#but i literally just caught an entire swathe missing.

[sinnhelmingr]

asking over here but has anyone else noticed tumblr acting wacky to the tune of just like. arbitrarily erasing parts of posts? i just found an entire paragraph missing in a meta that i legitimately just wrote and posted on the multi. at no point should i have accidentally erased it myself either bc i selected the entire post to make it smalltext. if one part is missing all of it should have been erased.

[helpistolethesecharacters]

Death Does Not Discriminate Between The Sinners And The Saints

It Takes And It Takes And It Takes

Part 2

Tony Stark x Male Demon Reader

Word Count: 3609

@charliedakotariley I hope this is all you wanted in your original request. Sorry I took so long to get to the actual stuff you put in your request. I hope you enjoy this!

-----------

Y/n didn't know what was going on. One moment he had been fighting Thanos's forces in Wakanda, the next, everything was getting weird. Enemies were turning to dust all around him. Worse than that, so were some of his allies.

It was bad enough that he had been separated from Tony, but now he wasn't sure if he would ever see him again. Who ever had done this was going to regret it if Tony was dead.

Y/n took a step, but before his foot even connected with the ground he was gone.

The next thing he knew he was waking up in the fields outside the city, alongside all the others. Everyone was pretty much in panic mode until a man with a deep red cloak started floating and took control.

Apparently they had been gone for five years, but more than that, there was an even bigger battle ahead of them than the one that they had just been in.

The floating guy did some odd form of magic that opened up a portal into another place. Y/n knew that then was not the time, but he felt himself go all giddy at the thought of real magic! Maybe after all this he could learn some!

The floating guy had introduced himself at some point, Y/n was sure, but he hadn't caught it and now didn't really seem like the time, so he just mentally dubbed him 'Floating Man' and moved on.

Then they were all rushing into battle, and Floating Man was not wrong. It was brutal, but Y/n couldn't help but feel he was in the wrong place. There was somewhere he needed to be, a tug inside that was pulling almost to the point of pain.

Y/n growled and dropped his perception filter, it was just draining him and he had more important things to worry about. He used the pause in onslaught to do a spin that sent a large swathe of enemies flying. Thank God for his tail, he had missed being able to give his all in battle.

In the space he had just given himself, he spun slower, looking for where it was he needed to go.

Y/n knew immediately exactly where he was meant to be. Tony was about to tackle Thanos.

Y/n smashed his tail as hard as he could into the ground and using the momentum of the shockwave caused by it, he leapt over the battlefield.

His eyes widened in horror as he watched Tony sass the mad titan. He had those damned infinity stones just about in place on his Iron Man glove. He would die if he tried to use them!

Y/n slammed into Tony at full force and wrapped himself around the stupid self-sacrificing genius just as he snapped his fingers. The energy coursed through the two beings and Y/n could feel it trying to overcome them. He knew there was a price for holding such power, but he wasn't about to let Tony pay it on his own.

He held on tighter and let out a roar, forcing himself to hold on and not be torn apart by the power of the stones.

"Don't you dare give up on me Tony! We'll go out of this world together or not at all, do you understand me?"

And then it was over. Thanos's armies were defeated, turned to dust, as was the mad titan himself.

------------

It had been five years since the Avengers had managed to bring everyone back and Y/n still couldn't believe how lucky he had been. If he had been even just a second later in getting to Tony, he might not have made it.

As it was his heart had taken some serious damage, and Y/n hadn't come out of it scot-free either. He had aged noticeably.

Where he had looked near his mid twenties for centuries, he now looked to be closer to forty than thirty, but he would never consider the alternative. What were a few hundred years to him when he would get to wake up in Tony's arms because of his actions.

But he could no longer ignore the thing that had been bothering him for the last ten or so years. Tony was getting older. And, ignoring magical space stones and stupid ideas, Y/n was not.

Every morning Y/n could see more differences. Tony was aging, and normally that wouldn't be a bad thing, after all, it means that he's alive to have the chance to age, but it was becoming more apparent as the days passed, and Y/n couldn't help but realise that one day in the not so distant future he was going to be without Tony once again. Forever this time.

Everyday as he noticed the changes in Tony, Y/n became a little quieter, a little more withdrawn. He didn't want to waste the time he had left with Tony, but the spectre of death was looming ever nearer, and this time there was no other realm to break into to solve the problem.

Y/n had felt a momentary surge of hope when he remembered the gift the Queen of Asgard had promised him, but that was extinguished when he remembered what had happened to Asgard.

The sinking in his chest was getting worse. There was a pain that was consistent, a deep thrum inside that wouldn't go away. Whenever he thought about the future, or Tony dying it came back. He could sometimes forget about what was coming, but he would inevitably be reminded and the pain would resurface.

Y/n thought fleetingly of his more carefree days, when all he wanted was to cause as much chaos as he could, and he could just swan away from it without a backward glance. Tony had made him so much more than that, without even trying. He had made him feel things and there wasn't a day that went by when Y/n could bring himself to regret meeting Tony.

But that sweet joy and love was now soured by the passage of time, and Y/n wasn't sure how much more he could take.

How could the mix of love and time bring so much pain and joy. Why could he not just have the joy, why did the pain have to come with it?

Y/n was standing in their kitchen when it happened. He was hit with a wave of pain so deep he buckled at the feeling. He had just taken another message from Tony's doctor about not putting too much strain on his heart, and he couldn't help the hopeless feeling washing over him.

He could feel time slipping through his fingers, and there was nothing he could do to slow it down.

His heart gave a particularly hard thump as his emotions got the better of him.

Y/n felt a searing pain starting in his chest that was physical rather than the almost unbearable emotional pain he had been dealing with. He gasped as tears dripped down his face. He only noticed when a hissing noise came from the ground by his feet, that the tears weren't the normal salty water, but actual lava.

It clicked suddenly, what was happening to him, but Y/n couldn't think through the fugue of his feelings. He had heard of it in stories but never seen it in person. Demons don't normally fall in love, so they aren't affected by things like the deep depression of watching someone you love die when there isn't anything you can do.

The thing is, demon's hearts are literally made of super heated volcanic rock. Demons were never made to deal with such strong emotions, so when a demons heart breaks, it happens literally. Lava erupts from anywhere it can force it's way out, then it starts to break down the rest of the body. As far as the stories are concerned, there might be a way to save them before they have broken down entirely, but no-one had managed it yet.

The stories hadn't prepared Y/n for the pain, but after so long only feeling hopelessness and despair, Y/n welcomed this new pain. Finally, something had come to save him from the eternity that was a future without Tony.

He could feel the lava in the burnt out husk that used to be his heart flare brighter as another wave of heat seared through him. The lava was actually burning away the blood that had been running through his veins.

Y/n had to get out of there. He couldn't do anything about the trails of melted stone that his tears were leaving behind, but he couldn't let Tony see this.

He would be with him again in their next life.

------------

Tony was starting to worry. He had been sticking a bit closer to Y/n lately because he had noticed the other man acting strangely. He seemed more and more sad as the days went by. This was something that Tony had needed to keep an eye on. He didn't want to lose Y/n to something that he could help to fix.

He hadn't thought much of it when the other man had rushed out of the room to grab the phone when it rang that morning, but it had been a while since then and Y/n hadn't come back yet.

He heaved himself off of the couch and groaned at the distance.

"God, it's a long way up these days."

He had only taken half a step in the direction his wayward husband had gone when Friday alerted him to a news broadcast of unusual activity on one of the islands off the coast closest to where they were at the moment.

He watched in disbelief as the news caster reported a seeming impossibility. The island was apparently home to a volcano, which was erupting. It was pure luck that it was an uninhabited island, but there would be far reaching results of the eruption.

Tony turned up the volume with a flick of his wrist.

"This is particularly baffling for scientists everywhere as this island has never been on anyone's radar for volcanic activity. Apparently this is just another case of nature getting the better of our understanding of science, which will have our scientists scratching their heads for decades. We have managed to get some footage of the eruption from a distance, and it is a truly harrowing sight."

Tony was transfixed. It really was awe inspiring to see something like that right in front of him. He couldn't help but feel a sinking sensation. There was no way that it was a coincidence that his literal demon husband was missing right as this was happening, right?

"Y/n?"

Tony made his way into the kitchen, calling out for this husband at the same time. He was getting really worried now, but was trying to calm himself. Everything was probably fine.

Tony tripped over something and landed sprawled on the ground. He looked around to find the offending item, but was met with the sight of their kitchen floor melted in a trail that led right out of the room.

Tony followed it with mounting fear. It led out their front door. After that the trail got further apart the further away from the house it got.

Tony swore as he summoned his suit. He hated being right.

---------

Tony was starting to think that fate hated him. Okay, to be fair he couldn't fault fate for sending him Y/n, but the demon could be the biggest drama king. Yes, Tony was aware that that was kind of like the pot calling the kettle black, but that didn't change the fact that it was true.

He was circling the island now, because of course the trail of fire and melted ground had led him there.

Tony let out another string of expletives as he flew close enough to land.

The island looked like what Tony though hell would look like. There were puddles of lava everywhere, and anything that wasn't a melted pile of rock was on fire or long ago burnt to ash. Tony was sweating in his suit, but he also knew that taking it off, even just the head piece, would be a death sentence.

"Y/N!"

He yelled as loud as he could, which, with the suit already amplifying his voice, was pretty loud.

There was movement from something off to his left.

Tony shifted to face it and was confronted with a sight that broke his heart. His sweet husband, always so concerned for Tony, was clearly breaking apart.

He had burn tracks down his cheeks where his skin hadn't been strong enough to withstand the lava. Y/n looked every bit the demon he had been when he first showed Tony what he was. He must have dropped the perception field once again, because Tony could see all of his demonic features. The horns which had once been shiny and sharp enough to gore even super soldiers, were now dull and flaking, just as broken as the man they were attached to.

Tony could see Y/n's chest glowing with the reds and oranges of fresh lava from where he stood.

Tony was frozen. He didn't know what he could do to fix this. But there had to be hope still, Y/n had recognised his voice even if he might not have understood the word.

"Stay there! I'll be right back. We're going to fix this, don't give up on me yet Y/n!"

After some quick thinking, Tony managed to concoct a plan that was only semi-crazy.

He flew as fast as he could in a tight circle just close enough to the ocean to encourage some of the water to form into a whirlwind of water and air. Once he had enough (he hoped), he sent it flying in the direction of his husband and the island.

He stood back and watched, sick fear pooling in his stomach as he saw the water hit. There was intense hissing and a fog filled the air in response to the water coming into contact with such a hot substance.

Tony couldn't wait any longer, so he landed as close as he could get to the place Y/n had been standing.

He found him laying in a puddle of water staring up into the fog. Tony removed the suit's head piece and both gauntlets, discarding them without a second thought.

He reached out to Y/n with shaking hands.

"What were you doing? What happened?"

Y/n turned deadened eyes on Tony.

"Time is a cruel Master who we must all answer to."

Tony had no idea what to do with that, but he really didn't like the look in Y/n's eyes.

"Yeah, but not today. You see that bastard, you kick his ass, you hear me?"

That got a tiny spark of life back into Y/n's eyes.

"Tony? How?"

Tony could have sobbed in relief. Y/n was coming back to him.

"Hey babe, I should be asking you that."

Tony pulled Y/n up into his arms. It was awkward with him still mostly in his suit but he wasn't about to take the time to remove it. He had a husband to bring back from the brink of something he still didn't understand.

"You gonna be alright?"

Y/n just burrowed into the side of Tony's neck.

"You scared the crap outta me, Y/n/n. What was that?"

Tony let Y/n pull back just enough to be able to see him. He wasn't letting the other man out of his arms for a long time after this.

"You can't deny it Tony, time is passing. I just couldn't bear the thought that you will pass so long before I will."

Tony felt his brow crease in confusion, but he waited for his love to continue.

"As a demon I have a much longer life span as you know. When you die I will be all alone. You'll be gone, forever. How am I supposed to live without you now that I know what it's like to live with you?"

Tony felt his heart breaking for Y/n. He could understand where he was coming from, but that still didn't explain this situation. He opened his mouth to question him when Y/n continued.

"Demons don't normally feel emotions as strong as love, and the loss that comes with it. We aren't built for it. Our hearts can overload. When that happens, they literally melt inside us. I'd been told the stories, but to be honest I didn't realise there was any truth in them."

He took a shuddering breath.

"When I realised what was happening, all I could think was that I couldn't take you with me when I died from it. So I left."

Tony let out a long breath.

"Okay, there's a lot to unpack there, but a steaming crater in the middle of nowhere isn't the place to do it. Let's get you home."

-------------

True to his word, Tony had barely let Y/n go since they got back home. He had whisked him through the kitchen with barely enough time for him to take in the ruined floor before he found himself on the couch wrapped in a blanket with Tony wrapped around that.

"Next time, tell me. Next time something is bothering you like this, let me in. There might be something I can do to help, but even if there isn't, we would still shoulder that problem together. There's nothing I would rather do, than try to help lighten the load."

Y/n vaguely registered the words. They sounded familiar to some distant corner of his mind, but he was still feeling pretty numb.

"Together, or not at all," Y/n echoed his words from that long ago battle.

He was rewarded by a soft squeeze from his husband.

"Exactly. Now, before you get all mopey again, there's a message from someone in New Asgard on the machine."

Y/n's head snapped up. There was no way it could be related to this.

He turned to Tony, feeling hope well up in his heart.

----------

In the years since Valkyrie had become ruler of New Asgard, the kingdom had flourished. Perhaps their greatest feat had been the resurgence of magic in their peoples. Battle prowess had been the sought after trait for centuries on Asgard, but now they were on a planet that wasn't capable of inter-realm travel. There was nowhere to go and fight monsters to prove their worth.

Once they realised that their new ruler was trying to bring them back to their former glory instead of just making sure that they survived, they began to take charge of their own lives. They dusted off old tomes of magic that had somehow found their way into the belongings people had managed to bring with them, and soon the vast majority of them were once again using magic.

The reason this had been their saving grace, was because a young woman, a descendant of Idunn, had been playing around with her magic and followed a strange magical signature.

What she had found had brought the people of New Asgard hope. Hope that they could once again be great. She had found a single golden apple, buried in the wreckage of the Avengers compound. It had been protected by a spell strong enough to save it from the battle of Thanos, as well as the passage of time.

A note had been rolled up and stuffed into the box with it.

"Man of Iron,

The Queen of Asgard has bequeathed the enclosed item to you upon the occasion of her death. You are receiving it now, due only to the petty revenge it is to give such a boon to a human. Be grateful it is more pleasing to me to disobey the All-Father than to seek revenge on you for your part in my imprisonment on Asgard.

Loki, Ruler of Asgard."

The young woman had immediately taken the box, note and all, to Valkyrie. The decision would ultimately be up to her of what to do with it.

Valkyrie had decided that the needs of her people could be served at the same time as fulfilling the late Queens last wishes. It would just take a little longer to get it to Stark.

They had used the seeds to re-grow Idunn's orchard of golden apples. The Aesir would be able to retain their long life after all. Now that they had an entire orchard, they had enough for their people as well as fulfilling Queen Frigga's last wish that Tony Stark be granted the long life of an Aesir.

----------

When Y/n and Tony arrived in New Asgard they were amazed at the transformation the previously small fishing village had gone through. Y/n smiled at the area. It would never be the same as what they had lost, but they had the opportunity to build themselves a new future and they had taken it with both hands.

Y/n stood in the orchard, tears running down his face as he held out a single golden apple to his husband.

Tony had been unsure when Valkyrie had explained about the apples, how they were the source of the Aesir's long life and more sturdy bodies.

He hadn't known how he would feel about living a longer life than all the other people he knew, but as he stood in front of Y/n, looking at the life he was offering him, he realised he would never choose anything else. As long as he had Y/n he could survive anything.

He stepped forward and accepted the apple.

[razrbladekiss]

Tyrants | Chapter Four - Peril

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

WARNINGS: Mentions of death, drug use, Tig being Tig. The usual SOA shit. Sorry Donna..

She always saw the beauty in darkness. The lugubrious belle that came alongside the moon and stars and whatever else lurked amidst the murk of nighttime.

Isla was cliche in that sense.

She was cliche in the sense that she adored watching the sun set, swallowed by the mountains and high-rise buildings as the evening fell and Charming was painted black.

And maybe it was mostly melancholic because of the horrors that swathed that small town, but it was still beautiful nonetheless.

She still liked to bask in the scenery, to discern the marvel of her home, from the highest point she could access. And, sometimes, she liked to take somebody along with her so she wasn't completely alone.

"Why'd you still come up here?" Ope asked, pulling himself onto the roof as she sat with her back to the wall--puffing on a cigarette.

"Because it's quiet." She was content, comfortable with her response. "And whenever I'm looking for Jax, or Gem, or my dad--or they're looking for me--this is where we're almost always found. Just people watching, or reminiscing, or having a few minutes to ourselves away from the chaos downstairs."

It wasn't an unknown safe space--Gemma had told her that JT and Clay would climb up there during the earliest days of the club--but it was special.

Jax, Opie, and Isla spent time up there as kids, too. Because they were bastards and were always running from their fathers--and den mother--and the roof of the clubhouse was their go-to.

She never really got out of that habit. She'd spend hours up there if she could, just watching as Charming bustled beneath her. And she liked that it was separate to the garage, but everyone knew where to find her if they needed her.

"It clears your head, being up here." She added. "I have got so much shit going on right now--between work, and my personal life--but coming up here is like a refreshment, I guess."

Opie understood what she meant because he was also seeking comfort in the night. Riding through dusk, spending time alone on his bike as he cruised the streets of his quaint town, relishing in the darkness because it was strangely comforting to him.

He liked to be alone. His thoughts were brutal and they seared his brain left and fucking right, but he liked his own company.

"Wish I thought about comin' up here when I was released from holding." The man chuckled, balancing a cigarette between his lips. "Stahl grilled the fuck outta me."

"She did?"

"Yeah. She really fuckin' did." He added, grunting as smoke blew from his nostrils. "Did she get you? I know she got Gemma."

"Nope, she didn't. I don't know why, though. She interrogated everyone else. Starting to feel a little left out."

Opie chuckled, smiling a bit. "Be glad. It's obvious that she's used to getting what she wants."

"And did you give it to her?"

"Fuck no." Isla smiled. Proud. "She can cross-examine me all she fuckin' wants—I'll never sell the club out."

"They know that, Ope."

"I know." Half confidently, he nodded. "Just—Stahl made me second guess it all, y'know?"

Nobody in Charming--aside from the PD--knew where that despicable bitch came from, and nobody cared to ask.

What they did know, though, was that she had her heart set on making that town a living fucking hell as she strived to eradicate the Sons of Anarchy by getting to its members.

She'd grilled everyone she could've. She cornered Gemma when she was out running errands, leaving the grocery store with a sour taste in her mouth when Teller told her where to fucking shove it.

Same went for Jax, and Clay, and Chibs, and Tig, and...Well, all of them told her to get fucked, actually.

None of them caved. None of them wanted to sell the club out because there was no reason to.

Well, there was a reason to, but no desire to.

There'd been murders. Three, to be specific. And one of them just happened to be a police officer--which was quite unlucky, but it wasn't awful.

They hated cops.

What they hated more, however, was the idea of getting caught by them. And Clay was. Somehow, anyway.

Piney's old "friend"--Nate Meineke--needed quality, albeit illegal, guns with no traceability to attack the convoy that was transporting one of his friends from point A to point B. And it went as swimmingly as possible...

Until June Stahl was put on the case and found that idiot's phone at the scene after dropping it mid-ambush.

Clay just happened to be the last person he had called. Which then caused the investigation to point toward Charming.

They all knew the Sons were guilty of supplying those weapons. Who else would it have been? They were known for running illegal firearms without batch numbers from a quaint Californian town whose name didn't quite fit its image.

It was blatant, though nobody gave it up.

But Stahl tried her damndest to get answers. And when she didn't, she targeted the member that she saw to be the most vulnerable--after a hit went wrong and he failed to cover his tracks--and Opie just happened to be that guy.

She questioned him for hours. She practically held the man captive in that little cell until he caved. But he didn't--and he wasn't going to, either.

He was loyal. That's one of the reasons why Jax wanted to patch him back in.

"Yeah, I know." Isla got to her feet when she heard Tig yelling for her downstairs. "But you're the strongest guy I know, Ope. I don't think Stahl, of all people, is gonna get to you."

He shrugged her off, flicking the butt of his cigarette to the gravelly ground of the roof.

Opie had changed. Not much, and it wasn't very apparent, but he'd changed. Chino had changed him, she thought.

He was still dedicated to his club, still in love with the reaper and the responsibility that came with the patch--but Opie Winston lacked that flicker of enthusiasm now.

"How does your dad feel about you being back at the table?"

"Said he's proud of me."

He was a man of very, very few words. But the tone that he took--the sheer relief twined into contentment--spoke a greater volume.

Piney would always support his son, feel a sense of gratification from his involvement in the club. And, of course, Ope felt grateful to be back--but it was different now.

He'd served time for his club. Donna consistently argued that they sold him out and that he was fucking stupid for running back into the arms of SAMCRO.

But it was his brotherhood. The Sons of Anarchy were his family--his lifeline. He was nothing if not blessed to be patched back in.

"And I guess that wife of yours isn't too happy about it?"

"How'd you reach that conclusion?"

"Well," she ignored that Tig was waiting for her, standing directly in front of him. "If she was genuinely thrilled about you being back here, she'd have been coming to Gemma's dinners, and spending more time at the clubhouse with us. But she isn't, and I'm starting to realize that she probably hates me now."

His head shook. "She doesn't hate you. It's just...It's just raw. Weird being back, I think."

"She didn't even have to leave. She knows that."

Donna did know that. But there was always something about Gemma. About the way she let things slide so often, how she felt that she had Clay so pussy whipped that he'd be at her every beck and call--but, really, that was redundant. Because Gemma let him get away with fucking murder.

Literally.

"Is she gonna be there tonight?

"Of course. She wouldn't miss Jax's son coming home." He got up, reaching for her hands. "Sorry that she's been so distant with you, Isla. But she's just been stressed out--money worries and the kids and stuff, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know."

Donna wasn't traditionally a worrier. But five years worth of finances, being a single mom, and fretting over her husband potentially not making it out of prison alive, just did that to a woman.

"Anything I can do to help?"

"I don't think so." Grateful for her offering, though recognizing how damn stubborn his wife was, he conceded. "Thanks, though."

"Anytime. And if you change your mind, or need me, you know where I am--"

"Isla!"

"He is getting on my last fucking nerve today." She groaned, flipping Tig off as she looked over the ledge. "I'm coming! Give me a minute!"

"I've given you plenty of minutes! Just get your ass down here!"

"Just go," Ope chuckled, leaning down to peck her cheek. "We can have this talk another time."

Isla turned back to him, frowning. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Go 'n talk to him--I'll see you tonight."

He was such a nice guy. So considerate, kind.

She loved him a lot.

The flouncy sundress rose to the middle of her thighs as she sauntered through the clubhouse, hearing Trager talking--rather conspicuously, though slightly muffled--to somebody on his cell.

"C'mon, Tiggy. Why'd you yell at me?"

He waved his hand to shut her up, gesturing for the blonde to follow him out of the clubhouse and toward his bike.

"Yeah, cool. K, brother--see 'ya later. Bye." He hung up and slid the phone into the pocket of his cut, swiveling to face Isla with a smile. "You ready?"

"For what?"

"The party?" Tig told her, watching confusion sweep over her face. "I'm taking you over 'cuz you want a drink and don't wanna drive home after? And that you're probably gonna end up heading home with Juice, or something--"

"Juice?"

"It always happens," he shrugged, pointing at the helmet he set out for her at the back of his bike. "We all head out, you get too drunk, you take a liking to Juicy, and you try to ride his dick."

"What?" Isla got herself situated behind him as he got on first, her arms wound around his waist. "That was one time. I've only slept with him once, and I told you it'd never happen again."

"And why is that?"

Her cheeks flushed red, the engine revving sending vibrations through her entire frame.

"Because he was too gentle." Tig's foot collided with the kickstand.

"And the little Catholic girl likes it rough."

She felt the solid gold crucifix burning a hole into her chest.

"Yes. I like it rough." He groaned, leaning into her. She swatted at his chest over his shoulder, laughing heartily. "Just take me to see the baby, dickhead."

The bike sped out of the lot and Isla was loving the thrill of being on two wheels. She'd always liked being stuck to the back of somebody's Harley--but she'd never own one herself.

Isla was like Gemma. She felt stable enough riding with somebody, but riding alone--being in control of the motorcycle--was fucking terrifying.

Jax and Opie had encouraged her to take a ride at one point, but it didn't end very well, and Chibs spent the best part of two hours trying to stitch his daughter back up whilst Gemma castigated the two imbeciles who thought it was even reminiscent of a good idea.

Weaving through traffic gracefully, freely, was appealing to her, however. But she wouldn't be caught dead--alone--on a fucking bike.

Plus, she quite enjoyed being taken places. Escorted by a member of the club. It was safe.

The wind whirred and whipped around them, and she wished she didn't make the effort with her hair tonight. It was ruined, tousled to within an inch of its life, and she dreaded the thought of having to brush the knots out in Jax's bathroom.

Still, commuting via Harley was a hell of a lot quicker and had a few more benefits than commuting via car.

But the looks that they got were piercing. Horrible. Mainly from Hale stationed beside his squad car, watching as Isla and Tig raced down the freeway.

"He likes you." He spoke over the roaring engine when he hit the first stop light all night. "He hates that you've never given him a chance--"

"He's a cop, and I'm the outlaw's daughter. I've been raised to hate his kind."

Tig nodded his approval, setting off once again when the light switched to green and all opposing traffic stood still.

At one strange point in time, David Hale had his sights set on Isla Telford. He was in love with her. Completely besotted.

And she never gave him a second glance because, for one, she wasn't interested. He hated that she was so close to Jax and Opie, but not him, and he wished that she'd push herself away from the bad guys to grow closer to the heroic law-enforcer.

But he was a control freak above everything else, and Isla was just a free-spirit. She was loyal to her friends and family but she didn't want to get tied down, and she didn't want to become friendly with a fucking cop.

The only cop she liked was crooked. And Unser was in a similar spot to her--a little too affiliated with SAMCRO, but not completely doted on. Though, they were both strangely essential fixtures, and Clay would've been lost without them.

"Juice is here." Tig taunted as he helped her off the bike, holding her hand when she stumbled over herself a little. "Try to keep those panties on."

"Can't make any promises, Tiger." Her growl was seductive, though he knew that she was fucking with him.

She'd given up rebuking his claims, instead feeding into them because, with Trager, she couldn't seem to win. He was sleazy, and she loved that back and forth.

What she loved more, though, was that he was comfortable. He was a strange man, and nobody really understood just where he came from, but Isla liked that she could make jokes of any kind around him. He was easy to get along with. Easy to love.

And, man, did she love Alex Trager.

"If you do fuck him, though, would you make a video?"

Isla stepped into Jax's front room, turning on her heels. "Who said that we haven't already got one?"

She chuckled and wandered into the party, leaving Tig with a few convoluted thoughts and even more raunchy questions.

"Fuck. Gemma taught her well." He grumbled under his breath, reaching for the beer in Half-Sack's hand.

He slumped on the couch, motioning for his usual lay to sit in his lap as he watched Juice fawn over his little blonde friend making conversation with some other random woman already.

"Yeah, totally..." she agreed with whatever the girl was saying, but her eyes were glued on Tara. Just floating around the party.

She felt bad that the doctor was alone. Despite all that she thought of her, being out of ones depth in such an intimidating setting wasn't very nice. And Isla was an empath.

"D'ya think anyone 'round here has any nail glue?"

"Gemma might." She smiled, pointing toward the kitchen.

Grateful that she managed to shake that one off, Isla weaved through the small conclave and sat beside Tara, offering a friendly face during a time of such discomfiture.

Her heart was aching, the sheer nervousness was palpable, and she knew that Tara felt the same way too.

But Isla just sucked it up. Because she wanted to talk to her, and had to be the one to initiate it.

"Thanks for coming." Her smile was wide, genuine.

She offered a beer to the brunette, hoping that she'd take it.

"Thanks for asking me here." Tara accepted it, glad that Isla remembered she wasn't particularly a wine girl like herself.

Christ. This is awkward.

"Trust me, you were the first person I asked to come tonight."

"How so?"

"Well," a little bit more comfortably, she faced her completely, "you've literally nursed Abel back to health. You've been there every step of the way. You've been the best surgeon. And, as much as I hate to say it, you helped Wendy so much, Tara. I'm really thankful for all that you've done for this family."

"It's my job." She tried to brush the comments off, but her heart definitely fluttered at the praise.

Isla never changed. She was still the sweetest soul, she thought.

"I know, but you've had it rough with this lot--with Gemma, I mean."

"She isn't anything I can't handle." Confidently, she asserted.

"I know, and I'm glad that you're able to stand your ground." Reluctant, a hand landed against Tara's palm.

She jolted a little bit, but softened into the embrace.

It was comfy, warm. Prosperous, perhaps, because it meant something. Tara not jerking away and leaving once Isla offered a friendly embrace, was promising.

They spoke about the baby for a little while, and shared a few laughs at Tig's expense. It was strange, really. To be talking to her ex-best friend was strange, but she'd missed it.

Donna joined the mix, too, and it was starting to feel like old times. Isla recognized that they'd never slip back into that routine, the dedication to one another that they'd known when they were kids--but it was nice.

The conversation stuttered and it wasn't able to flow as freely as what she might've liked, but it was a start.

To know that she had something resembling an acquaintanceship with two women she admired, was nice.

And Jax introducing his baby to his brand new home, to his extended family that were already so fucking dedicated to him, was just the most wonderful thing ever.

"What about a beer?" Clay joked, holding the bottle close to Abel. Jax laughed, though he shook his hand away. "What? Grandpa can't give him his first beer?"

"No, he can't."

"I'll take it, though. If you're offerin'." Chibs grabbed the Budweiser and twisted the cap with the leather grip of his glove.

He gestured to Isla, tipping it toward her. "Want some?"

"No, you're alright." She went back to her wine, smiling at that little bundle of happiness in Jax's arms, wondering how the hell he'd gotten to be in this position now.

But it was because of Tara. Her commitment, her talent, and sheer want to help that angel through the roughest patch that a baby could have possibly been thrust into.

How Gemma could still loathe that girl--after everything she did--was beyond her completely.

Tara was the unlikeliest hero in Abel's story.

"Why is it that every time I see you, your highlights get more chunky?" Gemma smiled at the comment, turning to see her favorite girl, flaunting the most beautiful smile.

She handed Isla the bottle of whatever wine Chibs could get this evening, unable to quit beaming at the thought of her grandson finally being at home. Where he belonged.

"I told you I'd do them for you, Gem."

