#admittedly with breaks. but christ alive woman.

[diarylikepurposes]

The crazy thing is you can tell your mother "that is fucked up. You got fucked over. What they did was wrong and it hurt you specifically. You are right to be upset" like 6 times and she will nonetheless continue to make her case to you, and explain what happened and why it was wrong, over and over, for several more hours!

[animepopheart]

Wonder Egg Priority, Episode 11: “The Temptation of Death”?

Wonder Egg Priority is a beautiful, uncomfortable, moving and confusing series that starts out engaging all the things we don’t talk about—self-harm, abuse, rape, bullying, gender dysmorphia, and homosexuality, to name a few. Our silence and blindness to these issues have a weight and pressure to them, and WEP shows how this reinforces the isolation and hopelessness of the young women of the “eggs” who turn to suicide for relief. The first ten episodes have been exhilarating and exhausting alike.

And then there is Episode 11. This past week, the series took a bit of a turn, leaning hard into the sci-fi-philosophical, with appearances from Greek gods, a murderous artificial intelligence, and really, really disturbing insect girls, one of whom, despite being a brutal killer, is apparently a vegetarian. Has the show gone off the rails? Has it lost its way in departing from the familiar procedural approach of engaging a differing social or mental health issue with each episode?

Such a critique is perfectly legit, but before you write off the penultimate episode of WEP, just hear me out on why the abstract, meta turn in episode 11 may just be the most valuable thing this series has to offer so far.

Before we begin though, a little recap of what we learned this week. In episode 10, we hear the eggheads, Acca and Ura-Acca, discuss the need for warriors of Eros to battle Thanatos. This is our first hint that things are about to get lore-full and maybe a bit weird. Eros and Thanatos are of course gods in the ancient Greek pantheon, Eros being the god of love, and Thanatos, of non-violent death. Within the first minute or so of episode 11, it’s clear that the eggheads’ hope is now focused on Ai becoming the long-awaited warrior. At this point though, rather than continuing with Ai’s story, the episode shifts into flashback mode and we are finally introduced to the villain, an artificial intelligence created by the eggheads back when they were still human. Their lives gradually come to revolve around her: She is the fulfillment of their obsession to create life, and she is good.

Frill is associated with hydrangeas, which symbolise heartlessness and pride in Japanese flower language. But is it her heartlessness and pride, or that of her makers?

(Atelier Emily has done an outstanding series of posts on the flowers in WEP. Check it out!)

Only, it turns out she doesn’t play so nice when others join the happy family. After killing Acca’s wife, and putting the life of the unborn baby at risk, the AI—who named herself Frill—is unrepentant, all traces of her seeming humanity now revealed to be illusory, a mere affectation. Acca locks her away in a hole in the cellar. Years pass. The baby, Himari, grows up and is a ray of sunshine. But after effectively confessing to her ‘uncle’ (why does anime always do this?), she commits suicide. Ura-Acca discovers that Frill is still very much alive and active from her hole in the cellar, having powered up all the discarded monitors and laid down reams of electrical cables—to what end, we do not yet know. Though Ura-Acca surmises that she has somehow influenced Himari to take her own life. How else would the girl have known about Ura-Acca’s admiration for her mother? Where else would she have learned to make what will forever be to me now that uncannily sinister popping sound?

Here’s where it gets weirder. Unlike the suicides of subsequent egg girls, there is no indication that Himari, Frill’s apparent first victim, struggled with any mental health or other issues that would motivate her to take her own life. Indeed, her ‘uncle’ did not even reject her confession. (Again anime, why you do this thing?) Instead, the eggheads explain Himari’s suicide as being on account of the “temptation of death.” What now?

This is implying that death is somehow attractive, not just to someone facing overwhelming brokenness, trauma or pain, like the egg girls we’ve met so far, but to someone on the verge of stepping from a (relatively) happy childhood into young adulthood, with the promise of potential love to look forward to; someone who has not known suffering, but rather only smiles and cake. (To be fair, it is always possible that she experienced trauma in the womb, or was more deeply affected by her father’s sadness than Ura-Acca’s memories belie.)

That’s my question too, Ai.

The notion of death as somehow attractive or even beautiful is rather alien to Western culture. Certainly, there will always be some who romanticize death, à la star-crossed lovers (Shakespeare, I’m looking at you). But in general, Western culture views death as something ugly and frightening, something to avoid until it is staring you directly in the face, and even then, closing your eyes in denial is a perfectly reasonable response. Death is one of those things we don’t talk about. In my experience, Anglo-American culture is not very good at even mourning death. We lack the grieving rituals and observances of other cultures, and instead seek to confine death to the sealed, sanitized spaces of hospitals, care homes, and funeral parlors. We keep it shrouded tightly in silence. How could there ever be anything like the “temptation of death”? How could we ever consider death to be something desirable? Are the eggheads or CloverWorks simply aestheticising suicide and death here to make it sound deep and philosophical?

No, I don’t think that’s it. Instead, Acca and Ura-Acca are doing what all good researchers do—and indeed what all Christians, as believers in an unseen spiritual reality, are also called to do: They are looking more deeply into phenomena that seem, on the surface, to already be explained. The two idol fans were consumed with their obsession, so when their idol killed herself, they followed suit. The young woman whose identity was wrapped up in her own appearance ended her life to preserve her beauty. The abused gymnast saw no way out, no hope in ever living free from torment. Some explanations may be more sympathetic than others, but they all possess their own internal logic. Contemporary society is full of a vast array of pressures and stresses and each one, taken to breaking point, can result in death. Case closed. This might very well be our conclusion from the first ten episodes.

Only the case isn’t closed. Because there is a question that has pervaded every episode until now, but has remained unspoken: How is it that death could even become an option for the egg girls? Why does reaching a breaking point trigger suicide? What made death seem like a savior to these girls? This is the question that episode 11 tackles, in its own admittedly obscure way. The eggheads are focused on the underlying, deeper reality that unites all the eggs’ stories, as disparate as they are—the common thread, which is the idea that death is a release, a rescue, a beautiful ending, and as a result, it is tempting.

“But we wondered if there could be another push that drove them to suicide,” explains Ura-Acca.

This is a really important question for us to be asking. Because it’s not just these traumatized, vulnerable girls who fall for the seduction of death. We do, too.

Just ponder for a moment: Have you ever anticipated how wonderful it will be when, in heaven, you no longer struggle with that particular temptation? When your temper is no longer so short, when you’re not afraid of being hurt anymore? Or maybe you think about how one day, on those gold-paved streets, you won’t have to worry anymore. All your hard work coping and just keeping it together will finally pay off and you’ll cross that finish line and heave a sigh of relief, knowing that you made it in the end. Have you ever contemplated these kinds of things? I know I have.

But here’s the thing: When I expect my liberation to come only after I die and not right here, right now, then it is not Jesus who is my savior, but death. I am waiting for death to free me from temptation and sin and fear and brokenness, and usher me into eternal life. I make Thanatos my god.

The temptation of death is not limited to the drastic act of suicide, but also permeates all the accusations and fears that inspire us to put off living the fullness of life in Christ here and now. It’s the temptation to believe that it is death that will ultimately solve the more difficult and painful problems in life.

Acca and Ura-Acca seek to create a love that suits their ideals, just to relieve their stress.

The source of this “temptation of death” in Wonder Egg Priority is Frill, the AI. That is, a man-made, artificial version of love—with ai meaning “love” in Japanese. According to Ura-Acca, they made her “just for fun,” as a way of dealing with the stress of their enclosed lives. They designed her to suit their preferences, to make it easier to love her and forget that she was artificial. In this sense, Frill is the fruit of their self-centeredness, her every characteristic designed to satisfy their own ideals of how a daughter and woman should be. And this artificial love born of selfishness brings death into their midst and beyond, spreading it through the horrendous deformities of girlhood that she in turn creates, in imitation of her fathers. (Only perhaps her creations are less deceptive than theirs, wearing their monstrosity plainly on the outside…)

Frill’s creations. We’ve met Dash (right) and Dot (center), but who is that on the left? And is her name Morse??

To counter her destructive influence, Acca and Ura-Acca need true love, a genuine love. They need Ai, a messy, at times very weak human being, but one who nevertheless is willing to fight to live up to her name and maybe, just maybe, become a warrior of Eros.

There is also a deep, underlying force at work in our world, one that connects all despair and the actions born of it. A wide range of social issues, traumas and mental health challenges can and do trigger suicide, but they do not explain it fully. The deeper reality is the existence of an enemy who seeks to manipulate us into believing our true savior can only be death, whether it is right away by our own hand, or more subtly, decades from now by natural causes. But this is a lie, and it is one that we can combat. Just as I’m sure we’ll see in the final episode that Ai is equipped to wage the coming battle in WEP, so too are we armed, here and now, with the power to overwhelm the enemy’s “temptation of death”—we possess already the words of life, given to us by our true savior.

Jesus began his ministry with a public announcement that he had come to heal heart wounds, comfort those in pain, fill broken lives with beauty, and wrap those in despair with reasons to praise like a warm protective blanket, so that they might celebrate with joy once again. He came to bring freedom to prisoners and captives alike, giving a fresh new life to those locked up because of deeds done wrong, and those punished and injured at the hands of others. He came to take the outcasts, the weak, the traumatized and broken and transform them into mighty oaks, clean and strong; into people with the vision and skill and compassion and fortitude to rebuild a broken world (Isaiah 61:1-4, Luke 4:18),

He came to rewrite and restore our experience of life here on earth, and through us, to redeem our communities, cities, nations, and the world. God does not withhold the fullness of life from us until we finally make it to him in heaven. No, instead he moved heaven and earth to get right up close so that he could pour his own life out into us, even going so far as to breathe his very spirit into our hearts and bodies and minds. We don’t need to wait for death’s rescue—our hero has already come. But we do need to remind each other and ourselves of this truth pretty often, and let it work down deep into all the cracks and bruises in our souls until it strengthens all our weak spots.

In Deuteronomy 30:19, God tells the Israelites that he has given them the authority to choose between life and death. But he also tips the balances in their favor, urging them to choose life. In Jesus, he comes to tip the balances even further, making it possible for us to step into eternal life here and now, immediately and forever. So let’s do it. Each day, through each struggle we face. Let’s choose life and not death.

Warrior of love? And is Ai’s himawari (sunflower) related to Himari somehow?

Join me (in spirit) for the final episode on Tuesday to see Ai’s love triumph! (At least, I really really hope that’s what happens!)

[hysterialevi]

Eitr | Chapter 9

Fanfic summary: In an alternate universe where the Raven Clan is wiped out, Sigurd ends up being rescued by the son of a Saxon ealdorman, and is tasked with being the boy’s new bodyguard. Upon meeting the boy’s father however, Sigurd soon realizes that the ealdorman is responsible for his clan’s destruction, and secretly plans for revenge while hiding behind the guise of a Norse pagan turned Christian.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male OC

Author’s note: Real quick, I just wanna say thanks for all the kind messages/comments you guys have been sending me on tumblr and AO3. I really enjoy writing this fic, and it makes it all the better when I know you’re enjoying it too. So thanks again for the support. Means the world to me <3

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

FORANGAL CASTLE

THE DINING HALL

“I’m afraid there’s no shortage of Danes in Wedenscire, Aegenwulf.” Raedan said as the two conversed across the table. “Over these past few weeks, I’ve been seeing more and more of them crawling all over the place. It’s almost as if they’re migrating like a bloody flock of birds. It makes you wonder whether these Danes are local, or if they come from somewhere else.”

Aegenwulf took a sip from his goblet. “No Dane is local to England, my friend. They are all invaders; all outsiders.”

Bishop Hundwerth raised his cup in agreement. “Very true, my lord.”

Raedan furrowed his brow. “Well, unfortunately, regardless of wherever they may hail from, it seems that the Northmen have planted their roots rather deeply in our lands. I doubt they’ll be leaving anytime soon.”

“Any ideas on how to get them out?”

The thegn shrugged. “You know the vikings as well as I do. Those bastards are as fierce in political dialogue as they are in war. It won’t be easy to drive them out of this kingdom. The only language they understand is battle.”

“Then we would do well to keep our tongues as sharp as our blades.”

Lady Moira joined in. “Please, Raedan. Save the discussions of politics for the war room, and let us enjoy this meal that Aegenwulf’s people have been kind enough to prepare for us. We’ve all had a long journey, and I think we’d like a moment to rest.”

Her husband stepped down from his conversation, letting out a sigh. “Ah... forgive me, my love. My head is filled to the brim with warfare nowadays. I fear I have forgotten how to engage in casual chatter. But you’re right. We’ll have plenty of time to worry about all that later. For now, let us feast on this fine food that they’ve lain out for us before I become some bare-chinned ponce.”

The ealdorman chuckled. “Still the same Raedan, even after all these years.” He raised his goblet. “To your health, old friend.”

Raedan smiled warmly at that. “Thank you.” 

Clinking their cups together, the two Saxons engaged in a friendly toast and downed the rest of their drinks, merrily enjoying each other’s company.

Meanwhile, Edric and the twins sat at the other end of the table and talked with Moira and her children, sticking to their own conversation as the food slowly vanished from their plates. 

The gathering wasn’t quite as riveting as Edric would’ve liked, and Algar’s presence at the table admittedly worried him somewhat, but it was still more enjoyable than being stuck in the war room all day. He had grown tired of the constant debates and discussions of death, so it was a pleasant change of pace to take a break from all that.

He only wondered if Sigurd would decide to join them.

“So tell me,” Moira said, delicately cutting into a piece of meat, “how have things been in Forangal? Everything is going well, I hope?”

“As well as they can be, I suppose.” Edric replied. “Our people are strained due to the war, but we’re doing our best to push through it.”

“That’s good. And how have you been faring, Edric? I’ve spoken to your siblings quite a bit already, but you and I haven’t had the chance to catch up. Are things well for you? I imagine you’ve acquired an abundance of new responsibilities now that you’re older.”

The young man chuckled. “An understatement. These days, I spend most of my time joining my father’s side at the war table. If things keep going on like this, I may even join him on the battlefield soon.”

Edlynne cocked her head at him. “I certainly hope not. I’d feel much better knowing you were safe within Forangal’s walls.”

Henry gave a timid nod of agreement. “As would I. You’re dear to us all, Edric. I’d hate to see you thrown into the midst of all the chaos out there.”

A sour look spread across Moira’s face. “Well, it definitely doesn’t help when you have a Norseman wandering around the castle. Are you certain it’s wise to keep... oh, what’s his name -- Sigurd here? You’re sure you can trust him?”

Edric had a feeling this would come up sooner or later. “I know you didn’t get the best first impression of him, Lady Moira, but I assure you he means no harm. He is a good man.”

“I just think it’d be best if you found a man of Christ to protect you,” she countered, “rather than someone from such a questionable background. I mean, where did you even find him?”

Edlynne jumped in. “We didn’t find Sigurd. It was a fisherman in Agenbury who saved his life.”

“Saved his life?”

“Aye,” Edric said. “He was wounded when he washed up on the shore; barely breathing, in fact. A man named Wilfred rescued him, but his treatment wasn’t enough to keep Sigurd alive. So, we brought him back to the castle in order to let Linette take care of him. He’s been eager to repay us for our help ever since.”

Moira’s expression flattened with skepticism. “Hmm. Well, as long as he’s doing his job. Still, I’d advise you to be cautious. The vikings aren’t known for having a protective nature, after all.”

Edric decided to stifle his frustration for the moment. “...Of course, my lady. I--” he paused for a second, perking his head up in interest, “--well, speak of the Devil. Here he is.”

Turning around to face the door, everyone in the dining room brought their attention to the entrance upon hearing Edric’s remark, only to find Sigurd himself strolling through the archway. 

He wasn’t wearing any armor like he normally did on a day-to-day basis, and it appeared as if he actually made an effort to clean up. There didn’t seem to be a speck of dirt dotting his face, and a fine tunic had replaced the shell of metal that usually covered his body.

Edric beamed brightly at Sigurd, welcoming him with a smile.

“Sigurd! You decided to come.”

The viking took a hesitant step into the room, clearly feeling a bit uncomfortable. “I did.”

Edric gestured to the spot next to him. “Well, have a seat then. I’ll pour you a drink.”

Walking past the guards as he ventured further into the hall, Sigurd’s eyes briefly flicked to the opposite side when he noticed Gjuki slipping in through another pair of doors, sticking to the shadows. The room had gone completely quiet ever since their arrival, but it didn’t look like anyone had caught on to what they were doing just yet.

Odin willing, it would stay that way.

Sitting down beside Edric at the table, Sigurd quietly observed the people around him and shifted awkwardly in his seat, admittedly feeling incredibly out of place. Even though he was more familiar with Forangal’s occupants nowadays, he couldn’t deny that Raedan’s family put him on edge -- even with Edric at his side.

They were nothing more than a set of new faces to Sigurd, after all. Raedan’s name meant nothing to him in this war, and it was obvious that his wife wasn’t too fond of him either. 

He supposed he would just have to get used to it.

“You’re very tall.” Sibley suddenly said, breaking the silence.

Edric poured some wine into Sigurd’s cup, chuckling at the comment. “He is, isn’t he? A proper giant, this man. Still, you look nice this evening, Sigurd. You clean up better than I would’ve expected.”

The compliment allowed him to relax a bit. “You think? I guess there is hope for me, after all.”

“So it would seem.”

Moira’s beady gaze instantly locked onto the viking. “...Ah. Sigurd. You and I met briefly at the main gate yesterday. I must admit, I’m surprised to see you here after our... introduction. What brings you here tonight?”

“Edric invited me.”

“Did he?”

The young man spoke up. “Yes. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

The woman’s lips pursed in annoyance, and she threw a side glance at Sigurd. “No, of course not. So long as he minds his manners.”

The viking returned the comment with a glare. “The same could be said for you, my lady.”

Edric froze at the retort, already regretting this situation he had created.

“Sigurd...!” He whispered in a cautionary tone.

The other man let out a quiet sigh, deciding to hold himself back for the moment.

“...Forgive me,” Sigurd apologized, his voice stiff with reluctance, “I fear I can be rather... hasty with my words sometimes.”

Moira’s stare only seemed to sharpen in response to the apology, but she decided to drop the conversation nonetheless. Despite her husband’s silence, she could see that Raedan was unhappy with her animosity towards Sigurd, and she did not wish to cause a scene in front of her children. 

Algar, on the other hand, couldn’t have been more amused by the display.

“Have no fear, Lady Moira,” the housecarl joked. “Sigurd may look intimidating, but in truth, he’s about as harmful as a newborn pup. You and your family will be just fine.”

Initially, Sigurd planned to ignore the taunt and simply carry on with his meal, but once he noticed Gjuki approaching Algar from the shadows, he knew he had to keep the man’s attention away from him, lest they both be killed.

“Is your life so devoid of purpose that you must resort to taunting me all day, Algar?” He asked, distracting him. “Or is this simply a new hobby of yours?”

Algar chuckled. “Struck a nerve, did I? I apologize. It’s unbecoming of me to attack a man who’s already down. After all, I know you can scarcely lift a sword these days.”

