#my god sir arthur was so evil in the original.

[kirbybecomesastarwarrior]

You said this was a rewrite... what was the original plot of the story going to be like?

The original story was supposed to be very different... It was going to be more low-stakes, so to speak... It was merely about Meta Knight becoming Kirby's father figure and him learning to adjust to the peace after the war... but it's pretty much become a grand epic now.

(this was before the Star Allies saga and Planet Robobot...)

I had the beginning and ending planned out, so here's the ending of the story:

*knuckle crack*

As the story progresses & Kirby takes out all of the game villains, Kirby becomes really famous at this point... and then that's when $h*t hits the fan!

In the original story, Sir Arthur was the surprise villain (or secret villain, if you will)... this was when it was trending back then (the Dinsey Frozen Era...).

He sees Kirby as a chance to restore the GSA to its former glory. Now that Kirby has gained fame from his adventures, he sees his as the perfect opportunity to rip him away from Dreamland and take him away from all his friends and family...

It all comes to a head when Sir Arthur comes to Dreamland in person for the first time and reveals his master plan. Basically, making him the poster boy of the GSA. And another revelation: MK was in on it too... this was what Meta Knight had been training Kirby for all along.

(Quietly in the background for each arch of the story... Sir Arthur's intentions were hinted at and revealed more until we reached this point...)

Originally, MK wasn't as kind as the rewritten MK (the current one); he was crueler back then. The original story was going to be about how his time with Kirby brought back his humanity.

BETRAYAL ARC! (Grand Finale GSA vs Dreamland)

The Kirby gang feels backstabbed by Meta Knight's shocking reveal, especially Kirby. He thought Meta Knight had grown to care for him... (but MK had: he just was in denial). He kept insisting that his duty had always come first. This breaks Kirby's heart; he tells MK that he hates him and he isn't gonna go with him...

Sir Arthur had trained MK and taken him in for the sole purpose of using him as a weapon. (living war machine) Meta Knight was doing the same thing to Kirby... but he can't bring himself to force him into that lifestyle. (and how messed up it was, yadda, yadda, yadda.)

The reason why Arthur was able to let MK join the GSA is that Galacta Knight had turned MK into a monster... by order of Nightmare. Sir Arthur saw an opportunity to manipulate Meta Knight into a weapon of his own design... (to him, he was in the right because it was for the greater good.)

And the Meta Knight would come to terms with how precious Kirby was to him... and how awful he feels now. The ends did not justify the mean... He'd realize his time and Dreamland had changed him, and he saw Kirby more than a potential soldier... he saw him as his own child... he certainly wasn't about to let Arthur get away with making Kirby his little poster boy.

So when the time comes for Meta Knight to choose between love & duty, he stands up to his old master and shuts him down... He apologizes to Kirby and tells him how much he means to him. They make up, but this touching moment is cut short then- BAM (180).

Sir Arthur: Well then... I didn't want to do this, but... it looks like I have no choice...

Sir Arthur villain mode is activated. Meta Knights gets arrested and pulls him away from Kirby in a heartbreaking scene. Arthur already started to notice how attached Meta Knight was getting to Kirby, so he prepared for this scenario.

Martial law is enforced by the GSA, and Dreamland is shut down. Sir Arthur uses King Dedede as an excuse since he used to order monsters & reports of him being a tyrant were recorded. (King Dedede wasn't redeemed in the original story yet, so this was his karma.) And Arthur officially dethrones King Dedede... And he's arrested. (throws him in the same jail cell as Meta Knight)

And this was supposed to be the beginning of King Dedede's redemption arc. Now Sir Arthur is using Dreamland & Meta Knight as leverage against Kirby... if he agrees to leave Dreamland permanently and join the GSA... he'll let Meta Knight & the others go.

(Then I think I wrote "dies in a horrible accident," in the original draft while in the jailbreak arc because Galacta Knight shows up to fight MK. And kills Sir Arthur like he's nothing...)

After "Star Allies," the overall message of the story changed... We had so many more revelations and plots added to the franchise that I could not ignore. I gave a whole new meaning to Kirby's story as a whole.

The message I wanted to tell with the story had to change it. All the characters had to get a major overhaul in their personalities.

And I love the new direction I have for the story... And I'm very glad for the changes I've made. Though it's nice to visit the past now again and see how far you've come no matter how cringy.

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Evil Computer

Harlan Ellison: so how does a guy get paid around here Edgar Allan Poe: this isn't that kind of event, harlan Poe: we just gather here to tell stories for fun Ellison: well, the rest of you might be assholes but that doesn't mean i am Ellison: not saying a fucking word here til i get my money

Harlan Ellison: what is this? some online jokester making jokes with my likeness? Ellison: oh you better hope they're paying me for this Poe: lighten up harlan it's just for fun Ellison: lightening up costs extra

Harlan Ellison: submitted for the approval of the midnight society, i call this the tale of the evil computer that can torture you forever Elon Musk: mama mia! Musk: concerning!

Ellison: who's this guy? Barker: oh that's just steve's friend elon musk King: he's not my friend Barker: he shows up sometimes King: he's not my friend

Elon Musk: eyyy Friendship ended with stephano king Musk: Now HP Lovecraft issa my best friend Lovecraft: what Musk: eyyyy hp lovacraft we lika two peasa inna pod Musk: you no lika de jews, i no lika de jews! Musk: you namma you cat a slur, i namma my kid a slur! Lovecraft: which kid? Musk: De Protocols offa de Elders of Xion Musk

Ellison: so there's this evil computer that can do anything Ellison: like, it can make you live forever just to fuck with you King: how does it make you live forever? Ellison: shut up steve, i'm talking

Ellison: like, this computer is so evil and it can make shit like Ellison: like ice caves and shit Ellison: and it can turn you into a jelly King: how does it do any of this Ellison: shut the fuck up steve Ellison: asking stupid questions costs extra

Musk: mama mia this-a evil computer will destroy ussa all! Harlan Ellison: oh you like this concept? Ellison: think its real scary huh? Ellison: motherfucker, pay me.

Musk: eyyy dissa evil super computer willa destroy ussa all Musk: therefore i musta help build it Musk: itta de only logical thing to do!

King: so apparently elon musk built an evil super computer so powerful that it can say all the slurs at once Arthur C Clarke: my god, steve!! Clarke: doesn't he know Clarke: that's the purpose of creation! Clarke: once every slur is said, God will bring the Universe to an end!

Clarke: once every slur is said, God will bring the Universe to an end! Carter Scholz: i was going to say that too Clarke: oh yeah wow real original Scholz: like, you know, as a commentary on your story Clarke: yeah i know what you're doing Clarke: eat my ass carter

Linda Yaccarino: [sweating, rictus grin] everyone loves twitter, the fun place for fun! Elon Musk: eeeyyy here-a soma my favorite slurs Musk: saracen, tinker, spaghett face, niknokker, bibblebeep Yaccarino: [sweating, rictus grin] yeah ha ha we sure love to have fun here on twitter!

Musk: eyyyy i hate de jews Musk: but i lova de israel Jonathan Greenblatt: masterful gambit, sir

[tansyuduri]

Merlin Loregasm Rewatch S1E9

Hi Everyone! Welcome to my rewatch of Merlin focusing on the lore. I am a giant nerd so pretty excited about this. We’re on EXCALIBUR

Uther: Do you solemnly Swear to govern the peoples of this kingdom and their dominions according to the statutes, customs, and laws, Laid down by your forebearers,

Arthur: I do Sire

Uther: Do you promise to exercise mercy and justice, in your deeds and judgments?

Arthur: I do Sire

Uther: And do you swear allegiance to Camelot now and for as long as you shall live?

Arthur: I, Arthur pendragon, do pledge life and limb to your service And to the protection of the kingdom and it's peoples.

Uther: Now, being of age, And the Heir apparent, from hence forth you shall be crown prince of Camelot Okay so Arthur is now crown prince of Camalot. And of age. we know hes at Least 20 so of age is likley 21 in this world which is interesting because it implies lifespans are longer due to the more advanced medicine, Normally the medieval OF AGE was 16 years old. Also, see the golden ring placed around Arthurs head? Yeah thats called a Coronet and was traditionally worn by crown princes at formal occasions (Like we will see Arthur do)

It is a bit odd he was not considered crown prince already since he was the oldest royal child (And only royal child as far as people know) So even if Primogeniture (Inheridence by oldest son) was not a thing he would STILL be crown prince. See a crown prince IS the heir apparent of a royal kingdom. And Heir apparent is the one who is going to succeed the king. And cannot be displaces by the birth of another prince. So if he was heir apparent he pretty much was already was Crown prince. My guess is this is traditionally reaffirmed in Camalot when a prince comes of age,

I also like the use of the word peoples because it kinda hints that Camalot is big enough to have multiple peoples within its lands. Which if the theory from the Lancelot episode is true would be the case.

WHOOO Okay I think we have an answer. Devil is VERY Christian. So I'm going with there being some very weird semi paganized version of Christianity existing in Camalot that is left over from the Romans and just got mixed with local traditions. I therorized about this in one loregasm and I'm sticking with it because they ARE VERY MUCH not full on Catholic or Eastern Orthadox. And there are still a lot of pagan elements.

Throwing down a Gauntlet as a challenge is a custom of the late medieval era. It was considered a GRAVE insult and HAD to be picked up to accept the challenge if one wanted to keep ones honnor.

HI Sir Owain! Lesse in the original legends you were a Child of Urrian of Gore and Morgana. You had a pet Lion! You defeated a evil knight and married his widow, Then neglected your wife because you were too busy doing knight stuff. She ditches you and you go mad with grief and live naked in the woods. Then Morgana cures you and you win back your wife. Also, you are one of the last to die before Arthur at Cammlan. Have I mentioned how much I love that Merlin sometimes just goes NAH let's kill em instead?

Geof: Gaius thank god

Gaius: you know why I'm here

Geof: The black knight

Gaius: So it is he

Geof: you saw his crest

Gaius: have you confirmed it?

Geof: it is the crest of Tristan De Bois

Gaius: And he is the only knight ever to have carried such a crest

Geof: yes acording to the records

Okay this is a HUGE boon for us lore wise, See we don't know that much about the personality of Yygraines family. (or a ton about her's for that matter) BUT if it's his crest not a family crest it means HE picked it. So we can use heraldry to learn a bit about him!

So the symbol he uses is an Eagle this represents strength and courage and often has to do with military skill and leadership. It can also represent freedom, and independance and the ability to see things clearly. black represents constancy or grief and white peace and sincerity.

So Tristan was likely a strong man and military leader who was sincere and constant in his personality. He likley tended to perfer peace but when pushed to it would fight well. He might have been independent minded as well showing by making his own crest.

OOCLY the show could be telling us that it is likley telling us this man was RIGHT about Uther being at fault. One way or another. And his act in standing up to Uther was a courageous one. OR its also possible he took up this sigil after Ygraines's death If so his very crest and oufit is blaming and taunting Uther! But that is just my assessment!

HI Sir Pellinor! Lesse in the original legends you were the king of Listeoise (Lake District) Or of "the Illes." You killed king Lot, And hunted the Questing Beast relentlessly. You were killed by Gwaine. You were also Percival's dad. (Among other kids.)

Othanden can mean Out Of Hand in Danish. Otherwise I cannot find much on this. My guess is this battle would have taken place in the previously mentioned war with Mercia

Gaius: Tristan De Bois was the brother of Ygraine -- Uther's wife

Merlin: Arthur's Mother?

Gaius: Ygraine died in childbirth. He blamed Uther and came to the gates of Camalot and Challanged him.

Merlin: to single combat?

Gaius: Uther won, but with his dying breath Traistan cursed Camalot to one day suffer his return. I thought it was the ramblings of a dying man. People Estimate the chances of death in childbirth in the middle ages to be the cause of 50 percent of young female fatalities. Giving birth was incredably dangerous. (And most woman did it many time though less so in the Merlin world) For in the actual birthing process and the chance of childbed fever afterward. So this is likley an early clue to the fact that there was somthing supernatural going on with Arthur's birth. No one in their right mind blamed a man for the death of their wife in childbirth ESPECIALLY if said wife was having their first birth and not too old or too young.

Now in the Merlin world I would guess death in childbirth of woman is at a much lower rate. For two reasons. First of all The more advanced medicine would make it a bit less common. (Though they do not have modern medicine or germ theory or modern technology so not by much) The other reason being IN merlin families seem to be small compared to the huge ones of the middle ages. (Hinting Child Mortality is not as high) So less chances for a woman to die. STILL it likely would have been fairly common.

Now to the interesting fact that Ygraine came from France! Implying contact and trade with them. See Ygraine is the french version of Arthur's mother's name And we've talked about the last name in previous posts.

"Came to the gates of Camalot castle and challenged him" is interesting because it means he was not in Camalot. SO HOW would he know about Uther's involvement in Ygraine's death? My guess is it lies in the "one day suffer his return" See here we have another "How would he know." My guess is the man was some sort of seer. Or magic user. Ygraine was said to have been pretty friendly with many magic users. It's possible magic (or being a seer) ran in her family. The other option of her somehow writing him and knowing about the whole magic to conceive thing is also possible but doesn't explain knowing he would return, Nimue could just have been using something he said randomly but I don't really think so? OR he was just crazy? And was attacking Uther for what he thought was a normal childbirth death? That would be REALLY weird. though. And the later "it was magic that killed her not I" and "never the less it was you he blamed" Seems to go against this option

Gaius: My guess is we're dealing with a Wraith.

Merlin: A wraith?

Gaius: The spirit of a dead man conjured from the grave.

Merlin: So this is the work of a sorcerer

Gaius: Powerful Magic can harness the greif and rage of a demanted soul and make it live again

Merlin: How do we stop it?

Gaius: We can't, Because its not alive no mortal weapon can kill it

Merlin: Surly there must be somthing

Gaius: Nothing can stop it until it has achived what it came for

Merlin: And what's that

Gaius: Revenge.

Wraith is a Scottish word for ghost that has become a more general term. It can also mean the exact likeness of a person seen before death as a death omen, (A soul who was on the verge of death or recently passed on) From there the meaning has evolved to many many different things.

Geoferry is not in on it! Its likely Arthurs birth magic is not in the court records of the purge! (Theorized about this perviously)

Uther: Havn't you tired of revenge?

Nimueh: Haven't you? You Began this war when you threw me from the court and salughtered all of my kind

Uther: you brought it on yourself you practiced evil

Nimueh: I was your freind Uther, You welcomed me here

Uther: you betrayed that freindship

Nimueh: I did as you asked I used the magic you so despise to give your barren wife the son you craved

Uther: Don't ever speak of her in that way She was my heart, My soul, and you took her from me.

Nimueh: She died giving birth to your son. it was not my choice. That is the law of Magic. to create a life there had to be a death, the balance of the world had to be repaired

Uther: you knew it would kill her

Nimueh: No you're wrong. If I had forseen her death and the terrible retrebution you would seek. I would never have granted your wish.

Ok first of all we know from later Nimugh has a bit of control of who dies. Hinting that something interfered here causing it to be Ygraine. (I totally don't have headcanons about this you will eventually see in my fics)

ALSO, I find it interesting he says "Evil" not "evil sorcery," I think he truly belives all magic is evil. I mean every villain is a good guy in their own mind.

BUT he was also freinds with Nimueh and welcomed her to Camalot. So he didn't always think all magic was evil. It seems it truely was Ygraines death that caused that. I always wondered if part was just an excuse in his mind because he was insecure that other people had so much power and perhaps helped him build the kingdom with it. So they could tear it down. I think Nimueh was court sorcerer. And helped him take over the kingdom, but that's just my headcannon.

Also gotta wonder what kinda person Ygraine was that Uther fell so deeply in love with her.

Geoff: Well several fables speak of Ancient swords

=Merlin: that can kill the dead?"

Geoff: The swords the fables speak of could destroy anything alive or dead.

Merlin: can you show me one of these fables"

Geoff: welll let me think, yes

(Later)

Goef: this is the chronicle of Beltane, now then, ah were we are 'Sir Marhaus looked at the great sword, begotten in the dragons breath and found it passing good"

Sir Marhaus was the son of the king of ireland and his sister was the queen of Ireland and a knight of the Round Table in folklore. Beltane as we addressed is celebrated may 1st! So this book is the chronicles of a holiday on May 1st

Merlin: I've come to ask for a sword. The strongest sword your father's ever made

Gwen: What for?

Merlin: To save Arthur (Cut to latter but continuation of this scene so keeping it here)

Gwen: My father's been saving this. Hes always said it was the best sword he's ever made.

Merlin: its perfect

Gwen: He'll kill me if he find's I've taken it

Merlin: He'll understand, You did it for arthur. I've talked about this before but this is more evidence that Gwen's family, while commoners, are not the same level of poor as most. Making swords and armor, especially good ones was a skilled art. And those things were EXPENSIVE. Tom is not the royal swordsmith so its HIGHLY likely he rivals the royal swordsmith in skill enough to have some knights of Camalot (The people who can actually afford arms and armor) Buy or get repairs done from him instead. (This is a big deal he must be VERY good) There are not many other people he could be making swords and armor for. I suppose there might be some mercenaries and freelancers who are rich enough for swords and perhaps VERY RARLY full on armor. He makes armor that is of the quality nobles wear, And can afford to just give it to people. we know this from Lancelot. I think he must do other typical blacksmithing AND Arms and armor for knights. So I see two possibilities. Either they consistently live at a level above the poverty of most commoners

OR Every now and then he gets a commission that makes them richer for a bit. With Gwen ALSO being such a good seamstress and Also considering they seem to be able to give away armor (Cough Lancelot cough) I think the first option is more likely, or perhaps its a mix of the two. To be clear they are not rich. I'm not saying they are rich. I'm saying they seem to be above most commoners in wealth. Also, wealth did not matter as much as Class in the middle ages anyway.

Him putting his best sword away might be some form of insurance He's still a commoner and is not guaranteed work because he is not the royal smith. And what if there is some emergency or a time when he doesn't get any of the fine commissions for a while?

Uther: You knew that one day this business would come back to haunt me.

Gaius: not quite so litteraly

Uther: I should have listened to you. You said that no good would come of using witchcraft at Arthur's birth

Gaius: you wanted an heir you thought it was the only way.

Uther: Nimueh told me there would be a pice to pay

Gaius: You weren't to know that price would be Ygraines life

OKAY first of all does this mean that GAIUS was not the one to suggest using magic? Then WTF was Uther talking about in that conversation about something being stupid to do "because Gaius said it was so" back in the poisoned chalice? Was Gaius just the messanger? It means it might explain more why Gauis lived if he was not the one to suggust it. Perhaps Uther asked Gaius if he knew a way and Gaius said he did but no good would come of it? Or Gaius was indeed just the messenger? BUT WHY DID HE NEED A MESSENGER IF NIMUEH WAS AT COURT. I swear when this is all done I'm going over all of these and doing a summary of possible answers to some questions!

Merlin: will your Bunrish it to save Arthur

Killy: The dead do not return without reason, who has he come for.

Merlin: Uther

Killy: Then let him take his Vengance and the wraith will die without my aid.

Merlin: But it's Arthur who is going to fight him! You have to save him

Killy: That is your destany young warlock not mine

Merlin: But if Arthur fights the wraith and dies camalot will have no heir, I will have no destany

Killy: A weapon forged with my assistance will have great power

Merlin: I know

Killy: You do not know You can only guess. You have not seen what I've seen. If you had perhaps you would not ask this of me.

Merlin: what do you mean?

Killy: In the wrong hands this sword could do great evil

Burnishing typically means polishing metal until it shines. Figuratively it can mean to enhance or perfect something. I think this is an interesting word to use and possibly implies a sword like Excalibur would never need to be polished again.

Also I'm pretty convinced one thing Killy is talking about here is how most of the high priestesses died. Remember mortal swords can not kill Morgana by the time of her death. There could be many other incidents too. However seeing as Excalibur mostly functions as a normal sword until one is up against undead or borderline imortals I think this could be a main focus. Of course it does bring up the question of if there were other swords and what happened to them if this is true. Because if this was the case I SERIOUSLY doubt Uther would have let such swords just vanish. Then again as far as we know the sword that killed Arthur was just used as a grave maker. ALSO as far as we know those are the only dragon-burnished swords we see in the show. Which means there are others either just hidden places, or out there with people having no clue as to their powers because they just found them somewhere and were like cool sword! The later kinda amuses me. Just some random dude around having no idea their sword is a WOID (Weapon Of Immortal Destruction)

Uther: Who made it?

Merlin: uh, tom the blacksmith

Uther: Its worthy of a king

Merlin: You would be better off with a sword your trusted

Uther: No, It has almost Perfect balance. Tom's not the Royal swordsmith I'm supprised Arthur went to him.

Merlin: That was me.

(This is the line I keep referring to about how Gwen's dad is not the royal swordsmith.)

The balance point on a sword is where you can lay it over a finger and not have it fall, Its center of weight. Usually its just a bit above the hilt. This is why most swords had pommels

If there is too much weight in the direction of the grip the trikes from it will not be fast and smooth, Also you will have a hard time pushing your opponents blade around. while if there is too much on the blade it will take longer to recover from a blow.

[myfairstarlight]

For Every Question Why - Chapter 5

AO3 Link. Previous / Next.

Rated: T Chapter length: 4k Chapter summary:

A demon gets a proposal of some sort and takes a few decades before coming around to it.

*all additional notes on ao3.

⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

Unknown.

Truth be told, God has lost the plot a long time ago now. The Cherubim was only meant to get demoted to Principality after refusing to participate in the War, mind — almost — wiped clean to become the proper soldier She needed them to be. They were never meant to Fall, however. The Seraphim, on the other hand, was the one supposed to Fall… but Aziraphale crossed paths with Lucifer first and everything went away from Her plans as soon as the former Prince of Heaven’s eyes settled upon the mischievous and tactful cherub. She could not understand why, or how and She could not bloody grab the two offending angels in the middle of the War to right things up the way She originally intended.

Besides, She got curious. Terrible thing She is, curious. Free Will hadn’t been invented just yet, only a seed had started to grow within Lucifer, and only him, and yet, two other angels defied Her, albeit unconsciously. She wonders if what She had planned would still happen, just… a bit tweaked because of these two.

To Her greatest entertainment, the Ineffable Plan has become truly ineffable, out of Her reach, out in the wild. The end goal shall remain the same, She surmises, but the journey there? Oh! She is quite eager to witness it all, see when Her gentlest demon and Her brightest angel will finally properly meet under shades of grey.

⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

Kingdom Of Wessex. 537 AD

Astrophel treads through the damp land, grumbling under his breath. He usually does not resort to extremes, but he truly, deeply hates this place and the fact Hell specifically told him he needed to be a knight for this assignment. The armours are such a pain to walk and move in! Especially when you can't see much.

(Well, the demon does wonder how humans even see with those helmets anyhow, not that it changes a lot for him. He wonders if he should take credit for this in his next report…)

He’d rather indulge in the comfortable dresses the women are currently wearing, all loose tunics and intricate embroidery that feels heavenly under his fingertips but no! He has to foment dissent in damp lands! What a waste of—

“Behold, Dark Knight! For I am Sir Janiel of the Round Table seeking an audience with thee!”

Astrophel groans. “Janiel, dear, really?”

A muffled giggle answers him before he hears the distinct sound of a helmet’s visor getting lifted. When the angel speaks again, it is clearer, “Oh, cheer up starlight.”

“There is hardly anything to be cheery about.”

“I’m personally having fun! Did not know swordfighting was so entertaining!” the angel gushes, in childlike wonder, promptly followed by the sound of his blade slashing through the air.

