#but since john refused to allow himself to see it as anything beyond a hook up (even if he coveted javier and abigail like a jealous lover)

[newhanovere]

hi all i’m here to say i think john marston is often unintentionally selfish and when it’s pointed out to him that he was manipulative towards his partners he makes this face and means it

[xxdragonwriterxx]

🔥Pain... Love It🔥

A/N: What’s this? Wolfy didn’t write a 20 page mess of word vomit? Yeah, I finally did it and wrote a short fic! It’s only about 1.4k words! I got this idea from HTTYD with the relationship between Astrid & Hiccup when they first start to fall in love so if you see some similarities in there, that is where my inspiration from this fic came from (hence the title)! This fic is also my first fic that is gender neutral! I figured I ought to try something new for this blog and I want more people to feel included! I am more than willing to do this again or write for male readers if that’s what you guys want, just let me know and I’ll make it happen! I hope you enjoy this quick one shot!

🐉 Song Recommendation: “Astrid Goes For a Spin” By: John Powell 🐉

~~~

(Y/N) propped their palms on the ground, their eyes blazing with anger and hurt as they pushed themselves out of the dirt and stood, once again repositioning themselves into a fighting stance as they turned to face their opponent. Levi continued to watch them, just as he had been doing for the past couple hours, with a bored look on his face, his fists raised and his eyes dark with fury. He looked as if he were fighting an enemy, his scowl fierce and his knuckles split from the hours of sparring the two had been doing ever since they returned from the expedition.

(Y/N) felt their legs shake, but they forced themselves to stand their ground. They were exhausted, sweaty, and emotionally drained, but they refused to crumble before their captain, who had deemed it necessary to beat them into the ground upon returning to the walls. They knew they had fucked up, knew they had disobeyed his orders and gone rogue, but they had only done it to save his life. They had expected him to be annoyed but thankful, at least feeling an inkling of gratitude for rescuing him. They had realized when he had approached them with a dark scowl on his face just how much they had underestimated the captain’s reaction.

But what were they supposed to do? Stand by and watch him die? They knew he was Humanity’s Strongest Soldier for a reason but even he wasn’t invincible. The panic they had felt when they had glanced over and seen him latched in the grasp of a huge abnormal, his gear broken and his leg injured, was indescribable, and they had acted without thinking. They had heard their fellow soldiers shouting at them to stop, they had heard the commander yell their name, but they had ignored all of them, their senses overwhelmed with thoughts of Levi and how to get him to safety. They had killed the abnormal titan with some difficulty, the beast proving to be smarter than they originally pegged it for, but they had eventually cut it down, swooping in to grab Levi and bring him back to the group. They hadn’t expected any kind of reward or gratitude, they weren't pining for attention, they had just wanted to save their comrade. But his reaction towards them had been harsh and confusing, their brain fraying slightly as it tried to make sense of everything. Maybe he was just embarrassed that one of his cadets had had to save him on a mission?

(Y/N) didn’t know, but whatever it was, they found they didn’t care. Nothing would make them regret their decision to save his life. Levi was special, important, not just to humanity, but to them as well. (Y/N) would die before they admitted it, but they would be lying if their choice to save him hadn’t also been influenced by their love of the surly raven. 

Standing tall, (Y/N) shoved down the rush of pain and soreness that washed over their body and raised their fists higher, their eyes sparkling as they faced Levi, challenging him. They watched his eyes darken even more, watched as they narrowed and swirled with anger unlike anything they had ever seen before. It made their confidence falter slightly, as if they were facing the eyes of death, but they swallowed their fear and forced themselves to concentrate. No matter how upset he was, they knew he wouldn’t hurt them beyond repair, nor would he kill them. (Y/N) would take whatever he had to offer with their head up high, show him that no matter what he did, they would not apologize for risking themselves to save him.

Levi moved before they could blink, his movements so quick they barely had time to block. (Y/N) flew back but managed to stay on their feet, their muscles screaming in protest as they rotated on the spot, a kick aimed for his head. Levi darted to the side and grabbed ahold of their leg before it could hit the ground, using the newfound leverage to yank them off their feet, their back slamming into the dirt for at least the tenth time.

“That is for disobeying orders,” Levi growled through gritted teeth, his eyes swimming with icy fire.

(Y/N) pushed themselves back to their feet but they were on the ground again before they had even risen back up to their full height, the weight of his boot coming to rest painfully on their chest as they coughed for air.

“That is for being a reckless idiot.”

(Y/N) bared their teeth and shoved his foot from their chest, coughing the dust from their lungs as they stumbled back into a standing position. Levi’s right hook came at them like a bullet and they just barely had time to raise their arm in a block before it connected with their forearm, the spot aching with what they already knew would be a nasty bruise later.

“That is for unnecessarily putting your own life at risk,” Levi snarled, his voice cracking slightly.

(Y/N) loosed an animalistic growl and launched at him, the propulsion sending them right into his arms as their strategic mind left them entirely, their entire system focused on knocking him to the ground for once. Levi stumbled back from the impact but managed to pull himself together before he was sent into the dirt and spun them around, pinning (Y/N) to a nearby tree that they hadn’t even known was there.

His arm kept them pinned to the trunk, his body leaning against theirs to keep them from writhing out of his grip. He was so close, his warm breath fanning out over their face as he leaned in to place his lips near their ear. They tried to hide them, but they knew he could feel the shivers that skittered down their spine when his soft lips brushed against their skin.

“That is for scaring me to death,” Levi whispered, making (Y/N) lean back to look him in the eyes, confusion swirling in their (e/c) gaze.

Suddenly, Levi grabbed their collar and yanked them forward, smashing his lips to theirs and swallowing the muffled squeak they released into his mouth. The kiss was demanding but sweet, firm but passionate, telling them it was their choice. They could either kiss him back or move away from him, but they had to move. The shock finally faded a bit as his mouth moved against theirs, and they closed their eyes, their arms wrapping around his shoulders to bring him closer.

Levi groaned and lapped at their lips, a shiver spidering through his body when they opened their mouth without hesitation, wrapping their tongue around his and lapping at the roof of his mouth. Levi slipped his own tongue between their lips and danced with theirs, crushing them against the tree with a panting gasp as he finally indulged himself in the fantasy he’d had for years. The  pair only parted when the need for oxygen  became too great, both of them red-faced and breathless as they fought to wrap their heads around what had just happened.

“That,” Levi panted softly, “is for saving my life.”

Just as soon as he had come, Levi disappeared, pushing away from them and shaking his head, as if still trying to get a hold of himself. His eyes wandered over their form one last time, taking them in unashamedly, before allowing his  expressionless mask to slip back into place, turning on his heel to head back to headquarters.

(Y/N) touched their lips, their chest still heaving with excitement and shock, the warmth of  his lips on theirs seeping into their fingertips. It was surely the last thing they had expected to come from this interaction with their captain, but who were they to complain? They winced a little as they pushed off of the tree trunk to find the nearest shower, and made a mental note to rip into him later for nearly breaking their body before kissing them.

Despite themselves, a smile played on their lips the entire walk to their room, their eyes bright as they thought about everything that had happened. They knew they were going to have to talk, have to figure out what was going on between them and what they were going to do to move forward, especially on future expeditions, but if it meant (Y/N) got the chance to love him without fear of judgement or rejection, then they were ready for whatever the world wanted to throw at them.

[imaginesandinserts]

Irreverent Pt. 59 - Through the Looking Glass

Title: Irreverent Pt. 59 - Through the Looking Glass

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~3K

Irreverent Series Masterlist

The sun feels warm despite the light breeze rustling the leaves as you tilt your head up, propping it against the back of the bench and close your eyes. You can pick up the sounds of children playing nearby, the distant noise of the road half a mile away, and the movement of the trees as you bask in the moment of peace.

When you finally sit up straight once more, you can see Aaron and Jack still standing at the side of the lake, feeding the ducks. You'd taken it in turns, staying with him as he went through the two loaves of bread. You wouldn't be surprised to wake up tomorrow and find ducks sitting in your front lawn, having followed your far too generous son home.

From beside you, you hear a low rumbling laugh as Jack chases after some of the more aloof birds, trying to get them to partake in his offering as well. Smiling easily, you look up and meet John's eye briefly before you both return to watching Jack terrorize one of the swans in his insistence on feeding it. Must be on a low carb diet.

Satisfied that he was still occupied and Aaron didn't seem to need to tap either of you in, you turn back to your bench companion, fixing him with a pointed look.

He rolls his eyes good naturedly at you, before slumping back and wordlessly giving you permission to ask what you'd been dying to know ever since he'd arrived earlier that morning.

"So, how's it going with Denise?" You draw out the girl's name, a teasing smile on your face. You know that whatever happened must be good. When you'd asked him that, first thing at his arrival, only to be interrupted by Jack's excited voice at his Uncle's arrival, John had merely muttered that he'd tell you later. If he didn't want Jack overhearing, it had to be good.

John shifts, turning and leaning his side against the back of the bench so that he can face you better, leg bent up onto the seat. At the look of bated glee on your face, he shakes his head, quickly dissuading you of any positive sentiments regarding what he was about to reveal.

"I ended it," he admits with a sigh, watching your face crumple in disappointment.

"Why, what happened?" you prod, clearly displeased. You'd thought things with him and Denise were going well. They'd been on three dates already and based on what John had told you and Aaron last time, she was promising. Far more promising than Heather from two months ago. He'd brought that one along to Emily's birthday party that you'd hosted at your new place, and from the moment she'd opened her mouth and made a comment about how Instagrammable your foyer was, it had been downhill.

John's face morphs into a rueful sort of smile. "Honestly? She was a little too freaky for me."

You let his words sink in, the incredulous pull of your eyebrows betraying exactly how ridiculous you found his statement.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." He knows how that sounds to you, especially coming from him. He runs a hand through his hair, glancing around once more to make sure that Jack isn't about to walk in on anything he shouldn't overhear. "Let's just say we weren't compatible?"

You scoff, but let him get away with just that. Maybe later, after dinner and drinks, he'd be more forthcoming around the details. Though what this girl could've possibly done that was too freaky was beyond you. John wasn't exactly a prude.