“Neither can you, it seems. It appears that your foes have a habit of... getting back up.”

Edric finally snapped.

“Enough, both of you.” He said firmly, setting his cup down on the table. “Is it so hard to look past your differences for one night? I invited Sigurd here because I trust him as a friend. He is here at my behest, and I would not see him disrespected. Now, please...” Edric let out a breath, “...no more bickering. We’ve got plenty of that outside of these walls already.”

Backing down from their heated altercation, both Sigurd and Algar decided to put the matter to rest for now and quietly returned to their meals, still eyeing each other from across the table.

Meanwhile, Gjuki gently snuck a hand into the pouch hanging from the housecarl’s belt and quickly patted around it, only to take out a peculiar-looking object once he found what he was searching for.

It didn’t resemble any key Sigurd had ever seen in his life, and the shape was undeniably rather odd, but the bard seemed to recognize it, so he assumed it must’ve been the same one mentioned in that mysterious note.

Gjuki gave the viking a subtle nod and began heading out the door, beckoning Sigurd to follow him once he had the chance.

“Sigurd?” Edric said privately, tearing the man’s gaze away from his hidden friend.

“I-- yes?” He replied, his tone now coated with a hint of urgency. “What is it?”

The nobleman examined him for a moment. “...Are you alright? You seem... distracted.”

Sigurd brought himself back to the current gathering and pushed his thoughts to the side, attempting to conceal his eagerness to see what Gjuki had discovered.

“I’m fine, Edric. Just... tired from the day is all.”

The Saxon didn’t seem to notice Gjuki. “Well, I don’t blame you. I know things have been tough for you lately. But put all that aside for now. Tonight, we feast. Let us cast aside our worries, and simply enjoy the evening.” He raised his goblet in the air. “To our loved ones, and the hope that we may see them again someday.”

Sigurd smiled at Edric, picking up his drink. “Skål.”

Tapping their cups together, the two of them emptied their goblets in a lively toast and carried on with the night, doing their best to stay in high spirits despite Algar’s presence. Even though Sigurd was mainly there to act as a distraction for the housecarl, he couldn’t deny that he genuinely found joy being in Edric’s company.

The man was just... everything he wanted. He made Sigurd feel like he mattered. He made him feel safe.

There were many things the viking found himself worrying about nowadays, but with Edric there to help guide him through it, Sigurd honestly wished he could’ve stayed in Forangal a little longer. And that frightened him.

These people were supposed to be his enemies; his targets. They were the ones responsible for the destruction of his clan, and yet... Sigurd couldn’t bring himself to hate them.

Of course, he wouldn’t object to seeing Algar’s head on a pike -- and he had his own grudges to hold when it came to Aegenwulf -- but everyone else in the castle struck him as no more than regular civilians. They were just other human beings trying to survive in this godforsaken war, and a part of Sigurd’s conscience shriveled up in remorse at the idea of harming them.

They didn’t deserve death, nor did they deserve Eivor’s wrath. But Sigurd knew that without the chance to witness their compassion face-to-face, his brother would be less inclined to show them mercy.

He would have to find some way to bring them to an understanding. He had no doubts that Eivor’s wounds remained fresh after everything that transpired in Ravensthorpe, and the last thing Sigurd wanted was to be caught in the middle.

There was good and bad on both sides of this battle, and he prayed he’d be able to make Gjuki see that. That man was the one thing keeping the brothers in touch, and in the end, Eivor’s impression of Forangal depended on him.

He was the only reason Eivor had any idea of what was happening in Wedenscire, and Sigurd could only hope that his messages weren’t being twisted with malice. 