"I know," she nodded, playing with a few strands of hair, "I was gonna ask you, but you've been a little distant this week--didn't wanna add to your workload, baby."

"That's super considerate of you. Are you alright?" Isla teased, holding a hand to Gemma's forehead.

She slapped it away with a laugh. "Fuck you. I'm always considerate."

"Sure you are. That's why Wendy is here, right?"

"No," her head shook, "she's here 'cuz this is her house. If I had it my way, she'd be out on her ass faster than what you could even say 'crank whore.'"

Isla wiped at her lips with the back of her hand, tipping her head toward the blonde in the living room.

"I thought you made sure she was gonna be here tonight?" Confused, she quizzed.

She was under the impression that Wendy was starting to grow on her. After she'd tried to kill her, of course.

"I did," Gem confirmed. "But only because I knew it'd be awkward between her and Tara."

Amazed, or maybe fucking horrified, Isla simply glared at her.

It should've been obvious to her--plain as day--that Gemma Teller doing a good thing was simply a bullshit facade, built in order to take away from the fact she wanted to do an inherently bad thing.

But Isla liked to see the good in people, so it wasn't. And that really was one of her mot fatal flaws.

"She thanked me for letting her stay, too."

"And what'd you say to her?" Almost as if she didn't want to know the answer, she asked.

Black nails danced along the rim of her wine glass as she leaned against the counter, watching everybody enjoy themselves as they bitched and moaned.

"That she's lucky to be alive."

"Jesus, Gem," her head shook disparagingly, disappointed perhaps.

But being surprised that the woman made a threatening comment toward Wendy, was just as stupid as being surprised at Tig for fucking another hooker during his free time.

"You've gotta keep her close, ma. She's the mother of your grandson, the woman your son did love at one point."

Ma. The word rolled off her tongue unintentionally most of the time, but she didn't hate it.

Gemma was the mother figure in her life--hell, she was the mother figure in a few of the Sons' lives--and it didn't feel weird using that around her. It was affectionate. She adored it.

"Jax never loved her," matter of fact, she retorted. "They got drunk together. They smoked dope together. They didn't love one another--"

"They got married." Isla reminded her. "They have a kid together. They have a lot of history."

"Just because they have history, doesn't mean they love one another. You've got history with him."

Her chuckle was throaty, almost a full-on splutter. "We have not got that same history--we're friends, Gem, you know that's different."

She supposed the blonde was right.

There was hell of a contrast between friends for life and friends with benefits--and Gemma knew that. She just didn't like that Jax gravitated toward Wendy when he'd always had Isla right there in front of him.

Though, she was more than aware that the pair didn't look at each other that way--she still lauded the thought of the two together.

"I still hate her."

"I know," Isla laughed at Gemma's irritability, sipping on her wine, enjoying the sight of everybody having a damn good time.

"She's checking into rehab, too."

"Really? Where?"

"Some place in Oakland, I think." Gemma added, smiling at Clay when he wandered over to the pair. "But you didn't hear that from me."

"You think she's gonna stick to it?"

"Couldn't tell 'ya." He answered for his wife, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to Isla's cheek. "She's determined though, I'll give her that."

"Yeah?" His nod was optimistic--strange for Clay Morrow. "Well, I'm glad she's working on herself, anyway. She's got potential."

"You hate her."

"I know." She didn't refute the assertion. "But I'm still happy for her."

At least somebody is.

She wasn't lying. Wendy was a good girl, a woman tortured for no good reason. And she felt for her, she really did.

It'd been a shock, finding out that she was pregnant. But it wasn't like they weren't expecting it--what with the rate she and Jax were going at it.

From the start, Isla and Gemma were worried. She was notorious for her crank habit and the girls thought she was going to kill herself before she had the chance to see her son into the world.

And that almost happened, didn't it?

The doctors at St. Thomas were fucking miracle workers--Isla was on pins and needles waiting for a call to say that Wendy and Abel were okay.

But she tried not to dwell on that, now. They were both as healthy and Abel was as happy as he could've been, so Isla was content. She wasn't pleased, but she was comfortable with the way that things were going.

Tara, however.

"No!" She yelled, backing out of the nursery. "No, fuck you, Jax."

Juice stumbled backward when she nudged him out of the way, pulling her purse from the kitchen counter.

Isla and Gemma couldn't not stare.

"Tara, c'mon!" Jax called after her, but it was too late.

The front door had been slammed shut and the party came to a complete standstill. A thickening tension was shrouding the group, and things were only just starting to simmer.

"What was that all about?" The blonde asked Juice, leaning against the island.

She didn't want to prove Tig to be right but, after a few glasses of wine, Juan Carlos Ortiz was starting to pique her interests.

He swallowed thickly, watching Clay leave the room. "He said something about Wendy--wanting to keep whatever it is that he and Tara have going on the down low so it doesn't set her off, or something."

Makes sense.

"He has a point. She's doing really well lately." He continued. "Jax would hate to stunt her progress by shoving his relationship with Tara in her face."

Isla was rattled.

Jax hadn't talked to her in days, and she wasn't aware that so much had changed. She wasn't aware that he had established a relationship with Tara Knowles.

Again.

You know what they're like--like two fucking magnets or something. They always find a way back to one another.

She was too irritated to reside in that same room as Gemma, now. Knowing the conversation she'd initiate the second that Juice left was too fucking much. So she left first, instead.

The living room was almost empty. Just Clay, Bobby, Tig, and Chibs sat around the couches as Donna, the kids, and Ope were preparing to set off.

Everything was annoying her, now. She hadn't made the effort with Donna all night, but she was pissed that she hadn't started to say goodbye to her yet.

Isla was so fucking irritated that she didn't even want to talk to Tig, or her father. So she didn't.

"Where're you going, petal?" Chibs asked, hindering her plan to keep her mouth shut for the rest of the night. He knew that she'd crack a smile at the nickname.

"I was just wandering. Not really sure what to do with myself."

"Come sit down," he gestured to the space between himself and Tig, and wound an arm around her when she met the leather. "I've missed 'ya."

"Tonight? Or just in general."

"In general. It's been a few days, love."

"I know, I'm sorry." Her head rested against his Sgt. At Arms patch, and she sighed. "Work has been so fucking busy and I feel like I haven't gotten a moment to myself this week."

Isla only worked a part-time gig at some shitty salon just on the outskirts of Charming--edging into Stockton--but she hated her job.

She hated driving into the city every morning and evening, wasting a fuck ton of her paycheck on gas when, really, there was no point.

She hated her cunt boss.

Hated her cunt clients.

She hated that nobody really spoke to her because of who her father was. And when they did speak to her, it was almost like they were scared. Of Isla.

Gemma had always promised her that there was a space at the auto shop for her had she needed it, but she couldn't think of anything worse than having to answer to Gemma and Clay every single day.

Well, more than what she already was, anyway.

"Who'd 'a thought that being a hairdresser was so demanding?"

"Me, apparently." She joked, watching Tig get up and leave the room.

It'd turned somber. A little too bleak for her liking, but she guessed that everyone felt a bit awkward after Tara stamped out and Jax sat on his porch. Alone. With a bottle of whiskey.

She hated the hold that woman had over him sometimes. The way he was so fucking devoted to Tara Knowles that she could literally slap him, scream in his face, and ruin his son's homecoming party--and he would still pine for her.

She'd never understand that.

And she didn't understand how such a lively bunch of individuals had mellowed out over the course of two hours, either.

The party had disappeared. Dissipated into nothing and the atmosphere she once lauded was completely dead in the water.

It was fucking grim, and she couldn't wait to head home.

"Can I come with you tonight?"

"Why'd you even ask? Y'know you're welcome to come home with your old man whenever you want." Chibs told her a little bit stern, though it was essentially full of love.

She just smiled up at him, a bit buzzed. But she was having a good-ish time and who was he to chastise her for drinking a little too much tonight?

"Wanna head off now?"

"Yeah--lemme just say 'bye' to Gemma."

"Alright, I'll be out front. Don't forget your purse." He reminded, knowing she was too ditsy for her own good.

Chibs helped her to her feet, letting go of her hand only to part ways for a few moments.

Her mood was perking up, now. The prospect of being able to spend a few hours with her dad after a long fucking day, was just the best.

And she'd really missed him. Missed the time they once had an abundance of. Missed the evenings that they'd spend talking, drinking, watching movies, doing the generic father daughter activities.

They hadn't had that for a while, and it was truly a blessing that it was within reach tonight.

Well. It was within reach for all of five minutes.

"Oh my God--" Gemma's cell slipped from between black nails and bounced across the table. Saturated hues were locked on Isla, and her head shook.

"What?"

"There's--there's been an accident." She managed to muster out. "Or, maybe a drive-by, I don't know, but Donna--"

"Donna?" Piney's attention was snatched at the mention of his daughter-in-law. He stood up. "What about her?"

Isla knew the answer. She knew what Gemma was going to say because it was just the usual now, wasn't it?

Being affiliated with SAMCRO just did that to somebody. Man, woman, child. They didn't fucking care.

"She's--Piney, she's dead."

[concussed-to-pieces]

Stay Safe Part Eight: Savior At High Noon

Fandom: The Mandalorian [Star Wars]

Pairing: Eventual Mandalorian [Din Djarin]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: You kids ready for a firefight? I'm talkin' Yojimbo, bringing a knife to a gun fight levels of firefight. Enjoy!

Tag List: @wrestlingfae @huliabitch @toxiicpop @helplessly-nonstop @culturalrebel @renegademustelid @sinnamon-bunn @literal-fand0m-trash @fioccodineveautunnale @hxldmxdxwn @lizajane3 @thewaythisis @nellyneko @absurdthirst @kylolover96 @crownofmanga @talesfromtheguild @robbinholland @lukesrighthand @hoodedbirdie @lackofhonor @thyestean-feast @oh-no-who-am-i

Part One: Should Have Known Better

Part Two: Tranquil Turmoil

Part Three: Vibroblade Mettle

Part Four: Reaching Out

Part Five: Dark Past

Part Six: Go Alone

Part Seven: Like A Ghost

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains graphic depictions of gore. Stay safe!]

You walked through the night and on into the next day, only stopping briefly for short breaks or to halfheartedly gnaw at a tasteless ration bar. You hadn't actually meant to go for so long without a proper rest, but it was as though your legs had a mind of their own. You just kept putting one foot in front of the other, studiously avoiding the thoughts that threatened your fragile emotional state.

When you finally arrived at the city gates as the sun was setting, you were momentarily confused to see two stormtroopers posted there. Oh, right. That message mentioned something like this.

"Chain code." One of them ordered as you approached, his scanner already out.

"Uh." Your voice rasped dryly and you winced, clearing your throat. "Um, let me…" You wearily dug through several of your pouches before you finally located the battered card, holding it out to the trooper. He scanned it silently, held it up to the light, and then handed it back with a nod. 

"Don't cause any trouble, drifter." His modulated voice sent a sad little tremor of familiarity through your body. You trudged past the sentries, feeling exhaustion burn at your eyes. Maker, you could use a nap. What time was it? 

Slogging your way through the sand, you waved to a few people you did recognize, well on your way to sleeping wherever you stopped next. The sheer number of stormtroopers around was something that you knew you ought to find concerning, but at the moment you couldn't muster up the ability to care.

Aside from that, this was normal. This was what you knew, comfortable in its familiarity. The clunky droids, the sand in your boots, the whirring grind of hoverskiff engines.

Normal. 

You finally landed beneath a rare unoccupied overhang in an alley, your small pack clutched to your chest as you curled up on your side in the sand. 

Normal.

This was what you had wanted to return to when all of this started out, you reminded yourself sternly while you wrapped up in your cloak. Stability. Safety. Work. 

Why did your chest ache so much?

Your shoulders heaved as you sucked in a breath, the pack you held seeming too heavy. The child hadn't been heavy at all. Negligible, even. You wondered where they would go after all of this was sorted out, whether the Mandalorian would come back regularly once the Guild was reinstated and his record was expunged.

The galaxy would keep on spinning, despite your weary ruminations.

I'll never see him again, will I? Him or the child.

Overhead, the stars began to reveal themselves one after another as night descended upon the small city, and you slowly lost the fight with the tears that you had been holding back since you left the cockpit.

This is the Way. 

...

A dull rumble roused you from your uneasy slumber, and you briefly feared that there was a storm coming. The beaming sunlight seemed to contraindicate that notion, though. You squinted upwards, trying to gauge the time. It would appear that you had slept through the night; if you had to guess, you would say it was nearly noon.

Your stomach growled and you sat up slowly, digging around in your pack for the bar that you had forsaken the day prior.

A black ship roared by overhead and your eyes widened, certain that-- 

What the hell was that?! You pinched the skin of your inner arm, then swore loudly at the pain. Several more rumbles echoed through the streets, and now you could dimly pick up the rattle of automatic blaster fire. Armed conflicts were not unheard of, but never on a scale like this. It sounded like a full-blown invasion!

You scrambled to your feet, your pack abandoned on the ground. After a moment of hesitation where you thought better of whatever it was that you planned on doing, you set off running towards the commotion. 

The ruckus seemed to be moving steadily in the direction of the town cantina. Your own path took you parallel to the main thoroughfare and after a few moments, you caught a fleeting glimpse of the IG unit zipping past. 

What? 

You skidded to a stop, then changed direction to emerge out onto the main road. It was IG-11, the spindly droid astride a speeder bike taking out stormtroopers left and right. "IG!" You yelled, waving your arms to get its attention.

The droid didn't pause in its fire even as it greeted you, eyes rotating to catch any and all encroaching threats. "There has been a change in the plan." IG-11 said calmly. "Kuiil has been terminated. I would advise you to pick up a weapon and assist me in defending the child."

Kuiil has been terminated. Your heart broke, but you barely had time to register the grief. "You have the baby?!" You gasped, noticing the pack around the droid's torso as you did. 

"Of course. I have been programmed to protect."

You rushed to yank free one of the plastoid armor sections from a fallen stormtrooper, ending up with the whole sleeve shucked off in your hands. It was no beskar, but hopefully it would help. You had seen the Mandalorian defend his head by simply shifting his shoulder. If you used that same technique, you might be able to get away with lugging less armor along. 

You pulled the armor up over your shoulder, the black body-sleeve gripping your bare arm tightly. A standard-issue blaster settled into your hands, clunky and unfamiliar but you would make it work. You had no real choice in the matter. You nodded stiffly up at the IG unit, who revved the speeder bike. "I cannot wait for you. It is imperative that I make my way forward with haste." The droid informed you.

"I get it. You go on, I'll follow." You replied, reaching out for one indulgent second to cup the baby's cheek. They were simply watching silently from the satchel, those huge eyes looking slightly dazed. A bruise darkened the skin over their left eye. "Take care of them. Please."

"Of course." IG-11 sped off in a cloud of dust and you squared your shoulders. 

Well. You couldn't say that a plan not going properly was anything new. 

You trailed along after the capable droid, striding across the sandy streets with renewed purpose. Few stormtroopers escaped IG-11's blaster shots and if they did, your own soon finished them off. Every pull of the trigger was pragmatic, removed from you but still holding weight. You refused to dwell on the carnage at this moment. Later, there would be time. Just like for Kuiil. Time to grieve, time to process...

You checked your ammunition and kept moving, your eyes scanning the sand clouds ahead. You were approaching the town square, the locale of the cantina which served as the hub for the Guild on Nevarro. Blaster shots lit up the dust, red lines crisscrossing again and again. It sounded like the fighting was at its thickest here. 

You forced your legs to keep carrying you forward when an explosion rippled through the air like thunder, refusing to be immobilized by your fear (no matter how much you wished you could be!). Your shaky fingers shoved a new canister of blaster gas into your pilfered rifle as you peered around the corner of the closest structure, trying to make sense of the chaotic scene in front of you through the haze of dust and smoke.

Stormtroopers scattered to and fro, their ranks disjointed. You kept to the edge of the square, doing your best to avoid the fray that raged in the center. Not exactly a difficult task, seeing as the only person everyone had it out for was an achingly familiar, deafeningly loud instrument of death clad in highly-reflective armor. 

The Mandalorian had an entire E-web gun in his hands, holding it like some kind of battering ram. How he even managed to lift it was a mystery in and of itself! The stand for it stood nearby, forlorn and empty. The old cantina looked like it had taken the brunt of the assault from the weapon before it had been...commandeered. 

The armored man widened his stance and you were just close enough to hear him scream, "Dha Werda Verda a'den tratu!", his voice raw with fury. The E-web repeater spun up like a gatling gun, chewing through the stormtroopers with a vengeance. The Mandalorian didn't stop shouting in Mando'a, beskar plate sending out spark showers from all the haphazard shots aimed his way. His boots stomped rhythmically against the ground, shoulders squared and head tilted downwards as he swung the gun in a wide semi-circle.

You caught a brief glimpse of Cara in the cantina doorway, her borrowed Bren drum-fed blaster pounding away at the stormtroopers. Over her head was an older man dual-wielding a set of pistols, his deadly accurate shots booming loudly through the automatic rattle. 

You raised your own rifle, settling the stock against your shoulder and carefully leading your targets. If there had been one thing you learned on Sorgan, it was to be cautiously aggressive. You aimed for knees, exploiting the weakest area in the trooper armor to topple them quickly and leave them floundering in the sand.

So thorough was your focus, you nearly missed the man swathed in black. 

His cape billowed out behind him, a void in the sandy chaos. He was clearly a leader of some sort, the way he carried himself and the fact that he moved through the battlefield with no helmet enough to give you pause. You lined your rifle up almost on instinct to take a shot at his unprotected head, flinching when he stopped moving and you lost your bead on him. By the time you had relocated your target, a stormtrooper had posted up alongside him. You swore, about to adjust downwards to deal with the trooper first.

Your attention was snagged on the way by the commander's service blaster raising. You followed the line of his shot with your eyes, realizing where it was headed a second before he fired. 

Your mind scrambled for a solution and you cried, "Aru'e!", though you knew there was no way he could even hear you. Enemy ahead!

You saw the Mandalorian's helmet jerk up at the word and he stopped dead, staring directly at you while the E-web chewed uselessly through a section of masonry off to the left. You could feel it, even through the glossy black of his visor; he heard you, he saw you. He knew you were there. 

His shoulders slumped, defeated. 

"Nari!" You screamed, making a shoving gesture, move! But he didn't. It was like he was rooted in place.

The commander's bolt cracked into the Mandalorian's helmet at close range, the ringing blow staggering the beskar-wearing man instead of dispersing over the armor. 

And as the Mandalorian struggled to turn, slicing a wide and clumsy circle back with the E-web, the commander lowered his blaster to aim for the power supply still attached to the vacant tripod. 

With a simple pull of the trigger the entire tripod exploded forcefully, black shrapnel flying outwards in a deadly haze. You couldn't help your distressed cry as the Mandalorian was pitched violently back from the fiery blast. 

Once he hit the ground, he didn't move. 

Get up, you begged mentally. Please get up. Please don't be dead. Please. Your vision blurred with tears, grief threatening to swallow you whole as he continued to just...lay there, his flight suit smoking slightly. Then…

Then, you gritted your teeth.

"Cara!" You yelled, straining to be heard over the cacophony of gunfire. The woman started visibly, glancing around until her eyes landed on you. "Cover me!" You requested, drawing your old knife.

She tapped her ear and nodded to indicate that she understood. Then, she let out a war whoop, her auto rifle throwing slugs over your head to take out your pursuers. Meanwhile, you took the path of most resistance and least distance. 

Dodge. Jump. Roll. Onto stomach. Back up. Kick shin. Knife, knife, done. Keep moving! 

Several blaster bolts whined by your face, throwing up clouds of sand to your left with a loud pank! You hurriedly raised your shielded arm to protect your head.

Off the barrel. Good! Jump. Knife to the neck. Too close. Behind the crate! Rifle to the head, pull one two, done. Keep moving! 

You weren't sure if you were imagining Cara coaching you through these skirmishes, but you could hear her voice yelling instructions and suggesting movements all the same just like on Sorgan, pick up your fucking feet rookie! 

A stormtrooper's plastoid was made for taking blaster energy. It was not made for the blunt force trauma you inflicted with the spine of your heavy old knife or the stock of the rifle. White shards flew every time you struck, and every strike was a new opening for Cara to take advantage of.

Two shots grazed your shielded arm, distributing over the plastoid with a crackle of wasted effort. You barely noticed, your eyes fixed on the shimmering beskar of the Mandalorian. It gleamed and twinkled in the desert sun like a mirage; the sheer volume of the material alone was worth a king's ransom, but the real prize you were after was the man wearing it. 

I'm going to save you.

Something clipped your side and your stride faltered, the impact making you stumble and almost fall. You didn't have time for pain at that point, shoving it down to deal with later, the adrenaline will hold the pain! Your heated advance had clearly been noted, but now the IG unit was also running interference for you, tipping the odds even further in your favor. You slung your blaster around by its tote strap and gathered yourself for one last burst of speed, your legs burning as you forced yourself to outrun the scattered gunfire trained on you.

I have to make it. 

Skidding to a halt beside the Mandalorian's body, you hurriedly sheathed your knife, dug your fists in beneath his shoulders and ripped him backwards with all your might. His cape aided you in your adrenaline-fueled struggle, ensuring that the edges of his beskar wouldn't catch on the sand. You stayed half-crouched, using his armor as a shield while you slowly, slowly dragged him back to the cantina. 

You hadn't had the time to ruminate on whether he was alive or not, so hellbent to just get him off the battlefield that you almost missed him slamming his gauntlet against his hip like he was chambering a round. 

Flames poured out of the thrower on his forearm, engulfing two troopers that you hadn't spotted on your left. "Thanks!" You gasped.

"W-What are you--" His speech was labored, barely-there. "T-T-old y-y' to st-stay s--afe..."

"As you can see I'm doing great at listening to you!" You nearly lost your grip, straining to move him quicker before screaming in frustrated panic, "Why the fuck do you wear so much fucking armor?!"

"Please--j-just..."

"Be quiet!" You yelled, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

Cara was suddenly beside you, the shadowy doorway of the cantina a looming sanctuary over your head. The shock trooper grabbed one of the Mandalorian's arms, taking some of his weight to help you haul him deeper into the cantina.

"Stay with me buddy!" Dune encouraged him, "We're gonna' get you out of here!"

"This is our only path out, can you clear it?" That older man asked the IG unit, gesturing frantically at one of the ventilation grates. You recognized his voice from the message you had heard, the one that had sent the Mandalorian into a silent fury, but you were drawing a blank on his name. Karga, possibly?

"Certainly." The droid replied cordially, bending down in front of the indicated grate. A small cutting torch flared to life in its hand and it began what promised to be the somewhat arduous process of searing through the thick grating.

"And you! I don't know what the hell you were thinking, running out there like that!" The older man turned to scold you. "Nobody's worth that loyalty, you hear me?!" He paused, then continued, "aside from...well, maybe one or two people." He stuck his hand out. "Greef Karga, chairman of the Bounty Hunter's Guild on Nevarro."

You clumsily shook the pro-offered hand, still moving the Mandalorian. "Wish we could have met under better circumstances." 

"Too true!" He agreed, shaking his head. "What a mess you made of things, Mando. You and that baby are a menace."

"I'm n-not gonna' make it," the Mandalorian coughed when you and Cara managed to prop him up against a ruined table. "Go-"

"Shut up, you'll be fine! You just got your bell...rung." Dune's sure tone faded and when you looked over, you realized her hand was brick red with blood from where she had cupped the back of his neck. Glancing down, you found out to your horror that your own palms were liberally streaked with the substance as well. Fear raked its claws down your spine and you saw your hands start to tremble even harder.

"Leave m-e." The armored man pleaded, his voice rasping.

"I'm gonna' need to take this thing off." Cara reached urgently for the side of his helmet.

His gauntlet slammed shut on her wrist, hard enough that she winced visibly. "No. Y' leave me. Y' make sure the child is safe." He fumbled at his neck, tearing loose a small pendant that was shaped like the skull of a strange beast. "H-Here. When you get to the Mandalorian covert, you show them th--at."

Your confusion was probably plastered on your face (Mandalorian covert?), but Cara nodded like she understood. 

"You tell 'em…" He paused, wheezing stridor rattling loudly in his chest. "Y' tell 'em it's fr-from...D-Din Djarin..." His name, his name. You felt sick with the realization, your eyes going wide in shock. "You tell 'em the Foundling was in my pr-protection, and they'll help you." He instructed, pressing the pendant into your hand.

"We can make it." Cara assured him, glancing worriedly at you for confirmation. 

You were already moving to haul his arm up over your shoulder again. "C'mon, let's go!" You encouraged, his dead weight dragging hard at your back.

"I'm not gonna' m-ake it, n' you know it." The Mandalorian wheezed. His hand covered your own, rolling your fingers into a fist around the pendant. 

Flames abruptly poured through the cantina door, forcing both you and Cara to duck down against the armored man. When you raised your head again, the cantina was ablaze. "They're trying to burn us out, Imp fucks!" Cara snarled, her hand clenching down on one of the Mandalorian's pauldrons. "Can't that droid cut through the grate any faster?!" She shouted at Karga.

"You're more than welcome to assist it, with the torch that you don't have!" Greef retorted.

"Y' protect the child. I can h-hold them back long enough to help you escape," the Mandalorian panted. "Let me die a w--arrior's death." 

"We're not leaving you!" Cara insisted.

You echoed her sentiment softer, pushing your forehead against his. "Can you see me?" You whispered, staring through his visor.

"Y-Yeah." He gasped after a momentary pause. 

"I'm not leaving you alone in the dark." You heard his breath hitch with a sob and you bit your lip, quelling your own tears. "I'm right here with you." You drew your thumb down your chest, and then tapped your chin. I promise. "I'm here."

A second gout of fire roared into the cantina, nearer this time. Bottles of liquor began to explode nearby from the heat, various amber browns and neon blue spotchka feeding the flames. "Why won't y'...you're going t'...p-lease-"

"I said, I'm with you." You shook your head, trying vainly to imbue your next words with some sort of apologetic tone, "this is the Way."

"This i-is the W-ay." He echoed brokenly. His hand grasped at your arm, clinging for dear life despite imploring you to leave.

There was the sharp clatter of durasteel. You heard Cara start swearing a blue streak, which prompted you to glance behind you. The horrifying sight of a flame trooper was what met your eyes, the stripes on their armor turned blood red in the smokey haze of the cantina. They leveled their flamethrower and you realized that the child, the child was between you and the stormtrooper. 

You lunged for them just as the trooper pressed down on the trigger, knowing in your mind that there was no plausible way you would be able to save them. Hell, even yourself, or Cara, or the Mandalorian. You were all in the blast zone. 

It was futile. But you still moved. 

Your hands outstretched to pick up the child. The heat alone stole your breath. Maybe you could toss them, get them out of harm's way--

The flamethrower blast roiled and seethed forward, but then...it just stopped in midair. Hovering, a massive fireball, a miniature sun. When you saw the child's arms extended out in front of it, somehow you knew that they were what held it at bay.

Their tiny hand made a gesture, a simple motion of the wrist and the fireball soared backwards, engulfing the unsuspecting flametrooper. With a blast of backdraft, the trooper's fuel tank exploded and rocketed the body back out through the cantina door.

The child sat down heavily, then slumped to the side, their eyes rolling shut.

A loud clang echoed through the boiling room. It appeared that the IG unit had managed to get through the grate, the robot finally kicking it out of the way. 

"We're through! Come on, let's go!" Karga urged.

IG-11 clattered forwards over the flaming debris, carefully scooping up the child's limp form before you could shake off your shock. "Escape and protect the child. I will administer aid to the Mandalorian, and they shall assist me." The IG unit instructed calmly, metal pincers safely depositing the unconscious baby in Cara's waiting arms.

You tugged free the piece of fabric she appeared to have been using to cover her tattoo, rushing to tie it around your head. "Keep them safe, please." You implored her, running a hand over the unconscious child's head. You tucked the Mandalorian's pendant into their robes as an afterthought.

Cara's eyes went steely and she leaned in, forehead hitting yours as she demanded in her best trooper voice, "promise me you'll bring him. Drag him if you have to."

"You have my word." The IG unit answered for the both of you. You nodded in agreement, watching Cara and Greef flee through the destroyed grate before you pulled the cloth down over your eyes. Effectively blinded, you knelt in the sand and groped forward until you found the beskar-wearing man's arm.

"Y' have to go." The Mandalorian begged desperately, weakly shoving at your chest in an attempt to push you towards the grate. "P-lease…"

"We must remove his helmet if we are to save him." IG-11 stated.

You heard the sound of a blaster priming. "Try it n' I'll kill you. Blow your goddamn neural harness to Endor. I-It is. Forbidden." The armored man seethed through his teeth. "No living thing has seen me without this helmet si-since I--" He had to stop, a wet cough interrupting his speech. "-since I swore the Cr--eed."

"I am not a living thing." The robot pointed out pragmatically. "And they have covered their eyes. Out of respect for your traditions, I hypothesize." 

"We need to take care of you. Please." You found the hand that held the blaster and you wrapped your shaking fingers around it tightly. Now that your audience was gone the panic surged through your body, threatening to send you into hysterics at any moment while you clung to the last shreds of your composure. "Please." You begged frantically. I don't want you to die. "The kid needs you." 

I need you. I love you. I'm so sorry.

You felt him yield at the same time that you heard IG-11 move, the reformed bounty droid tugging at the beskar helmet. "I require assistance." It stated after a momentary struggle. "The surface is deceptively smooth."

You ran your hands over the Mandalorian's arm, working your way up to the base of his neck and resting just beneath the edge of his helm. You knew you were running out of time. Even now the flames grew hotter and hotter on your back, the air around you becoming unbearable with smoke. "Here, put your fingers on the edges instead. I can't actually be the one to take it off, so hold it like this."

You guided IG's less-certain metal claws to a better spot to grab, making sure that it wouldn't slip. The Mandalorian's shoulders tensed weakly, like he was waiting to be attacked. 

With a firm tug and that muffled hiss of air, the helmet came off. In the moment, it was no thing of gravitas. Clinical need overrode even the Creed he kept so close to his heart and here you were, blind and all business while you fended off your terror. 

He reached up shakily to brush his knuckles against the cloth you had covered your eyes with, a silent admission of trust. "You cryin'?" His voice still sounded so foreign without the modulator, husky but clear, soft. 

"Don't worry about that right now." You moved on autopilot to support the back of his head, grimacing when you felt your fingers card through matted hair and immediately grow slick with blood. "Maker, okay, alright." You muttered, nausea making your stomach pitch as you gingerly maneuvered his head to the side so IG-11 could perform whatever interventions it had in mind.

"Can't really feel my legs." The man admitted hoarsely. "Fingers are...tingling. What I can feel hurts like a--h-ah, dammit." He struggled to inhale, another wet cough choking him.

