#she cried over the creature having suspenders on in the finale scene too

[cool-abed-filmz]

“who taught him how to drive micheal myers?”

- my mom watching Lisa Frankenstein with me on monday

[29-pieces]

Whumptober day 19 - Good Omens

Day 19: Mourning Loved One Fandom/setting: Good Omens, ~1970s Read on AO3 Read on FF.net

~*~

It was just easier as a snake. Easier to avoid eye contact, easier to keep his face from revealing any "emotion" or other such nonsense. Easier to carefully wrap himself in knots around the angel and assure himself that the corporation beneath his coils was alive, whole, and safe.

"I think you could do with some rest," Aziraphale told him again, settling back on the couch with his book. "Why don't you sleep for a while? I've nowhere to be."

The snake currently wrapped around his arm and torso didn't reply, just stuck his snout down into another coil and closed his eyes.

If they both ended up snoozing in a nest of blankets and scales, well that was just fine.

:::earlier:::

Aziraphale was screaming. And bleeding. The demons only laughed and held the Hellfire closer to his skin until it blistered and split. Crowley was screaming too, voice raw with it by now. He knew the angel couldn't withstand the Hellfire much longer, and then the screams silenced and Aziraphale's eyes clouded over, leaving Crowley on his own.

:::earlier:::

Aziraphale reached a trembling hand towards Crowley, dragging himself over the ground and leaving streams of blood in his wake. The Hellhound pounced on his back with a vicious snarl, hackles raised and teeth exposed. Crowley shouted for him, but it seemed to be the signal the Hellhound was waiting for and it struck like a viper, fangs burying themselves in Aziraphale's neck so the angel choked and gurgled on a bloody cry before falling still.

:::earlier:::

Heaven had found out about their Arrangement, had learned that Aziraphale had given Crowley the precious holy water. The building housing Heaven and Hell was silent. Aziraphale's lifeless body hung suspended by hooks and chains on the ground floor, a grisly reminder for anyone who walked in the door what happened if the status quo wasn't maintained, a cold, stark reminder that Gabriel and Beelzebub came from the same stock.

:::earlier:::

Aziraphale was dead.

:::earlier:::

Crowley was the one who got Aziraphale killed.

:::eventually:::

Aziraphale gripped his sword tightly, wishing it was his flaming, angel sword, but any blade should do. He prowled through the dockyards, eyes and ears perked for any sign of his quarry. He would have liked to wait on Crowley for this, truth be told; after all, an echidna was half serpent, maybe a snake demon would have been naturally predisposed to be able to fight her better. But he'd been unreachable and this wasn't something Aziraphale could allow to continue until he got Crowley on the line.

The slithering of scales on rotten wood and desiccated leaves drew the angel's attention. He readjusted his grip on the sword and hurried in the direction of the sound. A derelict old office stood to one side, shuffling noises leading Aziraphale to the doorway. He took a breath, then raised his sword and dashed around the corner, only to stumble to a halt at the sight before him. He'd found his demon friend—strung up by his wrists to dangle over the dirty floor. Crowley's head was hanging limp, glasses gone and eyes closed. The monster he was hunting was sniffing his neck, her lower serpent half teasing its way around Crowley's leg.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale gasped, hardly the battle cry to strike fear into the heart of the echidna. The half-snake, half-woman turned to eye him with arrogance and irritation.

"Who are you?" she asked. "Never mind, pet, you'll jussst have to wait your turn."

"What have you done to him?" the angel demanded, pointing his sword at the creature. "Speak, I command you!"

The echidna sniffed. "I'm not under your command," she retorted. A long, forked tongue slipped past her lips and she licked the many puncture marks dotting Crowley's neck. "Mmm, thissss one is delicioussss. Watch thisss."

Before Aziraphale could stop her, the echidna's jaw unhinged, fangs protruding like something from a horror film, and she sank them deep into Crowley's throat yet again. A second later, the unconscious demon started to twitch and moan, swiftly building up through cries to full-blown howls. Tears streamed down his face but he showed no sign of true consciousness even once his yellow eyes opened.

"Stop!" the angel cried. "Leave him alone, foul beast!"

"Beassst?" the echidna hissed with a short laugh. "Everyone'sss got to eat, after all. Relax, thanksss to my venom, he hasss no idea what'sss happening." She giggled again and licked at the puncture wounds once more, much to Aziraphale's disgust.

His eyes flicked back to the demon, currently sobbing with pain or terror or both. Aziraphale had never seen Crowley in such a state, in all of their years together. Then, the demon whimpered, actually whimpered, and choked out,

"Please, Hastur, no..."

Aziraphale straightened, grip once again tightening as he demanded, "Hastur- he's hallucinating! That's what your venom does?"

"Mm," she agreed contentedly. "Ssshowssss them their mosssst terrible nightmaresss. You've no idea, the tasssste of adrenaline as hissss deepessst fearsss come true before hissss eyessss..."

Crowley's most terrible nightmares? Aziraphale felt the blood drain from his face at the mere thought; as a demon, Crowley would be all too familiar with the worst torments of Hell, and the idea of him reliving a single second he might have spent there or the constant fears of what they could do to him, no, it was simply too much to bear thinking of. With a furious shout, Aziraphale thrust his sword towards the echidna and attacked.

The battle was short-lived and ended with her slain on the floor and Aziraphale rushing to get Crowley down. The demon's hands were bloodless from having been bound so tight, ligature marks already standing out stark against his pale skin as Aziraphale wrested the ropes off of his hands.

"Crowley," he called, patting his friend's cheeks carefully. "Oh please wake up... my poor dear, you're not in Hell! Come back!" Even as he said it, though, Aziraphale knew there was most likely nothing to do but wait until the venom worked its way out of his system.

But not here, in the dirty, dilapidated building on his own. Trying to ignore the sobs and moans that he never wanted to hear coming from Crowley ever again, Aziraphale scooped the demon up in his arms and headed back out into the night.

Crowley had a flat somewhere, Aziraphale knew, but he'd never been to it and wasn't sure exactly how to get to it. In this state, he didn't want to simply leave the demon anywhere; best get him back to the bookshop, then. Hopefully none of the angels would pop down for a report on the affair. That would be a trifle difficult to explain, why a hallucinating demon was laid out on his sofa.

By the time they reached the safety of the bookshop, Crowley's condition was none better. Not sure what else to do, Aziraphale fetched a cool rag and contented himself to mop off the demon's brow. Crowley's eyes were open but faraway, trapped in whatever horrible nightmares of Hell his brain could concoct, and Aziraphale knew he had quite the imagination—a curse, in this instance.

Finally, after far too long, the demon slipped off into a fitful sleep. Even that seemed to be no mercy, as Crowley continued to thrash and cry out, sometimes even calling for Aziraphale—that was the worst, as the angel couldn't imagine what torments he was seeing and of course had no way to save him from it.

Finally, finally, Crowley's eyes peeled open once more, filled with trauma and pain.

"There you are, my dear," Aziraphale said softly, settling himself beside the demon on the couch. "Are you awake?"

For a moment, Crowley stared blankly at him, then gasped like he was taking his first breath and shot up on the couch.

"Angel-" He got no further, throwing his arms around a thoroughly shocked Aziraphale.

"Oh! Um... yes, it's me-"

"Aziraphale... you're alright... you- you're alive... you're alive!"

Well, that wasn't at all the reaction he'd been expecting. Aziraphale patted the demon's back, clearing his throat. "Erm, yes, I'm quite well. You were caught by that awful echidna, do you remember? She was poisoning you, I'm afraid, making you see your worst-"

"You were dead," Crowley blurted out, clinging all the tighter to Aziraphale, nearly wrapping himself completely around the angel. "You were dead, over and over and over, and I couldn't stop it, I- are you alright? Really and truly, you're alright? You're okay? Aziraphale?"

The angel was at a loss for words. But... that echidna... she'd distinctly said it would be Crowley's worst nightmare he'd be experiencing, but surely that had to be Hell? Torments untold? He'd even mentioned Hastur specifically...

"I'm alright," he said slowly. "Whatever you've been seeing, none of it was real. I assumed it would be Hell..."

"Hell, Heaven, everything in between," Crowley choked out. "They kept hurting you- killing you, I thought you were dead. I thought..." He coughed and pulled away, cheeks pink as he wrapped his arms around himself. "Er, anyway, no reason to make a scene. I'll just... I should go..."

"You're in no condition!" Aziraphale immediately protested, still trying to sort out in his mind how his own death could be Crowley's worst nightmare when the demon had literally lived in Hell. A mistake on the echidna's part, perhaps. An exaggeration, no doubt, about Crowley's "worst" nightmare rather than just any old uncomfortable one. Surely.

Either way, he couldn't bear the thought of Crowley being alone right now. "You've been kidnapped and poisoned and I won't hear of you going anywhere until you've had a proper sleep, not the sort she did to you. It's quite safe here. Why don't you curl up and have a little rest? Er, just until you- Crowley, I'm sorry but why are you looking at me like that?"

The demon didn't say a word, just continued to stare at him with fearful, watery eyes. Aziraphale coughed, then suggested,

"You're shivering. I'm going to fetch some more blankets. Make yourself comfortable, my dear, because I won't hear of you leaving until I'm convinced all the negative effects have worn off."

Nodding decisively, Aziraphale stood to go gather some more flannel throws and warm quilts, knowing how cold Crowley could get at times. When he got back to the couch, he was surprised to find a serpent coiled up on the cushions.

"Oh, Crowley..."

"Thought you were dead," the snake repeated, burying his head in his coils. "I- I thought..."

Shaking his head, Aziraphale sat down beside the snake and picked up a book that had been sitting on the table next to it. "Well, I'm still alive and kicking, as you see," he reassured the demon. "No need to fret. Now then, I think I'll just sit here for a while and read my book. Stay, won't you?"