Otherwise, he dreaded to imagine what awaited them in the future.

~~~~~~~~~~

ONE HOUR LATER

SIGURD’S CHAMBERS

Stepping gently through the lengthy corridors, Sigurd followed the amber glow of the flicking torches as their flames danced softly against the walls, dimly lighting the floor so that he could see where he was going.

It had been a few minutes ever since the feast ended, and Gjuki all but vanished from the dining hall after stealing the key, but upon taking his leave, Sigurd found a note telling him to return to his chambers.

He didn’t know if something was wrong, or if the invitation was a trap, but regardless of what awaited him in the near future, Sigurd knew he’d have to face it eventually.

Everything he and Gjuki had worked for thus far was riding on this plan, and if something had gone awry, he wished to figure out what it was sooner than later. There was no telling what would happen if Algar learned of their schemes after all, and the last thing Sigurd wanted was to be caught with his hands tied.

“...Gjuki?” Sigurd said quietly as he walked into his quarters, opening the door as subtly as possible. 

There weren’t any guards patrolling in the vicinity at the moment, and most of Forangal’s people seemed to be asleep by now, but the viking still wanted to be cautious. Algar could’ve been lurking around somewhere in the shadows for all he knew, and he didn’t fancy the idea of bumping into him again.

“Ah, there you are, Lone Wolf,” the bard replied from Sigurd’s bed, free from the confines of his helm. “I thought those Saxons would never let you go.”

The other man shut the door behind closed him, keeping his voice low lest it seep out into the corridor.

“You found the key, yes? Did anyone notice you on the way out?”

Gjuki smirked, holding the key in the air for Sigurd to see. “Not a single soul. It’s as if I was never there. Honestly, the most difficult part of the theft was having to endure Lady Moira’s bleating. How anyone deals with that woman is beyond me.”

Sigurd sighed. “Well, I’d rather take her over Algar any day. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is you were able to find the key. Do you know where to use it?”

The bard stood up from the bed. “I have yet to find an exact location, but there is enough in Algar’s note that I should be able to track it down. Apparently, this crypt of his is somewhere near Forangal, but hidden well enough that most people simply stroll right past it. It’s difficult to find even when you know what to look for.”

The viking stepped next to Gjuki, observing the key in his hand. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Gjuki thought for a moment. “Hmm. Not much, I’m afraid. All I would ask is that you proceed with your life as compliantly as possible. Do what the Saxons say. Follow their commands. Keep your head down. I know it’s... an unfavorable approach, but if I’m going to rummage through Algar’s belongings and find out what he’s hiding, I’ll need you to make sure that his suspicion stays low.”

Sigurd nodded, admittedly somewhat annoyed at the thought of having to take Moira’s insults without fighting back. “...If that’s what you need, then I’ll do it.”

“Thank you, Sigurd. I promise, I’ll return to you as soon as I discover something. Just keep an eye on that pier I mentioned. When I’m ready to meet you again, I’ll light the brazier. I think it’s best if we go over Algar’s secrets in private.”

“Understood.”

Gjuki slipped the key back into his pocket, striding towards the door. “Good. Then I best be off. In the meantime, I’ll also prepare for Broder’s return.”

The viking raised a brow. “Broder? Who’s that?” 

“Oh, I never told you his name, did I? Forgive me. He’s a Dane aiding me in this investigation. He too comes from East Anglia. I sent him back to report to Eivor on the day I first met you, but I imagine he’ll be making his way back now. I’ll tell him of what you and I have accomplished here.”

A thought suddenly crossed Sigurd’s mind, causing him to stop Gjuki in his tracks.

“Wait, Gjuki. Before you leave...”

The bard glanced over his shoulder. “Hm? What is it, Lone Wolf?”

“Earlier, back in the courtyard, you told me Eivor was planning to attack Forangal Castle. That he wanted revenge.”

Gjuki nodded. “Yes, but it’s going to take some time. He’ll need more allies before he can muster the strength necessary to assault this fortress.”

A concerned look spread across Sigurd’s face. “Well, when you get the chance, let him know that there are good people here. Tell him that not all of them deserve to be killed, and that not everyone here is our enemy.”

The other man chuckled and crossed his arms. “...You truly believe that, don’t you?”

Sigurd shrugged, confused about Gjuki’s reaction. “And why shouldn’t I? Is there something you know that I don’t?”

The bard lowered his voice to a whisper, speaking in a manner similar to that of a snake.

“I see the way these Saxons look at you when your back is turned to them. I see the way they mock our gods, and twist your mind. They would lock you in a cage next to their dogs if they could, and yet, they chain you with an illusion of friendship because that’s the only thing that’ll keep you from retaliating.”

The viking shook his head. “You have the wrong idea, Gjuki. Even though there are some people here who would see me dead, there are also those who would defend me. Like Edric and his siblings.”

The bard laughed. “You don’t even realize that you’re being indoctrinated, do you? I know you care for Edric, but he is not your friend, Sigurd. I heard your conversation with him in the courtyard. You haven’t even been here for a month and he’s already asking you to convert to Christianity. Don’t you see what he’s trying to do? He’s trying to turn you into a thrall.”

Sigurd placed his hands on his hips, growing somewhat concerned about Gjuki’s paranoia. “No, he isn’t. Edric asked me to consider Christianity, yes, but he’s not forcing me into it.”

The other man wasn’t convinced. “...Not yet.”

Gjuki looked Sigurd directly in the eye, practically piercing through his gaze.

“Listen to me carefully, Lone Wolf. Even though I know my words will carry little meaning in a time like this, I still think you need to hear them. Before I met your brother, I was a slave to a Dane called Rued who used to reside in East Anglia. He was an argr rat, and spoke with a forked tongue. He did the same thing that these Saxons are doing to you. He displayed enough brutality so that we would stay in our place, but offered us the occasional ‘reward’ to keep us obedient. He was our friend from time to time, but mainly our oppressor.”

“This...” Gjuki continued, gesturing to the room around them, “...is your reward. And that...” he pointed to Sigurd’s suit of armor, “...is your leash. So take my advice. Break free from the binds that they have put on your hugr, and be ready to strike when the time comes. These Saxons are nothing more than vipers, and you’d do best to remember that. Trust me, I would know.”

Putting their conversation to an end, Gjuki decided he had said enough and began making his way out the door, leaving Sigurd with one last piece of advice.

“I know none of this is your fault, Sigurd, but do not forget where you come from, nor what started all this. You are only here because the gods were kind enough to spare you, not because these Saxons wanted you to live. So the next time Edric offers you his friendship, remember, his father would’ve killed you in a heartbeat if everything went according to plan. A hatred like that doesn’t disappear just because you raise a sword in his name.”

Gjuki pulled the door open, suddenly trapped in an uncommonly dour mood.

“Farewell for now, Sigurd. I pray that the gods will be merciful in the days to come, and I hope that you and Eivor will be able to reunite soon. It isn’t too late to recover from this mess yet, but time waits for no one. And it certainly won’t wait for you.”

[hitchell-mope]

(Third film. Kronk’s Tavern. Facillier’s just sat down at the bar next to Hades (Eva Green) who’s nursing a large flagon of beer)

Facillier: so you’ve heard

Hades: heard? Of course I’ve fucking heard. Your daughter and my son are dead

Facillier: legally. Legally dead there may still yet be hope

Hades: he has no magic. And she’s not powerful enough to keep the both of them alive. So either they’re both dead or there’s going to be a rampaging homicidal heartbroken teenager laying waste to the island any day now

Facillier: you don’t know that.

Kronk (genuinely trying to help): well anything’s possible isn’t it? Both could be dead or one had to eat the other. Phytoplankton only goes so far you know

Facillier: Kronk! There’s a call for you downstairs.

Kronk (not getting the sarcasm): OH BOY

(He launches headfirst into the floor knocking himself out cold)

Facillier: tch. Sideskicks. Now that’s been taken care of. How are you doing?

Hades: my second son is presumed dead. So is your first daughter. What do you think?

Facillier: not very good

Hades: nope!

(She takes another massive swig of beer)

Facillier: where’s Hadie right now?

Hades: with Antony at the butchers. Why?

Facillier: let’s get out of here. You can come back to mine. And we can

Hades: oh ho ho. The offers greatly appreciated. You don’t know how much. But I have a wife

Facillier: I know. She dumped you the morning after the wedding night the moment she realised she was pregnant with Mal.

Hades: oh, no. No. I mean my first wife. Persephone. After all this trouble I think it’s time I put our arrangement aside and focus on her and my five, sorry, four, four children.

Facillier: be that as it may. You’re in no state to be alone tonight. At least let me escort you back to your lair

Hades: nope. Nope. Too risky. I don’t trust myself

(This is when “honey I’m good” happens. After the song she collapses into Facillier’s arms completely drunk)

Facillier: yeah....I’m taking you back to my place. You can’t be alone tonight

Hades (mumbling): ifyoumustyoumust

Facillier: heh?

(Hades mumbles again. This time even more unintelligibly. Then pushes herself away from him)

Hades: fine then. Walk me home.

Facillier: start going. I’ll catch up.

Hades: oooh no no no. You’re walking me back to your place.

Facillier: someone has to pay for the booze

Hades (incredulously): it’s KRONK!

Facillier:....fair point

(They leave the tavern and make their way back to the arcade. This is when “walk me home” happens. After the song they walk through the door of Facillier’s arcade, Hades (having switched to his Sebastian Stan form) being half carried-half dragged inside by Facillier)

Anastasia: so he’s heard?

Facillier: and then some. And kronk was absolutely no help whatsoever

Anastasia: Well you know what we sidekicks are like

Facillier: yes I do. I was one.

Anastasia: oh yeah....I forgot about that

Facillier: everyone does. Help me get him to the sofa

Hades (grumpily pushing himself off from Facillier): no-ohhhh!!!! Imma go drinkie-poo some more

Anastasia: drinkie-poo?

Facillier: cut him some slack alright? He’s grieving his son. I doubt you’d be coping well if Anthony were dead

Anastasia: first off. No one should ever mourn a pirate. Secondly. Assumed dead is very different than ACTUALLY dead. Thirdly. Uma’s in the same situation and you’re not falling apart.

Facillier: I can’t afford to.

Hades (over at the bar): STOP TALKING!!!! I’M WALLOWING HERE!!!!

Anastasia: yeah, we know. And you need to stop

Hades: why the he>hic<ell should I?

Anastasia: because it’s not healthy?

Hades (hair bursting into flames): I AM A GOD!!!!

Facillier: yeah, yeah, we heard you the first 98 million times. Now! We need to sober you up

Hades: wahverfor?

Anastasia: it’s unseemly for a being of your calibre to behave in this manner

Hades: oh fuck off Human!

(Facillier pulls Anastasia off to the side)

Facillier: I think it’s time to try a different approach

Anastasia: ya think?

Facillier: the question is; what do we do?

Anastasia: if we can make this slag heap partially liveable we can kick a deity out of his funk.

Facillier: yeah but how?

Anastasia: to music of course.

Facillier: now why didn’t I think of that?

Anastasia (cupping his face in her hands and looking fondly at him): because you can be a right old idiot sometimes

Facillier: thank you Ana, thank you for the help

Anastasia: it’s what I’m here for Antoine. HADES!!!! What happened to you. We made this island what it is. We built everything from the arcade to the docks. Admittedly it only took 12 hours but we did it. So why are you so down in the dumps?

Hades: I grew up. I have four-three-one. I have 1 child on this island and now he’s all grown up. I’m superfluous.

Anastasia: but people used to run at the mere mention of your name. What happened?

Hades: I’m dead inside

Anastasia: then reignite. Antoine!

(Facillier turns the stereo on. This is when “we built this city” happens. After the song they collapse on the sofa)

Anastasia: feel a bit better?

Hades (chuckling slightly): a bit

Anastasia: gonna stop the hard drinking?

Hades: yup

Anastasia: alright then. In that case. I’m gonna go back to my place. The meat ain’t gonna cut itself you know

Facillier: you could just ask us to help you with magic

Anastasia: nah, I like doing it myself. Keeps me busy. See ya tomorrow

Facillier and Hades: see ya

Hades (immediately after the door closes): I lied

(He launches himself at the bar intent on getting more beer)

Facillier: oh no you don’t!

(He clicks his fingers and Hades ends up suspended in mid air. This is when “I do not hook up” happens. After the song the focus momentarily shifts back to Uma and Celia witnessing the flashbacks)

Uma: wow. They were cut up

Celia: yeah....

Uma (breaking into laughter): THIS IS AMAZING!!!!

Celia: what

Uma: don’t you see? This means someone actually cares about me. I always thought-

(Suddenly they get pulled out of the arcade and into another building filled with exercise equipment, a boxing ring and musical devices)

Celia: where are we

Uma: Morgana’s Speakeasy

Celia: there’s a speakeasy on the island?

Uma: sort of. She told me it’s fun to say. And more inviting then mere bare knuckle boxing. Why would the incense bring us here though?

Celia: of course. Look.

(Uma turns to see the action behind her. Morgana looks shellshocked as Anastasia fetches her a drink)

Morgana: she’s gone. Dead. Dead and gone

Anastasia: assumed dear and gone. There’s still a chance she’s alive

Morgana: if he tries to worm his way back here he’s in for a nasty dose of reality. I can tell you that nothing

Anastasia: Morgan, you’ve got to stop doing this. Not everything has to be traced back your psycho sister and Antoine.

Morgana: tell that to them then.

Anastasia: that’s....a lot of T’s in one sentence. You know what you need? Visualisation Therapy.

Morgana: and that would be?

Anastasia: I don’t know. I read it in a book. And I’m spouting it to what I made Hades do just now. I see no reason why it can’t work on you as well.

Morgana: what do we do?

Anastasia: you’ve got second hand karaoke right?

Morgana: at the bar

Anastasia: perfect. (She walks over to the bar). Now let’s see. Hmmmm. Ooh! Perfect.

(She switches on the machine. After a few stutters and a tiny, easily squashed fire the music starts)

Morgana: oh Christ not this one. It doesn’t even make sense

Anastasia: who cares? Just sing it!

Morgana: ugh. Fine

(This is when “big girls don’t cry” starts. After the song the Speakeasy melts away and the two sisters get pulled upwards)

Uma: what was that?

Doug: ten minutes are up. Come on

(He leads them back into the kitchen where Carlos is glowing with white light and viciously beating Harry up as everyone but Hades, Elsa, Hadie and the Hook sisters cheer him on)

Uma: what the hell’s going on?

Doug: Harry ran his mouth. Carlos got so pissed off he unlocked his latent demon magic. And is now currently in the process of beating the shit out of Harry

Uma: and the king allowed this?

Doug: he’s Carlos’s father. Of course he did.

Uma: DE VIL. STOP THIS RIGHT NOW

Carlos (with the “I’m far too cute for you to get mad at me�� look on his face): Sono sempre così terribilmente dispiaciuto capitano. ma non ho la più pallida idea di cosa stai insinuando

Uma: what?

Carlos: means “no”. I can speak Italian now

Jay: I like Italian Carlos

Uma: aren’t you English or something

Carlos: my biological fathers the coachman from pleasure island. Who else do you think would willingly reproduce with Cruella De Vil?

Uma:....good point. But you’re what? 16? How have you only just unlocked your magic?

Carlos: never been quite so pissed off before. Thank you Hook

(Harry wheezes and coughs up blood in response)

Doug: anyway....hades, Mal. I believe you two were going to tell them something.

Hades: yes! Right. Sorry. Uh. Where to start?

Doug: want me to help?

Mal: please?

Doug: fine. When I was under the sleeping curse Maleficent appeared to me and tried to get me to betray you all and join her. I stabbed her with a material dark fae are allergic to and she teleported away. But before they she said something that got me thinking. Some crap about being naive and on your own. But I wanted to know more. So I asked Hades. And then told him to tell Mal cause you know it’s her family history even if she doesn’t see herself as Maleficent’s daughter anymore. Now your turn. Your eminence

Hades: Maleficent isn’t french. She’s Persian. In the year three hundred she decided she wanted rule her kind. Only. They weren’t hierarchical. So she got mad. And killed them. Every last man, woman and child. Until she was the last one left. Then made her way to france. She made a name for herself. Became the Mistress Of All Evil. In 1300 Aurora was born. And, well, you know the rest.

Uma (incredulous): what?

Mal: and the really funny thing is. I don’t know how to speak Persian. But apparently. I can understand it. Take it away dad

Hades: امروز برای صبحانه چی خوردی؟

Mal: bakers dozen egg yolk omelette deep fried in chunky chocolate peanut butter. SEE!?!?

Uma: I-I-I I can’t

Evie: neither can I Uma. But let’s face my sister is inordinately and insanely unfairly lucky

Carlos: are you seriously still on this?

Evie: I just don’t think it’s fair that Mal is willing to forgive him after what he did and yet I’m not allowed to be rightfully mad he abandoned me for sixteen years

Mal: we’ve been over this E. You know why he did what he did

(The two sisters continue to argue as Carlos approaches Jay)

Carlos: I think it’s time for that spell again

Jay: good. Because I really like what happens when we use it. By your leave C

Carlos: thank you. To get rid of these ants in their pants/I command thee all to get up and dance.

(This is when “we are” happens. After the song. Evie now looks more annoyed than ever)

Evie: stop doing that!

Carlos: why? I think it’s hilarious.

Ben: yeah it is actually kinda growing on me

Evie: well I don’t like it. So stop doing it. Ok?

Carlos: when did you become such a drag?

Evie: hmmmmm let’s see. Probably right around the time I found out I’m related to two of the people I hate most in this world.

Carlos: hmmmmm. Nah. You were a drag before today

Mal (sensing danger): ok that’s it!

(She clicks her fingers and the whole house melts away along with everyone else leaving her and Evie in a beige coloured void)

Evie: what did you do that for?

Mal: because you snapped at Carlos.

Evie: of course. Of course you defend the precious prince(.)

Mal: what is your problem? Huh? I’m mean you weren’t exactly sugary sweet before. But today you’ve been downright freaky. Ever since I connected the dots you’ve been indulging in this pity party act that just isn’t like you. And sometimes you’re fine. And then you go ballistic for no good reason-oh my god. Is it your uh....?

Evie: what? No. That’s next week.

Mal: ohhhh. Then what is it? Cause frankly. You’re being a nightmare. And you really need to-

Evie: I don’t know ok! And even if I did know. I wouldn’t tell you. Cause there’s no way in His realm you would ever understand

Mal: and just what is that supposed to mean?

Evie: I don’t ugh I just. (Irritable sigh). It’s just that.

Mal: tell me

Evie: no

Mal: why not? Maybe I could help

Evie: you couldn’t. I doubt even Doug or Dizzy could help.

Mal: why?!

Evie: BECAUSE IT’S NOT HAPPENING TO YOU!

Mal: what!

Evie: you just don’t get it. Everything was fine. I escaped my mother. I have Doug. I have Dizzy. I gave our house. And then this happens. And you are oh so smug about it.

Mal: I’m afraid I’m not following.

Evie: of course you’re not. Allow me put this in terms you might understand

(This is when “better than I” happens. After the song. Evie snaps her fingers and takes them back to the kitchen)

Evie: so do you?

Mal: do I what?

Evie: know better than I do? Know why it’s so difficult for me to accept this?

Mal: no

Evie: then keep out of it then

(She stalks out of the kitchen)

Uma: whoo. I do believe you’ve touched a nerve

Carlos: shut up Uma

Uma: or what?

Carlos: or I’ll make you

Uma: you wouldn’t dare

Carlos: I almost killed you back in the mirror. And that was without magic. Imagine what I can do now that I have it

Uma: you don’t scare me De Vil

Carlos: of course not. Because you don’t want to face the fact that the “weak little human bitch” that you loved siccing Harry on. Can now REPEATEDLY hand you your multi legged ass on a platinum platter

Uma: you wouldn’t dare.

Carlos: oooh let’s see now

(He summons Uma’s nautilus necklace to his hand and freezes her in place)

Carlos: how’d she do this again? Oh yeah

(The nautilus begins glowing white hot and he starts singing)

Carlos: 🎶If you want to cross the bridge, you bitch/You've got the pay the toll/Take a gulp and take a breath/And please try not to be a troll/mom and dad you know I've got her, guys/The prince is on a roll/This poor unfortunate soul🎶 What was next? Oh right. 🎶Beluga sevruga. Come winds of the Caspian Sea/Larengix glaucitis/Et max laryngitis/La voce to me🎶 Now, sing!

Carlos (with an insanely sadistic smile on his face): Keep singing!

(White smoke pours out of the nautilus, forms into hands and makes their way to Uma’s throat. Which is itself glowing. Just like Ariel’s did all those years ago.)

Uma (utterly pants shittingly terrified): Aah...

(The smokey hands had just about reached into Uma’s mouth when Doug snatches the nautilus out of Carlos’s hand and throws it back to Uma who falls to her knees and starts sobbing brokenly)

Carlos: hey dude, not cool.

Doug: now is really not the time C. Alright?

Carlos: urgh. Fine

(Doug follows Evie upstairs. Carlos looks around in mild surprise)

Carlos: hey. Where’d my folks go?

(Out in the backyard Ben and Mal are surveying the completely totalled gazebo)

Mal: so whadya say? Can it be salvaged?

Ben: possibly sold to a salvagers. OOOH! I know! If we clean the wood up and fix any missing chunks I can take it to the island and give it out as free firewood. Wait. Does winter exist on the isle?

Mal: there’s no snow. But it’ll get very cold very fast at the end of August.

Ben: that should be enough time to clean and multiply the wreckage.

Mal: sounds like a plan.

Ben: whatcha thinking of?

Mal: sisters getting on my nerves

Ben: again

Mal: well at least I’m trying. Which is a damn sight more than she’s doing.

Ben: perhaps she doesn’t want you to try? Like how you never let us go to therapy with you?

Mal (realising what he means): oh. Never thought about it like that before

Ben: eh that’s alright. There’s a lot that’s been going on today. S’understandable. And besides. Even if you don’t patch it up today. You’ve got until the sun expands to talk it over. And then some. But just remember you’ve got me as well.

(He waggles his eyebrows and smiles that “who said I can’t be an incorrigible little shit just because I’m the king” smile that always makes Mal laugh)

Mal (through her laughter): oh how positively awful

(This is when “1000 years” happens. After the song. Bal hug each other. Then Mal sees something in the kitchen)

Mal: I’m so sorry. You give very, very good advice. But I’m afraid I have to go and make a scene.

(She heads back inside)

Ben (chuckling to himself): I wouldn’t have it any other way

(In the kitchen. Evie’s behind the counter. She’s put her hair up in a messy bun, taken all her makeup off and is forest green pyjamas monogrammed with the initials “D.N.S.G”)

Mal: what’re you doing? This isn’t like you. Getting ready for bed when you have guest. What’re you playing at?

Evie: I’m tired, Mal. It’s been a long. I’ve been put through hell. So excuse me but im going to bed

Mal: at 9:40 in the evening?

Evie: you all know where your rooms are. Celia can bunk with Dizzy. Hades, Hadie and Elsa can camp out in the living room. The pirates can fuck off outsude for all I care. I’m. Going. To bed

Gil: this really does seem unlike you E. Party isn’t over yet. And, plus, we’ve still got to come up plan to stop Chad, Maleficent and Adam.

Evie: but we can’t do that right now. You know that right? If we make up a plan right now and go in guns blazing we’re toast. You understand that right? I mean what the hell are we compared to them? Huh? (Pointing to Mal). A dragon in therapy.(Pointing to Ben). The one scaly to rule them all. (Pointing to Carlos). A teenager who’s four steps away from being a marvel villain. (Pointing to Jay). Civilised Tarzan. (Pointing to Uma). Kleines Fräulein tunnel vision. (Pointing to Harry then Hadie). My brothers slut one and slut two. (Pointing to Harriet). Scottish Bellatrix. (Pointing to Hades). My abandoner of a father. (Pointing to Elsa). An ice queen with social anxiety. (Pointing to CJ). A Liddellite. (Pointing to Celia). Lyra fucking Silvertongue. (Pointing to Lonnie). The general. (Pointing to Jane). A powder keg full of marshmallows. (Pointing to Gil). Blonde Hercules. (She gets kinder now as she points to Dizzy). My beyond intelligent daughter. (Pointing upstairs which is where Doug still is). My talented amazing brilliant extremely handy boyfriend. (Pointing to herself). And me. The only one in this place with any brains. So you see Gilly. We can’t beat them like this. So I’m going to bed. And we can reconvene in the morning. Good night and leave me alone