There was a soft ping. "This is a bacta spray. It will heal you in a matter of hours." IG-11 informed him.

You felt the armored man flinch when the bacta hit the open wound on the side of his head, hissing in a breath through his teeth.

"You have suffered damage to your central processing unit." The IG said bluntly.

"You...mean my brain." The Mandalorian murmured slowly after a beat. 

"That was a joke. It is meant to put you at ease." 

In spite of the peril that loomed, you were thrilled to hear a pained snort of amusement. Leather-clad fingers twined with your own. "Helmet." He pleaded. 

"Can we put his helmet back on? Are we all set?" You asked IG-11, squeezing the Mandalorian's hand in an attempt to comfort him.

"Better to do so. These open flames will not aid in the bacta absorption or ease of respiration." The robot replied. 

You felt around for the helm, burning your fingertips on the contoured surface before you managed to get it over the Mandalorian's face once again. You were startled when he clumsily cupped your jaw and pressed his helm to the cloth that covered your eyes. "I could kiss you, little mudhorn." He rasped through his modulator, clearly delirious on a combination of pain and strong drugs. 

"I would advise that you attempt such activities at a later time." The IG unit intoned. 

The Mandalorian then allowed you and the bounty droid to haul him upright, his fingers fighting with the cloth over your eyes before you helped him shove it up out of the way. His heated armor seared at your skin even through your clothes, but the pain was a background worry compared to your relief. 

He was alive. Staggering, stumbling, most of his weight resting on either you or the spindly droid, but alive. 

As you made your way through the tunnels beneath the city, his steps became more sure. "Damn, that bacta's got some kick to it." He remarked, shaking his head and rolling his shoulders out. "Hits like a blurrg to the gut."

"I would advise against strenuous activities while you heal." The droid droned.

"I'd love to oblige you," The Mandalorian retorted sarcastically, "but I don't think I'll have the luxury." His hand rested on the top of your head, fingers buried in your hair. 

When you finally caught up with Cara and Greef, the former soldier met the three of you with a grin of relief. "They'll have to try harder than that to keep you down!" She crowed, thumping a fist into the Mandalorian's shoulder.

The Mandalorian's response was a wry, "I'd rather they didn't." 

...

Now reunited, the group of you traversed ahead. Despite being a little turned around, the Mandalorian quickly latched onto the correct path to the aforementioned covert. Progress grew more expedient as his body absorbed the bacta properly, the hunter soon able to walk unaided. 

Your rushed exodus came to an abrupt halt, however, when you stumbled upon a pile of beskar armor. 

The Mandalorian stopped dead in his tracks, and then sank to one knee. Shaking hands reached out and plucked a helmet from the pile, his thumb rubbing against the black sharding left over from where the visor had shattered.

Everyone huddled together in silence, not really wanting to interrupt the clearly-grieving man, but knowing too well that the Imperials would be overrunning the tunnels shortly.

"We should go." Cara finally murmured. You put a gentle hand on his shoulder between his cowling and pauldron, squeezing to let him know that you were there.

"You go. Take the ship." The armored man replied brokenly. "I...I can't leave it this way." You felt his shoulder tense up under your touch and you instinctively braced for impact. "Did you know about this?" He breathed, the inquiry directed at Karga. "Is this the work of your bounty hunters?" The title sounded like a curse, dripping with hatred.

"Of course not!" Greef protested. "When you left the system and took the prize, the fighting ended. The hunters just...melted away. You know how it is. They're mercenaries, not zealots!"

"Did you do this?!" The Mandalorian raged, shaking your hand off as he lunged upright and turned on the Guild leader. "Did you?!" 

"It was not his fault." said a stern female voice. Another Mandalorian emerged from a side tunnel, her majestic bronze helm adorned with small horn-like protrusions. She wore a cuirass beneath her armor that had a luxurious pelt around the neck (possibly nexu?), giving her the illusion of sporting a thick mane. 

You did your best not to gawk, though you had the feeling you were unsuccessful. She carried herself almost like Cara, but more refined, almost regal.

"We revealed ourselves. We knew what would happen if we left the covert." Leather-gloved hands reached into the pile and reverently picked up a breastplate, which she proceeded to deposit onto an already-loaded hoverskiff. "The Imperials arrived shortly thereafter." She gestured down at the armor. "This...is what resulted." Her voice was soft with grief.

"Did any survive?" The Mandalorian rasped desperately.

"I hope so. Some may have escaped off-world."

The Mandalorian looked down at the pile and then jerked his helmet back up. "Come with us." He implored.

"No." She replied disdainfully, almost as if she was scolding him for even daring to suggest such a thing. "I will not abandon this place until I have salvaged what remains." She then turned on her heel, beckoning for the group to follow her into the side room. 

As the others trailed along behind her, you dallied just outside the doorway. With a hand pressed to your side, you took a shaky inhale. It was beginning to hurt to breathe, but only just. Like the adrenaline was dulling the pain. You didn't want to actually look at the wound for fear that it was worse than you thought, so you carefully shifted your cloak to hang over your side. 

There. Out of sight, out of mind.

Part Nine

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 58: Infernal

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Fifty-Eight: Infernal

Notes: I love writing fighting scenes! It's always such a blast to write the motions and the momentum of a fight! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

(-~-)

In truth, the only thing comparable to the creature's horrendous appearance was its sheer size and magnitude. Standing at a size comparable to that of a small building, its stature was domineering. And with wings that dared blot out the very night sky around them, the creature before them was undoubtedly a demon, although unlike anything they'd previously seen. 

Well, that was partially a misnomer. The color scheme matched almost perfectly with that of the devil they had battled against in the subway station with that summoner, both of his devils being very similar in thematic coloration. No doubt they hailed from the same origin point, whatever dark abyss in the underworld they hailed from being one and the same. But even still it was no part of the underworld that either of them was familiar with. Belial and his cronies must have dug deep to locate such foul creatures.

Towering over them and admitting a menacing aura, the gigantic demonic beast was more akin to some sort of sabertooth tiger crossed with a dog than anything else. It snarled and was clearly less than pleased with their presence, but there was a sort of intelligence to the creature that made them wary of simply rushing in and attacking like they normally would. His body was shrouded in a layer of black pulsating darkness that seemed to consist of some sort of flesh, but it was entirely too difficult to tell in these lighting conditions. The same magenta markings marred most of its flesh and wings, and two additional heads sprouted from what appeared to be the shoulders of the beast. A pair of compressed black and magenta wings adorned its back that, if straightened, were probably taller than the building they had just been standing near. All in all, entirely too big of a demon to have accidentally stumbled into the human world. And neither of them needed to wonder if it had been brought there on purpose.

They weren't entirely sure how they had missed something so large initially. Had the devil been laying stomach down on the ground before they had arrived? That was the only feasible explanation considering the fact that they had seen aircrafts smaller than that. Its claws were practically as big as they were, each paw the size of a small family car. And it had four of them. And it had to be said that this was probably the first time either of them had fought a devil with more heads than opponents. If they failed there would be quite the fight between each of the heads to decide who's actually going to eat them.

"So am I safe to assume that you have no idea what this creature is?" V said, putting some room between himself and the creature as it bore down on them. He had no idea what they were up against now, but he was absolutely certain that he was going to need Griffon. He would just wait for the proper time. Perhaps if they were lucky he could use his avian companion to distract the beast while they moved in to fight it. As outmatched as he suddenly felt, he knew that he couldn't leave this creature to roam the city in good conscience. There was self-preservation, and then there was negligence.

A slightly amused look across the face of the man with the red hair as he glanced over his shoulder with a sort of sarcastic flare, seemingly calm and composed and otherwise unworried about their opponent but not quite to the degree that would imply that he considered it an easy fight. He wasn't vain enough to believe that this creature would actually be simple to take down, but he felt somewhat secure in the knowledge that he was able to beat it. He had fought much more dangerous foes in the past, and none of them had managed to overpower him. Perhaps if he was lucky this would be the boost to V's confidence that he needed at a time like this.

"You would be correct in that assumption. I have quite literally no idea what this creature could be. I mean, it's quite obviously a devil for a demon of some sort, but in regards to its place of origin, I couldn't be less knowledgeable. It seems to be something akin to the illustrations and stories that I've heard of the Infernal Devils, but without going through the bestiary that the Ludwig family possesses, I would have no way of being sure." Sirrus seems slightly put off by his lack of knowledge and as to what the creature might be, but he drew his blade regardless, unwilling to even consider the idea of allowing his companion to face such a large and potentially deadly opponent alone. He was not without honor. "I took the liberty of looking into possible demonic species while I was there yesterday, and this seems to be what this might be, but unfortunately, none of those books are exactly in color. Just descriptions of them next to vaguely drawn illustrations, and trying to decipher both the handwriting and translate the language is quite the hassle. You might be worth taking a look at it  yourself after we get out of this situation."

"Okay then, so what happens now, genius? Are we just going to run in guns blazing, or do you have a better idea?" The small voice from within his head spoke, clearly realizing just how far and over their heads they might be. It took the young summoner a moment to register that his familiar with speaking to him, but although he didn't outwardly show it, he did consider the statement.

"By any chance, do you recognize this species?" V asked his familiar, cognizant of the fact that a demon might be able to recognize a demon than he did. Griffon's knowledge into some of these matters was foggy at best, what it was still more than he tended to know. He simply didn't have the first-hand experience in most cases.

A long pause settled between the pair of them before he finally got his response. "Hmmm… I think our red-haired buddy might be onto something. I can't say I know much about the Infernal Devils since they're basically legends, but this might be one. Makes you wonder how they opened a gate big enough to let something like this out, though. We better figure that out and quick, or we'll have bigger problems. If this is an Infernal Devil, this isn't even one of the biggest ones I've heard of. Might be one of their more common devils, but again, I can't be sure.

"Do you have a plan of any sort?" V said calmly as they stared down the devil, content in the knowledge that they would quickly become demonic dog chow if they didn't do something about this soon. They were actually somewhat surprised that it hadn't attempted to eat them yet. Perhaps it'd been left here as some sort of century?

Sirrus shook his head. "Not one that I can say that I have much confidence in, but I do have something. Do you have access to your familiar? That bird?"

V felt Griffon stir within the confines of his mind, somewhat miffed it being referred to as a simple bird. He smirked in spite of himself and his circumstances. "Settle down. Be thankful he didn't call you a chicken. That's a change of pace at the very least."

The young summoner could feel his summons ire as he said that, resisting the urge to chuckle to himself. This wasn't the time, and it certainly wasn't the place, but it seemed that their hand had been forced, and they had to do what they had to do to not only survive but to protect the city. They were going to have to battle against this devil whether they were prepared or not.

As he considered this, the devil lunged forward, sinking its paw into the asphalt in front of them and pulling it up in large swaths. The gash it left in its wake was as wide as he was, something that didn't escape his notice. The last thing he wanted was to be nicked by one of those colossal claws, or worse, to be caught in the maw of such a fearsome beast. He would no doubt meet his end swiftly if it were to succeed in that endeavor.

"Let's go with your plan, then. I'm perfectly capable of improvising."

Noticing that it had most certainly been the threatening gesture of the devil that had coaxed him into such an immediate response, Sirrus took the bold step of going closer to the devil, his blade drawn. Naturally, the creature was not at all pleased by his challenging move and swiped at him, its grip coming up empty. In the wake of its confusion, V managed to slip to the side of it, the devil clearly more fixated on its inability to find its received target than it was with keeping up with the other individual that had accompanied them.

Realizing that Sirrus had probably ducked behind a nearby tree, the devil let out a bellowing roar that shook the ruined ground beneath it, its paw crushing the small sapling under its unyielding weight. Sirrus flanked it from the left, charging in and managing to land a decent slash that pierced its ear and caught the side of his neck. It recoiled back in discomfort, causing it to open its wings and blow debris all around them. Caught off guard by the suddenness of his movement, the red-haired man tumbled backward, his back hitting a tree. The wind had been sufficiently knocked out of him, but from what V could see he had been otherwise unharmed. But that meant that it was now his time to step in and turn the tide of battle. Sirrus's selfless distraction had given him the time needed to charge up a more powerful attack, and he was going to use it.

As the devil flew into a rage, V made the decision to focus his attention on the creature's head, coming to the astute conclusion that perhaps causing it massive cranial damage might be enough to bring it down swifter. Under his command, Shadow leaped forward, cutting a swath up the back of the devil and using her full body tooth attack to clamp onto the back of the devil's neck. It immediately lunged up into the air, attempting to shake the demonic panther off of his back to no avail. The second that it opened its wings, Sirrus clamber to his feet and rushed forward, his aim clear. He leaped forward and, with a strong downward streak, pierced the demonic creature's wing, using his body weight to tear a large cut into it. Sufficiently thrown off balance by the lack of aerodynamics it now possessed, it toppled over, shaking him off and slamming him into the pavement with enough force to shatter the bones of a normal mortal. It was clear to both of them that now the devil was incredibly angry.

Astutely aware of the fact that they were rapidly running out of options, V summoned Griffon and directed him to charge his full strength, manifesting in the form of a barrage of waves of electricity that slammed into the devil and charged it with a powerful surge of right electrical power that toppled it onto its side. Shadow released the devil's neck and returned to her master's side just in time to grab him and snatch him out of the way of its flailing tail. Wood and concrete shrapnel flew everywhere, managing to nick him in a few exposed places, but he was otherwise unharmed. Mud and construction materials flew everywhere as the devil thrashed about in a combination of agony and malice, willing and ready to manifest its true power to decimate them in any way that it could.

Just as Sirrus managed to clamber to his feet, he immediately was set upon by the devil again, being forced to run and dive out of the path of one of his furious swipes, nearly being crushed in the process. As V attempted to mitigate the situation, the tail swung back around and managed to knock him across the parking lot and into the street, sufficiently putting him out of commission for the time being. Shadow ran to his aid, and Griffin attempted to do battle solo against the beast, hitting it with another electrical attack, this one manifesting in the form of a crisscrossing pair of lines that originated from a spherical orb. He then dived in and attempted to pester the beast, trying his best to draw its attention away from his host, but to little avail. It seemed that this particular devil would not be so easily tricked a second time. It stood up and tucked its injured wing in, clearly searching for its prey. And considering the fact that V was still attempting to pull himself to his feet and regain his bearings after hitting the back of his head against the curb, he was in no condition to attempt to defend himself. If Shadow could not stop the beast, then it would be far too late for him.

"Quick! We're going to need an assist on this one! Can you get the string bean out of here? At least long enough for me to subdue the big bad doggy here? My guess is that he hasn't been let out for walkies in a while!" Griffin shouted as he flew higher and higher up into the air, leading the devil to stand up on his back legs and attempt to be able to swipe at him more efficiently. One well-placed swing would be all it would take to put him out of commission, and he knew as much. The only advantage he had in this situation was the devil's inability to actually fly after him, but that didn't mean that it couldn't attempt to. This was a dire situation for the entire group, and if they didn't manage to gain the upper hand quickly, they would not only lose the battle, but they would more than likely lose their lives.

"No worries there, I've got him! Sirrus called over, rushing towards the devil from behind in an attempt to waylay it. He had not managed to make it to his feet again quite yet, but he had faced the devil, and it seemed that he had some sort of plan in mind. With the fierce determination that only someone facing down certain death could muster, V held his hand out towards the devil, indicating for Shadow to do her work. Muttering a phrase under his breath that Sirrus had not quite caught from the distance he stood away, Shadow melded into the very ground beneath her and manifested a wall of crushing spikes just as the devil got within stabbing distance. It slammed to a stop, tearing up the street along with it as the spikes pierced its chest and back. It let out a screeching, barking roar of pain and flailed ineffectually with both of his paws toward V as he recalled his avian companion to his side and was pulled back out of the way.

Realizing that this was his best and only chance to end the fight before things became any more destructive, the red-haired adjudicator jumped forward and leaped into the air, using his right hand to brush the edge of his blade. A sort of black flame coated it momentarily before he put both hands onto the hilt of the blade and used his full body force and the momentum of his jump to bear down on his opponent, piercing its skull with one destructive blow. It let out a single agonized cry before its head slammed down into the pavement, causing V to lose his balance but not fall as the shock wave shattered the street several dozen feet in both directions. It let out a sort of raspy, breathless groan before becoming still, blood pooling through the streets and down into the drains as its mouth flopped open and its colossal teeth we came easier to see. They were longer than both of them were tall, put almost together, but they were now no longer a threat. With that pair of decisive blows, they had managed to bring an end to the devil before it had managed to do any further damage, even if it had come at the cost of much exertion and a fair bit of discomfort and physical harm at their expense. But what was most important was that they were no longer in any form of immediate danger, and that neither was the city.

"Well… that was a bit more than I had initially signed on for," V said with a humorous tent to his voice, breathing heavily from the amount of exertion he had just endured. He wasn't so much tired as he was out of breath and seemingly unable to regain it. But he was just glad that they had managed to actually defeat the creature. Once he'd seen how large it had been, he'd had suffered an immediate momentary lapse in confidence in regards to their ability to actually finish it off alone. But they had done it. And there was a part of him that was quite impressed by that. Perhaps it was best that they had done battle against it after all. "But I think the bigger question is where did it come from? It clearly isn't a familiar. I see no core to destroy, and it hasn't been recalled to its master. Was this creature simply allowed to run streets?"

"And if that is the case, what benefit would there be in causing such needless destruction to private and public property? What is our opponent hoping to gain by orchestrating a situation like this?"  Sirrus I said as he approached the young summoner, extending his hand and offered to help him up. V allowed him to help him up off of the pavement, shaking his head in minor disbelief at how quickly that situation had escalated.

Griffon fluttered over to join them, lighting on what remained of the street post that set almost coiled around a leaking fire hydrant on the ground, an unfortunate casualty of the battle that had just taken place. He was just as flabbergasted by the sequence of events that it just played out as they were, but distinctly, had some sort of idea as to why this might have occurred. "That's a good point you two just made. The only thing that comes to mind is that maybe that summoner from the train station is trying to flush us out. You know, get us to fight these demons so he could figure out where we are. Maybe triangulate our location? Tire us out, maybe? He's after you, isn't he? I mean, he did try to drag you off at the train station. Maybe he's summoning these demons and letting him run amok so they'll catch our attention and he can swoop in and take you. Underworld's got an awful lot of demons with nothing better to do than run the streets and eat cars and buildings. I don't think he's going to run out of kindling to throw at the flame any time soon."

Both of the young men looked at one another and nodded. Yes, that seemed like a perfectly reasonable explanation as to what had just happened. If the summoner was indeed working for Belial, then he more than likely had the means and the motive to unleash a few demons on the city in the hopes of flushing them out. That sounded exactly like something a deranged maniac would do, and no human who was in the service of a devil prince could be saying anything but. After all, what did they have to gain by assisting with the takeover of the world? A leadership position? What would there be left to lead or to own if the earth was ruled by devils? Something as outlandish as allowing a human to rule anything in a world owned by demons surely would never fly. He would be snuffed out in an instant, nothing more than another meaningless mortal and no more meaningful to the devils that would be in charge than the legions of demonic foot soldiers that would take over the world in Belial's wake.

"If that's the case, then perhaps we should be wondering where that seminar might be able to watch a battle like this from. Perhaps one of the rooftops?"

Sirrus nodded in agreement, looking around at the futile buildings that surrounded them. If he was going to orchestrate a battle between his enemies and a large demon, then a high point would be the best place to view it from. "I think you may be on to something there, V. I think it might be best that we do some reconnaissance. Griffon, might I ask you a favor?"

The wild bird shook his head. "Nah, but you can ask V and he can ask me."

V shot his avian companion a disapproving look, clearly unamused considering the circumstances. This is far from the time to start being particular about who he obeyed and who he didn't. Well, it was technically true that he did obey V's commands and only V's, he had more than enough fruit will to be able to choose who he would and wouldn't listen to. And as long as his master's will allowed for it, he was perfectly able to carry out the task that had just been requested of him. "Griffon…"

Realizing that he had struck a nerve, the bird fluttered up into the air and flew off down the street. He knew that he was going to do what he was asked to do, but it seemed that he wasn't in the mood for jokes today. Considering the fact that he had just almost been eaten alive by a giant demonic panther dog bat devil thing, he was capable of understanding why he might not be exactly amused by his commentary. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know V. Lighten up, would you ya? I got it. No need to threaten to skin me alive and boil me. I'll go check it out. Hang tight, I'll be right back."

(-~-)

Fun fact: I used text to speech to write this chapter, and editing and writing it only took an hour and 20 minutes as a result! And it's almost a thousand words longer than normal! This is going to be a total game changer! And, I managed to do it on my phone! I have no idea why I never tried that until now, but it was amazing! Anyway, see you on Friday! If it's this quick, I might start spending like 4 hours a day every 2 weeks to knock out several chapters at once! That would be a great way to get ahead! 

Let me know if I missed any glaring mistakes. I went over it with an editing program after, but voice-to-speech has this amazing way of messing up things like unusual names, so I wouldn’t be surprised if I missed something. I hoped you liked this chapter! See you all in the comments section, and again on Friday!

[neriad13]

Favorite Media of 2020!

There was a large swathe of this year during which I was unable to concentrate on reading (as there probably was for a lot of other typically-frequent readers), so, as a result, I ended up listening to way more podcasts and watching way more TV shows. Not a bad thing, but boy did I read way less books than usual. 

However, for the first time in a while, the amount of fiction I read was about equal with the amount of nonfiction I read. Last year’s reading resolution was to read more fiction, so...success??

I did read a lot of phenomenal fiction when I had the energy to do so this year.

Books - Fiction

The Martian - Andy Weir

This book is the hardest of the hard sci fi I think I’ve ever read. Every single aspect of it is minutely researched and calculated. The author literally wrote equations to write this book. The science is insanely impressive and yet...it never loses its sense of humor or humanity in the mix. In fact, they’re the thing that drives the entire story.

Warlock Holmes - G. S. Denning

Way early in the year I was strolling down the fantasy aisle at the library, when this cover caught my eye. I took one look at it, went “oh, this looks silly” and...proceeded to devour the entire series in a matter of weeks. 

It is very silly. Especially when it’s pointing out something that was silly in the original. There’s something so satisfying about Watson immediately answering Holmes with the correct number of steps in their flat when he’s trying to make his point about how most people don’t pay attention to things like that.

World War Z - Max Brooks

Every single scenario in here could easily support an entire book. A park ranger whose job it is to contain the yearly zombie spring thaw? HECK YES. I’d read tens of thousands of words about that. A Chinese admiral who defaults, steals the government’s premier submarine, loads it up with the families of his underlings and takes to the sea for years to live in the maritime economy that has sprung up in a world where everyone is trying to escape the shore? That could be an entire movie on its own. 

Every chapter was more creative than the last and as a huge worldbuilding fan, this book was so, so fun.

An Unkindness of Ghosts - Rivers Solomon

In which a queer, neurodivergent protagonist solves a mystery on a spaceship which is a microcosm of antebellum era politics! This had a beautiful, mysterious, wonder-inducing writing style and it was a joy to peer into the wildly differing minds of every single character.

Books - Nonfiction

Underland - Robert MacFarlane

In every chapter, the author visits a different hole. Basically.

It’s an exploration of caves, catacombs, mines, nuclear waste facilities and the hidden underbelly of every forest. It was fascinating. And fundamentally changed how I look at time.

Rejected Princesses - Jason Porath

After years of having enjoyed the web entries, I finally got my hands on the first book and was not disappointed. 

There are the more entertaining entries, of course and the art is as charming as always, but what struck me the most were the more difficult stories. The deeper you go into this book, the more horrific it gets. The author does not hold back on the indignities suffered by the historical figures he writes about. It’s terrible...but also very, very illuminating.

The Gift of Fear - Gavin De Becker

This book - while maintaining all the essential information in it - could be pared down to one sentence in a sea of blank pages and that sentence would be: trust your instincts. End of story.

But in a world where instincts are either customarily suppressed or going haywire, it’s not quite that easy, which is why I’m glad there is more to the book.

I picked it up thinking “ha ha, betcha can’t help a person with anxiety who fears all the time already” and...what it actually ended up doing was giving me the tools to differentiate between real fear and unfounded fear. And did help with the anxiety quite a bit.

Fanfiction

Watch Over Me - cakeisatruth

A Bioshock fic from the point of view of a little sister who is learning how to trust and be an ordinary child again. Dark and sweet. An excellent combo.

All That is Visible - Ultima_Thule

An exploration of a minor character in a well researched historical context? That’s my jam! How did they know?? A Tron fic about what it’s like to be a female programmer in the 70s.

Graphic Novels

The Adventure Zone - McElroys + Carey Pietsch

Yesssssssss! It was a running-to-the-library type event whenever my library got a new volume in. The jokes are so good, the art is so lively and the ways in which they added the details that the podcast couldn’t necessarily get across is *mwah*

Trail of Blood - Shuuzou Oshimi

Hoooooooly shit, the art style of this one!! It’s beautifully detailed and expressive, sure, but the real draw for me was how it changes with the emotional state of the main character. There’s this sequence in which he’s consumed with anxiety at school and all of his classmates become blurry and unfocused, until they can’t be recognized as humans at all, that particularly sticks with me.

It’s a horror story about a kid who witnesses his loving mother push his cousin off a cliff for seemingly no reason and is then obligated by her to keep the secret, which is eating him from the inside out. It’s so good, guys, please read it.

Level Up - Gene Lien Yang/Thien Pham

A story about a kid who is haunted by his late father’s desire for him to become a gastroenterologist. It’s funny and touching and the ending gave me what I can only describe as a feeling of exhilaration. Y’know that feeling when something unexpected but not out of left field, perfectly in tune with the narrative arc and gut bustingly funny happens, all in the same panel? That one.

Film

Searching

This is a fairly standard thriller about a dad trying to find out what happened to his missing daughter. It’s also found footage...but not in the usual way, which was what made it so compelling to me. It’s told through the dad’s phone calls, google searches, social media interactions, news footage, security cameras and webcams. It was such a cool way to tell a story.

Train to Busan

There’s a lot that’s already been said about this movie and I don’t think there’s much more I can meaningfully add to that. Suffice to say that ya gotta take care of each other if you’re going to survive a zombie apocalypse!!

TV Series

My Brother’s Husband

As close to a perfect adaptation as a person can get (barring the entire conversation in English which was...oof). I was so happy when they took it a step further and showed Kana and Yaichi actually getting to meet Mike’s family.

Zumbo’s Just Desserts

I watched a lot of baking shows this year. Like...a lot. They were my much-needed comfort viewing for the year and this one was my favorite, even over The Great British Baking Show (which I LOVE). Why? Because the pastry chef for whom it’s named makes such bizarre and wonderful desserts and fosters an environment in which the competitors do the same. I’ve never seen anything like a lot of the desserts that make an appearance on this show. Every single episode was an awesome surprise and so help me, this show had better get a third season.

She-ra and the Princesses of Power

There’s also a lot that’s been said about this one, so I won’t say much more. Suffice to say: DAMN. That’s how you do an 80s toy tie-in cartoon remake.

Infinity Train

This show’s premise is probably the most unique I’ve seen in recent years. Its balance of comedy, horror and existential dread is also *mwah* I also love how much it trusts the viewer to figure things out on their own.

Primal

A late entry sliding in before the year ends! I finally got to watch the second half of the first season last weekend and it was EXCELLENT. The pacing, the brutal fight scenes, the adorable dinosaur antics, the animation, the quiet moments - *mwah-mwah-mwah-mwah-mwah*

The most emotional moment for me was the part in which the protagonists watch, with sorrow, as the rabid dinosaur who’s been trying to kill them all night dies an excruciating death.

Also it sets up a fascinating new plotline right before ending in a cliffhanger!! Another one for the ‘had better get a next season’ list.

Games

Night in the Woods

This is one that’s been on my to play list for a few years and I was so glad I finally got my hands on it. It’s like...The Millennial Experience (TM), the game. I felt so seen, playing it. The character writing was fantastic.

Prey

I don’t know why I put off finishing this for so long. I guess I wasn’t in the right alien killing headspace for a while?? Anyway, the setting is gorgeous, the alien biology is weird and cool, the ethics are delightfully murky and the interconnectedness of the station was really cool, especially in the OH SHIT moments at the end. 

Podcasts

The Adventure Zone

I tried to narrow this down to one favorite arc, but found that I couldn’t do it. I love Balance for its comedy and creative energy. I love Amnesty for its drama and acting. I am loving Graduation for the depth of its world and the way in which the real story behind everything that’s happened is slowly unfurling. It’s a good podcast all around.  

The Magnus Archives

Who obsessively listened to every single season while playing Minecraft in about a month? Surely not me, nooooo. Of course not.

There’s also been a lot said on this one, so I’ll keep it brief. I’ve seen things in here that I haven’t really seen elsewhere in horror. My particular favorites were the creepy psychiatric hospital in which the horror comes not from the patients, but from the denial of the doctor to believe them about their mental illnesses and every single thing related to the Anthropocene. The one with the Amazonian village made out of trash - CHILLS.

[nadiya-ffxiv]

Bounty Call: Ghost Ship

BOUNTY DETAILS || A ship has been spotted drifting around the waters of Vylbrand, paying no mind to the other vessels it crashes into in its passing. Through the day on deck the ship appears empty but at night the true crew reveal themselves, freezing and possessing those who attempt to board their ship. The ship does not move during the day but at night it glows eerily, the spectral crew mates appear and fend off intruders as the ship continues on the waters. Slay the ghosts that haunt and drive the ship through the seas, allowing the vessel to be returned to the people of La Noscea.

LOCATION || Last rumored to be halted near the Bloodshore when the sun set.

REWARD || 40,000g for the spectral cloth of each ghost on board.

BOUNTY ROULETTE || (6) Unexpected Aid! A nearby adventurer chanced upon your hunt and helped at a critical moment.

As the residents of Costa el Sol returned to their homes, the golden hue of dusk slowly faded into the dark blue of night. The distant clicking of giant sand crabs could be heard over the gentle rush of the ocean waves, and the subtle crooning of a nearby seagull disturbed the otherwise peaceful night air. A single droplet of rain splattered against the wooden deck overlooking the shore, followed succinctly by several more until the entire beach became enveloped in a heavy rainshower. A quiet observer sat along the deck’s edge; an unassuming if not entirely ordinary looking individual if it hadn’t been for the wild mane of untamed curls whipping around her head. That and, of course, the pair of bunny ears protruding from the crown of curls, marking her as a Viera and generally an uncommon visitor to these parts.

“‘Scuse me, Miss,” a voice said from behind her. “I’m about to go on me break, but I can get ye a drink or sommin’ before I do?”

The Viera glanced over her shoulder at the barkeep. She gave him a small smile that did not quite seem to reach her eyes, and shook her head, “No… thank you.”