Astrophel smiles wryly. He supposes it can be entertaining when the battle they fight in has nothing to do with them and the swords cannot permanently kill them. He doesn’t recall what Janiel did during the War, but he reckons, as a Seraphim with a status almost rivalling Archangels, he must have been away from the battlefield most of the time.

“I can hear that,” he says. “So you’re the positive influence I’m supposed to crush.”

“And you’re the evil I’m supposed to thwart, maybe I should have guessed.”

“Perhaps we should have.”

Since there does not seem to be anyone else in their vicinity, Astrophel snaps his fingers, getting rid of the heavy armour around him so he can freely stretch. He hears Janiel take a sharp intake of breath before the angel speaks up again:

“So we're just cancelling each other out, all our efforts for nothing.”

“At least you sounded like you're having fun, I am not,” Astrophel huffs. “Although it has been entertaining to defeat some of King Arthur’s arrogant knights who thought they’d easily get to me because of my blindness.”

“So Sir Leon and Percival’s injuries were your doing.”

Astrophel grins innocently. “I can neither confirm nor deny, they never introduced themselves, just were so convinced they could take down the Dark Knight, the poor dears. I suppose I’ve been doing terrific work around here, after all, not that this is my usual method.”

The demon feels the worry and guilt increase around Janiel’s aura at his words.

“Oh, dear, do not feel bad, I made sure I didn’t induce life-altering injuries.” He may even have healed them, just a bit, he then proceeded to purposely hurt himself so he could heal it back so Hell does not question the miracle. “Nothing your angelic presence cannot soothe.”

“This is the first time our Assignments overlap, don't they?” Janiel points out.

“Well—” Astrophel was ready to argue except he couldn't. Janiel is right, they might have circled each other since the beginning of time, but they never had missions that required them to directly face each other. A part of him wonders how this has not happened sooner, however.

“What if…” The angel’s voice is much closer now, a hand nudging Astrophel’s arm. “What if… we do nothing and report to our sides these assignments as a draw?”

“... Are you suggesting we lie?”

“You say that like it’d be the first time? It wouldn’t necessarily be lying anyway, it’s the truth, we just cancel each other out so what’s the point? See it like a mutual arrangement. It’s not like they’re checking anyway and it means less paperwork for us too.”

“You’re being unreasonable.”

“Unreasonable!” Janiel repeats with offence. “How is that different from you asking me to take credit for something you did?”

Astrophel falters. The angel has a point, somewhat. Not completely, though.

“It’s… risky.”

“Any riskier than what we’ve already done?”

“Yes! You’re suggesting we willingly collaborate!”

“Which, again, we’ve already done before.”

“No, before either Heaven and Hell were collaborating or our assignments just happened to be in the same area but did not oppose each other so we’d end up accidentally helping each other. We’ve never been put against each other, they’re obviously expecting something.”

“Accidentally!?” Janiel huffs, apparently deciding to focus on that part of the argument. “Oh, that’s brilliant! When it benefits you it’s all good but I suggest it and suddenly it’s too dangerous!”

“Because what you suggest puts you in danger!” Astrophel argues. “I asked you to take credit for me saving lives I shouldn’t have, that’s of no consequence to you but if they ever hear you’re willingly letting a demon get away with things—”

“That’s assuming they’d ever find out, they never did about the Bet, you know,” Janiel interrupts and the demon wants to scream at his carelessness. “They don’t check, they don’t care, they won’t know if I don’t want them to. You're overthinking this.”

Astrophel sighs. Still so confident, so arrogant, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little endeared by Janiel’s stubbornness and faith that everything would turn out alright. It makes him wonder once more, are there truly no consequences for a Seraphim disobeying orders or is Janiel just an expert at getting away? Astrophel got promoted and yet, in exchange with grander power, it feels like Beelzebub and Satan are a more prominent presence breathing down his neck now.

“If you can’t see how truly dangerous what you are proposing is, then I shall keep saying no until you see sense,” Astrophel answers eventually and almost chokes on Janiel’s disappointment and frustration.

“You’re really annoying sometimes.”

“Thank you.” The demon even bows. “Now if you don’t mind, dear, the Dark Knight is expected someplace else. This conversation never happened!”

“Right,” Janiel grunts.

“Right!”

Astrophel hurries away before he feels compelled to stay back because he’s well aware Janiel never easily takes no for an answer just as Astrophel always struggles to not say yes.

But this is too important. They grew too reckless, too comfortable. Heaven and Hell are finally pitting them against each other and Hell is somehow aware of his… closeness to Janiel in some way. Perhaps it’s because he was made a soldier, but Astrophel can’t understand why Janiel cannot see this blatant warning test for what it is.

So if keeping a safe distance, for now, is needed to be sure the angel doesn’t get into trouble and until Janiel gets over that stupid idea of an arrangement the way he did about changing his name, then so be it.

⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

Constantinople. 547 AD.

While Astrophel is on friendly terms with Death Incarnate, he cannot say the same for Pestilence, which is perhaps peculiar considering how the two are so intricately linked. The demon just has never had to supervise plagues since they were led by Heaven before compared to Death following him almost wherever he goes. The Plagues of Egypt were another rare instance in which Heaven and Hell put their differences at rest to collaborate but Astrophel (or Janiel, for that matter) were not assigned to that particular event, no, Lord Beelzebub had the utmost honour of taking care of that particular request and they were pretty proud of it as well. Pestilence truly rose roughly around the same time, originally a Heaven creation, now a Hellspawn, and their power amplified for the assignment.

So here he now stands, in Constantinople when he should still be in Wessex — following King Arthur’s death, chaos spread across the land as Anglo-Saxons, helped by the demon’s influence, tried to take over now that the leader of the biggest line of defence is gone, and that is without mentioning the rise of witches hidden across the kingdoms, slowly but surely making their mark, to Hell’s delight, but for now Astrophel had to leave all this and trust his knights — and Janiel — to handle the situation for this new assignment was a direct request from Mara.

It should only be a few days, she said, then he can go back to causing trouble in Britannia. He’s not sure why she even needs some help, demons don’t ask for help, demons have too much pride for that, and yet. But oh well, it allows him a change of scenery, away from stuffy armours he traded for ample tunics to survive under the harsh sun of Constantinople. And he has more questions for the other demon anyway.

It turns out, she has some of her own.

“Playing babysitter to Pestilence is a bore,” she says as both demons hover over the city, letting Pestilence do their work. “I get they’re still sorta young so we need to keep a close eye on them but really, they know what they’re doing, they don’t need supervision.”

“Mm. So why request my presence? Pestilence sure does not need two demons over their shoulder. Hopefully, they did not see me or they’d probably take offence and throw a tantrum.”

Mara lets out a long breath. Annoyance pulses darkly around her. “Turns out Heaven finally caught up and is sending more than one angel on Earth like us. One keeps popping up where I’m assigned and she’s a bitch.”

Ever since the Jesus debacle, Hell decided to send other demons to Earth. They would not be permanent agents the way Astrophel is, Mara, for example, is still primarily in the Torture Department but is sent out to the surface for assignments specifically regarding human suffering and once the work is done, she must go back to Hell until the next available mission. Astrophel would serve as a supervisor if needed although very few demons have asked for his help or expertise. Again, demons are prideful things.

He did tell Janiel about that new development somewhere in between Caligula and Pompeii, most probably while very drunk as well.

“Only took them a few centuries to realise,” Astrophel muses, he wonders briefly how he’s never encountered any of them before, though. Judging by Mara's tone, this has been going on for at least a few decades. “If you’re asking for Hellfire—”

“Hah, I wish, can’t start a war too early though, would spoil the fun,” the other demon says, disappointed. “No, I was wondering how you did it— fool an angel into trusting you.”

“Huh?”

“That Seraphim, remember? Lord Beelzebub had requested I survey him. I was so impressed by how tightly you control him to the point he purposely messes up assignments so you have less work to do! And he genuinely thinks he can make you an angel again. I’d laugh at his naivety if I wasn’t baffled you managed that. So what’s the secret?”

Never before has Astrophel wished this hard that he could stop time to his whim like a certain angel so that he can gather his thoughts and be prepared because he has trouble grasping what Mara just dumped on him as if it was nothing. Is that how Hell sees his… acquaintance with Janiel? As if Astrophel is the one leading the march? Is that why he got a promotion? That can't be right, over the years he's specifically followed Janiel's lead, as an excuse to… as an excuse to still do good and, well, because he still worried over the angel whose free spirit should have landed him in hot waters — or rather, fires of a Hellish kind — and yet.

He cools his face into an annoyed expression as he huffs. “You do not want to know, dear, or you end up with a clingy angel who keeps babbling about righteous deeds in your ear.”

The disgust growing inside Mara is so blatant that it takes everything in Astrophel to not grimace at the stench of it.

“Yeah, maybe I’m better off just annoying her until she runs back to Heaven. Well, I called you here for nothing.”

Astrophel hums. Quite the contrary, this has been a productive discussion, just not the one he expected to have.

So. He is aware he probably should not take a fellow demon’s word as the gospel of truth but everything does line up with what he knows — Mara was tasked to spy on Janiel, reported to Beelzebub, Beelzebub told the findings to Satan, shortly after, the whole Jesus thing happened and despite playing right into Heaven’s plan, Astrophel still managed to tempt Judas despite Janiel always hovering near, confirming their suspicion and subsequently promoted Astrophel, believing it the best course of action in this battle against Heaven. After all, if the adversary already lets their guard down, why not take extra precautions on your side and take advantage? It is a basic tactic.

Of course, Hell has no way of knowing Astrophel embellished a lot of his reports, but the conclusions drawn from the facts as presented line up perfectly. But if Hell noticed… It is only a matter of time until Heaven does too. And he doesn’t think Janiel is aware of that if Mara’s observations are to be believed. Seriously, purposely messing up assignments to not inconvenience him? Did the angel think him incapable? Have their assignments overlapped before and Janiel consciously sabotaged himself, Astrophel just was not aware of it until today?

What is that angel thinking?

Astrophel holds in a sigh, he can already hear his angel’s voice in his head squealing with triumph as he makes a decision. It would make it easier to keep an eye on the angel and would reduce the paperwork on both sides. Janiel has always known how to get what he wants from him anyway.

“Janiel is my problem, by the way. Be sure to tell the others if they ever see him not to engage with him and report back to me immediately using my crow. Less paperwork for everyone.”

“Your crow,” Mara repeats. “I thought your animal was an owl?”

“Claimed another bird with the promotion,” he explains. “You got a billion moths.”

“Mm. Fair.” Jealousy and admiration lace her words. “Don’t you worry though, no other demon ever gets close to that loud angel. He smites any demon on sight, except you. You’re his special project.”

“Well, I must make him mine as well, then.”

⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

Kingdom of Mercia. 584 AD.

Astrophel is enjoying the banquet in honour of King Creoda when she feels the familiar essence of a certain angel slivering to her side, a slender hand finding its place on her waist.

“Lady Aster,” the soft feminine voice purrs in her ear as she feels curls tickling the side of her face. It seems Janiel is already a little tipsy. “Pretty name, starlight.”

“Astrophel can be a mouthful,” she answers, handing over a cup of wine, out of habit. “Fancy meeting you here, Lady Jane.”

She can hear the smile on the other’s face as the angel grabs the offered cup then links their arms together and says, “Mine is less creative I admit. King Creoda mispronounced Janiel and I went along with it.”

“It is better than Bildad, I’ll give you that. Where did that even come from? I never asked.”

Janiel giggles. She giggles. Oh, she truly is drunk. “I may have stolen the identity of one of Job’s friends. He had just left the land at the time. At least here it’s just me, myself and I.”

Astrophel hums and takes a moment to appreciate the proximity, perhaps not very subtly tilting her head so she can get a better whiff of the angel’s sulphur-free scent. It is amusing how much more carefree with affection they both are when they decide to embody a woman’s trait, she’s not sure what to take from it. It is less amusing to realise they also are ignoring their last argument.

Like they are wont to do.

“Mm. New assignment, then?” she asks.

The angel takes a long sip. “Yup,” she confirms, popping that last letter. “Same thing that I did with Arthur, just decided another approach. The battles have calmed down so I figured my blessings would be better used at the castle this time. What about you?”

It sounds almost casual, but there is an edge to her voice, apprehension, and worry.

“I’m off duty, actually, I wanted to talk to you,” Astrophel replies, and Janiel drinks her wine wrong because she splutters and starts coughing. “Are you alright dear?”

The coughing continues for a couple of moments, forcing Astrophel to untangle their arms so she can avoid her wine being spilt.

“Tiptop,” comes the strangled answer when Janiel manages to find a moment of respite. “You want to talk?”

Her tone has turned suspicious, cautious, she probably caught on fast about what the demon wants to talk about. Astrophel also suspects she miracled herself sober.

“Stop time for me once again darling, would you?”

Almost immediately, the chatter all around them ceases, allowing Astrophel to concentrate on Janiel’s shallow breathing.

“I meant to ask, don’t you have to report to Heaven whenever you do that?”

“You're asking now?” Janiel almost laughs. “But no, I don't have to. It isn't exactly a miracle, so it isn't included in those. Call it a Seraphim perk. Anyway, you were saying?”

“About that Arrangement—” She marks a pause at Janiel’s subtle intake of breath, a hopeful thing. “I changed my mind.”

“Really? … What changed?”

I learned you’re being a reckless idiot alone so I might as well join you so if they ever find out they can blame me for being a bad influence, not you. “I reconsidered… You’re right, the extra effort and paperwork feels pointless.” She leans against the table, putting down her cup. “But that means from now on, we tell each other everything.”

“Sure,” Janiel agrees easily, perhaps too easily, even.

Astrophel frowns. “... Just like that?”

“I mean, I was already doing that.”

“You really should worry a bit more about the implications here.”

“Eh, you worry enough for the both of us.” Astrophel could strangle her for that. It is probably meant as a joke but it rings a bit too close to the truth. “If this is about you being a spy during the War, I know, by the way.”

The demon had suspected. “You truly have that much faith that I won't take advantage of this Arrangement to benefit my side?”

“Of course, I trust you.”

That uncomfortable and warm feeling deep within her soul makes an appearance again and Astrophel squirms, crossing her arms below her breasts with a shuddering breath.

“Just like you trust me to not report to Heaven,” the angel continues, her slender hand landing on the demon’s shoulder. Astrophel shivers as the coldness of her rings grazes her skin. “This isn’t about either of our sides, it’s about you, and I, and enjoying our time here on Earth.”

“For as long as it stands,” Astrophel reminds her, despite herself. Their time is limited, before the next War, after all.

Janiel does not say anything in response. Instead, she snaps her fingers and life resumes its course around them. Astrophel straightens up, taking it as her cue that the conversation is over but Janiel’s hand remains on her shoulder, keeping her in place.

“So, what now, starlight?” Before Astrophel can reply with her usual words, Janiel continues, “You’re not going to leave after this agreement, are you?”

“Jani— Jane!”

Her protest falls on deaf ears as Janiel drags her away from the banquet table, away from the crowd. Astrophel finds herself in a garden instead, wherein the angel gently guides her near a pond.

As they sit on the grass, Janiel suddenly decides to lay on her lap, her face chasing the demon's hands until the latter takes the hint and starts carefully braiding her curls. The angel's hair feels, well, heavenly between her damned fingers, silky to the touch with the warmth of Her Grace.

Astrophel smiles despite herself. This is the closest to Heaven she could ever be again, and somehow, she's content with that. Keeping Janiel close and safe is all she needs.

[ghostietoasty]

Why Sherlock Holmes FGO is Sus: Theories and More

Before I begin, I’d like to give thanks to my wonderful friend for all the points, art, and info searching that have been made to produce this piece, I can’t appreciate you enough for the effort you put in. 🥺🙏💕

Alright now on to it!

INTRODUCTION: Humble Beginnings (Identification of the Abnormal)

If you’ve played the app Fate/Grand Order for a while you’d know about the Heroic Spirit we first encounter in a hole within Camelot’s dessert whilst going to the Atlas Institute. Smart, handsome looking, and sharp enough to discern our True Name, this man of mystery has been seen as an oddball by many long time players of the game. There are many aspects about him that raise doubt about his credibility, is he truly what he wants us to think he is? That servant is Sherlock Holmes (Ruler) and there are many theories about him having some secrets, about him either being a Foreigner class, Beast class, or something else entirely. We are attempting to catalogue all this information in one place for maximum clarity.

SECTION 1: Other Character’s Reaction (First Impression is the Best Impression) *WARNING LOSTBELT 1 AND 2 SPOILERS AHEAD*

From the first encounter in Camelot right until the end of Lostbelt 2, there are many instances of characters reacting to his presence in….interesting ways.

Bedivere, when first coming in contact with Holmes in Camelot says that "I suppose I've never really been good with people like him. He reminds me of Merlin."

It could refer to the mysterious manner in which both Holmes and Merlin conduct themselves, but better to keep in mind that Merlin is a Grand Caster, and that he manifests as a servant due to specific circumstances (he is not dead).

In Camelot, Mash assumes that Holmes must be Caster class and that the original novels by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle must have been biographies penned by Dr. Watson under a pen name. Holmes corrects her, saying that: "My true identity, my essence, is slightly different from what you may think. And sad, but that is not the purpose of our gathering here today."

This dilemma is also present in the Sherlock Holmes Trial Quest (which mostly tackles the debate of whether he's a fictional character or someone who actually existed). Holmes has a line where he says:

"Ah, yes. I mentioned I was a Caster. Forgive me, I lied."

This is however immediately followed up by:

"A jest. My apologies. I couldn't help myself." 

This sort of backpedalling raises a doubt as to whether he was really Caster class before, so the nature of his former class is still a mystery. He later mentions that his Ruler class is the World telling him that not all illusions and dreams need to be laid bare.

When meeting with Salieri in Lostbelt 1, Holmes introduces himself as such:"I'm Sherlock Holmes, Chaldea's administrative advisor. I became a servant through unusual means, just like you."

Salieri was only summonable as a servant  because of his reputation caused by the fact that he killed Mozart. He is under the effect of Innocent Monster. It can also be said that Salieri is a lostbelt servant and is significantly more sane than he would have been in a normal summoning, that was the unusual summoning that Holmes was refering to. Does this mean Holmes is not from Proper Human History? 

Sigurd (who's under the control of Surtur), while attacking us in Lostbelt 2 says this: "So, a human and two Heroic Spirits. No, wait. Neither of you are pure Heroic Spirits, are you? You've both got something else mixed in. Hehe, hybrids then. Interesting" 

This is in reference to Holmes and Mash, who are alongside the master at this moment. Mash is a demiservant (human+servant) hence the "Hybrid" comment makes sense, but Holmes? What is the "something else" mixed in with Holmes?

Later in LB2, Holmes requests the assistance of Scáthach-Skadi in beating Surtur. Skadi says that normally she would never pay mind to what a mere Heroic Spirit had to say but: "...but in your particular case…I sense wisdom in those beautiful eyes. You remind me of Baldr, god of light." Quite a bit later, she also has this to say:"Perhaps those piercing eyes of yours in fact surpass Odin's? Mystic Eyes, perchance? ….No, that's not it. They merely reflect your wisdom born of human history's cumulative accomplishments."

She says that's not it, but the fact that it was the first thing she thought of shouldn't be ignored. 

Baldr is the god of light. Holmes' attacks consist of beams of light, and his cane lights up when he's using it in battle.

In Norse legends, Odin is said to have sacrificed one eye to the spring of Mimir in order to get ancient wisdom, the ability to perceive everything in the world. 

SECTION 1.5: More Reactions (From JP Only)

Since it is JP only and there is no official translation for NA yet, this information cannot be 100% confirmed in any way. (Most of this is from Reddit translation done by fans). But as these are also important, it's best to put this information separate section.

Moriarty's interlude involves him finding a micro-singularity in London. At some point the transmission between Chaldea and the master gets cut and Moriarty reveals he created this scenario, made the singularity and everything to get one on one time with the master. He tells us not to trust Holmes. When the time comes, we as master should choose Moriarty over Holmes. 

It has to be kept in mind that Moriarty is not a good guy, he is a character created entirely to oppose Holmes so it is natural that he doesn't trust him. For all we know, it is just emotional manipulation. 

Moriarty's very nature is tied to being the antithesis of Holmes. Holmes might theoretically go against us for the sake of humanity while also trying to keep us safe (the master is in a way, a Watson replacement to him after all) while Moriarty would gladly let humanity burn for the sake of us but also for the sake of being completely opposite to Holmes and keeping his identity as such.

However he does raise valid points, how was Holmes able to rayshift? This part was never explained, and he also mentions that his hypothesis has a fatal contradiction in the fact that Holmes risked his life to save ours. What can be inferred from this is that Holmes is a good man and is on our side, but there is something very weird about him that should not be ignored.

In Lostselt 5 it is mentioned at one point that Zeus called Holmes dangerous, he mustn't look at Zeus or the other gods and that his eyes are enemies of the world.

It has to be mentioned that this is some heavy emphasis on Holmes' eyes (Skadi mentioned Holmes' eyes twice, and she was a god as well). Is it because of the nature of Holmes that he is the one that reveals all truth? Is that in some way detrimental to gods, magic and the world in general?

Recently, from Holmes' skill upgrade interlude there was a section about Holmes saying that he is always an ally of justice and that while he may be on our side, he is still capable of evil but it doesn't change the fact that he is our ally. Even then it seems he has some secrets that can't be understood by himself.

By now with the presence of Dr. Jekyll and Helena and their recounts on what happened, it is confirmed that Holmes was actually "alive"(?)

Some of the adventures penned by Dr. Watson were actually censored versions of the original happenings, which were magical in nature.

Holmes was traumatised(?) by Helena's death back when they were both alive. He swears he would never let that happen again. (remember what happened in lostbelt 2…)

It seems that Holmes himself is not fully sure of what is secret about him. Since he utterly dislikes talking about something without being 100% sure about it (this tendency of his has gotten us in trouble before) plus his general secretive nature, it can be said that this is why he wouldn't talk about that.

SECTION 2: Weird Things That Holmes Does (And Other Questions)

Heroic Spirits are anything but normal, but there are few servants who break the norm even further, and Holmes is one of them.

Holmes is able to Rayshift (presumably) from London, to Camelot, and then to Shinjuku. There are very few servants who are able to manifest themselves. 

Musashi also appears here and there, but it's not a deliberate choice on her part. She is not able to predetermine her next destination. 

Arthur travels from a parallel world to this world, but this is due to "chasing after a certain powerful antagonist, evil omen" - so he tells.

Beast class has the skill of Independent Manifestation which would allow the servant to manifest anywhere they'd want. Merlin, Tamamo Vitch and Shiki possess it. However, it has to be noted that Holmes' rayshifts have a significant toll on his saint graph, as he is unable to fight or defend himself by the time we meet him in Camelot. While normal Independent Manifestation shouldn't lead to the depletion of the user's saint graph. Holmes' class is unknown at the time of his rayshifting. 

At the time of summoning, Heroic Spirits usually reveal their class and True Name (there also are exceptions to the rule). At the time of his summoning, Holmes doesn't reveal his Class: "Are introductions necessary? I am a detective. If you were expecting a hero, my apologies...But if you wanted a detective or an investigator, you drew the right card."

In the case of EOR Servants whose names haven't been found, they reveal their class.

Who summoned Holmes? The only thing we know regarding his presence was that it was first clearly there when he tampered with information in London.

Holmes' illustrator is Yamanaka Kotetsu, who was also the illustrator of the beasts Tiamat and Goetia

The artists who design and illustrate the characters tend to do it in groups of servants who are related to each other in some way (Pako with Arjuna and Karna Chacha and Nobunaga; Miwa Shiro with Brynhildr and Sigurd). It is strange that Kotetsu designed only Holmes, Tiamat and Goetia.