"Well, we'll just have to keep trying. Maeve has a few friends that work with her at the lab. I can ask her to see if any of them are single. Cece might know some people she'd be willing to hook you up with – none of her friends, of course. Or, maybe we try online dating? Though it's an abhorrent cesspool of the worst society has to offer, but who knows, maybe someone will emerge as a good candidate."

John smiles at your hopeful tone, allowing you to continue chatting about the various ways he could go about snagging a girlfriend. He knows a large part of your insistence on finding someone for him stems from guilt. He and Aaron had talked about it, with your persistence in finding him a girl growing in magnitude and intensity the closer it got to your impending nuptials. It was as though you were scared that him seeing you marry someone, without having someone by his side, would tear him apart. He's been stalling having that conversation with you. He's not about to crumble at the sight of you marrying someone that isn't him. Hell, even Cece wasn't worried about him anymore. The last time he'd seen her and her kids for brunch, she'd actually given him her own bill of health to attend your wedding. Aaron was right – he had to talk to you about it soon.

" – and well of course we'd get Pen to run a background check because who knows with the internet really. Should try to avoid the catfishers or the crazy serial killers with a vendetta against beautiful blond men – "

Your tirade is interrupted by someone calling your name, causing both you and John to start, breaking away from your conversation to look in the direction the voice had come from.

"Cedric!" Your face turns up at the sight of the man making his way towards the two of you, bearing a smile that could light up any room. John's eyebrows rise, recognizing the name from a few weekends back when he'd been over.

You pointedly ignore his expression as the both you stand to greet Cedric as he approaches, looking wonderfully windswept in jogging clothes. Of course he jogs on a Saturday morning.

The only reason John even knew about Cedric was because he'd been around for the Great Champagne Debacle of 2012. After yet another delivered case of Dom Pérignon, Aaron had had an entirely uncharacteristic breakdown, insisting that you communicate with Cedric Kensington and inform him that you were very much taken and did not need him or his champagne.

"If it's about getting the shipment, I'll get you a monthly shipment," he'd protested in the face of your refusal to go out of your way to call someone you'd briefly dated to inform them that you were taken, thank you very much. You'd told him that it wasn't as if Cedric was placing the order himself. More than likely, he had asked his assistant to do it once and had simply forgotten to tell her to stop once the two of you had ended.

It had been entirely bizarre to see Aaron so worked up over something seemingly small, and you refused to placate whatever insecurity was behind it. Annoyingly, John had been on Aaron's side of it all and the two of them had drank a little too much and added Cedric's name to the mailing list for wedding invitations. Cedric Kensington was a complete class act. The shipment after that was accompanied by balloons and a giant Congratulations sign, much to both of their shame and your complete amusement. It wasn't Cedric's fault that the men in your life were incapable of understanding when someone was kind and giving without expecting a single thing in return.

"It's good to see you again," he greets you with a quick peck to your cheek before turning to the man beside you. "This must be Aaron, congratulations man." He sticks his hand out towards John to shake.

"Thankfully, no," John responds, meeting Cedric's outstretched hand, a smirk on his face as he looks at you to clarify. This was hardly the first time someone had made that particular mistake, especially given that both Jack and John had light hair compared to Aaron's darker locks. You suppose you could see how people made that particular mistake, and the three of you were starting to get a sense of humor about it. Some joke about sister wives had made the rounds one time too many, resulting in you pelting the two of them with pillows with Jack as your second in command.

"Cedric, this is John," you clarify, trying and almost succeeding at hiding your exasperation with him. "He's a friend. But Aaron is actually –" You break off to look around, spotting him and Jack a little further away from where they'd been the last time. You'd really like for your husband-to-be, to meet the man whose champagne him and his new best friend had gotten drunk off of. The story of how John had earned that title had resulted in more than one person upset with Aaron. Namely, you, who had to corral the two of them back home – a feat that was remarkable and which you did not get nearly enough credit for accomplishing on your own – and David Rossi, who until that moment had considered himself to be Aaron's best friend and had not taken kindly to being dethroned. Aaron was still making it up to Dave.

"I'll send him over," John says, nodding at Cedric before walking towards the lake to trade spots with Aaron. Jack still had some bread left to go.

"How're you?" you ask, turning back to Cedric. Of all the men you'd dated between John and Aaron, he was hands down the favorite.

Cedric fills you in on how the business was doing and in turn you were able to share an abridged version of how you were doing as well, as the two of you waited for Aaron to make his way over.

"With the consolidation, I think I'm going to be in DC a lot more," he shares, unknowingly planting a seed in your head.

Right then, you feel Aaron walking up behind you, and turning, in the distance you can make out John chasing after Jack as he races to feed that one difficult swan.

"You must be Aaron," Cedric stands straighter and meets Aaron's eyes, reaching a hand out towards him. "Congratulations, you're a lucky man."

Aaron smiles at that. "Oh, I know."

You watch as the two of them smile and shake hands, exchanging pleasantries. If you didn't know better, you wouldn't have been able to tell that your fiancé had been incredibly bothered by this man only a few weeks back. You can only imagine what John had said to him when he'd gone over to send him your way.

"Hope we'll be seeing you at the wedding," Aaron remarks, an arm winding around your waist.

Cedric smiles and nods. "It's already on my calendar."

"Good!" you exclaim. "There's someone I want you to meet."

He chuckles and agrees, no doubt knowing you're about to set him up with someone.

As Cedric takes his leave, Aaron turns to you slightly bashful, his eyes finding yours with the hint of an apology in them. "He seems like a nice guy."

Your elbow meets the soft part of his stomach as you duck out from his hold. "He is a nice guy. Honestly," you huff, shaking your head. "You and John need to cool it."

"Hey, I'm not the one who added his name to the list," Aaron protests, unwittingly bringing up an argument that was only freshly buried. He hurries to catch up with you as you make your way towards the lake.

"Yeah, but you didn't exactly stop the guy who did, now did you?" You try to keep your face severe in an attempt to get him to grovel just a little bit more, but your amusement at the entire turn of events ends up betraying you.

With a soft laugh and a shrug in apology, he moves his hand down to hold yours as the two of you continue to walk towards where Jack has now managed to talk John into carrying him around atop his shoulders so he can feed (terrorize) the birds attempting to fly past.

"You want him to meet Garcia?" he guesses, brow quirking up in some interest.

You nod. Elliot Greenberg and Penelope had broken up a few months back, citing irreconcilable differences on both their parts and they'd both been rather hush hush about the matter. You figure setting her up with Cedric – well renowned tech tycoon – might help cheer her up. Plus, he was obviously looking to settle down. Who knows, it could work out.

As you approach, both Jack and John turn towards the two of you.

"Mom! Uncle John said we can go to the Zoo tomorrow. Can we?" Jack's cherubic cheeks and hopeful smile look down at you from atop John's shoulders, eyes pleading with you to take him to the Zoo once more so he could sit in front of the giraffe habitat for an hour.

No matter how long it's been since he started calling you Mom, it still tugs at your heartstrings. However, that didn't mean you were about to take that kid to the Zoo for the third time in as many months.

You raise a disapproving eyebrow at John, as Aaron goes to help Jack off of his shoulders. "Sorry buddy, Mom and I have an appointment with the wedding planner tomorrow," Aaron tells him, setting Jack down with an exaggerated groan. "But, you know, I bet Uncle John would love to take you on his own."

You meet Aaron's eyes with a matching smirk, knowing he had no intention of going to the Zoo tomorrow either. If the two of you could wrangle John into free babysitting for the day, then all the better. You were sure the two of you could manage to find some way to occupy yourselves.

Jack's hopeful gaze turns up to John who rolls his eyes at both you and Aaron before telling Jack that Of course he'd take him to the Zoo.

The four of you walk back towards the parking lot, John and Jack racing up ahead while you and Aaron bring up the rear hand in hand. On the drive back, Jack manages to convince you to stop and pick up ice cream and a DVD for the night. Sometime during the latter half of the movie, nestled against Aaron's chest, your eye wanders over to Jack and John on the other couch. Jack's splayed out all across John's space, feet wedged in underneath John's thigh. You can tell he's about seconds from passing out and you weren't too far behind. Your eyes meet John's, sinking into a quick, easy smile before he turns his attention back towards the screen. You end up staring a moment longer, taking in the sight of him and Jack being close in a manner you wouldn't have thought possible even six months ago.

From behind you, Aaron shifts, adjusting you in his arms and cradling your head against his shoulder. You look up to see his deep brown eyes tracing your features, having long forgotten the movie on the screen. It's like he knows exactly what you'd been thinking, his eyes flickering momentarily to the other couch before returning to yours, a peaceful smile gracing his face. With a quick squeeze to his arm, you shuffle closer to him, allowing his warmth to lull you to sleep.

[ty-talks-comics]

Best of DC: Week of August 21st, 2019

Best of this Week: Superman: Year One - Book Two - Frank Miller, John Romita Jr., Danny Miki, Alex Sinclair and John Workman

Superman has always stood for Truth, Justice and the American Way. 

This has never been more true (arguably) than right here in Superman: Year One, where Clark Kent becomes a US Navy Sailor. I briefly touched upon it at the end of the last issue, but this one really resonated with me in a way that no comic has in a little while. Other books have made me feel feelings of fear, disgust and elation beyond compare, but this one makes me feel the bittersweet memories of my own experience.

I remembered my first haircut, carrying my seabag across the base, marching and all of the PT (physical training) that I had to endure for those grueling two months. Clark isn’t fazed by any of it. It takes a few clippers to cut his dense hair. He breezes through the PT, noting how hard it is for everyone else to do and when he has to qualify for using a pistol, he hits the mark dead center every single shot. There were a few superstars like Clark when I was in boot camp and seeing that written and excellently drawn by John Romita Jr., made me feel something of a kinship to one of my favorite heroes.

You can see the struggle in his shipmates faces as they sweat and heave with Clark monologuing in his mind that he can hear their lungs about to burst or their legs about to give out. That shit was me. Every single PT test leaving me winded, marching at a double time… I hated every second of it. But through all of it, I felt proud. I wanted to get through, to push myself harder than I ever could. 