Then he pointedly turned all his attention to the book at hand so as not to embarrass Crowley if the demon needed closer comfort. Sure enough, the snake slowly wound himself around his arm and chest as though just feeling Aziraphale there beneath his scales was the grounding proof he needed that the angel was still there, quite alive and whole. He'd expected Crowley wouldn't want any comments on the matter, so was surprised when a small voice hissed,

"You're not going anywhere...?"

Heavens, that venom must have done more damage than Aziraphale had thought. Crowley rarely made himself so vulnerable, so the angel kept his voice as light as possible. "Not in the slightest. I think you could do with some rest. Why don't you sleep for a while? I've nowhere to be."

Crowley nodded and closed his yellow eyes, burying his head again. It actually was quite comfortable there, laid out on the couch in the nest of blankets with the serpentine coils holding him carefully. Maybe a light snooze wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

Breathing deeply, Aziraphale settled in, feeling warm in body and heart.

[writeyouin]

You're Jareth's betrothed. A masquerade is held on the eve of your wedding, but a jealous Fae woman poisons you with sleeping potion. You collapse in Jareth's arms & the woman's arrested, taunting him. If he can't find the cure before the stroke of 13 on the 13th day, you'll die. He goes nearly mad slaving over books & traveling everywhere, desperate to save you. On the last day, he finds the cure & you wake up confused, but Jareth's so relieved he holds you tight & cries into your shoulder.

Jareth X Reader –Slipping Away

A/N – Fun fact, Sluagh are part of Irish folklore, I didn’t make them up. They’re the spirits of the restless dead, sometimes viewed as fae with no loyalty, reason or mercy, doomed to wander the Earth in hordes.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

Extravagance. It was the only word that could be used to describe the tremendous scene before you. The once crumbling pillars of an ancient temple now supported growths of creeping plants. Without a roof, the moon bathed everyone in its peaceful beams, illuminating the iridescently divine forms of fae dancers, celebrating your wedding to Jareth; unlike human weddings, the fae celebrated beforehand, claiming the wedding night was intended only for the newlyweds.

You stood at what would have been the entrance in a time long past, taking steadying breaths and trying to remember your exact instructions from Jareth’s previous tutoring. The fae had a very complex social hierarchy which you had to adhere to if they were to accept you as the future spouse to their king. You stood at the start of a long glistening silver carpet that led to two thrones, one for Jareth and the other for you. On the carpet were woven depictions of black and gold blooms. Your job was to step only on the tiny golden blooms which represented a fortuitous life; stepping on the black blooms would supposedly condemn your marriage to the evil spirits of the Sluagh, souls of the sinful humans trapped between the borders of the fae and human realm.

After the walk down the aisle or rather the ‘Dance of Blossoms,’ as the fae called it, you were to wait in front of your throne for Jareth to stand with you, signalling you were worthy of his attention, then a drink of Vinum Aeternum would be brought forward in two heavy silver chalices. You and Jareth would have your hands bound in golden silk and you would feed Jareth his drink first without spilling a drop, then he yours. After that, the two of you would finally be able to sit or take part in the festivities at your leisure.

The whole affair seemed far too complicated to you, but it was imperative you succeeded, otherwise the wedding would not proceed. Naturally, you’d practiced for this moment, but the practice had never been a complete success. From your left, a delicate bell rang and though you weren’t sure how the entire temple heard it, they all stopped, forming two perfectly straight lines on either side of the carpet to watch you complete the ‘Dance of Blossoms.’

Feeling nauseated, you began your journey, wobbling several times, though you regained your balance as you forged on, no doubt ungraceful in comparison to the fae of the past who had completed the journey. You ignored the hawk-like eyes of the spectators, some of whom looked like they wanted you to fail their king; instead, you found solace in Jareth’s unwavering gaze as you made your way to him.

Finally, you made it to the end of the aisle, where you dropped to your knees for Jareth’s inspection. He rose dramatically, circling you gracefully as was his role. Gently, he grasped your forearms, pulling you to your feet and ‘accepting’ you for the kingdom to see.

“You did well,” He whispered so nobody else would hear.

Although the praise itself was small, it emboldened you, quelling your previous fears. Neither of you said anything else as your hands were bound in their silk manacles by the high priestess. Taking a step back, the priestess waited for another fae woman to step forward, delivering the wine. As she poured the drinks you held back a gasp for it looked like liquid starlight.

Passing you your chalice, the fae waited whilst you held it to Jareth’s lips with shaking hands; it was much heavier than the ones you’d used in practice. Through the sheer intensity of his gaze, Jareth willed you to be okay until he had sipped the last of his wine. You set your chalice down on a tray the server held and waited in trepidation for Jareth’s turn. Jareth’s lips quirked up in a small smile, just another tiny sign that he was eager to be wedded. You found it funny how such a small action could speak volumes of his personality, for it wasn’t that long ago that you couldn’t decipher him at all; it seemed that everything the fae did was either a huge explosion over a small emotion or the smallest of reactions to their more intense feelings.

Gracefully, Jareth took the chalice that was presented to him, holding it up for you to sip. The second the liquid met your lips, you knew something was wrong. You didn’t know what the wine was supposed to taste like, but the acrid flavour that met your tongue was all wrong, and everything in your body knew it. With a pained cry, you fell backwards, losing consciousness.

Jareth dropped his goblet, moving with inhuman speed to catch you, even with his bound hands. Using his magic, he freed himself of the ties and, reaching out with his mind, he summoned the court healer. The healer appeared in less than a second, suspending you in the air so you were levitating at her waist height. Every time Jareth tried to ask what he could do, she shushed him and waved him away, even as the crowd watched on.

While the fae healer set about using the arcane arts, Jareth turned to the onlookers with such fury, the very ground shook.

“WHO DID THIS?!” He demanded, using gales of wind to carry his words across the entire Underground, distorting it to sound like that of a Wraith or some equally disturbing beast. He needn’t have shouted so far for there was only one smiling face amidst a sea of grim and fearful expressions.

Jareth pointed accusingly at a hag, not at all beautiful like the other fae. It was clearly a guise and one used only to show contempt or disrespect. Although it was well within Jareth’s power to strip the hag of her guise, he offered her one chance; it was not an act of mercy, but of power, aimed to show that he was in command. “SHOW YOUR TRUE FORM FOUL CREATURE, SO I MAY PUNISH THE REAL YOU.”

Despite her old, leathery face, the hag hadn’t bothered to change her true, melodious voice; it was one that would have made the very birds stop singing so they could hear its beauty. “Why, my king, do you not recognise me? Was it not your cruelties that bade me to be hideous before thee?”

“SPEAK NOT IN THE OLD TONGUE WENCH!” Jareth cried, though by now he knew her true name for such a voice could not be mistaken. Everyone knew of the Witch of the Wastes, Desdemona. Once Jareth’s lover, Desdemona committed the worst crime any fae could do against another; adultery. Such heartbreak would have killed any other fae, but that was how Desdemona found that Jareth did not truly love her as he had tried to for many centuries. The sheer fact she was willing to let him die to prove her theory only enraged him further.

As punishment to her crime, Jareth created a special prison in the Labyrinth for her. An oubliette wherein she could see any event she wanted outside, but never interact with it; at the time, it amused him greatly to show her that she’d inspired an Aboveground play by the Medium, William Shakespeare. Now however, Jareth cared not for foolish trifles, only to know how she had escaped her gilded cage.

“How did you escape wench?”

“Oh, please my sweet. Let us not forget the old pet names we once used, was I not once your peach as your new betrothed is now?”

Jareth flinched as if struck, an ominous air encompassing him, filled with the unknown. When he did not answer, Desdemona sighed, shucking her disguise to reveal beauty enough to rival Aphrodite herself. Skin as dark as the blackest night, a plump figure so luxurious even the Abovegrounders would make it a fashion again if they saw her instead of their emaciated models. Her hair, a mix of black and gold was woven into magnificent braids, making the gold look like the very stars themselves had lowered themselves from the night sky to kiss her. Even the filthy rags she wore for her guise could not do anything to dampen her beauty.

“You are not as fun as you used to be, my sweet.”

“Still your tongue for I am not yours to be claimed. My heart belongs to another and yours is a shrivelled piece of coal, if it even exists. Tell me how you escaped,” Jareth demanded, though he no longer shouted, he didn’t need to for he had more power under a mere whisper than he ever would with a thunderous tone.

“Escaped? No, no, no. I was freed by those who are no longer bedazzled by you as I used to be. You are not so popular as you used to be, my sweet. Marrying a human will be your undoing.”

“Name the cretins who betrayed me, so they may suffer the same fate as you Witch,” Jareth sneered. He knew Desdemona well. She was powerful, maybe enough to match him in combat, but she was also vain and arrogant. If he could stroke her ego long enough under the pretences of listening to her, he could finish the spell he was silently weaving to finish her off, once and for all. He was under no impression that she wasn’t also doing the same, hoping to avoid a long, tiresome duel, but if he could finish his spell first, there wouldn’t be anything more to worry about.

Desdemona chuckled, “And give you my only subjects? I think not Jareth. It would not be fitting. Ah,” she looked past him to the healer caring for you. “You’re wasting your healer’s time, my sweet. That poison is from the bark of the Belger Tree. There is no cure.”

The ground shook in an Earthquake even more ferocious than the last at Jareth’s fury, and all the fae before him, except for Desdemona were sent sprawling to the ground. He hadn’t meant to do that and it distracted him momentarily from his spell, wasting precious seconds. However, he couldn’t help his despair. The Belger tree had once been a fae, poisoned by the one she was betrothed to. Instead of dying from the poison, the fae woman Belger lived and grew hateful, then fearing that she would have her heart broken again, she cut it out, using her last moments to bury it deep in the soil. The still-beating heart bore a mighty black tree, caught between life and death. It always grew, yet never bloomed and anything that touched it was destined to die. No doubt, to get such a vile poison as its bark, Desdemona had been very careful indeed.