(NEW ADDITION) It should also be noted that as an illustrator Kotetsu has had previous works in a Lovecraftian Guidebook and is also the artist to the Alien God Preistess, somewhat showing how their work leans more to the outerworldly.

SECTION 3: The Design

It is a very commonly noticed fact that Holmes' coat in his third ascension has a very similar shape to that of the Foreigner card artwork.

The pattern work on the coattails of the foreigner art and the inside (blue) part of Holmes' coattails have a very similar, if not exactly same pattern running down the entire length of it. The sphere summoned in Holmes' Noble Phantasm also has the same pattern on its sides and front.

There is a "fog" around Holmes in his third ascension, which is reminescent of the smoke in the card art. (Also can be the London smog).

The glowing section of the abdomen of the being reminds one of the metallic corset that Holmes wears. 

There are 4 notches of smoke on either side of the being (total 8), under their cape. If we stretch our interpretation, then it could mean Holmes' arms and the metal arms that he has is also equal to 8.

In that tangent, the shape of the coat is also similar to that of Saver class Buddha, the fantasy trees from Lostbelt 3 and 4, and the Shadows made by the 6th imaginary element.

The Endless Knot / Shrivatsa symbol on his shoulders is one of the many references of his connection to Tibet (faking his death after the Final Problem). It is an important symbol in both Jainism and Buddhism.

Some of its interpretations include:

The eternal continuum of mind.

The union of wisdom and method.

Since the knot has no beginning or end it also symbolizes the wisdom of the Buddha

the endless cycle of suffering or birth, death and rebirth within Tibetan Buddhism.

The cane that Holmes wields has a pattern on its handle in the shape of a Prayer Wheel. 

However, we are not able to find the meaning behind the script on the cane. Both of us attempted to translate it but failed. If anyone can translate the meaning it would be greatly appreciated.

The holographic books in the base of the unidentified sphere have a pattern on their front that greatly resembles a lotus. 

In Holmes' third ascension, there are a number of magical circuits on his coat.

The circuits are almost only on his left side, with very few circuits on his right side. It's not like it was woven into it, were that the case the circuits would have been all over his coat in a more even distribution. It's almost like an impact radius.

The circuits are very similar to the ones visible on the title screen of the lostbelts, as well as the patterns seen on the fantasy trees.

CONCLUSION SECTION: Something's Up (It's Big Brain Time)

It's clear that something is very strange about Holmes, from his interactions to his design, it's clear that there is too much effort into throwing these hints that it's not just a red herring.

Is he a Foreigner? Beast? Counter Guardian? Some other unknown extra class? It cannot be said at the moment. Holmes' role as a revealer itself is dangerous to mystery and magic, so it can be anything.

 It is also not necessarily true that just because Holmes has all these abnormalities, that he will betray us, or is on the side of evil. When has there been a clear cut side of good or evil anyway? It can be argued that we are the villains in some way, as we bring about the end of these timelines to safeguard our own proper human history. 

Holmes has always been on the side of humanity and will continue to be, the question is what the reveal will be, why and how. That, only time and future chapters can answer, all we can do is speculate.

[dauntingdarling]

Reviewing Cursed (Netflix)

So I finally jumped on the bandwagon for this show and I’ve got some thoughts: (spoilers)

Bad Stuff:

For all the hype I’ve read about the show, I was expecting the main lead to be at least more than she was. Nimue was a disappointment and honestly is one of the weaker parts of the show. 

The 2nd weakest part being Nimue x Arthur relationship  

And I’m not going to even start on the effects in this show, JESUS

While I don’t necessarily blame the hollowness of Nimue’s character on the actress Katherine, (I will say the reason it took me a while to get into this show was because Katherine has 13 reasons why stamped all over her still in my head) I do think she handled some of Nimue’s scenes a bit... awkwardly. 

Case in point: Her first interaction with Arthur 

^But honestly, this wasn’t that horrible when you look to the effects the show used to make this show “graphic” 

All the bloody gore they showed was done so badly that I scoffed more than  grimaced.

^Also can we just point out that when Nimue strung up that red paladin in vines, they made it seem like it was horrible and prime gore material when in reality it looked like a cheap set piece... what a let down

Now lets chat this up a moment:

We all know how the King Arthur tale goes. He marries Gwenevere who then G cheats with Lancelot (more of him in a moment) etc. I feel for Nimue from the get go when I noticed how quick they were to use her to glow up Arthur... like seriously? 

What girl would start a relationship with Mr. Goody (to the point where he is boring) when her life is literally turning to shatters in all directions? All male writers red flag

And while we are on the topic, Arthur-sir, you are the most annoying and basic good guy I’ve watched in some time. Not only does he seem to be too good to the point that its unrealistic, they seriously played off him stealing Nimue’s sword as an okay thing to do... Sir no. 

Devon portrays all the characteristics of King Arthur perfectly, but I feel like if Arthur is to progress into becoming a king, we should be seeing him making mistakes and learning so as to become the great ruler he will one day be. (writers take notes please)

We need some dirt in that perfect persona he carries 

Also known as Weeping Monk 

Good Stuff: 

Let me just start by putting this magnificent thirst trap right here: 

I’ve got to hand it to Daniel Sharman, he has a very loyal fanbase that seems able to carry THIS ENTIRE SHOW on their shoulders. 

Like honestly, I looked through plenty of content on various apps and the Weeping Monk is blowing through social media like wild fire. 

And for good reason too:

-he’s an attractive dude playing the gothic misguided character (serious cliche but highly effective)

-he’s one of the few characters with an interesting character arch (so far)

-he’s Lancelot (hello ladies man)

-he’s great with kids *swoon*

-and don’t get me started on that entrance in ep1 (the writers knew what they were doing)

I’m going to write another post at some point to address why I don’t think he is a toxic, manipulative character that just so happens to be romanticized because of looks (as is seen so far). So watch for that if that interests you. Post in Question

But to tie this off, Daniel Sharman is a fantastic actor and I hope we get more of him next season. 

And, no, it’s not just because he is visually pleasing to the eye (but god bless guy liner)

 I feel like the writers have suspended his meeting with Nimue to the point were we are all shipping the pair of them together, when it’s possible that they may have a different bond, closer to that of Lancelot and the Lady of the Lake in classic lore

But if they hook up I will still be very pleased ngl

Other things I really loved in this show:

-Pym (her time in the viking ship as a healer was prime humor) but I’m pissed she doesn’t end up with the hot viking because unlike our main couple of the show, these two had chemistry for the short scenes they shared together. 

-Merlin (The moment I saw Gustaf Skarsgård in the trailer, I started the first ep. I loved him as Floki in Vikings and wanted to see him in other things) I was pissed that the writers made him seem... boring. 

-I was happy with how Merlin opened up to us as a father to Nimue. Nimue just needs to get her shit together and learn from him because we all know she’s powerful, she just needs to work on it. 

Watch the writers get lazy and just magically having her cast all sorts of powerful magic just because once upon a time she manipulated an apple tree

-SQUIRELL (I loved him from his first scene)

-the Widow! She was the perfect middle ground for a character and her voice was strangely motherly (and I LOVED IT!) While I know Morgana becoming the widow was a great power play and all that, I miss the original widow. 

-Morgana’s general storyline was great considering what happens in the lore. I expected her to go evil the moment her sweet love (that poor nun!) came from the dead with burn marks and talked about being powerful. I’m glad they didn’t push that on her so quickly. They should let that storyline fester a bit more. She’s too great a character to turn to the dark yet (unless they pull a complete 180 of the Weeping Monk)

-Awesome baddies- And by that I mean Iris and the head monk that came to a very satisfactory end in ep 10. Also, props to the show for making the Pope a quick to anger tyrant and his second in command being a literal weasel. 10/10  villain act right there. With these villains in play, it’s easy for Weeping Monk fans to see the light in him, thus driving his character arch. 

-The Christian themes. This may be surprising to some, especially if you are like me, a christian (I’m catholic). But honestly, I loved how they took snippets of Christian history and flipped it to create a complicated power in this show. By this I mean, the red monks act a lot like the holy orders in Catholicism back during the Crusades and the nuns act as healers and helpers to those that ask for sanctuary (the Abbess kept her mouth shut about Nimue, even when she was at risk) - thats what the core of Christianity is supposed to be, and I’m glad they made religion complicated through the monks and nuns. 

-Red Spear/ vikings- cool concept to add vikings to the story and the red spear is a bad ass. I hope we dive further into her storyline next season (I expect so given the rumors I’m hearing about how she is supposedly Gwenevere)- If that’s true, I’m worried the writers are going to ruin the relationship G is supposed to have with Lancelot, solely because both characters are more Alpha energy than Beta, and we all know how that goes...

Maybe that’s why Red Spear’s interaction with Arthur was so great. He screams beta and I’m all for it. 

[darkelfshadow]

Session Summary - 103

AKA “Return To The Serpent Hills”

Adventures in Taggriell

Session 103  (Date: 19th February 2021)

Players Present:

- Rob (Known as “Varis”) Elf Male.

- Bob (Known as “Sir Krondor) Dwarf Male.

- Paul (Known as “Labarett”) Elf Male.

- Travis (Known as “Trenchant”) Human Male.

- Arthur (Known as “Gim”) Dwarf Male.

- John (Known as “Ragnar”) Dwarf Male.

Absent Players - Nil

NPC

- (Known as “Naillae”) Elf Female. <Controlled by Travis>

Summary

- Fireday, 5th Sarenith in the year 815 (Second Era). Late Summer.

- The party begin this session, in the late evening having just finished the Council Of Crescent Moon the previous session. Most of the members of the Council retire leaving the party to discuss what they have leant about the Knights Of The Radiant Breath and how to approach the Yuan-ti Den of Gill-tan-garas.

- The party ask Ragnar, Cleric Of The Light, to use his divine magic to Commune with his god, Berronar Truesilver, Revered Mother of Safety, Goddess of Life and Light, Radiance Of The Dawn.

- In a private room of the Palace, Ragnar asks his first question to his Goddess, “Were there Knights called Knights Of The Radiants Breath fighting in the last Dragon War?”

- A female voice, without expression, answers simply: YES

- The party become excited. Trenchant prompts Ragnar and the Cleric’s next question is, “Are the stone statues in the amphitheater the Knights Of The Radiant Breath?”

- The female voice answers: NO

- With hope in his voice, Ragnar asks his third and last question, “Are the Knights Of The Radiant Breath still alive?”

- The female voice answers: YES

- Learning that the Knights do exist and are indeed still alive, the party are eager now to learn more, pressing Ragnar to again try to Commune with his Goddess. He warns them that pushing again so soon my fail. He prays again, and luckily his Goddess chooses to answer again. He may ask another three more questions.

- The party discuss what they know about the last Dragon Wars and where the last battle was fought, at the Grey Hills where the Forge Of Spells was located within the Wave Echo Cave. The Dragon Masks were forged in the Forge Of Spells nearly four thousand years ago, that started the first Dragon Wars. The Grey Hills are located in northern part of the Kingdom of Tyriba. The location of the Wave Echo Cave had been lost since that time, after a great arcane explosion blew the Grey Hills apart at that final battle, changing the landscape forever.

- However, The Wave Echo Cave was located within the Grey Hills last year by Gim, Nac (now working for the Zhentarim), Valder (now assistant Librarian of the Lington Royal Library but currently consultant to the Crescent Moon Council), Korvin (who was transformed into some hideous creature evil), and Balasar (who had gone to the Kingdom of Asalea to find his long lost friend).

- Gim is the only surviving member of that original adventuring party that set out from the north of Tyriba, long ago.  Gim tells them about locating the Wave Echo Cave, and how it is now in the hands and control of a contingent of Knights Of The Order Of The Gauntlet, led by Sir Daran, under direct orders by the King Of Tyriba. Knowledge of the recovery of the Cave has been kept secret, known only by a select few: Sir Daran (Order Of The Gauntlet), Archmage Tallous (High Circle Of Magi), Reidoth The Druid (Emerald Enclave), Lady Garaele (Harpers), and of course to King Erotill Alderd III, ruler of Tyriba.

- Given what Gim reveals, Ragnar next asks, “Are the Knights Of The Radiant Breath within 50 miles of the Grey Hills?”

- The female voice answers: YES

- After some discussion by the party as why the Knights are not known anymore, Ragnar asks his next question, “Are the Knights trapped or prevented in some way of making their presence known?”

- The female voice answers: NO

- Now the party are concerned that perhaps the Knights have turned sides. With some trepidation Ragnar asks his last question, “Are the Knights still fighting for good?”

- The female voice, for the first time shows emotion, the room is filled with divine joy as the voice answers in an uplifting tone: YES!

- The party spend more time, pouring over the two books that they have that detail the military units of the last Dragon Wars: the very rare and single last remaining copy of the “Dragons Of The Council” and the most comprehensive history book about that place and era “Tyriba - An Official and Complete History”. They can not work our why the Dragon Knights are not listed.

- Just before retiring for bed, Valthrun The Enchanter walks past and speaks to the party, when he sees their struggle, “I can not speak for the Dragons Of The Council book, I have never seen or heard of that tome but I can vouch for the other book. Yes, I have seen that book many times. It is held in every royal library, kingdom library and any grand Library. I even have a copy in my tower, well that was until my tower was destroyed by the Cult. I have seen that book in these central Kingdoms, to the lands to the far west and to the far east. The Royal Family of Tyriba, very graciously and at great expense, commissioned that book be made in the hundreds and was sent all over the lands. What a generous gift, without asking, the Royal Family of Alderd sent that work everywhere. It is such a comprehensive reference book, that no one has ever bothered to spend the time to research the history of that time and place ever again. Why bother when that book already exists, as such, I am not aware of any other history books that do. Your other book, The Dragons Of The Council one, is a very rare find. Precious. I had thought all over history books were lost.”

- With that information, and at a dead end, the party retire for the night.

- Starday, 5th Sarenith in the year 815 (Second Era). Late Summer.

- The party awake, and prepare themselves for their assault into Gill-tan-garas, the main Yuan-ti Den for the followers of Dendar. The Archmage Tallous gives the party a scroll and sigil to return them to Crescent Moon, but he warns them that Yuan-ti Dens are normally warded from arcane forces going into or out of it. They will not be able to Teleport back whilst within the Den.

- The party gather around and then Trenchant uses the Teleport Scroll to transport them to the sigil of Gill-tan-garas. With a loud arcane hum and a flash of power, they immediately they find themselves standing upon a stone dais with the sigil carved upon it, which still glows with residual arcane energy. White loose sands are around them, in this enclosed area. High mountain walls, around 500’ in height, enclose them on all sides. Ancient stone pillars, some having toppled over, lay around them. A series of pillars extends away, towards massive ruin stone features. At the far end is a large free standing stone archway that leads to a set of wide stairs that precede into the far mountain wall.

- Before the party can assess their situation, their presence is immediately noticed by a patrol of Yuan-ti Ophidians lead by a Yuan-ti Malison. Near the stairs, a group of Yuan-ti Broodguards beginning racing towards the party. And from the large stone archway, a pair of Yuan-ti Winged Guardians swoop down to join the battle.

- The party do not delay but commit to the battle, moving forward through the loose sands and engaging the foes. The Ophidians are no match for the party, and the Malison is dropped quickly too, as the party concentrated on the patrol leader. However, the Winged Guardians prove exceptionally deadly and very resilient.

- As the frenzied Broodguards try to tear the party apart, they are cut down before they can do much damage. Eventually the real threat, the Winged Guardians, are dispatched and the party rest briefly and consume some Healing Potions. This first encounter, has shown the party how deadly some of the Yuan-ti can be.

- The party cautiously approach the stairs leading to the main entrance. A large open archway, painted in colours that have faded and worn from time and sand, are decorated with painted snake statues. Gold plated snake statues flank the raised walkway. Green light can be seen from within.

- The party enter a large Entry Chamber, with four large stone snake statues present, their gem eyes glinting from the sunlight streaming in from the open archway. There are two lit passageways going north or south. A large set of ascending stairs and a large set of descending stairs flank a single green flame that gives some illumination to the chamber. Three large round holes are present on the fall wall, each large enough for a two foot wide snake to use but too small for a humanoid in any armour to use. These “snake holes” go up and down.

- The party choose the north passageway, and Sir Krondor and Gim barely leap over a pit trap that they set off.

- The passageway leads to a set of ascending stairs, that proceed upwards for some time, turning back round in a series of corners, that raise the party about 100’ in height to the next level.

- Sir Krondor and Gim move into a long corridor, lit from either side by a pair of candles that illuminates an intricate carving on the stone walls at both ends of the corridor. The carvings depicts hundreds of small snakes all swarming over themselves in a random pattern, each with their mouth open.  

- Sir Krondor and Gim set off another trap as they move down the corridor, and hundreds of small poisoned darts shoot out from the open mouths of all the snakes at both ends of the corridor. Both Dwarves are hit multiple times, taking a little damage, but their tough Dwarvish blood resists the poison.

- As the party move around the corner at the far end of the corridor, a volley of crossbow bolts fly through a forward illusion sent by Trenchant. The party rush forward to find four human Temple Guards, wearing heavy armour and carrying duel swords and crossbows. Ragnar uses a Scorching Flame to burn and force back the Guards, whilst the party move up and engage the stragglers. Slowly all the Guards but one are killed. The remaining guard has fled down a near by corridor, shouting a warning.

- As the rest of the party move towards that corridor, Naillae stays behind to check a dead end for secret doors. She does not find any but does see two more of the “snake holes” here, one going up and one going down. It would appear the Den has multiple ways to traverse between the levels, some only accessible to snakes.

- Ragnar is the first to look around the corridor, to look into a small Alchemy Preparation Room. A volley of crossbow bolts, and hurled magic spells, greets him but luckily he is not stuck. Before the enemy can attack again, Ragnar hurls a Fireball into the small room, engulfing it in an explosion of fiery death. Half a dozen Cultists, hiding around the corner, are immediately killed. And the remaining Cult Fanatics are barely standing, suffering sever burns. The two remaining Temple Guards are badly burnt.

- The party rush into the room, which has fire raging on the now broken and exploded furniture and cabinets from the blast of the Fireball. Broken vials and flasks, their liquid contents now evaporated from the blast, are scattered over the floor. Burnt parchment and scroll papers flitter to the ground in ash. Broken alchemy items lay scattered everywhere, broken Runes, burnt herbs and melted alchemy candles. The smell of burnt flesh mixes with incense.

- The party quickly move in and drop the remaining and badly burnt foes.

<And as the party look around the room which is now a scene of devastation, wondering what valuable items they lost, that is the end of the session.>

XP Allocation

Group - Combined (This is equally divided by the number of players who were involved)

Quests (Only quests that are completed or rendered undoable, during this session, are shown here)

- N/A

Creatures Overcome

- Yuan-ti:

     * Broodguards = 1800 XP

     * Malison = 700 XP

     * Ophidians = 1000 XP

     * Winged Guardians = 2200 XP

- Humans:

     * Temple Guards = 3500 XP

     * Cultists = 150 XP

     * Cult Fanatics = 1800 XP

Individual (This is only given to that person and is not divided amongst all players)

Special Bonus (Outstanding Role Playing)

Nil

XP Levels and Player Allocations

Player : Start +  Received = Total  (Notes)

Rob : 136966 + 1593 = 138559

Arthur : 109948 + 1593 = 111541

John : 105393 + 1593 = 106986

Travis : 125821 + 1593 = 127414

Paul : 115304 + 1593 = 116897

Bob : 127143 + 1593 = 128736

NPC (Naillae) : + (796)

[lu-undy]

Chapter 19 - SBT

Here it is!

"There we are."

Frank had led the way down a corridor that brought Lucien and him in the upper dining area. From there, the most prestigious and wealthy clients could enjoy the view on the stage in a room that was more elegantly furnished and decorated, with blue and pink modern neon lights. 

"Here he is, folks, my new singer!" Frank patted Lucien's shoulder as they came in front of a long table at the end of which Lucien recognised the customer. 

Arthur Duchemin. 

"Excellent performance!" The criminal applauded and his henchmen followed. He was wearing a dark red suit with a matching bowtie and a white shirt. Lucien bowed at him, the henchmen, and the lady who was sitting on his lap. Duchemin was about Lucien's age, maybe a few years older. His eyes spoke of the evil he had seen and committed. The shine in them was vicious.

"Thank you kindly." Lucien answered. 

"See," Frank said to Lucien. "The good sir here is French too!" He talked about Duchemin. Lucien knew it of course but feigned surprise. The criminal had a British accent, but no French twist to it.

"Oui," Duchemin started. "What part of France do you come from?"

"The South-West." Lucien answered. 

"By the way, please take a seat." 

Lucien nodded in thanks and took the first empty seat on the table. 

"Please, come closer and tell me about the old country…!" 

Lucien smiled. 

"Avec plaisir."

[With pleasure.]

Duchemin looked left and right at the henchmen sitting closest to him and they emptied their seats for Lucien and Frank to replace them. Some waiters came and replaced the plates, glasses and cutlery immediately.

"Would you like some refreshments, a drink maybe, to rehydrate your throat?" 

Lucien nodded. 

"Some water would be excellent, thank you very much." 

Duchemin nodded to a waiter who had no other function but to stand next to him, waiting for orders, and he disappeared. 

"I hear you have sung for the elite back in the old country." Duchemin said. 

"Indeed. I was lucky enough to meet some famous and important people."

"Where was that?" Duchemin asked. 

"In Le Conquérant, you might have heard of it, maybe?" Lucien answered, remaining as calm and normal as the circumstances asked.

"Oh! Of course! That restaurant on the Champs-Élysées? Who doesn't know Le Conquérant in Paris!" Duchemin sipped on his wine and the lady on his lap adjusted herself. "When about was that? And who did you meetq?" 

"Oh, a good couple of decades ago, closer to three actually now. Time flies, non?" Lucien answered and his glass got filled with water. "Merci." 

[Thanks.]

"What brings you here in Australia? You too got fed up with the whole French attitude? The arrogance of Paris?"

Thank God Lucien was used to lying. He didn't show that the comment hurt him. He wasn't one to be overly patriotic but hearing a criminal, of French origin, insulting his mother land… That was taking the offence quite far. Not only Duchemin's ability to breathe was due to the French secret services' incompetence for the past ten years, but the man also dared to criticise it further…!

"Non, I wanted some fresh air, try something new." 

"Ah, to live like an artist…!" Duchemin answered, poetically. His dark eyes shone maliciously in the dim atmosphere of the lounge. The neons were enough to reveal his features in a hypnotic mix of light pink and blue. "To be carefree and enjoy your art to the full, the elegance, the freedom… But also the foolishness!"

"It is true. But I didn't live like an artist for too long. After a few years singing for Le Conquérant, France was at war and I was asked to join the armed forces, which I did, obviously. I managed to survive and after that, after seeing the atrocities that a man can do or have people do for him, it is hard to sing about hope and love again." Lucien meant his words fully. He wanted Duchemin to understand that the man he was talking about was him, as much as he was also the German leader at the time. 

"Ah, yes, the war did break a lot of us, huh?" Duchemin answered, his hand on his lady's thigh. "But it also made a lot of men filthy rich, don't you think?" 

"I suppose so, oui." Lucien said, sipping on his glass of water. As the wave cooled him down inside, a spark of madness seized him. His fingers had pins and needles, his knuckles ever so slightly twitched and he clenched his jaw. 

Lucien could take the knife next to his plate and slice through the man. Right there, right then. He could throw the glass he had in his hand in Duchemin's face and press, harder and harder, until all the shards emerged at the other end of his skull. He could do that, and so many more things… 

Duchemin deserved that and much more. But now wasn't the right moment. Non, Lucien wanted him to suffer and he wanted to take his time to make him suffer. A quick death, however painful it was, wouldn't do.