He gave her a curious look and shrugged his shoulders before disappearing to the other side of the circular rotunda. She heard the quick strike of a match and the strong aroma of cigarette smoke. It won’t be long now, she thought to herself. 

As her eyes fixed themselves on the horizon, the young Nadiya Wolt was reminded of a great many memories. Life aboard a seaship hadn’t been a natural transition for the Viera. The majority of her young life had been confined to the security of the forest, after all. Even in the comfortable stillness of her bed in the Goblet, she could sometimes feel the soft ebb and flow of the ocean glide across her body like a long lost lover returning home. It was about the only thing Nadiya truly missed about that life. Then again, it hadn’t been a life of her choosing from the start.

Suddenly, the seagull from before squawked unpleasantly and flapped its wings in a mad dash to fly away. Nadiya watched the bird fly inland, brows knitting together expectantly, before spotting an unearthly glow beginning to form on the horizon. Its greenish hue permeated the dark blue surrounding it, until the shape of a ship materialized from the shadows. Her expression darkened as she verified what must surely be her target creep closer towards shore before eventually stopping several malms from the coast.

Nadiya narrowed her gaze. She took the next few moments to mentally prepare herself. The ship sat unnaturally still, its beckoning glow an ominous warning to all who witnessed it.

From the other side of the rotunda, the barkeep perked up at the sound of something falling into the ocean waters. He peered around the pillar he was leaning against, surprised to find the quiet stranger no longer sitting at her perch. He glanced around curiously, shrugged his shoulders again, and took a long drag from his cigarette.

Nadiya’s head broke the surface of the ocean waves as they raged around her. The wind had picked up, making the journey all the more difficult, but it hadn’t been an all too unfamiliar situation. She paddled onward, taking large strokes as she swam toward the glowing vessel. The waves, strangely enough, seemed to carry her there… as if the ocean itself wanted to aid her in her efforts. And as Nadiya closed the gap, the sheer size of the ship rivaled any vessel she had seen previously.

She paddled to the hull of the ship and gripped at its wooden beams with one hand, using her other hand to unhook a small blade from her thigh. In one swift motion, Nadiya stabbed the hull with the blade above her head, using it to hoist herself up and out of the water. She struggled to keep herself up, fighting to keep her grip on the slick boards, made even more difficult by the added weight of her wet clothes. Above her head was a small perch with a doorway leading to inside the ship. She would need only be able to reach the landing… if she could just keep from slipping.

With gritted teeth, Nadiya stretched an arm as far as it could reach and gripped the space between two boards. Lifting by her fingertips, she managed to hoist herself up enough to plant the heel of her boot on the hilt of the blade and push up, flattening her stomach to the wall of the ship. She took a moment to breath, eyes glaring at the landing overhead, before promptly leaping sideways with outstretched arms. By a narrow margin, her fingers found the edge, her legs flailing wildly as the ship lurched too and fro. Nadiya grunted as she heaved herself up onto the platform and slumped onto her side, the rain relentless in its pursuit of making this mission more difficult.

She suddenly regretted not having that drink from before.

Inside the ship, Nadiya couldn’t detect anything afoul. In fact, she couldn’t detect anything at all, which was perhaps even more unnerving. The door had opened up into what must be the captain’s quarters. A desk was stationed at the far end of the room with what looked like a bed adjacent to it. Approaching it, Nadiya sifted through pieces of parchment haphazardly strewn across the desk, attempting to find any clue that might shed some light on the mission. One in particular caught her eye: A sketch of a Roegadyn male, faded from water damage, with giant swathes of ink crossing out his features… as if someone had angrily marked out his face. Nadiya thumbed through several more, finding nothing more of any interest, and proceeded to a narrow staircase on her right.

There was a door at the top of the stairs. Nadiya quietly pressed a palm against it and peered through the crack as she eased it open. Her eyes widened at what she saw.

Clambering across the deck were over a dozen men. But what made them truly horrifying were their pale, ghostly complexion… their eyes hollowed out to an empty blackness and their expressions seemingly frozen mid-scream.

Wait… literal ghosts?! Nadiya thought. She hadn’t thought this would be an actual ghost ship. When she had accepted the bounty, Nadiya fully presumed that this was nothing more than a seaman’s tall tales. That what some were calling a ghost crew was merely fantastical ramblings of men imbued with too much corrupt aether. It quickly dawned on Nadiya that she was woefully unprepared for this. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t get the time to back out, as one of these ghostly men suddenly blocked her view from the door and thrust it open.

Nadiya jumped back and stared up at the figure, his empty eyes burrowing down at her with the weight of a hundred lost souls. She froze, unable to think of anything to do, when her instincts took over and she kicked a foot out toward his chest. It made contact, surprising herself, and he was sent careening backwards onto the deck.

Nadiya sprinted out and leapt over him, teetering sideways as the ship swayed angrily back and forth. The commotion she had caused caught the attention of the other crewman, their gaze shifting toward her. She pivoted in a circle, realizing she was surrounded, and backed into the ship mast. Her feet bumped into a fallen broom and she quickly scooped it up, brandishing it as a weapon. Nadiya felt insurmountably foolish, but what good would her pistol do against ghosts?

One of the men came at her and she made a wide swing at him with the broom, making a loud crack against his jaw. Nadiya squeaked, eyes wide as she watched him stumble backward. A beat passed, and then she promptly dropped the broom and unholstered the pistol from her hip.

Several rounds went off, each one a direct hit as they came at her. When one would attack, she would shoulder him in the chest, firing at another as he came on her opposite side. Even in close quarters, Nadiya could be a deadly shot, made evident by how she ducked, twirled, kicked, and swung the barrel of her pistol. Nadiya scaled the ladder leading up to the crow’s nest, giving herself the high ground to pick off each crewman as he tried to grab at her ankles. When the bodies of each crewman laid strewn across the deck, one lowly individual stood at the helm of the ship.

“You know…” she began as leapt from the ladder, her boots making a wet thud against the deck. “For ghosts… you all are a very corporeal bunch.”

The man’s back was turned to her, but Nadiya could clearly make out he was the captain of this ship. She stood her ground, pistol raised to aim at his back, and said, “Any last words before I send you back to a watery grave?”

The captain was motionless, his arms crossed over his chest. The rain pelted them relentlessly. For a moment, Nadiya assumed he would keep his silence, and so she cocked the hammer back at her pistol and readied her finger on the trigger.

Then, he began to laugh.

As he did, the bodies of the crew began to rise from the ground, each one shuffling back to his feet. Nadiya watched in silent horror as they did, and quickly tried to think of an escape plan. Before she could throw herself overboard, a voice called from overhead.

“What did I tell you about playing in the rain?!”

She looked up just as a man fell from the sky, a rose lanner circling overhead.

“Nikolas!” Nadiya exclaimed, suddenly glad to see a friendly face.

The Midlander landed behind her. Without hesitating, he threw out his arms wide and a blinding light beamed out from his chest. Nadiya had to cover her eyes, but could just make out the dark silhouettes of the crewmen disperse into ash as the light enveloped them. They opened their mouths to scream, but no sound escaped them. And as the light faded from sight, so too did their fleshly bodies, leaving nothing but the dirty garments in their wake.

Nikolas turned to Nadiya, raindrops scaling down his face as he smiled. “You’ll catch a cold, my dear Nadiya…”

Nadiya smiled a wide, toothy grin. “I’d kiss you if you’d actually like it, you know that?”

Nikolas grinned wryly, “Yes, yes… and though you are quite the beauty, dear, you lack a certain masculine aura that I personally find most alluring.”

Nadiya grinned back at him before promptly returning her gaze to the one remaining crewmember. The captain faced them now, his seaworn face twisted into an angry grimace.

“I follow your lead,” Nadiya said and gripped Nikolas’ hand. “My aether is yours.”

He smiled, squeezing her hand in his, and held up his palm to face the captain. As the light grew from his hand, the captain let out a colossal scream. The dark hollows of his eyes and mouth persisted in the light before they too faded into dust, leaving nothing but the clothes on his back on the ground. Nadiya approached the heap, picking out a cloth bandana and holding it out in front of her face.

“That’s 40k… and more if you can find any others,” she said to Nikolas, plopping the spectral cloth in his hands. 

“Not bad… though, I expect to split the pot 70/30 now…seeing as I did all the work.”

Nadiya scoffed, paused, and then moved toward the helm. “Make it 60/40, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Nikolas grinned a cheeky grin and went to retrieve any more spectral cloths. “Can’t say I don’t love me a good deal,” he mused, pocketing what he could find from the scraps of clothing.

Nadiya rolled her eyes and shook her head. She placed either hand on the wheel and called out to Nikolas behind her, “Let’s bring this beauty back to Limsa, eh?!”

FIN.

[winterirondiscord]

WI Discord Staycation Crew 3 Word Prompt Game!

As part of last week’s Pride celebration, the Staycation Crew played a game!  And here are the fascinating results...

Rules: create a fic summary using the three prompted words

Perfection, book worm, a Wish - @psychiccatpanda 

Finally, Bucky's got an evening to himself - no team dinners, no therapy appointments, no Steve wanting to work out - just quiet. Perfect. He picked up his book again - a Hercule Poirot mystery. So sue him - Agatha Christie was fantastic - and he was just getting to the good part. Please, let me finish this in peace. Then came the knock on his door.

 Missed connections, World Map, Impulsive - @journeythroughtherain

When Tony took his first vacation in three years, he decided, to his PA's great despair, to scrap all of his pre-scheduled travelling plans and throw a dart on a world map to figure out his destination.

When he gets there, he does it again, and then again. He enjoys his freedom and the exhilaration of never knowing where he'll be going next, until a chance meeting on the Trans-Siberian Railway makes him wonder if he's finally found somewhere - someone - he wants to go home to at the end of his journey.

Now he's only got to figure out who the fascinating man that captivated his heart and mind was, and where to find him again. Unfortunately, he's only got his first name to go on - James.

 Bunny, Perfect recipe, naughty - @rise-up-ting-ting-like-glitter

Bucky Barnes was happy to have his past as an assassin behind him. Things were different now. He was part of team, had a cat, a boyfriend, a steady job, and was dangerously close to overdose on domestic bliss. He wasn’t bored. He just wanted more. He’d cleared it with Tony, a little magic in the kitchen to spice up their sex life would be fun. Bucky discovers that the package's slogan—you’ll fuck like rabbits!—was literal when he’s left with a bunny where his boyfriend used to be.

 Heroic gesture, trust, crosshairs - @jamesbuckystark

An evil villain has attacked and has a chemical that can decimate 75% of Earth’s population if released into the air. The machine is ready to be put into operation… he just needs to enter a code. The Avengers retaliate, but the villain has caught Tony and is using him as a human shield. Bucky has a shot, but he has Tony in the crosshairs. He knows Tony trusts him to make the best decisions, but does he trust Bucky enough to let him shoot?

 Shadows, Mirror mirror, shaking - @fightingforcreativity

Tony wasn't overly fond of the twilight hours. Shadows were drawn long and taunting, noises resonating throughout the old manor. He hated this manor with a passion, wasn't even sure why he was here.

'Stupid Honeybear and his stupid ideas about responsibility'

Rhodey had told him more often than not that Tony ought to look into the old family manor in the black forest. " 'Tony, he said, you need to know what you own and what not' yadayada."

Tony grumbled while also trying to contain the shivering. It was abnormal cold in this manor and even the heating system made unholy noises.

A little later, just as the twilight turned to darkness, Tony reached his room for the night. His fingers were shaking- why the hell were they shaking?- when he opened the door. He took a couple steps in and passed mirrors. Why a room needed more than one was beyond Tony. As soon as Tony reached the bed, he shrugged out of his clothes and- there another noise. He shrugged the uneasiness off and laid down. Just as he turned away from the mirror, he caught a glance of his reflection.

Problem was... Tony knew his reflection. And those grey eyes were not his.

 Dead plants,  resurface, fairy tales - @rebelmeg

"You had one job."

That's all the warning Prince Tony Stark gets before his best friend and Captain of the Guard, Bucky Barnes was flinging a flowerpot at his head. He ducked just in time, and the dead plant thudded to the floor with a shower of dirt and the broken remains of the flowerpot.

"Oh yeah... I was supposed to water that...."

"I WAS ONLY GONE FOR THREE DAYS, HOW DID YOU MANAGE TO KILL IT ALREADY?" Bucky threw his helmet next, and it ricocheted off the wall, narrowly missing Tony as he dodged out of the way.

"I'm sorry! But really, I think you're overreacting! It's just a plant!"

"NO IT'S NOT! That plant was symbolic of a peace treaty between us and the dryads that control the eastern woods!"

"The, uh.... scary woods outside that window there?"

"Yep."

"Oh. Well.... oops?"

Tony didn't plan on having to go on a quest to save his idiot friend from the wrath of the tree spirits, but, well... he's done worse things.

 Dirty laundry, unrequited love, curtain - @camichats

Rhodey walked in, paused, and considered walking right back out. Tony was standing on the arms of a chair, lifted up on his tiptoes, doing… something to the curtains. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I spilled coffee on them.”

“So? You’ve got a cleaning service.” Rhodey took a tentative step further in the apartment.

“These are Bucky’s curtains.” He emphasized Bucky’s name like Rhodey didn’t already know who he was from hearing Tony pine over him ever since they became roommates-- or, in one horrific instance, hear Tony basically write an entire erotica based on what he wanted Bucky to do to him after his morning run.

“And?”

“And they were his mother’s and he loves these things more than life itself, so I can’t let him know that I got them dirty because he will hate me, and I can’t wait until the cleaning service comes by because they come here on Wednesday’s and it’s Friday.” He whooped triumphantly when he got them down. “So, all I have to do is stick them in the laundry and put them back up and he’ll never know, and he can go on to hate me for more reasonable things like waking him up in the middle of the night with my music and never doing my half of the dishes.”

 Drop dead, hair, just say no - @jamesbuckystark

“Ugh. Your cat just coughed up a hairball on my lap.” Tony shudders.

Bucky laughs. “Sorry. Just chuck it in the trash can. I’m sure Alpine won’t mind that you don’t keep his gift.”

“Excuse me?” Tony looks at him, horrified. “It’s hair. From your cat's

mouth. You take

care of it.”

“C'mon Tones, you won’t drop dead from touching it.”

“Get. It. Off. Me. Now.”

Bucky is now concerned, seeing the rigidity of Tony’s back. “Ok I’ll get it. Do you not like Alpine? If you don’t want me to keep him, you can just say no. I’m sure I can get Becca to keep him for me.”

In which Bucky gets a cat, and Tony’s a little unsure.

 Refreshed, cozy night, Earpiece - @rebelmeg

All Tony wanted was a quiet night in. That was it. A nice hot shower, maybe a bath if he was feeling fancy, and his favorite pizza on the couch while he watched the original version of Star War, as nature intended. Unfortunately, he walks out of the bathroom, swathed in a towel and feeling all kinds of refreshed and ready for his cozy night in, to see an earpiece sitting on the bed with a post-it note by it.

"SOS. Need your help. -Bucky"

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me..."

[ava-candide]

Here’s your problem. You are in charge of Poldark, one of the UK’s most successful TV series of the past five years. A huge hit in the US, the show made its leads, Aidan Turner and Eleanor Tomlinson, stars overnight. Last year’s fourth series was watched by 6m UK viewers at the height of a World Cup summer. (The final series of Game of Thrones, by comparison, reached just 3.39m viewers, and most soaps average 5m.) The series is based on 12 hugely popular books, of which you have adapted just seven. So there are five further novels to plunder. But...

“The first seven books are set in the 18th century and finish at the end of 1799,” explains the writer Debbie Horsfield, whose problem this actually is. “But then Winston Graham stopped writing — and when he came back for book eight, The Stranger from the Sea, he left an 11-year gap in the story and changed almost everything. We leave Ross in series four a frustrated MP. When we meet him in book eight, he’s basically a spy for the British government. Dwight [Enys, the doctor] is helping George III with his madness. Graham doesn’t really explain how any of this happened.”

None of this would matter if the latest TV adaptation of the books, like the 1975 version, simply gave up at the end of the first seven. There is, however, an informal agreement between cast and creative team that — if everyone is still around and available in 10 years — they will reunite to finish the final novels. “There’s nothing on paper, but everybody has said yes,” Horsfield says. “Why wouldn’t we?”

So she set about trying to fill in that 11-year gap for the fifth and perhaps final series, and turned, as the show has often done, to the ferociously radical politics of the time. There she found a real-life Ross Poldark in the shape of a radical war hero who had married one of his servants — Colonel Edward “Ned” Despard. (It’s tempting to say that desperate times call for Despard measures.)

“The parallels between him and Ross are quite astonishing,” Horsfield says. “They were both military men — Despard was a hero of the American Revolutionary War and his wife, Kitty, was originally a Jamaican servant in his kitchen. I asked Andrew Graham whether his father had based Ross on Ned, but he hadn’t heard of him. Despard’s history doesn’t end well, so it seemed that he could become the ‘There but for the grace of God’ figure for Ross.”

Vincent Regan, who knows how to buckle a swash, with roles in the BBC’s The Musketeers, Troy, 300 and Clash of the Titans, brings a rugged determination to the role. He roars his way through the first two episodes like a force of nature, and in this Horsfield has stayed true to the real-life Ned. After the American Revolutionary War, he was made superintendent of what became Belize, until he fell in love with Catherine (Kitty) and set out to give freed slaves the same rights as white settlers. This did not go down well in London — Despard was recalled and jailed. When he was released, he joined the London Corresponding Society, a radical organisation inspired by Thomas Paine’s Rights of Man, and agitated for the end of slavery.

“Ross was clearly an abolitionist, and there has always been a political thread running through Graham’s books,” Horsfield notes. “Period dramas shouldn’t be clean, neat and tidy — they should matter as much as contemporary stories.” To illustrate this, she sketches out what seems at first an improbably modern storyline: Luke Norris’s character, Dwight, the troubled Royal Navy doctor, develops a form of PTSD treatment for the villainous George Warleggan, played with chilling power in this series as a man driven literally mad with grief at the loss of his wife, Elizabeth.

“Graham mentions in passing in book eight that Dwight went to France to study with a Dr Pinel,” Norris says. “He was a real historical figure who pioneered humane ways of dealing with mental health issues, at a time when we locked people in Bedlam, plunged them into icy water, whipped them, beat them, locked them in cages, sedated them and purged them to rid them of demons or animal spirits.”

“It made sense,” Horsfield adds. “By book eight, Dwight has become the go-to expert on mental health, being called in to consult over George III.”

We forget there was a strong possibility of an English revolution at that time. There were serious food shortages and measures to suppress any kind of dissent, including trade unions. “The beauty of the novels is that the dashing Byronic hero makes thrilling drama out of the dullest school history lessons,” Horsfield says. “Ross opposes the greed of bankers and wealthy industrialists, so it made sense for him to have served with Ned, and for Ross and Demelza to be caught up in the story of Ned and Kitty.”

The idea of a radical mixed-race couple cutting a swathe through London at that time is almost certain to incite adverse comment. In fact, there were black Londoners in Roman times, the first settled black community in the capital was in the Elizabethan era, and by the time Despard was recalled to England, about 2% of London’s population was black.

It’s also true that in the early 19th century, the British secret service was headed by William Wickham, a civil servant busy infiltrating radical groups such as the London Corresponding Society. By gradual steps, Horsfield leads Ross and Demelza through the first two years of the missing 11, gradually wrapping Ross in the plots and skulduggery of political espionage.

For Turner, the arrival of Poldark’s old commanding officer provided a couple of welcome changes. “It was nice that Ross finally had a friend,” he says with a grin. “I got on great with Vince — he was an English actor doing an Irish accent, and I’m an Irish actor doing an English accent, so we do good impressions of each other.

“And it felt like there was a lot more action in the series, with Debbie given free rein. There’s much more sword-fighting, that’s for sure. We’ve had pistols, riding and swimming in previous seasons, but you can’t beat fighting with real steel swords. You can’t fool around with them. You just have to commit and go for it, and hope everything will be fine.”

Turner famously does his own stunts, except in the scenes where Poldark gallops along the cliffs. “For insurance reasons,” he points out hastily. “But they put me on a horse on the first day of shooting, back when I was such a young and innocent man. I was pretty nervous, I was on a horse and Debbie says I was quite fierce...” He pauses. “But I think I was a little bit nicer than that.”

He will miss the show, he admits. “We had pretty much the same crew for the entire job, so it was like a proper family, and I’ll miss everyone a lot. You hope to keep in touch — you tend to with the actors, but not so much with the crew.”

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Turner found his final day of shooting very emotional. “It’s always been amazing working alongside Eleanor, we get on great, and the last day was just the two of us doing some bedroom scenes,” he recalls. “That was quite lovely, and it seemed to make sense that it was just the two of us. It was poignant to leave things there.”

Leave them there? What about the talk of reuniting in 10 years? “I wouldn’t rule it out,” he says, then tacks a little to the left. “I mean, I wouldn’t rule anything out. That’s for other people to decide. It depends if it’s something the audience wants to see.”

Horsfield can’t see why the audience would have changed by then. “When I started this adaptation, people were asking how I was going to make it relevant for now,” she says. “But you don’t need to update it, because the concerns of the time and the concerns of Winston Graham are still the concerns we have now.

“Things actually don’t change. We all want to find a sense of community and not be exploited. That Europe, surveillance, terrorism and immigration are still hot topics may be a shame, but it’s really no surprise.

“If we are to come back in 10 years, dealing with mental health and continental politics — I mean, you’d be crazy to say that they won’t be hot topics in 2030. Constant conflict around the same ideas may be depressing for me as a person, but as a drama writer, it makes my job a whole lot easier.”

[seljepw]

Sleeping With the Enemy: Part 3

A/N: My beloveds.  Thank you for your unending patience with my slow-ass story crafting.  This one has been in the works for a long time, and I’m so freaking happy to share it with you.  Sláinte.

When last we left our heroine: A year ago, Crowley and the reader came to an agreement.  Since then, they’ve fucked seen each other twice, and it’s no longer as cut-and-dry as it once was.  What is going on, here?  Just great sex?  Just business?  Or something more? (Catch up on previous chapters HERE)

Menu Warnings: HERE THERE BE SMUT.  Demon power kink, unprotected sex (you know this is pretend, right??), public sex, orgy, Crowley’s dirty mouth, etc.

Weighing in at: 7,780 words.  I’m not even sorry.

The King of Hell had been fucking with you for months.

Note: fucking with you, not fucking you.  Therein lay the problem.

It started the morning after his last visit.  You had dragged yourself, sore and sleepless, to the shower.  You spent much longer under the hot water than usual, hoping it would wash away some of your confusion.  By the time you got out, the huge bathroom was full of steam.  In the condensation on one of the mirrors was a large heart, around your first initial and a capital C.  Crowley’s voice echoed in your mind.  

“I didn’t expect you to pine away, doodling our names in little hearts on you chemistry notebook…”  

You hastily wiped your hand over the drooling lines, and hoped that neither of the Winchesters had wandered in in the last hour.  

A month later, you had opened the shitty motel room door in po-dunk nowhere, Arkansas, to find the entire room covered in flowers.  Every kind, every color possible.  On the pillow, tied to a black rose with silk ribbon, was a note.  “Your favorite must be here, somewhere.”  When you climbed in the car the next morning in your FBI duds, Dean asked if you were wearing a new perfume.  

You managed to keep the boys out of your room for the remainder of the case, and every night when you “went to get ice”, you discarded another bin full of flowers.  

You did keep your favorite bloom, though.  Pressed in your hunter’s journal with no other context.

The fancy underwear had shown up next.  Scraps of red lace that looked like they had been made to be taken off almost immediately, but would disintegrate with normal use.  When you left them in the box, the next day they were replaced with soft, clearly expensive pajamas.  Those you wore.  But not out of your room.  Sam and Dean were observant enough to notice when you got new clothes, and you didn’t want to have to come up with a groggy, pre-coffee lie, one morning.

It went on for months. Pizza you didn’t order arrived at the library where you and the guys were pulling an all-nighter.  On laundry day, your clothes were magically folded and arranged in a C on your bed.  A box of bandaids in Baby’s backseat, the day after you put down a rugaru, with a note inside that said “Just protecting my interests…”.  It was getting infuriatingly difficult to explain away or hide the evidence of demonic visitation from the Winchesters, despite the fact that you hadn’t actually seen your demonic visitor, at all.  

And then there were the dreams.  

Every few nights, you would dream of Crowley’s hands on you.  Burning fingers on your thighs, breasts, wrists, pussy… one night, you woke up coming.  Most nights, you just woke up frustrated, flipped the pillow to the non-sweaty side, and tried to get back to sleep.

You (ahem) filled the void with a few guys here and there, but mostly, they just took the edge off enough that you didn’t literally claw your way up a wall.  Nothing quite matched the intensity that you had experienced with Crowley.  Eventually, you gave up on outside help, and invested in a large pack of batteries.

It had been almost six months since your last… what to call it?

“Encounter”? Too spaceshipy.  

“Assignation”?  Too romance-novely.

“Date” was flat-out wrong.

Whatever it was that you and Crowley had indulged in, it had been too long since it happened.  

October came again.  You hadn’t heard from Crowley for two months.  No semi-intrusive gifts, no cryptic notes, not even a bathroom mirror doodle.  You tried not to think anything of it.  So, he had gotten tired of toying with you, and moved on.  Fine.  Good riddance.  You would just have to compartmentalize and move on with your own life.  It wasn’t like he owed you anything.  This all started as basically a business deal for an ancient, witch-fighting talisman.  Nothing personal, right?  In fact, it was a relief not to have to hide the evidence from Sam and Dean.  You definitely did not miss him.  Or, so you told yourself at least twice a day, when you caught sight of the Luisgeàrd as you changed clothes, or felt it pressed between your breasts under your shirt.  Despite yourself, though, you never took it off.

~~~

Another vampire, another hunt, another po-dunk nowhere.  Two lane blacktop and spanish moss-layden oak trees whipping by the open window.   Unseasonable heat that was sticking to your skin, making you itch from the inside out.  Dean singing and drumming on the wheel.  Between the sexual drought and the muggy air, you had to concentrate hard on not throttling him.  

When you and the boys finally tracked down the vamp, you spent a little longer than normal beating the shit out of it before the killing blow.  Sam had given you A Look, but said nothing.  Dean offered to buy you a drink.

The town bar was a standard Southern-American dive.  The kind of place where a night had never passed without at least one drunken sing-along to “Friends in Low Places”.  Women and men in ass-hugging jeans and tank tops bumped around like bubbles in a kettle.  Dean was in heaven.  Soon, he was hustling pool in the corner, a blonde woman giggle-whispering in his ear, a huge grin on his face.  You saluted each other with your respective drinks through the neon light and loud voices.  

“You good?” his raised eyebrow asked.

Your smirk and sip responded, “Not as good as you, but I’ll keep.”

His head tilted a bit to your left.  “Heads up, lame pickup line at 9 o’clock.”

You turned to face the guy just as he slid into the stool next to yours.  In the time it took for him to smile at you, you gave him a once-over.  Not bad.  Cute, in a Friday Night Lights kind of way.  No outward display of “southern gentleman” that really covered up misogyny.  And the lack of a rebel flag on his shirt was a welcome change from the other customers.  He’d do.

Before he could say anything and ruin the moment, you spoke first.  

“Buy me a drink.”  It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, ma’am!”  

A beer and a half later, things were right on track.  His hand on your thigh and his mouth on your neck and your thoughts most definitely not on the King of Hell, thankyouverymuch.

“Let’s get out of here,” you murmured in his ear.

“Aw, fuck, yeah!” was his charming response.  This guy was lucky you were so hard-up.  

“Just gimmie a minute to freshen up.”  You extricated yourself from his grip, slid off the stool, and headed for the bathroom.  As you passed the pool table, you and Dean had another silent conversation, where you assured him you had things well in hand, and would call him if needed.  

You actively didn’t think about Crowley.  You didn’t think about Crowley while you checked to make sure you had a condom in your bag.  You didn’t think about Crowley while you sat on the toilet.  You didn’t think about Crowley while you washed your hands.  Then you glanced in the mirror and saw the note.

“Enjoy the junk food, Love.  He’s cute.  You deserve a treat. -C”

In your shock, the only thing you could think was, So, the King of Hell uses Post Its.  Good to know.  Then the rage hit.  How dare he pull something like this?  Months of radio silence, and then suddenly popping up and implying that he was giving you permission to sleep with what's-his-name, out there.  Fuck.  That.  You were not going to give him the satisfaction of feeling like he could control you.  

“Fuck you, asshat!” you snapped to the empty bathroom.  Then you were through the door, pushing past drunk rednecks, not hearing Dean calling your name, not seeing the confused look on “junk food’s” face, until you were out in the humid parking lot, the Post It crumpled in your fist.

Dean had the good sense not to press you.  The drive back to the hotel, breakfast at a diner in the morning, and then the whole way back to Kansas, he didn’t ask what had happened in the bar.  He didn’t ask about as loudly as a person could, in fact.  Sam kept giving you the patented Winchester Look Of Concern™ when he thought you couldn’t see.  But they knew you.  They knew that when you had shit to deal with, you did it alone.  The only one who’d ever meddled in your all-alone shit-dealing was Crowley.  Damn him.  You twitched angrily and turned up the volume to your headphones, closed your eyes, and ignored the Winchesters all the way to the Bunker.  It wasn’t until Dean killed the engine that you opened your eyes and realized your fingers were tangled in the Luisgeàrd’s leather cord.  

~~~

You almost didn’t open it.  The box on your bed.  Large, white, and tied with blood red ribbon.  You were considering how to get it to the garbage chute without Sam or Dean seeing it when you read the note attached.  

“Please wear this when you yell at me. -C”

“At least he said please this time…” you grumbled.  Curiosity got the better of you, and you opened the box.  

It was a dress. A white silk gown that poured over your hands as you rustled it out of the tissue paper.  You held it up for inspection, and stared.  Simple.  No frills, no lace.  Just artfully draped white silk that fell to the floor.  Despite your anger- which hadn’t abated, by the way- you were enchanted.  You thought back to last Halloween as you kicked out of your jeans and flannel, and then slithered the silk over your head.  

The gown you’d worn to Crowley’s masquerade ball, when this whole thing started, had been uncomfortable and heavy.  Swathes of red velvet that left you restricted and off-balance.  Undoubtedly gorgeous, but so not you.  The leather mask that hid your features and cut off your peripheral vision hadn’t helped, either.  The foreignness of your costume that night had lent an overall feeling of Other to that whole experience.   And that feeling had colored everything that came after.  Added to the confusion.  Was still adding to the confusion.

This dress was exactly the opposite of last year’s getup.  You regarded your reflection, spinning slowly.  It fit you well.  More than that, it suited you.  You could move easily in the lightweight fabric.  It didn’t get caught under your feet as you walked, and the sleeveless bodice gave you full use of your arms.  The glowing white of the silk played with the tone of your skin, making you glow, too.  The Luisgeàrd, in it’s constant position around your throat, nestled comfortably in the neckline, which looked like it had been cut specifically to show off the talisman.  