Clark doesn’t feel that. How could he? He’s an alien from another planet with abilities beyond compare and he could do anything he set his mind to. But what does he choose to instead? He answers the call of duty, he chooses to serve his country and his fellow man. It’s ridiculous, but at the same time absolutely commendable and inspiring. If I were to level criticism at the first two acts of this book, however, it would definitely be the lack of real feeling of camaraderie that Sailors feel together in Boot Camp. Never once do we see Clark interact with his shipmates in any meaningful way, aside from his Captain later on. The feeling of pride is there, but the friendships and relationships that come with it does leave a little bit of the story feeling hollow in favor of a less than great, but still good subplot later.

Another problem I have is… I don’t know how accurate print media and comics are allowed to be with military rank and titles, but Kurtzberg is supposed to be a Captain, but wears the insignia of a Petty Officer Second Class and Chief Petty Officer at two separate points. It’s a mildly irritating and nitpicky thing, but what can you do?

Of course, Clark's path diverges greatly from my own. A little bit before the pistol qualification section, he gains the attention of a Captain Kurtzberg and after his perfect scores, he's allowed to try out his skills further with an assault rifle, which he also excels at. Kurtzberg recommends him for more advanced training and soon after, he trains to become a Navy SEAL. I don’t have a singular clue as to what the SEAL lifestyle is like, but training he’s made to endure is even worse, though you wouldn’t know it from how he reacts to it all.

It’s here at SEAL training that the first seeds of the subplot, later becoming the hook of Act Three are sewn. Clark begins to hear the calling of the sea. It’s something that some deployed Sailors still feel to this day, the Siren Song or Mermaid Call that drives most men mad with how beautiful their voices are. Kurtzberg calls Clark out during one evening of PT and makes him to push ups on the shore of the beach after Clark tells him that the Captain should see how pretty “they” are. Unable to sleep during the night, Clark sneaks out of his barracks to watch the beings on the coast when Kurtzber appears next to him, warning him to not tell anyone about what they’ve seen as Kurzberg too knows of their beauty and the world of wonders that they live in. 

If you’ve been reading Superman stories for a long period of time, things may start to click as what or who may be calling Clark. After our hero accidentally starts a bar fight while trying to defend the honor of a woman, he’s punished by having to use his toothbrush to clean the head (bathroom) and garbage cans. After finishing his chores way into the night, he makes a dummy in his rack (bed) and sets off to explore the sea, taking to the water like a fish since he doesn’t actually need oxygen. 

He follows the sounds of the voices calling and finally see them, Mermaids, laughing at this strange human. One in particular catches his eye, Lori Lemaris, one of Superman’s original love interests from the late 1950s. He follows her as she laughs, until her voice turns to tears, seeing a submarine having crashed into their city. In one of his first of many acts of heroism, Clark lifts the sub off of the city, saves the people and helps them rebuild just before Morning Colors. Lori begs him to stay, to become her husband and King, but he tells her that the people up there need him, but that he will be back. As always, Clark is torn between two worlds, but his first thought is always to honor his commitments because he’s such a good guy.

Romita Jrs art shines best in these few pages for me. Lori is absolutely beautiful, playful and the visuals of the underside of the ocean are stunning. Everything’s a beautiful hue of blue except for the vegetation and Lori, who’s colored with yellow and purple clothing. Clark looks amazingly strong and happily curious as he saves the people of Atlantis. Romita Jrs. lines are amazingly crisp and he makes great use of only a few hatch lines to shade things. Everything is thoroughly enjoyable to look at, even the way that everything flows under the water is awesome.

Clark manages to return back to the barracks just in time as Kurtzberg watches on, knowing where Clark’s been and thinking to himself that the young SEAL better keep those memories clean and pure because he’s witnessed something amazing. He swam with the angels. There’s a three page long training montage where Clark shows just how efficient he can be in combat, embarrassing one of his shipmates so hard that he’s pulled aside and given his first assignment.

Things take a dark turn as Clark and his team are made to infiltrate a ship that’s been hijacked by pirates. During the training, as Clark thought to himself just how easy it would be to kill, he started to get a pit in his stomach. Things weren’t sitting right, especially as Kurtzberg egged him on by saying, “That there is how to kill a man good!” This stuck with Clark as he did his bet to avoid killing any of the hijackers. He saw how monstrously they murdered the crew of the ship and he felt himself getting more angry, but he still couldn’t bring himself to take a life. 

Things reach a head as the team reaches the control deck and Clark still refuses to kill any of the enemies. Kurtzberg lambasts Clark and orders to give him some corpses, until one of the hijackers pulls out a grenade. Everyone starts to panic as the mission goes FUBAR, but Clark utilizes his strength to stop the grenade, subtly, making it seem like it was a dud. 

While he ended up saving the lives of his fellowsailors, his reckless actions reward him with an honorable discharge. Kurtzberg advocates for him, but ultimately Clark has to pack his sea bag and say goodbye to his friends. Before he departs, he has something of a heart to heart with Kurtzberg. The Captain tells him to hone his skills, that he could do amazing things with his gifts and Clark salutes him, walking into the ocean to find his destiny.

The way this scene is framed, with the lighting indicating an early morning, makes everything seem like the future is absolutely bright for Clark. Having Kurtzberg abandon his badass attitude of authority and strength to give Clark advice while shaking his hand like a man is an amazing and heartfelt sight. For the first time, Clark doesn't have to try to lower his strength, it just comes naturally.

All of this is bittersweet. Clark Kent wanted something different than his life in Smallville. He knew that he would have to hide his abilities if he stayed, he knew that he could do so much more for the world. He chose to serve his country, one of the best things a Patriot can do, but his heart was too good for it. His skill and power raised him to a position that did not align with his own moral code. Clark would never kill, but no good deed goes unpunished.

The third and final act of this book comes with Clark returning to Atlantis, seeking out his new love, Lori. She reacts happily once she sees him again, calling him the love of her life and saying that he should meet her family. Then they… frolic in their special hiding place until the next day. She tells him to wear his best as he is to finally meet her father, Lord Poseidon. He emerges from the shadows in his iconic red and blue with fish swimming all around him and the flora lighting up in his presence. 

Poseidon isn't amused, seeing Clark as a little standing frog and proceeds to put Clark through impossible tasks to win his daughters hand. Clark begins to find the true scope of his powers as he concentrates and releases his heat vision on one of the enemies. It's a stellar display of power and control as Clark monologues that this fire inside of him was his and his alone. Alex Sinclair did an amazing job of portraying the ability and powerful it is with intense and vibrant reds.

Poseidon pulls out every stop that he can to try and crush Superman. He sends his best warriors, but Clark doesn't even acknowledge them trying to crush him. Stone automatons fall to his might. A giant squid swallows him whole and vomits him back up, unfettered by the stomach acid. Becoming increasingly enraged, Poseidon summons the Kraken and uses the fabled beast to try and crush Superman to death. 

As the tentacle lifts and Lori cries, thinking her one true love has died, Clark stands right back up with a smile. Lori jumps for joy, the people are stunned and in a silent rage, Poseidon calls off the Kraken and plots revenge on the frog that he couldn't crush.

Throughout this entire act, Poseidon monologues to himself about the bug that wouldn't be crushed or burned or destroyed in any way. Clark just smiled, snickered and mocked Poseidon the entire time. There was no malice in his smirk, just the boyish exuberance of love and youth. Poseidon though Clark wanted his crown, but really he just wanted Lori, a place to finally be himself and a peace of mind that he's never truly had.

Superman: Year One has been amazing thus far. While it's only a few peoples take on what would happen if Superman joined the military, I feel like it's a great and accurate one in line with who Superman would be as a man. Given the lessons that he'd learned from Pa Kent, how could we expect him to be ready to kill at any moment? Instead, we see his compassion for humanity shine through as he's even willing to preserve the lives of absolute monsters. 

John Romita Jr. captures the apathy of an effortless Clark in his early career, the wonder when hears the beautiful call of love from the sea and the conflict of a man caught between duty and morality. To say that this is some of his best art in years would be an understatement when it concerns this entire story. While the last issue focused heavily on the vast normality of the midwestern United States, this issue feels more tight and focused on the inner turmoil of Superman. The locales feel more linear, allowing us to explore more of Clark's own inner thought processes. He is surrounded by other strong men, but he is in a league of his own until he meets Lori.

Superman: Year One is a great journey of self-discovery. Other Superman stories have tried similar themes with varying degrees of success. Superman: Earth One went in the hard direction of Superman being an apathetic douche that knows he's a God and lowers himself to the level of men until someone bigger makes him want to protect the citizens of Earth. Superman: American Alien grounded Superman near as much as this book does, but what makes them different is the journey Clark takes to find himself.

This book warmed my heart something fierce with it's incredible storytelling and art. With issue two being this good, I can only hope that the next one will be nearly as amazing. Given that the preview of the next one shows Superman holding up the Daily Planet globe, we are absolutely going to be in for a treat. 

Highest of recommends.

[mst3kproject]

307: Daddy-O

I am nearly convinced that Alphabet Antics represents some kind of early MKULTRA experiment. There’s something about the juxtaposition of the chaotic imagery and the narrator’s soothing voice… like it’s trying to put me into a trance and a seizure at the same time.  I don’t yet feel any need to ask my neighbours if they’re communists but it might take a while to sink in.

On to the movie.  Our hero is Phil, who’s sort of a prototype of Buffalo Bill from Riding With Death in that he’s a singer, a trucker, and a racecar driver all in one.  As the film opens he’s just met a girl named Janet who’s even worse at both driving and social skills than he is – clearly they were made for each other.  Sure enough, they team up to investigate the death of Phil’s nerdy friend Sonny, and discover he was making deliveries for a drug ring.  Unusually for a movie like this, they do end up agreeing to call the cops, but only after they have committed several more crimes, and this waiting nearly gets them both killed.

I don’t like Daddy-O, but that’s not so much because of anything the movie does wrong as just because it’s not the kind of film I enjoy.  As MST3K features go, it’s actually not bad – not great, certainly, but solid enough.  The race scenes aren’t all that exciting, but we’re never at a loss for what’s going on.  The exposition can be clunky, but it tells us what we need to know.  The main character doesn’t make much of an impression, but we’re only gonna be spending seventy-three minutes with him and there’s enough going on that it doesn’t matter, and the movie never tries to do anything that’s beyond its meager budget.

