s Palace, and there are other nests on Horseshoe Rock and Bastard’s Cradle. Without Lord Redwyne’s fleet, we lack the ships to come to grips with them.”

“What is Lord Hightower doing?” Sam blurted. “My father always said he was as wealthy as the Lannisters, and could command thrice as many swords as any of Highgarden’s other bannermen.”

“More, if he sweeps the cobblestones,” the captain said, “but swords are no good against the ironmen, unless the men who wield them know how to walk on water.” 

“The Hightower must be doing something.”

“To be sure. Lord Leyton’s locked atop his tower with the Mad Maid, consulting books of spells. Might be he’ll raise an army from the deeps. Or not. Baelor’s building galleys, Gunthor has charge of the harbor, Garth is training new recruits, and Humfrey’s gone to Lys to hire sellsails. If he can winkle a proper fleet out of his whore of a sister, we can start paying back the ironmen with some of their own coin. Till then, the best we can do is guard the sound and wait for the bitch queen in King’s Landing to let Lord Paxter off his leash.”

The bitterness of the captain’s final words shocked Sam as much as the things he said. If King’s Landing loses Oldtown and the Arbor, the whole realm will fall to pieces, he thought as he watched the Huntress and her sisters moving off.

Euron and Aegon are parallels in many respects: the most significant new characters introduced in AFFC and ADWD respectively, they’re unexpected claimants who shake up the war by hijacking the story elements of the more well-established characters, particularly Dany. Of course, Euron’s motives are rather different from Aegon’s. The former has no interest in sustainable rule, so the Whispering Sound is less a rallying point for coalition-building like Storm’s End than a staging ground for his “sea of blood.” Moqorro, Melisandre, and Damphair have all seen visions of that unholy tide (Mel’s pointing at the Oldtown area specifically), and indeed it seems from “The Forsaken” that the Redwyne fleet is being set up as the climax to the mass blood sacrifices committed by Euron’s men. Basically, in the wake of his men and perhaps the author’s rewrites changing his plan, Euron’s now out to power up before his dragon arrives. 

And Oldtown, my favorite setting in the world of ice and fire, makes perfect sense as the ground zero for Euron’s apocalypse. Just as his eyepatch covers up the Crow’s Eye, his Pirate King performance shielding his C’thuloid soul, Oldtown’s public face as a prosperous port city home to thriving institutions only just barely covers up what this place really is. It’s a “hinge of the world,” an eldritch city, the closest thing to a Westerosi Asshai; all the lofty monuments to the “overproud,” from the Faith to the Citadel to the Hightowers, are undercut and undergirded by tentacled roots as big as trees. Oldtown is The Death of Dragons and the Faceless Man trying to steal it. Leyton and Malora get it, but they’re thought mad, and have cut themselves off from the city’s defenses at this point. Marwyn the Mage gets it…

“The grey sheep have closed their eyes, but the mastiff sees the truth. Old powers waken. Shadows stir. An age of wonder and terror will soon be upon us, an age for gods and heroes.”

The Mage was not like other maesters. People said that he kept company with whores and hedge wizards, talked with hairy Ibbenese and pitch-black Summer Islanders in their own tongues, and sacrificed to queer gods at the little sailors’ temples down by the wharves. Men spoke of seeing him down in the undercity, in rat pits and black brothels, consorting with mummers, singers, sellswords, even beggars.

“Who do you think killed all the dragons the last time around? Gallant dragonslayers armed with swords?” He spat. “The world the Citadel is building has no place in it for sorcery or prophecy or glass candles, much less for dragons.”

…but he skipped town. (And is also widely thought mad.) Alongside dragons and krakens, Damphair saw a sphinx bowing to Big Brother, and such is the face the Citadel shows to the world:

The gates of the Citadel were flanked by a pair of towering green sphinxes with the bodies of lions, the wings of eagles, and the tails of serpents.

So not only is Oldtown the absolute perfect kindling for Euron’s particular fire, but he’s also the payoff for the setup regarding the Citadel. The grey sheep are certain they’ve built a world without magic, but they’re wrong and the Mage and the Mad Maid are right, because the Crow’s Eye is coming. Oldtown is where he finally tears off the mask and jumps:

“Perhaps we can fly. All of us. How will we ever know unless we leap from some tall tower?” The wind came gusting through the window and stirred his sable cloak. There was something obscene and disturbing about his nakedness. “No man ever truly knows what he can do unless he dares to leap.”