“Sneaky fucker,” you murmured, fingering the wooden disk.

“I prefer to think of it as, ‘Romantically Mysterious’,” rasped a familiar voice in the corner.

You’d been expecting this, but you still flinched.  Whirling to face him, months worth of angry thoughts stampeded to get out of your mouth and bottlenecked, leaving you working a jaw around silent fury.

“You look radiant,” was all he said.

All the trapped words coiled in your throat like an about-to-cry lump.  You managed to gasp in a breath, then blurted out, “Where have you been?”

Seriously?  You berated yourself.  ‘Where have you been?’  Like you’re some neglected housefrau confronting an errant husband at 2:00am.  Fuck, get your fists off your hips.  You don’t care, remember?

You crossed your arms, suddenly feeling foolish in the gorgeous dress. Still, you had promised yourself you wouldn’t back down.  Crowley unsettled you, and that was unacceptable.  You weren’t unsettled.  Ever.  You couldn’t be, in your line of work.  You put on your fight face and looked him squarely in the eye.

He just stared at you for a moment, something like sadness around the corners of his eyes.  “I was watching,” he finally said, quietly.

“You were watching?  Well, thank you.  That’s not creepy at all.”

“It occurred to me that we both might need some space, after…” he stopped and looked away.  His glance fell to your bed.

The memory surfaced.  You and Crowley, face to face, sweaty and sated...

“What the fuck are we doing, Crowley?”  You’d asked.  “What is this?  I mean, I barely know you.  Half the time, I don’t trust you...  What are we doing?”

You remembered the feeling of his palm on your cheek and his forehead pressed to yours.  The way he had whispered, “Y/N, I-”

...And that was when the boys had come home, and everything had gone to shit.  

You took a small step forward.  His eyes darted to the silk rustling around your feet, clinging to your thigh as you moved.  If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked… scared.  It was unheard of to see Crowley, King of Hell and consummate cocksure ass, off his game.  Maybe this dress was exactly what you needed.  Leveling the playing field, so to speak.

“After what, Crowley? After last time, in this room, in that bed, when you almost said something you’d regret?”  You’d closed the distance, now.  If either of you reached out, you could grab the other.

“I need your help,” he said, finally meeting your eyes, again.  There was no guile.  No half-smile in the words.  Just fear and perhaps a little shame.  “All right?  There it is.  I need your help.”

You were stunned.  “You… what?!”

“There are some rumblings in my kingdom.  Pissants who think I’ve lost my edge; that Hell’s not what it could be under my rule.  ‘Make Hell great again’, and all that twaddle.  I’ve made a shaky alliance with a coven-”

“A coven?  Of witches?!  Crowley, do we need to have another talk about what I do for a living?”

He continued speaking as though you hadn’t.  “-A coven that’s powerful enough to sway the dissidents.  If I can show that I’m strong enough to forge a treaty like this, it would go a long way to restabilizing my reign.”  Somewhere in that statement, he had rested his hands on your hips.  He gave you a gentle shake and looked at you through his lashes.  “A delegation from this coven is coming to the Halloween ball, tonight, but they’re old-school.  They respond favorably to symbols and archetypes.  Pomp and circumstance.  They may not like dealing with me alone.  I need backup, Love.”  He hooked a knuckle under your chin and lifted your face to his.  “I need a Queen... for the night.”

“A…. a queen.  You mean… me?  Me, queen?” Great, now you had devolved into Tarzan sentence structure.  Get a grip, woman!  

He smiled at you.  A real smile.  You weren’t sure you’d ever actually seen Crowley smile, before.  It was gorgeous.  His hands were still on you- hip and chin- and he used the leverage to pull you forward into a kiss.  

Warm and soft and gentle, this was one of those kisses that seemed to wrap around you, raising goosebumps and relaxing every tense muscle.  You wanted to swim in it.  Drown in it.  

Crowley’s sulfur/incense smell was everywhere.  His hands whispered around your waist and into your hair.  You signed into the warm solidness of his chest pressed to yours.  The feel of his suit coat under your fingers.  It went on forever.  It was, ironically, pure heaven.

When he reluctantly eased his lips off of yours, your face felt cold.  It took you a moment to resurface and open your eyes. Crowley’s earnest face stared back.

“Please, Y/N.  Will you help me?  Just for tonight?”

You stayed silent for a moment, slowly working your fingers through his hair, not looking at his eyes.  Letting yourself enjoy the feeling of making him squirm, for a change.  You carefully wound his tie around your hand; got a good grip.  That’s when you met his gaze.  With a deliberate tug, you command his full attention.

“I’ll make you a deal, Crowley,” you said, low and only a little breathless.  “I’ll be your Queen for the night.  And afterwards, you will owe me a conversation.  About feelings.”

A hint of terror darkened the corners of his face, but his overall expression was one of hunger.

“It’s a deal.”

There was a lurch somewhere in your guts, and suddenly you found yourself standing in a dim alcove, like a theatre box, overlooking a familiar black marble ballroom.  

Hell’s Halloween Ball was in full swing, already.  The assortment of attendees echoed last year’s.  Fae, vamps, and even a djinn or two wound their way around and through the crowd of demons, all decked out in elaborate costumes.  

You looked down from the shadows of your hiding place, and once again, the feeling of being so terribly human overwhelmed you.  Like a goldfish in a school of sharks.  That was when you realized that Crowley had zapped you here before you’d had a chance to grab a single weapon.  Or shoes.  ...Or underwear.  That off-balance, othery feeling took hold of you.  You shivered.

“Something wrong, darling?” Crowley rumbled from behind you.  

“Just feeling a little underdressed, all of a sudden.”  You kept your voice down, even though you were so high above the dance floor, no one could possibly hear you.  

Crowley hummed low in his throat and pressed himself to your back, snaking his hands over your silk covered hips and nipping slightly at your earlobe.  

“Underdressed is exactly how I like you,” he growled.

Your whimper was purely instinctual.  So was the way you arched back, rubbing against him and offering your neck for kisses.

Crowley groaned and bit down on the junction of your throat and shoulder.  A slight keening sound happened somewhere in the vicinity of your vocal chords without your permission, and you ground against him again.  You had just a heartbeat to enjoy the feeling of Hell’s most impressive cock rolling against you before that feeling was replaced by a sharp slap on your ass.  You pulled a breath through clenched teeth and gripped the railing in front of you.

“Careful with that.  It’s loaded,” you said, and shook your ass at him.

“And who’s fault is that?” He retorted.  

“Who’s fault?” You huffed a laugh. “Yours!  It’s been a while, you know.”  

“You didn’t listen to me- I tried to steer you towards that little snack back in Alabama.  You chose not to take the offer.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you said without any real anger.  “Like I’m gonna do what you tell me.”

“Cheeky.”  Another sharp spank, softened by a kiss behind your ear.  “We can-and will- play later.  Now, it’s time to work.”  

He stepped back and let you turn to face him.  At some point, he had donned his costume.  It was the same from last year, you saw; a red cape draped over his impeccable black suit, a multi-horned devil mask covering the top half of his face.  Standing in the shadows of the alcove, the flickering lights from the ballroom below picking out the lines of that mask, Crowley was back to the mythical dark figure you’d encountered a year ago.  A wolf-in-the-woods kind of shadow that made all the animal parts of you quiver.  The devil that had fucked you senseless in the dark above his library.  God, you wanted him to do it again.

He must have known how his appearance affected you, because he licked his lips, smirked, and crooked a finger in your direction.  His eyes flared red as you took an involuntary step forward.  

“That’s it, my Queen,” he murmured low, “Come to daddy.”

You snorted in quiet amusement as you crossed the carpeted floor to him.  “Ass.”

From behind his back, Crowley produced a mask for you.  It was white filigree, not solid, so it wouldn’t cut off your vision like the last one, the metal swirls were wrought to dip low over your nose and high on your brow, almost horse like.  The antlers that sprouted from the top gave the appearance of a crown, much like the demonic horns on his own mask.  You reached a tentative hand out to touch one of the points.

“A deer?”

“A hart.  A White Hart.”  When you looked askance at him, he continued,  “The White Hart, in stories, is a traveler from another world.  An emissary of sorts.  And the bestower of blessings upon Kings.  I told you- symbols and archetypes.”

“So this is a political move, not an aesthetic one?”

He rolled his eyes.  “Sweet missionary on a spit, woman.  Have you seen yourself?  It’s both.”  

He helped you settle the mask in place- it was much lighter than you thought it would be- and offered his arm in a courtly gesture.  “I think we’ve reached ‘fashionably late’, by now.  Come on, Pet.  Let’s give them a show.”

~~~

The ballroom fell silent when you walked in.  The music died away, dancers stopped swirling, conversations ceased, and everyone turned toward the King of Hell as though it were choreographed.  You looked out over the sea of supernatural faces and tried to slow your heart rate.  If Crowley needed you to be a Queen, and it got you an honest conversation from him, by fucking Hell, you would be a Queen.  A deal’s a deal, after all.  

“Friends, demons, countrymen,” Crowley addressed them, a little sardonically, “Welcome to my annual ball.  As always, until sunrise, the legendary hospitality of Hell is open to you.  Enjoy yourselves!”

The music rose again, and the party resumed.  A path opened in the crowd, and Crowley led you to the dance floor.  Although the fizzle static of a few hundred conversations filled the huge room, it seemed that every eye was still on you.  Your bare feet, blessedly hidden by the liquid swirling of the dress as you moved, made no sound on the cool marble floor.  A lack of shoes allowed more maneuverability than last year’s heels, but it made you feel even more venerable.  And you still didn’t know how to waltz.

But Crowley wasn’t King of Hell by chance, and he played his role flawlessly.  As he swung you into into his arms, you felt the familiar hot pressure of invisible hands lifting you just an inch off the floor.  You fought a gasp and smirked at him.  The hands in question had lifted from just under your ass.  

“Bastard,” you murmured.

“Oh, darling, you say such lovely things,” he retorted, and began swirling you around the floor.

With the whirling motion blurring the world around you, it was easier to forget that you had entered the room as the center of attention.  

“So, this is a yearly thing, huh?  I didn’t know it was such a big deal.”

“Well,” he tilted his head conspiratorially, “It’s not like we’re the types to have a company Christmas party.  This lets everyone mingle, drink, blow off steam…” At that, one of the manifested hands under your skirt reached a little deeper, running a finger of heat through your folds.  You hissed through clenched teeth, to keep from crying out.  Crowley continued in a conversational tone, but low enough that only you could hear, “Have I mentioned how gorgeous you look, tonight, Y/N?  I can’t bloody wait to have the business bit over and done with.  I’m going to eat you alive.”  His eyes flared red as you moved through a small shadow on the edge of the floor, and an ethereal tongue joined the fingers under your skirt, lapping at the juices there.

“Fuck, Crowley, you fucking asshole… shit…” You whispered and writhed, trying to ease the pressure.  But his power just moved with you, and you couldn’t get away.  Your vision went white around the edges and your breath came in shallow pants.  The King pulled you closer, to keep you from swooning back, and never broke stride.  

“Oh, there she is.  Hello, darling,” he crooned, “Did you miss me?”  The spectral tongue never relented, and a sucking pressure was added to your clit.  You bit your lip in a desperate fight to keep quiet.  Crowley kept going.  “This is the version of you I like best, Love.  All flustered and pliable and dripping.”  The disembodied tongue pushed deeper, writhing inside.  You couldn’t bite back all of your pleasure and a small Aaaaah! Slipped out, buried in Crowley’s neck.  He continued, “That’s it, Love.  Let your King take care of you.  You like when I play with you, don’t you?  My squirming, soaking wet little toy.  I wonder how long I can keep playing with you until-”

The music died again and Crowley broke off mid-sentence with a whispered curse.  He stepped away from you, to greet the intrusion.  The invisible mouth abruptly stopped its torture, as well.  But the hands remained, more to keep you upright than anything else.  Which was a good thing, as you probably wouldn’t be able to stand on your own.  Again, the occupants of the room turned toward the main doorway, in which stood three women in glittering black gowns.  

The witches had arrived.

~~~

To help get your heart rate down and your brain back in working order, you took mental notes of the new guests.  Queen-for-a-night or not, you were still a hunter.  The blonde one was young.  In her early 20’s, if you had to guess.  She wore a white mask over her eyes.  On the other side of the doorway, there stood a statuesque brunette that seemed to be nearing 40.  Her mask was red.  The one in the middle was a head shorter than the other two, but was unquestioningly In Charge.  She was old.  Middle 80’s maybe?  You hardly ever saw a witch owning her age, like that.  Her black mask and black dress made her white hair stand out against the dark marble room.  

“Ladies,” Crowley’s tone was friendly, if a little cautious, “I’m so glad you could join us.  Please come in.”

A new path cleared, and you saw a small dais set at the end of the hall, on which sat two empty thrones facing the crowded room.  That was where Crowley led you.  He didn’t even look behind to see if the witches followed- just took your hand and proceeded to the thrones.  

You had regained most of your composure from his mid-dance teasing, and though you were still a little short of oxygen, you were able to tread silently on your own bare feet, once more.  You tried not to think about how many eyes were on you- you just focused on Crowley’s warm, steady hand in yours, and followed his lead.  You moved on autopilot until you were both seated, Crowley on your right side.  You must have made an imposing sight.  Crowley all in black and red, you in glowing white, and both masked faces staring down at the assembly.  

The witches stood at the foot of the dais, looking up at the King and Queen of Hell, and remained silent.  

You swallowed quietly and rested your hands on the throne’s armrests.  Queen.  You are a fucking Queen.  Get yourself under control.  Head up, shoulders back.  It’s showtime.  Think Queen, damnit.  You tried not to dig your fingernails into the carved, dark wood.

“We have some illustrious guests,” Crowley addressed the assembled creatures, “The Exalted Coven has sent a delegation to Hell, in hopes of forming an alliance.  Isn't that right, ladies?”  

The white haired woman inclined her head a fraction.

“Then you are welcome.  Let’s talk business, shall we?”  From some hidden pocket, Crowley produced an ornate scroll.  The parchment scratched and fluttered in the silent air as it unfurled, stretching from his lazy hand to the old woman’s feet.  She would have to stoop to pick it up and read it.

“Just a boilerplate agreement, of course,” Crowley continued, “You are granted the protection of Hell, blah blah, and we gain your fealty, with tithes due every seven years, etc etc.”

Your hunter brain went into overdrive.  Protection of Hell?  Tithes?  What would this mean for you and the boys and your work?  What parts of that contract was Crowley glossing over to make a quick sale?  You were so busy speculating that you almost missed when the old witch spoke.

“Your Queen seems very quiet, Crowley.  She doesn’t speak?”  Her voice was strong and resonant, not at all the voice of a little old lady.  You also clocked the use of Crowley’s name, not “your majesty” or whatever.  

Everyone turned to you.  Fuck.  Shit, fuck, damnit, pissing hell.  They expect you to talk, now?  For a heartbeat, you thought terror would overwhelm you.  But suddenly, you felt a warm hand on the back of your neck.  Crowley’s demonic power applying reassuring pressure to the spot in your spine that he had repaired so many months ago.  That feeling of Otherness washed over you, and the world took on the fuzzy edges of a dream.  

“She speaks,” you said, mildly amazed that you sounded so calm, “She just doesn’t speak merely to fill silence.”  Where did that come from?  Astounding yourself even more, you continued, “The King has made an offer.  Do you accept?”

She regarded you for one long, agonizing moment that was probably only a heartbeat.  Her eyes dropped to the rowan wood disk on your chest.  You couldn’t be sure, with masks obscuring all faces, but it looked like the old woman cocked an appreciative eyebrow at you.  In the corner of your eye, you saw Crowley’s mouth twitch as if trying not to smile.  

The witch then nudged the air with her chin, which was apparently some kind of signal, because the two women at her sides stepped forward quickly.  The youngest picked up the trailing end of the contract and held it steady, the other ran her hand slowly down the parchment, muttering under her breath.  The Luisgeàrd grew slightly warm against your chest, as it always did in the presence of witches’ magic.  When she reached the end of the contract, the red masked witch murmured a few words in her leader’s ear.  Wrinkled lips pursed at Crowley in a decidedly “we are not amused” sort of way, the old woman flicked her fingers towards the contract.  A few words and phrases blazed red, changed, or disappeared altogether.

So this is how the supernatural elite negotiate?  You thought.  It was a far cry from beers and pizza and yelling in the Bunker’s war room.

Crowley shrugged and grinned like a precocious child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.  

“Can’t blame a bloke for trying, now can you?  The changes are acceptable.  We have an agreement.”

The witch smiled, stepped forward, and dragged a finger along the bottom of the contract, leaving a thin line of crimson behind.  Signed in blood.  

Crowley’s grin widened, and the contract vanished with a flick of his wrist.  

“Now, then,” he announced, “You ladies are welcome to share our hospitality, but I understand if you have more pressing matters to attend to, tonight.”

“The Maiden will stay,” said the witch, and the young blonde stepped forward, “The Mother and I will go to our own festivities.”  Crowley gave a half bow of acquiescence from his throne.  

And with that, they swept out, the music rose, and the party resumed.  The blonde witch- The Maiden, apparently- was swept up into a dance by a demon in a wolf mask.  At least, you hoped that was a mask.  

As you contemplated that, Crowley pressed his mouth to your ear and whispered, “You were bloody magnificent, Y/N.”

You turned to face him. “Really?  I thought I was gonna pass out when she put me on the spot like that.  I just said the first thing that came to mind that sounded… I don’t know… Queenly.”

“You were perfect!  Fuck, that was perfect!”  And there, in full view of the movers and shakers of the monster world, he grabbed your arm, swung you into his lap, and caught you up in a devouring kiss.  

As if the guests had been waiting for this signal, the tone of the room changed.  A throbbing beat threaded through the music, the lights dimmed a bit, and the air seemed to take on a crackle of energy.  When Crowley moved from your lips to your throat, nipping and sucking and kissing, you stole a glance around the room.

In an alcove, two vampires were busily feasting on a faerie.  One on her neck and the other… Oh.  Definitely not on her neck.  The faerie looked like she was having the time of her life.

On the dance floor, waltzes had given way to spinning, grinding couples and thrupples, costumes shoved aside so hands and mouths could access the flesh underneath.  

“Crowley...” You gripped his shoulder to get his attention on your words and not your uncovered skin. “What the fuck is going on?”

He looked out over the ballroom and it’s writhing occupants with a proprietary smile.

“I told you, Love.  We like to blow off some steam at this party.”

“But… I mean… This is looking like an orgy!”

Crowley smoothed a hand over your hair and gave you another genuine smile.  Damn, you could get used to that smile.  It made you all wobbly in all the right places.

“Bugger me, you’re adorable,” he said, “You left before the good stuff, last year.  Or, should I say, we jumped the gun on the good stuff, last year…” The grin turned predatory, and his eyes flared in the candlelight.  “What do you say, Pet?  Want to give them a display of what they missed, last time?”  He guided your hand to the considerable bulge in his lap.

In another involuntary response, your fingers wrapped around the suit-covered shaft, pulling a groan from Crowley that he didn’t bother to stifle.  You glanced over your shoulder again, at the assembled hosts of Hell.  

At the end of the buffet table, the Maiden was laid back among the champagne glasses, the wolf-faced demon hovering over her.  She reached down to undo his pants.  

Tearing your eyes away, you focused on the King, once more.  He was palming your breast- the silk sliding delightfully against your nipple.  He licked his lips once again.  His eyes were unwavering bonfires of red light, fixed on your face.  You hadn’t stopped stroking him, you realized.  You kept stroking, almost absentmindedly, hypnotized by the look Crowley was giving you.   An equal mix of quiet disbelief and ravenous hunger.

Over the roar of blood in your ears, you began to hear unmistakable sounds from the crowd behind you.  It was like being immersed in porn.  Fuck, it was hot.  You stared into those red eyes and tried to think coherently.  Crowley’s hand that wasn’t on your chest began to inch under the hem of your dress.  Slow and deliberate and easy to stop if you wanted to.  

Just then, a crash of glass behind you drew your attention away.  The champagne glasses had been jostled off the table by the force of the wolfman’s thrusts.  The Maiden wallowed back, emitting small gasps and squeals.  You stared.  

The heat between your legs was throbbing.  Your face was flushed.  This was unlike anything you’d ever seen.  The dreamlike feeling hung over you as you slowly worked Crowley’s dick in your hand and gazed into the crowd.  You noticed not only the writhing masses of flesh and cries of pleasure, but several grinning faces turned in your direction.  Hell was watching.  

“People are staring at us.”

“Of fucking course they are.” Crowley bucked into your hand and growled appreciatively when you tightened your grip.  You turned back to face him.

“I… I don’t know how I feel about that, Crowley.”

He released his hold on your breast and took a moment to straighten his tie.  The gesture was so refined, the turn of his neck so fluid, that it became obscene against the backdrop of intimate noise that filled the air.  You squirmed against the wet heat at your core, trying to figure out if you were actually about to fuck the King of Hell- on his throne- in full view of hundreds of witnesses.

He leaned forward to kiss you, moving from your mouth to your jaw and up to your ear.

“This night is ours, Love,” he murmured, “And as much as I would love to make you scream for me right here, I think you like to watch more than be watched.  Besides, I’m in the mood to have you all to myself...”

You felt the tug in your gut once more, and again found yourself in the alcove high above the ballroom.  From here, you had a bird’s eye view of the orgy- and that’s exactly what it was, at this point.  Piles of limbs tangled on the dance floor, humped backs and arched breasts undulating in the candlelight, bare flesh and flashing teeth and holy shit- the sounds.  It was enough to make your head spin, even without the supernatural teleport.

Crowley pressed against your back, hands braced against the railing on either side of your body, trapping you.  You melted back against him and watched the display on the dance floor.  The band hadn’t stopped playing, but there was now a driving, drumming beat hanging over the melody, and people fucked in time with the music.  You felt drunk.  Drunk and dizzy and more turned on than you’d been in a long time.

“Crowley?” you said, twisting around to ring your arms around his neck and look squarely in his burning eyes.

“Mmm?”

“I need you to fuck me.  Right now.”

“My Queen!” he exclaimed through grinning teeth, and yanked you back into the shadows.

In a tangle of kisses and hot grasping hands, you managed to rip away each other’s clothes.  

Soon you were flat on your back, nothing between you and the deep red carpet below you, the Luisgeàrd resting on your bare chest, the King of Hell between your legs.  

When he reached up to dislodge your mask, you gripped his wrist to stop him.

“No,” you gasped, “masks stay on.”  

He chuckled.  “We’ll make it a Halloween tradition, then.”

As the music and screams and groans drifted up from below, Crowley reached between you, grasped his cock, and slowly began dragging himself through your folds.  Teasing your clit with the blunt head, dropping back down to press against your clenching core, then back up again.  Over and over, with agonizing gentleness, never stopping his methodical torture, never looking away from your face.

“Crowleeeeeyy…” you whimpered, trying to buck up and catch him.

The burning, invisible hands clamped onto your hips, holding you still and helpless against the floor.  

“Tsk tsk tsk, Y/N,” he whispered, “Look at you.  Soaking wet and desperate to be fucked.  Mewling and panting like you’re in heat.  My little toy.  You think you’re ready for me?”  He nudged at your opening, again, applying just enough pressure to slide in a fraction of an inch.

“Aaa! Fuck, yes, Crowley please... please…” Your vision wouldn’t focus.  You couldn’t lift your hips to meet him, so you arched you back and rolled your head from side to side in desperation.  He didn’t move at all.  

“Can you hear them, down there?  All those screams and wet slaps?”  You nodded emphatically. “That is nothing to the noises I want you to make for me.”  Then he slid backwards, away from your throbbing center.  It undid you.

A scream of frustrated agony ripped out of you- bouncing off the marble walls of the hall and momentarily drowning out the din below your alcove. But before that scream died away, Crowley slammed into you full force, and a new scream took its place.  The distinctive stretching burn that always accompanied the arrival of that cock inside you was shocking after so long an absence.  You roared with pleasure at the sensation.

“That’s my girl! That’s my Queen!” Crowley exclaimed into the cacophony, grinding his hips against you, buried to the hilt.

When you ran out of air, the King took advantage of the relative quiet and backed out of you a bit, then shoved back in with a groan.  You were only dimly aware of your own noises, at this point- too focused on the hymn of obscenity that the masked, looming devil with glowing eyes was pouring into you as he slowly dragged out, then snapped back into your quaking pussy, again and again.

“Fuuck, you’re so wet, Love!  That’s my Queen!  So wet and hot and tight- oh, yes!  I’ve waited months for this… Dreamed of getting back into this cunt!”

“It’s yours,” you gasped, reaching up to grab the horns on his mask, all reservations gone, just lost in the feeling of fucking the King of Hell, again, “It’s all yours!  Oh my god, you feel so good!”

With a roar of his own, Crowley yanked himself out of and away from you, leaving you empty and sprawled on the floor.  Before you could do more than squawk in protest, he jerked you up and spun you towards the railing.

“I told you before. God’s not here,” he snarled.

You landed against the barrier, chest and shoulders hanging over the rail.  The festivities hadn’t died down.  In fact, it looked like they were gaining steam.  A swirling, pulsing mosaic of skin and colorful costumes spread out across the ballroom.  Anything that could be done for carnal pleasure was being done, somewhere in the room.  Still in the throws of your own passion, you took in the display, gasping for breath.

Crowley was behind you again.  His fingers stroking in and out of the dripping, aching spot between your legs.  He pressed you forward, leaning out over the ballroom.  The Luisgeàrd swung back and forth, as if to draw your attention to the spectacle below.

It was the kind of thing that would have made you blush and look away, any other time.  Hanging half over the railing, looking down at a kaleidoscope of sex, breasts dangling in the air- so exposed.  But not tonight.  Tonight, you weren’t you.  Tonight, you were the White Hart.  The Queen of Hell.  And God wasn’t here.

Crowley fisted one hand in your hair and gave a sharp tug, the other hand guiding his cock back where it belonged.  Wet as you were, he slid home smoothly, to a chorus of groaning from both of you.

Slowly, methodically, almost reverently, he fucked you against the railing as you watched the show.

“Look at that, Pet.  Look at all the fun they’re having down there.  But they all wish they were here with you, you know.  They all wish they were right here, deep in this gorgeous cunt… Aren’t I lucky?  Fuck, I love this pussy!  You glorious thing…”

The stream of his words, the slow, exquisite drag and thrust of him against your swollen inner walls, the delicious sting of being suspended from his fist by your hair; it was all too good.  The moans fell out of you in one long note, and you felt the tightening in your belly that meant release wasn’t far off.  Still, it stayed maddeningly just out of reach.

“Crowleeeeyyy… Crowley, pleeease… I need to come… please!”

Once more, the King maneuvered you effortlessly.  In a swirl of motion too quick to follow, he had you facing him, perched on the railing. Somehow, he was still buried inside you.  Ruling another dimension clearly came with some physics-bending perks.

“Look at me, darling.”

You stated into those cigarette red eyes, set in the demonic mask, glowing in the dark alcove. The intensity in those eyes made you even more light-headed. Almost to the point of fear.  But if you’d learned anything in the past year, it was that when Crowley was fucking you, you could trust him.  

Gripping your waist to hold you steady, he aimed a powerful thrust right to your center.  You swooned back a bit, eyes fluttering closed with pleasure, grabbing Crowley’s arms and wrapping your legs around him for stability.

“Ooooh, yes!” You cried.  So close… you were so close…

“No, Pet.  You keep your eyes on me, now.” You brought your focus back to him. “That’s right,” He crooned and ground against you, “You watch me fuck you.  Watch me fuck you until you come.”

And you did.  You kept your eyes locked with Crowley’s as he pounded into you over and over.  All his words were gone, now.  His bottom lip clutched between his teeth as he concentrated on you.  The demonic power manifested again; this time a merciless vibrating heat against your clit.  

You forgot where you were.  Forgot who you were.  The entire world narrowed to the sensations shooting out from between your legs and the burning points of light hanging in the gloom before you.  Somewhere, far outside your senses, someone was repeating, “Fuck!  Yes!  Fuck!  Yes!” over and over.  Was it you?  Finally, that internal cord snapped and you came, screaming, shaking apart from the inside out, still staring in Crowley’s eyes.

He didn’t slow down.  Just kept fucking you through it until you were spent and limp.  Then he gathered you to him, buried his masked face in your neck, and with a few more shuddering thrusts, spilled himself deep inside you.

You stayed like that for a long while; locked together, lazily running fingers over each other’s skin, dropping gentle kisses on ears and necks and shoulders.  Not speaking.  Not needing to.  The King and Queen of Hell.

You both managed to get safely to the floor before Crowley slid free.  You were exhausted.  You just puddled in his arms and drifted in and out, kissing deeply and trying to catch your breath.  Swimming in that dreamlike Otherness.

After what may have been days, for all you knew, you felt that lurch in your guts, and realized that Crowley had zapped you back home. He lowered you into your bed, smoothed back your hair, and with another kiss, rose to leave.

“You.. you owe me…” you slurred through sleepy lips, “conver...sation.  You said.”

“Next time, Love.  I’m a demon of my word, don’t you worry.  You sleep, now.  My Queen.”