Throwing caution to the wind, Jareth abandoned his spell and bellowed a single word, “BALOR!”

Forgetting any previous grace, Desdemona rushed at him, throwing him to the floor and clamping her hand to his mouth. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING, YOU FOOL?! YOU CANNOT SUMMON THE DEMON KING! HE’LL KILL US ALL!”

Desdemona’s warnings were too late however. From the sky came a tornado of shrieking wind that would challenge any banshee. The world fell silent again as Balor stepped out from the tornado, letting it die into nothingness. Balor was a giant among the fae. A God of Death, he wore warped armour, made of the hardened bodies of his victims. Fortunately, he kept one of his flaming red eyes shut, for it was well known that whenever he opened both eyes, everything before him died.

With a blast of quick magic, Jareth threw Desdemona off him, summoning manacles to bind her arms, though they would not last for long. Speaking with reverence befitting the God, Jareth bowed, “Balor, on the day of my wedding I have committed a great injustice to you. I did not invite you to approve of the festivities. Therefore, I present you with a gift. The Witch of the Wastes, Desdemona.”

Desdemona screamed loudly, trying to break free of her manacles, but Jareth ignored her, talking all the faster. “Do with her what you please. Feed off her magic, kill her, toy with her, whatever you wish, for she is yours. Do you accept my gift Demon King?”

Balor’s eye narrowed sharply and for one short moment, Jareth was afraid he was going to open his other eye. Instead, he stomped over to Desdemona, saying nothing as he grabbed her bound hands and dragged her to the centre of the temple. Desdemona kicked and screamed, shouting curses born of terror. Her screams were soon drowned out by another shrieking whirlwind that carried Balor back to his realm.

Free of any further distractions, Jareth ran to your side, looking into the Healer’s wise eyes that held centuries of knowledge. “Is it possible to-”

The healer shook her head, cutting him off with an ancient voice that sounded odd coming from her perfectly young body. “The best I can do is keep (Y/N) stable and in the land of good dreams until (s)he passes to the great beyond.”

“Do so then, until I find a cure.”

“My king, there are only thirteen days until that happens. Best to spend the remaining days treasuring your love.”

“Please,” Jareth begged, not daring to order the healer around for she was revered by all the fae.

The healer bowed, “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

Jareth threw another old tome against the wall of his study, watching as some of the pages fell out on its journey to the floor. Nine days gone, and he was no closer to finding a cure to your ailments than before. He couldn’t even enter your dreams to at least tell you he was searching because the poison that was slowly killing you would infect him as well, or so the nameless healer told him.

Turning away from his books, he receded into the depths of his mind, viewing everywhere in the Underground at once. He had to think of something, for he would go crazy if he didn’t. Finally, he screamed in anguish, despairing that the Underground had nothing to show him that might help.

Raving mad, Jareth transformed into his owl form, flying through an open window and setting out on a journey to the Belger tree; if he couldn’t save you then he could join you in your fate by touching the tree’s bark. However, he would first make sure nobody shared your and his fate again. Before he let the tree kill him, he would destroy it, saving a piece of its bark to take back so he might die by your side.

Too weak to teleport after his constant efforts to find a cure, Jareth resolved himself to the flight. It took him two whole days to reach the tree and in that time he had an idea; it was desperate and probably doomed to failure, but an idea nonetheless.

Soaring down to the long abandoned dessert of the ancient ones, Jareth landed in the sand before the imposing Belgar tree, careful not to touch the monumental roots which had grown so large, they stuck out from the sand in multiple places. Instead of destroying the hateful tree like he had planned, Jareth transformed into his usual fae self and did something he had never done before in his long life. He kneeled.

“Oh, great Belgar, I Jareth the Goblin King kneel before you so that I may plead your aid. Just like you, I was wronged by an old lover and now I need you to give me an antidote to your very bark, for without it, my one true love will die.”

Nothing happened and Jareth squeezed his eyes tightly shut so he didn’t cry before his quest was over.

“Please,” He whispered.

He waited an age before he was graced with an answer. The tree lifted some of its roots from the ground, weaving them together to form the image of a fae. The branches hissed when they moved to move her mouth, “Why should I save your love when no-one protected me from mine?”

Although Jareth would have normally argued, he was humbled by the Belgar tree’s ethereal power which washed over him even before she spoke. “I have no reason that you should help me.”

“Then let me rest young one.”

“But-” Jareth choked out, finally crying from days of pent up fear and exhaustion. “But if you do not help me, does that not make you as bad as the one who betrayed you?”

The tree-woman roared, summoning more branches to make her larger in size, so she dwarfed Jareth. “DO NOT PRESUME TO LECTURE ME ON MORALS! YOU HAVE NO IDEA OF THE CENTURIES OF TORMENT I HAVE SUFFERED!”

“No,” Jareth agreed, bowing his head, “But if you don’t help me now, I’ll soon learn, for I will be just like you; I would sooner cut out my heart than lose (Y/N). (S)he is my everything.”

“How do I know if I give you my cure that you won’t simply hide it away so nobody else may have it?” The tree-fae lamented mournfully.

“You would not, but is it not better to help someone than spend more time suffering? This may well be your one chance to save yourself from more pain, and if not… Well, I for one would not forget your generosity.”

The tree was silent for a long time, and Jareth feared he’d lost her audience. Finally, the tree-woman reached out a hand, holding out a single fragile flower. It had pale-blue petals shaped like teardrops and looked so frail, it could die any moment. “This flower took me ten-thousand years to grow. If anything will cure your love, it is this. Take it and be gone, young one. I do not wish to be disturbed again. Leave me to my long rest.”

Careful to only touch the flower, Jareth took the blossom, bowing deeply to thank the Belgar tree who promptly disassembled its humanoid form, returning to the way it had been before. Placing the flower in a protective orb, Jareth transformed once again into a barn owl and took off into the night sky, flying faster than he’d ever gone before, hoping he would make it back to you in time.

As a fae who’d spent most of his life pitting people against time itself, Jareth felt the cruel irony of his own plight; he was painfully aware of each second that passed, leading closer to your demise.

He didn’t go back to his study, instead he headed to his chambers, where you were resting on the bed, tended to by the healer. Instead of flying through an open window as he had when he left, he crashed through the closed one, bleeding heavily in his owl form, but only lightly when he transformed back to his usual form.

“(Y/N),” He ran to your side, clutching your deathly cold hand in his free one, for the other still held the bloom in its orb. “How fares (s)he?”

The healer shook her head, “You only have minutes, my liege. Spend them wisely.”

Jareth shoved the orb at the healer, “No, not minutes. I have eternity. That is the cure we need. Please, find some way to administer it, and quickly.”

Although the wizened healer would have loved more time to examine the curious plant which she could feel the power emanating from, there wasn’t time as the clock above the bed started chiming thirteen. Chanting a few short words, the healer turned he plant into liquid, using its protective orb as a cup. Placing the cup to your lips, she forced the liquid down your throat, then stepped back and waited.

Jareth held one of your hands tightly in both of his, waiting for you to do or say anything that would inform him you were well. As the clock chimed its last bell, Jareth drew you towards him, sobbing into the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry,” He cried. “I should have done more, I should have been better.”

“I do,” You mumbled tiredly, causing Jareth to freeze.

The healer smiled knowingly, excusing herself silently for what would no doubt be a tearful reunion.

“(Y/N)?” Jareth whispered.

“I will marry you, I do,” You groaned, half-dreaming. Slowly, you opened your eyes, coming face to face with Jareth. “Why’re you here? Weren’t you on the um, the… the fancy chair?”

Exhausted and over-emotional from a lack of sleep, Jareth clung to you, breaking down into a flood of tears.

“Okay…” You said, still confused on what was a dream and what was reality. “I’m sorry I forgot it was called a throne, but is it really worth crying over?”

With a reassuring squeeze, Jareth whimpered, “I love you, so much. You are my heart.”

Rubbing his back comfortingly, you smiled hazily, “And you are mine.”

Later on, Jareth explained everything that had happened during the time after your wedding. Despite requesting an audience with the Belgar tree to thank her for her gift to you, Jareth refused to take you, remembering his promise to leave the tree alone. He did however check on the tree through his mirrors and what he found made him smile. For the first time ever, the Belgar tree had a covering of lush purple leaves like those of a weeping willow, complementing her beautiful black bark; it was the most beautiful thing Jareth had ever seen, and he made sure to never forget it.

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[my-whumpy-little-heart]

Llyr and the Pirates - Day 9

Day 9: Underwater Predators

For @amonthofwhump‘s Water Whump May, where I write a part of this story every day according to the prompt. I promise Llyr stops constantly drowning after this chapter. I think. Hopefully. Look he’s just not great at keeping his head above water, okay?

Tag list: @spiffythespook, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, and @insanitywishes

Content warnings: Drowning (he’s drowning pretty much in open ocean this time so if that freaks you out be careful), dragged underwater (like, by another creature)

The scene froze in his eyes as he looked back, fear and betrayal and anger all rising at the sight of his skin in Hugh’s hands as he tumbled down into the raging sea below.

When Llyr hit the surface of the water he was sure, for a second, that he’d fallen on the ground. The water was a hard surface when it broke his fall, smashing his body flat before he cracked through to the liquid underneath, barrelling down and sinking far beneath the waves. 

When he opened his eyes, everything was dark and he couldn’t tell which way was up. 

Back on the ship, Mabel was screaming.

“Shit! Look what you’ve fucking done, Hugh! I- agh!” she shrieked in rage, sprinting back to the cabins. “Man overboard! Man overboard! Everyone get your fucking asses out here!”