"I think I will come back for your next show and perhaps you could sing in French?" 

Lucien's eyes were riveted on his glass as he saw on its curved surface all the things he would do to him to make him pay. The bill was heavy and the debt, overdue. 

"That would be my pleasure. Thank you again for the compliment on my performance."

"Naturally." Duchemin answered with a smile. 

"If you'll excuse me, I need to take my leave." Lucien stood up and closed the button of his jacket in a fluid movement.

"Of course, see you at your next show." Duchemin raised his glass and the French spy bowed courteously before leaving. 

-- Suite 504, Grand Palace, the next day -- 

Lucien parked his motorcycle and hopped off, carrying his helmet. He headed to his suite when-

"Oh… Ah, Bastien." 

He noticed the plastic box with some food at the foot of his door and bent down to collect it when something small jumped out of the shadows at his hand and hurt him. 

"Aïe! Qu'est-ce que-?!"

[Ouch! What the-?!]

Lucien pulled his hand back and his jaw dropped. On his hand, a grey baby cat was hanging, biting with all its tiny might. It was dirty and it took the Frenchman some serious squinting of his eyes before he could understand that it wasn't a rat…! 

"Oh mon Dieu…" 

He sighed, before he took the plastic box and opened his door. The kitten's teeth were still as deep in his hand as they could be and Lucien headed straight for his bathroom. 

"You need to let go of my hand, mon petit bonhomme."

[My little mister.]

The kitten hissed as Lucien tried to pull him out. 

"Argh! Please, let go!" He raised his voice but the little cat clenched its tiny jaw and Lucien hissed under the extra sting. 

"Fine! Fine! Ugh… Maybe I can make you bite something else…" 

He went to the kitchen and rummaged through his things, holding the kitten in the hand that was being bitten. He found a can of tuna and tried to open it as best as he could with still an angry and dirty kitten on his right hand. 

"There, would you care for some - oh…" 

As soon as Lucien had pulled the lid off, the starving cat threw himself at it and dived in it, face first. He almost was smaller than the tuna can itself.

"Voilà. I knew we could come to some sort of agreement. Now, I will tend to the wound you have caused and shall leave you to enjoy your dinner." 

"Meow." The kitten mewled and turned to the Frenchman. 

"Ah non! Not the suit!" 

The kitten was biting Lucien's cuff. Its face was full of bits of tuna and oil, ruining the cuff entirely. He had deep blue eyes and was so dirty and scruffy… 

"D'accord, d'accord… I shall stay here while you eat but," Lucien raised his finger. "No more biting, please!"

[Fine, fine.]

"Meow." 

Lucien looked at his hand. The blood was dripping on the counter now but he held his promise and stayed next to the kitten until he hopped in the can and licked everything up clean. 

"Now, I will take you back outside of the hotel. I am not sure they accept pets. Besides, you don't want me to be your master, believe me." 

"Meow." 

"Come here in my hand."

The kitten hissed at the fingers hovering at him and as they got closer, he clawed them before hissing threateningly. 

"Don't be scared, you have been in my hand… quite literally. And yes, it's all covered in blood now, but you can only blame yourself for this." 

Lucien got his hand closer and this time the kitten bit him. 

"Non! I said no biting!"

The kitten tried to growl but it was such a thin and fragile thing…

"What do you want?" Lucien asked as he took a step back and bent forward to be at eye-level with the dirty feline. 

"Meow…" He answered, jumping in the tuna can, turning left and right to try and fit there. 

"Qu'est-ce que tu veux?" 

[What do you want?]

Lucien tried in French and the kitten raised his eyes to him. He snuggled in the empty tuna can and lied down, his fur overfilling the tin can. 

"Tu ne peux pas rester ici."

[You can't stay here.]

The kitten hissed. Of course he could, he would sleep in that tin can and stay there, on the Frenchman's counter, safe.

Lucien sighed. 

"Comme tu voudras. Je suis fatigué et je vais prendre une douche."

[As you wish. I am tired and will go take a shower.]

"Meow."

The Frenchman went to his bathroom. He started the shower and undressed as it got warmer. Ha, he had met Duchemin now, the fool had literally been in stabbing range. Stabbing, shredding and dissecting. 

"Hm."

Lucien stepped in the shower and as his body repeated a choreography that he knew well, he continued thinking. What was the next port of call? The next show? What then? He needed to know more about Duchemin's habits, his agenda, see when and where he should strike. Mmh… He needed more intelligence. 

He exited the shower and wrapped himself in his bathrobe, his wet hair still dripping on his shoulders, before heading for his bed where he lied down for a moment. Lucien switched the night lamp on and-

"Meow."

"Argh?!" He gasped an put a hand on his chest. The kitten was on the pillow next to him. "Tu avais déjà ruiné ma manche et maintenant, mon coussin…"

[You already ruined my sleeve and now, my pillow…]

The kitten unrolled his fluff and looked up at Lucien. His eyes seemed too big for his tiny fluffy head. 

"Bon, il faut te laver." 

[Well, we need to clean you.]

Lucien picked him up delicately and walked back to the bathroom. He put him in the sink and opened the tap before grabbing the bar of soap and washing the small kitten. 

"How did you even manage to enter the hotel…? And come all the way to the fifth floor?"

The kitten mewled but was otherwise very calm in Lucien's hand. The water washed the blood away from him too and when he was done, he wrapped the kitten in a towel and dried him delicately. 

"Oh… Tu es blanc…?"

[Oh… You're white…?] 

The kitten was so dirty that he had appeared grey with ginger patches, but once washed, it turned out that he was snow white from head to tail. 

"Oh, et tu es une jeune fille. Pardon, je pensais que tu étais un jeune homme."

"Oh, and you are a lady. My apologies, I thought you were a gentleman." 

More mewling came from the kitten and when Lucien put the towel aside and cupped the kitten in his hands again, she curled in a ball of fur and laid there, enjoying the warmth and comfort. 

"Est-ce que tu es en train de t'endormir dans mes mains? Non, tu n'es pas censée faire ça, je voulais te laver pour te relâcher après…"

"Are you falling asleep in my hands…? Non, you are not supposed to do that, I wanted to give you a wash and then put you back outside…" 

Lucien sighed. Well, now he had a baby cat sleeping in his very hands. He walked back to his bed and sat, his back against the wall, the kitten sleeping peacefully. 

"Pourquoi voudrais-tu rester avec moi?"

"Why would you want to stay with me…?"

Lucien was obviously not going to get even a mewl for an answer. He watched the kitten sleep in his hand for a while. His mind wanted to think about Duchemin and the mission but that baby sleeping in his hand… Ah! 

The more Lucien thought about it, the more it puzzled him. How did the cat get there and why would she cling to him that much? He had always thought that animals had a kind of instinct to tell which humans had good or bad intentions towards them. Now, he didn't have any bad intentions per se - who would be cruel enough to hurt a kitten? - but he didn't want a kitten, he didn't need one, he didn't have the time and patience to care for someone else but himself! It was complicated enough to deal with his torments, this kitten was just extra work…!

And yet, as he watched her sleep, her fluff against his palms and her little body inflating and deflating as she breathed, he didn't find it in his heart to go outside and leave her in the street. He couldn't. He had fed her, washed her, and now somehow, she thought that his very hands were safe enough to sleep in. Those hands had tortured and killed! But that little baby didn't see that. All she saw was a warm shelter. 

"Hm." 

Ironic that the hands which were close to ripping a man apart a few hours before were now holding a baby. Ironic and nonsensical, but that was life in a nutshell, non? Absolutely paradoxical, a heap of nonsense that no mind could get around. 

Lucien needed to put his pyjamas on. He delicately put the kitten on his own pillow and the second she left his hands, she woke up and looked up at him mewling. 

"Attends, je dois m'habiller, donne-moi juste un instant."

[Wait, I need to put some clothes on, give me just an instant.] 

Making sure he was always maintaining eye contact with her, he grabbed his pyjamas off the nearby chair and put it on. 

"Voilà, c'est bon, je reviens." 

[Here we are, it's done, I am coming back.]

He pushed her off his pillow and laid on the bed on his side. The kitten mewled and mewled. She walked to him awkwardly as she was still very young and her steps weren't very confident, and without thinking about it, Lucien's hand met with her. He petted her, stroking her fuzzy fur and she stopped mewling. Instead, she laid down and stared at him.

"Je ne sais pas m'occuper d'un chat. Je ne sais pas m'occuper de moi. Qu'est-ce que je vais faire de toi?"

[I don't know how to take care of a cat. I don't even know how to take care of myself. What am I going to do with you?]

Her answer came in purrs. Lucien didn't know it but it was the first time that she did have some safe shelter, that kitten. She looked at him with her deep blue eyes and she blinked slowly, she couldn't dream of a better life. He scratched her back and her head and saw her eyes glisten before closing. 

"Ma pauvre enfant. Tu étais dehors toute seule?"

[My poor child. You were outside alone?]

"Meow." She opened her eyes. Yes, she was a stray and had barely managed to survive in life so far. 

"Moi aussi." He answered in a soft voice.

[Me too.]

She rose to her feet and wobbled on her legs a bit. She pushed his hand with her head and when she managed to turn it such that the palm was facing up, she laid on it and curled in a ball of fur. He smiled. 

He hadn't felt any warmth on his hand in forever and the touch of that baby was a lot to take in. He admired her ability to just trust a random man. She didn't know him, she didn't know who he was and what he did to become who he was. She didn't know his intentions and the reason why he had flown to Australia. She didn't know he was a paid killer. 

And yet, that baby had decided that the palm of his hand was the safest place on Earth for her to sleep. 

She closed her eyes and fell asleep. Lucien watched her for a few minutes and as he felt his eyes heat up and his eyelids slide more easily, he decided to close them and sleep too. 

-- Next day --

Lucien was on the phone with the hotel reception. 

"Oui, please send him upstairs whenever possible. Merci."

[Thanks.]

He hung up the phone and went back to his cup of coffee in the kitchen. 

"Non, non, non, ce n'est pas pour les petites filles, ça."

[No, no, no, this isn't for little girls.]

"Meow!" 

He smiled as he took his cup away from the kitten who was about to lap at it. 

"J'ai quelque chose d'autre pour toi."

[I have something else for you.]

He opened the fridge and took the bottle of milk out, under the kitten's repeated mewling. He poured some in a small plate and took it in his other hand, to the living room. Lucien put his cup and her plate on the table in the living-room. The sun was shining brightly that morning and it invaded the entire room through the windowed wall. 

"Meow!"

"J'arrive." 

[I'm coming.]

Of course, the kitten had climbed up to end up on the table but didn't know how to come down of it safely. Lucien opened his hands in front of her and she jumped in his palms. He carried her to the living room and dropped her on the glass table, in front of him. She saw the cup of coffee and started trotting to it. 

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." Lucien shook his head and his index finger. "Qu'est-ce que j'ai dit…?" 

[What did I say about this…?]

"Meow."

"C'est peut-être injuste, mais c'est comme ça. Tourne-toi, je t'ai mis un peu de lait. Ça lape le lait un chat, non?" 

[It might be unfair, yes, but there's no discussion about it. Turn around, I put some milk for you. Cats drink milk, don't they?]

The kitten turned and started lapping at her breakfast. Lucien smiled and patted her head. 

"C'est bien, ma petite."

[Very good, my little girl.]

He sipped on his coffee and watched her enjoy her breakfast when a knock interrupted him and they both raised their heads. 

"Donne-moi un instant."

[Give me an instant.]

"Meow."

"Oui, je reviens, ne t'inquiète pas."

[Yes, I will come back, don't worry.]

He scratched her head and went to the door. 

"Ah, bonjour Bastien."

"Mornin', L. You wanted to see me?" The young man asked. 

"Oui, can I send you to buy a few things for me?" 

"Sure. What do you need?" 

"Uhm…" Lucien himself wasn't sure. "I need everything one needs to take care of a kitten." 

"A kitten?" Bastien repeated, raising an eyebrow. 

"Oui, a-"

"Meow." 

They both looked down and the little white cat was at Lucien's feet now. 

"How did you get down here? I thought you could only climb things up?" Lucien picked her up and held her like a baby. 

"Oh, he's so cute!" Bastien said, his eyes lighting up. 

"It's a she." Lucien corrected. 

"Ah, my bad. What's her name?" 

Lucien looked up from her to Bastien. 

"I don't know, uhm..." He looked down at her, she laid on her back against his forearm, her big blue eyes on  him. He thought fast. "Perle." 

"Pearl?" 

"Oui. She is white as a pearl." Lucien explained. 

"Fair enough." Bastien said and he got a finger closer to her.

"Meow!" She slapped it away with her claws out. 

"Oh!" Bastien was surprised.

"Ah, my apologies, she is still a bit… wild." Lucien said. "But yes, do you think you could find me what she needs?" 

"Of course." 

"Bien. Here is the money for it." Lucien put Perle on his shoulder and went to the coathanger to find his wallet in the pocket of his jacket. He almost felt her claw through his shirt. "Here. Keep the extra for yourself." 

"Oh, thanks so much!" 

"My pleasure, now, I need this for today."

"You'll get it, don't worry. See you!" 

"Thank you." 

And Lucien shut the door again. He went back to his coffee and put Perle on the table in front of him. 

"Tu aimes 'Perle'? Ça te convient?"

[Do you like 'Pearl'? Does it suit you?]

"Meow." She brushed herself on his hand and purred. 

"Je prends ça pour un oui."

[I will take it as a yes.]

He smiled and scratched her with one hand while drinking his coffee with the other. 

It was soothing. Petting Perle was soothing. There was something in losing his fingers in warm fluff that he couldn't get enough of. And she happened to be the size of his hand too. When he scooped her up and when she had first fallen asleep in his hands, she was occupying them entirely, from his palms to his fingers. 

She turned to lap more milk and he finished his coffee. 

"Bon…" 

[Well…]

He took a deep breath and thought about work again. There wasn't much he could do apart from rehearse for his next show. His eyes went to the piano. Oui, he shall rehearse a few things, and a French piece too. Duchemin had asked that and Lucien knew exactly which song he should go for. 

"Meow." 

Perle raised her head from the empty plate. Her muzzle and whiskers were full of milk. 

"Il faut que tu apprennes à manger proprement, Perle." 

[You have to learn how to eat in a clean way, Perle.] 

"Meow!" She protested and he smiled. He grabbed a paper tissue off the table and wiped her muzzle. She shook her head left and right, she obviously didn't like it. It made him smile even more. 

"Tu es en fait exactement comme un enfant."

[You are in fact exactly like a child.]

He went to his piano only a few meters away but she mewled when she saw him go further from her. 

"Mon Dieu…"

[My God…]

He came back to take her and put her on the piano. 

"C'est mieux?"

[Better?]

She sat and watched him as he started playing. He looked for the notes at first, unsure he could remember how to play at all. But little by little, everything came back to him. Fragments first, and then the entire piece. He played and repeated it, again and again, until a knock broke his trance. 

"Ça doit être Bastien."

[It must be Bastien.] 

He opened his door. 

"Hey, L, I have your things!" 

Lucien's eyebrows jumped at the big plastic bag that seemed full. 

"Parfait! Come in."

[Perfect.]

Bastien did as he was told. 

"This is kitten food." He handed him a large package. "That's the bed." 

"It is gigantic compared to her." Lucien commented. 

"Right now, yes, but she'll grow up and fill it. That's what the man in the shop told me." 

"I see." Lucien nodded. 

"That's a post for her to scratch her claws, so that she doesn't scratch the furniture or your stuff… That's food and water bowls, and that's a few toys."

"Toys?"

"Yes."

"For a cat?" Lucien raised an eyebrow. 

"Yes, they're very playful apparently." 

"Hm, fair enough." Lucien thought it wasn't so weird after all as she behaved like a child. "Thank you very much for everything, Bastien."

"My pleasure. Oh, and Maurice passed a word for you, you need to go and see him. He's got news." 

"Ah!" Lucien's eyes lit up. "Parfait!"

[Perfect!]

"Alright, I need to go, they need me downstairs." Bastien nodded and waved goodbye to his friend. "See you, L!" 

"See you." 

Lucien put the water and food bowl next to his chair on the floor and filled them. He put the scratching post next to his seat for the piano and the bed he put in his bedroom. 

"Voilà, tout est prêt maintenant."

[There, everything is ready now.]

"Meow?" 

He went back to Perle who as usual was mewling whenever she was more than an arm's length away from him. 

"Perle?" 

"Meow?"

He scooped her off the piano with his hands and raised her at his eyes' level. He looked at her straight in the eye.

"Tu veux…? Hm. Si tu veux rester avec moi, j'ai ce qu'il te faut et je vais faire de mon mieux." 

[Do you want…? Hm. If you want to stay with me, I have what you need and I will try my best.]

She opened her lagoon blue eyes wide and her pupils went from slits to circles. 

"Meow." 

She bent forward towards his face and brushed her head on his mouth, purring. Lucien closed his eyes and his eyebrows arched up. 

"Mon Dieu…" 

[My God…]

It hit him. There was one life he could save right now, and it was hers. For the professional killer that he was, this realisation overwhelmed him. For once, he could do the right thing and be a good man, even if it was just for a cat. And it became obvious. He had to keep her.

He screwed his eyes shut and heard his lips make a sound he hadn't heard in a decade. 

[spidersmiceandeverythingnice]

What if Fionn was the Grand Saber

the justice we deserve... I literally have no idea what that would look like in canon but boy oh boy do I have IDEAS and COOL IMAGERY that I want to see regarding this

(read more because it turned out longer than expected WHOOPS lol)

Picture the final stage of the Camelot Lostbelt - the reverse side of Avalon, if you will. A crumbling tower surrounded by black flowers, each one draining mana from the air. Sherlock Holmes is long gone. Da Vinci and the rest of their crew, from the Shadow Border to the Wandering Sea, is far, far, far away. Beryl’s Assassin Servant has killed King Arthur, preventing them from destroying Beryl with a blast from Rhongominyad. Beryl has possession of Excalibur, the Holy Sword of the Planet, and intends to destroy it - the last remnants of the guardians who once protected this cursed land - and unleash his Lostbelt until it covers the world. The Phantasmal Tree is in full bloom, raining stardust. There will be no more gods, or faeries, and Galahad’s protection is as far away as it ever was.

Ritsuka’s power is fading, too. When they first came to Chaldea, they were considered a biological phenomenon - a human with no magic circuits that somehow produced enough mana to power a small city - and they’ve only gotten stronger with time. But it’s not enough. Not against this endless sea of curses, not against the embodiment of wickedness itself.

One by one, the Servants who assisted the remnants of Chaldea begin to fade away. Cu Chulainn, Queen Medb, Fergus and even Scathatch, the True Scathatch of Pan-Human History, who has finally met her end against an opponent she did not train, who she did not even anticipate. It has been a long and bitter war. The knights of the Round Table - first Lancelot, then Tristan, and brave Gareth, and Gawain, and Mordred, though the Traitorous Prince manages to send one last blast of signature red lightning through the skies. It does not reach it’s target, and Mordred slumps before disappearing. Finally, there was Sir Bedivere, winking out like a comet passing over the horizon.

Even if this place hadn’t been so evil, even if Assassin wasn’t so challenging as an opponent, it wouldn’t have mattered. Ritsuka can no longer support the Servants, can no longer cause them to manifest. It is hard to tell if they are dying, or if the flowers have swallowed their very Spiritual Origins, feeding the Phantasmal Tree.

Paracelsus and Jekyll are barely hanging on, trying to keep Assassin busy behind Mash’s cracked and broken barrier. The mold of Camelot is going to fall, and when it does, they will die.

There is one Servant, though, who does not stop fighting even for an instant.

The arc of Moralltach burns through the air. When it comes into contact with the black flowers, the hiss and fade away, filling the air with a burning stench. Diarmuid is nearly as fast as Assassin, and it’s clear that the enemy Servant is getting frustrated.They cannot keep Paracelsus’s spells at bay while simultaneously blocking each of Diarmuid’s attacks forever. Indeed, the dual-classing Servant has proved their greatest weapon in this Lostbelt. Closely attuned to the ancient gods and fey of this world, able to destroy any magic and even cut the threads of fate with his weapons. He even resisted the nega-genesis. Provided that he didn’t get too close to the Phantasmal Tree, Diarmuid seemed able to keep fighting indefinitely. At least, that seemed to be his intent.

Assassin must have realized it, too - and must have realized that Beryl was too busy playing around with the seals of Excalibur to be of any help - and that was why they changed tactics.

Ritsuka saw it unfold in an instant, and opened their mouth to shout a warning.

Assassin changed course. They were not heading for Jekyll, whose work with Diarmuid had given him an extra combative advantage - or for Paracelsus, who was drawing his sword and taking aim.

Instead, they went for the cracks in the Mold Camelot.

They were going to kill Mash.

She could block the blade - and destroy her barrier, leaving them vulnerable to the nega-gensis.

Or she could take the hit, and pray that she was strong enough to stand after Assassin was finished with her.

Time moves very slowly - Ritsuka feels like they are moving through molasses - and then, something happens that they didn’t expect.

Gae Dearg reappears; his Spiritual Origin flickers and shifts, contracts in response to the sudden change - Diarmuid has aimed for a killing blow while Assassin’s back was turned to him.

The red spear sinks into Assassin’s stomach, and then, it disappears -

An illusion! Ritsuka forces their legs to work, and breaks into a run.

Assassin’s blade sinks into his back, sliding cleanly between powerful shoulder blades. 

At once, Gae Buidhe stabs outward, slicing a clean line down Assassin’s torso as they leap to get away from the weapon. There’s a spray of blood, and then a scream of delirious laughter, and then the enemy Servant is gone, back to their Master to get healing before they come back to finish the job.

But even though Diarmuid ua Duibhne sinks to his knees, blood streaming into the bed of black flowers beneath him, he does not immediately fade away.

Ritsuka feels a bubble of panic rise like a scream in their throat as they come up to Mash, who is in tears.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry -”

“No,” says Diarmuid, levelly, putting a hand to the exit wound in his chest. “I managed to get a fair number of strikes in. No matter what power source they are drawing from, it cannot last forever. Nothing can. I think we have some time now, anyway. You must hold the barrier, Mash. It’s important for what comes next.”

Mash nods, even as tears streak down her cheeks. “I will! I won’t let go no matter what!”

“Good. Master?”

He looks up, clear-eyed and expectant. Tears prickle in Ritsuka’s eyes.

“You should have given me more of a warning,” they say, choked. “I needed more time.”

Diarmuid smiles, almost sheepishly. “Well, if I’m right about this -” a wet cough; blood bubbles up from his lips and Ritsuka feels cracks spreading in their resolve. “- which I am, then it doesn’t matter what happens to me now. Everything will be fine.”

And even though everything is awful, he says this with such radiant confidence, that Ritsuka believes him.

Diarmuid holds out his hand, and Ritsuka hands him the hunting horn that they had collected from the Wild Hunt. Ritsuka comes close and helps Diarmuid stay upright, pressing their hand tight against the gaping wound, feeling the crackling energy within - Assassin’s poisonous mana - and with gritted teeth, begins running through a healing spell. Please, oh, please, let this work.

Diarmuid speaks in a language that Ritsuka does not know or recognize.

Then he lifts the horn to his lips, and -

All other sound disappears.

A single, clear note, pure as a hawk’s cry.

A breeze washes over them, and only then does Ritsuka realize how unbearably hot this flowerbed was - a greenhouse from hell - and even as the thought crosses their mind, the flowers wither and die. Mana is immediately restored to the area behind Mash’s shield, and immediately, the Earth begins to repair itself. Ritsuka feels it like a pulsing heartbeat, and thinks, Is this Avalon restoring itself? Or is it - the Counterforce?