(She turns to leave but Carlos stops her)

Evie (whining): whahahat? What now?

Carlos: rooms?

Evie: what? Oh yeah. Let’s see now. Most of you know where your rooms are anyway. Uhhhh. Celia. You can share with Dizzy. Elsa and Hades can sleep on the fold out couches in the lounge. The pirates can sleep outside. It’s supposed to rain tonight. Hopefully they’ll melt. Once again. Goodnight!

(She leaves again. She’s halfway up the stairs when Squeaky starts whimpering in pain in his sleep. Squirmy soon joins him. And then they both start crying)

Evie (inhaling sharply through her nose): this is just not my day is it? (Calling up the stairs) Doug. Could you come down. (Bitterly). The shit’s hitting the fan.

(After Doug comes back down. The twins are still screaming and crying in their sleep. And he pirates are looking progressively more terrified)

Uma: WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?!?!

Mal (frantically flipping through the spell book): I don’t know! I don’t know!

Hades: and what time is it now?

Hades (thinking intensely): twelve hours. DOUGLAS! What time was it when my ex wife and that class traitor attacked the house?

Doug: uhhhh. 10am. Why?

Hades: and what’s time now?

Matty (who’s just arrived and been witnessing the past events amusedly with a very frightened Dude in his arms): 9:50pm

Carlos: GIVE ME BACK MY DOG!!!! (Matty does so). Thank you. Now. What the hell are you doing here you little freak?

Matty: temper temper Mr De Vil. I suggest you treat me a mite more kindly because right now I am your only hope of keeping those two awake past sunrise.

(At this point the screen cuts to Ursula’s restaurant on the isle. The time stamp on the screen says “several hours ago”. Hook’s at the piano, all limbs and mental faculties restored and he’s giving a little performance to all the villains who are meeting there. This is when “little drop of poison” happens.)

[imaginesofeverykind]

Uncharted: Forged [Re-Write] ||2||

OC X Sam Drake

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Language (?)

PART 1 PART 3

|2| Panama: Bittersweet

"Ah shit, Sully? Have you heard from them yet?" Melissa’s worried voice travelled with her as she paced into the small living area of the hotel room. She fiddled with her hands while eying the older man, a cigar sat between his lips and a newspaper held firmly in his hands. In front of him, sat a radio in the centre of the table while the paired radio was supposedly in safe keeping within a Panamanian jail along with the rest of their party. 

His eyes glanced up from the paper at the woman pacing around, he had some idea what was going on in that head of hers. He merely shook his head,"sorry, kid." Sure she panicked when both brothers forgot to check in every now and again, it was seemingly routine for the brothers to cause unnecessary strain on the already hard working woman.

Melissa — much older now — sunk down onto a chair and stared at the various notes taped to the wall across from her, this would be their biggest heist yet. Providing they made it out in one piece.

"You worry about them too much," Sullivan pointed out, keeping his gaze on the current news story he was rather enjoying. Ever since Sullivan had met the three all those years ago, he knew Melissa to be one thing more than anything else; Caring. A rare trait people in this business had, initially he would scorn her for caring too much but over the years it became something he admired about her.

It was quite the contrary for her, she didn’t always care. In fact, one might go as far as to say she was particularly careless but that was something that changed the moment Sam Drake came into her life. Someone who had lived for self interest and carelessness was presented with something worth caring about. That someone was Sam. He changed her more ways than one, not so differently as she had done the same for him.

"It's not a crime to worry, Sully." She retorted, sucking in a shallow breath. She knew how important these clues were to Sam and Nathan, in fact ever since they were doing this type of work collectively, Henry Avery's treasure was always the thing they wanted to chase after. Despite this, she couldn't help but feel bitter about the notion of purposefully getting themselves locked in a Panamanian jail for just one clue. If it was even there to begin with.

"It's your plan, kid. Your plans are the only thing keeping those chuckle heads alive." He wasn’t wrong in that sentiment. More times than he cared to admit the keen eyed woman and sharp wit on her was the difference between them all walking themselves into an early grave or living long lives.

She drummed her fingernails on the table, having had enough of picking at her fingernails considering they were chewed down almost completely, "You might be right but… Part of the plan was also checking in every day y'know? It's been what? Three days, Sully please tell me you're at least slightly concerned. I didn't bribe that asshole guard to give them access to a radio for them not to use it."

Knowing he was never going to get through the rest of the paper in peace, Sullivan placed it down on the table with a grimace on his face, “Mel.” He started, grabbing her attention so she knew he was being serious, "if there’s one thing those two boys are, it's that they're tough — Dumb and impulsive at times — but they are tough. Stop worrying." Sullivan smiled at her, reassuringly.

She often did a whole lot of worrying but that was only because no one else was around to worry about them. (Save for Sully, of course). Carrying that emotional baggage around, on top of stressful jobs like this most definitely tired her out, exhausting her to the point of no return. At times she wished the moments that fell in between getting arrested, gunned down or chased, lasted that little bit longer to give her mental health a much needed break.

A silence grew between Sullivan and Melissa, much like the most part of the last two weeks had been. Silent, anticipation bubbling and the occasional small talk. Once the older man was positive that he wouldn’t be interrupted, he retrieved the paper to resume reading.

The quaint lull had lasted barely five minutes before it was disrupted once again, Nathan Drake making his presence known as he entered the hotel room in a fluster, still adorning his prison attire which would rightfully arouse suspicion if anyone saw him. 

"Jesus Christ, Nate." Melissa kicked off from her seat, scraping against the wooden floors, it toppling over as she pulled him into a tight hug. Sullivan haughtily chuckled, also standing up from his position. She pulled away from his embrace and punched him rather hard on his shoulder making him wince, "What the hell happened to contacting every day? I was worried sick about you and—" She looked behind him, seeing Rafe who had been their third man for the job, but no Sam.

Just the two men, Rafe and Nathan. "Sam...?" She slowly trailed off, she was positive he was just getting the supplies from the escape... She waited a moment, expecting to see him walk through at any given moment, yet when he didn't walk through the door cracking some dumb joke she looked to Nathan.

She now finally noticed the distraught look on his face, how panicked he looked and how his red eyes spelled out a picture she didn’t want to face. He needn't say anything to her as a wave of emotions came toppling down onto her. She raised a hand up to her mouth, her face twitching as her eyes burned, "no.... No, no no...." She kept repeating with every step backward.

Her pained eyes looked at Nathan once more, his solemn expression causing the first of many tears to fall, racing down her cheeks as she quite literally felt her heart break. The pain in her chest causing a whimper to tumble from her lips.

"I'm sorry." Nathan whispered, defeated. He dreaded walking to the hotel knowing that he would have to break the news to Melissa, seeing her in absolute anguish made him feel sick. It was like reliving the entire ordeal again, only that little bit more painful.

From the boat ride to the pier and then on foot to the hotel, he replayed his brother's death in his head, shadowed by what Melissa's reaction would be. Did he blame himself? Of course, he knew he could've tried harder to save him but now, as he grew progressively more sick in the stomach, he wanted to know if Melissa blamed him too.

Funnily, the entire time Nathan Drake knew Melissa Bridges not once had he seen her shed a tear. Not once. She had been shot, nearly blown up multiple times, beaten bloody before but never shed a single tear. It was foreign seeing her cry. A once perfect image he had painted of her was now shattered in the blink of the eye as it only confirmed that she was just like everyone else.

Melissa wiped away the tears from her face, the men in the hotel watched in curiosity and sadness as they could almost physically see the heartbreak, how she would cry in waves. It was intense for a few moments for her to then calm herself shortly, only for her to start crying once again. After several moments she dismissed the tears, looking up at Nathan with a sorrowful look and pulled him into another hug.

The two of them were almost afraid to let go. Since the age of twelve, Nathan always knew her as Sam's close friend and eventual life partner. She was always around the younger sibling even when Sam wasn’t most of the time. Nathan was family for Melissa, as much as Sam was to her and now the both of them were left with nothing but each other.

Each grieving party reminding the other of the now deceased man who brought the two of them together. Sullivan somberly joins the two in their embrace, trying his best to offer what little comfort he could. Admittedly he never gelled as well with Sam like how he did with the other two, he often found him to be incredibly careless and selfish — not to mention constantly putting both Nathan and Melissa in situations they didn’t need to be in. Regardless if the two had a connection with Sam he hadn’t shared, he would comfort them in anyway he saw fit.

Rafe, however, was left unmoved. In fact he felt slightly uncomfortable as he shuffled from left to right on his feet. He wasn't sure how to pay his respects to either of the three, most particularly Nathan and Melissa. Truth be told, he thought that the waterworks were overdrawn and he just wanted what they all came here for.

After some silence passed, the three eventually broke away, seating themselves around the coffee table. Melissa wiped her face once more, mustering up some pretense of pulling herself together, “You two look like hell," she folded her arms over her chest. If the circumstances had been completely different, Nathan might have been in the right headspace to sarcastically retort.

"She's right, what the hell happened in there?" Sullivan leaned forward to prop his elbows on his knees, wanting to hear how exactly did such a clearly devised plan turn out so poorly. Aside from the bruising underneath Nathan’s eye and the fact they were moderately dishevelled, they didn’t look like two guys that had been shot at, save for the obvious bullet grazings on their skin.

"I found this..." Nathan spoke softly, presenting a wooden cross with a golden figure over the top of it, he sheepishly slid it across the table, "it's nothing special, not now anyway... the clue must have been inside the cross—"

Melissa shook her head and cut Nathan off, "I don't care about the goddamn treasure, I don't care about this cross. What. Happened." Her voice had never dropped to such a low tone before, it was nearly threatening in the way she demanded to know the details that led to her partner's untimely death.

Nathan sighed, avoiding her eyes, "turns out the prison guard we bribed, Vargas, opened the envelope and wanted a cut of the findings. I found the cross in some old ruins, but kept it from him. The three of us talked and we were well on our way to getting out of that shit hole until we got caught in a fight." He pauses before giving the greater details, none of it mattering to Melissa except how her foolproof plan ended up blowing up in everyone’s face. "He pulled out a hand made shiv — this guy was ready to watch me bleed. Then Vargas shows up with other guards, has us pinned against the walls and pulls out the cross. He was pissed I kept it from him."

She threw her hands up unsure what to think, "Then why didn't you just leave? That was the plan, get the clues and get out. I don't think I could've made it any simpler, Nate." Her sadness had began to meld into both frustration and anger, her erratic hand gestures becoming increasingly worrisome to Sullivan.

Nathan merely sighed, glancing over at Rafe who hasn't said a word since they got into the hotel room. "Believe me Mel, we negotiated and were almost well and truly on our way out when our pal Rafe decided to stab Vargas."

Her eyes closed slowly as she shook her head, finding it difficult to process the complete idiocy presented before her.  The youngest of the men puts his hands up in defence, not at all appreciating Nathan’s sly jab at him, the last thing he wanted was to be thrown under the bus by an idiot oaf.

"What part of the plan was so hard that you had to pull a stunt like that? The plan was easy, simple, foolproof...  Just get in, get out—get to that escape boat and come here." She clenched her fists and stood up, of course the rich asshole was to blame, the spoilt man had never experienced an iota of patience in his entire life. No one in their field of work was as impulsive and impatient as Rafe Adler, "but you had to go ahead and do that, now Sam is dead... And for what?" she gestured to the cross, "for that? Like Nate said, it's useless. So he died for nothing."

"Melissa, calm down." Sullivan put a soft hand on her shoulder, grounding her. She puts her face in her hands again as the visceral emotion begins to pass her by.

She looked apologetically at Rafe and Nathan before slumping down into her chair, "sorry... I just... Loved him y'know..." she looked down putting all her might into not crying again, the heart ache was almost unbearable to endure. The only thing in her thoughts were flashes of memories of both her and Sam, they all coalesce together as the reality finally hits her.

Sullivan keeps a comforting hand on her arm, looking at Nathan, “so what now?”

He blew out a long drawn out breath, leaning forward as his eyes looked around at the three faces in front of him, "we gotta go after this treasure, I mean, it's what Sam would've wanted. For us to see this through, and then, he wouldn’t have died for nothing."

Silence grew thick in the room, as much as Nathan wanted nothing more than to go home, his eyes lingered over at Melissa.  He knew that at the end of the day, she would have the final say in determining whether or not they would continue further. Rafe was in regardless of who was going to help him or not.

"God I hope you're right, Nate." Melissa sighed, stepping up from her seat and dragging her feet all the way to her room.

[dailyaudiobible]

09/16/2020 DAB Transcript

Isaiah 22:1-24:23, Galatians 2:17-3:9, Psalms 60:1-12, Proverbs 23:15-16

Today is the 16th day of September welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I am Brian it's great to be here with you today as we cross the center of the week together, hump day, and…and move to the back half, but we’re in the middle of the week. And…well…I guess we’re not quite in the middle of the book of Isaiah yet but we’re well on our way. We’re reading from the English standard version this week. Isaiah chapters 22, 23, and 24 today.

Commentary:

Okay. So, in Galatians today, again we’re exploring some of the foundational understandings theologically of our faith itself and again we encountered one of the most famous passages in the Scriptures “I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives within me.” And we should probably understand the context that was said in because…because it's foundational to the Christian faith. And the reason that he said it, the context of it is why Paul was so controversial in his time. And admittedly, some of these concepts, they…they might sound somewhat familiar because it wasn't too long ago that we read the letter to the Romans. And, so, a lot of this is laid out in Romans and we’re revisiting it here in another letter. This is the gospel that Paul moved around the Roman Empire preaching. So, fundamentally the problem and I say that loosely…I say that in the context of what we’re talking about. The problem was the Mosaic law, really a battle for its validity because Paul is coming against the Mosaic law, setting it aside as he believed had been revealed by Jesus. And I should probably clarify that. Not so much setting it aside, like it's existence but setting aside its relationship to people, people who believe in Jesus. Paul's argument was that that law was a vehicle to expose failure, to show sin. You break the law, you transgress against the law, you become aware that you have failed. And nobody, no matter how they tried, could ever succeed. They could never stop transgressing the law. So, no one would ever find their way into a righteous life before God. So, for Paul, the only way to escape it, as he explained in other letters, is to die to it, right? If your dead, then no human law that applies to alive human beings applies to you anymore. Your dead. And you remember the example that he used about marriage. Like if a person…if a woman is married and her husband dies then she's not bound to that covenant anymore, she's free because her husband has passed away. He's gone now. So, for Paul, you die to the law so that you can then live for God. You release everything that you were without Christ and you surrender to His authority in your life, you believe upon Him and are resurrected into a new life that has died to those rules and regulations. Admittedly, that is a bit of a reach. Like that is a bit of a problem for a person hearing it who had been raised in this culture because the law, the Torah…I mean...you are essentially…you are essentially kind of saying like “I'm dying to the Scripture. Like I’m dying to this law that we know of as revealed by God. I'm dying to that so that I can live for God.” You can kind of see the disconnect here. And, so, some would claim…well…they did…they essentially pledged allegiance to kill Paul. Like he's an apostate, this is a heretic. This is a person who has been trained religiously and has walked away from their faith. Like they need to die. Like they want him gone. I mean they thought he’s like reinterpreting the Scripture to the point that he’s amending a brand-new religion. So, we would all have to admit, that…I mean…that would be difficult…that would be a difficult path to follow if someone comes along and says, “new revelation from God has been given on the earth for Earth's people and here's what it is and here's how it sets aside what had previously been engaged. Here is the way forward. Here's what God is doing now.” But then we'd also have to admit that that is effectively what the Savior did, the work of Christ as we believe it. As disciples of Christ it was a game changer, like a complete revolution upon the earth in the way that we understand and relate to God and how we relate to one another and where this is all going. But we would still have a pretty hard time setting aside the Bible to get there. And yet, as Paul claimed and as the New Testament claims, I mean Jesus was fundamentally executed because they considered Him to be a lawbreaker and a blasphemer, one who was making claims that only God could make, one who was revealing the way forward. Like, we believe in Jesus and so we understand that like He is reinterpreting the law because the plot of the story had been lost, the spirit of the law had been lost. And, so, there's only the letter of the law, there's the rules. And the rules aren’t animated by the Spirit anymore. And, so, they don't have the weightiness, it’s just about obeying rules. This is kind of what Paul’s arguing but as we enter into and engage with this we can see like, this is difficult, this is a difficult leap. And, so, for Paul he has to go back to the origination of the Hebrew story to prove his point. And his point was, “yeah, Moses gave us the law. God revealed through Moses, but that story had been going on for centuries before Moses was ever born and it started with Abraham and there was no Torah for Abraham to obey. There was no Torah for him to read. There was no Bible as we know it at all. So, God revealed himself to Abraham and the story began and then it continued on all the way until the time of Christ and all kinds of things had developed around it, a whole system of life had developed around it. And then Jesus comes and reinterprets things, unites things and says, “this is the way to go forward.” But in order to follow Christ then, you have to die to some of the previous things and acknowledge that God is doing something new in the world.” So, you see the hurdles. And yet for Paul, the Holy Spirit was working among people, like…like there was evidence of this spiritual renewal, this…this spiritual revolution that was happening. There was evidence for this. People were following Jesus because of the movements of the Holy Spirit, this evidence that is happening. And the Holy Spirit was working among anybody who believed. It wasn't just Hebrews. Like everybody that the Holy Spirit came upon, everyone who believed was experiencing this. And, so, Paul at some point had to look Torah and look at what he actually was experiencing and we see the Paul chose his experience over the letter of some law, some rules that he had already done everything he could possibly do to live into only to realize it was a dead-end, like he couldn't get there, he wasn’t going to be made righteous before God. And, so, I quote Paul from our reading today, “let me ask you only this. Did you receive the Spirit by works of the law or by hearing with faith? Are you so foolish having begun by the Spirit, are you now being perfected by the flesh? Did you suffer so many things in vain if indeed it was in vain? Does He who supplies the Spirit to you and works miracles among you do so by works of the law or by hearing with faith - just as Abraham believed God, and it was counted to him as righteousness? So, for Paul, having re-received these revelations from Jesus, and this is what he's teaching, and this is what he’s experiencing, and like there's no way he's gonna turn back from what he’s experiencing no matter who calls him crazy. And like we said yesterday, he held true to this all the way to his own death. Like he was executed for believing this. So, for Paul he had already died. Like he had already died to who he was and the fact that he still walked upon the earth was a grace of God living within him to continue the mission forward. And, so, we get to enter into this and wrestle with this and sort of see now why this is so difficult, like why what we take for granted and what we understand theologically as it was being formed was such a difficulty for people in Paul's time.

Prayer:

Father we thank You for that. We thank You for the opportunity to look at it with eyes wide open, understanding that what Paul said is true - it's…it's nonsense or its heresy depending on how You're looking at or it is the absolute truth that is borne witness in our own hearts by the power of Your Holy Spirit. And, so, we thank You for this. We thank You that we have these examples that what we are experiencing in our hearts is real. And we may not be able to prove that we’re not crazy, but we’re not. We have died to who we were. We have been raised up unified in union with You, Your spirit within us, Your divine nature is something that we get to participate and partake of, and live into. And that is good news. That is the Good News. And, so, come Holy Spirit and help us to press in and live it out and be a light in the darkness, we ask in the name of Jesus. Amen.

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And, as always, if you have a prayer request or encouragement, you can hit the Hotline button which is the little red button at the top in the app, you can't miss it or there are numbers that you can dial depending on where you are in the world. In the Americas 877-942-4253. If you are in the UK or Europe 44-20-3608-8078. And if you are in Australia or that part of the world 61-3-8820-5459 is the number to call.