In mere seconds, sleep darkened faces were emerging from their quarters and trudging up towards Mabel. They had some mixture of apathy and frustration at being woken up, the determination to follow orders, confusion at why she was soaking wet, and the fear of Mabel’s overbearing authority all running through their heads, and it was clear in their expressions. “Out on the deck, prepare to lower the ship’s boat. Do not, under any circumstances, listen to Hugh,” she huffed, running down to Ray’s room where she knew for a fact he hadn’t woken up yet. He was sprawled out over his bed and still sound asleep when she slammed his door against the wall, and Mabel didn’t hesitate to punch him in the shoulder until he groaned, rolling over. “What…?” he clutched his arm, blinking wearily to look up at Mabel. She took hold of his arm, dragging him out of bed before he could protest.

“Emergency: Hugh did some shit and Llyr’s overboard with a dislocated shoulder. Get up or he’s dead, got it?!” That got Ray’s attention and he stumbled forward, trying to regain his balance as he was dragged out of his quarters and back up to the deck. If he wasn’t awake enough to function when he got outside, he certainly was when the sky essentially dropped a bucket of freezing cold water over his head.

“Also, it’s raining,” she warned, a little too late. 

He grunted and composed himself, looking around. The rest of the crew was at the starboard side of the ship, pulleys and ropes all working to suspend their fishing boat over the side, waiting for a rescue crew. 

Through the darkness he could hardly see the shore, but he could tell it was much further away than it had been yesterday. They must have drifted somehow, which meant Llyr was stuck in much deeper waters than he might have been otherwise.

Whoever had set the anchor was going to get a strict talking to when this was all over. 

“We need a rescue crew of at least three members,” Mabel announced, scanning everyone on deck. “Hugh, get in.” She pointed a finger at the boat and he scowled. 

“Why me?”

She gave him a look and he stepped into the suspended boat, no more questions asked. He adjusted the cloak around his neck which Ray recognized as the one Llyr had been wearing earlier. 

“I’ll accompany him. We only need two people to pull this off and keep the weight on the boat light,” Ray said. Mabel went to stop him, but he held up his hand. She dropped her voice low, not intending to give up so quickly. 

“I can’t risk you with this, Ray. We just need someone… more, uh-”

“You’re about to say expendable and I know you don’t mean that. We don’t work that way, and we never have. I’m going down there because Llyr is my responsibility.” He looked into Mabel’s eyes, waiting until she nodded and squeezed her shoulder in a comforting gesture. She held his gaze.

“Be careful.” He nodded, and climbed into the boat where Hugh was waiting. Mabel gave the crew a signal and they carefully lowered the small vessel into the choppy waters below. 

Under the surface, Llyr couldn’t breathe. 

It turned out that, even after having nearly drowned twice in the past day, he still hadn’t gotten used to the sensation of taking a breath only for liquid to rush in and flood his senses.

What had he been thinking? He couldn’t use his right arm. His guess at being able to transform back was just that: a guess. Nobody had ever told him what would happen if he were to get seriously injured and, just, not die.

Not that he had his skin with him to try now, anyway. 

The panic set in as he thrashed about, trying to keep his instinct to inhale from filling his lungs with any more water. He just had to get to the surface. That was the only way he would get out of this.

He kicked hard with his legs, figuring that whatever direction that took him was better than sinking like a stone. He pulled with his left arm, trying to ignore the way his right one floated out to the side, motionless except for the current pushing it this way and that with twinges of pain that made him flinch.

At some point his eyes had closed, but when his leg hit something cold and smooth, they shot open and looked around frantically. When he brushed it again, he kicked out at it, kicking at some sturdy, fleshy creature. It felt strangely human, but humans obviously didn’t live this far out in the ocean.

A merperson, then?

The creature’s hand, whatever it was, wrapped around his leg but he kicked at it again, and he would have cried out in frustration if he had the air. Drowning was one thing, but being suffocated by a mer was another.

When his kicking legs found the vile thing again, he pushed off of it in an effort to gain some distance, but he was too weak and it was too fast. He felt arms wrap around his torso and he knew it was all over.

They constricted, and the thing should have known how futile it was to cut off his air flow when he’d been underwater for this long already, but he still batted at whatever he could reach as it struggled to keep a hold on him.

The mer swam some direction and he had no choice but to be dragged along until he finally met the awful fate that awaited him. The image of it devouring his body just as soon as his heart stopped beating wasn’t what he needed in that moment, but it flashed behind his eyes right as he felt air wash over him.

He felt air, he realized with a start, and sputtered as he broke the surface of the water.

Next part

[nilim]

The Sea Won’t Claim Us

Look, I have a lot of feelings about Nott during last week’s episode, and so much of that episode was so damn cinematic... So I had to write some of this from her perspective. Enjoy!

—

Nott hadn’t meant for things to go this way. Of course none of them did. But she still chastised herself for not anticipating it somehow. This type of bullshit was exactly what she should have come to expect now that she and Caleb were gallivanting around with the Mighty Nein.

Wildly thrashing around in the murky waters, she could see streams of bubbles escaping the cracks between the stonework. The briny water had flushed more than just them from the depths of the pyramid, and now centuries-old filth and mud was getting suspended in the cold, turbulent water. Even with her eyes so adjusted to the darkness, visibility was becoming tenuous. She kicked towards the ceiling, trying to find just one more pocket of air.

Although all her gear was getting tangled and weighed her down, she somehow managed to break the surface. Exhaling and spluttering, her nails scratched against the rough stonework of the ceiling as the foam rose all around her. From the corner of her eyes she could see a flash of purplish-light shining through the murky water down below - Caduceus’s staff - but then once more the sea was at her lips. She took a last big gulp of air, including at least half a mouthful of salty water. Submerged once again, she suppressed the urge to cough. She noticed the soft quiver of the ring on her finger; its magic was useless now.

Eyes stinging, she looked through the cloudy liquid searching for the exit. She could make out the figures of her friends, but also three dark snake-like shapes gliding through the water, weapons glinting against an arcane glare as Caduceus let fly one more of his spells. Using the ceiling as leverage, she kicked against the stone to reach the middle of the room just as one of the snake creatures turned towards her, its yellow eyes glaring, his fork-like tongue and sharp teeth visible as it opened its jaws. She tried to duck away, but her dexterousness had abandoned her with her waterlogged clothes slowing her down like heavy weights. Sharp claws raked across the front of her chest, dark crimson blooming in the water.

The momentum of the attack swatted her down towards the ground, the heavy impact expelling air from her lungs. Panicked, she watched the bubbles slip away from her. She back-paddled against the ground as the creature lunged forward to bite her, but she managed to stretch out her hand and force its jaw away from her face, using the grip to push herself underneath the creature. As she did so, she used the last of the air in her lungs to mutter a spell, and blue light engulfed her hand. Lightning spilled out of her fingers into the creature, whose eyes rolled back in his head, tongue lolling out the side of his jaw.

Arcane light danced across the room as one of Caduceus’ spell took hold on the area, and small, magic creatures began to swarm the three serpent-folk. Making use of the distraction to slip past her attacker, she could feel her lungs burning, her throat seizing. Air. She needed air. She swam desperately for the other side of the room, and as she did so whipped around making a quick judgement of the room.

One of Jester’s spells bubbled through the water and hit one of the creatures. But the tiefling grabbed at her throat and turned around to make an anguished bid towards the stairs, as others of their party converged on the same area. A sharp, green glow briefly appeared on the other side of the shrine in the middle of the room, and Nott noticed one of the creatures bob up to the ceiling, taken out by one of Fjord’s eldritch blasts.

Air. The stairs. She needed to get out.

But there, her attention was drawn by Caduceus as he was still engaged with one of the snake-people, who clearly was unhappy with the spell Caduceus had cast on him. Caduceus, who hated water almost as much as her. She had no time, she had to get out.

No. They both had to get out.

She kicked against the floor, and up... up towards the creature. Her head was swimming, dizzying, lungs screaming, bubbles escaping her lips. As she propelled herself forward she managed to release her short sword with her right hand and swung it desperately, raking it across the back of the neck of the Yuan-ti. Trails of blood clung to the blade and wafted through the water as the sword completed its wide arc. The creature’s body seized up in the water. Briefly Nott’s eyes locked with Caduceus’, wide and panicked. But then Caduceus’ eyes softened ever so slightly - an understanding passed between them - and Nott took it as their cue to leave.

She turned, clawing her way through the salty water. It slowed her down, the cold and darkness clinging to her limbs, like death itself was grasping at her soul. Her lungs cried out for air, and with her diaphragm muscles seizing in protest she had to use all her willpower not to just start sucking in water. Her vision blurred to a small, dark tunnel. She reached the bottom of the stairs, and looking up she was startled to see Beau and Caleb still in the stairwell, their escape blocked by a hatch. Both looked down and were reaching out towards Jester - who was clearly in trouble herself. Cold dread spread through Nott’s stomach.

The key.

Determination filled her. They couldn’t drown here. They wouldn’t. Propelling herself by sheer stubbornness and fear, she shot up through the stairwell like one of those metal balls propelled by her boom-stick. As she passed Jester, she reached out and grabbed one of the Tiefling’s horns, pulling her friend along with her just as others also reached them both. In the flurry of panic, Jester was manhandled up towards the hatch with Nott following close behind. Relief washed over her when she saw Jester still had the presence of mind to produce the key with deft fingers. Precious seconds passed by as she struggled with the lock, but then - finally- the hatch opened.

Before even getting the chance to brace herself, the force of the water behind them immediately smashed open the hatch and spewed Nott forth from the stairwell. Grabbing at the stonework, her fingers found only slick mossy surfaces before - suddenly-  she was airborne. Coughing, she sucked in the air gratefully, her heart hammering in her ears. She had made it. They had all made it. It was not the end. Her head was pounding with dizzying happiness while at the same time she tried to make sense of the whirling scene before her, her body getting tossed around between the water and the sky.    

There was sky. And then there was the ground. Growing larger. Her stomach lurched into her chest as she tumbled and the water dropped away, air rushing through her hair. Above the loud spray of water, she could hear Caleb’s voice muttering something. Then with another lurch, her body slowed down, like it was dangling in the air from a rope. Head spinning, her attention was grabbed when four figures whipped past her, bodies plummeting towards the ground.