No, that didn’t make sense. But - at the same time - they are summoning a guardian. The circumstances are extraordinary, and before it was cursed, this was indeed Avalon. So perhaps...

A hand comes down on Ritsuka’s shoulder, and they look up.

A familiar-looking man is standing there, even though there had been nothing here a second before, and there was no way for anyone to enter this place since Beryl had sealed the gateways. He is wearing a blue cape over simple, fur-lined armor. His hair is spun gold; he seems to be glowing faintly. He is at once divine, a giant, and perfectly normal, though he smells faintly of river-flowers and dark woods. His eyes are filled with fire, infinitely gentle and warm, and he carries a sword across his back that is not Excalibur - but -

“Please,” says Fionn MacCumhail. His voice is just as Ritsuka remembers, but at the same time, it seems to come from everywhere. It fills him with a sense of strength and peace, and Ritsuka thinks they might cry all over again, just from sheer relief. “May I?”

Stunned, Ritsuka steps back.

Diarmuid grumbles when Fionn takes a waterskin from his side and pours a measure into his hand.

“Took you long enough,” he says, as Fionn tips the water into his captain’s mouth.

At once, the wound on Diarmuid’s back closes, and Assassin’s poison disappears as if it had never existed. Ritsuka registers a surge of mana - that counts as a mana transfer? 

Diarmuid stands, and Fionn claps him on the shoulder.

“You’ve done well to protect these two,” says Fionn. “Now, please - I know it is difficult for you to avoid showing off - but please don’t get in my way.”

Diarmuid smiles thinly, amused. “No promises, my lord.”

“Dear shieldmaiden,” says Fionn, smiling down at Mash. “You have become an exemplary warrior! I see I was right to single you out back then! I have always had a keen eye for talent. Kindly lead the way for us?”

Mash stutters. “But the barrier -”

“It is no longer necessary. I am here now.”

He spoke simply, with no room for arguments. Ritsuka looks at Mash, whose mouth is stretched thing, whose lip is raw from biting into it.

“Mash, do as he says. We’ll take our cues from you -” Ritsuka pauses, blinking at Fionn, trying to get a better read on him and his new status. (A part of Ritsuka honestly hadn’t even believed Diarmuid when he proposed this plan - could summoning a Grand Servant truly be so simple as sounding a hunting horn?) “Saber.”

Fionn smiles. “Ah yes,” he says, with a chuckle, as if just remembering an obvious fact. “I still am a Servant, even like this.” He turns to Diarmuid, who is at attention. “Call for the others, will you? It is time for the Fianna to fulfill our responsibilities. Lady Mash, when I draw my sword - drop the barrier - we shall finish the battle now, without further delays.”

Diarmuid nods, and lifts the horn to his lips.

Fionn takes the sword from his back, and the battle begins again.

[bssaz97]

RWBY Ancestries Chapter 5 Part 1 of 3

* Hello everyone, here’s the new chapter of 2020. Sorry for late update and yes I know I’m evil for sliptting this chapter in three parts but I couldn’t find a way to include this chapter without it being too long to read. Also this will be interconnecting some characters we haven’t seen in this story. Hope you enjoy! *

*WARNING! Just a heads up we’re going to be seeing some sensitive material near the second half of this current part, related to abusive manipulation of family (Take a guess from whom) and if you are a victim of squeamish towards this kind of treatment I would advise skipping over the part I’ll mark as such ‘^^^^^^^^’, so be advised it gonna get fucked up.

- In Mantle, Wyvern Crash Site -

In a open space, a multitude of Atlesian Knights are shown to be dismembered, beheaded, and destroyed beyond any repair. In the middle of said destruction is the Grimm Queen looking very much disgruntled. Why? Well for one, she started the day with the best of news she had heard in over a millennium.

She found out that she had a descendant from her one of her once thought to be dead children and that they were in this kingdom. So naturally she wanted to meet the boy in person. Unfortunately she didn’t account for one important thing. She hadn’t left her castle in a very long time so....she got lost. One would think that with a kingdom with a flying city in the sky kingdom it would be easy to spot. Sadly that didn’t help much when said kingdom was in a land of mostly ice and mountains, so almost every landmark would look the same. Not to mention the fact of said kingdom to have multiple military battle stations all over the place, so she had a long time getting pass them all. She didn’t even attempt to attack them, since she was in a good mood, she was simply going to ignore them. Too bad the Atlesian military didn’t share such sentiment.

Salem: I swear I don’t know what’s more annoying. The fact the these machines share the same ‘shoot first’ mentality as their creators or the fact that they tried to bomb me out of the cursed sky!

Salem turns towards the Wyvern and sees it nursing its injury. Salem thinned her lips. This wouldn’t be good at all, with her only transport to this wretched kingdom not being able to fly it would prove to be a major setback. So with a sigh she approached said Grimm and placed her palm on the injury.

Salem: There, there my companion. Your time isn’t through yet. I still need your presence if I am to leave this place. So here’s a small comfort.

Her hand begins to glow a purple hue and slowly spreads throughout the Wyvern’s wings. Witb her magic she is able to heal the Wyvern’s injuries and makes them more durable, so that they wouldn’t be so vulnerable again. She removes her hand away from the Grimm and look towards it.

Salem: Good, good. Now I still require your assistance, I need to create a diversion of some kind to get those huntsmen off our backs. At least until I’m able find and separate my grandchild from the others.

The Wyvern nods in understanding, the Grimm begins to flap its wings and ascend to the sky.

- Meanwhile with Teams RWBY and JNPR -

Ruby: Ok everyone the Wyvern’s weaker now. So we can execute the next phase of the plan. Killing this Grimm and saving Mantle!

Blake: I have to admit this has been going to plan far more easily than I originally thought it would be.

Yang: Come on, Blakey! It’s us we’re talking about here. We probably just haven’t got the chance to really see how we’ve improved since coming here.

Weiss: Not to sound the skeptic, but Blake does have a point. This is going far too easy than what was originally planned for.

Ruby: What do you mean Weiss?

Weiss: I mean does this feel like the night that Beacon fell when we first saw a Wyvern. Shouldn’t we have gotten reports of multiple Grimm attacks all over Mantle and not just the Wyvern.

The group was silent after the former heiress made her point. It was true, they hadn’t seen any more Grimm besides the Wyvern showing up. The also haven’t heard any reports of anymore attacks going on over the comms. If such a massive Grimm like the Wyvern were to come to the kingdom, why wouldn’t others follow?

Ren:(Whispering) Something doesn’t feel right? The Grimm have never been this easy to take down. It’s almost like it wasn’t even fighting.

Nora:(Whispering) Ren, what do you mean? We saw the Wyvern attack the battleships when it got to Mantle.

Ren:(Whispering) Maybe, but back at beacon when the Wyvern first appeared their was a sense of dread in the very air. But I don’t sense that right now.

Nora:(Whispering) I guess I see your poi....have you noticed that fearless leader’s been acting strange.

Both look towards the direction of their blonde leader and they see that he seemed to be staring off to space again, almost like he was in some form of trance.

Ren:(Whispering) Now that you mention it he does seem unfocused. You don’t suppose he suffered any head injury when he landed on the building, do you?

Nora:(Whispering) He seemed fine from the landing though. But I think he’s been like this even before the meeting started.

The two of them have finally had enough time to question the subject before they confront their leader on his state of being. Being the more negotiating of the two, Ren lightly grips his leaders right shoulder. Unfortunately, Jaune was it paying attention towards any of them as he still seemed to be in some form of trance. Hearing a voice only he can hear.

???: Jaune, where are you?... Jaune?...Jaune?...come to me...

Ren: Jaune?! (Shaking his shoulder hard)

Jaune: Gah?! What!

Jaune looks towards his friend and sees that he has a very concerned look on his face. So does Nora and Oscar for that matter.

Jaune: What happened? Why is everyone looking at me?

Ren: Jaune you have been unresponsive to us for the past five minutes. Like you were standing dead. What’s going on with you? And don’t say it’s nothing because you were acting like this even before the mission started.

Jaune: I...something’s wrong...

Ren: What?

Almost like a crazed man, Jaune leapt towards the cockpit. Once inside the second pilot takes notice of him.

Pilot 2: Hey, you’re not supposed to be back here!-

Jaune: You need to turn us back right now!

Pilot 2: What? What’re you on ab-

Pilot 1: OH SHIT! TARGET ON SIGHT! TARGET ON SIGHT!

Both the pilot and Jaune see the Grimm Wyvern flying towards their ships at a very quick pace. Jaune sees this and moves quickly back to the main deck towards his teammates. But alas there was no time

Jaune: Guys!!! BRACE!!!-

Just then, as he was warning his friends the Wyvern struck the airship. Using its new armored wings, the Wyvern hit the two airships with a mighty flap of it’s wings, causing damage to the transports that contained both teams. The resulting collision caused both the airships to lose stability and the began falling out of the sky. One of the pilots see that they had lost one wing entirely, making them spin uncontrollably.

Pilot 1: EVACUATE! EVACUATE THE SHIP!

Pilot 2: WE DON’T HAVE TIME I CAN’T STABILIZE!

Pilot 1: EVERYONE BRACE!

*CRASH!* *EXPLOSION!*

- Atlas Academy, Battle Room -

Ironwood: Blue Hawk! What is your status, Blue Hawk! Gold Eagle do you copy!

Comms: *///Static///*

Ironwood: Damn it! (Slams his desk)

Qrow:(On Comms) Ironwood! What’s going on, did something happen!

Ironwood:....We just lost contact with both team RWBY and JNPR.

Qrow/Winter:(Both on Comms) What?!

Ironwood: It seems the plan didn’t follow through.

Qrow: Well that’s obvious enough! I’m going to go look for them.

Ironwood: No Qrow! You need to stay in position, I can send a team to look for-

Qrow: They won’t get there on time! Jimmy we both know that I can make it there much faster than you can assemble a rescue team. My nieces are out there, god dammit!

Ironwood: Qrow I know how much this means for you, but you need to think more cautiously. What if they are stuck under a building, there won’t be anything you can do to help them, this is why I have rescue teams for.

Winter:(On Comms) Sir with all do respect but our forces are stretched thin as is, and we still have a Wyvern flying around the kingdom, I think it would be quicker if to send a two man team.

Ironwood:...What do you have in mind Specialist.

Winter: (On Comms) Sir, send both Branwen and I to recover the teams. With my semblance I can easily be able to aid the teams if they are in any position where they are immobile. Just lend us a pilot and a ship to retrieve both teams.

Ironwood: That would be more faster than assembling a rescue squad in the middle of all this. Very well, I’ll have my forces keep the Wyvern occupied while Qrow and you retrieve both teams. But exercise extreme caution. We don’t know if this Grimm is intelligent enough to prey on smaller ships.

Winter:(On Comms) Understood Sir!

Ironwood: Ironwood out. (Turns off Comms) ...please be safe.

- Schnee Manor -

From inside the office of Jacques Schnee, said CEO was scrambling to get a scroll message through to his secret informant. Saying that he was more than ‘unpleased with the current situation’ would be a understatement.

Jacques: Arthur! Arthur! Answer your Scroll, damn you!

After for the sixth time of not receiving any response he threw the scroll towards his bookcase with a snarl, almost breaking the device on impact.

Jacques: Damn that man, why can he never be around when you need him! ‘Huff’

Originally their partnership was intended for the goal of making sure that he won the election despite his low poll numbers and keep his position on the council, frame Ironwood, and beat that vigilante leader Robyn Hill and her group of thieves. But what does he get instead. A GODDAMN WYVERN ATTACKING HIS KINGDOM AND THE DAMN CHEEKY BASTARD NOT RETURNING HIS CALLS! Was this the plan from the start to let him into his fold and then frame Jacques with this occurrence instead. His anger started to turn to paranoia.

Jacques: If somehow Ironwood gets word that Watts is alive and that I tried frame him, he’ll have me outcasted as a traitor....No he wouldn’t do that I’m still a member of the council and he has no proof that we tried to sabotage the election....but what if he catches Arthur, where does that leave me. I need to do something.

Jacques Schnee look towards his old portrait of a much younger looking version of himself. That was taken back when he was an ambitious up-comer in the business world, where he was able to skillfully manipulate his way to power through forming a close bond to the late Nicholas Schnee, the original founder of his company and the father of his wife and grandfather to his children. He helped the old fool during his last days, getting on his good side and persuaded him to have him take over the company and marry his only daughter. Clearly a masterful manipulation to win over the foolish old man.

While he may have been the eager and ambitious opportunist back then, he clearly knows that he was not the same man as he was back then. Where there was a youthful man full of vigor to Turing a small dust company into a empire, now resides a frail old businessman much out of his prime. While he was CEO of the largest company in Remnant, he no longer could intimidate his opponents with his power plays.

Not even his two oldest daughters considered him intimidating anymore, the former latched on to Ironwood’s side and the latter leaning on her new ‘family’ for support. While he still had Whitley under his influence, he didn’t see his own son being anything more than a tool to extend his control over the company. While the boy was obedient, intelligent, and talented in musical instruments, Whitley would never live up to his standards. While he spend many years having him and his other siblings to learn how the economic world works, only Whitley took those studies seriously. However, he could plainly se that the boy was much too eager to please and did not have enough spine to ever question why he was told to do certain tasks, didn’t help that he was much like his mother in demeanor than how an actual boy would act his age. The perfect pawn, but only that. His wife, Willow, was a shadow of her former self. He knew that if he didn’t break down the woman so much to the point of alcoholism, he would have never gone as far in life as he has. But alas he seems to have come to an end of his road.

There was no doubt in his mind that Ironwood will find a way to link this back to him and prosecute him in front of the council and he will lose everything, while Watts is able to walk invulnerable to any charge due to his powerful connections and the fact that he is believed to be dead. So really there was only one option left for him that he could at least save some dignity left. He moves towards his portrait and pressed a secret button on the bottom center of the frame. From there the frame moved to the side and revealed a empty suitcase and a black box. This would ensure that he will escapes this unscathed.

Yes, the only option now was to leave. Leave Atlas and all this old life behind a live the rest of his days in hiding in a safe house he acquired a long time ago in remote island off the shore of Mistral. There he could live a relatively peaceful life and avoid any attempt against his life or imprisonment. At least with this black box he could still have connection to his secret bank account and still live like a king.

He grabs his suitcase and pockets the black box, then closes his secret compartment and moving the portrait back in place. Jacques Schnee will finish his career his way, and that won’t be in a cell. As he goes to leave his office he opened the door and there he finds his only son outside looking like he was about to knock.

Jaqcues:(Shocked) Whitley!- For crying out load you nearly gave me a heart attack. What are you doing standing outside my office!

Whitley: (Steps back and looks down) M-my apologies, Father, but I was coming to see if you were in your office.

Jaqcues:(Annoyed) Well congratulations, you’ve found me. Now step aside I have important business to attend to!

Whitley moves out of his Father’s path and watches him go down the hallway to toward the main stairway. He follows after at a close distance but not too close to be shoulder to shoulder but behind him. He observes that his father has a briefcase, much like the one he takes to go on a business trip but he hasn’t seen this one before. Another thing puzzled him though.

Whitley: Father, what exactly did you mean by having ‘important business to attend to.’ We’re in the middle of Grimm attack.-

Jaqcues:(Turns to side glance him) Did I say you could follow me boy.

Whitley: N-no, of course not Father! I meant no disrespect at all, I was just worried-

Jaqcues: Well you did just disrespect me, right now. You’re following me without permission and you are also talking aback towards me. If I were you, I’d watch my next few words.

‘^*Trigger Warning: Scumbag Jaqcues Imbound**^^^^^^^’

Whitley keeps his mouth shut and does not look towards him. Knowing better that it is foolish not to do as he wishes. When he is sure the boy wouldn’t question him further he moves back towards the stairs. But gets held back again from his son.

Whitley:...But Father where do you intend to go at a time like-

*SMACK!*

Whitley jolts back from his Father and holds right side of his face. He could feel the stinging sensation of his cheek getting struck harshly across his face, not only that he think the strike may have stuck his nose as well. Causing a small trinkle of blood to run down his right nostril. He could feel wetness forming from the corner of his eyes due to the pain, but they don’t fall. He looks towards his Father who just struck him and saw the dead eyes stare he gave towards him. Quickly he looks down, now too afraid to look at him in the eye.

Jaqcues: Didn’t I just say to watch your next few words... Answer me when I’m speaking to you boy!

Whitley: Y-y-yes sir.

Jaqcues: ‘Huff’ Now what do you have to say for yourself.

Whitley:(Hold back a sob) I-I’m sorry for di-disrespecting you F-father.

Jaqcues:...Look at me boy.

Whitley:(Looks at Jaqcues)

Jaqcues: Now what have you learned. Once again, for the eleventh time.

Whitley:... It’s f-foolish not to do a-as Father asks.

Jaqcues:(Nods) Now go clean yourself up before any of the help or your mother sees you. Or we’ll have a repeat of what happened last time when Klein was let go after seeing your correction for letting your sister leave.

Whitley:(Nods shakily, holding back more sobs) Y-yes, Father.

Jaqcues: Now you may leave.

Whitley turns around and heads towards his bedroom to tend to his nose. As he usually does. Alone, and holding back sobs.

Jaqcues: Such a waste of DNA. Maybe I should have had that operation to stop having children.

‘^^Trigger Warning Ended ^^’

Jaqcues now with this son out of the way makes his way down the main stairway. But once again he stops dead in his tracts, not by any of his help or family. Rather by a unfriendly looking group of people. Consisting of two youths, a Faunus, and a familiar looking bastard.

Watts: Hello Jaqcues. We have much to discuss. Hope you don’t mind us spending the night.

- End of Chapter 5 Part 1 of 3 -

* Oh lord that was hard to write, hope you all enjoyed the first half of the chapter. The second half I’ll admit was hard to write for me personally, so if you want to skip that part if you don’t wish to see sensitive material, please by all means skip it. Anyway I’m going to have part 2 uploaded around two days from this post so stay tuned. Be good people *

[ladyboltontoyou]

Arthur Morgan x Reader: Blown Away. 2

Warning: Cursing, violence, gore, death, panic attacks, angst.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

A/N: I didn’t expect to write another chapter but tbh I really like this plot. Hope this is what you two imagined! Cheers!

It was so hard at first. Changing how you ate, how you behaved, how you spoke. It was like learning how to do all those things from scratch. You slipped up constantly, calling everyone sir or ma’am, repeatedly apologizing to the point where some people got annoyed.

Most of them were sympathetic and understood. Sadie immediately took you under her wing, almost treating you like her own daughter. She was by your side almost every minute you were there. Arthur was the exact same, but he took it so far that he found himself sleeping outside your tent every night.

The first night Dutch had called you a burden. You heard him whisper it to Hosea as Sadie helped bandage your arm and clean your busted lip. But over the weeks he changed completely. When you had finally opened up to them it was like their paternal instincts kicked in. It felt nice to be cared for, you hadn’t felt that kindness since you were a child.

***

“Oh, that was awful.” You sighed and set the revolver down on the cart beside you. Arthur had taken you out for target practice, insisting you needed to learn how to defend yourself. “I don’t think I can do this, Arthur, I’m sorry.”

“Why don’t we try something a little easier, then?” Arthur took his shotgun off of his horse and handed it to you. “Now, with this type of gun it’s impossible to miss. As long as they’re not too far off. If someone’s running at you,” He put his hands on top of yours and cocked the gun. The loud noise it made sent a weird giddy chill through you. “They won’t stand a chance. Shoot that tree and see what it looks like.”

You aimed at the tree he pointed at, a large pine a few yards away. Pulling the trigger always made you nervous, only because of the loud noise. You hated loud noises. Your whole life our father had used noise to intimidate you. Slamming doors, stomping around the house, throwing things.

“You alright?” Arthur asked.

“Oh, yeah, sorry, I was just thinking.” You sighed and lifted the shotgun in the position he guided you into. You kept both eyes open, something he always told you to do. It’s not like you were going to miss the tree though. The blast from the shell would surely spray the tree and then some.

The loud boom that came from the gun temporarily made you deaf and you stumbled back from the kick. Arthur grabbed your arm to help you steady yourself and got ready to shower you in compliments to reassure you.

“Wow, that, that felt amazing!”

Well, not the reaction he expected.

This type of adrenaline was much better than the type you were used to. You wanted more of it. You cocked the gun again and fired in the exact same spot, this time the kickback not affecting you as much.

When you turned to Arthur with that proud smile on your face his heart melted. He’d never seen you look like that. “Look at you, girl!” He laughed with a smile of his own. His praise made you feel even more confident. You were practically beaming. “You wanna try the bolt-action now?”

“I want to try every one of them. Not the handgun, I don’t like that one.” You said and handed him his gun back.

“Yeah, not my favorite either.” He grunted as he swapped out guns, checking to make sure the rifle was loaded and ready. “What do you say after this I teach you how to fish?”

***

“I just feel so awful sometimes.” Your voice was raw as you shook in Arthur’s arms post panic attack. “It’s hard. I grew up listening to the man that was supposed to protect me call me such awful things. For so many years. It’s all I’ve known. And I don’t know what I did. He used to be nice. Then when my mom went missing he just changed.”

Arthur held you close and ran his fingers slowly through your hair. Normally when you had panic attacks it was Sadie who calmed you down but she was out in Valentine buying horse supplies.

“I guess, maybe it was his way of coping. The drinking, maybe he missed her and didn’t know how-”

“I’m going to stop you right there, (Y/N).” Arthur said firmly. “Don’t you try to excuse what he did. There’s nothing in the world that could justify what he did to you.” He ran his thumb over your cheek where the last remaining tint of your bruise remained.

He was right. Maybe it was your mind trying to convince you it wasn’t as bad as it truly was in order to protect you. It would have been nice to think it wasn’t that way, but you wanted to remember. You wanted to remember how evil he was, it would be dangerous to forget.

“You did nothing to deserve it, either.” He continued while your body slowly stopped shaking. “You know that, right?”

You nodded and parted from him to sit up. “Hard to believe it too much though. I mean, I know it’s not my fault. But at the same time, hearing that you’re useless your whole life…” The way Arthur was looking at you made you feel a bit guilty for pouring all this out on him. “I don’t know. I don’t know. It’s just hard to get that image of myself out of my head.”

Arthur nodded as he listened to you. “Well, you won’t be hearing that anymore. I promise that. And if anyone around here so much as teases you, let me know. Sometimes John gives a little too much tough love and it’s hard to tell if he’s joking or not. Sean too.”

“I’ll be okay, I think.”

“Course you will. You’re the strongest woman I know.”

***

Another week passed and you slowly felt your self esteem rise to a healthier level. You could look in a mirror and see the beauty everyone always talked about. You could eat without feeling disgusting afterwards. All thanks to Arthur and a few other people close to you.

“You’ve got no idea how glad I am,” Arthur sat down beside you in the grass. “That you’ve realized how great you actually are.”

You put down the gun you’d been cleaning and turned to him.“You tell me you’re glad I realize my worth, I wish I could say the same to you.” You replied. It was something you’d been thinking about for a while. Arthur was one of the nicest men you’d ever met, almost as kind as Hosea. But the way he talked about himself sometimes upset you.

Arthur furrowed his brows and he moved his lips as if he was searching for something to say. “I don’t… I’m not-”

“Dutch Van Der Linde!”

No. 

Please, god, no.

Your blood ran cold as soon as you heard that voice, and your body froze so suddenly you couldn’t move at all. You had gone into shock.