And that's it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hello this is Catherine calling from Maryland. I just wanted to call after listening to the September 10th episode today and I was struck by what Brian said at the very end, that this is a community that loves to pray for one another. This isn’t just a community that prays for one another, this is a community that loves to pray for one another. Maybe you’ve said that before Brian but it…that just struck me today that that was…really that is what is really special about this community, creating the beloved community that Jesus directed us to do by loving and caring for one another, helping each other bear burdens and rejoicing together. And I just thank you for this amazing community to hear God’s word every day but also to practice where you’re supposed to be. And then the first caller, you didn’t leave your name, but you sort of hit on all of these things too. What a way to start today and what a privilege and blessing it is to be a part of this community and to not only hear the word of God but to pray for one another and to be connected to one another across the continents and oceans and miles. So many of you, right, keeping prayer as does everyone else. And, of course, pray alongside each and every one of you. So, God bless you. May God bless you and keep you and make His face to shine upon you and be gracious to you today and every day. Amen.

Hello Daily Audio Bible family this is Rebecca Joy from Illinois calling from a wonderful rainy September afternoon. Oh my gosh…and from my walk if you can hear the cars going by. I love these kinds of afternoons. I’m such a rain person. But anyway, I wanted to call in for a few prayer requests. So, I’m back in school. I am…I’m going to a university in Chicago; however, we are all online so it’s a weird weird time and I am an animation major and it’s weird do you do art at home. So, please pray for just the people at the University, for people at college, for people at school who are just doing stuff at home. It’s very hard to do it home. And please pray for the community of people that I am around. I love these people. I love art majors. There’s so…there so crazy and I love them. But please pray that I can be a good witness to them because I know a lot of them are not Christian, they don’t know Jesus and I want to love them and encourage them and…ah...I want to show in Jesus. So, please pray that I can do that. Also please pray for my two friends, they are struggling so much with their mental illnesses and I can just…I can feel it in the way they can talk and it’s so oppressive. So, please pray for healing for them. I love them so much. I just I…I know what they feel, and I don’t want to see them suffer. And also, please pray for me. Please pray for, you know, just a continuation of looking to God, trusting Him. Just pray that I can stand firm. O my gosh it’s so hard to stand firm sometimes you guys. But pray for that. Pray for just, help me to love, I guess. I really need that sometimes. But yeah, thanks guys.

Hi Daily Audio Bible family I’m Regina from California I am a new listener to the Daily Audio Bible. This is my first time calling in and I’ve been listening since the beginning of the year and I’ve really enjoyed this. It is bringing me…brought me peace of mind and wisdom through Jesus. Anyway, I’m calling in because I’m in a tough spot. I recently graduated college and, thank God I found a job and the opportunity to move in with my family…with my friend’s mom and her and I moved here out of my home with my parents yesterday and was so excited. I start my job tomorrow. Unfortunately, today, the day after I moved in, my friend’s mom decided that she no longer wants a renter in her house. So, I am in a very rough situation and to where…find out where I’m going to live, if I’m supposed to keep this job because I need to find a place to live in this area if I’m going to keep it. So, I am asking for prayer for peace in what I’m going through, discernment to figure out what to do, and just help me have grace on her mom because I…I don’t feel it right now. I don’t understand why or what just happened. I’ve been lost…so please send out prayer. I don’t even know if this is a sign that I’m not supposed to keep his job or not but please pray for me. Thank you, Daily Audio Bible.

Good morning this is Duncan the Piano Man from Fredericksburg Texas. Almighty God I just heard the request for prayer from the lady from…from the Niger...Niger region there and just here about the floods and not only the floods but the persecution that’s happening in Nigeria especially. Father I know our nation has promised to…to…to help persecuted Christians, at least they did in the beginning. Lord, we can’t go back on those promises. I’m just asking Father and I know there are a lot of others asking with me that you would please supply the needs of all those Father who are in the flooded area. I think also a people Father who are being hounded for their faith, not just in Nigeria but all over the world and even here in this country. Then I think of the fires that are burning out of control in California and Oregon and Washington and I have friends and family members who have been threatened by those fires. I ask you Lord to please have mercy and send rain. And then Lord we’re still in the grips of this albatross, this accursed 19 pandemoniac. I’m asking you God to strengthen us to get through it but also asking that you lift this awful curse in the name of Jesus Christ and in the power of His shed blood. Our Lord Jesus we give this week to you, although people will be listening to it days later. Thank you for hearing our prayer Jesus. We come boldly in Your name asking and also believing Father that you may have something better for us that we don’t even know. Thank you, Jesus. Amen.

This is Kathy from Kentucky to let you know we need prayer in the 12 step groups. Some of the churches…well the church we’ve been meeting at has asked us not to come back because of COVID and we didn’t do anything wrong, but we had to find a new meeting place. So, far we’ve been meeting on zoom and people are hungry for the in-person meeting. So, we are trying to start the in-person meetings again. These are very important for alcoholics. The zoom meetings are not just quiet enough for some folks. I’m gonna keep the zoom meeting going at my house and because I’m in a high-risk age group and then we’ll try to have a hybrid meeting. But the 12 step groups all over the world are struggling. Zoom is okay but is not the same as hugging a person and that’s what we need, we need that human touch. So, pray for us. A lot of relapses, overdoses, and suicides going on right now. And, so, we all need __ and pray for me as I live alone and I’m trying to hold our group together until things get better. And I am an introvert. It’s easier for me living alone but I’m also scared. Thank you. Kathy from Kentucky.

Hi family this is Dawn Rising from Michigan and I like prayed for my nephew. I feel like he’s under spiritual attack where he’s hearing demonic voices and suggestions in his head and I just ask that you pray for his deliverance. I know my sister is also leading a life of sin currently. She knows her actions are wrong, but she just is in an earthly position where she likes it. So, I feel like our families under attack. So, please pray for my nephew Vinny that he will be delivered from this and will come out strong Christian man. Thank you everybody. Bye.

Hello everybody it’s a Sunday afternoon and the sun is shining, and you notice anything different? Can you hear it? Honk your horn Peter. __. I’m out, I’m in the car. Hey! We’re going…what are we going to find Peter? Oh gosh __ cat litter. Yeah, you see I’ve got a little new hobby. I’ve been starting to collect Cacti and I’ve been reading about it and apparently cat litter is good to mix with the compost. And, so __. So, we’re going to go and find some cat litter. It has to be the clay type I believe. So, I thank God. It’s taken me til 2 o’clock in the afternoon to get showered and get up but I’m so grateful. You know, we don’t look at how long these things take us do we? And we don’t look at what we can’t do and just thankful, that even though I’m gonna jump into a wheelchair when I get out of the car, that I’m out. You know, there’s so much blessing if we can stop and look up and instead of looking down. I thank God for His life in me and then you. And Father God I ask that you would bless all my dear friends, my family, here on DAB. I thank you that Your love father, Your arms are big enough and long enough to scoop us all together and told us. And You must be smiling Father. You must be smiling as You’re looking at us as we are enjoying Brian and the Daily Audio Bible and your presence. Oh, my goodness. The time ticking away. Say bye-bye Peter. Bye-bye Peter. Bye-bye everybody. Bye.

[i-write-hurt-not-comfort]

“Sorry” - WIP

Pandora Hearts post-volume-15 series fic (chapter 1, unfinished) 

hey guys so i saw that wip wednesday thing pop up again and thought why the fuck not?? so i was searching through my fic folders and found this fic in my elleo folder. and i won’t lie to you. i don’t even remember what the premise of the fic was, and i don’t remember writing 1.5k words of it, but i’ve written that it’s ch 1/5??? so i’m gonna attempt to dig out the plans. meanwhile yeah, here’s this. it’s Leo and Vincent, mentions of Elliot... yeah, you can guess. 

PANDORA HEARTS SPOILERS UNDER CUT!!! 

Sorry ch 1 (incomplete) 

I see you around here lately, You smile brighter than you should. And me I've been so lonely, I'm glad you're doing good. 'Cause I can't forget, The way it used to be, And if I ever let you down, Well I'm sorry.

...

“Hey, Leo! Stop spacing out!”

Immediately, Leo was snapped out of his trance, glancing up at Elliot.

“You’ve been really out of it today,” Elliot commented, tilting his head at the valet with a perplexed expression. “Come on, we need to find that stupid woman’s cat.”

“Oh, right, yeah…”

Elliot was 100% correct; he had been out of it for most of the afternoon. Which, admittedly, had been spent running around Lutwidge Academy in search of the cats, once again.

He couldn’t help it. The smile stretched across Elliot’s face from ear to ear was truly, beautifully mesmerizing. No matter how hard be tried, he couldn’t conceal his enjoyment. And Leo just couldn’t take his eyes off him.

“Hey! You!” Elliot frowned at the cat, darting across the field and into the meadows. He echoed its actions a second later, chasing it into the field.

“Wait, Elliot!” Leo called after him, halting the blonde in his steps abruptly. “We have assembly in a few minutes! Why are you even bothered about the cat?”

“Well…” Elliot stammered, feeling his cheeks heat up – much against his will. “Shuddap! I… look, it doesn’t matter! Just… help me find it!”

With a roll of the eyes, Leo took off after his master, struggling to catch up with him. Elliot might not look like the typical athlete, but, his stamina was sure as hell nothing short of impressive. And considering Leo had spent most of his life clogged up in a library surrounded by books, it was difficult to beat.

It was only when Leo noticed that Elliot was no longer running in front of him that he was pulled back into reality.

But, not before he registered where the other had gone: on the ground, directly in his path.

“Wait, Leo-!” Elliot tried to protest, his valet halting his footsteps immediately. However, the moment he stopped, his foot slipped on the grass, throwing him off balance.

And he just had to land right on top of Elliot.

“Leo! I told you to stop!” Elliot yelped, frantically trying to shuffle out from under the other. Despite the blush painted across his face, his façade broke a second later, the same, overjoyed smile stretching across his lips.

Leo found himself chuckling in return, crawling off the other and landing roughly onto the ground beside him.

The two continued laughing almost hysterically for over a minute, lying in the grass. Even 2 minutes later, they’d barely regained their composure.

Slowly cracking his eyes open, Leo glanced up hazily at the sun, the bright yellow beams gradually dissipating. His smile faded ever so slightly, as his gaze shifted to the left to discover a dark, grey cloud, looming over the field; creeping over the sun and blocking out the light.

“We should… be getting back to school…” Leo pointed out, an uneasy feeling overwhelming him. He sat up wearily, standing up on one knee before extending an arm to his master.

“It’s raining, huh…” Elliot muttered, taking Leo’s hand and lifting himself up onto two feet. His gaze traveled off to the horizon, the smile dropping – much like Leo’s had a second ago.

Raising an arm, Leo nodded, feeling bullets of rain hitting his palm. “Yeah, it is…”

And then, despite what he’d just said, the blonde bolted off into the distance, the sound of his footsteps dying out.

“Elliot!!” Leo called after him, his pulse increasing drastically. The rain was growing heavier by the second, crashing down onto the field and creating a wall of water.

“Elliot!!!” He yelled again.

There was no response from Elliot, only a bolt of lightning followed by a crash of thunder.

“Elliot!!” He cried.

A feeling of wetness pooled around his foot. Eyes wide open, Leo shifted his focus tentatively to the ground.

“El…liot?”

The liquid was a deep crimson. Blood. That was it.

“Elliot!”

…

“Elliot!”

“Master, please calm down.”

Leo awoke with a jolt, shooting up, the sheets flying off his body in the process. A harsh breeze broke through the room, sending a shiver down his spine. Frantically scanning the room, he tried desperately to make his vision focus, his heart still racing. Sweat proud down his forehead, the pitch four walls surrounding him in pitch blackness only adding to the unsettling nature, courtesy of what he’d just seen.

Just a dream… he tried to reassure himself, finally spotting the shadow of a silhouette standing next to the foot of his king size bed.

“Elliot…?” he choked out, tears brimming in his eyes. His head was swimming. Elliot was alive, surely.

“No, not Elliot,” the voice replied, stepping out into the light with a sinister smile painted across his face. His mismatched eyes glanced softly down at Leo, as he tilted his head slightly; his blonde hair swaying in sync. “What do you remember, master?”

“Master…?” Leo echoed confusedly. “No… you’re wrong… I’m not… what?”

“You are Glen. Glen Baskerville,” the other explained, “I’m Vincent, remember? I swore to serve you, right until you grant my wish.”

“I… know who you are…” A shudder ran through him. “Elliot is… dead?”

Vincent nodded discreetly, the same, unreadable expression spread across his face. “Do you remember now? The incidents at Yura’s mansion?”

Leo sniffed, feeling the tears trail down his face, pooling on the sheets beneath him. Avoidantly, he lowered his gaze to his trembling hands, a strained sob making its way past his lips. “It’s… my fault.”

“You are Glen now, remember, Leo?” Vincent asked, his tone unchanging. It was unnerving, given how stoic he appeared to remain. “That doesn’t matter anymore.”

“B-but…” he stuttered, more tears flowing freely from his eyes, glinting in the moonlight which broke through the window. His breathing still wracked and unsteady, he asked quietly, “W-where am I?”

“The Baskerville residence. The current one, at least. I took you here, where you will fulfill your duties.”

“I… understand,” Leo responded nonchalantly, his breath hitching once more in his throat before the tears finally slowed down.

He was lying. What part of all of this was ‘understandable’? But, right now, he just wanted to get rid of Vincent. Who cared if he was his ‘master’? Leo didn’t want any of it. All he wanted was to be alone.

“You should sleep,” Vincent recommended, “It’s only 4am. There’s still a few hours before you must wake up.”

“Then leave.”

Sulkily, Leo threw himself back down onto the bed, burying his face in the pillow. There was no chance of him sleeping. He just wanted to be alone, for Christ’s sake.

“As you wish,” Vincent granted, placing his hand on his chest and lowering his head, before turning his back to Leo and proceeding to the door. “If you need anything, just call for me.”

Leo didn’t feel like replying that time, waiting for the door to shut and the echoing footsteps die.

He turned over, the springs of the mattress creaking underneath his body. This was his first night at this god-forsaken place, and it was probably the first time he’d slept more than 3 hours since certain… incidents occurred.

There was no point in sleeping.

Silently, Leo unraveled himself from the covers, swinging his legs off the bed. Legs dangling over the edge, he lowered his feet onto the floor, the floor creaking briefly. He flinched momentarily at the noise, carefully standing up before wandering idly to the large window on the adjacent wall.

Gold speckled, purple eyes drifted to the moon, the bright light breaking through the partially closed curtain. Leo opened the curtains further, leaning against the wall by the window, a stoic and unreadable expression spread across his features. Narrowing his eyes up at the sky starved of stars, he let out an inaudible huff.

Everything just felt numb.

Another shiver ran down his spine, a dull ache accumulating in his forehead as the recent events tried to resurface themselves in his memory. Unconsciously, his hand drifted to the parted curtains, ragged and cut; the fabric had been mangled. The feeling itself made him cringe internally.

He’d have to tell Vincent to stop doing that sometime.

Sluggishly, he pulled his hand away from the curtains, turning his back to the window and scanning the room for another distraction.

On the left side of the room, currently closest to him, there was a chest of drawers – most likely filled with hideous outfits picked out by Vincent conveniently in his size – and a desk. A plain, dusty desk. On the opposite wall to the oversized, there was the door, another couple of empty shelves surrounding it probably inhabited by a hundred spiders and their nests. Finally, on the far right wall, along with the door leading to a private bathroom, there was an enormous shelf of books; you could probably get away with calling it a library itself.

That was no use. He didn’t particularly feel like reading right now.

..............

and that’s all i’ve got :”) depending on whether i find the plans, anyone want me to finish it? iirc it was an addict!Leo fic... 

[erintoknow]

Self-preservation, really

fallen hero fanfic, sidestep times 3.5k words. (3.5/50k for NaNoWriMo). [ao3]

this originated out of a micro-fic blurb that i wanted to explore more

––

They rose up and ate the EMP bomb before it could detonate. Knew the Nanovores had some rudimentary intelligence to assess threats, but this was far more sophisticated a response than you could have dreamed of. Now what? Boxing the swarm in and dropping an EMP was the go-to approach for a Nanovore attack of this size. It had proved pretty effective during the Gulf wars that had seen the first terrorist Nanovore attacks. If this even was a terrorist attack. If there was someone making demands at the center of this, they hadn’t spoken to anyone. Maybe the nanovores ate them first.

Fucking hell, the containment line is starting to falter, not clear how exactly, the repulsion fields set up to box the swarm in are proven to work, unless – Grab her shoulder and pull her backwards, knocking the wind out of you as she falls back on top of you. The ground around the emitter, where Ortega had been holding it steady begins to crumble, dissolve into a shimmery gray mass.

“Mierda…” Ortega breathes out, helping you back to your feet.

“F–fucking – bullshit is right, the little b–bastards tunneled underneath the shield.” You grit your teeth, holding onto Ortega’s hand as you step backwards from the rapidly approaching silver tide. Need to think of something, now.

“We need to save the emitter!” Elysie reaches for it and Ortega slips out of your hand to try and grab her back and it’s like watching lightning strike in slow motion. Stricken to the earth as Elysie drops to the ground, convulsing – jesus christ, and now the silver sheen is on Ortega’s skinsuit too and no no no. The ground at your feet is beginning to shift and that buzzing pressure clawing at the back of your head is getting more and more intense, it’s like a telepathic dampener but a thousand times more noisy, chittering bitey little mites like it’s the – the nanovores?

They have to stop, they have to stop, they have to STOP.

Your ears hear silence, but in your head it feels like you’ve grabbed a hive of bees with your bare hands.

Constant thrumming buzz, barbed notes cutting into you. You collapse your knees, the pressure building in your head. Screw your eyes shut and push at the sides of your skull as if to keep your brain from exploding.

Can’t read their thoughts – god, do they even have thoughts to read? – but they listen to you all the same, you don’t give them a say in the matter. Cold copper and electrical filament, the smell of silicon smoke flooding your senses. How does something so vast feel so small and yet all encompassing? Utterly alien to any mind you’ve touched before. Devouring – but no, not at least. Stand still! Stand down!

It feels like something bursts inside your head but you force your hands into fists. Force them back, off Ortega, off Elysie, off everyone, back to the center. Silvery sheen of metal locusts glaring sunlight.

Vaguely aware of people rushing around you. Doing what? 

The cages! Back to plan A then? Discarded when the swarm grew out of control. But, have to hold it – them. How long can you hold the pattern? Someone grabs your shoulder, helps hold you out while cursing under their breath in Spanish. Charge? She’s alive, thank god. Can’t spare her any more thought then that, the buzzing demands your full focus. All it takes is even one to slip through and rest will spill out and it’s all over.

As some point it starts getting hard to breath, have to struggle to pull up your mask, not all the way, just enough to free your nose. Can feel something wet and warm run down your face. Are you bleeding? Great. Time limit then. All the will in the world means nothing if you faint from blood loss.

Don’t know how long you kneel there in the dirt, wouldn’t even be doing that much if it wasn’t for Charge. Someone is saying something to you, her? Words of encouragement, you think. Processing anything that’s going on around you is a little much right now. Something gets put in front of you, people talking again?

“–holding up? You’re ––– this, right? Holding them –––––––?”

Nod your head, don’t trust words to speak.

“They’re setting up –––– cages now, ––––step, can you ––––?”

Void Cages, a material the nanovores can’t devour. Lead them in, filling each cage, one by one. The first one catches people by surprise, not an orderly line but the wave of an ocean, buzzing with bees, breaking over the containment unit, sending men in uniforms scattering. But so by wave and bucket even a sea can be emptied. 

“––––––!” The voice calls to you from a million miles away,  right in front of you. “Side–––!” Can’t afford to acknowledge – if you break concentration, if you lose your hold, everyone here dies. Possibly the entire city dies.

Almost all of them, almost done. Each cage filled is that much less pressure on your mind. Your increasingly weak, dizzy, lightheaded mind. Just one more and–

You jolt awake, and your skull wastes no time in complaining. Head like a metal rivet was pounded clean through. There’s still the weight of acrid smoke in your lungs. Push yourself up into a sitting position and your vision briefly goes black before slowly filling back in. How long were you out?

Sitting in a tent, two other cots to your left, both empty but with signs of use. Moved but can’t have been far. Mask pulled up over your nose but no further. It’s actually a little hard to see with how the material bunches up against the visor pieces. If this is a medical tent shouldn’t there be like… a doctor doing medical stuff? Glad there isn’t but still.

Try to get to your feet and you immediately fall back on your ass again, head ringing. Too dizzy. Weak. That’s not good. Can’t be like this. Not here. What happened? Did you finish with the swarm? Is Ortega safe? Elysie? Everyone else?

Are you dead, maybe?

Try to reach out with your mind and – wince, grab your skull. A dull thudding pain from deep within between your ears. The fuck – did you sprain your telepathy? Is that even a thing you can do? Well, could ask the same thing about holding the nanoswarm. That didn’t make sense either. Something tickles the back of your throat and you wince, cough up a chunk of dried blood. Wipe it off on the ground, check your nose. Not bleeding any more. That’s good at least.

Lean back, take a deep breath, hold, let it out. Don’t reach out then, just… open up, let them come to you.

It still hurts, sore, elastic stretched too far and won’t return to its natural shape, maybe. But… pick up shadows of an impression of the minds rushing around outside the tent. Busy, focused, plenty to do, damage to asses.

Haven’t lost your telepathy then. Still have it. That’s… that’s good right? You should feel good about that. It’s all you’ve got going for you after all, right?

Light floods the tent as someone steps inside, anxious, worried, thoughts running circles around their head. Look up and find Sunstream looking down at you. Relieved, red-eyed, tired. “Oh thank goodness you’re up.”

“Hey Sun,” you croak, “w–w–what’s up?”

A smile threatens to break out on her face and she has to pull at her mouth. “We were about send you to the hospital on the next ambulance.”

Dig your fingers into the ground, swallow hard. “N–not happening.”

“I still think you should go, but the Marshal ordered me to buy some time for you and it’s been–”

“Ortega? Where is she?”