The music, meanwhile, is pretty good.  I’m not gonna run out and buy the album (was there an album?) but the songs are quite catchy in a good way, and the score as a whole isn’t bad. I guess that makes sense, since the John Williams who wrote it was in fact that John Williams.  Like Vilmos Zsigmund shooting Mixed-Up Zombies or J. J. Abrams mixing sound for Nightbeast, everybody’s gotta start somewhere.  The music even approaches having some story relevance: the first song Phil sings is Rock Candy Baby, about a woman whose defining feature is her sweetness, and whom the narrator views as a possession (Rock Candy Baby, you’re mine).  Wait’ll I Get You Home suggests a less innocent relationship, in which both parties are a little more aggressive – he directs this towards Marcia, but we are meant to see that his tastes have changed as he grows to like the abrasive Janet.

Why he likes her I don’t know. I don’t know why any of us are supposed to like Janet (it’s so weird to think there was a time when that name could belong to a cute blonde in a sports car, rather than a woman who wants to speak to your manager).  She’s smug and rude the first time we meet her, lies in the knowledge that the road workers will take her side because boobies, and only changes her attitude towards Phil when she realizes he could make a pretty convincing case that she’s a murderer.  She’s supposed to be a ‘liberated woman’, doing what she wants and keeping the company that pleases her, but Phil disapproves of this and so does the movie.

The way Phil behaves towards Janet isn’t particularly admirable, either.  He talks down to her and manhandles her, and declares several times that if she were a man he’d punch her.  I hope nobody in my audience is the type of clown who’d ask ‘if women are equal does that mean men are allowed to hit them?’ but in case somebody is: I don’t think people should hit each other at all, outside of in self-defense or sports that require it.  Since neither of these apply to Phil and Janet then no, he should not hit her, no matter how obnoxious she’s being, and this would be true if she were a man, too.

Why are we supposed to root for these two to hook up?  None of their interactions are romantic and their arguments, rather than building sexual tension, just make it look like they can’t stand each other.  The ‘rivals to lovers’ trope was already old when Shakespeare did it, but Much Ado About Nothing makes it clear from the beginning that Beatrice and Benedick are actually rather fond of each other and enjoy their insult contests.  When our first interaction between our romantic leads has one party threatening to deck the other, that doesn’t work.

Another character I don’t quite get is Daddy-O’s criminal mastermind, Mr. Sidney Chillas.  Between his way of talking and his love of steam baths and manicures, I have a feeling he might be a gay stereotype of some sort, but I don’t know enough about the 50’s mindset to say.  He seems to think very highly of himself, particularly his intellect, and yet his reasons for hiring Phil don’t make much sense.  If he were half as smart as he claimed to be he would have turned this man away as soon as he learned that Phil had been taking an interest in Sonny’s death – or at least watched him far more closely, as he implied to his lackeys he would.

Is this the joke, that Chillas thinks he’s smart and he’s not? If so, it should be a repeated source of humour, rather than just a single doozy of a stupid mistake.  Or is he actually supposed to be a brilliant strategist and businessman?  Because if that’s the case, then I don’t buy it.

Chillas’ questionable intelligence is linked to another thing in the plot that doesn’t work – it seems to be a complete coincidence that he decides he wants to hire Phil.  When I sat down to watch the movie again, I remembered it as Phil deliberately seeking employment with Chillas in order to find out what happened to Sonny.  I think this is supposed to be part of the reason, but it’s mostly implied, and it’s Chillas who approaches Phil in the club to talk employment with him.  At this point he should have already seen that Phil was hanging out with Sonny the night the latter was murdered.  Or if Chillas sought out Phil specifically to keep an eye on him (or indeed, both), that would work, too, but Chillas specifically says he does not find Phil suspicious.  The movie has already had a big coincidence when Sonny just happens to die along the route where Phil and Janet were racing.  It’s not allowed a second one.

Other than that, though, the movie works pretty well.  Events follow one another in a fairly logical sequence, and the clue that Sonny left exists for a reason other than being A Clue. Daddy-O really isn’t trying to teach us anything, but that’s okay.  All a movie really has to do is tell an engaging story, although ones that don’t have a psychological theme often end up feeling, as this one does, a bit unsatisfying.  The only thing it really emphasizes and returns to is that women are bad drivers.

Janet’s driving and her bad manners are the focus of what I guess is her character arc – at the beginning she’s driving like a madwoman and nearly causing accidents just to entertain herself, at the end she’s using her skills to deliver Chillas’ lackeys to the police.  At the beginning she’s rude and abrasive to Phil, by the end she’s fallen in love with him.  We’re not given any better a reason why she likes him than for him to like her. He’s been a jerk to her, too.

Phil’s arc is supposed to be falling in love with Janet, and that’s pretty much it.  He doesn’t learn anything much about himself or the world in the process.  It seems like he ought to confront the fact that his best friend, Sonny, didn’t trust him with the truth – shouldn’t there be some angst about that, or the fact that Sonny didn’t ask Phil for help paying for his mother’s treatment rather than turning to a life of crime?  Between that and the fact that Janet turns out to be a lot nicer once you get to know her, the movie could have been about how you can never be sure you know somebody, but they didn’t bother.

The friendship between Phil and Sonny was particularly poorly-handled. Phil says, some people have brothers, I had Sonny, but this is the epitome of telling rather than showing.  When we see the two interact, Sonny refuses to talk about what’s bothering, gives Phil a locker key, and vanishes.  We know nothing about Sonny other than that he apparently wasn’t too bright (he hid the drugs in his locker at a gym owned by a guy he must know works for Chillas), and so we find it hard to get involved in Phil’s quest to find out what happened to him.  We believe far more in Phil’s driving skills because we saw those in the opening sequence. It’s disappointing that the later scenes mostly just show him at a steering wheel in front of a projection screen, but because we’ve already seen him on the road, we can believe in it.

The problems in Daddy-O are pretty easy to pick out, and could have been fixed with just one more script rewrite – none of them would have required more money or even better actors, and they would have made the whole story much more satisfying and meaningful.  The movie as it is works well enough for a crummy B-picture, but just a little more work could have made it an A.  It was also supposed to be career musician Dick Contino’s big break into film, but he ended up being in only four movies between 1958 and 1960 before deciding it just wasn’t worth it.  Since one of the other three was Girls Town, that means no less than half his entire filmography was featured on MST3K!

[mybeautifuldecay]

All Debts Paid: 303 Alt Au: Alive.

I did write an Alt Au for 302...but it isn’t finished. So I’ll just leave this here instead. 

--

The restraints rubbed against his wrists, the blunt metal scraping away at his already sore skin. Jamie, tired and numb from his three day hike across the moors of lowland Scotland, wasn't in the mood for conversation. Lord John, having been on his horse the entire time, wasn’t of the same mind.

“It's been three days,” he sighed feigning nonchalance. “You have to talk to me at some point.”

Falling over his feet again, Jamie grunted as he caught himself and tugged against his bindings. Digging his heels into the moist dirt, he gritted his teeth and pulled harder. “It’s no better than slavery,” he mumbled, disdain lacing his tone.

John halted the horse and dismounted. His lithe movement caught Jamie off guard and he had to bend his knees quickly to stop himself from falling face forward into the mud.

“It’s no such thing, Mr Fraser. It is simply an indenture. Would you have preferred the colonies?”

Jamie shrugged his shoulders, rolling them as he righted himself and scowled in Lord John's direction. “How would ye ken what I wanted? Since ye didna have the pluck to ask me…”

Rolling his eyes, John searched in his pockets for the keys to the chains. “You’re a prisoner of the crown, Mr Fraser. A fact you should probably remember before dismissing my motives as less than reputable towards you. As it goes,” he continued not giving Jamie a chance to answer, “there wouldn’t have been much point in asking your opinion on the matter. Your freedom is not something I have any control over. But you should be grateful, this situation is better than any of the other options the governors were discussing. And….luckily, my suggestion was accepted.”

“And here we are,” Jamie replied.

“Yes, here we are.” John retorted with more than a little bit of sarcasm added. The mist was starting to gust around them and the border looked depressingly close to both men.

“Where are ye to take me, then.” Jamie asked, resigned.

“To a little place just a few miles south of Carlisle. A manor. With a Lady in residence who is in need of a groom. I expect you’re good with horses, Fraser, given your past excursions.”

Jamie laughed a little, a smile pulling at his lips as he toyed with the rope that attached his manacles to the saddle of Grey’s horse. “Aye, I suppose ye could assume that. Good for you, you’re right.”

“So, you’re not completely averse to this turn of events then?”

Squinting his eyes, Jamie looked up, allowing the side wind to blow the fresh moisture against his filthy face. “I dinna have a choice in this, do I?”

“No, you don’t.” Grey acquiesced, finally approaching Jamie with the key held out ready. “Since we don’t have that far to go, I’m happy for you to walk on your own.” Quirking a brow at Jamie, John slipped the key into the lock and gathered up the cuffs. “Lady Elizabeth won’t be at the manor when we get there, but she’s promised me that her head of household will greet us. After that, I’ll come by once a quarter to ensure your wellbeing.”

Wrapping his arms around his waist, Jamie nodded, his eyes holding Grey's for just a second before focusing ahead of him into the distance. The fog was descending but the lush green still stood clear on the horizon. Taking one breath, he took one look back at Scotland assuming it to be the last glance he’d get for a while.

“We should keep going, if you’re inclined to follow me,” Grey said, his thoughts quickly turning to the time and its fast passing. “I don’t particularly wish to spend another night on the road.”

—

As luck had it, over the horizon, just as the sun was beginning to dip beneath the tree line, the large house came into view. Dismounting once more, John waited for Jamie to catch up before walking the final few steps through the Cumbrian wilds towards their final destination.

“Just one piece of advice, Fraser, before I leave you here. It’s well known to the household that Lady Elizabeth isn’t disposed to traitors. It seems she lost someone she cared for during the rising too. If I were you, I’d consider your name carefully. Maybe you’d consider something less…recognisable?”