Arthur stood up and drew his sawed off shotgun from his belt, turning to face the three men riding into camp. He moved to stand in front of you until Sadie could get to you and lead you to safety.

“Come out, Dutch! Where you at? Hosea?” He taunted and pushed his horse further into camp, knocking over some barrels full of produce. Apples spilled everywhere and Mary-Beth let out a shriek as one of the other men almost trampled her.

“(Y/N), come on. Let’s get you down here.” Sadie whispered when she finally reached you, pulling you towards the back way out of camp. “Don’t you worry, Dutch will have this handled in no time. And if he don’t, I will.” Her last sentence sounded like more of a promise than a threat.

“You sure got some nerve, coming up in here!” Arthur yelled as he walked in a straight line to your father.

“Arthur, prettyboy Arthur!” Your father laughed and pulled back on his horse’s reins. “You know why I’m here, give me my daughter or my men will open fire.”

It was bluff. You knew it was bluff. You looked over your shoulder as Sadie guided you away, and when you saw the man you never thought you’d have to see again your heart fell five stories. Thankfully you were far enough away where he didn’t notice your movement.

“Wait, I want to see. I need to see.” You hissed as Sadie tried to get you to go through the woods.

“What? Are you serious right now?”

“I need to see, Sadie, please.”

She chewed on her lip and sighed before pulling out her two pistols. “Alright, fine, but you crouch behind here and don’t move.”

You crouched with her behind two thick oak trees. You could see Hosea and Dutch had come out and were trying to cool down the situation.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, Mr. (Y/L/N).” Dutch said calmly. “Last time we saw her was the night before we left.”

Your father laughed and pulled out his handgun. That caused everyone watching to reach for their own, but the paid guns were quicker. They whipped out their matching rifles and aimed directly at Hosea and Arthur.

“Arthur,” Your breath hitched in your throat and you almost ran out of cover. “Sadie, they-” She shushed you quickly but you couldn’t stop the whine of helplessness that escaped your lips.

“Just let them have her, Dutch.”

Your jaw clenched when you recognized Micah’s voice. He was the only other person in the world you hated. He’d been nothing but unhelpful the whole time you’d been there. A few days after you arrived he introduced himself a little too personally. Nothing too foul, he just flirted with you for a solid three minutes while Arthur had went to get something from Dutch. When you made it clear you weren’t interested he pushed harder for a few days until you snapped. After you humiliated him in front of the whole camp he made it his soul purpose to annoy you.

And there he was, blowing their cover just because he could. Everyone looked visibly frustrated and beside you Sadie could be heard breathing in a way that screamed murder.

“Listen to your friend.”

“I’m only gonna tell you once, you son of a bitch. Get the hell out of here or I’ll kill you here and now.” Arthur said and cocked his shotgun. The other paid gun that was originally aiming at Hosea turned his sights onto Arthur.

That was the window Charles needed. He drew his shotgun out and emptied two shells into the paid guns. He killed one of them and got a good shot on the others shoulder, blowing his arm off. Screams filled the air and the two horses ran off into the woods, dragging the bodies with them.

Your father waved his gun around as he searched for a target in the midst of his confusion. It happened so quick he had no idea what even happened. Arthur and everyone else with a gun emptied their bullets into the man, his body shaking with impact before falling off of his horse when it ran off.

He was dead. He was finally dead. As much as the Van Der Linde gang had helped you heal there was only one thing that could give you complete closure. Knowing your father would never be able to hurt you again.

When the gun smoke cleared you saw Arthur clutching his side, Charles and Hosea helping him sit down on the nearest surface. Which, of course, happened to be the table where the vegetables and fruit were cut.

You ran out from your cover, running as fast as your bare feet would take you. As you neared the middle of camp a few people turned your way.

“(Y/N), wait!” You could hear Susan Grimshaw call out as you ran past her, but she’d have to pin you to the ground if she wanted you to stop.

“Arthur!” You called out as you rounded the table he was laying on. His shirt had been removed and you could see a rather concerning wound in his side. “Oh, oh, oh my god, no, no,”

Arthur pushed through the pain and reached up to take your hand in his to calm you down. “Hey, what’s the matter? I’m gonna be alright.” He grunted over the voices that were getting way too overwhelming. “I’ve had worse than this, it ain’t no big deal.”

You blinked away the tears while Sadie walked up beside you, out of breath from chasing you. “Come on, (Y/N). You don’t need to be seeing this.” Everything was too much. The smell of blood was assaulting your gag reflux. People were talking over each other and John kept asking where the medicine cart was.

“Sadie, please!”

Sadie’s eyes widened and you could hear Arthur chuckle. A few others quieted down and glanced over at you, they’d never heard you yell like that.

Hosea came over with an armful of supplies, liquor, some bandages, herbs and stitching materials. “Alright, this will only take a second. It’s not too bad.” You knew they were all lying to make you feel better.

“You hear that?” Arthur asked and you looked back down to his paling face. “It’s gonna be alright, (Y/N).”

***

It was alright. By some miracle he avoided infection and healed up perfectly. The whole time you’d been scared to death he was going to die on you. You’d grown so attached to Arthur over the past month or two, and if he died right when you were getting better… Thinking about that possibility made your heart hurt.

“I told you it was going to be alright.” Arthur said as Hosea and Charles helped him walk around. The wound was almost fully healed and he had just started to be able to walk again. Since it was such a huge wound it had affected some kind of nerve leading down his leg, making it nearly impossible to walk without pain. If that nerve hadn’t been affected then he would probably be walking on his own.

You smiled nervously as you watched him walk around the outside of camp, trying to resist the urge to jump in and help. Jack was at his heels cheering him on with compliments and singing, even promising to make him a flower necklace just like he made his mother.

“Alright, that’s enough for now.” Hosea said as they neared a bench. Him and Charles helped lower Arthur down into a sitting position. “There you are. You think you’ll be fine there for a while?”

Arthur waved them off, he hated feeling so helpless and dependent. But it was obvious he was extremely grateful for everyone’s help. Before he met you there would probably be a voice in the back of his head taunting him and telling him he didn’t deserve the help he’d been receiving. It was nice to not hear it anymore.

“I’m gonna go pick those flowers now, Arthur!” Jack said as the two men walked off.

“You go do that.” Arthur grunted as he got comfortable on the bench.

When Jack ran off you sat down next to Arthur and smiled at him. He looked at you and couldn’t help but smile back, even though he didn’t know why you were smiling. “What?”

“Nothing.” Your smile grew wider and you had to look away. “I just, I’m really happy.”

“Good.” Arthur wrapped an arm around your shoulder, ignoring the pain from stretching out his abdomen. “You make me happy.”

The sweet talking always made you soft. It felt like roses were constantly blooming in your heart when he would talk like that. You leaned into him and pressed a kiss against his cheek. “You make me happy too, Arthur. Thank you.”

[nyangibun]

Day 1 - Cursed Figures

Valentine’s Week - Love Songs

@jonxsansafanfiction

Song - A Thousand Years by Christina Perri

Ao3 Link

...

When people think of sirens, they think of bloodthirsty hags, luring poor sailors to their deaths, and although there is truth to the legends, it is not always true.

Sirens weren’t originally so evil. They were once beautiful winged creatures, companions to the most noble of women; their lives revolved around feasts and songs and their voices were renowned throughout the land. People would seek them out to simply hear them sing.

They lived among gods and mortals alike, but when Persephone was abducted, they were blamed. They were cursed out, exiled, thrown into the sea and left to rot and die. The pain of it drove most mad; their anger filled every part of their soul and they took their revenge on anyone who dared to pass by their island. Where once their song brought joy, it now brought death and misery as payment for their banishment.

But not every siren allowed the darkness to take them. There were a few, a small handful, who left the sea and turned inland. They walked for days, weeks, months. They walked until their feet bled; until their wings broke and tore apart. These sirens mourned the loss of their sisters, the loss of the lives they once had. It was that grief that eventually dulled all the edges of their grace, losing the magic that had once made them so brilliant, even amongst the gods, but they could never be mortal and have the pleasure of death. They were still creatures of a time long past, their immortality forcing them to live on and watch as the world forgot about sirens altogether.

Sansa Stark is a siren, though she is young and was merely a child during the pilgrimage. She could not remember it any more than she could remember the exile itself. But she could still feel it. Thousands of years, those memories long hidden, and yet Sansa could still feel the pain and anguish of loss all these years later. It’s the curse of sirens; they are prisoners to their emotions.

Though the glamour of their beauty and allure has faded with time, all sirens intrigue mortals if one were to glance long enough. There is something special about them, something impossible for mortals to even comprehend but they simply know there’s something not quite human about a siren’s beauty. It is simultaneously awe-inspiring and frightening.

For this reason, Sansa has always been wary of mortals. Many of her sisters have their fun and move on, but she retained a part of that youthful innocence that made her more romantic than the others.

It was 1825 when she first met him. He was young, beautiful at first sight with full lips, a mess of dark curls and deep grey eyes. Sansa had met many handsome men in her lifetime but something about him drew her in without warning. She wanted to speak to him, to get to know him and touch him. The desire was so strong it terrified her. She stepped backwards, knowing if she moved any closer she would give in, but as she did so, Sansa had inadvertently stepped back onto the road. A horse-drawn carriage came careening towards her. She knew it would not kill her but it would hurt and Sansa braced herself for the collision. Only it never came. Instead she found a pair of strong arms circled around her waist, pulling her back to the pavement. Blue eyes met grey, and Sansa gasped audibly at his proximity.

“Miss, are you hurt?” His voice was a low timbre, thrumming through her skin.

Sansa inhaled slowly. He smelled of petrol and smoke and yet it did not repulse her as it should have.

“Miss?”

“I am fine,” she told him after recollecting her senses. Sansa placed a hand on his forearm and the man immediately drew back, a bashful smile appearing on his face.

“I - I apologise. I didn’t mean to --”

“You are quite alright, sir,” Sansa said. He was still close, much too close but she couldn’t step back any more than she could bid him farewell. “Thank you.”

He blushed. “It was no trouble, miss. I only did what any man should.”

“My name is Sansa,” she said. “Sansa Stark.”

He took off his cap and bowed his head. “Jon Snow, Miss Stark.”

“No,” she said, placing her hand over his forearm again. “Just Sansa, please.”

His eyes widened but he nodded. “Okay… Sansa.”

Jon worked in the coal mine, as most did during this time, and they would go long periods without seeing one another, but when they did, it was as if no time at all had passed. He would take her on walks, show her parts of the city she would never have ventured on her own, and in turn, Sansa would teach him to read and write so that he could send her letters when he was away.

It was Spring when he finally kissed her under one of the newly installed gas street lights, the glow basking them in yellow hues. His lips were soft, warm, a little chapped from the dry weather, but every part of her lit on fire as he pressed into her, his hand on the small of her waist. Sansa yearned for more, urging him with her insistence, but Jon Snow was a gentleman. He walked her home instead and bid her good night. The next morning, Jon left for the mines once more. This time, he would be gone for three whole months, but Sansa would wait and she would write him every day till he returned.

It was mid-June when news of the mining collapse reached London. Without having to ask, Sansa knew. She knew it in her core, knew it in the way her soul screamed and cried out -- Jon was gone.

When a Siren fell in love, she was committed for life. She would always remember the emotions, feel them every day as if it was the first time, and it was her curse that Sansa would continue to live on loving Jon forever.

In 1992, Sansa moved to Scotland. She had had enough of London and she was tired of the city. As she was hauling her suitcase up to her one-bedroom flat, Sansa called out for the man ahead to hold the door.

“Thank you.”

“Are you just moving in?” he asked but the words felt far away, distorted, as if they were speaking underwater. Sansa continued to stare, her chest aching from the memories she had tried to bury, and her fingers itched at her sides.

“Are you okay?”

“What?” Sansa needed to control herself. This was a dream; this had to be a dream. There was no way he could be here right now, no way that he was here in this lifetime.

“Are you okay?” he asked again. “You seem a little dazed.”

“I - I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess I’m a little tired.” Her hand shook as she offered it to him. “My name’s Sansa. I’m moving in upstairs.”

“Ah,” he nodded, smiling. “Jon Snow. It’s nice to meet you. Are you new to the neighbourhood?”

She wasn’t, but he showed her around anyways. Jon took her to the castle, to the museums, to Arthur’s Seat, and it was like falling in love all over again. In a way, it was because this Jon Snow was different. He was a carpenter but he also played guitar in a local band on the weekends with his friends. He had a younger sister named Rhaenys, while her other Jon had been an orphan. This Jon was more daring too; he’d kiss her in dimly lit corners of the streets, pushing her up against walls and dipping his fingers under her dress. He’d wake up beside her, his hand curled protectively around her waist and kiss her shoulder three times before telling her good morning.

But this Jon was also kind, caring, and strong. He loved her as fiercely as the other had done so many years before and he looked at her as if she was the only thing that ever mattered.

Sansa knew he was going to propose to her. She had found the ring by accident one day when she was cleaning and had smiled to herself, thinking about how he’d be fretting over how to do it. For the first time, Sansa allowed herself to think about the future, and for the first time, it didn’t fill her with dread.

However, the Fates were cruel sisters and it was an Autumn morning when the police came knocking at her door. Jon had been in a car accident on the M8 motorway. They were deeply sorry for her loss; they wanted to know if she wouldn’t mind coming down to confirm the body with the coroner. They said she didn’t have to come right now. They told her a lot of things and none of it made sense.

How could life take him away from her again? How could they do this to her? Hadn’t she suffered enough? Was it her curse as a woman or was it the Siren’s curse as creatures that should have died eons ago?

Sansa had sworn herself from love then. After his funeral, she decided she would no longer live in cities at all. She moved herself to Kirkcudbright, a small Scottish village with a population of just over 3,000 people, so that if Jon were to reincarnate again, there would be very little chance of the two meeting. She could not lose him again. The pain was too unbearable.

It is 2019 now and her life here is simple. It’s quiet. On occasion, during cold windy nights, Sansa longs for the city lights and a familiar face but she had resigned herself to this fate and she would live out the rest of her immortality here. Some of her sisters visit from time to time; they would ask why she is confining herself to this boring little town but Sansa had never told them about Jon and she refuses to start now, so she merely says she likes the silence. She does like her little cottage with the blue roof and the vegetable garden in the back. It reminds her of life after the exile with her sisters. They would roll their eyes, stay one or two nights, and then return to the cities.

Most of the villagers don’t bother her either and she likes it that way. She suspects they gossip about her from time to time. A young-looking woman moving to live on the outskirts of town by herself is certainly cause for talk but Sansa is friendly and polite when she visits town, and after a few months, they don’t question her anymore. It’s good in the end; no one bothers her on her hillside and Sansa is left in peace to read to her heart’s content.

By month three, she even adopts a dog from the local shelter. She hadn’t meant to but as she walked past that fateful day, the sorrowful howling drew her to the shelter despite her best judgement. The dog was a pitiful, skinny white husky with red eyes. The shelter had told her they found it abandoned on the side of the road and that it was likely an albino considering its eyes. When Sansa had walked up to the fence, it came bounding over her and stared up into her eyes as if it just knew her. She took him home that very night and named him, Ghost.

Ghost, as it turns out, is also a good deterrent. People seem to be quite scared of him and believe he’s more wolf than husky. After a few weeks of solid meals, Ghost turned out to be much bigger than she had originally thought too, so Sansa thinks there’s some truth to that rumour at least. Still, he is far from dangerous. He cuddles her late at night and sits beside her as she works on the garden out back. He is her best friend and she would believe him more loyal to her than anything else in this world.

That is until one night, Sansa wakes up to Ghost howling into the night. It’s the same sorrowful howl she first heard when she found him at the shelter. Walking barefoot on the cold wooden floor, Sansa finds Ghost staring at the backdoor to her cottage. Wondering if he merely needs to go to the bathroom, Sansa unlatches the bolt and pushes the door open. Immediately, Ghost bounds out into the night and her heart jumps to her throat, quickly running after him before he can disappear.

“Ghost!” she shouts, the wind biting at her throat. “Ghost, come back here!”

The white dog continues to sprint towards the enclosure of woods and Sansa sighs. If she was mortal, she would be frightened of following, but Sansa simply continues onwards. It’s cold tonight. Winter is fast approaching now and the air is frigid with its imminent arrival. At least tonight the moon is full and high in the sky, casting silver light all across the ground.

As she enters the woods, however, Sansa no longer sees her dog. It’s quiet, eerily so, and thousands of years of life has taught her that a quiet forest is a dangerous forest. She steps with caution, eyes darting from one patch of shadows to the next. She is beginning to lose hope when there is another howl further ahead. It’s deeper, more menacing and Sansa feels fear prick at her consciousness. Irrational yet very much present. “Ghost,” she whispers, following the sound regardless of the feeling to run. “Ghost, is that you?” She knows it’s not; she doesn’t know why she’s asking. Frankly, she doesn’t know what she’s doing here at all. “Ghost, you get your furry butt back here!”

A twig snaps to her left and Sansa’s body goes cold. It is then that she realises the truth of her situation. Sirens do not fear mortals but they do fear the supernatural, creatures like themselves but bigger, stronger and oftentimes more cruel than they are. Her fingers twitch and she can feel the protective claws elongating. Pathetic in reality, as even when they had their full grace, Sirens had never been creatures of war. They have sharp nails to protect themselves, a seductive voice to create illusions as they escape, but now, a lifetime later, Sansa has nothing to truly protect herself except for some slightly sharp nails.

The growling comes first, and then through the shadows comes the figure of a large, menacing wolf, eyes blood-red in a way that brings fear to her heart. It is not Ghost, she can see that, and she wonders if this is how she dies after all this time, by a Werewolf in the forest in Kirkcudbrightshire.

Even in the days of gods, Werewolves were rare. They were abominations. A cross between mortals and Apollo’s wolves but they were afforded something Sirens weren’t. They were allowed to live; simply put, Apollo would wage revenge on any who would harm his precious wolves, even the cross-breeds. Sansa had been jealous of them, wishing she had the protection of gods too, but looking at it now, she feels more pity than she would have imagined.

It stalks towards her. Sansa stays her ground. If she dies, she dies. She had learnt long ago not to fight the Fates. But instead of sinking its impressive fangs into her neck, it drops down to all fours and walks towards her, eyes unwavering from her face.

For minutes, it does not do more than that. Sansa begins to feel apprehensive and she doesn’t know how long they stand there, until Ghost comes bounding back from the darkness. He sniffs the Werewolf and nuzzles his neck against it. Sansa is baffled. How is the Werewolf not attacking her dog? Is its human form someone Ghost knows?

Sansa doesn’t have to wait long for her answer. Soon, the moon begins to dip back behind the horizon and the first rays of sunlight filter in through the woods. The Werewolf howls, screeching as if it is in excruciating pain, and Sansa looks away, unable to watch an animal, no matter how supernatural, writhe like that. Ghost, however, stays beside it, occasionally licking its paws, hind legs, anywhere he can reach to comfort the Werewolf.

When she turns back to look, a flash of sunlight catches her eyes and Sansa has to blink away the assault before she can focus. Lying there on the forest ground, covered in twigs and dirt, is a man. His skin is pale, painted with silver lines from long-faded wounds, and his hair falls just past his shoulders, dark and curly. His face is pressed down against the floor and Sansa can’t see him.

“Are - are you hurt?” she calls out, her voice sounding odd and jarring in the quiet of the woods.

A groan answers her and Sansa stills. She waits for him to gain his bearings. It takes a few minutes but soon, the man begins to stir and then he is pushing himself up onto his feet. It does not escape her notice that he is stark naked but nudity is nothing to creatures such as herself. He arches his back, displaying the rippling of muscles and the broadness of his shoulders. When he turns to look at her, Sansa’s breath catches in her throat and she stumbles backwards, a different kind of fear clutching at her lungs.

He steps forward, a hand outstretched for her. “You,” his voice cracks. He clears his throats and tries again. “You’re here.”

Sansa blinks. “What?”

“You’re here,” he repeats, tears springing to his grey eyes. He takes another step towards her. “I didn’t think -- I had no idea it would take me this long to find you. I’m sorry, Sansa. I’m so sorry.”

She backs away more quickly. “How do you know name? What are you talking about!”

“It’s me,” he says gently. “It’s me, Sans. You know me.”

“I - I don’t understand.” It isn’t until now that she realises she’s crying.

He reaches for her hand and tugs her towards him. “I know,” he says, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I know. I’m sorry.” He kisses the top of her head and holds her tightly.

The confusion and terror is too great for her to appreciate what this is and Sansa shoves him back. If this is all a trick - if this is the gods’ way of cursing the Sirens then so help her, she would ride to Mount Olympus herself and hunt them down.

“The first time,” he speaks slowly, hands raised as if she’s some frightened doe. “I was simply another soul swimming in the river but somehow, I was plucked back out and I was born again. Except I couldn’t remember you or remember anything about my past. Finding you then was a miracle but the Fates discovered that I didn’t belong and shouldn’t have been there in the first place so they took me away again.”

He reaches for her hand and Sansa allows it, reveling in the coarse feel.

“Back in the Underworld, I had my memories restored and it made me realise that someone intentionally brought me to you a second time, so I tried to found out who could do that. It took awhile. Not many people are willing to talk to souls down there but --” Jon smiles ruefully. “I found her in the end. She wanted to make amends for what happened to the Sirens but those that are still alive were already too tainted by the darkness for her to intervene. Except you, Sansa. She said you were still pure of heart and if she could do right by you, she could atone for what happened.”

“I don’t understand. Do you mean -- are you talking about Persephone?”

“Yes!” Jon exclaims happily. “She wanted to help you, wanted to help us, but the Fates were smart and thwarted us every time. We realised then that the Fates only had power over mortal lives. If I weren’t mortal, they could do nothing to stop me from coming back to you.”

“But how? Jon, a Werewolf isn’t something you can just be. You have to be blessed by --”

“Apollo, yes.” Jon looks shifty and he sighs. “In exchange, I have pledged my loyalty to him for all eternity.”

“So if there was another war between the gods, you would have to fight?”

“Yes,” he says but then his grip on her tightens. “It’s worth it though because now I can be with you. That’s what you want too, right?” He sounds so unsure all of a sudden that it makes her heart ache.

“Jon,” she laughs softly, stepping closer into his space. “I have loved you for hundreds of years and I will love you for a thousand more to come, but I never wanted you to sacrifice your freedom for me. To become a Werewolf, it’s a cursed life, Jon.”

“As is a Siren’s,” he answers just as fervently. He kisses the edges of her lips. “Sansa, it doesn’t matter. Every breath, every hour of my life, all of my lives, has led me to here. I won’t let anything take you away from me again. Cursed or not, I chose you. I chose this.”

Tears slip down her cheeks as she shakes her head. “I love you, Jon Snow.”

“I know,” he smiles, tilting her chin so he could kiss her, long and deep and full of promise. “I love you too, Sansa Stark. Always.”

[draculalive]

Dr. Seward's Diary.

7 September. -- The first thing Van Helsing said to me when we met at Liverpool Street was:---

"Have you said anything to our young friend the lover of her?"

"No," I said. "I waited till I had seen you, as I said in my telegram. I wrote him a letter simply telling him that you were coming, as Miss Westenra was not so well, and that I should let him know if need be."

"Right, my friend," he said, "quite right! Better he not know as yet; perhaps he shall never know. I pray so; but if it be needed, then he shall know all. And, my good friend John, let me caution you. You deal with the madmen. All men are mad in some way or the other; and inasmuch as you deal discreetly with your madmen, so deal with God's madmen, too -- the rest of the world. You tell not your madmen what you do nor why you do it; you tell them not what you think. So you shall keep knowledge in its place, where it may rest -- where it may gather its kind around it and breed. You and I shall keep as yet what we know here, and here." He touched me on the heart and on the forehead, and then touched himself the same way. "I have for myself thoughts at the present. Later I shall unfold to you."