Sunstream shakes her head, “Already on her way to the hospital.” She holds up a hand as soon as you open your mouth to speak. “Should be okay after surgery. She got off pretty light, not like…”

Can already feel the weight of the names in her mind. Something cold and terrible twists your insides. “Like…?”

“Elysie didn’t make it. A– A lot of people didn’t make it. God I–” Sunstream shudders, folding in on herself. Admittedly you don’t exactly have the closest relationship with the woman in your three years of working with the Rangers, but you’ve never seen her look quite like this. “When the swarm broke containment everything happened so fast. It was chaos. And I…”

“S–sunstream…?”

“We’re supposed to save people, Sidestep. I couldn’t do anything. All I could do was to… to try and… ease things for people.”

Oh.

“And then all of the sudden the swarm stopped, pulled back, and now I keep thinking… did I do the right thing? What if we could have saved them still? What if I–”

“Sunstream.” You cough, pat the ground next to you. “S–s–sit down.”

“What?”

“Just s–sit with me.”

She gives you a strange look, and for the first time you notice the blood and dirt smeared across her skinsuit. You pat the ground beside you again. Watch her mind run through a flurry of thought processes before she makes up her mind and crosses the length of the tent to sit down next to you, legs folded under her.

This really isn’t your wheelhouse, but Sunstream looks like how you feel right now. “J–just… d–do some– some breathing exercises with me. Okay?”

You barely get five minutes with Sunstream when more visitors arrive. Sentinel, flanked by Steel. Both looking in rough shape, but still standing.  Sentinel glances from you to Sunstream, “You’re both here? Good. We need to talk.”

Something about the way he says that – you feel yourself tensing up. “Where’s Anathema?”

Steel stays in the entrance, in his full power-armor he easily blocks the way out. “Helping search and rescue efforts.” He eyes the back of Sentinel’s head. “Like we should be doing.”

“And Sidestep can help with that.” Sentinel gestures towards you. Steel only grunts, not hiding the frown on his face as he stares down at you. “But first,” Sentinel continues, “we need to figure out what just happened back there.”

A gnawing twist in the pit of your stomach. You shift focus between Sentinel, Steel, and Sunstream. “They w–w–went underground. Underneath the–the–”

“No, we all know that part,” Sentinel cuts you off, and you blink. Taken aback. He’s never interrupted you like that before. “How did they stop?”

“I–I–I…” You frown, “W–wait… Why are you… w–w–why are you asking me?” Can feel your heart against your chest.

Sentinel shifts his weight. Can’t help but notice Sunstream has subtly put a bit more distance between you two as well. “Charge coordinated the containment over radio. But, we could all hear her talking to you.” Sentinel’s eyes flicker down towards the blood staining your front. “And you were obviously doing something.”

Should have left when you had the chance, Ariadne. Now you’re trapped here. Three pairs of eyes staring into you. Questioning thoughts. You want to think it’s concern, or worry. It hurts too much to get a clearer read but you you know better than to assume that. Is it doubt? Suspicion?

Sentinel frowns, “You’re not in trouble Sidestep. We just need to make sure we’re all on the same page before reporters overwhelm the scene.”

You sigh, can feel your whole body sag. “I… d–don’t know what I did.”

Don’t even need to look up to know Steel is narrowing his eyes at you. “So you did do something.”

“I had to–to–to think of– think of something to do – And I… I c–could hear them.”

“Hear them?” Sunstream asks.

“In–in–in the back of my head. So… I grabbed h–hold.”

Sentinel breaks the silence. “Sidestep, I thought you said you could only read surface thoughts, intentions, that kind of thing.”

“Th–that’s right.” You nod, sticking to your cover story. No one needs to know the full extent of what you can do. Keep recent events from sticking in memory, subtly alter perceptions. Nothing big, nothing drastic. Admitting to the Rangers being a telepath had been bad enough, re-earning people’s trust. Don’t think you’ll ever get Steel’s back; assuming you ever had it.

Still. There’s no possible way you should have been able to do what you did. To… reach into another mind and make it do something? That’s…

It’s disturbing.

By the feel of everyone’s thoughts, you aren’t alone in thinking that. A hand claps your shoulder, startling you out of your thoughts. Sentinel smiles down at you. “Well, however you managed it. It’s lucky for everyone you were here. You might have just saved the city.” There’s a moment and you can practically read him considering what he just said. Sentinel shakes his head, “No, no ‘might have’ about it.”

“P–p–please don’t tell anyone.” The words slip out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.

“For once I have to agree with Sidestep.” Steel says.

Sentinel lets go of your shoulder, taken aback. “Can’t say that’s a team-up I expected here.”

You can feel yourself shrinking under Steel’s glare. “That kind of ability is extremely rare. If it becomes common knowledge, that makes Sidestep a target. Am I wrong?”

“I…” What is Steel’s game here? Since when did he start caring? “Th–that’s about the whole of it.”

“Well, we can’t exactly keep it a secret from everyone.” Sentinel sighs, crossing his arms. “Everyone here is already piecing things together. That means us, the mayor’s Guardian Force, the police, maybe some of the EMTs…” Sentinel counts off the groups on one hand. “We can maybe keep the specifics out of the press. With Charge out of commission that means it’s up to you and me to handle things, Steel.”

Sunstream is staring at you with an uncomfortable mixture of fear and awe. “You really stopped the swarm?”

Shrugging, you give a weak laugh. “I d–d–don’t think I could d–do that again if I tried.”

Steel snorts. “Let’s all hope you don’t have to.”

Navigating the press in the cool down of the Nanovore attack is a nightmare all its own. Never appreciated until then just how much Ortega had run interference for you. The Rangers don’t exactly throw you to the wolves, but they don’t physically put themselves between you and the all-too nosey camera crews either.

Still can’t shake the feeling someone might have caught you on film with the lower-half of your face exposed. The LD police were more than happy to take at least partial credit for stopping the crisis, but you had still been stuck with the ‘honor’ of having played a key part in the cover story for saving the city. Too many people had heard you doing something over the radio even if they didn’t know what.

And now Ortega was hospitalized. Again. Not as bad as getting stabbed through the abdomen, thank god, but still out of commission.

These past few nights you’ve really missed not having Cat around. The nightmares have been making it hard to sleep. Or… not even nightmares, just laying down waiting to sleep and a sound of leaves crunching sets your heart racing.

It’s not until the weekend rolls around that you feel stable enough to brave the throng of people at the Hospital to see Ortega. You try to rationalize it to yourself that Ortega needed the time for the surgeries to repair the damage from the attack, but that feels hollow even to you.

At least your identity is still secret, though it seems like a cruel twist of fate that now you have to go about not in costume in order to avoid having the press hounding you.

As you near Ortega’s room you slow your pace, hover at the edge of the door. There’s someone already in the room. A doctor? Don’t think so. Wrong feel for that. Who else would be visiting Ortega though? There’s still a queer soreness to using your telepathy. It’d be easier to try to spy a peak from the open door.

You peak your head around the frame and the flow of Spanish is cut off with a cry of “Ari!” from Ortega.

Shit.

“S–s–sorry, I d–don’t want to interrupt.” You shrink back from the doorway. “I can wait.”

“What are you, crazy? Save me from any more fussing, I beg you.” Ortega is sitting up in her bed with a clear view of the door. One of her arms is in a cast, but she urges you in with the other. 

As you step inside, the other person in the room becomes visible. An older woman, a little shorter then you with greying hair, same skintone as Ortega. Is that…?

Ortega follows your gaze, and gestures between you and the other woman. “Ari, this is my Mamá. Mamá, this is my friend I’ve been telling you about.”

You want to dig into that, talking about you? Saying what exactly? You don’t get the chance, Ortega’s mother catches you in a crushing hug with only the briefest of warning thoughts to brace yourself with. “Gracias por salvar a Julia. Thank you, thank you.”

You freeze up, manage an accusatory look at Ortega who only smiles back at you. A little dazed. Might still be on pain meds. You try to step out of Mrs. Ortega’s hold and she only squeezes tighter. “Uh– De n–nada…? You’re welcome…?”

“Julia is always making her poor mother worry sick.” Mrs. Ortega finally releases you from her arms, though she doesn’t let go of you just yet, hands on your shoulders. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another, always rushing into trouble.” Now that you now she’s Ortega’s mom, the similarities are obvious, right down to how she can command the room with her presence.

“Th–that sounds like C–charge alright.” You smile at her nervously, shoot Ortega another questioning glance. “Um, s–s–sorry, how do you know I’m…?”

Ortega rubs the back of her neck with her good arm. “Sorry, Ari. I tried to be coy, but Mamá’s always been quick on the uptake.”

“My daughter has told me so much about you,” Mrs. Ortega beams at you. You mentally underline that bullet point about having words. “It’s about time,” Mrs. Ortega lobs a quick accusatory glare at her daughter, “I got to meet the young woman that’s so enraptured my daughter.”

You can feel the heat radiating off your face. “Uh– enraptured!?”

Ortega’s laughter is panicked, voice pitching up a little. “Mamá can be very dramatic, aren’t you, Mamá?”

“Oh hush.” Mrs. Ortega mimes a shutting mouth with her hand, “I mean what I say and I say what I mean.”

“O–o–ortega…” Your own pitches upward, “W–w–what have you been telling your mother!?”

“Nothing personal, I swear!”

“Nonsense, there’s nothing to be so embarrassed about, either of you. Goodness.” Mrs. Ortega still has one hand on your shoulder, a warm expression on her face, and knowing smile that fills you with a dread you don’t entirely understand. “Fine, I’ll let you two birds be. I need to pack myself a proper bag anyway.”

“Uh– b–bag?”

“Mm-hm. Julia needs to keep that arm still while it heals. I’ll be–”

“I told you, Mamá!” Ortega’s face looks pained, embarrassed? “I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly you can’t! Not until that arm heals!”

“Mamá…”

The indignation on Mrs. Ortega’s face so perfectly mirrors her daughter’s that you can’t help grinning a little. “Aw. I th–think she’s being sweet.” Doesn’t she get how lucky she is?

“Not you too!” Ortega groans.

“It w–was nice to, uh– it was nice to meet you, Mrs. Ortega.” You give her a shakey smile.

“Mrs. Ortega?” She makes a face, then smiles at you, “A partir de ahora, puedes illamarme tía Elana.”

You blink. “T-tía? That’s– I mean– W–we just met.” The whole situation feels unreal. So much like her daughter, but different. Ortega always seems to be holding back a little, even at her most insistent. Maybe because you can’t read her thoughts? But Elana has no such immunity, and even to your presently weakened telepathic senses a clear and frightening level of genuine.

“And I hope to be seeing much more of you around,” She glances over to her daughter, voice gaining an edge. “Isn’t that right dear?”

“Mamá… I think you might be overwhelming her.”

“I– I’m f–fine.” You protest, “Th–this is fine?” You run a hand through your hair, pulling at the curls. You feel… something. What exactly it is you can’t name, but you feel it. Rub at your eyes with the back of your hand. “…thank you Mr.s Or– Tía Elana.”

“Thank you for taking care of my daughter, dear.”

“It– it was n–nothing… self-preservation, really…”

[spn-ficfanatic]

If You Wanna Be My Lover

Prompt: “Am I hungover or do I have a concussion?”, requested by Nonnie about a week ago.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Words: 1975

Warnings: A few F bombs

Date posted: 14th April 2018

A loud knocking pulled you from the chorus of your favourite Spice Girls song. Given you were right next door to the Winchesters, and knowing Dean as well as you did, you were willing to bet every penny you had (not much, by the way) which of the brothers it was. Sure enough, his voice floated through the door.

“Y/N, if you’re going to drunk-sing can you at least take a request for some ACDC?” Dean asked, his gruff voice sending shivers up your spine.

You quickly decided you’d had just enough alcohol, ok maybe more than JUST enough, to allow yourself to pull those walls down for an hour or two. You know, the walls reminding you not to date? That dating as a hunter, let alone dating ANOTHER hunter, was doomed from the start? Sure, there was attraction there. Gentle flirting which you knew he reciprocated, but it couldn't be more than that. At least, it couldn’t be when you were sober. And you were definitely not that right now. Singing along to “Wannabe” and dancing on top of your bed was a testament to that fact.

“Y/N? You ok? I'm coming in”, Dean called again, his concern evident this time, and suddenly you realised you’d never answered him.

And that you were only in your underwear and bra.

What? Dance around to 90’s pop songs was hot work!

Gasping in horror you suddenly scrambled to find your clothes. You might have wanted to engage in some drunken sex that you’d no doubt regret in the morning, but you didn’t want to make it TOO easy on the guy.

As the door opened you spotted your clothes across the room and in your panic you bolted for them, forgetting you were currently standing on the bed.

“Y/N? Woah, hey, wait-” Dean cried, only to be interrupted by your graceful fall off the bed and into the coffee table. As you felt yourself fall into unconsciousness, your main concern was whether Dean would have the decency to dress you before calling the coroner.

Deans POV

The singing had started. He, Sam and yourself had been hunting together for a few years now, but even after all that time you still prefered your own company when shit hit the fan. And the shit most certainly hit the fan on this hunt. 5 dead vamps but 3 dead teenagers later, and you had bid them goodnight before no doubt hitting the Jack Daniels. The singing signalled the halfway point. It usually took 5 pop songs before you finally crashed, though how Dean knew that was irrelevant. Wasn't like he studied every little thing about you, simply to feel closer to you. Wasn't like he had feelings for you or anything. After all, You'd been pretty clear on your “no dating” policy. So he'd respected your wishes while ignoring his own.

Didn't mean he couldn't look out for you though, which is how he found himself standing outside your door waiting for a break in the song to knock loud enough for you to hear.

“Y/N, if you’re going to drunk-sing can you at least take a request for some ACDC?” he tried to joke, though he couldn't help a note of concern slip through the cracks. He listened out for a response but even though you'd stopped singing the music kept playing and there were no other sounds to be heard. He waited impatiently and after 10 seconds he was starting to get worried, and he decided it was time to make his entrance.

“Y/N? You ok? I'm coming in”.

He pushed the door open, and was startled to find you looking at him like a deer in headlights, nearly stark naked except for the flimsy lingerie he knew you wore not for comfort but because despite the fact you were a badass hunter, you still liked feeling pretty.

It wasn’t at all weird that he knew that either.

“Y/N? Woah, hey, wait-” he called in alarm as he saw you run head first off the bed, colliding smack bang into the corner of the coffee table. He ran over to you, terrified of what a blow like that could do to a person. You didn't move, your body naturally falling into the recovery position, and he felt his heart hammering in his chest.

“No no no no,” he muttered unconsciously as he reached you, gently rolling you over and  inspecting your head, grateful to find there was no blood. You'd actually managed to land your head onto a cushion on the floor, which he prayed help soften the blow. Your eyes were still closed though.

“Y/N? Sweetheart? Open your eyes. Can you hear me?” he called, cupping your face in his hands. He leant down and placed his ear to your mouth and fingers to your neck, grateful to hear and feel your breathing and pulse were steady.

Brushing the hair out of your face, he took a moment to simply take you in. You were looking so worn, you'd obviously been crying as your eyes were puffy and your mascara had run slightly. Your body had more scars than he would have expected from even a hunter,  but somehow you were still the most beautiful goddamn woman he'd ever seen.

“Dammit Y/N,” he sighed as he gently lifted you onto the bed, pulling a sheet over you to allow you some discretion. His heart leapt as he heard a moan escape your lips, and he sat up by your head to wait for your eyes to open. Running his hand through your hair, avoiding the forming lump on your scalp, he softly called your name.

Your POV

“Fuuuuuuuck,” you groaned in reply, squinting your eyes tightly against the pain. You heard someone sigh in relief, and once you managed to open your eyes you were greeted with the sight of those beautiful green orbs.

“Y/N? You with me?” he asked, his voice laced with worry. You nodded, regretting the movement when pain shot through your scalp and down your neck.

“I’m alive then? That’s nice,” you muttered quietly, and Dean gave a small chuckle.

“Alive yes, but you’re definitely gonna be feeling that bump for a while,” he told you with a frown. Hopping off the bed, he went to the freezer and grabbed an icepack while you lay silently, swallowing down the nausea that was starting to rear its ugly head.

You felt the mattress dip as he sat back down, and hissed when you felt the cool pack being held gently against your growing bump. You thanked him and repositioned your arm, holding it there yourself. The alcohol was starting to take effect, and you could sense you’d shortly be passing out.

“Can I sleep?” you asked, your eyes already drooping. He patted you on the shoulder gently and nodded his head, and you started drifting somewhere between sleep and awake. You heard Dean whip out his phone and dial someone, presumably his brother, and you had confirmation of that when you heard Sam’s phone ringing softly through the walls.

“Hey Sam,” he greeted his brother. “I’m gonna crash over here tonight ok? No, she’s not giving me a private dance… shaddaup.”

The start of that conversation piqued your interest, but despite your best efforts sleep found you quickly and you drifted off.

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

Moaning loudly, you woke to a pounding headache and curled in on yourself while gripping your skull with your hands. You thought you heard footsteps, and as the mattress dipped you opened one eye to see who the intruder was.

“Dean?” you asked, surprised by the turn of events. “Why are you here?” He looked exhausted, but still gave you a smile which admittedly gave you butterflies.

“You don’t remember?” he frowned, pushing a strand of hair away from your face and behind your ear. You shook your head, inevitably a mistake as your head screamed at you to stay still.

“Christ, am I hungover or do I have a concussion?” you groaned, squinting your eyes in pain.

“Both actually,” Dean told you. “You fell off the bed during your pop song routine. Smacked your head on the coffee table.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, and lifted your fingers to your head to find a massive bump that wasn’t there the night before.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” you told him. “Were you here all night?”

“Yer well, someone had to make sure you didn’t choke on your own puke,” he replied humorlessly. You reached out and placed your hand over his, smiling in thanks. He smiled back but then watched curiously as your face fell with a sudden thought, and you lifted the sheet. Gasping, you pulled it back down and looked at him with bright red cheeks.

“Did… did you undress me?” you asked in horror. He laughed then, and shook his head.

“No sweetheart, you did that all on your own.”

Facepalm. This was absolutely not how you envisioned Dean seeing you in your underwear for the first time.

“Well,” you started, hoping to lighten the mood. “That would have been a way to go right? Death by coffee table in my underwear. It’s what every hunter dreams of.”

You shared a laugh before Dean shifting himself to stand.

“I better let you get dressed,” he commented, more to himself, before lifting himself off your mattress. You grabbed his hand suddenly, and as he turned to look at you with confusion you wondered what the hell you were doing.

“Dean… I- I haven’t thrown up have I?”

“Umm, no,” he replied, raising a confused eyebrow.

“Good,” you replied, and before you had a chance to lose your nerve you yanked him down and crashed his lips into yours.

It didn’t take long for his tongue to run along your lip, begging for access, and of course you allowed it. He slowly pushed you back onto the mattress while climbing onto the bed with you, laying over you while holding himself up with one arm and running his free hand through your hair, careful to avoid your lump. The pace between you quickened and you could feel his pants tighten, before he quickly gasped and pulled away, rolling onto the other side of the mattress.

“Wait, hang on,” he cried, panting as he lay there with a hand on his chest, trying to calm down. You sighed and rolled carefully onto your side to face him, propping your head up with your arm. Placing your own hand on his chest, he interlocked his fingers into yours and turned his head to face you.

“What happened to your ‘no dating’ policy,” he asked, his gaze staying on the ceiling while he tried to compose yourself. You were still half dressed after all.

“That might be the stupidest rule I’ve ever made up. At least, it is where you’re concerned,” you admitted with a shrug, your heart racing. He looked at you confused and you rolled your eyes at how oblivious he was. “Dude, you just stayed up all night to make sure I didn’t die in my sleep. You didn’t take advantage of me even though I was drunk and half naked, and even after I was the one who kissed you first you still pulled away just now to make sure this was ok. We keep doing this little flirting game and maybe it’s the crushing headache talking but I’m just so over it.”

His eyes widened in surprise at your confession, and he sat up straighter.

“So… what does all that mean?” he asked quietly.

“Actions speak louder than words Dean,” you replied, before leaning over and once again embracing him in a passionate kiss.

No power on Earth would pull him away from you this time.

Masterlist

“Everything” Tag List: @angelsandwinchesters, @grace-for-sale, @growningupgeek, @iamnotsaneatall, @nanie5, @queen-of-moons2025, @waywardasfudge, @ronja-uebrick

[robbiejohnsonyr2ax2011]

University - Manchester Animation Festival - Day 3

During this week, we are attending the “Manchester Animation Festival” (Or MAF for short). During each day this week I will write a post giving my thoughts on what I watched, as well as add anything else we did such as meetings and Talks. I will also provide links to any form of clip or trailer, if I can find one.

(This Post will contain spoilers)

 Short film panorama

 Change Return

Change return is based in the far future, where we see robotic servants helping and giving people things such as drinks and food. We come across a poor man, who tricks the machine into bringing him a pig. This doesn’t end well as the owner of the pig finds them and shoots the pig and injures the man and blows two of the pig’s legs off. The man feeling guilty goes to the machine that magically heals his wounds, but also the Pig’s two legs, which turn into human hands instead. The owner of the pig reports him and decides to take him in, the poor man is tasered and about to be arrested, when the pig saves him.

I like the idea of society and nature still getting along, even if it seems like all nature is gone from the world. The lighting is another aspect pulled off very well as the mixture of bright neon lights and darker, shadier areas, reflect the lifestyles of people who are living in those areas. The story although heart-warming also gives a bit of a statement of how dependent civilisation is on technology and the negative effects of it (E.g. possibly a loss of jobs if their all replaced with robots).

There was unfortunately no trailer, but the full film has bee uploaded to YouTube if you’d like to give it a watch (Link Below).

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yo2ZmeiIr1I

 Umbrellas