Yasha, Avantika, Jamedi, and… Caduceus, his head lolling to the side, limbs trailing behind - unconscious. Drowned.

No. She had been too late.

Limbs moving automatically, Nott plunged her hand into her component pouch and produced a wet, white feather. She tossed it in front of her while at the same time her voice - shrill and frayed - yelled out the magic incantations that slowed her four companions from plunging towards injury and death.

The scene below was chaotic, with water rushing out from the top and the sides of the pyramid, spilling forth from cracks and openings in the stonework, creating an immense waterfall spilling into the city below. Tumbling through the air, it took a while for everyone to get their bearing. Jester reached out towards Caduceus and a soft glow spread from the palm of her hand out towards his body, but he did not yet wake.

As they drifted down, Nott moved forward and grasped for the back of Caduceus’ foot and - finding purchase - clawed her way up his back. Anxiously she watched the water rapids below grow in ferociousness as the very sea seemed to gush forth from the pyramid, taking several large crumbling stones with it. Water and rock tumbled down towards the buildings, with many Yuan-ti now fleeing, struggling to get to higher ground.

She reached behind her for the shield she had picked up, and managed to manoeuvre it underneath Caduceus just as they were about to hit the water. She felt a laugh bubble up inside of her as the reality and insanity of her idea gripped her. The ring on her finger grew slightly warm and she felt the slight hum of the magic take hold of her as her feet skid across the surface of the rushing rapids. Excitement and relief thrummed inside her chest as she managed to balance the large Firbolg on the shield, saving him from getting washed away in the violent, gushing waters.

Around her, her companions tumbled down the pyramid. At the bottom of the structure, they each precariously managed to stay above the surface as the water spilled them out into the streets of the city. Jester’s head bobbed up next to them, and a blue hand once more reached out towards the lanky, unconscious Firbolg. The Tiefling muttered her last spell above the violence of the water before she had to release her grip to avoid the corner of one of the buildings rushing towards them. Nott steered the two of them away from the same obstacle, and a few seconds passed. Then, Caduceus’ eyes blinked open. Coughing and spluttering, he stared up at Nott. Confusion, and then panic appeared in his eyes as a great wave of water spilled against the side of a building, throwing large glops of foam past their faces. Nott, skidding across the surface of the water while steering both of them towards safety, grinned wickedly down at him. She was panicked, scared, hurt. But also… exhilarated.

“Don’t worry, Deuces! We’re not ready to let you go just quite yet!” Nott yelled above the cacophony of the rushing water. Of course, they weren’t yet out of the woods. But a certainty took hold of her that at least none of them were about to drown on this godsforsaken island.

And she was desperately glad for that.

“Just… enjoy the ride!”

[macabretrees]

Title: Sea Foam  Summary: In the midst of a slave revolt at sea, Ulmo rescues a falling star. a/n: beware of errors, i beta’s this myself XD takes place in the late 1700's, on a ship where Africans are being transported to America due to slavery. Reblog if you liked it :D 

The failed revolt had seen all hell break loose on the ship. A gruesome scene befell all decks; blood and water swept through the floors in waves, seeping through the crevices and filling the lower deck. Amare knew this, for she sat there  hidden in the shadows, clutching her mother’s dead body like a life source, as if cradling her head would will the life to return to her corpse. Her mother had died in the revolt, had been one of the first ones murdered due to her role in planning it.

They’d massacred them like they were cattle. No--worse than cattle. They’d massacred them like slaves. Yet ‘Death to slavery’ had been her mother’s battle cry,  months chained to the bottom of the boat inspiring her fury, igniting the fire that had caught on to others. They’d followed in suite, and the reward had been blood shed.  Amare, however, had run. She was not brave like her mother, and death still shook her to her core.

She had witnessed death in many forms. Brutal beyond what any child should imagine, and gentle as a babies slumber. Yet for her all her time on this boat, toiling and surviving with the other slaves, she could not welcome it as the others had. Could not welcome it as her mother had. And she for that reason, she held her onto her mother, tiny arms around her head, looking at her for guidance and strength.

Her mourning had been short lived, however, as her sniffling from the shadows had nearly given her away. Three men, pale as dog’s teeth, glare blue as the hottest fire, and weapons attached to their sides had made their way to the lower decks, resting their eyes on her hiding spot the moment they’d heard her cries. They shouted loudly as if to startle any stowaways, their vile language foreign and unfamiliar, but unsettling nonetheless. She sniffled and stood, eyes trained on the gleam of their bayonets, glued on their boots as they stepped through the blood and water. They would find her soon. If her mother’s corpse, sticking out of the shadows didn’t give her away, than certainly, time would.

She could surrender, perhaps they would treat her well, let her live, and send her to their lands where she would no doubt be put to work. But at least she wouldn’t die. With little choice, she stood. She watched as her mother’s head rolled out of her lap and onto the wet floor. Their eyes met for the last time, and thought death had taken her, the gaze hadn’t lost its fire.

Death to slavery. She heard her mother’s words, as if the woman had been standing behind her, bending down and whispering into her ear. She gasped, loudly.  The noise had given away her position, and the men had turned towards her hiding spot, whistling and clapping to get her attention. She could go with them, emerge from the shadows with her head bowed and palms outward. There would be no death by bayonets or bullets. There would be no pain, only servitute.

Death to slavery….she had repeated in her head, casting a final glance at her mother. She looked closely at the tattered body, pierced by bullets, beaten and bruised. Her mother had been beautiful, brave, and caring. Amare had loved with all her heart, and her loss had devastated the girl. If she were to go with these men, she would not honor her mother’s memory, she would not honor her mother. And who’s to say these men wouldn’t kill her either? They hadn’t just killed her mother and the other fighters, but the bystanders as well.

Amare gulped, clenched her fist, and ran. The man chased her, weapons raised and trained on her body. She climbed up the steps quickly, flinging herself into utter chaos.

It was like a war zone.

People were fighting, but it was her people who were fighting! They were still alive, fighting to the bloody end amongst the pale men. It was an all out battle on each deck, but her people had not yielded. They pushed on, her mother’s battle cry rallying throughout the decks. But perhaps death wouldn’t be the outcome, perhaps it would be life.

Her pride was short lived though, as the three demons chasing her closed in. She advanced through the decks, her speed faster than ever, small legs burning and heart thumping against her chest. She had hoped that perhaps the others had taken care of her assailants, but those still living were too occupied with the battle to turn their attention to one child, and her attackers had been too determined to kill her than  to engage in the battle around them. She was on the upper deck before she knew it, the smell of the ocean filling her nostrils. There was nowhere to run but forward, nowhere to go but against the wooden rails that braced the long descent into the sea.

They came to her like rapid wolves emerging from the woods, teeth white like shells and eyes positively hungry for their prey. Only they appeared through the clashing and gunfire, stepping over dead from both sides, weapons still pointed towards her. They smirked, sadism etched into their features as they moved closer and closer. Amare turned away from them, gripping the rail until her knuckles paled. They would run her down or shoot her, and it would hurt. It would hurt badly. But the sea, she thought she looked down, she would be flung into rockless depths, the sea cradling her body just as her mother had done for her. And she would take on breath, and it would be over.

So with the men at her heels, and nowhere else to run, Amare plummeted into the sea.

----

It was scarier than she expected. She hadn’t inhaled as she had planned.  Instead she  held her breath, had flailed in the water, and tried to reach the surface. But every kick saw her sinking deeper into floreless waters, squeezed the life out of her lungs as she struggled to hold her breath.  She looked around helplessly into the blue depths, hoping that perhaps someone would help her. Who, she didn’t know. But she couldn’t breath, she didn’t want to drown. Not alone, not like this.

It would hurt, now she knew it. The water would burn her lungs, her vision would go dark, and she would grow cold. Maybe being pierced would have been better. Certainly quicker than this. But they killed her mother, her people, and she wouldn’t let them kill her too. She may be a terrified wreck, but she still had some honor left.. She began to see dark spots, her vision going blurry as she struggled to hold her breath. She’d fight until the end, at least. Cling on to life for as long as she could, just like her people.

Then beside her the water shifted as if some unseen force moved through it, and a sheet of bubbles followed soon after. Blinding white surrounded her as the bubbles turned to foam, and through the curtain emerged two very large, very dark eyes. They seemed deeper than the bottom of the ocean, yet kinder than any she’d ever seen before. Slowly through the sheet,  a face began to form, and the foam melted away into very long hair that flowed freely, and within it sea creatures of all kinds resided.  

The creature revealed itself to be a young man.

He smiled sadly, form shrinking  into the size of a normal man. He floated before her,  arms resting gently on her sides as he suspended her in the water. His white brows furrowed as he looked intently at her.

“Do you want to live ?” The man asked, dark eyes piercing into hers.

She nodded immediately, head nearly rolling off of her shoulders.

“Then breathe.” Commanded the man.

---

He called himself Ulmo, a god of the pale men, and ruler of the sea. Though this was not the first time he’d been saddened by his people’s actions, and certainly not the last.

For her pain, he had given Amare dominion over the seas, and she had become his rage. She overturned many boats those years. Cast away the pale ones, and given her own the power Ulmo had bestowed upon her.

And Amare no longer knew fear, and no longer knew death.

This is apart of a series i’m doing (I hope to publish it one day), about combing my culture with different mythologies. Originally this was supposed to be Poseidon, and when I publish it for real, it will be. But, because i’m writing a tolkein fanfic, i wanted to post this :D 

[nightbringer24]

The air in the hanger bay rippled with the barely constrained energy of the Immaterium called forth by the rogue pysker as the five Sister of the Saint Encarmined spread out in a rough crescent to protect the Inquisitor. At the head of the crescent, the green-armoured warrior stood still, shotgun held loosely in their hands, even as the Sororitas Sisters readied their weapons.