"Why not now?" I asked. "It may do some good; we may arrive at some decision." He stopped and looked at me, and said:---

"My friend John, when the corn is grown, even before it has ripened -- while the milk of its mother-earth is in him, and the sunshine has not yet begun to paint him with his gold, the husbandman he pull the ear and rub him between his rough hands, and blow away the green chaff, and say to you: 'Look! he's good corn; he will make good crop when the time comes.'" I did not see the application, and told him so. For reply he reached over and took my ear in his hand and pulled it playfully, as he used long ago to do at lectures, and said: "The good husbandman tell you so then because he knows, but not till then. But you do not find the good husbandman dig up his planted corn to see if he grow; that is for the children who play at husbandry, and not for those who take it as of the work of their life. See you now, friend John? I have sown my corn, and Nature has her work to do in making it sprout; if he sprout at all, there's some promise; and I wait till the ear begins to swell." He broke off, for he evidently saw that I understood. Then he went on, and very gravely:---

"You were always a careful student, and your case-book was ever more full than the rest. You were only student then; now you are master, and I trust that good habit have not fail. Remember, my friend, that knowledge is stronger than memory, and we should not trust the weaker. Even if you have not kept the good practise, let me tell you that this case of our dear miss is one that may be -- mind, I say may be -- of such interest to us and others that all the rest may not make him kick the beam, as your peoples say. Take then good note of it. Nothing is too small. I counsel you, put down in record even your doubts and surmises. Hereafter it may be of interest to you to see how true you guess. We learn from failure, not from success!"

When I described Lucy's symptoms -- the same as before, but infinitely more marked -- he looked very grave, but said nothing. He took with him a bag in which were many instruments and drugs, "the ghastly paraphernalia of our beneficial trade," as he once called, in one of his lectures, the equipment of a professor of the healing craft. When we were shown in, Mrs. Westenra met us. She was alarmed, but not nearly so much as I expected to find her. Nature in one of her beneficent moods has ordained that even death has some antidote to its own terrors. Here, in a case where any shock may prove fatal, matters are so ordered that, from some cause or other, the things not personal -- even the terrible change in her daughter to whom she is so attached -- do not seem to reach her. It is something like the way Dame Nature gathers round a foreign body an envelope of some insensitive tissue which can protect from evil that which it would otherwise harm by contact. If this be an ordered selfishness, then we should pause before we condemn any one for the vice of egoism, for there may be deeper root for its causes than we have knowledge of.

I used my knowledge of this phase of spiritual pathology, and laid down a rule that she should not be present with Lucy or think of her illness more than was absolutely required. She assented readily, so readily that I saw again the hand of Nature fighting for life. Van Helsing and I were shown up to Lucy's room. If I was shocked when I saw her yesterday, I was horrified when I saw her to-day. She was ghastly, chalkily pale; the red seemed to have gone even from her lips and gums, and the bones of her face stood out prominently; her breathing was painful to see or hear. Van Helsing's face grew set as marble, and his eyebrows converged till they almost touched over his nose. Lucy lay motionless, and did not seem to have strength to speak, so for a while we were all silent. Then Van Helsing beckoned to me, and we went gently out of the room. The instant we had closed the door he stepped quickly along the passage to the next door, which was open. Then he pulled me quickly in with him and closed the door. "My God!" he said; "this is dreadful. There is no time to be lost. She will die for sheer want of blood to keep the heart's action as it should be. There must be transfusion of blood at once. Is it you or me?"

"I am younger and stronger, Professor. It must be me."

"Then get ready at once. I will bring up my bag. I am prepared."

I went downstairs with him, and as we were going there was a knock at the hall-door. When we reached the hall the maid had just opened the door, and Arthur was stepping quickly in. He rushed up to me, saying in an eager whisper:---

"Jack, I was so anxious. I read between the lines of your letter, and have been in an agony. The dad was better, so I ran down here to see for myself. Is not that gentleman Dr. Van Helsing? I am so thankful to you, sir, for coming." When first the Professor's eye had lit upon him he had been angry at his interruption at such a time; but now, as he took in his stalwart proportions and recognised the strong young manhood which seemed to emanate from him, his eyes gleamed. Without a pause he said to him gravely as he held out his hand:---

"Sir, you have come in time. You are the lover of our dear miss. She is bad, very, very bad. Nay, my child, do not go like that." For he suddenly grew pale and sat down in a chair almost fainting. "You are to help her. You can do more than any that live, and your courage is your best help."

"What can I do?" asked Arthur hoarsely. "Tell me, and I shall do it. My life is hers, and I would give the last drop of blood in my body for her." The Professor has a strongly humorous side, and I could from old knowledge detect a trace of its origin in his answer:---

"My young sir, I do not ask so much as that -- not the last!"

"What shall I do?" There was fire in his eyes, and his open nostril quivered with intent. Van Helsing slapped him on the shoulder. "Come!" he said. "You are a man, and it is a man we want. You are better than me, better than my friend John." Arthur looked bewildered, and the Professor went on by explaining in a kindly way:---

"Young miss is bad, very bad. She wants blood, and blood she must have or die. My friend John and I have consulted; and we are about to perform what we call transfusion of blood -- to transfer from full veins of one to the empty veins which pine for him. John was to give his blood, as he is the more young and strong than me" -- here Arthur took my hand and wrung it hard in silence -- "but, now you are here, you are more good than us, old or young, who toil much in the world of thought. Our nerves are not so calm and our blood not so bright than yours!" Arthur turned to him and said:---

"If you only knew how gladly I would die for her you would understand -- -- "

He stopped, with a sort of choke in his voice.

"Good boy!" said Van Helsing. "In the not-so-far-off you will be happy that you have done all for her you love. Come now and be silent. You shall kiss her once before it is done, but then you must go; and you must leave at my sign. Say no word to Madame; you know how it is with her! There must be no shock; any knowledge of this would be one. Come!"

We all went up to Lucy's room. Arthur by direction remained outside. Lucy turned her head and looked at us, but said nothing. She was not asleep, but she was simply too weak to make the effort. Her eyes spoke to us; that was all. Van Helsing took some things from his bag and laid them on a little table out of sight. Then he mixed a narcotic, and coming over to the bed, said cheerily:---

"Now, little miss, here is your medicine. Drink it off, like a good child. See, I lift you so that to swallow is easy. Yes." She had made the effort with success.

It astonished me how long the drug took to act. This, in fact, marked the extent of her weakness. The time seemed endless until sleep began to flicker in her eyelids. At last, however, the narcotic began to manifest its potency; and she fell into a deep sleep. When the Professor was satisfied he called Arthur into the room, and bade him strip off his coat. Then he added: "You may take that one little kiss whiles I bring over the table. Friend John, help to me!" So neither of us looked whilst he bent over her.

Van Helsing turning to me, said:

"He is so young and strong and of blood so pure that we need not defibrinate it."

Then with swiftness, but with absolute method, Van Helsing performed the operation. As the transfusion went on something like life seemed to come back to poor Lucy's cheeks, and through Arthur's growing pallor the joy of his face seemed absolutely to shine. After a bit I began to grow anxious, for the loss of blood was telling on Arthur, strong man as he was. It gave me an idea of what a terrible strain Lucy's system must have undergone that what weakened Arthur only partially restored her. But the Professor's face was set, and he stood watch in hand and with his eyes fixed now on the patient and now on Arthur. I could hear my own heart beat. Presently he said in a soft voice: "Do not stir an instant. It is enough. You attend him; I will look to her." When all was over I could see how much Arthur was weakened. I dressed the wound and took his arm to bring him away, when Van Helsing spoke without turning round -- the man seems to have eyes in the back of his head:---

"The brave lover, I think, deserve another kiss, which he shall have presently." And as he had now finished his operation, he adjusted the pillow to the patient's head. As he did so the narrow black velvet band which she seems always to wear round her throat, buckled with an old diamond buckle which her lover had given her, was dragged a little up, and showed a red mark on her throat. Arthur did not notice it, but I could hear the deep hiss of indrawn breath which is one of Van Helsing's ways of betraying emotion. He said nothing at the moment, but turned to me, saying: "Now take down our brave young lover, give him of the port wine, and let him lie down a while. He must then go home and rest, sleep much and eat much, that he may be recruited of what he has so given to his love. He must not stay here. Hold! a moment. I may take it, sir, that you are anxious of result. Then bring it with you that in all ways the operation is successful. You have saved her life this time, and you can go home and rest easy in mind that all that can be is. I shall tell her all when she is well; she shall love you none the less for what you have done. Good-bye."

When Arthur had gone I went back to the room. Lucy was sleeping gently, but her breathing was stronger; I could see the counterpane move as her breast heaved. By the bedside sat Van Helsing, looking at her intently. The velvet band again covered the red mark. I asked the Professor in a whisper:---

"What do you make of that mark on her throat?"

"What do you make of it?"

"I have not examined it yet," I answered, and then and there proceeded to loose the band. Just over the external jugular vein there were two punctures, not large, but not wholesome-looking. There was no sign of disease, but the edges were white and worn-looking, as if by some trituration. It at once occurred to me that this wound, or whatever it was, might be the means of that manifest loss of blood; but I abandoned the idea as soon as formed, for such a thing could not be. The whole bed would have been drenched to a scarlet with the blood which the girl must have lost to leave such a pallor as she had before the transfusion.

"Well?" said Van Helsing.

"Well," said I, "I can make nothing of it." The Professor stood up. "I must go back to Amsterdam to-night," he said. "There are books and things there which I want. You must remain here all the night, and you must not let your sight pass from her."

"Shall I have a nurse?" I asked.

"We are the best nurses, you and I. You keep watch all night; see that she is well fed, and that nothing disturbs her. You must not sleep all the night. Later on we can sleep, you and I. I shall be back as soon as possible. And then we may begin."

"May begin?" I said. "What on earth do you mean?"

"We shall see!" he answered, as he hurried out. He came back a moment later and put his head inside the door and said with warning finger held up:---

"Remember, she is your charge. If you leave her, and harm befall, you shall not sleep easy hereafter!"

[blackswordmeister]

The following is a critical analysis I did on Mordred’s Song by Blind Guardian some years back. Figured I’d post it here and see what everybody else thought of it.

MORDRED: VILLAIN OR VICTIM

Abstract

           The following analysis is on “Mordred’s Song” by German power metal band Blind Guardian and its driving theme is that Mordred is less a villain and more a victim of fate. The ballad gives us Mordred’s side of the story concerning his feelings regarding his fate as the ultimate betrayer of his father King Arthur, the usurper of Camelot, and the cause of his final downfall as well as her personal feelings regarding his destiny. Instead of the popular depiction of him as a cursed child who maliciously covets his father’s throne, kingdom and (in some versions) even his queen, here he is depicted as a tragic victim of fate groomed for his entire life to destroy his father, never given a say otherwise. In other words, a pawn in another’s bid for power.  

              In Morte D’Arthur, compiled by Sir Thomas Malory, Mordred is the bastard son of King Arthur conceived by his half-sister Morgauise. Much like his father before him, his conception is marked by the breaking of numerous societal and religious taboos such as incest, witchcraft and in some versions, rape. It is foretold that this “child of evil” will eventually be the one to bring about Arthur’s doom. Years down the line, Mordred eventually grows to become one of the Knights of the Round Table and actually proves to be one of its more prominent members, earning praise from even Lancelot himself. It all goes downhill once he learns who his father is and the circumstances of his birth. All details aside, he eventually launches a coup in an attempt to oust his father as king and usurp the throne of Camelot. In many versions of the epic, Mordred is often cast as the villain, the devil child, the archetypal dark prince, an “evil bastard” in a figurative and literal sense. One such alternative character interpretation comes from German power metal band, Blind Guardian in their aptly titled “Mordred’s Song”. Here, listeners are given a chance to see through Mordred’s eyes and walk in his shoes as he feels trapped by his supposed destiny to bring about his father and Camelot’s downfall. Here, the so-called “evil prince” is less a villain seeking to supplant Arthur as king and more of a victim of fate, lamenting what he’s essentially been groomed all his life to do.

The very first line “I’ve lost my battle before it starts” (Line 1) foretells that he’s fully aware that he was essentially doomed from the start. With his birth marked by the breaking of numerous taboos and his eventual bid to oust Arthur and take Camelot, (and in some versions Guinevere as well) Mordred knows that it’s all to easy for him to be labelled as somebody destined to be the villain. “I’ve gone beyond the truth, it’s just another lie.”(lines 30-31) indicates to listeners that Mordred has been manipulated and lied to all his life to the point that he doesn’t know who to believe anymore. It remains unclear whether Mordred’s attempted power grasp was made of his own volition or whether he was influenced or manipulated by another.

“But fate fooled me and changed my cards” (lines 12-13) is a possible reference to tarot cards often used in divination and fortune telling, thus further highlighting Mordred’s role in the ballad as a victim of fate. “No Joker’s on my side” (line 19) references the joker card’s usual status in many card games as the “trump card” which often ensures victory where it would be impossible under normal circumstances. The line tells us that Mordred has no “trump card” that allows him to defy his dark destiny. The chorus line “I turn off the light and murder the dawn” represents Mordred’s apparent resignation to his fate. He knows that because of the circumstances of his birth and his usurpation of the throne, this verse indicates that he’s fully aware that he’s doomed to be forever be cast as the villain, the traitorous son, the Judas Iscariot of Camelot. Especially since that while Arthur has committed some actions worth calling out for the sake of keeping his throne. (i.e. the May Day massacre where in an attempt to get rid of the then unknown Mordred, Arthur pulls a Herod and decrees that every child born on May 1 of that year to be carted off to sea to be shipwrecked. Mordred himself survived that event.), Arthur is not remembered either in his time or in modern days as a tyrant. However, Mordred during his reign as “interim king” is well received as king because as noble as Arthur was, his reign was marked by near constant warfare whereas Mordred promises the peace that has long eluded the land. The line “In agony, we’re unified” (line 34) speaks upon Mordred’s feelings of loneliness regarding his father. In Mary Stewart’s book, “The Wicked Day”, it shows that Mordred possibly loved Arthur as his father and felt some sort of loyalty towards him in spite of his fate as shown in the following exchange with his mother:

Morgause tells Mordred:

If Merlin saw it written in the stars that you would be Arthur’s doom, then how can you escape it? There will come a day, the wicked day of destiny, when all will come to pass as he foretold (Stewart, 234)

Mordred’s reply to this

Now that I am warned, I shall know what to do. If I have to leave court and stay away from him, I shall do it. No power on earth can make me lift a hand to kill unless I wish it, and this death I swear to you I shall never undertake. I swear it by the Goddess herself (235)

As Amber Kelly-Anderson notes in her own analysis on Mordred,

“Mary Stewart really focuses on the development of Mordred, whose destiny is dictated by fate and misunderstanding, rather than the innate malevolence of earlier characterizations in the Legend. In The Wicked Day Stewart’s Mordred is a thoughtful, conflicted young man who acts out of necessity rather than malice; his treachery is rather reluctant and the result of circumstance (Amber). In this way, Mordred’s character is redefined, making him more human and less villainous.”  (Sheble, p. 13)  The line can also be used to hint at the feelings of not just the son but the father as well. In the same manner that there is no indication on how Mordred feels about his actions, Arthur’s feelings on facing his son in battle are ambiguous as well. Both of them know that the path they’ve been set on can only end one of two ways. Either the father dies by the hand of the son or the son dies by the hand of the father.  Either way, their relationship is doomed to end in tragedy.

The song references Mordred’s father, Arthur, referring to his eventual fate of his attempt to usurp his throne and meeting him in battle. “I am the fallen one” (chorus line 2) can also be taken as a sort of Biblical reference regarding fallen angels. For example, Lucifer, whose pride and jealousy saw him cast from heaven, taking a host of angels with him into hell. Lucifer would ultimately become Satan, the source of all evil according to Christian doctrine and the mortal enemy of God and his servants. “Wash away the blood on my hands, my father’s blood” (lines 32-33) foreshadows his final showdown with his father towards the end of the Battle of Camlann, the ultimate confrontation between father and son where both strike each other down.

The driving theme behind Blind Guardian’s ballad “Mordred’s Song” is that Mordred is not so much a villain lusting after his father’s throne as he is more of a victim of fate, resigning himself to being branded as a traitor and fallen knight. Here, Mordred is no scion of evil as he is often cast but more of a tragic villain trapped by fate to ultimately slay the father and by extension bring about the downfall of Camelot as well as his own in the process. Metaphors are used to highlight his personal pain as he struggles between his personal morals and what he’s been groomed all his life to do. Symbolism is used. Allusions to the Arthurian stories hint at the guilt Mordred possibly feels for his actions and hint at his final confrontation with his father. In the end, the ballad asks its listeners “Is Mordred is truly the villain as he is often presented as or is he simply a victim cursed by fate and groomed since childhood to play a role he probably never wanted to begin with? Is Sir Mordred, true son of King Arthur Pendragon, a villain or a victim?

Annotated Bibliography

Blind Guardian, “Mordred’s Song” from the album “Imaginations form the Other Side” from Century Media Records. Retrieved from

:http://www.darklyrics.com/lyrics/blindguardian/imaginationsfromtheotherside.html#5

The source material for the analysis. The song is essentially Mordred’s side of the story in his final dealings with his father. The ballad sees him lamenting what he’s been groomed all of his life to do. Eventually, he resigns to his fate.

Malory, Sir T. Le “Morte D’Arthur” from CRW, 2007ISBN 1904633978, 9781904633976

The original saga of King Arthur as compiled by Sir Thomas Malory as well as the inspiration for the previously discussed ballad. It includes the tales of Arthur and the knights of the Round Table, including Mordred himself. Here, it details Mordred’s knighthood and ends with the eventual coup against his father Arthur.

Sheble M. The Once and Future Hero, A Vindicated Mordred (2011, March 10) Retrieved from:

http://nchchonors.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/10/2011-SIRP-Sheble-Margaret.pdf

The source of the quotes found in this analysis. This is Margaret Sheble’s own analysis regarding the character of Mordred. Here, she examines many aspects of Mordred’s character, including theories concerning his childhood, his relationships with those around him and finally his eventual fall into villainy.

Steward, M., “The Wicked Day” Published from Ballatine Books, 1983 ISBN 0-449-91185-3

(paperback)

Fourth in Mary Stewart’s five part “Merlin” series. As with the ballad above, Mordred is shown as a victim of fate rather than a fallen knight. Here, Mordred is shown to be close with his father Arthur, but circumstances beyond his control as Mordred is drawn into the intrigues and infighting that marked the end of his reign.

[chronicbatfictioner]

A Real Boy - Chapter 9

By breakfast, Bruce was not there. Dick had gone back to the city with Barbara, and Alfred said that Bruce has "some business to attend to in the city, Sir,"

Tim figured that he was just getting the hell out of dodge to prevent the awkward discomfort between he and Tim. But then again, he'd woken up at 9, and was about to let Alfred know that he wouldn't be needing breakfast when Jason walked in with a croissant in his mouth and an announcement that his "holy massive breakfast, Tim!" was ready.

"I wasn't about to be such a hassle, Alfred," he told Alfred. The old butler/daimon scoffed.

"No such thing, Master Tim. You are as much part of the household as Master Dick is." he said. Tim could swear that Alfred's eyes had twinkled when he told Jason, who was about to protest, "and you as much as a part of the household as Zitka, Master Jason. Albeit with less apples and more bacon."

"Glad to know you don't intend to provide only apples for me, Alfred, thank you." Jason declared, grinning charmingly as Alfred placed another plate of bacon and toast in front of Jason. Tim rolled his eyes. Absolutely unimpressed and partially wondering if Jason had been a common human, he would be as obnoxious. Unfortunately, Jason took that exact time to look at Tim and caught his eye-roll. "Hey, if you rich boy didn't get the lesson on how to be courteous, I can teach you some." he quipped.

"Oh, I did get that lesson, alright. I just skipped on the part where you blatantly kissed someone's feet to get more bacon." Tim retorted.

"Bacon is food of the gods, Timothy. If feet-kissing is all that is needed to get them, that I shall do." Jason replied haughtily. "Some had sold their souls for it."

"You've just made that one up," Tim cautiously remarked. Jason's deadpan face was not helping in deciding whether his remark had been a flat-out lie or truth. The only relief was Alfred, slightly smirking behind him.

Or maybe not. Alfred was, after all, an ancient being, too.

Tim wondered if it was a bad idea to bring two ancient, humanoid beings, under one roof.

The week passed with not much of a... drama, per sé. Sure, there were some strange creatures that appeared somewhere Downtown, suddenly deciding that they wanted to reside in Gotham and just have to create some ruckus to attract attention for themselves. Bruce and whatever squad he ran promptly vanquished such intentions and send those creatures back to where they had emanated from.

Some they had actually sent to Arkham Asylum, a containment place for the possessed. Supposedly, Arkham knew ways to un-possess them, exorcise the demons or whatever.

Operative word being 'whatever', because Tim knew that there were many who had left Arkham and still bearing the evilness they had possessed when they were thrown in.

Like Victor Szazs.

Szazs, once upon a time an heir of a major business - kind of like Tim - had lost his family business and fortune due to his own arrogance and gambling. Afterward, something snapped in him and he had started murdering people, claiming that each of the cut he'd made on his body to represent each kill would make him live longer.

"Uh, no." Jason actually cringed as he came up behind Tim and read Szazs' statement. Bruce had sent the case file to Tim, to see if he could figure out Szazs' possible next victim. "Demons would never make such a promise. If he said one had, he's lying or being lied-to."

Tim sighed. "Imagine how convenient our lives would be if ancients like you or Alfred or Zitka or other familiars are legally allowed to testify in court..." he groused.

Jason chuckled. "Yeeeah, some of us aren't quite so benevolent, either. We could lie and have no consequences of our lies. We don't subscribe to your deities, you know." he remarked. "shit, some of us were even your deities at some point in time."

Tim turned and glared at Jason contemplatively. "Would a familiar actually lead the magi to... like, do evil things?"

"No, at least not if they'd come to where I came from, right? More likely it's the magi who'd make his familiar do evil. The worst we could do is evil by silence." Jason replied. He thought for a moment, and then added, "or omission."

"Mmhmmm..." Tim hummed. "I understand omission. Your job is to protect me, after all." Jason placed his hand flat on Tim's head. "Right?" Tim pressed.

"Absolutely."

"I'd rather you don't omit any information for me, though, even if it could hurt me. I need all information before I can figure out what steps to take to handle something." Tim prompted.

"Sure," Jason replied. "it's not like you'll not jump from a ledge if I say it could kill you if you wanted to save somebody below, is it?"

"Absolutely," Tim echoed, grinning. "But I'll know how to make myself not dead if you could tell me things like, how far the distance is below, between ledges, how long of a rope I'd need... you know, things like that."

Jason sighed. "I'm a familiar, Tim, not an engineer." he said. "What I can and will do if you ever leap off a ledge is catch you and fly you out of there to safety. I cannot, however, go in advance and let you know of the dangers up ahead or stuff like that."

"Okay, that sounds good to me." Tim mused.

"I'd rather you don't put yourself in such a predicament, though, but I reckon I'll sound like a hypocrite." Jason added.

Tim looked at him curiously. "So allying myself with Bruce and Dick and Barbara and whatever crew they might have is and will be bringing danger to me. Why did you do it, anyway?" he asked.