Nodding, Jamie rubbed his sore wrists. “Thank ye,” he said, his words strong and honest as he eyed up the large wrought iron gates that lay before them. Beyond he could hear the current household going about their daily duties. Somewhere close by, a horse brayed as the stable hands closed the stalls for the day.

“Feel free to introduce yourself, then,” Grey finished as a heavy-set man approached.

“Lord Grey?” He questioned, his deep booming voice echoing through the murky night that was slowly enveloping them.

“Yes, sir. I am Lord Grey.”

“Good,” the fellow added, his gaze shifting from Grey to Jamie and back again before opening the gates and allowing them safe passage onto the long, winding drive. “You are expected. And you are?” He questioned, staring Jamie directly in the eye as if testing him.

“MacKenzie,” Jamie replied, taking John’s advice seriously whilst holding the gaze of the head of household. No matter his place on the staff, Jamie wouldn’t show any weakness. “Alexander MacKenzie…sir.”

“Hmm,” was the only response as the older gentleman smirked a little at Jamie’s show of verbal strength. “Keep your head down, MacKenzie, and you’ll do. I’m Mr Porter to you.”

Completing his dealings with Mr Porter, John prepared to leave Jamie. Mounting his horse he gave one gentle nod to the subdued Scot, his eyes soft as he clicked his horse onwards. “Tell Lady Elizabeth that I’ll be back come spring, Mr Porter,” he said, his eyes not leaving Jamie’s as he turned.

Jamie watched as Grey disappeared into the night before turning back to face Mr Porter. No matter the events that had transpired between them during those quiet moments in Ardsmuir, Jamie would miss the man. Alone once more, he got the feeling that Porter might not be too keen on his sudden arrival.

Mr Porter, growing tepid and bored coughed, his throat clearing nothing to do with the onset of a cold. “You’ll sleep in the cots above the stables, MacKenzie, with the other men. Lady Elizabeth won’t be back for a couple of days. When she arrives here you’ll stay out of the way until she’s settled. Then,” he said, waiting for Jamie to turn and look back at him so he could cement this sentence into the man’s brain, “and only then, will she arrange to meet you. You will not address her directly unless she expressly converses with you. Clear?”

“Aye,” Jamie replied sardonically, “crystal.”

—

His bed was small, so small that his feet hung over the end. But the blanket that’d been provided for him was soft and warm. It was odd, but it seemed that the utmost had been done to accommodate him. A complete contradiction to the impression he’d gleaned from Mr Porter. The mattress beneath him was comfy too. Soft and subtle it molded nicely to his body meaning he’d been sleeping easier than he had in years.

As expected, his bunk mates were from various background and none of them held any interest in him at all. He’d been given his duties by Porter and then simply been expected to get on with it. Which he had done with grace and finesse. Falling back into another life, Jamie grew accustomed to the company of the horses.

Lady Elizabeth, even two weeks later, was seemingly absent. The men around him spoke fondly of her, again subverting the impression Porter had relayed to him. Jamie had built up an image of her in his mind that was hauntingly similar to a lass from another time, but he refused to connect to two lest it tear his heart in two.

“Mac!” Porter called, his brusque tone sounding even more impatient than usual, “you’re wanted at the main house.”

Peering around the corner of the stables, Jamie took note of a rather large coach that was taking up a large section of the driveway. Wiping his hands against his breeks, Jamie set off for the carriage, preparing to unhook the four glorious stallions that were hooked up to the gold filigree clips.

“No, MacKenzie, fool,” Porter muttered, his deep baritone sounding fatigued, “inside the house. The others will take care of that, the mistress is back and she’s asked to meet you.” Lowering his voice further, Porter took one step closed to Jamie, his eyebrows drawn together, “remember what I told you before. Don’t do anything to cause her alarm, do you hear me? Her or the little one!”

Jamie cocked his head to the side, his forehead crinkling in confusion at the mention of a child. “Aye, sir, of course.”

—

Taking the main steps two at a time, Jamie slowed as he got closer to the door. The large wooden front had been left slightly ajar and the scent of perfume wafted through the gap. Pushing his way inside, he closed the door behind him, letting the latch click shut before taking one measured step forwards.

He didn’t know why he was filled with such trepidation, but Porter’s words seemed to haunt him as he crept closer to the bannister of the main staircase the led up to the first floor rooms of the property.

“Mi-Lady Elizabeth?” Jamie called, placing his his hand on the slick wood as he called out.

The creek alerted him to a presence to his right and he turned just in time to see a flash of red disappear. The girlish giggle echoed long after the wee lassie had disappeared from view. Jamie averted his eyes, buoyed by the laughter of his mistress's daughter even without seeing the girl.

“Mr MacKenzie?”

The voice rooted his feet to the floor, and even the memory of it send his mind spiralling.

No.

It wasn’t possible.

He was certainly hallucinating .

“It’s you, isn’t it. Truly, it’s you…”

Jamie’s hand flew to his chest as he looked up slowly. Blinking madly as if he had something in his eyes, he tried to calm the racing in his chest as he surveyed the intricate patterning on the carpet that covered the central panel of the staircase.

“Look at me….Jamie,” she said, her soft English accent stumbling across his name, his *real* name as she took one step closer to him.

He could smell her now, the fresh fragrant scent of florals, nature and female, surrounding him as his vision blurred. And he still hadn’t looked upon her…yet.

“Please look at me.” She begged, the sweet sorrow of his resurrection causing her to stutter over her words as she pleaded with him.

Unable to resist, Jamie looked up…his eyes meeting with Claire’s in mere moments.

“Dhia…” he cursed, his momentary lapse causing the Gaelic to fall from his lips. Thankfully nobody else was around to hear his slip and he swayed, the breath stolen from his lungs as he stumbled forwards. Whooshing filled his ears and Claire blurred, her beautiful face hidden behind his unshed tears as he struggled to keep his knees locked. His legs seemed to cease functioning as legs and he couldn’t find the words to say anything other than Gaelic curses, so he simply stood with his mouth hanging open.

Claire saw the moment that Jamie succumb to the shock of her appearance. Rushing forwards, she leapt off the third to last step just in time to catch him as his eyes rolled up into their sockets and he slumped forwards.

Cradling his head in her lap, she buried her fingers under the hair at his temple. “That bad, is it?” She whispered as Jamie started to twitch.

Inhaling one long, deep breath, Jamie fluttered his eyes open as he snuggled closer to Claire. Glancing upwards he tried to swallow, his mouth completely devoid of moisture now. “That bad…and worse,” he sighed, his croaky words muffled by Claire’s billowing skirts. “How, Claire?” He asked, the implication heavy in his tone as he attempted to push himself upwards.

Claire waited for Jamie to right himself before slipping her fingers across the wooden panelled floor to twin with his. Her fingers were shaky but warm as she began to heat Jamie’s frigid ones.

“Frank,” she replied, her tempered anger simmering as she spoke. “He found you whilst neglecting to tell *me*,” coughing, she dipped her head as if to distract her from the hate that she felt in having to retell this tale, “but then I had a…friend. She forged historical documents and helped me to fund a fortune and purchase a name for myself here. I couldn’t very well just turn up at Ardsmuir, could I? Lord John would know me. I had to be smarter.”

Leaning forwards, Jamie ran his nose against Claire’s as his hand rested softly against her cheek. “Ye did all of this…for me?”

“Yes,” Claire answered breathlessly, her eyes swimming with tears as she smiled and licked her lips.

“Excuse me, mistress,” he whispered, the false pretence of his status compared to hers making his words seem submissive and demure, “but I think that I might have to kiss ye…is that alright?”

Stifling a gasp, Claire nodded, her lips twitching into a small smile as she tilted her head to the left and opened her mouth, readying herself for his caress. “Yes,” she replied, her cheeks blossoming a light pink in anticipation.

“Oh christ how I’ve missed ye…Sassenach,” Jamie said, his lips grazing hers before stealing her words with a bliss-inducing kiss. Moaning lightly, he pushed himself forwards, using all the energy he had left to mould his body to hers as he lost himself in her. In Claire. In the pliant, warm form of his wife.

[somesmallfics]

Like Mother

Rating: Teen?

Fandom: The Beatles, Nowhere Boy

Finished: Not really

Summary: A ‘John meets Niki’ fic. One of many. John notices a girl that reminds him of his mum. Thinking he’ll never see her again, he’s beyond surprised to see her wandering into Paul’s birthday party (yes another Paul’s birthday fic too...) 

John is obviously not in the mood for band practice today. He can’t even be bothered to play a chord right. He just sits there, fingering random strings in random frets, picking at notes, making a horribly disordered sound. I’m not sure if he’s doing it deliberately or not, but every time I play something, he clashes with it, tossing his strumming hand down as though he were backhand slapping someone. I see his glasses in hanging in the top pocket of his black shirt. Just more proof that he doesn’t want to do anything. If he did, he might’ve put his glasses on so to see what he was playing. He’s blind without them.

Eventually, it’s just boring, trying and trying to get him to do some kind of work. I place the top of my guitar on the floor, the neck leaning up the back of the chair I’m sitting in. John looks all surprised, as though he wonders why I don’t want to do any work when he’s been doing so much. I roll my eyes.

“What do you want to do?” I ask.

His brow furrows, “Write.”

“No, you don’t. You’ve been fucking about since you got here.” I counter, kicking up onto my feet. I’ve just realised how much I need to pee.

John’s eyes follow me. He’s not pretending to be all hardworking anymore, “I wanted to write a song, not have a guitar lesson.”

I sigh, “Alright, well I’m going to pee. There’s some paper over there.” I point at the table behind where he sits. He puts his guitar down in a similar position to mine and goes to get the pad of paper and a pen.

I leave the room, strutting down the corridor. The toilet is two doors down from my bedroom where John and I had locked ourselves away for a writing session. They never seem to go well if we plan it. I guess it’s more of an ‘on a whim’ thing. John is never focused enough and I lose my patience with him too quickly.

When I get back from the loo, John isn’t back in his seat. The paper is strewn on his chair, the pen laying on the floor. My eyes scan the rest of the room. Nothing else is out of place.

Nothing except John staring out the window. It’s opposite his seat, opposite where I’m standing in the door way. He’s so still, I didn’t see him when I first walked in. He doesn’t even look like he’s breathing.