Sister Superior Clars couldn’t fight the grimace that came to her face as she smelt and tasted the air change in the vast room. Recycled air soon took on a coppery tang, making her feel like she had swallowed blood while her nose filled with the stench of burnt flesh, sulphur and molten metal. She knew what was coming, even as the pysker at the end of the room completed his ritual.

“… In the name of the God of Slaughter, in the name of the Red Lord; I call forth your servants! Come forth, soldiers of the Blood Legions! Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Thro-!”

The cry was cut short as the pyskers body was split open in a swelter of gore and blood, the Warp energy contained within his frame tearing the body apart to open a portal for the denizens he had called forth. For a second, the ruptured corpse hung suspended in the air before, soundlessly, the body was sucked backwards on itself as a swirling portal formed in the air. Reds, purples and blues of different hues swirled around and into each other before a horrible birth screech of rage and anger filled the space.

“Ready yourselves, Sisters!” Clars called out, hefting her storm bolter. “The Emperor protects, and He is with us, even at the edge of His domain!”

“Ave Imperator!” The four Sororitas and the Inquisitor replied, the clack of bolters being racked, the hum of Van Lasne’s plasma pistol and the spurt of Des Cutre’s flamer readying adding weight to their conviction.

As if in answer, the portal ripped open further. For a second, Clars thought she saw a horrific vision; a world of fire and blood, red skies and black clouds, and a landscape strewn with the bones and skulls of the slain. That view was soon replaced by something all the more horrific; A long elongated skull with hide the colour of freshly spilled blood and framed by a pair of large, bovine-like horns of black bone pushed through the tear, hissing in a daemonic language. A hoof borne on a double-jointed leg propelled the daemon fully through the tear as it pulled a wickedly shaped great-sword behind it. Once it was outside of the warp portal, the daemon raised its head into the air and let loose a roar of anger and pride that echoed off the expansive walls and ceiling. A cry that was soon taken up by more and more throats as two score more nightmarish creatures followed in its wake.

Clars’ eyes snapped back and forth as she stock of the situation. Daemons, they could handle. All veteran Sororitas had fought against daemons of all kinds in their history, but daemons of the Blood God were another matter. Killing them at range was the best way to tackle them, but often, killing more of them would release enough energy to summon more of their kin or, Terra forbid, a greater daemon. Looking past the swaying throng that marched towards her group, she saw the portal wink out of existence.

“Des Cutre; keep your flamer ready if they get too close.” The Sister Superior ordered, not taking her face off the infernal force arrayed before them. “Metira, Avina; short controlled bursts. These foul things move fast and – STOP, YOU FOOL!”

The cry was directed the Night Sentinel as he dashed forward, armoured feet pounding against the steel floor, right towards the braying daemons.

“That bloody fool!” Clars cursed, even as Van Lasne pushed next to her. She looked in to his mismatched eyes; one red and augmetic, one green and equally as baleful as the other.

“The Night Sentinel is our objective, Sister!” He rasped out from the vox-grille that formed his mouth. “He must be returned to the conclave at all costs!”

“It would bloody help if he actually listened to us!”

“Look!” Sister Avina called out, pointing at the scene before them.

Seeing sport in the figure charging them, the daemons as one loosed an exultation of animalistic joy before, hefting their blades in the air, they charged as one.

A normal man would have quelled at the noise and sight before them, but the Night Sentinel continued his charge. The distance closed quickly, his own feet almost matching the unnatural pace of the daemons arrayed before him.

In mere seconds the distance finally closed enough for the lead daemon to leap forward, sword posed to behead the warrior.

With a speed that Clars had only seen among the Astartes, the Night Sentinel dropped. Not into a crouch, but right down to the floor, his feet pushed out in front of him as he carried on travelling across the floor, letting the daemon sail right over him, and the barrel of his shotgun.

With a loud bark, the Accatran pattern shotgun spat flame and shot upwards, right into the body of the daemon. In a splash of foul ichor and blood, the daemon was bisected in mid-air. The two halves of the creature continued on in the air, even as the warp energy that kept their form corporeal began to bleed away until they hit the ground in a spray of small flames and ash.

Still in the original position, the five Sororitas and the Ordo Malleus Inquisitor could only look on dumbfoundedly, the mouth of the tawny-skinned Des Cutre hanging open at the spectacle before them.

The rush of the daemons continued unchecked, either the loss of their leader or just the thrill of spilt blood propelling them forward. The Night Sentinel’s pace didn’t slow either, as he pushed himself up from the slide into a crouch. With a mighty heave, the green-armoured warrior flew forwards, right into the heart of the mob of red creatures. Cries of rage and pain came from the pack as the bulk of the Night Sentinel floored many of them in a tangle of thrashing limbs and snapped horns.

So this was what I came up with my idea of the Doom Slayer/Night Sentinel teaming up with a force of Sisters of Battle, which for the sake of cool being cool, I decided to be five alongside an Inquisitor.

It’s not the best thing I’ve written, but I’m sure if I get any energy to full create this thing, I’ll create something better.

@byzantinefox @gunsavvybookworm.

[wildesses]

Elandria Campaign Transcript Snippet I: ASCENSION

CAST:

Hannah - Dungeon Master Fen - Andrew, human fighter, lv 19 Nola - Emily, half-orc barbarian, lv 19 Kestriel - Chloe, tiefling paladin, lv 19 Ronyo - Connor, drow rogue, lv 19 Tachi - Paige, half-elf bard, lv 17, cleric lv 2 Vessago - Jesse, high elf wizard, lv 19 Yuumi - Steven, halfling cleric lv 19, paladin lv 1

DM: So that’s it, all of you are incapacitated in some way?

PAIGE: Or charmed.

DM: Okay. Well. One by one, all of you are incapacitated, but Suthis doesn’t stop raining the blows down. So, eventually, it all just… ends. And time… stands still. And for a moment, you are suspended in a place beyond your bodies, all except for you, Vessago. You see your fallen forms, limp on the surface of a shining silver sea. You see Suthis, merged with Solaria, your old enemy, laughing horribly as she shifts back into view. And, all of you… lifeless.

Then, all six of you ascend.

Your souls begin to float upward, like shooting stars in reverse, rocketing past stars and planets, nebulas and black holes, past creatures that lurk in the infinite darkness, and the celestial beings that keep them at bay. Your minds blur with the encompassing strain of trying to process eternity as it stretches behind you, your souls leaving trails of light in their wake. And after a time that feels like eternity and only a moment, you find yourselves standing in a field of silver grass. Before you is a white tree, towering as tall as the Cerulean tower, its trunk wide and massive. Its silver leaves rustle, although you feel no wind, and then you hear it… a Song.

It fills you with… something. Longing, and hope, and sadness, and joy. And… beneath the melody, you can hear a rhythm like a heartbeat. The heartbeat of the universe. Suspended in the sky above you, you can see a scene similar to the one you saw in Sigil: the entire universe sprawling above you. And, from where you stand, before the Tree of the Universe, the seat of creation itself… It all seems so small, so distant. Somewhere out there, a war is being waged for all of existence, and here you are, in the quiet, surrounded by the Song of all time and space, so far away from it all.

As you catch your breath and you drink it all in, you hear a voice… or, you feel it more than anything else, echoing through the stuff of your souls. It is genderless, and eternal, and it feels like a warm fire on the coldest of nights, like an embrace from the person you miss the most. And it says:

ISINDRÏL: “My children. I have waited so long to meet you.”

STEVEN: Do I recognise the voice?

DM: It’s the voice of Isindrïl. Do you respond?

FEN: “What’s… going on?”

ISINDRÏL: “You’re all… not quite dead, but almost there, in a manner of speaking.”

PAIGE: Only mostly dead! [All laugh]

ISINDRÏL: “Here, you are caught in a place where life and death merge, where neither has meaning. As long as a soul still exists, death can never be final, and this is the place where you are suspended. At this moment, standing before Isindrïl: the Tree of the Universe, and the Creator of All Things.”

FEN: “Why are we here and not just dead?”

ISINDRÏL: “I asked myself that as well, for some time. But you have spent some time with some of my dearest, brightest stars.”

DM: And, at this, a sad inflection rings out through the Voice, and you can sort of feel it tugging at your heartstrings. It continues, and it says:

ISINDRÏL: “They were the ones I set to guard this universe. They are no longer capable of that, it seems. Tell me… what do all of you think it means to be a god? As those who have watched them, and studied their ways.”

DM: And, Kestriel and Yuumi, you feel a thrill of warmth in your chests, like a spark of that holy energy that’s been missing since you both felt Alyzar die. The voice continues:

ISINDRÏL: “Or those who have understood them, those they would have trusted with their mantle.”

DM: And Tachi, Nola, and Ronyo, you feel the same thing: a strange warmth coming to life within your ribcages.

ISINDRÏL: “Or, even those who saw what the gods offered and for a time, doubted any but yourself.”

DM: And Fen, you feel that warmth, too, but despite these words, you don’t feel any scorn. And the Voice says:

ISINDRÏL: “What does godhood mean to each of you?”

YUUMI: “To protect the weak when no-one else will. To be kind to all of creation. To be a source of good for the world.”

KESTRIEL: “To seek the truth in the hardest of times.”

NOLA: “To lend strength to those who don’t have it.”

RONYO: “To have the wisdom to lead the unwise toward their ultimate goals.”

TACHI: “…Nothing but a bit of age and power.”

FEN: “To lift up those who have been beaten down.”

ISINDRÏL: “All excellent answers, in their own ways. May I show you what I have learned of godhood?

My nature, the nature of the universe, is that of growth. As I reach toward my Creation, so the trees stretch toward me, yearning to understand. And, this is what my understanding has led to.”

DM: Your vision shifts. Suddenly, you see around you the darkness of space, and one by one you can feel the stars themselves stirring to the Song of Isindrïl and beginning to pulse with their own life. You watch as these new beings stretched and grew, tasked as guardians of Isindrïl itself, protectors against those who would use it for ill, protectors against Suthis, the Destroyer. The scene shifts again, to another world, one far away from yours, unfamiliar to you, where humankind was persecuted by cruel gods.