Umbrellas tells the story of a young child who as baby in an umbrella and basket was dropped off at house in the forest. A man comes running out to inspect the crying the baby is making, finds the child and brings them up as his own. The Man (Now a Dad/Farther) looks after the kid and protects her from the rain, with his umbrella shaped beard. One wind, rainy night their dog runs off and the two go in search, they are separated by a broken bridge and are apart from each other for the first time. The young girl finds the dog, trying to save its puppy which has been sent in an umbrella caught in a tree over a violent, river rapid. The puppy is saved, and the girl takes off her hood, experiencing rain for the first time and the world goes from dull and grey, into a colourful environment.

This is a very heart-warming tale as we watch the bond between farther and daughter grow and how much they care about each other and their dog. The drawn style of the animation gives a great look to the character designs as well as details to the backgrounds/ environments, becoming even better (as well as quite satisfying) when the colour come towards the end of the film. I also liked the final scene, where the daughter is cutting the dads umbrella bearded into a regular one. This is used as a visual sign to show narrative, that the dad has learned to let go, let his daughter be independent instead of shielding her all the time. As a final point, I enjoyed the idea of instead of the classic tale of storks delivering babies to parents, its umbrellas instead.

Link to trailer

https://vimeo.com/327840550

 Leaf boat

Leaf boat tells the story of two friends in a small beachside town, who decide to go sailing at night on a small boat made out of a leaf, lamppost and a blanket. All is well until one of the friends becomes nervous and starts questioning things such as what if they get lost or fall in the sea and they don’t know what is down there. These thoughts cause high winds, stormy weather and even a sea monster to confront the two. In the end the nervous young woman explains that she doesn’t want her friend to leave her in an unfamiliar place again, the two (now back on shore) watch the sea together and smile.

This story is interesting to be, as it gives a look into rejection and abandonment from others and close ones and how surprising it can be for others to learn and accept. The two girls are slightly different, one is very active and running headfirst towards things, the other is calmer, quitter and more cautious. These character traits show how the two are different and have come from two very different backgrounds. I also loved the creativity of the film having the two girls manipulate their surroundings to build the boat, almost like an optical illusion of sorts and the art style accommodates this very well with its shifting, drawn design.

Link to the trailer

https://vimeo.com/452520927

 Armstrong

Armstrong is an inventive story on a man and a woman working in a factory creating 3D shapes from more shapes 3D shapes, the woman secretly has deep feelings for the man to the point of spying on him and create sculptures of him. One night the moon disappears causing the world and themselves to break and fall to pieces, the two meet up and work together to fix the world. They do this by creating a new moon and return it by using pieces of the world on themselves and creating giant strong arms. They return the moon back where it belongs, and the world returns to normal.

I really enjoyed the creativity in this film, using simplistic 3D designs, allow the creators to expand and build upon what they’ve got. I enjoyed the premise of building not only what you make, but what you make of yourself. The character animations where also very good, they don’t talk any verbal language, so they speak in mumbles and sounds, mix this with facial and body language and you have here a very expressional and understandable film. I also liked the idea of the factory uses stars as their source of shapes at the end.

I couldn’t find a trailer, but here is a link to the full film.

https://vimeo.com/388446129

 Heart of Gold

Heart of Gold tells the story of a mother trying to pay her bills for her house and for her son, she does this by giving body parts to an elderly couple. An old woman is dying, and her elderly husband can perform very bizarre surgery. Piece by piece the of the mother is placed in the elderly one and her body parts are replaced with golden robotic body parts. Eventually the old woman looks just li8ke the mother, the only part remaining is the mother’s (now robot) beating heart. The son rips out the robotic mother’s heart and puts it in the elderly woman. With the new heart the elderly woman is now the mother again and robot and elderly husband go live in together.

This film is unique in its story direction and cinematography, using Claymation effectively to show body parts being taken out and replaced. It was also quite intense at times (As someone who isn’t great with gore), although there wasn’t any inclusion of blood, see body parts like lungs being ripped out and cut open, or eyeballs being gouged out certainly left me with shivers. Admittedly I got a little confused with the ending, but it’s possible its open to interpretation (Or I’m missing something).

Unfortunately, I couldn’t find any clips or trailers for this short film.

 Grab My Hand – A Letter to My Dad

Grab My Hand – A Letter to My Dad is the story of two friends told by one of their sons. The story is of two boys, the son’s dad and uncle Dewayne (no blood relation) who were best friends since school. They would get in contact with each other daily saying “Gate Check”, which was there way of knowing that the other was alive, awake and ready for work. The two would always talk and meet up, until one day the Dad dreams that his son had died, although this doesn’t happen, he rings Dewayne with “Gate Check” but receives no response, Dewayne’s wife rings the Dad and says he’s not waking up. The Dad rushes to the hospital to be with Dewayne, one night he sits next to Dewayne almost saying a final goodbye of sorts, he keeps saying “Gate Check” and eventually Dewayne grabs his hand and is back. Dewayne’s back for roughly a week, until he passes away, we are then told the life lesson of surrounding yourself with good people who want to be with you.

This story is very deep and impactful, reminding us of our own mortality and the time we have people closest to us. It’s great the son is explaining the story as it gives a personal side of sorts to the story. The art style is effective as some of the happier scenes earlier in the film are active and wacky, in comparison to the slow and sometimes still sections of the more intense and sad moments later.

Although not official, here is a trailer for this film created by the “Miami Film Festival” (Link Below)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oGkmsJifrCU

 The Gift

The Gift is a story about a young woman who is experiencing paranormal and demonic dream like sequences. She begins to feel pain in her down belows and tries to ignore it, this changes when she falls asleep in a bath, as she finds herself in a hellish landscape. Surrounded by an angry mob yelling to burn her and that she is a witch, she smiles, levitates into the air and her eyes widen and flash. Cut back home and she catches a knife zooming towards her as if it was nothing.

This story is interesting as it plays into beliefs and a supernatural aspect of someone and discovering these anomalies. The build-up I liked a lot, as a viewer I was questioning what was going on, with the flying knifes and the bloody hands, my initial thoughts were the birth of the anti-Christ with all the blood and pain below. But was equally as bad as its implied that woman did something bad to the mob of people, and her catching the same knife from earlier felt like a good sense of progression and acceptance.

No Trailer, but the BBC have the full film on their website in the link below.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p089z7dd

 Wade

Wade is a story set in a dystopian future where due to climate change the world is engulfed in water. We follow a small family as they traverse the streets of water in search for food, they have two small children with them, one of which is sat on a raft of plastic bottles. The family is ambushed by tigers killing off two of them, the family hide in an abandoned shop, but leave the child on the raft with the tigers. The situation looks bad for the raft child, until the leader of the pack of tigers walks over to the child, however this tiger isn’t like the others as it is able to walk on top of water. The baby in the shop with the family cries and is drowned not to give away the family’s hiding spot, suddenly the tiger leader gives birth to a cub. The tiger who killed off two of the family members charges towards to child on the raft, but has its neck sliced by the leader. The tigers leave and the child on the raft feels something odd, the water changes the same way the tiger leader made the water when walking on top of it.

There is a lot to unpack with this short film, I liked the dystopian setting as it not only works with the story but could be seen as a reflection of what the world could be like if climate change gets worse. The graffiti on the walls with evacuation and warning notes and signs show a that this was once a thriving society, it’s now every man (Or animal) for themselves. The film got me with the tigers, earlier we are shown an alligator in the water, so I assumed that was the main threat, but the sudden tiger attack really caught me of guard. The film also looks beautiful, with its wide array of colours and lighting, once again capturing the feeling of something that once was and has been run down and abounded.

Link to the Trailer

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pk9uHHZl6m4

 Wood Child and Hidden Forest Mother

Wood Child and Hidden Forest Mother tells the story of a huntsman armed with a shotgun killing woodland animals, until he comes across a small creature he cannot kill. The man looks through a hole in the creature’s chest (which he shot) and sees a bright jolly colourful world, compared to his own dark and dull one. Intrigued he chases the creature, until they both go off screen (Literally of the screen boarders) and wake up in a colourful magical world. The huntsman wakes to find mini variants of the creature come out of his stomach, like a mother he feeds them with his nipples, but refuses to feed the original creature. Out of juice he cuts wounds on his body to keep the creatures happy. The man bleeds out and dies and so do the creatures on his toxic blood. The only one left is the original creature who feeds of the huntsman’s dying tears, finds another huntsman and the cycle continues.

This short film shows that just because something is happy and magical, doesn’t always mean it is, looks can be deceiving and this film certainly delivered. This film is interesting with its method of telling its story and move the characters along in the story, from jumping off screen to the drastic decisions made to progress the story. Little things such as the un killable creature drinking the man and gaining his appearance was a nice touch as well as in the end when there all dead, that their spirits leave off screen into the dark abyss of sorts.

Link to trailer

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5DSCpPFd_z4

 Today’s talks.

 Peter Bishop

In todays talk we had Peter (One of my tutors) who gave us some in sight to where is creativity came from and how it got him to where he is today. One of the earliest things he stated was he didn’t start off as an artist, which caught my attention as I myself have never done (or been particularly good at) art, so I was intrigued with how he got to where he is today.

Peter explained how his journey started by sending a drawing attached to a post card and from there he kept creating. He shared a variety of clips throughout his career of what he’s done including what he does to come up with ideas such as walking, doodling, looking at other people’s work. He also showed us a range of comic stripes he had read and made and went onto explain how this led to him getting involved with different industry and making friends, this lead to him going to India multiple times for roughly four to six weeks.

Peter also explained that past work he has created was repurposed for future work, for example they had shot footage of a bird in a garden setting, in a future piece of work, they reused the bird but gave it a hat, had it eat a skull and fly away revealing the Holland animation festival logo. One final thing I enjoyed about Peter’s talk was I enjoyed his “How to Destroy the World With” series which he showed how food and rubbish can do it.

Overall, the talk covered a lot of bases and forms of how animation can be used, from TV adverts, Illustrations, theatre or even a bit of creativity with Taxi horns. The talked expanded my knowledge as to where and how animation can be applied and used in the world and how important it is to stick to deadlines and what you can achieve if you put your mind to it.

[robbiejohnsonyr2ax2000]

University - Manchester Animation Festival - Day 3

During this week, we are attending the “Manchester Animation Festival” (Or MAF for short). During each day this week I will write a post giving my thoughts on what I watched, as well as add anything else we did such as meetings and Talks. I will also provide links to any form of clip or trailer, if I can find one.

(This Post will contain spoilers)

Short film panorama

Change Return

Change return is based in the far future, where we see robotic servants helping and giving people things such as drinks and food. We come across a poor man, who tricks the machine into bringing him a pig. This doesn’t end well as the owner of the pig finds them and shoots the pig and injures the man and blows two of the pig’s legs off. The man feeling guilty goes to the machine that magically heals his wounds, but also the Pig’s two legs, which turn into human hands instead. The owner of the pig reports him and decides to take him in, the poor man is tasered and about to be arrested, when the pig saves him.

I like the idea of society and nature still getting along, even if it seems like all nature is gone from the world. The lighting is another aspect pulled off very well as the mixture of bright neon lights and darker, shadier areas, reflect the lifestyles of people who are living in those areas. The story although heart-warming also gives a bit of a statement of how dependent civilisation is on technology and the negative effects of it (E.g. possibly a loss of jobs if their all replaced with robots).

There was unfortunately no trailer, but the full film has bee uploaded to YouTube if you’d like to give it a watch (Link Below).

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yo2ZmeiIr1I

Umbrellas

Umbrellas tells the story of a young child who as baby in an umbrella and basket was dropped off at house in the forest. A man comes running out to inspect the crying the baby is making, finds the child and brings them up as his own. The Man (Now a Dad/Farther) looks after the kid and protects her from the rain, with his umbrella shaped beard. One wind, rainy night their dog runs off and the two go in search, they are separated by a broken bridge and are apart from each other for the first time. The young girl finds the dog, trying to save its puppy which has been sent in an umbrella caught in a tree over a violent, river rapid. The puppy is saved, and the girl takes off her hood, experiencing rain for the first time and the world goes from dull and grey, into a colourful environment.

This is a very heart-warming tale as we watch the bond between farther and daughter grow and how much they care about each other and their dog. The drawn style of the animation gives a great look to the character designs as well as details to the backgrounds/ environments, becoming even better (as well as quite satisfying) when the colour come towards the end of the film. I also liked the final scene, where the daughter is cutting the dads umbrella bearded into a regular one. This is used as a visual sign to show narrative, that the dad has learned to let go, let his daughter be independent instead of shielding her all the time. As a final point, I enjoyed the idea of instead of the classic tale of storks delivering babies to parents, its umbrellas instead.

Link to trailer

https://vimeo.com/327840550

Leaf boat

Leaf boat tells the story of two friends in a small beachside town, who decide to go sailing at night on a small boat made out of a leaf, lamppost and a blanket. All is well until one of the friends becomes nervous and starts questioning things such as what if they get lost or fall in the sea and they don’t know what is down there. These thoughts cause high winds, stormy weather and even a sea monster to confront the two. In the end the nervous young woman explains that she doesn’t want her friend to leave her in an unfamiliar place again, the two (now back on shore) watch the sea together and smile.

This story is interesting to be, as it gives a look into rejection and abandonment from others and close ones and how surprising it can be for others to learn and accept. The two girls are slightly different, one is very active and running headfirst towards things, the other is calmer, quitter and more cautious. These character traits show how the two are different and have come from two very different backgrounds. I also loved the creativity of the film having the two girls manipulate their surroundings to build the boat, almost like an optical illusion of sorts and the art style accommodates this very well with its shifting, drawn design.

Link to the trailer

https://vimeo.com/452520927

Armstrong

Armstrong is an inventive story on a man and a woman working in a factory creating 3D shapes from more shapes 3D shapes, the woman secretly has deep feelings for the man to the point of spying on him and create sculptures of him. One night the moon disappears causing the world and themselves to break and fall to pieces, the two meet up and work together to fix the world. They do this by creating a new moon and return it by using pieces of the world on themselves and creating giant strong arms. They return the moon back where it belongs, and the world returns to normal.

I really enjoyed the creativity in this film, using simplistic 3D designs, allow the creators to expand and build upon what they’ve got. I enjoyed the premise of building not only what you make, but what you make of yourself. The character animations where also very good, they don’t talk any verbal language, so they speak in mumbles and sounds, mix this with facial and body language and you have here a very expressional and understandable film. I also liked the idea of the factory uses stars as their source of shapes at the end.

I couldn’t find a trailer, but here is a link to the full film.

https://vimeo.com/388446129

Heart of Gold

Heart of Gold tells the story of a mother trying to pay her bills for her house and for her son, she does this by giving body parts to an elderly couple. An old woman is dying, and her elderly husband can perform very bizarre surgery. Piece by piece the of the mother is placed in the elderly one and her body parts are replaced with golden robotic body parts. Eventually the old woman looks just li8ke the mother, the only part remaining is the mother’s (now robot) beating heart. The son rips out the robotic mother’s heart and puts it in the elderly woman. With the new heart the elderly woman is now the mother again and robot and elderly husband go live in together.

This film is unique in its story direction and cinematography, using Claymation effectively to show body parts being taken out and replaced. It was also quite intense at times (As someone who isn’t great with gore), although there wasn’t any inclusion of blood, see body parts like lungs being ripped out and cut open, or eyeballs being gouged out certainly left me with shivers. Admittedly I got a little confused with the ending, but it’s possible its open to interpretation (Or I’m missing something).

Unfortunately, I couldn’t find any clips or trailers for this short film.

Grab My Hand – A Letter to My Dad

Grab My Hand – A Letter to My Dad is the story of two friends told by one of their sons. The story is of two boys, the son’s dad and uncle Dewayne (no blood relation) who were best friends since school. They would get in contact with each other daily saying “Gate Check”, which was there way of knowing that the other was alive, awake and ready for work. The two would always talk and meet up, until one day the Dad dreams that his son had died, although this doesn’t happen, he rings Dewayne with “Gate Check” but receives no response, Dewayne’s wife rings the Dad and says he’s not waking up. The Dad rushes to the hospital to be with Dewayne, one night he sits next to Dewayne almost saying a final goodbye of sorts, he keeps saying “Gate Check” and eventually Dewayne grabs his hand and is back. Dewayne’s back for roughly a week, until he passes away, we are then told the life lesson of surrounding yourself with good people who want to be with you.

This story is very deep and impactful, reminding us of our own mortality and the time we have people closest to us. It’s great the son is explaining the story as it gives a personal side of sorts to the story. The art style is effective as some of the happier scenes earlier in the film are active and wacky, in comparison to the slow and sometimes still sections of the more intense and sad moments later.

Although not official, here is a trailer for this film created by the “Miami Film Festival” (Link Below)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oGkmsJifrCU

The Gift

The Gift is a story about a young woman who is experiencing paranormal and demonic dream like sequences. She begins to feel pain in her down belows and tries to ignore it, this changes when she falls asleep in a bath, as she finds herself in a hellish landscape. Surrounded by an angry mob yelling to burn her and that she is a witch, she smiles, levitates into the air and her eyes widen and flash. Cut back home and she catches a knife zooming towards her as if it was nothing.

This story is interesting as it plays into beliefs and a supernatural aspect of someone and discovering these anomalies. The build-up I liked a lot, as a viewer I was questioning what was going on, with the flying knifes and the bloody hands, my initial thoughts were the birth of the anti-Christ with all the blood and pain below. But was equally as bad as its implied that woman did something bad to the mob of people, and her catching the same knife from earlier felt like a good sense of progression and acceptance.

No Trailer, but the BBC have the full film on their website in the link below.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p089z7dd

Wade

Wade is a story set in a dystopian future where due to climate change the world is engulfed in water. We follow a small family as they traverse the streets of water in search for food, they have two small children with them, one of which is sat on a raft of plastic bottles. The family is ambushed by tigers killing off two of them, the family hide in an abandoned shop, but leave the child on the raft with the tigers. The situation looks bad for the raft child, until the leader of the pack of tigers walks over to the child, however this tiger isn’t like the others as it is able to walk on top of water. The baby in the shop with the family cries and is drowned not to give away the family’s hiding spot, suddenly the tiger leader gives birth to a cub. The tiger who killed off two of the family members charges towards to child on the raft, but has its neck sliced by the leader. The tigers leave and the child on the raft feels something odd, the water changes the same way the tiger leader made the water when walking on top of it.

There is a lot to unpack with this short film, I liked the dystopian setting as it not only works with the story but could be seen as a reflection of what the world could be like if climate change gets worse. The graffiti on the walls with evacuation and warning notes and signs show a that this was once a thriving society, it’s now every man (Or animal) for themselves. The film got me with the tigers, earlier we are shown an alligator in the water, so I assumed that was the main threat, but the sudden tiger attack really caught me of guard. The film also looks beautiful, with its wide array of colours and lighting, once again capturing the feeling of something that once was and has been run down and abounded.

Link to the Trailer

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pk9uHHZl6m4

Wood Child and Hidden Forest Mother

Wood Child and Hidden Forest Mother tells the story of a huntsman armed with a shotgun killing woodland animals, until he comes across a small creature he cannot kill. The man looks through a hole in the creature’s chest (which he shot) and sees a bright jolly colourful world, compared to his own dark and dull one. Intrigued he chases the creature, until they both go off screen (Literally of the screen boarders) and wake up in a colourful magical world. The huntsman wakes to find mini variants of the creature come out of his stomach, like a mother he feeds them with his nipples, but refuses to feed the original creature. Out of juice he cuts wounds on his body to keep the creatures happy. The man bleeds out and dies and so do the creatures on his toxic blood. The only one left is the original creature who feeds of the huntsman’s dying tears, finds another huntsman and the cycle continues.