“John?” My voice feels too loud, as though I’m disturbing something. John doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t even move. I walk towards him, peering out the window, but I can’t see anything. The street is void of people, cars line the sides of the roads, the trees growing up from under the pavement rustle as a wintery breeze passes them by. Far away in the distance, there is a small dot, moving slowly away from us, a person perhaps nearing the end of the street. They’re gone by the time I stand beside John, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. “Is something the matter?” I ask.

“No…” He lies. I give him a concerned look that he doesn’t see. He’s fixated. I nudge him, asking him again what’s wrong.

His dark eyes shoot a look down at me. He’s gone deathly pale. “Just seen a ghost?” I try to joke, but it could be possible, given his sudden, horrified expression.

“I thought… there was someone who… my mum...”

John’s mum had died a month or two ago. It was awful to see him go through losing her, when he’d only just got really close to her again. The nights he spent crying, the days he refused to talk, the hours consumed by drink, by smoking, by writing songs. He was tortured by her forced absence. I’d been there through everything, knowing some of what he’d felt. My mum died too, before his I was there through every emotion he felt. I would hold him if he needed it, I would let him punch me if that would make him feel better.

“Really?” I whisper.

“It was just a girl, or something, but the hair… and the smile. The clothes. Everything. Paul, it was like she was walking down the street coming to see me.”

Band practice was over.

Paul’s having a party for his 16th. George and I turn up at around the same time. We’re the first people there. I’ve bought Paul a new pick for his guitar- his very first- while George has an old leather jacket of his that Paul said he liked once. He wraps his arms around us as he accepts the gifts, fucking emotional git, he makes me feel all soft.

His dad hasn’t allowed him any alcohol, so I’ve brought my own, one bottle of beer for each of us. It’s not enough to get us drunk, but it’s enough to start the night with. The next few guests come through the front door.

Paul hasn’t got a ton of people that he wants at his parties. He has school friends, he has the band, that’s about it. I know most of the people because they all live close, but there are some unfamiliar faces around. I stick close to Paul or George or Pete, quite happy in their company rather than all these others.

But I peel off from them for a moment, because they are all already full of food, yet I’m still hungry and fuck does Jim- Paul’s dad- put on a great spread for us. I pick up what must be my forth paper plate and pile it high with breadsticks and sandwiches. If only I had a beer to go with it.

As I’m standing there, leaning on one leg for comfort (I’m going to be at that table for some time) I see two, feminine, pale hands work their way across the table to the platter with sausage rolls built in rows on it. My gaze follows the slender wrists, the long, bear arms, up to a pair of shoulders that are covered by the short sleeves of a polka dot dress. The silky fabric clings to a pleasing figure that stands next to me. Curling copper hair dances down and passes the chest, melding with the bright red of her dress. I think for a second that it’s my mother, but I’ve made that mistake before.

It’s the girl who I had seen walk down the street when Paul and I were writing songs. Up close, she does not resemble my mum so much, but I can’t get over how similar the first glance is.

“Sorry, am in your way?” She doesn’t sound like mum. She’s far too posh. I shake my head, unable to process thoughts in my mind. Her hair is brighter, her face is fairer, she has a gentler smile. However, that smile disappears at the lack of my response. She gives me a sideways look, then takes a few cheese breadsticks, placing one into her mouth. After that, she’s lost to the crowd.

I don’t feel like partying. I put my food down and lean on the door frame, just away from the load of guests, dancing to Elvis. Paul’s probably having a great time. When I left, he was playing air guitar to Buddy Holly. No doubt he’s off dancing with some bird, or gyrating his hips around the room in a poor imitation of Elvis himself. George is probably shyly waiting for people to talk to him, as he always is. I think that I should join them, but I don’t want to. The music thumping through the speakers makes my stomach churn. Suddenly, the nice, smart suit I’ve been wearing feels way too hot.

I manage to wander back into the mess of sober students and find a seat next to a wall. I fold up my blazer to hook it on the back of the chair, while unbuttoning my shirt down to mid-chest. As long as it’s not flapping open, giving everyone a distasteful look at my lightly hairy torso, I’m sure no one will mind much.

I spot Paul at the record player, spinning over a single in his skilled hands to the B-side. He loves all those obscure songs. Everyone’s movement to the music changes. It’s like watching the waves on the sea start in a different direction. He sees me, sitting alone and dislikes it. Smiling, he walks over and occupies the chair by my side.

“I knew people would like this one if they ever listened to it.” He says, talking about this B-side. Everyone slowly warms to it, smiles brightening their previously confused expressions.

I shrug, “It’s a party, people will dance to whatever.”

That girl walks by us. For some reason, I thought I wouldn’t see her again tonight. Her long hair bounces, following her as she walks. It glows golden in the low orange light of the room. She looks over here and winks, I think to me until I look at Paul who is grinning shyly at the floor.

“Who’s that?” I ask, trying to sound casual, though her presence bothers me.

His cheeks flush, “Niki, from school. She likes… musicians.”

“Does she like you?”

“She hangs around with me and George. I don’t know if she likes me.” He continues to look at the ground, before getting an idea in his head. With enthusiasm, he asks, “Do you want to meet her? She’ll really like you. She loves Teds.”

“We’ve already…” I grit my teeth, “…had a pretty awkward encounter. I made a fool of myself.”

“Then make something else of yourself. Come.” The small, kind frame of my friend rises, holding out a hand as though he expects me to take it. Is he crazy? I am not a child who needs patronising encouragement. I give him a high eyebrow look.

“Alright,” He swings his hand down and acts more naturally, “Just come. You’ll like her.”

I won’t. I know it now. There is something that reminds me too much of my mum, but there’s too much different for it to feel uncomfortable. Still, looking at the longing in Paul’ wide eyes, I can’t say no. I drag myself up and follow him.

Niki looks all too happy to see my bandmate. She swings her arm around his shoulders, planting a kiss on his cheek. He blushes brighter.

“Aww, how about a kiss on the lips, McCartney. You’re old enough to.” She laughs.  

Paul smirks, “I actually wanted to introduce my friend to you. This is John. He plays guitar too, and writes songs.” Then he whispers something in her ear that makes her smile even wider while looking at me. She holds out one of her hands for me to shake. On her wrist a bracelet swings, glistening like someone had woven stars into it. I close my hand around hers.

“So, you write songs, but you can’t be bothered to speak to people, eh?” She mocks, raising one of her eyebrows. She’s very posh.

“Sorry about that. I was a bit caught off guard.” I mutter.

“Yeah, I am a bit distracting, or so I’m told. Anyway, forgive and forget. I’m Niki.” Her confidence is unwavering, her hand shake is firm. I fall into habits of flirting, though a pain sears through my chest every so often. Niki and I sit down together and Paul leaves.

As soon as he’s gone, she loses her cool a little.

“I’m not used to socialising.” She whispers, leaning in towards me. She’s fiddling with her fingers.

“Then why are you so good at talking to people?”

“I’m not. I like talking to Paul,” She smiles over at him. I feel a pang of jealousy when he smiles back, “He’s very kind to me.”

He’s kind to me too. You’re not fucking special. “So, you like musicians?” I change the subject off of Paul.

“Yes.” She grins back at me, licking her bottom lip, “Very much. The first time I saw a clip of Elvis, I almost came.”

I was not expecting something like that to come out of her mouth. She has quite a youthful face. She can’t be much older than Paul. I bank in my mind the question of her age for later, when it becomes relevant again or if I need something else to talk about. This conversation has taken too interesting a turn for me to change it already.

“Yeah? So, if you saw us on stage, do you think we’d have a similar effect?” My voice takes a flirtatious tone.

“Depends how good you are. But I really hope that’s an invitation to a gig.”

Ok, she’s not so bad. I’ve changed my mind in an instant. All of a sudden, I want to play to her. I scan the room for Paul’s guitar. He was playing it a second ago. Or George’s, because his I can actually play- it’s the right way around. Fuck Paulie for being a lefty. I’m pretty sure George brought his.

“What about if I did a private gig here for you?”

Her face lights up, “You’d do that?”

I nod, “If you give me a second to find a guitar.”

She practically squeals. I ignore the tightness in my chest that will not leave me well enough alone. I rub where it hurts a little. This girl has such a strange effect on me. I want to cry and to fuck her. Is that weird?

I seek out George who is back at the food table. Thank god, we’re pretty much alone.

“Where’s your guitar?” I frantically push him to face me. He has a mouth of breadstick that he has to work through before talking. I wait impatiently.

“By the door. You need it?” He says, swallowing the last bit of food as he picks up another.

“I got a date with a chick who likes music.” I go to leave, but George brings me back.

“Niki?”

“How did you know?”

“Because I go to school with her. Paul introduced you?”

It’s eerie how much he knows. I nod slowly.

“Yeah, he was right to. She’s going to love you.”

I walk away feeling uncomfortable. Do people know, does Paul and George know how much she reminds me of my mum? Do they see it too? Do they have any idea how wrong it feels to be chatting her up? And if so, they think that she is still good for me?

There is something appealing about her. She has a combination of shy confidence and in-your-face flirtation. I keep telling myself to ignore the faint similarities between her and my mum and look for all the things that make her beautiful, alluring, sexy.

She waits for me in the corner of the room, still sitting on her chair. Her legs are spread open enough for it not to be decent anymore. She deliberately meets my gaze and pouts, telling me to hurry up with her gaze. Her wide-open legs are no accident. She wants me to wonder what’s beneath her dress, beneath the ruffles that puff out the skirt. I turn the corner of my mouth up, making her wait as I disappear into the hallway that holds the front door. There, leaning against the wall, right beside the doorway, is George’s guitar. I grab the neck and walk back into the party. Without having to go far, I catch Niki’s eye and beckon her out. I don’t bother asking Paul if I can use his bedroom, I just take her up there, promising Paul telepathically that I will not fuck her, not now.

“Can you play something you’ve written?” She pleads, sitting on the edge of Paul’s bed while I take a seat on the desk chair Paul keeps in here for our writing sessions.