As Crowley pressed one last, gentle kiss against your brow, you finally fell into unconsciousness.

~~~

Tags: @mamaredd123, @motleymoose, @emilyymichelle, @singingphoenix, @cassiopeia-barrow, @roxy-davenport, @fuschiarulerinthebluebox, @generalgoldfishldrm, @sunnysaysbookreviews, @kittennovak

[fluffy-marshmallow-heart]

Drake's Diary ch.17 - Climbing Trees

The Royal Romance-Drake's POV

Drake x MC (Emma)

Words: 2242

For the last event before the Engagement Tour kicks off, the friends gather at Applewood Manor to conduct their own investigation.

Today is the country picnic at Applewood Manor. It was the last event before heading off on the engagement tour. Drake was actually freaking out about the tour, but he was trying his best to stay in this moment. At least he’s still able to get away from everyone here, but on the train? Not so much. Add that to being in tight quarters with Emma…. yeah, he was nervous he wasn’t going to be able to keep his hands off her. He already couldn’t seem to stop kissing her. Touching was definitely next. He’d envisioned them together so many times, except now his thoughts were turning to them being together on the train.

  Today, however, he needed to help with the investigation into the conspiracy, so he needed to get his mind out of the gutter. This was where the incriminating photos of Emma and Tariq were taken. He really hoped they would find something to help clear her name. Which, as it turns out, he was also terrified of. Once she was free, she could choose who to be with. Drake desperately wanted her to choose him…but compared to Liam? Who would?

As he walks across the lawn, he sees Emma talking with Hana, Penelope, Kiara, Lord Neville and Lord Rashad. He shuddered. He couldn’t stand Neville. He was the biggest, most pompous, self-righteous asshole Drake had ever met. Luckily, he didn’t see him much. But if he was here…that meant Drake was going to be seeing a lot more of him. After what seemed like way too long, they finally took their leave, and Penelope walked off towards a server carrying curry chicken skewers.

Drake quickly sidled up to them. “Hey, Rose. Hana. Maxwell, er, caught me up on the plan. Now might be a good time…”

“Oh! Right! I’ll…be right back. I just remembered something I really must speak to Madeleine about.” Hana winks before walking towards Madeleine, who is chatting with some nobles across the lawn.

“Drake, I’m surprised to see you here.” Kiara said flirtily.

Drake grimaced. “Me too. But I try to support Liam when I can.” For the love of…please don’t flirt with me. I am not interested on any level. I really hope she gets that.

Kiara trailed a finger down his arm. “You’ve always been such a good friend to him. It’s part of why I always liked you. It’s such a shame what happened to your sister.”

“Wait…You’ve always liked Drake? Could have fooled me.” Emma told her icily.

Drake looked at her in surprise. Is she…jealous? This is the second time now…no one’s ever been jealous for me. And just when I thought she couldn’t get more adorable...

“Not all of us wear our hearts on our sleeves.” Kiara replied.

Then it finally sank in what Kiara had said. “Back up a second…I didn’t know that you and Savannah spent time together.” Drake said.

“Not much, really. It’s just she was so friendly. And she was coming along so well in her French lessons, and I was surpri…”

“French lessons?” Drake cut in.  “Savannah didn’t speak French.”

Kiara shook her head. “I was teaching her before…”

A loud crash sounds from behind them. Madeleine stands next to a caterer who is covered in curry sauce. A crowd begins to form around them. Drake catches Hana’s eye, and she winks before turning to the caterer.

“Oh my! I’m so terribly sorry! Please, let me help you clean that up!”

“This is a disaster.” Madeleine scowled.

“It was an accident! Here, we’ll fix it in no time.”

As they are bickering, Emma was suddenly speaking ever so quietly in his ear. “Pssttt. Drake, that’s our cue.”

“Wait, I need to talk to Kia…”

“There’s no time, we have to go while no one is looking!” She whispered harshly, causing another surprised reaction to wash over him. Damn…she really wants me away from Kiara. But she’s also right. We have to go now.

They slip away from Kiara and head in the opposite direction from the scene. They spot a security officer making his way toward the crowd. He glances at Emma and pauses, then shakes his head and keeps walking. She and Drake continue toward the edge of the manor, rounding the corner so they’re out of sight from the picnic. They walk over to the swath of manicured gardens beneath Emma’s bedroom window. Maxwell approaches, holding a skewer of curry chicken.

“Where’s Bertrand?” Emma asked.

“I sent him up to your room to stand in for you. I relayed everything that happened, so he’ll know where to go.”

“Bertrand is going to stand in for me?”

Maxwell nodded. “Little known fact, before he was Duke Ramsford, Bertrand was an accomplished human statue.”

Emma stared at him. “What?”

“Kidding! But he will do almost anything to clear your name.”

Drake rolled his eyes. “Alright Rose, where do you think we should start?”

“We should try to line up the shot.” She said immediately.

Good idea. Why couldn’t I think of that? So simple…

Drake pulls a camera from his pocket and holds it up to his eye, aiming it at the window. He snaps a photo, then compares the image on the screen to a copy of one of the pictures of Emma and Tariq. His blood begins to boil looking at that photo again. The nerve of whoever did this. Drake wanted to kill them. Or publicly humiliate them, the second option probably being better if the person was noble. Nobles can’t bear to be humiliated. There’s basically nothing worse.

Maxwell cuts through his thoughts. “Looks like Bertrand is ready.”

Drake glanced over at him.  “This angle doesn’t look right. I think we’d have to be standing over there to get the right view.” He points to a patch of bushes circling a tall tree closer to the manor. They head to the bushes, leaning this way and that in efforts to match the angle of the photographs.

Emma gasped. “I can see right into my bedroom from here! Drake, hand me the camera.” She takes the camera and holds it to her eye, comparing the view to the picture.

She shook her head. “Too low. Even someone seven feet tall couldn’t have taken this.”

Drake looked up at the tree. “They must have climbed the tree!”

She sighed. “I guess that means I’m climbing a tree…” She hangs the camera from her neck, grits her teeth and approaches the tree. The first few branches are easy to scale, and soon she’s halfway to the top.

Drake’s heart is pounding the entire time, praying this goes well. The last thing I need is for her to fall out of the tree. I better move under where she’s climbing so I can catch her if she does.

 As he puts himself in a better position, she grasps the next branch to pull herself up and the bark falls off, causing her to lose her grip. Drake’s heart completely stops, but she manages to grab hold of the branch and pull herself up.

“Go Spider-Emma!” Maxwell called.

Okay. She’s good. Breathe. BREATHE.

She lifts the camera to her eye and snaps a picture. “It’s a perfect match! This is really close to the manor…”

Drake frowned. “Whoever did it must have been at the party.”

“More than that, it means whoever did it must have been waiting around for the right shot. I mean…I’m literally up a tree. Whoever took these pictures wasn’t just standing around and happened to see…they were waiting!”

Drake realized she was completely right and started fuming. “They knew Tariq would be in your room, which means it was definitely a set up and the photographer was in on it. And whoever hired the photographer must have known the manor pretty well to know about the view from this spot.”

Emma’s eyebrows furrowed. “Maxwell, didn’t you say that a reporter snuck into the party that night?”

“Yeah. A bold move, considering it was a private event…”

“We need to confirm if the reporter you saw is the same one who climbed the tree and took the photo.” Drake interrupted. Clearly someone hasn’t put two and two together.

“Right. Now I’ll go get Bertrand and meet you back here.”

“Can’t you just text him?” Emma asked.

Maxwell glared at her. “Think Emma! What if they’re monitoring the airwaves?” As Maxwell races off to fetch Bertrand, Emma continues to stare at the window.

Drake watches her a second. “You coming down, Rose?”

“Yeah, just thinking about how you came to my rescue that night.”

Drake grinned. “I think I remember you coming to my rescue.”

She let out a laugh. “Maybe a little. Drake, I…I just wanted to say thank you.”

He blushed. “It was nothing, Rose. Really.”

“It wasn’t nothing. Not me.”

“Well…ugh…just…” He was fumbling for his words, she was looking at him so intensely again. That look…I never see her look at anyone but me like that. “Just get down from there, before you hurt yourself.”

She’s about to begin her descent when she reaches for something tangled amongst the twigs and leaves. She grabs it and continues down, Drake catching her by the waist and guiding her the rest of the way. For a moment they stayed that way, him holding her from behind, her head starting to tilt back towards him and lips parting. He starts leaning in for the kiss he was craving so badly, when he hears footsteps headed their way. He clears his throat and quickly steps away, just as Maxwell and Bertrand come into view.

Not missing a beat, Emma pulls out her find. “I might have found something. Look.”

Drake looked at the security badge she was holding out. “Mansingh?”

“It’s the company they used for security at the party. Super high-tech. Turn it over!” Maxwell exclaimed.

She turns the badge over, but the other side is covered with dirt. Maxwell quickly scrubs the dirt off with his sleeve.

Bertrand scowled. “Maxwell, you’re making a mess. What would father say?”

Maxwell cast his eyes away. “The great Barthelemy Beaumont always had a lot to say about me.”

Emma gently laid her hand on his shoulder. “In this case, I think he’d at least be pleased that we’re making progress towards clearing the house name.”

“Perhaps.” Bertrand admitted, still scowling.

Wiping the dirt off reveals a photograph of a woman wearing a red blazer, with dark shoulder length hair.

“That must be the reporter! How did she get her hands on a Mansingh security badge?” Bertrand asked

Emma narrowed her eyes. “She must have had help from the inside. Someone who could get her security clearance to a private party.”

“Probably whoever hired her. This badge must’ve given her access to the grounds, but when she was spotted taking pictures at a closed event…” Drake’s fists were curled into balls, as his all his anger had now returned.

Bertrand agreed. “Her ruse was uncovered, and she was ejected.”

Drake looked back at the tree. “She could’ve lost the badge in the branches here or tried to toss it away, so no one knew how deep the conspiracy ran. Does it say who she is?”

Emma shook her head. “There’s something written beneath her picture, but it’s damaged…I can’t read it.”

“But at least we have a real clue. We’ll investigate further. Good work…With the picnic ending, we should get packed for our departure on the engagement tour tomorrow.” Bertrand said curtly, and he and Maxwell start toward the manor. When Emma goes to follow, Drake holds her back. “Wait, do you have a minute? I just thought of something important.”

“What is it?”

“I was just thinking, Rose…this isn’t the first set of photos someone has tried to turn against you.”

She looked at him in surprise. “You mean the ones from the bachelor party? The ones you and Bastien kept from going to print?”

“Yeah. I don’t think it’s a coincidence either.”

“Did you ever find out who did it?”

Drake sighed. “I have hunches, but nothing conclusive.”

She thought a moment. “A maid from the manor revealed that a disguised noble lady told her to pull a prank on Tariq the night the pictures were taken.”

“Hmm…there might be a connection between the noble lady, the bachelor photos, and this photographer. Either way, this conspiracy goes deeper than we thought. Just…be careful, Rose.”

“Oh, Drake. I’m always careful, aren’t I?” She smirked.

He ran his hand through his hair. “Not…exactly. I can think of plenty of times you’ve pressed your luck.”

“Oh yeah? Name one.” She challenged, stepping closer to him.

“Uhm…well…just in general…there’s a whole conspiracy…obviously that wouldn’t happen if you were more careful…”

“Mmhmm. Anything else? Because it seems like you were talking about more than this conspiracy…which is only one thing by the way, and we were already discussing it, so it doesn’t count in this conversation.”

Drake swallowed. “Uhm…just…being here…?”

She was a breath away from him now. “Being…here? In Cordonia? Or with you?”

Drake’s breath caught in his throat, and she smiled slyly at him. “Well then. What’s one more so-called careless act going to do?”

She pulled him into a kiss, moaning softly as his arms circled her immediately, before pulling away.

“I’ll see you on the train, Drake.”

“Uh…right…the train…with small quarters…” He swallowed. This tour may be the death of me.

@blackwidow2721 @sleepwalkingelite @flowerpowell @agent-bossypants @annekebbphotography @carabeth @gardeningourmet @eileendannie @dancetothestoriesinyoursoul @alesana45 @imaketerriblechoices @zigortega4life​​ @hrhdes @akrenich @feartheendlesssummer @drakewalkerisreal @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction

[fitzwilliamburke]

     location: Eastern Squad offices, floor 66      time: 8:05am, the morning after Hattori’s retirement party           ( solo )

     “Burke.”     

It’s eight in the bloody morning. Eight in the bloody morning and he’s sporting a hangover the size of Missouri from the party at Leaping Lizards the night before and suddenly, for no apparent reason whatsoever, Snow is howling his name from the door of his office, practically storming over to the desk where Fitz is just trying to get his head on straight in peace.

     ‘Yes, Chief?’

     “I’m sure you’ve noticed that something is horribly wrong,” Snow says, his face sober, sombre, as he closes the distance between them and takes a seat across from Fitz. He feels a little like a psychoanalyst, all of a sudden, sitting across from the Chief like this, with him looking like someone’s gone and murdered half his family and-- oh, Merlin, has someone gone and murdered his family? Fitz certainly hopes not, he was hoping for an easy day, at least until the hangover tonic he’s taken starts to do the trick.

     ‘Is there?’

     “What, you haven’t tried to get a coffee?”

     ‘I’m a tea man, Chief.’

     “Of course you are. Damned Brits. Right, well, thing is: someone’s stolen our damned coffee machine, Burke. The LuxBrew 3000. Do you know how much my wife spent on that? Anyway, look, I need someone to get it back and you’re not out on any cases, so I’m giving this one to you. I’m sure it’s the Central Squad, revenge for whoever set those damned doxies loose last night, but they swear up and down they spent the whole morning clearing out their offices, so we can’t rule out the others. Midge says it was still there at 4 this morning, so there’s a chance someone is storing it in their office. You get it back to me by one, you hear?”

     ‘Ah, it’s just, I’ve got all this paperwork to get through,’ he replies, gesturing one hand vaguely towards the stack of unfinished paperwork he has absolutely no plans to get through today. A convenient excuse not to go on a wild goose chase round the entire MACUSA building looking for a bloody coffee machine.

     “There’s something in it for you,” Snow says, and Fitz can already tell from the look on his face that whatever it is, he thinks it’s good. Thinks it’s something Fitz won’t be able to resist. “I’ll give you Friday off. No questions asked.”

And, well, it turns out that after all this time, Snow knows Fitz pretty damned well. 

A coffee machine, he thinks. Not a problem. A Friday off for nothing. It’s not an offer he can turn down, especially if it means he’s got a perfectly good reason not to get any real work done for the remainder of the day. 

     ‘Alright, Chief,’ he says, sitting up, taking his feet off the desk to look the other man eye to eye. ‘You’ve got yourself a deal.’

     location: Central Squad offices, floor 67      time: 8:15am

     “You know just as well as anyone else that we’ve been cleaning doxy shit off every square inch of this place since seven thirty in the fuckin’ morning,”  Kennedy Stokes sighs, one hand on her hip in the space between the lift and the Central Squad’s main office area. He can see, looking past her, that she’s probably not lying -- there’s still the unpleasant lingering scent, and he can see spots they missed on the back wall of the equally unpleasant gray-teal color of  fairy excrement. The pranksters in his own office had really outdone themselves, but Stokes and her ilk seemed to be facing the day with a rather grim sense of defeat, uncharacteristic of any auror who had a trick up their sleeve -- especially a trick like a stolen coffee machine. 

     ‘Then I’m sure you won’t mind if I take a look around,’ he replied, glancing over her shoulder. He couldn’t very well check every desk drawer, or every cabinet in their breakroom, and if they were disguising their guilt this well he imagined it’d be hidden somewhere better than just tucked away somewhere, but he’s at least got to pretend he’s trying hard, here, in case Snow starts asking around to see if he really deserves that Friday off.

He’s made plans, already, spent the last ten minutes and the lift ride up here dreaming about what he might do with a day off, imagining the possibilities, settling somewhere between seeing a show and abso-bloody-lutely nothing. An entire weekend, even, he could get out of town, if he wanted, maybe go to a quiet beach somewhere and find someone cute to--

     “You’re not gonna find anything, Fitz. But alright, sure, be my guest, I guess.”

She moves to let him pass, returns to the stack of files she has been working her way through cleaning off, charming flakes and swathes of the sticky substance off of the pages that had been left open on various desks overnight -- an unexpectedly fatal mistake. Her attitude alone is a pretty clear indicator that if the Central squad is behind this, she certainly wasn’t a part of it: she’s too quick to let him in, too resigned to the fact, and he’s known Stokes for a number of years now -- she’s not that good of an actress.

A quick sweep of the office (it does smell like doxy shit, noxious and cloying, the scent lingering even where those present have managed to scourgify most of the actual residue away, and he’d rather not linger for any longer than he needs to) mostly confirms his suspicions -- it it’s Central, he’s not going to find the evidence he needs here. No LuxBrew turns up under an upturned trashcan or in a desk drawer or anything that might make his damned job any easier.

Not a great start to his day, he thinks, and makes a note to check back in when the office is finally clean, maybe with a Bubblehead Charm to make his search a little easier. 

     location: Pacific Squad offices, floor 69      time: 8:35am

Every single auror in the Pacific Squad office is hungover.

That isn’t an exaggeration, he notes. He’s never seen so many sour looking faces, but it’s clear they all celebrated a little too hard last night, and while the rowdier of the crew might have had the wherewithal to snatch the machine before the worst of the hangover hits, his tempting offer of one of his special hangover tonics to whoever can turn the machine over turns up no results among the miserable faces before him.

There is no LuxBrew in sight.

He’s going to need to take a different approach.

     location: Department Lobby, floor 50      time: 8:45am

The gentleman behind the front desk had been easy enough to persuade to let him see the security logs. An easy smile and, when that didn’t work, the invocation of Snow’s wrath, and he’d been granted access to the book in which every out-of-hours entry into the MACUSA building was logged, which he was now combing through, looking for any familiar name between the hours of four and seven-thirty, when the night-time sign in books gets put away for the day. 

Unfortunately, a third of the people who work in the building get to work early, and so there’s not an insubstantial list of names to go through towards the latter hours listed. 

He’s got coffee on the brain, by now; he won’t drink it, ordinarily, but he’s been thinking of it so much he can almost smell the phantom scent of it as he pours over the log, running through the names one by one, cross referencing them with the list he’s made in his notebook of every auror on every squad in the building who might be under suspicion. Seriously, he can smell it, almost like it’s right under his nose--

A clink of ceramic on marble. He glances to the side, sees the chipped white coffee mug with the MACUSA logo printed on its side, filled to the brim with black coffee.

     “Morning, Burke,” says a voice, and he glances up from the security log to see a face he hasn’t seen in some time: Ishmael Hanson, an old classmate from the Academy, still as smug looking as they’d always been. Files tucked under their arm, the other elbow up on the marble countertop where Fitz is standing and working, they look amused to see Fitz standing here squinting at the visitor log. “Looking for someone?”

     ‘Working a case,’ he answers, tense, distracted. He’d much rather get this over with than chat to Hanson for any amount of time.

     “Wow, this early? That doesn’t seem like your usual work ethic. Need a hand? A coffee maybe?”

     ‘More of a tea man, Hanson,’ he says with a sigh as he turns his eyes back to the never-ending list of names. There’s one -- Aurora Powell, Pacific Squad, came in just past six, that could be a lead...

     “Well, suit yourself.”

And then he realizes, a second after Hanson is gone: he knows that smell. The stench of it on Snow’s breath every damn morning, the odor whirling through the Eastern Squad offices every morning from eight until just past noon, the way it’s seeped into the very walls of the breakroom. It’s not just coffee. It’s LuxBrew coffee.

     location: Mountain Squad offices, floor 68      time: 9:05am

They’ve barricaded themselves in, the bastards. 

They must have re-sealed the wards after the second Hanson was back inside, because for all his spells, all his ward-breaking charms, all his literal physical banging at the damned door, the thing won’t budge, and what’s worse, one of the wards sent of a flurry of sparks at his feet, scuffed his shoe up right at the toe when he’d tried kicking the door in.

Lincoln’s know for his specialty in locking charms and blocking wards, and the squad seems to have put him to good use. Locked door means they’ve got something to hide. Locked door means Hanson knows Fitz is onto him -- or that Hanson was intentionally baiting him with the coffee downstairs just to watch him squirm. 

This isn’t bloody worth it.

He’ll have to find another way in, a way to break through the wards or get into the offices another way. He’s positive the damned thing is in there, he can feel it.

He can smell it. 

     location: Evidence and Seized Property Storage, floor 52      time: 9:35am

    ‘Milly, love, it’s just a bloody piece of paper,’ he insists, leaning on the high desk at which the old house elf sits across from him. One spell -- he’d found the case number and everything, thanks to Fay, but she’d been caught up in other work, and he’d been forced to schlep his way down to floor 52 on his own, to del with the temperamental and notoriously stingy house elves who watched over the labyrinth of old evidence himself, much to his chagrin. One spell, which could allegedly unlock any door, undo any ward, and take down any magic barrier, and it was all he needed to get into the Mountain Squad’s barred offices and take a look for himself for any evidence to confirm his strong suspicion that they were the culprits here.

     “You need form 1-A-456 to remove any evidence unrelated to a current case from Evidence Storage, auror Burke,” she replied, her voice graveled with age but still with the telltale squeak that every house elf he’d ever encountered had. 

     ‘This is related to my case. It’s got a spell on it I need to use.’

     “I don’t make the rules, I just follow ‘em.”

Her voice is decisive, her gaze even, daring him to contradict her and the careful order of bureaucracy, and he withers under it. It’s clear there’s no way he can cheat his way Milly -- she takes her job far too seriously, he knows, to let him get away with it. He could fight this battle for the next two hours, eat up half the time he’s got left to find the damned machine, or he could concede to the order of things, have her help him find one piece of paper amidst the towering labyrinth of evidence storage.

     ‘Alright, alright. Have you got the bloody form?’

     location: Mountain Squad offices, floor 68      time: 11:50am

He had nearly given up. He really had. Somewhere between form 1-C-568, which he’d needed approved by three other aurors in order to even access form 1-A-456, and the fifth trip upstairs to get Snow’s signature on a newly-conjured page, he’d nearly said fuck it and decided that one day off wasn’t worth it for all of this.

But he had it now, the piece of paper tucked delicately into an evidence bag, the bag gripped in his hand. The handwriting is poor, hard to read, but he remembers the events surrounding the Scranton robbery well enough that he can make it out, still. Advanced lockpicking charm. If anything will get past Lincoln’s bolted door, it’s this. 

He stands back, a bit, not wanting his shoes to become the victim again if this goes arse-end-up, and readies his wand, glancing at the paper one more time to make sure he knows the spell. 

     ‘Sera Apertus.’

There’s a pop, then a hiss, then a few more sounds he can’t quite identify, the sounds of wards breaking and locks sliding out of place, whisper-quiet, and damn, he’s impressed that the charm worked just the way he’d hoped it would. The door stands in front of him, still closed but unlocked, now, unprotected. 

He reaches his hand out cautiously, wand still at the ready just in case the charm missed anything, any unexpected curses or jinxes lingering around the general area of the doorway, but nothing happens when his hand touches the brass of the door knob, nothing happens when he turns it except that the door clicks and swings open, letting him in -- finally -- to the Mountain squad office, and to the surprised faces of the handful of aurors inside as they turn around to see who has made it through their wards. 

Wand still at the ready, he faces them down, the culprits, the coffee thieves, the loathsome pranksters who caused him hours worth of strife, and who were now going to win him his well-earned Friday off. 

     ‘Where is it, then?’

     location: Interrogation Room 14, floor 64      time: 12:10am

He has just under an hour. Just under an hour to break Ishmael Hanson, get the coffee machine, and get back to the 66th floor. 

He sits across from them at the interrogation table, a mug of tea in front of him. It’s not very good tea, but with everyone in the Eastern Squad looking for non-coffee caffeine this morning to stunt their lingering hangovers, it’s the best he could find. He makes a mental note to remember to bring in a box from home, hide it somewhere in one of his desk drawers for occasions like this. 

Well: he has, by his calculations, thirty five minutes to break Ishmael Hanson, ten to get the LuxBrew from wherever it’s stowed, and then five to get back to Snow before the deadline’s passed and he’s missed his shot at an entirely luxurious Friday far, far away from this chaos. He’s going to need it, when all this is done. 

     ‘Where’s the coffee machine?’ he says, and across the table from him, Hanson grins.

     “What coffee machine?”

     ‘The one you stole from the Eastern Squad break room, Hanson. The one you were drinking coffee from this morning in the lobby. The one your squad mates confessed to stealing, last night, after the retirement party, before they confunded poor Midge and bribed her into telling Snow the machine was there when she cleaned. Where is it?’

     “Ah, that coffee machine.”

His grip tightens around the mug of tea in his hand. 

     “You’re the big detective here, why don’t you tell me what you think happened, where you think it is?”

     ‘I think you’re an utter prick with a death wish, goading me because you know I’m a better auror than you. I think the LuxBrew is up your bloody arse, or at least, it will be if you don’t tell me what you’ve done with it.’

Hanson presses their lips together, a silent my lips are sealed gesture, and Fitz very nearly throws the mug at them. It wouldn’t even be a waste of tea, he thinks, blithely, since it’s such bloody awful tea. 

He stops himself, though, and it brings his anger to up against a wall, his frustration escapes and leaves him exhausted thinking about the furious running up and down from floor to floor, the back and forth, the hours of unnecessary paperwork, the scuff on his shoes.

He has thirty four minutes to break Ishmael Hanson.

He can’t do it.

So he does what he’s always done, as the tension seeps out of him and leaves him hollow. He finds another way.

     ‘You’ve got to tell me, Ishmael. You’ve seen what Snow’s like when he hasn’t had his coffee. Imagine that, but in perpetuity, for the rest of my life. I won’t survive it. None of us will.’

Ishmael, finally, looks like they’re considering it for a moment.

     “What’ll you give me for it?”

     location: Eastern Squad break room, floor 66      time: 12:58pm

     “What do you want?” comes Snow’s gruff voice from behind the closed door to his office, and Fitz can’t help but think he sounds like he’s likely more hungover than the rest of them, even still, even now. 

     ‘Brought you something,’ he says through the door, and he can hear Snow behind the door rushing to get up at the sound of his voice, making his way out from behind the desk to where he can open the door and stick his head out.

     “Burke. You found it? Please tell me you found it.”

He holds out the mug of fresh, pungent, LuxBrew coffee in one hand, offering it out to the chief, letting a smug grin of self-satisfaction cross his face. Sure, it took him half the bloody day to get through it; sure, he was going to need to take his shoes in to get the leather repaired; sure, he didn’t even give a damn about coffee; but Snow had been right: he was the right man for the job.

And it only cost him a month of Hanson’s paperwork to prove it. 

[bonesmakenoise]

Okay! So! I saw the new Conan movie! It was pretty fun, actually! Like, for example, I liked last year’s film a lot but I’m still kind of chasing the high from movie 21 lmao. We’re…. we’re never gonna get that again.

Even so! It was a good time! I promised @rumasaca that I would put together a summary for them after I saw it, and….. The whole time I was watching in the theatre, I was like, “can I really do this?? Is it really possible for me to explain what I’m watching??” because there were long swaths of dialogue that I just straight up didn’t understand. So this has a lot of me going (?) because I didn’t entirely understand something.

So I’ll tell you the story beats, but I can’t promise you really explicit, easy-to-understand details, I’m sorry! I also think I get a few things out of order as far as events goes. This will be a little speculation on my part because like… I should have brought a notepad and paper into the theatre to write down the words I didn’t know. One of them kept coming up, and I think-- I THINK-- it was 許六者, kyorikusha. But I don’t know! Because most of my internet dictionaries are like LMAO IDFK as far as a translation goes. Google translate gives me “morality”. If anyone knows any alternate translations pleeeeease let me know, it’s driving me crazy.

Also, obviously, spoilers. I’m going point by point to the best of my memory. This sucker’s also 11 pages long, I’m so sorry.

SO TO THE BEST OF MY MEMORY AND JAPANESE COMPREHENSION, HAVING SEEN THIS MOVIE SEVERAL HOURS AGO:

We open up running around with the tantei kids, playing with a new drone Agasa built. Neat! I don’t remember why he built it! Sorry! They’re testing out the capabilities-- like, at the beginning of the film it has a specific range and all of this stuff, and it has a camera on it. Nice little drone. Analogous to a real-life HD camera drone. So, Conan and Haibara go inside to watch the news, and they’re blathering on about an upcoming event called the Tokyo Summit, and they built this neat… island, mall, tower combo complex thing. Cool. Brand new. Very fancy. The summit seems to be a kind of world fair thing. The news mentions a police presence at the place but there is no public information about it(?) so they just move on to talking about the next thing. Outside, the shonen tantei have devolved into childish fighting over the drone controls and Agasa’s warning them off about it while puzzling over a solution to them Being Children (god forbid we tell them to share but I might have missed it). This is Important later. For Reasons.

Wander back inside and, wouldn’t you know it, the plot device island blew up.

Okay, well, one building did. And Conan runs out to get Agasa and leaves Haibara inside, who notices a particular tanned blond guy caught on the security footage literally in the middle of the explosion. She points Amuro out to Conan when he returns.

Moving on a bit, we rush into the police HQ downtown, where all of our favorites are reporting to Megure and Kuroda in a briefing auditorium with a ton of other staff. They’ve begun to analyze all of the stuff from the bombing and they found a set of smeared but identifiable fingerprints on a door of a cabinet where the bomb detonated (?). So, they ran them through their database. Including their own staff, and former staff.

The prints belong to Mouri Kogoro.

(An easter egg if you can read Japanese, I think on his profile page they pull up it talks a little about his education but it was fast and I can’t read kanji well).

So hey, that’s fucking weird! Let’s go raid the Mouri Detective Agency with a warrant. Kazami is also there, with a banged-up face. Do you remember Kazami? Neither did I! It’s this dude. ( https://www.detectiveconanworld.com/wiki/Yuya_Kazami ) Anyway, so Kazami is there. Conan asks Takagi if that guy is all right and Takagi comments that Kazami was part of the police presence there on the day of the explosion and got caught up in it. He also seems to be taking particular interest in raiding files. He ends up kind of being the lead on this case. I think he was the one who found Kogoro’s fingerprints? But I’m not sure. Anyway! Ran is upset and kind of concerned but at first seems confident that things will shake out okay. Sonoko’s there to be supportive? But Ran calls Shinichi anyway because, hey, this shitty thing is happening to my family, I should call my boyfriend who can maybe keep an ear to the ground for me… I think is the logic. Of course, Conan runs out of the room when the Shinichi phone starts to buzz in his breast pocket (don’t worry, the Conan phone sits in his butt pocket lmao) and goes and answers the phone as Shinichi in the stairwell up near the apartment. Basically it was like, “it’ll be okay, we’ll figure this out,” I think. He goes back and-- oh, hey! His Conan cell phone is missing! That’s weird! Oh, look, here it is on the ground. He did not put it on the ground. Why was it there, hmmmmmmmmmmm. ANYWAY MOVING ON

Then I think there is some more investigation with the police? I think Amuro calls Kazami from a phone booth at the port and they are Vague at each other over the phone. Clandestine spy bullshit. Amuro figures something out. I would tell you what it was if they had used easier words.