Designed to be protectors, the gods—gods you recognise as Visoren, Alyzar, Kadathez, and Vasha—turned their attention to this world and requested to leave their stations, and protect this world instead. And they did… for a time. But slowly, you watch as the same black, corrupting veins take hold of this world, as over time these gods became lost in their squabbles: vying for followers and power. And Suthis’ presence consumes this world.

You watch Kadathez and the other gods trying desperately to fight the darkness back, but to no avail. Kadathez gives up and calls a retreat, and they try to save as many people as they can before leaving this world forever to be consumed by Suthis.

They found another world, a world that you recognise as Elandria… your own world. And you watch as the Dawn War follows, and Suthis is sealed away in her prison, and the gods make a new home for themselves, finding peace with their new world with new followers, and they begin a new. You watch these gods—your old gods—fail, once, and lose a world they once called theirs, as they have failed once again.

And Isindrïl speaks, and it says:

ISINDRÏL: “When the universe was younger, this is what it thought a god was meant to be: a protector, strong and bright and eternal. But, the universe found a new sort of god in the most unexpected places.”

DM: The vision shifts again. And this time, you are seeing… familiar faces. You see Ronyo’s sister, Reyva, gathering people in the bunker that used to house her rebellion as the same horrible thunder that you heard in Eldoran rings out in the city of Tyvris, and darkness encroaches on Elandria.

Next, you see the town of Devil’s Crest, the very first assignment you were given a year prior. The Weeping Woods shift ominously with shadows just yards away, and they begin to coalesce and crawl from the depths of the woods. The people of Devil’s Crest are armed with pitchforks and torches, anything they find to stave of the creeping darkness. There is a sudden light from the midst of the woods, and from that light is a roar. Bursting from the trees there is the form of an enormous bronze dragon you recognise as a polymorphed Rasden who swoops down and lands on the outskirts of Devil’s Crest, placing himself firmly between the sleepy town and Suthis’ darkness.

The scene that follows is one of the Spireling Tavern. You see Dierdre, nailing wooden planks to the windows as you hear banging noises from outside. You watch as Orn, the half-orc bouncer, braces himself against the door, straining against whatever is trying to get in. The tavern is filled with people: families, young and old, all packed in with the sort that frequent the tavern. You see Koriss there, the dwarven blacksmith, also helping to shutter the windows, and Kairi, the gnomish bard, is standing on her usual table, playing a lullaby for some crying children.

The scene shifts again to the streets of Eldoran just outside of Morlan’s shop, Dresvus’ Arcane Wonders. The sign hangs crookedly from its post above the door, singed from magical fire, and in the streets you see Morlan and Cassandra, accompanied by some of the city guard, Captain Rusill Bray among them. Morlan casts a bright flare of magical light into the sky, and Cassandra shoots a shadowy creature with her bow, Peaches at her heels. Morlan shouts for them to run inside the shop as he urges civilians to go ahead of him. A little girl drops her doll and pulls free from her mother’s grasp to reach for it as one of the shadowy forms takes shape from the darkness and slashes at her. Morlan throws himself in front of her; the shadow creature’s claws rake across his chest and he cries out in pain.

Another shift, to another familiar location. You can now see within the Cerulean Tower, where Yusuf Saldar and Cyran direct civilians who are crowding the inner foyer of the Tower. Cyran hands out blankets to Tachi’s family, and Hope, the tiefling girl you liberated from Emberfell, is also among them. Torick Windsong rests a hand on his wife’s back as his son, Soren, clings to his hand. Riella, his wife, places a gentle, guiding hand on Hope’s shoulder as she tries to comfort her young daughter, Valenna. Valenna clutches at Riella’s skirt, her other hand worrying fretfully at the braids in her hair… braids done to look a lot like yours, Tachi.

You can gather that the Tower is sheltering people in Eldoran, making them refugees in their own home.

The scene moves upward, up through the Tower, to Lady Sariel Goldvein, standing at the very top and staring into the infinitely dark and cloudy sky, her expression equally stormy. Her normally neat hair blows wildly around her as the wind tears at her robes, and she takes a deep breath, and raises her staff toward the sky as the sky reaches down at her in turn, shaping itself into a hand made of the same black tendrils that you now recognise as Suthis’ corruption. Sariel shouts an arcane incantation, and a blast of sunlight splits the air before everything goes dark.

Finally, you see your own broken bodies lying on the Astral Plane in a moment that time can no longer touch. Suthis stands above you and laughs, and in this moment, you can hear the Voice of Isindrïl. And it says:

ISINDRÏL: “What do you see in these small moments of humanity?”

RONYO: “Bravery.”

NOLA: “Love.”

FEN: “Compassion.”

KESTRIEL: “Selflessness.”

YUUMI: “Sacrifice.”

TACHI: “Action.”

ISINDRÏL: “There is something godly about this, too, or perhaps this is what the divine was lacking in the first place: the ability to lose, to self-sacrifice, to be selfless. The truth of mortality is that you have so much to lose. Loved ones. Lives. You cling so hard to that which is temporary, and you fight against whatever threatens to wrench it from your grasp. There’s a beauty in that. Mortals can be so willing to put their short lives on the line for love, for light, for anything that they believe in, and they must be willing to lose it all to do so. And, sometimes, like in your cases, they do. There is a sort of humble divinity in that, is there not?

People need something to believe in. If there are to be gods, why should they not understand the weight of sacrifice? Why should they not comprehend what it is to risk everything if only to save that which they hold dear? What say all of you? Are you willing to take up that mantle? For the world you love?”

FEN & RONYO: “Yes.”

TACHI: “That’s why we’re here.”

ISINDRÏL: “Does the same go for all of you?”

ALL: “Yes.”

ISINDRÏL: “I am going to present you with a unique opportunity. I will allow you to take on the mantle of a god: permanently, or temporarily. You may bear that mantle for eternity or until you fall to Suthis, or you may hold the divine for only long enough to see Suthis sealed away and then choose to pass on into the afterlife. I cannot restore you, as a mortal mind would break under the memory of my gift. Either way, you will not be who you were when you began this journey.”

KESTRIEL: “If there’s anything I have learned from Solaria’s treachery and the bravery of many others, it’s not to rely on the gods for everything. It’s to find that resolution in ourselves. And… I believe in us more than I ever have in anything else. So, I’d like to let it go after this. I’d be nothing without the memories I have. I think it’s okay to let go.”

NOLA: “I… my entire life I’ve watched lives come to pass and pass on. I know the nature of things. I honestly didn’t think I’d make it this far, do so much, and… I’m satisfied with my life. And I’ll give it to save the world. But I don’t want to live past this. I want to see my mother.”

FEN: “If I don’t have my memories… The old me would have done anything, just made the same decisions over and over again. I’m happy with my choices. I’ll go quietly.”

RONYO: “I would likely choose to give up my power after this conflict is over. I don’t want to return to who I was, and I don’t want to lose the memory of all of you. So, I will give myself for forfeit if we can destroy Suthis and put an end to this cycle.”

DM: With your choices made, for the second time today, you… ascend.

Warmth floods your souls, and you feel Isindrïl’s power pour into you, invigorating you and filling you with power. And you hear the voice again, and it says:

ISINDRÏL: “To you, Fen, I grant the Boon of the Warrior, and the weapon Devilcleaver, that you may strike down your enemies and lead your allies to victory.

To you, Kestriel, I grant the Boon of the Magistrate, that you may see truth in the hearts of others and enact justice based on what is true.

To you, Nola, I grant the Boon of the Protector, that you may defend those you love and their love make you strong.

To you, Ronyo, I grant the Boon of Remembrance, both a blessing and a burden, that you may remember what the world has forgotten, and with it remember what you stand for.”

RONYO: “One condition, Isindrïl, is that if I were to give my life at the end of this… I want… I want Reyva to forget I existed.”

ISINDRÏL: “We may discuss terms afterwards, if that is what you wish.” [beat] “To you, Tachi, I grant the Boon of Eternal Hope, that you may be a light to your allies when they need it most, because as a bard it is your job to inspire hope and give it in the darkest of places.

And finally… to you, Yuumi, I grant the Boon of the Faithful and the Shield of Divine Retribution, that you bring not only justice where it is needed, but healing as well.

Now… go forth, my children, and be divine.”

NOLA: “Okay!”

DM: Vessago, you suddenly come back into consciousness, shocked, astounded that you are actually alive in all of this. Then, you see all of your companions around you, fallen. In front of you, Suthis is laughing.

SUTHIS: “I wish I could say crushing you would bring me any pleasure at all.”

DM: And she takes a lumbering step toward you, and then you hear a loud sound, a sound that all of us would recognise as something breaking the sound barrier, and bright light crashes down all around you as the ground shakes. You watch, stunned, as the fallen forms of your friends stand to their feet. They’re different, now. Their eyes are pure light, streaming from their sockets, and they glow with a radiant aura Yuumi now holds a shield of pure white light that crackles with electricity, and both hers and Kestriel’s holy symbols have flared back to life. Fen now holds a halberd with a golden shaft, a blade of light cleaving out of it.

And all of you have your hit points and spell slots restored instantly, and you level up to level 20.

VESSAGO: “Well, it will bring me great pleasure to crush you!”

DM: And it’s time for a REMATCH!

[imagine-darksiders]

I love your scenarios so much!!! Do you think you could do one where the Horsemen help their s/o find their parents after the resurection, and their s/o is positively glowing with pride when they finally get to introduce them. Need some happy family scenarios up in here!!!!

I’m not leaving any more,I’ve found its you I’m fighting for,And even if this is the end,I swear I’ll never leave your side again

Clean up was a nightmare. 

By the time humanity had crawled out of the rubble and realised what had happened, there was a global panic, which wasn’t all that much of a surprise. But human resilience and ingenuity shone through the mass hysteria and it wasn’t too long before the relief efforts began. 