“What about something Paul wrote?” I have lost all memory for my own work. Niki nods enthusiastically. I play the first bit of ‘In Spite of all the Danger.’ Niki’s gaze intensifies, watching my fingers closely as her own clamps around the mattress beneath her. I begin to sing.

In spite of all the danger, in spite of all that may be, I’ll do anything for you, anything you want me to, if you’ll be true to me.

She stops me, “Do you ever think of anyone when your singing?” Her head cocks to one side, her hair swings down, lightly hitting her face. The ringlets at the end frame her jawline perfectly. She looks beautiful.

“Right now, I’m thinking about you.”

Her breathing audibly hitches. She crosses her legs. I wonder if I’ve Elvis-ed the fuck out of her. She is blushing like Paul did when she kissed him, eyes darting up at me, then down at the floor, then over my legs and over the guitar. I think she’s smitten.

“Will you sing some more?” She implores me.

I sing slower, pronouncing every word, prolonging every note.

In spite of all the heartache, that you may cause me, I’ll do anything for you, anything you want me to, if you’ll be true to me.

She doesn’t stop me, so I continue, smiling, tapping my foot on the floor. The pain has risen in my chest, making my voice louder. I think that the ache is want, or at least, it has become that.

I’ll look after you, like I’ve never done before, I'll keep all the others, From knocking at your door...

[penelope1730]

The Six Thatcher’s: There be redemption.

I might be in the minority here, but I liked BBC Sherlock, season four debut, The Six Thatchers. Honestly, the past three years felt like a century where the return of episodic Sherlock was concerned, so I confess my expectations were open to just about anything. Three years of chilling out & time spent in reflection, along with a whole lot of distance regarding 'what's next' on Sherlock can do wonders for one's perspective.

I was never a big fan of Mary, especially after the whole shooting Sherlock thang, but I grew to respect her and even began to appreciate qualities she brought out in other characters. She also precipitated growth & intimacy that might not have otherwise happen, or gone a very, very slow route. More on that later.

I came to accept that Mary and Sherlock have a special bond. They are kindred spirits - both fully understanding who the other is with an appreciation that few might be able to truly 'get.' Mary's death, without question, has devastated Sherlock beyond his normal ability to reason & process and, knowing this, Mary has given him a case. A task to help him focus his mind - give his brain something to do, because without it his "brain rots."

Mary did not make a posthumous video on a whim. As others have pointed out, she made this after Moriarty's dramatic 'Miss Me?' announcement and I suspect just before she left on her pilgrimage regarding the resurfacing of AGRA. The opening and prevailing theme to The Six Thatchers was An Appointment In Summara...all signs pointed to 'someone is gonna die.' Is it that surprising that Mary, given everything that's been shown, would ever truly feel free & comfortable living a 'normal' life? Yes, she wanted it and while it lasted they were the best years of her life, but she also knew and accepted the shadows that lurk in her background. You simply cannot live the life Mary has and be oblivious to its on-going dangers. What we wanted for her, and the momentum gained from the life she led, might be diametrically opposed, but her death was not a plot device. It was the consequence of living; the life she lived. Just like her conical character from the books, the modernized Mary is dead. There's no playing opossum here. But, BBC Sherlock is never without surprises and it wouldn't be out of place to see her show up in flashbacks.

We see what we want to see in these characters, in spite of how layered and flawed, & sometimes even deviant they are. We become attached, cheer them on, wanting them to prevail no matter the circumstances. But, I've come to trust that these characters know themselves better than I do and, as in real life, I must allow others to make their own choices...good, bad, indifferent & downright tragic. I don't believe Mary wanted to die - at all - but understood that her meeting in Summara was always a prevailing possibility and, should the time come, would accept her fate. Mary made a selfless move by placing herself before Sherlock and taking a bullet. For her, that split second decision was a redemptive act, regardless that she ignored the consequences: "Did I ever say I'm sorry for shooting you that time...I'm really sorry. I think we're even now, okay?" Even in her dying moments Mary wanted Sherlock to know her previous act of betrayal, no matter how she justified her actions, never strayed far from her thoughts. In her mind - she owed him.

Since season 3, episode 2 - The Sign of Three - the audience has been led to focus on Sherlock's vow to always protect John, Mary and their baby. Until The Six Thatchers we didn't notice that Mary had made a quiet, albeit private, vow to herself to do the same for Sherlock, John and Rosie. She said this much in her parting letter to move danger away from the three of them: "I'm not running, my darling. I will return. I just don't want you and Sherlock hanging on my gun arm." She was not going to stand by and watch Sherlock get shot twice - not on her watch. Either way, the end result sucked for everyone. This event, Mary's death, in my opinion, is the catalyst for Sherlock and John to become the more mature characters known from canon.

Whether it's obvious or not, Mary made this band of high functioning, danger seeking misfits a family. She brought them together not just out of circumstantial need; Sherlock did that well enough on his own. Mary brought them together emotionally & sentimentally, along with giving them purpose to forge a bond that would not ever be easily broken. Yes, the 'family' is currently experiencing a 'fall out' - but it's temporary. They're grieving and blaming (John and possibly even Sherlock blaming himself) and it'll all get sorted out. They each have a key role to play in the others healing process. Space and distance, while not always desired or comfortable, does have its rewards.

Mary chose Molly and Mrs. Hudson as godmothers. Effectively making them surrogate aunt and grandmother. Now, in Mary's passing, those roles will take on even greater importance and need, possibly leaving Molly to fulfill a 'mother-like' role. Mary also knew John would choose Sherlock as godfather - a role he would not refuse or take lightly. They are forever bound by baby Rosamund - a commitment that none of them will shirk. Side note: As a fleeting HC, I've wondered if Molly won't end up raising Rosie? I can think of numerous scenarios on why and how this might come about, although the details are best saved for another discussion.

As with all Sherlock episodes, new questions rise faster than snark regarding the U.S. presidential election. Still, The Six Thatchers provided loads of answers. James Moriarty is dead. His posthumous recording was made before he took his life on Bart's rooftop. Oh yeah, there's a game in play but we get to bide our time right along with Sherlock.

Sherlock's off the hook regarding Magnussen! No need for any official pardon. That detail was neatly managed. I'm probably one of the few people who think he never should have been charged in the first place, but that's a different meta.

Sherlock likes dogs. And babies - even if they do see the world as a mystery. And he's calling baby Rosie, 'Watson.' How freaking cute is that?!? I've rewound that scene a few times it's. so. darn. adorbs.

Knowing and understanding their personalities and propensity toward boredom, along with a heightened need for danger (and assassination), Sherlock also kept Mr. and Mrs. Watson busy.

Now, this might seem surprising but, to me, it's clear as day that both Sherlock and Mary knew John was teetering on the brink of an affair. They may have reached this conclusion from different perspectives, but both were giving him space to figure it out, process what he was going through, and choose. John was not happy, no matter what we wanted to see and is catching hell-fire and damnation for this, which is too bad. From my perspective, that is. I'm not his moral arbiter and I really can't imagine what it's like standing in his shoes; especially having gone through three years of tragic & intense experiences...most of which he had no say or control over. There's really no need to make a case for all of that is there? Other than to say life with Mary would never be normal, no matter what it looks like on the outside.

Nevertheless, after the birth of their baby, things are beginning to stabilize. But. Not. Really. It doesn't take long before John is back on cases with Sherlock, sometimes usurped by Mary and even one jaunt with little Rosamund. Aspects of John's life that were inherently his, prior to meeting and marrying Mary, are now shared experiences. By temperament and savvy, Sherlock and Mary are well suited for each other when it comes to cases, at times leaving John holding the short end of the stick, along with the rest of us trying to catch up. This isn't to rail against Sherlock or Mary - just presenting what's been shown. John definitely feels sidelined, which was obvious from the balloon head in his chair, even if it did provide comic relief. Of course this isn't the first time John's absence has gone unnoticed by Sherlock...although things are very different now. I think the weight of John's life is sinking in deeper and deeper. Nothing's wrong with that, except the inner conflict he's feeling. Choices made from conflict, or lack of awareness, can sometimes be dubious, as seems to be the case here.

So, along comes a sweet, young Irish Scottish redhead, flirting with John on the bus. I bet the attention felt good. And, why shouldn't it? Who wouldn't like being noticed, especially when you're not feeling very noticeable. John was flattered, but didn't think much of it - although he should have! At least that's what I thought in my mind. Unlike many people, I wasn't concerned with the moral implications. I was thinking - "You're John Watson, you hang out with Sherlock Holmes and married to a former assassin. What the hell are you doing?! Almost nothing in your world is what it appears to be. Do not be taken in by flattery, John! You should seriously find this chick suspicious. Omg, you're not listening! No wonder Sherlock gets frustrated. Join a soccer league, or watch porno, if you feel unmanly, but don't trust the redhead. Ugh, look at that - she's sitting next to a picture of Culvertson (Toby Jones), next week's baddie. You should know from His Last Vow that this will bite you on the ass if you follow through. You will regret this. Trust me, you will. And, aren't you forgetting that your bff and wife will immediately know about this flirtatious dalliance? That's. what. they. do. They know things. Oh, for Christ's sake. Whatever, John."

Yeah, that's what I said to no avail. So, while everyone else is upset that John is acting like an asshat and betraying Mary, I'm wondering about the chick on the bus and who she really is. Mary is the least of my worries at this point. Since she's fully aware of what's going on, as is Sherlock, either one of them can stop that crap before it truly takes off. If they want. And don't think for a moment they're not capable.

Then there's Molly and Sherlock. They're officially a married couple. Okay, okay, only in my mind palace are they married...even though they sure act like it. I mean, just look at Molly - she owns Sherlock Holmes. The ease between them is delicious, even in their banter and with one word he'll obey her command. Mostly. Where Sherlock is concerned, that says a lot.