At some point, Conan winds up back at Agasa’s and Haibara is analyzing police evidence and photographs she got from god knows where. She pieces together that the source of the explosion wasn’t actually a bomb at all, but like… a pressure cooker sort of thing that was rigged to explode because of this weird remote access thing via the internet. So that’s weird! Also around here I think, the three detective kids are now learning to pilot the drone together with three separate controls. I think Ayumi’s on camera, Mitsuhiko is on navigation and Genta’s on like…. Basic motor function. That sure is a B plot that is still happening! Also around this time, Conan and Haibara watch the news again and there is a satellite coming towards the earth, and it’s going to splash down in the middle of the pacific ocean somewhat near Japan! That’s neat! It’s bringing back some kind of… space… sample.I have no idea what the kids wanted to do that prompted Agasa’s quiz this time. It has something to do with hiragana orders and the center of specific sets of hiragana, and using that to combine with “chuu”, I think, which winds up being “uchuu”, so the answer is space. You know what is way more interesting than that? Someone is spying on Conan through his cell phone without anyone noticing. Whoever it is is hidden in shadow at this point.

This is where I lost track of the details of the plot for a little bit. Also the order of events. I think what happened is they ended up seizing Kogoro’s computer and hauled him in for questioning. They then found the app/program that’s used for remote hacking installed on Kogoro’s laptop! Which seems like pretty damning evidence, so they arrest him. Ran tries to call Shinichi again. He doesn’t pick up. Sonoko (who is still there iirc) complains, “ugh that guy is NEVER AROUND WHEN YOU NEED HIM” and Conan’s like NO I’M SURE HE’S WORKING HARD FOR US WHEREVER HE IS or something to that effect? I think?

While they’re in the process of arresting Kogoro, iirc, Conan runs downstairs and by chance, runs into Amuro as he’s sweeping up in front of Poirot. His face is all banged up, much in the same manner as Kazami’s, and Conan pulls his trump card early, telling Amuro that he and Haibara spotted him in the explosion footage on the news(?) or at least going, “You were there, weren’t you?!” Amuro is evasive, and I think Conan suspects/knows by this point that Kogoro’s arrest has to do with Amuro? He’s angry. Amuro peaces out without giving Conan answers.

Then, Ran does something sensible, and remembers her mother is a lawyer. So, we go to Eri!

The problem is, Eri can’t defend Kogoro for Reasons. I didn’t entirely understand the Reasons, sorry. It was either because Eri is a prosecutor or because it’s a conflict of interest or both. So, they start looking for a defense attorney who can help. Through this scene and another one after she does some research, we find out that no one wants to defend him because he’s super famous and they don’t want to get bitten in the ass if he’s guilty and it tanks their career or something I think.

Then we go and listen to exposition over at the Prosecutor’s office. I think this is where we were introduced to Kusakabe and…. His boss? Kind of a jerk of a woman. Itou? I…. I don’t think I understood very much of anything either of those characters ever said to each other.

Back to Eri! A young woman comes in requesting to be Kogoro’s lawyer! She’s really young and she’s only done defense for four cases so far. But they all seemed to have something to do with cyber crime? I think? So that’s useful! But she’s never won a case. So that’s less useful. But she really thinks they have a chance! And also they have literally zero other options. I cannot for the life of me remember this Very Important Lawyer’s name. I’m gonna call her Glasses for the rest of this summary. Ran pulls her mom aside and says that she thinks this is suspicious, why is this random girl here and how did she even know (or something)? But again: no other options.

…..I literally don’t know what happens after Glasses shows up (and I still think my order of events is a little off). I THINK what happens is we see Amuro and Kazami be Vague at each other around here somewhere. Conan goes to the police headquarters to ostensibly check on Kogoro and gather intel. There, while talking to Megure, who shows up but Amuro! Here to help out his detective teacher. Brought him some stuff (like clothes or food or something) and Megure apologizes but tells Amuro that it’s not allowed to give someone stuff who’s in holding. Ah, well, it can’t be helped, is more or less what Amuro says and peaces out. While he is in the process of peacing out, Kazami is walking in the door at the same time Amuro is going out it, and Conan sees Kazami’s lips move. He’s not sure what Kazami told Amuro, but he jumps Kazami when he gets closer-- “Give me back Uncle’s computer! It’s really important! There was a game on there that Dr. Agasa made--!!” and while holding Kazami’s hand and demanding this, plants a bug on him. Megure pulls Conan off and scolds him, Conan apologies. Conan sees Takagi right after this and asks him for a favor or something to that effect. About here somewhere, Conan, Eri, Ran and Glasses are at…. The police building? To talk about the case? And they pass by Kusakabe. And Conan hears the dial tone of the numbers he needs to unlock his phone. Right as Kusakabe rounds the corner away from them, Glasses goes, oh shoot I gotta run to the bathroom, and Conan, master of the “chotto toire!!” tactic immediately points out that the bathroom is in the other direction as she runs off. This gives him pause until he hears his listening device on Kazami pick something up. Oh, shit, is that…. Glasses?? Why is Glasses close enough to Kazami to be picked up? (I actually never figured this one out. They explain it, but I didn’t understand the explaination.)

I think what happens next is Conan and Takagi are talking about Stuff and Things. I really don’t know how they get onto this line of questioning, but Takagi tells Conan that last year there was an incident in Police HQ where after someone was questioned (?) they killed themselves. Kazami was…. Involved? Felt responsible? Kazami was There and Things Happened. Shit Sucked. Conan’s like okay cool thanks for the story I had an epiphany and I don’t know how to end conversations okay byeeeeeeeee

Conan gets back to Eri’s office and they’re like, man, where were you, we tried to call you! Turns out Conan’s phone battery is dead. He uses a stand charger in the corner of the room. Glasses appears with files and information about the case. They start to talk about the case and piece things together to free Kogoro and wouldn’t you know it, they’re still being spied on through Conan’s now-recharging phone. It’s Amuro. Amuro is spying on them. It’s around here somewhere that they revealed it was him, I think?

Sometime near here as well, the police go into super detail about this remote access hacking app. It’s really fancy. Neato. Conan is listening to the whole thing just outside HQ via the bug he planted on Kazami, who is mostly leading the proceedings. Kazami’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he’s like, well that was more or less it please excuse me I have to take this. Outside, Conan hears something move behind him and he wheels around to see…. Amuro! Approaching! Telling him things. And then Kazami shows up, Amuro having called him.  Kazami’s like “what’s up dude” and Amuro’s like, JUDO!!!!!! and gets Kazami into a submission hold all of a sudden with his arm wrenched up and back and he pulls the bug out of his sleeve that Conan had planted. He scolds Kazami for this (who apologizes for his carelessness iirc), gives Conan a pointed sort of look, and leaves. The amazing vanishing man. Kazami ponders who in the world planted a bug on him. He then asks who, exactly, Conan is supposed to be. Conan replies: “Edogawa Conan, a Detective.” (TAKE A DRINK, EVERYBODY!) Conan asks him something about the incident from last year, the suicide. Kazami has An Emotion about it. Probably regret. It rains on them. I think here he mentions that the guy who killed himself was named Haba. He was arrested for hacking… somewhere…. And after he was questioned by a representative from the NPA, he killed himself. I think is how that went. Kazami was the one who arrested him, iirc.

Also at one point while Conan is getting information to or from Agasa and sounding all cool and detective-ish, he’s explaining some deduction to him over the phone and Ran walks up like, “wowwww!” and Conan quickly has to spit out “AHAHAHAHAHA AT LEAST THAT’S WHAT SHINICHI-NIICHAN TOLD ME OKAY BYE!!!!!!” and Ran gives him this knowing look and tells him to thank Shinichi for the hard work, or something? The implication is that, once again, She Suspects Conan Is Shinichi.

I think it’s around here that things start to go batshit bananas bonkers. All over Japan, various (and seemingly somewhat random) electronic devices start to malfunction. Some of these are small, like circuits in phones overheating and making them sort of explode (think the Samsung issue from last year) or microwaves malfunctioning and catching on fire. The scale and damage caused varies. Things are escalating. As Eri, Ran, Conan and Glasses are listening to the report on the TV in Eri’s office, Glasses is attempting to fix it after it also blew up a little bit. It works, but it’s…. Not doing great. It then falls and breaks more. Nothing to be done. I think it’s something about this exchange, or the news, or something, that helps Conan figure out that they now have definitive proof that Kogoro was not behind the bombing-- since this same weird Hacking Access Bullshit is happening now, the same as before that blew up the pressure cooker in the plot device island building, and Kogoro has been a holding cell for multiple days at this point, he couldn’t have done it! It’s also way more sophisticated than they thought it was initially and Kogoro literally does not know how to do that. I think he says he barely understands how to use the laptop at all early on. So, yay! They’re going to release Kogoro, I think.

There is a Conflict at the prosecutor’s office. Jerk Prosecutor Boss Lady tells Prosecutor For The Kogoro Case Guy (Kusakabe) news he doesn’t want to hear. They start to argue about it when her phone EXPLODES in her pocket, injuring her. He tries to put out the fire. She’s rushed to the hospital and disappears from the plot which is excellent for me, because, again, if she was on screen, I did not understand what was happening.

A colleague of Eri’s brings her and the gang some files about the Suicide Incident From Before with the guy named Haba. I think… Glasses was mentioned in connection with the incident? Around this time, Glasses comes back and she’s like, “I heard they’re dropping the charges on Detective Mouri! That’s cool! So I guess technically you don’t need me anymore? So I’m gonna leave!” and they’re like cool, thanks for your help, and as she’s leaving, she spies the files on the Suicide Incident. And she freaks out. Because….? Like I know they thought she was suspicious and she’s upset with them looking into her behind her back, but also I think she says something about these files not having the real story, because she knows the real Haba and she was in love with him and then the NPA came and interviewed him and then he killed himself. Wehhhhh.

I think it’s right around here that Conan leaves Ran and company to go start wrapping up the plot on his own. Just as they’re about to leave to go pick up Kogoro, Ran realizes that Conan is missing. As he does.

Conan goes skateboarding down the middle of the goddamn street because he does what he fucking wants, I guess. He then hears a familiar engine, stops DEAD in the middle of the street and stares down the direction the car is coming from-- Amuro’s pretty white car pulls over and they talk, in the middle of the fucking street, with Amuro’s emergency lights on, with cars whizzing past Conan in the other lane, for no discernable reason. I was so pissed off by this that I wasn’t paying close attention to what they were saying (I was beginning to despair that I would never understand this film, too). They do the thing where they talk about how they have all the answers but don’t reveal any of them to the audience.

In the middle of traffic.

This is where, I think, Amuro admits that in an effort to root out the real criminal (?) he planted evidence on Kogoro’s computer to get him arrested because he knew once all the mysteries had been solved that Kogoro would definitely be exonerated because the hacking program was way too complicated for him to have been able to do. Also, Kazami stole Conan’s phone out of his back pocket and put a listening app on it. Conan was actually aware of this the whole time.

They take off in the direction of their deductions, Conan on his skateboard and Amuro following in the sports car. Yes, the skateboard easily outpaces the sports car.

Back to Police Headquarters! Kogoro is greeted by his family when he’s released and Ran runs, sobbing into his arms. Aww. Eri and Kogoro have a Moment. Sonoko says to Ran, “It’s happening!!!” Like, oh, they’re possibly going to get back together!! Sonoko demands to take a picture of the happy family reunited. (Takagi tries to photobomb in the background and Sonoko tells him off.) Right as they are about to take the picture, I think… Sonoko’s phone explodes? Am I remembering this right? I seem to remember that being the cue that all of a sudden, another wave of technology interruptions/malfunctions are going off en masse.

Back to Conan and Amuro, oh no! Confounded technology! Exploding GPS units in cars and stuff are distracting drivers and making them crash! It’s time for a really fucking cool car chase sequence because Amuro’s there, and if Amuro’s There, He Must Drive. (Cue Initial D theme.) They’re trying to get around, through, whatever, all of these car accidents that are spontaneously happening all around them to Get Back To The Plot. There’s a lot of cool shit. It’s kind of a contrived reason for an action sequence, but it just looked so damn good. Amuro basically does Car Kung Fu again and rams his car, MID-AIR, into another one to save Conan from getting crushed at one point. Rule of Cool is all that matters here. Miraculously the car still drives. Amuro busts out his windshield because he can’t see. His insurance premium, once again, rises, probably. This could have all been prevented if Conan just got into the damn car instead of racing off on the skateboard.

Police Headquarters! We’re trying to…… do something! Stop the signal that’s freaking out technology, I think? They get close, I think? And then the power goes out. They try to solve the problem More and Better, but… Conan? Someone? They figure it out? I think Kuroda receives a call from Amuro? I really don’t know, I’m so sorry. SOMEHOW, they learn that the Police Headquarters is actually a target. Remember that space satellite? So the culprit has hacked the satellite and wrested control away from Not-Brand-Name-NASA. They can see where it seems to be headed but they can’t stop it. It’s headed STRAIGHT FOR the Police Headquarters.

They need to evacuate the building, and FAST. There are SO many people in headquarters, though, where will they go? Why, send them to plot device island tower, of course! There’s a lighthouse on the top of the tower. They go there. Obviously nothing will go wrong at plot device island tower. (I really wish I understood why that was the option/decision.) So all staff, including the Mouris, Eri and Sonoko all wind up on a police bus with Megure going to the plot device.

Around this time the Detective Boys, led by Haibara and Agasa are piloting the drone to Places for Reasons. We’ll get there.

As evacuations are winding down and the last people are trickling out of the building, Amuro and Conan pull up. Conan leaves his skateboard in front of Amuro’s car, like it’s got its own parking space. This will prove to be a spectacularly stupid decision.

They start running into the building, of course being the only two badasses running in when everyone else is running out, and they notice someone slowly and calmly walking out with the running crowd, staring intently at his phone. It’s Kusakabe. Conan manages to grab him/make him drop his phone and Amuro picks it up. Amuro reveals the app that is now controlling the satellite is being run from this phone. Kusakabe bolts and Conan and Amuro give chase. If only we had the skateboard that moves faster than a car. Conan quickly loses ground with his tiny tiny legs because Kusakabe is running DESPERATELY fast and Amuro catches up with him by running along the tops of cars in a parking lot and then, RAAAAAUGH!! JUDO!!!!! And Judos him into submission.

Now we have to TALK at him about his MOTIVATIONS in the shadow of the Police Headquarters that’s about to get leveled by a satellite. I barely understood his motivations but thanks to the person from the Discord chat who posted their brief summary, I get it now, more or less. Like they said, because of the split of… judicial?... power in Japan, his department had no sway, and he wanted to make sure JUSTICE!!! happened. And Conan’s got a cool moment where he’s like, “JUSTICE?! PEOPLE DIED!! THAT’S NOT JUSTICE AT ALL!” and then they start talking about Morality, I think. Kusakabe wanted a scandal to happen because of the NPA or something so they would lose face publically and his group would get more power because That’s Totally How Government Works I Guess. Anyway, so, Haba, the guy who killed himself, killed himself…. In? Near? Because of? Police Headquarters? And so Kusakabe wanted JUSTICE!!!!!! For Haba. Why? Ask someone who speaks better Japanese. I really didn’t understand his relationship with Haba. Conan demands the code to stop the satellite and Kusakabe refuses. Then, Haba’s voice demands the code. Kusakabe looks up and…. Conan is holding up his own cell phone with a live video feed of Haba standing on the roof of the Police Headquarters.

Haba’s alive after all!

How?? Why?? I’m really not sure! I think they go to the police headquarters building from there with Kusakabe to try and see Haba. They get to the roof and… Haba’s not there. Conan reveals his trick: Haba’s alive, but he’s at Agasa’s place standing in front of a green screen. The drone was flying around for live, steady footage of the roof of the building as a backdrop. Either they figure out the code here or Kusakabe gave it to them before. They now have control of the satellite.

Haba explains that while he was waiting for his trial (or something) Amuro came to see him and… basically talked him into faking his own death so the NPA could use him. This worked.

Kazami and Glasses run up and heard the whole reveal.

They get news that… something’s wrong? My theory is that the part of the satellite that is supposed to separate out and drop harmlessly into the pacific ocean isn’t working now? If they want to actually get the space sample from it, they need it to be able to separate. So the police department provides children with a bomb and the kids (from very far away) with help from Haibara on additional navigation, pilot the drone into the falling satellite and Amuro has to detonate it with perfect timing. And he does. BOOM. Somewhere in the stratosphere, that… works. I guess.

Then, Glasses REACTS to news of Haba being alive. She’s furious and heartbroken because she loved Haba and he went and faked his death and she probably wasn’t super happy about that and so she leaves. I think that is the last time we see her. She has a great little monologue there. Shame I didn’t understand it.

But! Yay! We’ve saved the day! We blew up an EXTREMELY expensive drone and part of a satellite but everything’s good!

BUT WAIT!!!! THERE’S MORE!!!! There is always more.

So the capsule ejected properly from the satellite thanks to the bomb now but the parachute on it failed and it’s plummeting at terminal velocity FROM SPACE. Where will it land?

Place your bets!

If you guessed “plot device island tower,” you win a sense of mild disappointment from piecing that plot twist together from my horribly haphazard recounting of the film.

So our heroes (ie, Conan and Amuro) spring into action. And into…. the car?? They start racing to the tower, Tokyo drifting around traffic on the way (Intitial D theme gets louder) and encounter stand-still traffic on the way to the evacuation point because it’s on one of those walled-in soundproof highway things. So Amuro, because he’s Amuro, turns the car AND DRIVES ON TWO OF ITS SIDE WHEELS (Initial D theme is deafening) between the two lanes of cars until he finds, by complete chance, a car carrier tractor trailor thing, and launches the car off of that into the air where it lands… I think it actually lands on top of the train of the Plot Device Island Monorail System, and drives off of it? But I might be misremembering that. Anyway, they’re driving along the raised track now. Conan is looking for some way to get to the falling satellite piece in time.

He realizes that there is another sky scraper on plot device island that they can use. They do not elaborate how yet.

They do cut back to the Mouris and the Police Friends to explain why they were having trouble evacuating the new place they were evacuated to? I think? Anyway they seem stuck there. Chiba informs Megure about what’s going on around here somewhere.

Back to: Conan and Amuro in the sports car on the dedicated tracks for the monorail. Good news, everybody. A train is coming directly at them. Conan’s like UM WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO and Amuro has the most manic fucking look on his face that I’ve ever seen. It only intensifies as he accelerates, popping the car up onto two wheels AGAIN (Initial D theme has now blasted out the speakers of your earphones), this time on the track, with the train rushing past under the wheels. They survive, somehow. (Conan’s thoughts on the matter: I THOUGHT I WAS GONNA DIE….) And they… get to where they’re going, I guess? I think it might have cut away.

I think it cuts to the Mouris, actually. Did I mention Ran tried to call Shinichi again at some point? He didn’t answer. Funny, that.

Cut to: Amuro’s white sports car with the fucked up hood and smashed out windshield and busted up everything with Conan and Amuro in the front seats, in a freight elevator. Headed up to one of the top floors of this partially constructed tower. Waiting in an elevator in the middle of a high-stakes action sequence is always hilarious to me. Doing it in this busted-ass car is even funnier.

They get a few floors before the roof. Conan is watching the clock intently-- I think I understood it as they had timed the fall to the second so they know exactly how/where to intercept the falling space junk. So they have a few extra seconds to wait before Amuro can start accelerating to get to the speed he needs to launch his car off the fucking roof. I don’t think they explained it that much at that point but that’s what they’re about to do and Amuro only understands Car Fu at this point.

Then comes the line of dialogue in the film I remember more clearly than anything else.

Conan says something along the lines of, “So, Amuro. I heard you have a lover.” (Like as a way to make sure they get out of this alive? Because hey maybe Amuro has someone to go back to? I don’t remember much of the conversation up to this point.)

And Amuro GRINS. “Actually,” Flexes his hand over the steering wheel. “My love…” Flexes his hand over the gear shift. “...is my country.”

And he slams on the accelerator.

God I hope I heard that right. I honestly thought he was gonna say his lover was his car, though.

ANYWAY SO NOW IS THE TIME! They go racing up the tower, hit some stray stuff left over from the construction, lose speed, are they going to make it?? and Conan wraps the seatbelt around his hand, turns on his power-kick shoe, opens the car door as the car launches off the top of this sky scraper, gets a soccer ball out of the belt, and uses the propulsion of this car going at over 180 kph and the frankly ridiculous power of this shoe, and kicks the soccer ball into the falling satellite capsule. This knocks it JUST off course enough so it only grazes the Plot Device Island Tower, sheering some of its support cables and landing in the harbor beyond in a spectacular splash of water and rain of debris. The tower and the people in it are saved!

Conan and Amuro? Well, they’re plummeting to the earth. Amuro, in mid air, grabs Conan to his chest, pulls out his gun and starts shooting at the window of another nearby skyscraper that they’re about to fall into. It manages to break the glass enough for them to crash through. Amuro looks like he gets cut up pretty bad but seems to be okay. They have a Talk about Morality, I think, because they were throwing that kyorikusha word around a lot, and then Amuro turns and walks off and Conan goes the other way.

And…. that’s basically that.

Here’s the crazy thing: it was right about here that an earthquake hit my theatre. I am not kidding you. It wasn’t bad, but it was noticeable (and the theatre was on the 6th floor, so it was a little spooky) and it was DEFINITELY distracting. So the credits were rolling right as the quake was winding down and I was checking my earthquake app on my phone-- Did that really just happen?? Wow, huh, yes, yes it did-- and so I missed some of the wrap-up scenes that play during the credits. Eri and Kogoro almost made up, and then Eri cooked for him, and he complained about it, and they started fighting again, and Ran looked Defeated, and then, fortunately, Amuro came to knock on the door with ham sandwiches from Poirot downstairs. I am personally convinced he still has their apartment bugged.

The credits themselves are drone footage of Tokyo and also slot machines and fancy casino stuff because of plot device island I guess.

The post credits scene is the detective boys lamenting the loss of the drone and Agasa getting talked into possibly building another one.

And now, the moment you’ve been waiting for: the hint for the next movie!! It has Kaito Kid! It’ll be out next year during golden week!

So, that’s it! Like I said, and like I’m sure you can tell, you need to take this with a bit of a grain of salt, because my Japanese is really very spotty. I feel like I got out of that what your average second grader would understand of the film. It was fun! It wasn’t the best film they’ve ever made, but it certainly has some nice set piece moments and is generally a good time to watch. I hope you guys can enjoy it properly soon! Possibly someone with better Japanese skills than me will see it soon and can fill in the holes in my summary. Thanks for listening to me talk about Conan!

[libraryscarf]

happy, happy, happiest of birthdays to my beautiful wife @themusicalbookworm. I wrote you a fic about Riza literally just having a nice time and enjoying herself at the Rockbell-Elric wedding. I hope you like it. <3 <3 <3

charming, in its own way ( ao3 / ff.net )

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Roy Mustang muttered, rather louder than was necessary. “Fullmetal made it through without imploding.”

In front of their gathered friends, neighbors, what seemed to be half the Amestrian military and more than a few rowdy chimeras, Edward Elric and Winry Rockbell shared their first kiss as husband and wife.

“Sir,” Riza said, sighing gently. “Please don’t ruin this for him.”

The ceremony was short, and quickly followed by the sound of multiple champagne bottles being popped open, and the tuning of an unorthodox quartet. Breda carefully assembled a gleaming flute, while Fuery hauled a tuba out of a case twice his size. Sig Curtis tightened the strings of an upright bass, and Garfiel, still sniffling wetly from the emotional turbulence of the ceremony, tested the keys of his accordion. As they began to play, Ed and Winry swept onto the swath of shorn grass that served as a dance floor, and were met with riotous applause

“Don’t trip, Fullmetal!” Roy crowed. Riza put her heel heavily on his instep, and he yelped.

Ed did not trip. In fact, it quickly became obvious that he was unable to hear or see anything else. His eyes never strayed from Winry’s soft, rosy smile.

“Some bubbly, Riz?” Rebecca Catalina asked, appeared at Riza’s side holding two champagne flutes.

“Please,” Riza said gratefully, taking the glass her friend held out to her.

“What, none for me?” Roy asked in a hurt tone.

“Nope!” Rebecca laughed buoyantly, sashaying into the crowd and appearing on the dance floor moments later with Zampano, who looked like he wasn’t quite sure how he had ended up there.

Riza looked at the dancers, her eyes smiling as she found Alphonse and Winry, who laughed as they waltzed, while Ed twirled Pinako around the dance floor like she weighed no more than a broomstick.

Roy turned to her and chivalrously offered his arm.

“Care to dance, Hawkeye?”

A sword materialized between them, smacking Roy’s hand with the flat and sending him stumbling backward.

“H-hey! Olivier—!”

“That’s General Armstrong to you, buffoon.”

The general sheathed her sword, and greeted Riza with a terse nod. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, captain.”

Riza gathered herself quickly enough to return the nod. “Likewise, general.”

Roy slunk around behind Riza, shielding half his body as Olivier Armstrong measured him up and down with eyes as cold as ice chips.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, forsaking any semblance of gallantry.

Armstrong looked at him down her nose.

“I consider the Elric brothers to be the sons I never had,” she said, inscrutably. Riza couldn’t tell if she was serious.

“Oh,” said Roy, at a loss for words.

“Shouldn’t you stop sniveling behind your subordinate and ask me to dance?” Armstrong asked. Riza could only give him a sympathetic half-smile as Roy offered the general his hand and escorted her to the dance floor—looking rather more like he was being led to the firing squad.

Riza finished her champagne, and snagged another glass from the trays traveling among the guests. She skirted the dance floor, avoiding interested eyes as she searched for an empty seat at one of the round, white-draped tables.

“Over here!” someone called to her, and Riza turned to see Alphonse waving at her from a nearby table. She smiled warmly at him as she took the seat he offered.

“This is such a beautiful wedding,” she said with sincerity. White and gold paper lanterns bloomed from wires strung between the trees, bathing the grassy reception in a fairyland glow. After the first few dances, the quartet had disbanded. They were replaced by a gramophone that wafted a soft, yearning melody over the crowd.

“Thank you,” Al said. The tips of his ears turned pink. “I did most of it. They needed someone tall.”

“Well, you have a wonderful eye for decoration.”

The pink spread from Al’s ears to his cheeks. “Actually, all of that was Winry. And Granny. And May. And Paninya.” He sighed. “Actually…everyone else except me.”

Riza chuckled generously.

“Still, they needed someone tall, didn’t they?”

She held up her glass. Al, after hesitating for a moment, grinned and clinked his against it.

“Yes, they did.”

The evening got cooler, and above the music of the gramophone, crickets began to sing. As the champagne flowed, along with other, stronger spirits, the party grew louder. Riza was on her third flute, and beginning to feel quite floaty in the head.

Roy stumbled off the dance floor and collapsed in the chair next to her, which had been left abandoned by Al once May pulled him aside for some “advice about the snack table,” and had never returned.

“It’s a war zone out there,” he wheezed, and slumped against her shoulder. “Comfort me, captain.”

Riza patted him professionally on the back. “There, there, sir.”

“I had to dance twice with Olivier—she led, by the way—and then I ended up having to congratulate Fullmetal for fifteen minutes, and of course to be polite I danced with his wife (lovely young lady, far too pretty for him)—and, Hawkeye, he glared at me the entire time, you’d think I had some sort of reputation—and then Breda spilled sauce down his shirt so I helped him clean it up, and then I looked for you, but ended up talking to Fullmetal again—did you know he’s been compiling some ancient Aerugan and Cretan alchemical records? Turns out their name for human transmutation was something like: ‘really bad idea,’ or maybe, ‘if you enjoy having limbs, don’t do this’—the old translation was kind of tough to parse…”

Riza tuned him out as he waxed on about alchemy for a bit longer. The champagne was making her chest feel very light.

“…And then I finally found you again, all the way here in the back by yourself,” he finished at last. He removed his weight from her shoulder, and Riza found herself missing it.

“I wasn’t alone the whole time,” she said honestly.

“Have you danced with anyone yet?” Roy asked.

“No,” she said.

“Good.”

His eyes found hers.

“I wanted to be your first dance tonight,” he said in a completely different tone: low and secretive.

Riza hoped it was merely the alcohol in her blood making it sing. Before she could respond, Rebecca collapsed without preamble into the chair on her other side, kicking her shoes onto the grass and rolling her ankles rapturously.

“What are the chances I could get either of you to massage my feet?” she groaned.

“Bad,” said Riza.

“I’ll do it,” offered Roy.

“No you won’t,” said Havoc, appearing on Rebecca’s other side. He handed her a glass of water, then sat down to pull her feet into his lap.

“You are the perfect man,” she sighed.

Riza stood up, stretching her spine.

“I’ll leave you two to…whatever this is.” She waved at Havoc and Rebecca. “I think it’s time I said hello to Edward and Winry.”

“I’ll come with you,” Roy said, standing quickly. They made it approximately fifteen steps before Gracia Hughes caught sight of them, tugging a drowsy Elicia in her wake as she came to say hello. Riza, after hugging both of them, excused herself.

Roy raised his eyebrows at her. Running off again?

She shook her head slightly, tilting her chin toward a flash of white in the crowd. Later.

He smiled in understanding, and carried on his conversation with Gracia while Riza worked her way over to Ed and Winry.

“Hawkeye!” said the groom joyfully as she approached. Then, catching himself, “I mean, uh. Captain!”

“Hawkeye is fine, Ed,” she said, laughing a bit as she hugged him. “You might even consider calling me Riza these days.”

Ed shivered at the thought.

“Nope. I’ll stick with Hawkeye. You still scare me.”

“Ed—!” rebuked Winry half-heartedly, and Riza turned to her. She could only assume the girl hadn’t been getting much sleep the past several days, but you would never know it from her appearance. When Winry’s face broke into a huge smile, Riza suddenly understood why Ed had been unable to look anywhere else.

“I’m so happy you could come, Miss Riza,” she said, her eyes shining.

Riza gave the bride a long, tight hug, and for the first time since the wedding had started, tears stung the back of her throat and the corners of her eyes. After letting go of Winry, she looked between the two of them, at their young faces lit from within with impossible delight.

“You both have my deepest congratulations,” she said with utmost sincerity. “I don’t think either of you could have chosen better.”

Ed blushed, and stammered out a thanks. Winry gazed at him fondly, and his stammering got worse.

“Articulate as always, Fullmetal,” said a deep voice from behind her, as Roy came up to her side.

“Shut up,” Ed muttered.

“Good evening, captain,” Roy said. His voice was close to her ear, making her heart slam against her ribcage.

“Good evening, sir,” she said calmly.

“Is your next dance spoken for?” he asked, offering her his arm.

“Actually—” Ed began to extend his hand, but his new wife elbowed him hard, and he swallowed the words. A secret, scheming smile was playing around the corners of Winry Rockbell-Elric’s mouth, and Ed knew better than to get in the way when she wore that look.

“It is not,” said Riza, truthfully.

“Then, shall we?”

They walked together to the dance floor, which was far more empty at this point in the night. Only four or five other couples still swayed to the music of the gramophone. Roy put one arm around her waist, tugging her close as his other hand took hold of hers.

Their dance was silent for a few minutes: a wordless communication of step and rhythm. Riza could feel that her cheeks were flushed from the champagne.