This short film shows that just because something is happy and magical, doesn’t always mean it is, looks can be deceiving and this film certainly delivered. This film is interesting with its method of telling its story and move the characters along in the story, from jumping off screen to the drastic decisions made to progress the story. Little things such as the un killable creature drinking the man and gaining his appearance was a nice touch as well as in the end when there all dead, that their spirits leave off screen into the dark abyss of sorts.

Link to trailer

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5DSCpPFd_z4

Today’s talks.

Peter Bishop

In todays talk we had Peter (One of my tutors) who gave us some in sight to where is creativity came from and how it got him to where he is today. One of the earliest things he stated was he didn’t start off as an artist, which caught my attention as I myself have never done (or been particularly good at) art, so I was intrigued with how he got to where he is today.

Peter explained how his journey started by sending a drawing attached to a post card and from there he kept creating. He shared a variety of clips throughout his career of what he’s done including what he does to come up with ideas such as walking, doodling, looking at other people’s work. He also showed us a range of comic stripes he had read and made and went onto explain how this led to him getting involved with different industry and making friends, this lead to him going to India multiple times for roughly four to six weeks.

Peter also explained that past work he has created was repurposed for future work, for example they had shot footage of a bird in a garden setting, in a future piece of work, they reused the bird but gave it a hat, had it eat a skull and fly away revealing the Holland animation festival logo. One final thing I enjoyed about Peter’s talk was I enjoyed his “How to Destroy the World With” series which he showed how food and rubbish can do it.

Overall, the talk covered a lot of bases and forms of how animation can be used, from TV adverts, Illustrations, theatre or even a bit of creativity with Taxi horns. The talked expanded my knowledge as to where and how animation can be applied and used in the world and how important it is to stick to deadlines and what you can achieve if you put your mind to it.

[hencethebravery]

Colin O’Donoghue spoke out loud in front of people about kissing Josh Dallas because he’s got nice lips. I literally can’t get over it, so here’s an AU about sneaking into someone’s house so you can kiss them on the mouth without inciting unnecessary drama. For the #CCsquad. @the-reason-to-sail-home @abbadons-little-witch @mahstatins

+ Honestly, it’s just as well he avoid the conversation altogether. It’s not as if he’d call his brother especially conservative per say, he just... knows Liam Jones. Knows that the man is physically incapable of keeping his opinions to himself—particularly those that might involve his younger brother—and he knows his own mind, how his thoughts tend to go maddeningly on, and he’d just prefer to avoid the inevitably wasted week that would follow. A week of waking up at the literal arse-crack of bloody dawn to avoid running into him. A week of vague text messages and convincing Robin to revise the duty roster. His own brother. The man who raised him, bathed him, fed him, changed his nappies.

Killian Jones, Lieutenant Killian Jones, a servant in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy, sneaking his... friend in through the bloody window like they’re misbehaving school boys.

“I have clearance to sail on a vessel with nuclear weapons on it.”

David chuckles, his bicep resting behind Killian’s neck like a lumpy pillow, “Yes, so you’ve said.”

“Point being, I’ve got the ability to press a button and blow up the planet, yet I seem to be physically incapable of showing you through the door like a normal person.”

“I’ve walked through your door,” he sighs as he pushes Killian’s damp hair off his forehead, “Also, I’m pretty sure arming a nuclear weapon isn’t that easy.”

He plants a kiss on his forehead and Killian wants to die. Just a little bit.

“Go to sleep, Jones.”

“Trust me,” he answers softly, his voice heavy with sleep, “it is.”

When he wakes up the next morning he’s alone, the blankets tucked underneath his chin and he tosses them over his head in shame. What an unbelievable prick he is.

The first night he’d tugged David’s unreasonably broad shoulders through his bedroom window was the same night Liam had started bugging him about meeting a girl.

“You’ve brought them home before,” he had stated reasonably, friendly enough, not even pressing, just politely inquiring, “I just wanted to make sure nothing’s the matter.”

“All’s well, brother,” Killian answered with a gentle smile, “I assure you.”

They’re both in their mid-20s so it is, admittedly, a bit juvenile, but David, bless his oversized heart, insists that there’s something romantic about the whole thing. Something about it being just the two of them, feeling like he’s in high school again and your heart’s beating fast because yes, maybe you’re somewhere you ought not to be, but it’s also beating because someone is looking at you like that and it’s everything.

“Your shoulders barely fit through the window, love.”

“Yeah, but you like it.”

Shockingly enough, Killian Jones has a reputation for being a bit rough-and-tumble. Liam, being Captain as he is, can’t officially condone it, but he has to admit, it’s gotten them out of some close-calls in the past—gotten the men to sit down and shut up when they need to. You wouldn’t think it, what with the rather slim shoulders and clean shaven face, but it’s the eyes (that’s what Dave says, anyway), it was the eyes that gave it away.

“And when you forget to shave,” he murmurs, his hand coming up to cradle his jaw, “goosebumps.”

It was a bit hard growing up, without parents, raised by an over-achieving brother pushing you to do well, but you, know-it-all teenager that you are, being unable to get your head out of your arse long enough to understand that he just wants what’s best for you. Pressing your lips to a woman’s neck and feeling utterly alive, seeing Graham Humbert’s hands tugging at your belt and feeling the exact same thing. Sipping cheap, garbage rum on the roof of your shitty apartment building and wondering what the fuck it all means.

Using your fists to make a point since no one cares what you have to say anyway, since all you’ve ever done is push people away or they leave you behind and it had just been easier that way, hadn’t it?

When Dave had seen that old picture of him on Facebook, that Liam had posted, of course—that everyone had laughed and jeered at, because look at him, Lieutenant Jones, dressed all in leather, his hair grown sloppy over his face, and is that a hand-rolled cigarette in your mouth, mate? His back pressed up against that brick wall as if he were keeping something back, and of course, David Nolan didn’t laugh.

They hadn’t even kissed, not yet. A handshake that feels a bit too firm sometimes, a heavy hand on the shoulder, a longing glance across the room, but that had been all. Killian couldn’t be sure, and he hadn’t wanted to risk losing him, he had been too good a friend for that, and Dave had just stared at the photo, and stared back at him, and Killian had fought that heated blush with all he had.

“You’ve changed so much,” he finally said, his voice proud and warm, “must’ve been hard.”

Killian’s voice, the deep, older voice of a grown man, cracking just enough, “Yeah,” he answered, “Yeah, it was.”

The pull-out is too small for the two of them.

“It’s fine,” David’s breath against his neck, large hands down by his waist, “it’s big enough.”

And this ex-junkie, ex-delinquent with the dirty hair and the leather jacket and the sodding flask all out of breath and trying to get a word in edgewise insisting that he’s a grown man and he really needs his own place.

“I don’t know,” rising up on his elbows, his grinning face staring down at a flushed, rumpled Lieutenant, “it’s kind of fun.”

David looks like a golden retriever puppy when he’s excited, and the furious teenager that stays hidden away under years of formal navy training cannot believe that Killian “Hook” Jones would sink so low as to associate with such an absolute sap.

He catches David’s own disproportionately slim hips between his thighs and manages to execute a surprisingly smooth flip, his own hands coming up to catch his wrists before he can interfere, “Must you be so infuriatingly optimistic?”

“I must,” answering with a smile, “it’s all 80s grunge and David Lynch movies in there,” gesturing towards Killian’s chest with his head, “the least I can do is appreciate the couch.”

“I’ve had this couch since Liam dragged it in off the street when we were kids,” their lips hovering teasingly against one another’s, barely a space of breath between them, “I’d watch for lice if I were you.”

Laughing and wrestling and falling off the old couch that is too small for them and David Nolan really doesn’t deserve the bedroom window.

“How do that man’s shoulders even fit through that window?”

Killian whips his head back around to his brother leaning up against the kitchen counter, watching their friends loudly yelling at the television, spilling beer all over the carpet that he had just cleaned for Christ’s sake.

“What did you just say?”

“I imagine it’s sort of amusing, actually. Shoulders like that. Small window. Like Marilyn Monroe in that film, the one with the singing?”

“Sure, that narrows it down, brother.”

He’s still trying to figure out if he can escape the minefield of this conversation, glancing over at the den trying to catch David’s eyes but the man is totally enamored by the game, and he would appear to be adrift in a sea of overprotective, vaguely patronizing concern.

“He would probably feel much more comfortable walking through our human-sized door, wouldn’t you say?”

Killian pauses, his fingers nervously picking at the wet label of his beer, trying to ignore the uncomfortable sensation that comes with actually breaking a sweat.

“...I suppose.”

“Let him use the door, Killian,” Liam says finally, his eyes crinkling happily at the corners, “and buy a bloody bed.”

[ismael37olson]

I’m Just Like My Country -- I’m Young, Scrappy, and Hungry

Back in 2014, on a whim (or possibly because I was reeeeeally stoned), I re-sorted the list of New Line shows into chronological order by when the shows originally debuted, to get a look at how our company has explored the history and evolution of the American musical theatre. It's cool to see how the art form has changed and reacted to world events over the twentieth century, but also how wide-ranging New Line's programming actually is.  It's worth noting that never, in twenty-seven years have we ever violated our mission to produce adult, socially and politically relevant musical theatre. Even shows usually dismissed as shallow, like Anything Goes or Grease, reveal surprising new depth and sharp social critique when treated with some respect and thoughts by the New Liners. I've added to that 2014 list all the shows we've done since I wrote that post. Here's the updated list...

The Threepenny Opera (1928) Anything Goes (1934) The Cradle Will Rock (1937) The Nervous Set (1959) The Fantasticks (1959) Camelot (1960) Anyone Can Whistle (1964) Man Of La Mancha (1965) Cabaret (1966) Hair (1967) Jacques Brel Is Alive And Well And Living In Paris (1968) Zorba (1969) Celebration (1969) Company (1970) Grease (1971) Two Gentlemen Of Verona (1971) Jesus Christ Superstar (1971) Pippin (1972) The Rocky Horror Show (1973) The Robber Bridegroom (1974) Chicago (1975) I Love My Wife (1977) The Best Little Whorehouse In Texas (1978) Evita (1978) Sweeney Todd (1979) Tell Me on a Sunday (1979) March Of The Falsettos (1981) Sunday In The Park With George (1983) La Cage aux Folles (1983) Into The Woods (1987) Assassins (1990) Kiss Of The Spider Woman (1990) Return To The Forbidden Planet (1991) Attempting The Absurd (1992) Passion (1994) Rent (1994) Breaking Out In Harmony (1994) Hedwig And The Angry Inch (1994) The Ballad Of Little Mikey (1994) Songs For A New World (1995) In The Blood (1995) Floyd Collins (1996) Bat Boy (1997) Woman With Pocketbook (1998) A New Brain (1998) Sweet Smell of Success (1998) Urinetown (1999) Reefer Madness (2000) The Wild Party (2000) Bare (2003) She’s Hideous (2003) The Amberklavier (2004) The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee (2005) High Fidelity (2006) Johnny Appleweed (2006) Bukowsical (2006) Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson (2006) Jerry Springer The Opera (2007) Love Kills (2007) Yeast Nation (2007) Passing Strange (2008) Cry-Baby (2008) Next To Normal (2009) American Idiot (2009) Lizzie (2009) Bonnie & Clyde (2011) Night Of The Living Dead (2012) Hands On A Hardbody (2013) Heathers (2013) Atomic (2013) Be More Chill (2015) The Zombies of Penzance (2018)

Note the obvious pockets of creativity in the 60s and 70s, and then starting again in the mid to late 1990s. Also notice the absence of shows from the 40s and 50s – the Rodgers & Hammerstein era. Notice that once we get to the nineties, none of these shows follow the R&H structure anymore. Admittedly, other shows did follow the R&H rules during this period, but look at how many didn't. We're in a post-R&H era. Woo-hooo!

For many years, we've kept an online History of New Line, with full production details and links to the individual shows' webpages. We do this partly because we hope other adventurous companies like ours might get some cool ideas about shows to produce by seeing what we've tackled (I look at other companies' schedules all the time. That's how I found Night of the Living Dead); and to make it easy for them to find good, show-related resources once they are producing a show. But also because no other company has ever done what we're doing. (So far.) No other company is devoted solely to socially and politically relevant, alternative musical theatre. Some companies do some of this work, some do quite a bit, but as far as we know, nobody else does only this. And we want there to be a record of our adventures A few years ago, the local theatre reviewers created the St. Louis Theater Circle Awards, and they honored New Line with a special award for our body of work over the years. It was a very nice compliment, a real honor coming from the people who see almost all the theatre in town (some of them, for many years), and it was way better than "winning" something "over" someone else. It was one of the few times I've spoken in public without being nervous and without notes. I knew what I wanted to say:

In 2014, American Theatre magazine (which I've been subscribed to since high school) did a really long, really smart, really wonderful feature story about New Line, our work, our history, and our relationship to our art form, as it continues to evolve. I could not imagine a cooler portrait of our company. American Theatre has run short items about our shows before, but never anything like this. And it's not just complimentary, it's really respectful. It takes us New Liners and our work seriously. It treats us like we have something of value to say with our work, and with our approach to contemporary musical theatre. That's very cool validation. In 2015, our own Riverfront Times also did a very cool feature story about New Line and our relationship to our art form, again a really nice validation that what we're doing is interesting and worthwhile and important. As much as we struggle from show to show, this kind of recognition and respect is so nice. We're all incredibly psyched about the season ahead -- the world premiere of The Zombies of Penzance in October; an all new, more intimate look at the classic La Cage aux Folles, and the new sci-fi rock musical Be More Chill. All three shows are going to be loads of fun, all three will surprise the hell out of you, all three have genuinely amazing casts, and we're cautiously optimistic that all three shows will sell really well. Season ticket sales are going great this year -- to order yours, click here. Yet, as much recognition as we get, as successful as our shows are, it's always still hard to balance the budget (we had to raise ticket prices for the coming season, for the first time in six years). Ticket sales cover 40-45% of our budget -- the rest is grants and donations. If you'd like to contribute to New Line and join us on our adventures, click here. If you'd like to sponsor a show, click here. But, despite how hard it is, all in all, things are good. The adventure continues and awesome people keep wanting to work with us. And that's pretty much all I need. But if you wanna throw $10,000 our way, we would not object... In a couple weeks, we start rehearsals for The Zombies of Penzance. I. Can. Not. Wait. Long Live the Musical! Scott from The Bad Boy of Musical Theatre http://newlinetheatre.blogspot.com/2018/07/im-just-like-my-country-im-young.html

[trick-murphy]

The first week is the hardest. 

For one, Roman doesn't make it an easy start, once he's accept Trick and his lack of control and makes it his problem to deal with he gets right to it. Wraps his hands around Trick's throat and squeezes the air out. Waiting as Trick struggles and kicks out, eyes bulging as he chokes. Roman somehow squeezes tighter and Trick swears he feels a bone in his spine creak like an old chair in response.  

"Stop it." Roman commands. "You don't need air. You aren't human, you are dead. All of this right now, is muscle memory. A body reacting because it thinks it should." He says it easily, and Trick tries he does -but his lungs are burning. His eyes are bleeding and his body is seizing up. "What are you afraid of? You are dead. "

-seconds past, and there's no air. Not a drop and if he was human he would turning blue but as a vampire he's still aware. It happens slowly, the way he relaxes. How he finds himself able to flex his fingers and move his jaw. Roman sighs deeply, drops him and wipes his hands. 

"You never really died did you?" -Trick has already told him everything, "You didn't bite, you got bitten. You, in a way chose life....Not a bad start, admittedly few have the balls but your mistake was that you kept on pretending nothing changed. You went back to living as Trick. With your friends and family." Roman doesn't call him an idiot, doesn't bother, but it's there in the subtext. "You need to die. Properly. That's the first step."

Roman promptly throws up into the cave-like dungeon.

-the ones below his burnt out club, deep into the earth, where it still smells like smoldering flesh and ash. Where he could scream until his lungs popped and no one would hear him. 

Trick does so for the first few days, rattling around in his chains, angry and hungry. Cursing the older vampire out. He had come here for training, bat man shit, not this. Not fucking agony and call backs to his childhood. 

By the end of the first week, he is foaming at the mouth. His stomach as twisted and ached, rolling and feels ready to claw it's way out of his body for blood. Every single string in his body is pulled tight and dry. Any thoughts he has, are wild and frantic. 

All he can think by the end of the second week is blood. 

Roman kicks his dried out husk, and Trick snaps at him. Roaring and spitting. testing the limits of the chains. Roman smells like blood, hot and red, and Trick's instincts tell him to just go for it. Rip him apart and take. Share some of the pain that rolls and coils in his own bones like a thunder storm. Ready to strike lightning again and again and again- 

Roman stands silently as Trick rages, and then leaves again for a whole fucking four months. 

+

There are no thoughts in his head, there is no air in his lung, no blood in his body; everything is grey-toned, ashes like everything else in this hole. Like someone has reached in and turned off the lights in his head. No one is home. The body, the house however, stands. Waiting and hungry. 

For the first time in his life, in his death, Trick learns patience. 

He'll have it again, that wet hot blood, he just has to wait.

+

"Shit, Roman. How long has he been in here." A new voice questions, and it's hard to pay attention to words when he can hear a heart beat. A careful, but steady pound. Trick wants to drool, nearly gets hard at the very fucking idea of blood. -but he's weak. Hardly there, inside his own body. 

"Truth be told I forgot about him." Roman admits. "Don't look at me like that. He's fucking vampire, not a houseplant. I could leave him down here for a century and all it would take is one drop and he'd be back." 

"Remind me never to let you babysit." -the voices get closer, and finally there's the heart. the blood. in one place. Trick twitches, opens his mouth and leans into it. Biting into air, but repeats because he can't help it. "Jesus fucking christ, he's a skeleton."

"Do what you need to, and get the fuck out, Charlie. I don't pay you by the word."  

+

Trick can't recall what happens; it's more than a blur, it's burn. The heart that pounds speaks words he can't catch or understand, there is a candle a scent of roses and bones but it's all shoved aside for a searing heat that blossoms in between his ribs. 

He claws at it, the best he can, ripping across the dried and thin skin, nearly makes it to the bone before the man-theheart, the blood- moves closer. Shoves a hand into Trick. It punches Trick into a awareness, the light switch gets turned back on, and yes he's burning and yes he's starving but he's him again. 

A black mess of old blood and drool drips out of his jaw, as the man pushes his wiggling digits into Trick's chest cavity and the pain would make him vomit if he had anything to lose. A disgusting thick squelching sound fills the prison as the man searches. reaching impossible deep. 

-Trick becomes aware of pain in different levels, never before has he intimately known the touch of fingers against his lungs. Or the stab against his stomach. Finally, after make Trick his own personal meat puppet, the man wraps his seeking palms around Trick's liver and pulls it out. Bringing forth the scent of rot and death. 

"You know, everyone always assumes it's the brain or the heart, but you'd be surprised how resourceful your guts can be." Is all the man says, eyes black as night and a smile. 

Trick faints. 

+

When he wakes, he's on the floor. Tainted with waste of his own filth, but whole. He pats himself down, no hole. No ache. There's no proof the man was even real. The room is empty, and he's still chained to the wall. 

"Patricius, you stupid boy, what have you done now." -a voice in the old language calls.

He's alone. Knows he is, because the woman in front of him isn't there. Can't be. Not since she's been for over a decade. 

"Ma-" Trick hasn't seen his mother alive since he was hardly a child but he remembers her face, her voice. Loving her fiercely as any boy does, but there was always an edge of restiment. A prickle of anger...if his father was the storm she was meant to be the shelter but she had never dared. She had taken her hits just as any of them did, and never stood in the way. Even when Trick was just a baby, and clinging to her skirts. 

He loves her, he does, but the monster in him also hates her. 

Maybe if she was stronger, maybe if she had lived-

"I was strong. You think this is pain?" She sneers, accented voice echoing off the walls as she draws closer. She looks real, flesh pink and hair brown. Blue eyes turned into daggers, "I pushed out sixteen babes between my legs, nearly half were dead in my womb, but I still had to get them out. Hour and hours of blood, piss and pain for nothing but a corpse. Nothing for me but a fresh slap and a new hole in my heart, " She draws closer, "You've never been raped, never been ripped apart, never known the suffering of a woman has to bare. Don't you dare you whine to me child, I never wanted you. I never wanted any of you. The best day of my life was the I died."

Trick has no defense, no words. She laughs at his silence. A sound he never heard while he was alive. The sound echos, taking a higher pitch until he shuts his eyes.

She's gone when he opens them and the laughter still rings in his ears.

+

It goes on like this. 

His mother, his brothers, his cousins and victims. 

All the heavy baggage of his past, all the sins and pain, like a web they get plucked and pulled into the realm, just long enough to remind him. His mother tells him in vicious detail of how it felt like to birth him, to be torn apart. His brothers remind him that he's the weakest of them, the most broken. He didn't deserve to the be the last. 

His cousins scream like banshees, its his fault they are dead, it's his fault. All his. The victims range, some simply cry for their lives, some curse him out and rage like monsters. Some claw at his face, some whisper his worst thoughts. One girl, kisses his face, like he used to do, before he ripped out her throat and told him he was destined to kill the woman he loved no matter what happened. 

All the control in the world doesn't change the man. 

"Yer' were a killer, darlin, even before those fangs." She chuckles. 

The worst, the one that breaks him is the appearance is his Father. As a young man, full of life and drunk on his own pride, no punch could hurt for long. No pain couldn't heal. 

Now, he's so fucking weak, ever punch feels like it might turn him into ash. He cries and begs, but the ghost of his father doesn't say a damn word. Doesn't have to. 

He knows what they are saying in one way or another.

He deserves this.