Molly redeems herself with John. This might seem like an odd thing, because we get very little Molly and even less about what goes on in her world. But, we can infer, can't we? For two years Molly lied to John about Sherlock's death. Not only did she lie, she participated with the plan and actively, if not fraudulently, carried out her part. She watched John grieve. She saw his pain and devastation. Molly, however, kept her word with Sherlock - knowing full well the difficulty and consequences. I see Molly as strong, capable and courageous, but she is not without heart or sympathy. I cannot imagine it was easy for her to watch John grieve, believing Sherlock dead. Whether or not redemption is necessary, I can further imagine there's a part of Molly that believe she's owes John - even if it's from an unconscious connection. And here lies the parallels between Molly and Mary. Mary believed she owed Sherlock and I don't believe it's a stretch to think the same about Molly toward John. Two women, totally different actions, but in the end they have to live with their conscience. There was absolute pain in Molly's face giving Sherlock the news that John would rather have anyone but him around. Anyone. But, she stood by John and bravely gave Sherlock the painful pronouncement, just as she once allowed John to believe the pain he felt was real. She will support John in his time of need. None of that means she's abandoned Sherlock, or cut him out of her life, but I bet she's treading very carefully in the early days of Mary's passing.

By golly, we got Sherrinford and know that the #13 is the code to be in touch! Who knows if it / he / she is a person, place, thing, or code name. We'll soon find out.

Mycroft knew all along that AGRA was a private, militarized contract team, specializing in extractions and assassinations.

Sherlock was present when baby Rosamund was born! I would love to have been a fly on the wall when all of that was taking place. Fic writers where are you?????

Redbeard and two little boys playing on a beach. One in a pirate hat. Sherlock's memories....

We got to see another one of Sherlock's boltholes. Kinda a cozy place, if you don't mind tree roots or Underworld Chic.

That's my initial thoughts, although there's so much more to glean from this episode, like tons of symbolism. What say all of you?

[thebookrat]

Joining me today is Maria Grace, whose Austenesque stories you already know I love, and who is currently celebrating the release of the final book in her Jane Austen's Dragons series! Check out what she has to say about bringing this unique series to life, and the inspiration behind it, and then enter to win a copy of your choice of the three books in the series, below! And don't forget to stop back by tomorrow for my thoughts on book 2, Longbourn: Dragon Entail!

The Myth and the Mashup

I’m utterly tickled to announce that the Pride and Prejudice arc of my Jane Austen’s Dragons series is complete with the release of Netherfield: Rogue Dragon. Now wait, I can hear you muttering and rolling your eyes, “Dragons? Really? Seriously—dragons? Why—just why?” You’re not the first to roll their eyes at me and mutter that, expecting an answer like “Because zombies, vampires and werewolves have already been done.” And while that is utterly true, and the sort of thing I might say if you caught me at just the right—or wrong—moment, it isn’t a very good answer. You’re rolling your eyes at me again. I know just it, but give me a chance and hear me out. I promise, Jane Austen would approve. Why, you say, rolling your eyes yet again. Because, if you take a glance at English mythology, it is full of dragons. Seriously, they are everywhere. Don’t believe me, here’s just a partial list: the Lambton Worm, the Dragon of Mordiford, the Dragon of Unsworth, the Dragon of Wantly, the Dragon of Longwitton, the Dragon of Loschy Hill, the Bisterne Dragon, the Worm of Linton, the Stoor Worm, the Sockburn Worm (or Wyvern), Blue Ben, and the Lyminster Knucker. Even the father of fabled King Arthur has a dragon connection. King Uther Pendragon was said to have seen a dragon shaped comet that inspired the dragons that graced the standards he carried. With dragons just about everywhere in English myth, it seems likely that Jane Austen herself was familiar with many of these dragon legends. One of the fascinating—and crazy making—aspects of studying mythology is the number of different accounts of the same story. Since, until the early modern era, tales relied on oral tradition for transmission, each teller would craft a slightly different version of the story, making finding the ‘real’ story nearly impossible. While there were moments in the research that made me want to beat my head against the wall, it did lead to an interesting line of thinking: What if… (A word of caution, when a writer says “what if”, it might be a good time to politely excuse yourself…) So, what if those dragon myths contained a large helping of reality and there really were dragons in England? What it they weren’t just a thing of the medieval era, but continued to be a very real presence in British society into the modern era? How might that work? That would require a research trip back to medieval dragons. The best known version of Uther’s story comes from Geoffrey's Historia Regum Britanniae (1136). Uther is the youngest son of King of Britannia, Constantine III upon whose death, Constans, his eldest son succeeds to the throne. Constans though is murdered by an advisor Vortigern, who seizes the throne. Uther and his other brother, Aurelius, flee to Brittany, when they grow to adulthood in safety. As adults, Aurelius and Uther return to Britannia, where Aurelius kills Vortigern and becomes king. Under Aurelius’ reign, Uther helps Merlin bring the stones of Stonehenge from Ireland to Britain. Later, while Aurelius is too ill for battle, Uther leads his army against Vortigern's son and his Saxon allies. On the way to the battle, Uther sees a comet in the shape of a dragon, which Merlin interprets as a sign of Aurelius' death and Uther's glorious future. Uther wins the battle, but returns to find that Aurelius has been poisoned. Uther becomes king and adopts the use of a golden dragon as his standard. So, what if Uther Pendragon was embroiled in battle not just with the Saxons, but with dragons as well and he saw a real dragon who could speak with him, not a comet as most stories suggested? Would not others have heard it too? Wait, no—what if the dragons had a way of hiding in plain sight that only a select few people could see through and Uther was one of those and made peace with dragonkind… Suddenly I saw a world, hundreds of years removed from medieval England, where mankind and dragonkind could coexist, governed by the Blue Order, an organization founded by Uther Pendragon himself, on human and dragon partnership, dedicated to protecting the safety and interests of both species while keeping the dragons secret from the very large segment of the human population with hearing insufficient to detect dragon voices. Moreover, another myth, that of the Lambton Worm, began to inform my hero, Mr. Darcy, whose estate, Pemberley, (according to Austen) was in walking distance from Lambton. The legend of the Lambton Worm originates from County Durham in North East England, near the River Wear. In it, John Lambton, an heir of the Lambton Estate, battles with a giant worm (an early reference to a dragon) that had been terrorizing the local villages. John Lambton is actually responsible for the presence of the worm himself. As a young man, he skipped church on Sunday and went fishing in the River Wear. There he caught an odd creature whose description varies with different tellings of the myth. All agree that it was ‘no fit fish’ he caught and he discards the creature in a nearby well that later became the wishing-well known as “Worm Well.” John forgets about the creature and goes off the fight in the crusades as penance for his youthful follies. When he returns, he discovers that his father’s estate has been laid waste by the creature. His father keeps it placated with daily offerings of twenty gallons of milk. Realizing he is responsible for the creature, John seeks the advice of a witch that allows him to defeat the creature in an epic struggle. Like many other British dragon stories, the myth connects the slaying of a dragon to the provenance of some aristocratic family and their self-proclaimed right to rule over the domain they protected from the dragon. So many inspirations in this tale. Dragons and the landed class tied together; a dragon in Lambton, so near Pemberley, and connected to a local estate; a baby dragon who grows up abandoned in a strange place…oh so many things that came to play in crafting Pemberley: Mr. Darcy’s Dragon. And Darcy was not the only one shaped by dragon legends. The Mordiford Dragon, began to inform my heroine, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, a woman whose sympathy for and understanding of dragonkind goes far and away beyond anything England has ever known. The story of Maud and the Mordiford dragon (a wyvern actually, not the more typical ‘worm’) is set in the Herefordshire village of Mordiford. Maud finds a green baby wyvern while out walking one morning. Maud takes the baby back to her home as a pet and feeds it milk, comforting it by stoking its claws and cuddling it. As the creature grows older, it starts dining on the Mordiford villagers, but refuses to injure his friend Maud. Not surprisingly, the villagers insist this is intolerable and find a nobleman (or condemned convict, depending on the version of the tale) to dispatch the beast. Maud was described as ‘insane with rage’ over the death of her wyvern. A painting of the creature hung in the village church until 1811 when the vicar ordered it destroyed as a ‘sign of the devil’. So many inspirations in this tale! A girl who loved a baby dragon; who rescues dragons and cuddles with them; a grumpy wyvern that others cannot seem to get along with; Herefordshire/Hertfordshire, Mordiford/Meryton, ok, not the same, but it did make me do a double take for sure…oh so many things that came to play in crafting the characters of both Elizabeth Bennet and her wyvern Longbourn. All the being said, I present for you, what Pride and Prejudice might have been had Jane Austen known about the Uther Pendragon’s Blue Order. If you’re not totally hooked by now, here’s a preview of Pemberley: Mr. Darcy’s Dragon, to give you a taste of this world:

Click the link or the pic to be taken to an excerpt of Pemberley: Mr Darcy's Dragon!

What do you think about dragons and Jane Austen? Fill out the Rafflecopter and leave me a comment below for a chance to win your choice of e-books from this series! a Rafflecopter giveaway

about the book:

Elizabeth Bennet thought she was prepared to do anything to make the Dragon Conclave accept her beloved young dragon, Pemberley, into the Blue Order, but she had not anticipated it would leave her banished from her ancestral home and betrothed to none other than Mr. Darcy. But before Elizabeth and Darcy wed, they must find a dangerous rogue dragon before it provokes a war amongst the dragons and brings the fragile peace between dragons and mankind to a catastrophic end. Nothing written in the annals of dragon lore has prepared Elizabeth to manage a dragon not governed by the Blue Order. Dragons have always loved her, but this one finds her arrogant, selfish and insensitive to others. With only her instincts to guide her, she must convince the rogue of her good intentions before the Blue Order loses patience and decides on more drastic measures. Called away to the other side of the kingdom, trying to settle the dragons' unrest, Darcy learns the nature of the force poisoning the rogue dragon against Elizabeth. One nearer and dearer than they could have imagined. Can Elizabeth and Darcy convince with rogue dragon to cooperate before darker forces turn it against them, without destroying the fragile bonds uniting the couple?

about the author:

Though Maria Grace has been writing fiction since she was ten years old, those early efforts happily reside in a file drawer and are unlikely to see the light of day again, for which many are grateful. After penning five file-drawer novels in high school, she took a break from writing to pursue college and earn her doctorate in Educational Psychology. After 16 years of university teaching, she returned to her first love, fiction writing. She has one husband and one grandson, two graduate degrees and two black belts, three sons, four undergraduate majors, five nieces, is starting her sixth year blogging on Random Bits of Fascination, has built seven websites, attended eight English country dance balls, sewn nine Regency era costumes, and shared her life with ten cats.

via The Book Rat