“It’s been a little while since we danced,” Roy said. The hand on her waist tightened as they did a half-spin.

“A few years,” she confirmed. Her hand crept slowly, slowly, from his shoulder to the back of his neck.

“We should make an effort to do it more often,” he said. “I think you might be rusty.”

“That’s entirely possible, sir.”

They circled and dipped, mirroring each other seamlessly. A few of the other dancers stepped off the dance floor, and the lights seemed to dim. The music from the gramophone changed, loosened from a waltz into something freer, sweeter.

Roy dropped her hand, and for a moment she thought the dance was ending. But rather than letting her go, he put both hands on her hips, sliding them up to her waist as he pulled her closer. Riza’s nose touched his shoulder, brushing the rough fabric of his dress uniform. After taking a moment to steady her breath, she wound both arms around his neck.

“You know,” he said. His breath was warm on her ear, and goosebumps prickled along her neck. “This whole ‘wedding’ thing is charming, in its own way.”

Riza shut her eyes. “I agree. Very charming.”

They swayed.

“I’d like to try it myself, if the time is ever right,” he said. His voice cracked, ruining the nonchalance of his words. “What do you think, Hawkeye? Is it a good idea?”

“A lot of people seem to think so,” she said, trying to ignore how she could feel his heartbeat against hers.

Roy chuckled. His arms around her were very, very warm.

“Someday, perhaps,” he murmured into her hair.

She rested her forehead against his shoulder. The music was soft, dying.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Maybe someday.”

[aion-rsa]

Best Horror Movies Streaming on HBO Max

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Editor’s Note: This post is updated monthly. Bookmark this page and come back every month to see the new horror movies on HBO Max.

Updated for October 2020

What ever would we do without horror?

So much of our daily life is built around logic and known, verifiable facts, and for some, the rest of the time must be supplemented with comforting reassurances that everything is going to be alright. Well if the last year has taught us anything… that’s not the case. Perhaps this is why horror hounds know the best way to face abstract fears is to confront them head on… and preferably with a screen in the way.

So, with Halloween around the corner, we figured it’s time to get in touch with our illogical, terrified animal brain. That’s where horror and horror movies in particular come in. Gathered here are the best horror movies on HBO Max for your scaring needs.

Alien

“In space, no one can hear you scream,” the tagline for Ridley Scott’s 1979 sci-fi/horror epic promised. Well maybe they should have screened this thing in space because I’m sure all that audiences in theaters did was scream.

Alien has since evolved into a heady, science fiction franchise that has stretched out for decades. The original film, however, is a small-scale, terrifyingly claustrophobic thriller.

Altered States

What if you could tap into the vast swaths of the brain you never use? What if you did and didn’t like what we found? And what if it was an absolute psychedelic rush of a cinematic experience?

All three questions are answered in their own way during Ken Russell’s Altered States, a wild sci-fi thriller. In the film, William Hurt stars as a psychologist who begins experimenting with taking hallucinatory drugs while in a sensory depravation tank.

Yes, he manages to expand his consciousness; he also begins to expand his physical body as it transforms beneath his skin. Or does it? Well that’s yet another good question…

An American Werewolf in London

Arguably the definitive werewolf movie, John Landis’ 1981 horror masterpiece has the single greatest on-screen lycanthropic transformation in movie history… and that’s only one of its appeals.

Peppered with loving references to the werewolf movies that came before it and a few legitimate laughs to go along with the scares, An American Werewolf in London is remarkably knowing and self-aware, without ever flirting with parody.

Read more

Movies

An American Werewolf in London Is Still the Best Horror Reimagining

By David Crow

Movies

13 Must-See Werewolf Movies

By Mike Cecchini

Not enough can be said about Rick Baker’s practical effects, which extend beyond the aforementioned on-screen transformation and into one of the most gruesome depictions of a werewolf attack aftermath you’re ever likely to see. A classic of the era, it still can get under the skin whenever Griffin Dunne’s mutilated corpse rises from the grave to warn his friend to “beware the moon.”

The Brood

I bet you never thought placenta could look so tasty, but when Samantha Eggar’s Nola Carveth licks her newborn clean you’ll be craving seconds within the hour. She brings feline intuition to female troubles. We get it. Having a new baby can be scary. Having a brood is terrifying. Feminine power is the most horrifying of all for male directors used to being in control.

David Cronenberg takes couples therapy one step too far in his 1979 psychological body-horror film, The Brood. When it came out critics called it reprehensible trash, but it is the writer-director’s most traditional horror story. Oliver Reed plays with mental illness like Bill Sikes played with the kids as Hal Raglan, the psychotherapist treating the ex-wife of Frank Carveth (Art Hindle). The film starts slow, unfolding its drama through cuts and bruises.

Read more

Movies

Best Horror Movies on Netflix: Scariest Films to Stream

By David Crow and 2 others

Movies

Katharine Isabelle on How Ginger Snaps Explored the Horror of Womanhood

By Rosie Fletcher

Cronenberg unintentionally modifies the body of the Kramer vs. Kramer story in The Brood, but the murderous munchkins at the external womb of the film want a little more than undercooked French toast.

Carnival of Souls

Carnival of Souls may be the most unlikely of chillers to appear in the Criterion Collection. Hailing from the great state of Kansas and helmed by commercial director Herk Harvey, who was looking for his big break in features, there is something hand-crafted about the whole affair. There’s also something unmistakably eerie.

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Movies

Carnival Of Souls: The Strange Story Behind the Greatest Horror Movie You’ve Never Seen

By Joshua Winning

Movies

A24 Horror Movies Ranked From Worst to Best

By David Crow and 3 others

The story is fairly basic campfire boilerplate, following a woman (Candace Hilligoss) who survives a car crash but is then haunted by the sound of music and visions of the ghoulish dead–beckoning her toward a decrepit carnival abandoned some years earlier–and the acting can leave something to be desired. But the dreadful dreamlike atmosphere is irresistible.

With a strong sense of fatalism and inescapable doom, the film takes an almost melodic and disinterested gait as it stalks its heroine to her inevitable end, presenting images of the walking dead that linger in the mind long after the credits roll.

The Curse of Frankenstein

Hammer is probably best remembered now for its series of Christopher Lee-starring Dracula movies. Yet its oddball Frankenstein franchise deserves recognition too. While Hammer’s efforts certainly pale in comparison to the Frankenstein movies produced by Universal Pictures in the 1930s and ’40s, the Hammer ones remain distinctly unique. Whereas the Creature was the star of the earlier films, so much so the studio kept changing the actor beneath the Jack Pierce makeup after Boris Karloff got fed up three movies in, the not-so-good doctor leads the Hammer alternatives.

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Movies

The Conjuring Timeline Explained: From The Nun to Annabelle Comes Home

By Daniel Kurland

Books

Frankenstein Adaptations Are Almost Never Frankenstein Adaptations

By Kayti Burt

Indeed, between bouts of playing the almost sickeningly pious Abraham Van Helsing, Peter Cushing portrayed a perverse and dastardly Victor Frankenstein at Hammer, and it all begins with The Curse of Frankenstein. It isn’t necessarily the best movie in the series, but it introduces us to Cushing’s cruel scientist, played here as less mad than malevolent.

It also features Christopher Lee in wonderfully grotesque monster makeup. This is the film where Hammer began forming an identity that would become infamous in the realm of horror.

The Conjuring 2

Making an effective, truly spooky mainstream horror film is hard enough. But The Conjuring franchise really nailed things out of the gate with a sequel that is every bit as fun and terrifying as the original.

Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga return as paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren in The Conjuring 2. This time the Warrens head to Great Britain to attend to the Hodgson family, dealing with some poltergeist problems in their Enfield home. The source of the Enfield haunting’s activity contains some of the most disturbing and terrifying visuals in the entire Conjuring franchise and helped to set up a (sadly pretty bad) spinoff sequel in The Nun.

Doctor Sleep

Let’s be up front about this: Doctor Sleep is not The Shining. For some that fact will make this sequel’s existence unforgivable. Yet there is a stoic beauty and creepy despair just waiting to be experienced by those willing to accept Doctor Sleep on its own terms.

Directed by one of the genre’s modern masters, Mike Flanagan, the movie had the unenviable task of combining one of King’s most disappointing texts with the opposing sensibilities of Stanley Kubrick’s singular The Shining adaptation.

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Movies

Doctor Sleep Director Mike Flanagan on the Possibility of The Shining 3

By John Saavedra

Movies

Doctor Sleep: Rebecca Ferguson on Becoming the New Shining Villain

By John Saavedra

And yet, the result is an effective thriller about lifelong regrets and trauma personified by the ghostly specters of the Overlook Hotel. But they’re far from the only horrors here. Rebecca Ferguson is absolutely chilling as the smiling villain Rose the Hat, and the scene where she and other literal energy vampires descend upon young Jacob Tremblay is the stuff of nightmares. Genuinely, it’s a scene you won’t forget, for better or worse….

Dracula Has Risen from the Grave

Hammer Films’ fourth Dracula movie, and third to star the ever reluctant Christopher Lee, is by some fans’ account the most entertaining one. While it lacks the polish and ultimate respectability of Lee’s first outing as the vampire, Horror of Dracula (which you can read more about below), just as it is missing the invaluable Peter Cushing, Dracula Has Risen from the Grave arrived in 1968 at the crossroads of Hammer’s pulpy aesthetic. Their films had not yet devolved into exploitative shlock as they would a few years later, but the censors seemingly were throwing up their hands and allowing for the studio’s vampires to be meaner, bloodier, and sexier.

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Movies

Taste the Blood of Dracula: A Hidden Hammer Films Gem

By Don Kaye

In this particular romp, Dracula has indeed risen from the grave (yes, again!) because of the good intentions of one German monsignor (Rupert Davies). The religious leader is in central Europe to save souls, but the local denizens of a village won’t go to a church caught in the shadow of Castle Dracula. So the priest exorcises the structure, oblivious that his sidekick is also accidentally dripping blood into the mouth of Dracula’s corpse down the river. Boom he’s back!

And yet, our fair Count can’t enter his home anymore. So for revenge, Dracula follows the monsignor to his house and lays eyes on the patriarch’s comely young niece (Veronica Carlson). You can probably figure out the rest.

Eraserhead

“In Heaven, everything is fine,” sings the Lady in the Radiator in Eraserhead. “You’ve got your good things, and I’ve got mine.”

You may get something short of paradise, but the insular world David Lynch created for his 1977 experimental existential horror film is a land of mundane wonders, commonplace mysteries, and extremely awkward dinner conversations. Lynch’s first feature film is surrealistic, expressionistic, and musically comic. The minor key score and jarring black and white images bring half-lives to the industrial backdrop and exquisite squalor. At its heart though, Eraserhead is poignant, sad, and ultimately relatable on a universal level.

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TV

Buffy: The Animated Series – The Buffy the Vampire Slayer Spin-Off That Never Was

By Caroline Preece

Games

How Scorn Turned the Art of H.R. Giger into a Nightmarish Horror Game World

By John Saavedra

Jack Nance’s Henry Spencer is the spiky-haired everyman. He works hard at his job, cares deeply for his deformed, mutant child, and is desperate to please his extended family. Lynch lays a comedy of manners in a rude, crude city. The film is an assault on the senses, and it might take a little while for the viewer’s brains to adjust to the images on the screen; it is a different reality, and not an entirely inviting one, but stick with it. Once you’re in with the in-laws, you’re home free. When you make it to the end, you can tell your friends you watched all of Eraserhead. When they ask you what it’s about, you can tell them you saw it.

Eyes Without a Face

“I’ve done so much wrong to perform this miracle,” Doctor Génessier (Pierre Brasseur) confesses in the 1960 horror film Eyes Without a Face. But he says it in French, making it all so much more poignant, allowing it to underscore everything director and co-writer Georges Franju did right. We feel for the respectable plastic surgeon forced to do monstrous things. But the monster behind the title character is his young daughter Christiane (Édith Scob). She spends the majority of the film behind a mask, even more featureless than the unpainted plastic Captain Kirk kid’s costume Michael Myers wore in Halloween. The first time we see her face though, the shock wears off quickly and we are more moved than terrified. 

Like Val Lewton films, the horror comes from the desolate black-and-white atmosphere, shrouding the claustrophobic suspense in German Expressionism. Maurice Jarre’s score evokes a Gothic carnival as much as a mad scientist’s laboratory. After his daughter’s face is hideously disfigured in an accident, Dr. Génessier becomes obsessed with trying to restore it. We aren’t shown much, until we’re shown too much. We see his heterograft surgical procedure in real time. A woman’s face is slowly flayed from the muscle. The graphic scenes pack more of a visceral shock after all the encroaching dread.

Godzilla

As the original and by far still the best Godzilla movie ever produced, this 1954 classic (originally titled Gojira), is one of the many great Showa Era classics that the Criterion Collection and HBO Max are making readily available to American audiences. And if you want to watch one that is actually scary, look no further.

In this original uncut Japanese form, the movie’s genuine dread of nuclear devastation, as well as nightly air raids, less than 10 years since World War II ended in several mushroom clouds, is overwhelming. Tapping into the real cultural anxiety of a nation left marred by the memory of its dead, as well as the recent incident of a fishing crew being contaminated by unannounced hydrogen bomb testing at Bikini Atoll, Godzilla encapsulates terror for the atomic age in a giant lizard.

Read more

Movies

Godzilla: First 15 Showa Era Movies Ranked

By Don Kaye

Movies

Godzilla 1998: What Went Wrong With the Roland Emmerich Movie?

By Jim Knipfel

And unlike the sequels there is nothing cuddly or amusing about this original Kaiju with its scarred body and legion of tumors. This is the one Godzilla movie to play it straight, and it still plays today.

Horror of Dracula

Replacing Bela Lugosi as Dracula was not easily done in 1958. It’s still not easily done now. Which makes the fact that Christopher Lee turned Bram Stoker’s vampire into his own screen legend in Horror of Dracula all the more remarkable. Filmed in vivid color by director Terence Fisher, Horror of Dracula brought gushing bright red to the movie vampire, which up until then had been mostly relegated to black and white shadows.

Read more

Culture

The Bleeding Heart of Dracula

By David Crow

TV

BBC/Netflix Dracula’s Behind-the-Scenes Set Secrets

By Louisa Mellor

With its penchant for gore and heaving bosoms, Horror of Dracula set the template for what became Hammer Film Productions’ singular brand of horror iconography, but it’s also done rather tastefully the first time out here, not least of all because of Lee bring this aggressively cold-blooded version of Stoker’s monster to life. It’s all business with this guy.

Conversely, Abraham Van Helsing was never more dashing than when played by Peter Cushing in this movie. The film turned both into genre stars, and paved the way for a career of doing this dance time and again.

The Invisible Man

After years of false starts and failed attempts at resurrecting the classic Universal Monsters, Universal Pictures finally figured out how to make it work: They called Blumhouse Productions.

Yep, Jason Blum’s home for micro-budgeted modern horror worked wonders alongside writer-director Leigh Whannell in updating the classic 1933 James Whale movie, and the H.G. Wells novel on which it is based, for the 21st century.

Read more

Movies

How Jason Blum Changed Horror Movies

By Rosie Fletcher

Movies

How The Invisible Man Channels the Original Tale

By Don Kaye

Turning the story of a man who masters invisibility into a horrific experience told from the vantage of the woman trying to escape his toxic violence, The Invisible Man becomes a disquieting allegory for the #MeToo era. It also is a devastating showcase for Elisabeth Moss who is compelling as Cecilia, the abused and gaslighted woman that barely found the will to escape, yet will now have to discover more strength since everyone around her shrugs off the idea of her dead ex coming back as an invisible man…

Lifeforce

Most assuredly a horror movie for a very acquired taste, there are few who would call Tobe Hooper’s career-destroying Lifeforce a good movie. There probably aren’t even many who would call it a fun movie. But for those with a singular taste for batshit pulp run amok, Lifeforce needs to be seen to be believed: Naked French vampire girls from outer space! Hordes of extras as zombies marauding through downtown London! Lush Henry Mancini music over special effects way outside of Cannon Films’ budget!!! Patrick Stewart as an authority figure possessed by said naked French space vampire, trying to seduce an astronaut via makeout sessions?!

Read more

Movies

Tobe Hooper’s Lifeforce: Space Vampires, Comets, and Nudity

By Ryan Lambie

Movies

The Mummy and Lifeforce: The Strange Parallels

By Ryan Lambie

… What is this movie? Why does it exist? We don’t know, but we’re probably more glad it does than the people who made it.

Magic

As much a psychological case study as as a traditional horror movie, for those who like their terror rooted in humanity, Magic may be the creepiest iteration of the “killer doll” subgenre since this is about the man who thinks his dummy is alive. Starring Anthony Hopkins before he was Hannibal, or had a “Sir” in front of his name, Magic is the brain child of William Goldman, who adapted his own novel into this movie before he’d go on to do the same for The Princess Bride (as well as adapt Stephen King’s Misery), but after he’d already written Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and Marathon Man.

In the film, Hopkins stars as Corky, a down on his luck ventriloquist who tries to get his life together by tracking down his high school sweetheart (Ann-Margret). She’ll soon probably wish he didn’t bother once she realizes Corky believes his ventriloquist dummy Fats really is magic… and is determined to get him to act on the most heinous of impulses.

The Most Dangerous Game

Before King Kong, Merian C. Cooper and Ernest B. Schoedsack released The Most Dangerous Game, one of the all-time great pulp movies, based on a short story by Richard Connell. This classic has influenced everything from Predator to The Running Man, The Hunger Games to Ready or Not.

It’s the story of a big game hunter who shipwrecks on a remote island with an eccentric Russian Count who escaped the Bolshevik Revolution (Leslie Banks). The wayward noble now drinks, studies, and charms his apparently frequent array of unannounced guests, including two other survivors from a previous (suspicious) wreck. The film quickly boils down to a mad rich man determined to hunt his guests as prey across the island for the ultimate thrill.

Read more

Movies

The Most Dangerous Game That Never Ends

By David Crow

Culture

Why King Kong Can Never Escape His Past

By David Crow

Man hunting man, man lusting after woman in a queasy pre-Code fashion, this is a primal throwback to adventure yarns of the 19th century, which were still relatively recent in 1932. Shot simultaneously with King Kong, this is 63 brisk minutes of excitement, dread, and delicious overacting. Let the games begin.

Night of the Living Dead

“They’re coming to get you, Barbara!”

The zombie movie that more or less invented our modern understanding of what a zombie movie is, there is little new that can be said about George A. Romero’s original guts and brains classic, Night of the Living Dead. Shot in black and white and on almost no budget, the film reimagined zombies as a horde of ravenous flesh-eaters, as opposed to a lowly servant of the damned and enchanted.

Read more

Movies

Night of the Living Dead: The Many Sequels, Remakes, and Spinoffs

By Alex Carter

Games

The George Romero Resident Evil Movie You Never Saw

By David Crow

Still visually striking in black and white, perhaps the key reason to go back to the zombie movie that started it all is due to how tragically potent its central conflict from 1968 remains: When strangers are forced to join forces and barricade in a farmhouse to survive a zombie invasion, the wealthy white businessman is constantly at odds with the young Black man in the group, to the point of drawing weapons…

Ready or Not

The surprise horror joy of 2019, Ready or Not was a wicked breath of fresh air from the creative team Radio Silence. With a star-making lead turn by Samara Weaving, the movie is essentially a reworking of The Most Dangerous Game where a bride is being hunted by her groom’s entire wedding party on the night of their nuptials.

It’s a nutty premise that has a delicious (and broad) satirical subtext about the indulgences and eccentricities of the rich, as the would-be extended family of Grace (Weaving) is only pursuing her because they’re convinced a grandfather made a deal with the Devil for their wealth–and to keep it they must step on those beneath them every generation. Well step, shoot, stab, and ritualistically sacrifice in this cruelest game of hide and seek ever. Come for the gonzo high-concept and stay for the supremely satisfying ending.

Sisters

One of the scariest things about the 1972 psychological thriller Sisters is the subliminal sounds of bones creaking and muscles readjusting during the slasher scenes. Margot Kidder plays both title characters: conjoined twins, French Canadian model Danielle Breton and asylum-committed Dominique Blanchion, who had been surgically separated. Director Brian De Palma puts the movie together like a feature-long presentation of the shower scene in Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho. The camera lingers over bodies, bloodied or pristine, mobile or prone, with fetishistic glee before instilling the crime scenes in the mind’s eye. He allows longtime Hitchcock composer Bernard Herrmann to assault the ear.

Read more

Movies

Ready or Not Ending Explained

By David Crow

Movies

Best Horror Movies on Amazon Prime Right Now

By Alec Bojalad and 3 others

De Palma was inspired by a photograph of Masha and Dasha Krivoshlyapova, Russian conjoined twins with seemingly polarized temperaments. There may be no deeper bond than blood, which the film has plenty of, but the real alter ego comes from splitscreen compositions and an outside intruder. The voyeuristic delight culminates in a surgical dream sequence with freaks, geeks, a giant, and dwarves. Nothing is as it seems and an out-of-order telephone is a triggering reminder.

Us

Jordan Peele’s debut feature Get Out was a near instant horror classic so anticipation was high for his follow-up. Thanks to an excellent script, Peele’s deep appreciation of pop culture, and some stellar performances, Us mostly lived up to the hype.

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Movies

Us Ending Explained

By David Crow

Movies

Us: How Jeremiah 11:11 Fits in Jordan Peele Movie

By Rosie Fletcher

The film tells the story of the Wilson family from Santa Cruz. After a seemingly normal trip to a summer home and the beach, Adelaide (Lupita Nyong’o), Gabe (Winston Duke) and their two kids are confronted by their own doppelgangers, are weird, barely verbal, and wearing red. But then Adelaide is not terribly surprised given her own personal childhood traumas. And that’s only the beginning of the horror at play. Fittingly, Us feels like a feature length Twilight Zone concept done right.

Vampyr

A nigh silent picture, Vampyr came at a point of transition for its director Carl Th. Dreyer. The Danish filmmaker, who often worked in Germany and France at this time, was making only his second “talkie” when he mounted this vampire opus. That might be why the movie is largely absent of dialogue. The plot, which focuses on a young man journeying to a village that is under the thrall of a vampire, owes much to Bram Stoker’s Dracula as well as F.W. Murnau’s Nosferatu from some years earlier.

Yet there horror fans should seek Vampyr out, if for no other reason than the stunning visuals and cinematography. Alternating between German Expressionist influences in its use to shadows to unsettling images crafted in naturalistic light, such as a boatman carrying an ominous scythe, this a a classic of mood and atmosphere. Better still is when they combine, such as when the scythe comes back to bedevil a woman sleeping, trapping us all in her nightmare. Even if its narrative has been told better, before and after, there’s a reason this movie’s iconography lingers nearly a century later.

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[salt-moon]

Prompt #24: Standing In Line

(This story is about my farm girl Ruthanne, who resides at @ruthanne-winter.  For the ease of organization for @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast, however, I will be posting this here to my main blog and simply reblogging it to Ruth’s, where it belongs.  I AM SO SORRY THIS IS SO LONG.)

Few things on Hydaelyn compared, for Ruthie, to the languid, warm scent of ocean waves colliding with hot sand.  Shot through with the exotic smell of fresh coconut and rolanberry ices, that particular perfume was perfection to her.  But a close runner up was the fragrance of Limsa Lominsa’s annual Starlight Market.  Yeasty cinnamon rolls, spiced and sugar crusted nuts, crisp pine needles, and mulled wine and apple cider married together into the quintessential Starlight memory, one that every La Noscean could conjure up again in their minds even in the middle of summer.

It was a feast for all the senses, not just the nose.  There were carols of course, cherubic voices harmonizing with silver handbells, and jovial laughter of all octaves.  A constant din of chatter blanketed the white stone streets and enveloped the entire market, punctuated with the occasional amplified barker, reminding the crowd of some raffle or other.  The eyes had plenty to distract them as well, not just the wares and food being sold, or even the carolers, but the lights.  Oh, the lights were a thing to behold, strung and hung from every available surface in the city and reflecting off the water in a near illusion of mirrored infinity.

This year, White Willow Farm had a massive booth, trimmed from corner to corner with homemade pom-pom garlands in white, silver, and periwinkle.  Simple, but elegant wooden snowflake and star ornaments hung on small rosemary bushes, decorating the farm-grown plants into special little Starlight trees.  They’d brought products old and new, from honey to winter produce, Ruthie’s own hand-made wooden bowls, fragrant birch fire logs, Clara’s knitted woolen mittens and hats, herb bundles, freshly baked pies, and more.  As the evening wore on, the stall only became busier and busier.

“Where in The Navigator’s name is Finneas??” Ruthie hissed as she turned away from the throng of eager customers to wrap up an intended gift.  She was wearing a sleeveless, jewel-toned, velvet navy dress, complete with white fur along the bust and hem, as well as a matching hat and wrist cuffs.  Clara glanced around in search of their missing brother, swatting her husband away in the process.  He was more of a nuisance than not in this fast paced environment, having never tried vending with them before.  “Go find him, would you please, Nathaniel?  We’re swamped!”

“Yeh, of course, of course!”  Truthfully, he was happy for the respite, and he slipped away from the chaos without giving Clara a chance to change her mind.  She rolled her eyes as he jogged out of sight, and sighed.  “He means well, but honestly.”

“He’s all right.  We’re used to it, s’all.”  As she tied the twine around the gift, she narrowed her eyes, muttering more to herself than her sister.  “Tho who’s not all right is Finneas.  He’d best be dead or dying.”

“Mm?” asked Clara rather absently, already stolen away from the conversation to help another customer in line.

“Nothing,” Ruth replied, and she too turned back to the counter with the gift in hand.  “Here you go, Mrs. Beollan!”  Her smile was as bright as the sun, round cheeks pinker than usual with the heat of moving around.  She handed over the package with a wink.  “You make sure you give Mr. Beollan our regards, okay?”  A conspiratorial grin tugged at her lips as she leaned in and whispered above the din.  “Hide this where he can’t find it this year!”

The older woman chuckled and shook her head, sighing with a certain defeated amusement as she took the package from Ruthanne.  “Bless him, he’s just like a boy even at this age.  Searches for his presents every year!”  Reaching out with a thin, wrinkled hand, she took Ruthie’s and gave it a gentle squeeze.  “Thank ya, dear.  You’ve grown up to be such a lovely thing.”

The Winter Family had known the Beollans for as long as Ruth could remember, and they’d never been anything but wonderful.  Through the years they insisted on buying their produce almost exclusively from White Willow Farm, and each and every year they exchanged holiday cards.  Both husband and wife had been at Meredith’s funeral, and to this day Ruthie remembered the peppermint candy Mr. Beollan had given her on the steps of the church that morning.

She placed her other hand on top of Mrs. Beollan’s, fingers taut and pink in contrast to the older ones, and with a soft smile, she patted it gently.  “Happy Starlight.”

“Happy Starlight, dear,” the older woman replied.  With a wave to the others, she turned and made her way back through the throng of people.  Ruth watched with bright eyes, following her with her gaze until the sounds of the next customer reached her ears.  Just as she began to turn back to the line, though, she spied an all-too-familiar spiky swath of green hair.

Finneas.

She narrowed her eyes at him, standing under a street lamp tangled in an embrace with the girl he’d been seeing lately.  “You sorry sack of…”

“I’m sorry?”  The Elezen standing on the other side of the counter raised an eyebrow at Ruthanne, fairly certain she was about to say something not at all too flattering.  “I’m only wondering if there are any squash pies left…”  He turned his head to the side just a bit, trying to glance in the direction Ruth had been looking.  

“Oh!”  She shook her head furiously and pressed her hands to her face.  “I’m so sorry, sir, I’m just…”  Her cheeks turned pinker still, and she fanned herself.  “It’s awfully hot back here, I was just…”  She bit her lip and dismissed everything she was saying with a wave of her hand.  “I’m sorry, yes.  Yes!”  With a jovial, charming smile she gestured to a line of beautiful pies behind her.  “With or without cinnamon sugar on top?”

By the time Finneas skidded to a halt behind the counter of their booth, breathless and red-faced, the Elezen was gone with a lovely pie in hand.  Discounted, of course, for Ruthie’s rudeness.  She blinked at her brother with a wide-eyed expression of surprise.  “Finneas!  Where’ve you been??  We’ve been slammed for over an hour now!”  Tad and Clara were both busy trying to thin out the line as fast as they could, and Ruth had her hands literally full with a basket of produce.

“Sorry, sorry, I know!  This old man had lost his carriage wheel on the way over tho, busted it clean in two on a huge rock.”  He shook his head as if it was a hugely annoying experience, and he pulled on a white velvet Starlight hat that was hiding behind the counter.  “I figured I couldn’t just ride by and leave him like an ass!”

Unseen by Finneas as she added more produce to the basket, she narrowed her eyes.  “Ah, no, wouldn’t want to be an ass, would you?”  Busted carriage wheel indeed.  Whereabouts, in his girlfriend’s dress?  The irritation in her voice was clear though.

“I’m really sorry, Annie!”  He chuckled at her sour mood, in too good of one himself to let her aggravation at his lateness ruin his night.  “I’m here now!”  He put his hands on his hips and turned to look at the crowd.  “Line doesn’t look… toooo… bad?”  Finn deflated a bit when the depth and breadth of the crowd began to register with him.  “...Shit,” he muttered.

Ruthanne could only smile.  “Get to it!”

By the time the market had wound down and all the holiday cheer had been dispersed, The Line had finally disappeared.  There was still quite of bit of work ahead, breaking down their booth and packing everything back into their cart to head back to the farm.  But Ruthanne made sure that she took time to have a chat with her brother.  Clapping him on the shoulder from behind, she gave a great heave of a sigh, and a tired smile.  

“Pretty good night tonight then, mm?”

Finn folded his arms over his chest and looked around at the few unsold items here and there.  “Like… really good.”  He grinned over his shoulder to Ruthie, teeth tugging on his lips in an undeniable crooked tilt.  Ruthie’s brother was a pretty good liar, but he hadn’t yet learned how to cover up his “I totally got laid” face.  

She chuckled softly and patted his shoulder a few times, her other hand on her hip.  “Finn, Finn, Finn.  Finneas.”  The little silver bell on the tip of her hat jingled as she shook her head.  “Look, it was really gallant of you to stop and help that old man with his carriage, but I gotta tell ya…”  Her fingers reached up to her brother’s collar and tugged it to the side to reveal a wide sweep of faded, berry-colored lipstick.  “I’m starting to wonder how he repaid you.”

A panicked realization spread over Finn’s face like a gradual freeze, his grin disappearing, his lips parting, his eyes widening.  In the end, it was that expression that stuck, paralyzing him in the terror of his discovered lie.  “Ah… I…”

Ruthanne wrapped her fingers around his collar and tugged him close, murmuring near his cheek with a threatening bent to her voice.  “See that vendor across the way, there?  The one right next to the street lamp you and your girl were snogging under?”  He stiffened, caught.   “Mm, the sausage and pepper vendor.  Really good, Finn, I wish you could have had some.  I ate it all though, and the buttered cabbage that daddy had sent over to us.”

A wash of confusion melted over Finn’s brow, and he tried to look at his sister.

“You are the worst liar, and payback is a bitch..  Tonight, when you least expect it, Finn… you’re goin’ in the dutch oven.”