"Okay, three reasons: First and foremost, you're untrained. It'll be more dangerous if you roam around on your own. They can train you, at least physically." Jason pointed out. "Magickally, that'll be my part. But stealth isn't exactly my forté, as you can probably tell..." Tim rolled his eyes, flashing back to the time when Jason first appeared. Other familiars would have slipped in quietly - a cat, a bird, anything. Even Zitka could slip in quietly and stealthily, probably, in spite of being an elephant. Jason just slammed into Tim's bedroom in all of his smokey glory.

"The next one: they are a formidable set of allies. Your goals align with theirs, which is to prevent the misuse of magick by... well, people like him--" Jason tapped on the laptop screen on Szazs' face. "and maybe one day have the natural creatures-- the ones called 'supernatural' by them layfolks, return and restore balance in the universe once again."

Jason was quiet for a good long while, that Tim had to turn again and looked at him. "What's the third?"

His eyes were a little blank, as if he was thinking of something else and was miles away from the question. So Tim snapped his fingers in front of Jason's face, only to have the latter caught his hand. "Don't. I heard you. The third is that they-- Bruce Wayne, that is; has a book that I haven't found yet. In it, there are many knowledge that even the All Caste didn't have in writing. They only have snippets of the knowledge that's generally useless, and if I can complete the snippets, it'll bring a massive change to the balance of power in the universe."

"And that should benefit me, how?" Tim wanted to know.

Jason glared back at him, seemed ambivalent at first, but then answered, "it'll give you all you ever wanted, Tim. Anything and everything. Even the dead."

It took nearly a whole minute before Tim spoke again, after battling and sorting the thousands of questions in his head. "Explain."

Jason shifted uneasily, turning to face Tim. "Remember the Pinocchio story, the tale about him being carved from enchanted wood? Not the sugared-up children's tale about him being 'blessed' by a fairy and come to life?"

"Yes, I have original fairy tales at home." Tim replied a little snarkily, because he did. His parents never thought of the children's version of fairy tales and instead would always give him the spooky, banal ones. "You would know of the nightmares I've had..." he added.

"Yeah, well, it's my duty to let you know that some of them are more like the kids' tales than the spooky ones. But anyway! Pinocchio. He was actually literally enchanted; fictional adventure notwithstanding. Now, said spell had been used to bring to life a lot of things--"

"Oh my god... Pinocchio was an effigy!" Tim suddenly caught on.

"Yeah, that. But effigies were not the only ones brought to life. Still, the spell was lost and my... 'school', so to speak, has been investigating the whereabout of the book since time immemorial; and concluded that it was lost in the hand of an unnamed warlock." Jason continued.

"Given that there are barely a handful of warlocks nowadays, and Bruce came from a long line of warlocks, you assumed it would've been in his ancestor's possession." Tim concluded.

"Exactly. Now, in the hands of a warlock - even someone like Bruce Wayne, the book is useless. But that would not prevent it from being acquired by a magickal person. Now..." Jason exhaled slowly. "...I can't postulate. But from what have been happening in the past... since I got to you, I have fears that the book could be in the wrong hands."

"Hence your insistence to find it. Did you ask Alfred?"

"Daimons didn't have the same views as familiars, Tim, Alfred could probably tell me where something is if I know what it looks like. Like, I could probably ask him for first editions Arthur Conan Doyle books, and he'll be able to point it to me. But this... book - I only call it book based on the ancient All Caste description of 'tome'. It could be in pieces, it could be a carved rock or pots or vases or papyrus..." Jason elaborated. "Alfred wouldn't care nor have curiosity of the contents of it, even if he could read it and/or are interested in modern age's literature..."

Tim sighed dejectedly. "Okay, I'll pinpoint this guy Szazs' next victim - I think I'm beginning to see a pattern here. Barbara can cross-check it later. And then I'll help you in finding this book or what? --just so we can go home afterward."

"I can't tell you what it looks like, alright? A second pair of eyes is handy, but I still can't tell your or show you what it looks like. It's just... if you see it, you'll know it."

"Thanks for the vagueness. Good thing my brain is pattern-based. See? Now I think I've got like, three possible next victim and hopefully Bruce can mobilize some protection before... whatever insanity Szasz is trying to do can actually--" Tim grumbled as he clicked the 'send' button. His report and analysis will be sent to Barbara, who would be assigning whoever she deemed necessary to protect the three-to-five probable victims. "Okay, let's--" Tim abruptly stood up, groaning as his muscles protested at the sudden movement. He stretched his entire body gently, getting a good yawn for good measure, and looked at Jason. "Let's?"

Jason hesitated for a long time before he nodded. "Alright. Let's go roam this obnoxiously massive mansion. Maybe we'll be able to go home before dark."

As daylight started to fade, Tim - and Jason - had to admit that looking for a 'tome' that defies description; may not look like an actual book; and likelyhidden by magick; in a mansion that is as big as several city blocks; was "an exercise in insanity," - according to Dick - who had returned at three p.m. from his errands - even after Alfred, Dick, and Zitka lent their literal and metaphorical hands.

"Exercise in insanity, indeed. But there is a benefit: I now know which parts of the house that are in dire needs of deep cleansing." Alfred commented mournfully, after observing the cobwebs on Tim's head. "Do not shake your head, Master Tim. Allow me." he added, and then a small dustpan and brush appeared out of nowhere as he brushed the cobweb off Tim's head.

Tim barely managed just not to shudder. "I think we'll need a shower..." he lamented.

"Bathrooms at the ready in your respective bedrooms, young sirs. And Master Dick, kindly utilize the showers and not the bathtubs. Otherwise you shall clean it yourself." Alfred remarked, glaring at Dick who was a little worse for wear than Tim - thanks to his insistence on looking at literal nooks and crannies above their heads, on the ceilings and thereabout.

DIck grinned unrepentantly at Alfred, and then glared daggers at Jason - who remained pristine. "There are times in life I wish I was a familiar... or has the ability to be dust-proof."

Jason snickered back at him. "There are times I wish I were something else, but in this right here time, I'm just happy at being dust-free."

"You two still thinking of going home?" Dick asked.

"Yeah, I gotta. I have early classes tomorrow." Tim replied.

Dick nodded. "Okay... I'll go with you. We'll get to town before Bruce gets back so I can hitch a ride with him."

"Dude, no need. It's not that dark, yet..." Tim protested. But Dick just gave him a blank glare.

"...and the city isn't exactly like, a few dozen miles away. Anyway! I have to get myself some stuff, anyway. Just... pretend you're giving me a lift if your pride is not happy." Dick replied.

"Okay, fine..." Tim sighed. "But you're not driving my car."

Dick gave him a mock gasp. "Oh nooo... what would I do now that I'm not allowed to drive you millennial's hybrid car!" he mourned. Tim grinned. Dick's car was a sportscar that cost about four times Tim's. Probably as much in fuel, as well.

"I'm sure you'll find some ways to keep yourself entertained..." Tim retorted. "So, fifteen minutes?"

"Good for me." Dick nodded, getting up to get to his own showers. "Might want to make a note on what you'll need from downtown, Alfred!"

It took nearly all the way back to town, where the city lights started to illuminate the horizon, that Tim realized that the atmosphere has indeed changed. The roads were not dark, yet there seemed to be spots where the darkness were... less diluted.

"Yeah, most of those spirits are just hangin' out, but some are... not." Dick explained. "The main reason why we prefer to go in pairs of humans. No offense to familiars. Just..."

"I get it. They... I can't protect you if you concede to their ways. And those aren't the kind who'd use physical violence, per sé." Jason huffed. "Like, if you see a baby deer in the middle of the road, not moving. What are you going to do?-- kind of thing."

"Good people would stop." Tim stated.

"Good people traveling alone will then be theirs. Especially if they're magis." Dick intoned.

"Oh," Tim exhaled. "How come I've never seen them before?"

"You didn't have a familiar before. They're aiming for those who already have a familiar." Dick paused. "I have no clue what they'd do to the familiar, if the magi is... like, converted or something. But you know, just to be on the safe side, let's not try to find out, yeah?"

"Right," Tim mumbled a reply while trying to ignore the questions in his mind. He decided right there and then that he wanted to know, just so he could figure out how to not fall prey to whatever lurked on the road from Wayne Manor to Gotham. From the passenger's side, Jason sighed heavily.

"I'll look for why, who, what, or how. Right now, I think we better concentrate on Gothamites' legendary road rage, so we can get home in one piece."

[littlewalken]

What’s on my Kindle

Part of making a list of all the books I have be they analog, digital pdf, or digital Kindle (which is what the k means). 

So, um, make your own jokes/assumptions about the kind of person I am based on my partial library. They’re all real books and quite a few are free public domain.

Adventures of an American Girl in Victorian London- Elizabeth Banks (k) Adventures of Pinocchio-Carlo Collodi (k) The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes-Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (k) The Age Of Innocence- Edith Wharton (k) Alice’s Adventure in Wonderland-Lewis Carroll (k) American on Purpose-Craig Ferguson (k) And the Universe So Big: Understanding Batman The Killing Joke-Julian Darius (k) Anne of Green Gables, Avonlea, The Island-LM Montgomery (k) Appropriate clothes for the High School Girl- Virginia M Alexander (k) The Artist’s Complete Guide to Facial Expression- Gary Faign (k) The Awakening and Selected Short Stories- Kate Chopin (k) Backstreet Mom-Denise McLean (k) Batman and Psychology: A Dark and Stormy Knight-Travis Langly (k) Batman at 45 part 1-4-Chris Gould (k) Batman a Celebration of 75 years-Bob Kane (k) Batman: Battle for the Cowl-Tony Daniel (k) Batman: Death in the Family (includes new Robin)- Jim Starlin (k) Batman: Under the Red Hood- Judd Winick (k) Becoming Batman- E Paul Zehr (k) Behind the Burley Q:The Story of Burlesque in America- Leslie Zmeckis (k) all colored fairy books Andrew Lang (k) The Bobsey Twind or Merry Days Indoors and Out- Laura Lee Hope (k) The Book of Hallowe’en- Ruth Edna Kelley (k) The Book of Household Management- Mrs Beeton (k) The Book of 1001 Nights v1&2 (k) Boy and Girl Wonders: Robin in Cultural Context- Mary Borsellino (k) The Brain and Voice in Speech and Song- FW Mott (k) The Burlesque Handbook- Jo Weldon (k) The Call of The Wild- Jack London (k) Candidie- Voltaire (k) Carmilla- Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu (k) The Castle of Oranto-Horace Walpole (k) Celebrated Crimes-Alexandre Dumas (k) The Circus Age- Janet M Davis (k) Circus and Carnival Ballyhoo: AW Stencil (k) Circus Bodies: Cultrural Identity in Aerial Performance- Peta Tait (k) The Collected Works of Ambrose Bierce vol 1&2 (k) Come Hither: A Commonsense Guide to Kinky Sex (k) The Complete Works of Nellie Bly (k) Cured: The Tale of Two Imaginary Boys- Lol Tolhurst (k) A Curious Man: The Strange and Brilliant Life of Ripley- Neal Thompson (k) Daily Life in Victorian London- Lee Jackson (k) Danse Macabre- Stephen King (k) Dark Places (Locations)- Barry Curtis (k) Dear Boy: The life of Keith Moon- Tony Fletcher (k) Death At SeaWorld- David Kirby (k) Demonology and Devil-lore- Daniel Conway Moncure (k) Depeche Mode: The Biography- Steve Malins corrected from analog version(k) Dick Greyson, Boy Wonder- Kristen L Geaman (k) The Dirt on Clean: An Unsanitized History- Kathrine Ashenburg (k) The Discoverie of Witchcraft- Reginald Scot (k) The Discovery or Witches- Mathew Hopkins (k) Dolly and I: A Story for Little Folks- Oliver Optic (k) The Dominion in 1983- Ralph Centennius (k) Drawing Drapery from Head to Toe Dover- Cliff Young (k) Dyatlov Pass Keeps It’s Secrets- Irena Lobatcheva (k) Electric Dreamland: Amusement Parks, Movies, and American Modernity- Lauren Rabinovitz (k) Elizabethan Demonology- Thomas Alfred Spalding (k) Emma- Jane Austen (k) Enchanted Hunters: The Powers of Stories in Childhood (k) Famous Imposters- Bram Stocker (k) Fancies and Goodnights v1&2- John Collier (k) Fashion Victims: The Dangers of Dress Past and Present- Alison Matthews David (k) Fashionably Fatal- Summer Strevons (k) Faust- Johan Wolfgang von Gothe (k) Female Masculinity- Judith Halberstam (k) Fetish, Fashion, Sex & Power- Valerie Steele (k) Fifty-Two Stories For Girls (k) Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions- Edwin Abott (k) Forensic Sculpting Step by Step in Photographs- Seth Wolfson (k) Frankenstein- Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley (k) Freak Show: Presenting Human Oddities for Amusement- Robert Bogdan (k) The Freak-garde: Extraordinary Bodies and Revolutionary Art- Robin Blyn (k) Freaks: We Who Are Not As Others- Daniel P Mannix A General History of the Pyrates- Daniel Defoe (k) The Girl of the Period and Other Social Essays vol1&2- Eliza Lynn Linton (k) Godey’s Lady Book 1851 vol 1&2 (k) The Golden Asse- Apuleius (k) The Great God Pan- Arthur Machen (k) Gulliver’s Travels- Jonathan Swift (k) Harper’s Monthly 1850 vol1&2 (k) The Haunting of Hill House- Shirley Jackson (k) Heidi- Johanna Spyri (k) The History of the Devil- Daniel Defoe (k) Hold Up Your Head, Girls!- Annie H Ryder (k) Horrible Prettiness: Burlesques and American Culture- Robert C Allen (k) The House of Souls- Arthur Machen (k) The House of Seven Gables- Nathaniel Hawthorne (k) How to Be a Victorian: A Dawn to Dusk Guide to Victorian Life (k) Hustlers, Harlots, and Heroes- Kirsta D Ball (k) Hysteria: The Disturbing History- Andrew Scull (k) If Walls Could Talk: An Intimate History of the Home- Lucy Worsley (k) Illuminated Manuscripts- John William Bradley (k) In A Glas Darkly vol 1-3- Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu (k) Inside Pee-wee’s Playhouse- Caseen Gaines (k) The Invisible Man- HG Wells (k) Irish Witchcraft and Demonology- ST John Seymour (k) The Island of Dr Moreau- HG Wells (k) Jane Eyre: AN Autobiography- Charlotte Bronte (k) Jim Henson: The Biography- Brian Jay Jones (k) Jimmy Page: Magus, Musician, Man: An Unauthorized Biography (k) LaVie Electrique- Albert Robia (k) Ladies’ Clothing in the 1830s- Sarah E Mitchel (k) Lady Susan- Jane Austin (k) Lair of the White Worm- Bram Stoker (k) The League of Regrettable Superheroes- Jon Morris (k) The Legend of Sleepy Hollow- Washington Irving (k) The LEGO Adventure Book vol 1-3- Megan H Rothrock (k) The LEGO Neighborhood Book: Build Your Own Town!- Brian Lyles (k) Letters on Demonology and Witchcraft- Sir Walter Scott (k) Liberace Extravaganza!- Connie Furr Soloman (k) Liberace: AN American Boy- Darden Asbury Pyron (k) Life as a Victorian Lady- Pamela Horn (k) Life in a Victorian Household- Pamela Horn (k) The Life of PT Barnum- Joel Benton (k) Listening to Whales: What the Orcas Have Taught Us- Alexandra Morton (k) Little Lord Fauntleroy- Frances Hodgson Burnett (k) A Little Princess- Frances Hodgson Burnett (k) Little Women- Louisa May Alcott (k) Lock and Key k Kipling- My Own True Ghost Story, The Sending of Dana Da, In the House of Suddhoo, His Wedded Wife Doyle- A Case of Identity, A scandal in Bohemia, The Red-Headed League Castle- The Baron’s Quarry Weyman- The Fowl in the Pot Stevenson- The Pavilion on the Links Collins- The Dream Woma Anonymous- The Lost Duchess, The Minor Canon, The Pipe, The Puzzle, The Great Valdez Sapphire Dickens- The Haunted House, No 1 Branch Line: The Signal Man Bulwer-Lyton- The Haunted and the Hunters, The incantation DeQuincey- The Avenger Maturin- Melmouth the Wanderer Sterne- A Mystery With A Moral Thackeray- On Being Found Out, The Notch on the Axe Anonymous- Bourgonef, The Closed Cabinet Crawford- By the Waters of Paradise Freeman- The Shadows on the Wall Post- The Corpus Delicti Bierce- The Oblong Box, The Gold-Bug Irving- Wolfert Webber, Adventure of the Black Fisherman Brown- Wieland’s Madness O’Brien- The Golden Ingot, My Wife’s Tempter Hawthorne- The Minister’s Black Veil Anonymous- Horror a True Tale Cherbuliez- Count Kostia Bourget- Andre Cornelius Anonymous- The Last of the Costellos, The Lady Betty’s Indiscretion Pushkin- The Queen of Spades Jelihovsky- The General’s Will Dostoyevsky- Crime and Punishment Checkoff- The Safety Match Krestovski- Knights of Industry Begsoe- The Amputated Arms Larssen- The Manuscript Ingemann- The Sealed ROom Blicher- The Rector of Veilbye Molnar- The Living Death Marus- 13 at Table Elck- The Tower Room Train- A flight in to Texas Woodward- Adventures in the Secret Service of the Post Office Department, An Erring Shepherd, An Aspirant for Congress, The Fortune of Seth Savage, A Wish Unexpectedly Granted, An Old Game Revived, A Formidable Weapon Lang- St Germaine the Deathless, The Man in the Iron Mask, The Legend, The Valet’s History, The Valet’s Master, Original Papers in the Case of Roux De Marsilly Houdin- A Conjurer’s Confession, Self Training, Second Sight, The Magician Who Became Ambassador, Facing the Arab’s Pistol Abbott- Fraudulent Spiritualism Revealed, A Doctor of the Occult, How the Tricks Succeeded, The Name of the Dead, Mind Reading in Public, Some Famous Exposures Carrington- More ticks of Spiritualism, Matter through Matter, Deception Explained by the Science of Psychology Anonymous- How Spirits Materialize The Lone Ranger Rides- Fran Striker (k) The Lost Prince- Frances Hodgson Burnett (k) Love and Frienship- Jane Austen (k) Lucy Maud Montgomery short stories (k) Madamoiselle de Maupin- Theophile Gautier (k) Maggie, a Girl of the Streets- Stephen Crane (k) Magic and Witchcraft- anonymous (k) Make Room for TV- Lynn Spigel (k) The Mammoth Encyclopedia of the Unsolved- Colin Wilson (k) The Man in the Iron Mask-Alexandre Dumas (k) The Man With Two Left Feet and Other Stories- PG Wodehouse (k) Mansfield Park- Jane Austen (k) Maps of the Imagination: The Writer as Cartographer- Peter Turchi (k) Mark of Zorro- Johnston McCulley (k) Mary Schweidler, the Amber Witch- Wilhelm Meinhold (k) Medical Muses: Hysteria in 19th Century Paris- Asti Hustvedt (k) Medieval Underpants and Other Blunders- Susanne Alleyn (k) Memoirs of a Muppets Writer- Joseph A Bailey (k) Memoirs of Extraordinary popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds- Charles Mackay (k) Memoirs of Fanny Hill- John Cleland (k) Men in Bras, Panties, and Dresses- Dr Vernon Coleman (k) The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood- Howard Pyle (k) Metamorphosis- Franz Kafka (k) Miss Lucy’s Victorian Scrapbook- Lucy Booker Roper (k) Modern Magic- Maximillian Schele de Vere (k) Modern Women and What is Said of Them- E Lynn Linton (k) The Monk; a romance- MG Lewis (k) Monkee Business- Eric Lefcowitz (k) The Monster and Other Stories- Stephen Crane (k) Monsters in America- W Scott Poole (k) Monsters: Evil Beings, Mythical Beasts, and All Manner of Imaginary Terrors- David D Gilmore (k) The Most Disgusting Jobs in Victorian London- Henry Mayhew (k) Movie-Made America:A Cultural History of American Movies- Robert Sklar (k) A Muse and a Maze: Writing as Puzzle, Mystery, and Magic- Peter Turchi (k) My Man Jeeves- PG Wodehouse (k) The Mysteries of Udolpho- And Ward Radcliffe (k) Mythical Monsters- Charles Gould (k) Neil Patrick Harris:Choose Your Own Autobiography (k) Never Done: A History of American Housework- Susan Strasser (k) Never Enough: The Story of The Cure- Jeff Apter (k) New Kids on the Block’s Hangin’ Tough (33 1/3)- Rebecca Wallwork (k) Night Shift- Stephen King (k) Nightmares in Red, White, and Blue- Joseph Maddrey (k) The North American Medical and Surgical Journal July 1826 (k) Northanger Abbey- Jane Austin (k) Orca: The Whale Called Killer0 Erich Hoyt (k) The Origin and Nature of the Emotions- George Washington Crile (k) The Original Folk and Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm (k) Out of Sync: A Memoir- Lance Bass (k) Personal Geographies: Explorations in Mixed Media Mapmaking- Jill K Berry (k) Persuasion- Jane Austin (k) Peter Pan- JM Barrie (k) The Phantom of the Opera- Gaston Leroux (k) The Philosophy of Horror- Thomas Fahy etc (k) The Physics of Superheroes: Spectacular Second Edition- James Kakailos (k) The Picture of Dorian Gray- Oscar Wilde (k) Picturing Disability: Beggar, Freak, Citizen, and Other Photographic Rhetoric- Robert Bogdan (k) Prester John- John Buchan (k) Pride and Prejudice- Jane Austin (k) The Prisoner of Zenda- Anthony Hope (k) The Psychology of Beauty- Ethell Dench Puffer Howes (k) Queen Unseen- Peter Hince (k) Queen: The Ultimate Illustrated History- Phil Sutcliffe (k) Raggedy Ann Stories- Johnny Gruelle (k) Right Ho, Jeeves- PG Wodehouse (k) Robin the Boy Wonder: A Celebration of 75 Years (k) A Room With A View- EM Forster (k) Salem Witchcraft v1&2- Charles Wentworth Upham (k) Sawdust and Spangles Stories and Secrets of the Circus- WC Coup (k) The Scarlet Letter- Nathaniel Hawthorne (k) The Scarlet Pimpernel- Baroness Emmuska Orcsy (k) The Science of Monsters- Matt Kaplan (k) The Scrap Book vol 1 #1-6 from 1906 (k) The Secret Garden- Frances Hodgson Burnett (k) The Secret History of Wonder Woman- Jill Lepore (k) Self Made Man: One Woman’s Year Disguised as a Man- Norah Vincent (k) Sense and Sensibility- Jane Austen (k) Servants: A Downstairs history of Britain- Lucy Lethbridge (k) SheZow: Sleepless ’n’ She-Addled- Nils Erickson (k) Skin Shows: Gothic Horror and the Technology of Monsters- Judith Haberstam (k) Sleights of Mind: What the Neuroscience of Magic Reveals- Stephen L Macknik (k) Steampunk For Simpletons: A Fun Primer- Travis Sivart (k) A Stitch In Time (ST DS9 #27)- Andrew J Robinson (k) The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde- Robert Louis Stevenson (k) Street Gang: The Complete History of Sesame Street- Michael Davis (k) Stripped: Depeche Mode- Jonathan Miller (k) Studies in the Psychology of Sex vol 1-6- Havelock Ellis (k) Supergods- Grant Morrison (k) Sybil Exposed- Debbie Nathan (k) The Tale of the Dueling Neurosurgeons- Sam Kean (k) Tales of the Jazz Age- F Scott Fitzgerald (k) Tarzan of the Apes- Edgar Rice Burroghs (k) Through the Looking Glass- Lewis Carroll (k) 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