We worked on rebuilding, resettling in temporary camps set up around the entire world, just until the world leaders sussed out who was where. 

Frankly, you’re relieved you didn’t have to sort through that paperwork. 

The priorities for most folks however, was of course to find their families and loved ones amongst the chaos. On that front too, you were grateful to have Horsemen with you. 

It made it a hell of a lot easier for your family to track you down once word spread about who the four horsemen of the apocalypse had tagging along at their side. 

Knowing that your family would most likely think to wait for you in your own home, you decide to ask the horseman to do you one last favour.

“I need to find my family. Take me home, please?” 

—

Death: “Hmph, given your track record, I highly doubt this will be the last favour I shall be granting you,” the horseman mutters, summoning Despair all the same and pulling you up into the saddle in front of him. You run your fingers through the horse’s wispy mane and grip the saddle horn as Death spurs him on through a throng of slack jawed people, all of whom are forced to hurl themselves out of your way. 

The distance between you and your family home seems to just disappear beneath Despair’s hooves as your trio thunders down the road that leads up to your house. Your excitement at this point is insurmountable and Death has barely pulled his steed to a halt before you’ve leapt down from the saddle and begin hurtling towards your front door.

It bursts open with the force of your entry and slams into the wall, no doubt chipping the paint in the process. But you find little room to care as you race up to your bedroom. ‘They have to be there,’ you reason with yourself as you fly towards the door, ‘they have to be...’

Grasping the handle, you take a steadying breath before pushing the door open and stare into the empty room. 

Empty….

You bite your lip in disappointment and hurt before sinking slowly onto your dusty old bed. You’d been so sure they’d be here, maybe they hadn’t been resurrected at all? Maybe something had happened on the way home? Maybe they thought you dead so hadn’t bothered to-

“Y/n?” 

Your head snaps up at the sudden disturbance, sure that you’re mistaking that familiar voice for Deaths. 

But there, standing in the doorway and looking no worse for wear, are your mother and father.

Your mouth moves to speak but you can only croak out, “Da-” before the both of them scramble towards you and practically leap into your arms. There’s barely a moment of shock before it’s replaced by joy and delight. You cry into their arms as they hug, kiss and tell you over and over how glad they are that you’re alright. You can only sob, deciding that you’ll wait until later to tell them that you’d essentially spent a century suspended in some unaging state where you had to endure their absence every single day. 

There’s a soft ‘ahem’ from the door of your bedroom, pulling you all from your shared embrace. Death is leaning against the doorframe with one leg crossed behind the other and arms folded across his chest as he takes in the heartwarming scene unfurling before him. Your parents are the first to react, both of them instinctively pushing you behind themselves and standing to glare up at the intruder fearfully. Death blinks languidly at you as you fight your way through your parents to stand in front of your horseman with arms raised placatingly. 

“Hey, hey it’s okay!” you insist, “he’s my friend!” 

Your mother’s mouth falls open and your father’s eyes bulge. “Your……friend?” he asks incredulously. 

“And you must be Y/n’s mother and father-” the horseman bows his head slightly at the two shocked humans before him, “-charmed.” Death unfolds his arms and steps further into the room with you, placing a hand on your shoulder as you beam between him and your parents giddily. 

“Death,” you chirp, “I’d like to introduce you to my family.” Beckoning for the two to come forward so they can actually greet the horseman properly, you take your mother’s hand and gently lift it towards Death, who gets the message and delicately grasps her fingers between his own bony ones, giving her hand a firm shake by way of greeting. “Wow,” you tease him, “You’re a natural!” Death fixes you with a cold glare, regretting it almost immediately because it makes your mother tense and your father flinch. 

“Relax,” you say consolingly, “he’s not gonna hurt you, are you Death?” you elbow the horseman in his ribs and he grunts, shooting you a sigh of exasperation before saying, surprisingly softly, “No, Y/n is under my protection, and by extent, so are you two….I suppose,” he adds darkly, earning himself a disapproving glare from you. But it’s good enough, for Death, you reckon. 

“I-I’m sorry,” your mother suddenly chimes in, “But did you say your name was…..Death?” she squeaks. The horseman nods in confirmation. 

“Indeed. Death, the Grim Reaper, Rider of the Pale horse-” 

“Rider of the green horse, more like,” you interrupt. 

“Stop it,” he mutters down at you.

“Your horse is green, Death.” 

Your parents watch the exchange in horror, uncertain how or why you could possibly see fit to rouse the ire of this omnipotent force of nature. The two of you notice that the conversation has drifted after a short while, so you cough and scratch the back of your neck as Death shakes his head at you. The room lapses into silence until your father speaks up. 

“So,” he begins, clapping his hands together and motioning between you and Death, “I’m dying to hear this one.” You groan and slap your hand against your head at the terribly obvious pun, terrible being the optimum word, but the horseman actually huffs out a laugh at it. Peering up at him you moan, “Don’t encourage him, it’ll only get worse.” 

“He can’t be any worse than you, Y/n,” Death teases. 

“Okay, wait. I don’t get it,” your mother chimes in, “Are you two friends or?….”

You go to answer her but you’re surprised when Death beats you to it. 

“Oh, without question,” he states, and for once, you can’t detect any sarcasm in his voice, “Y/n is, and always will be, one of the very few creatures in existence I would ever consider a friend.” 

“Really?” your parents both echo each other at the same time.” The horseman nods. “Really. In fact, I’d go even further than that. You see, I’ve recently adopted your child into my own little fold”- he pauses to ruffle your hair affectionately before continuing, -”Y/n is as much a part of my family as my own brother, War.” 

Your parents listen to him talk about you with gobsmacked expressions, rivalled only by your own incredulous face that’s split into an almost painfully wide grin. You glow under Death’s words, unsure if he’d meant for them to be quite so endearing. But, you decide it doesn’t really matter. 

What matters is that here is your best friend actually making an effort to get along with your parents. You beam up at Death brightly whilst he continues to sing your praises, eventually leading the subject to the unfortunate predicament he found you in during the apocalypse. Throughout his watered down version of events, you watch as your parents’ faces grow warmer and warmer, their eyes holding less fear and more enchantment and wonder. 

Your mother smiles welcomingly at the horseman when he finishes, “Well, I suppose there’s only one thing left to do,” she shrugs. You and Death glance at each other, then back at her. She rolls her eyes and your father pats the Reaper’s arm roughly, “Welcome to the family then, Death.” He winks down at your delighted expression and chuckles at the horseman’s shocked eyes. 

You however, couldn’t be happier. Your chest swells with pride and affection for Death as you realise he’d just, however unwittingly, secured himself a spot in your home for however long he should need it. 

War: Your brutish friend regards you for a few seconds before he snorts, shrugging his immense shoulder and turns his head away from you. There’s a pause where you can hear the other resurrected humans murmuring quietly in War’s direction. The sooner you escaped from their curious gazes the better… Your attention is drawn from them by War’s sudden, hushed growl, “I believe I owe you more than one favour, Y/n.” 

Eyes wide and smile bright, you take War’s proffered hand and he lifts you effortlessly into Ruin’s saddle before settling behind you. With a guttural bellow, the beast rears up, eliciting gasps and cries of shock from the onlookers, then he launches into a flat out gallop for your home. 

As you race along the landscape, things begin to look more and more familiar, and as they do, you grow more and more excited. Although your enthusiasm is also met with a little trepidation at the prospect of introducing your family to War. You’ve no doubt when you tell them all he’s done for you, they’ll come to love him as you do. But still…. 

Pushing those negative thoughts from your head, you swing your arm up to point at a recognisable residence that makes you tear up with nostalgia. It has, after all, been over a century since you’ve seen home. “There!” you call over the wind rushing past your ears and War tugs Ruin’s rein to veer off and slide to a stop right next to your front door. 

The horseman eases you out of the saddle and onto the solid ground before banishing Ruin and stomping along behind you up to the door. He watches you hesitate before at last pushing the creaking door open and wincing at the dust that falls from the ceiling overhead at the sudden intrusion. The place is uncomfortably quiet, at least until you near the kitchen, where you start to hear the beginnings of a conversation. Emotions threaten to overwhelm you when you make out the all too familiar voices. 

“What if Y/n didn’t come back to life like the rest of us did?” That sounded a lot like your father.

“Y/n is coming home. You really think that everybody else would come back but Y/n wouldn’t?” the reassuring voice of your mother responds. Your hands fly up to cover your mouth but its not fast enough to catch the sob that escapes your throat. The comforting presence of War at your back is a blessing then, as you’re sure you might have collapsed with sheer relief.

The noise roused the occupants in the kitchen and there was a brief scrabbling of shoes before two people whizzed around the corner and skidded to a halt. At the sudden movement, War tenses behind you and you can feel the protective aura radiating off him so you quickly shoot your hand out behind you to signal that everything was alright. “Easy War,” you say calmly. 

Meanwhile, your eyes remain fixed on the two figures before you, “Mum?” you whisper, “Dad?” 

“Y/n?” they both whisper, not taking their eyes of the enormous creature looming behind you. 

“Oh for-War! Stop it,” you hiss, “you’re scaring them!” The horseman begrudgingly backs up a little, shrinking from his full height and losing his snarl. But it doesn’t really make much of a difference. ‘Oh well’ you mentally shrug. 

Still, despite their obvious fear, your father pipes up next to your mother. “Y/n,” he chokes, “You’re alive-” he and your mother start forwards, you close the gap and practically collapse into their embrace “-You’re alive!” 

War keeps his silent vigil over your tiny family as you fall to your knees and cry together. Tears of relief stream down all of your faces, a family again. 

‘Family….’

You pull away and wipe your eyes frantically, casting an apologetic look backwards at the horseman before you stand and help your mother to her feet. “War,” you whisper, “Come here, please?” The horseman huffs, but decides to go along with whatever it is you’re planning. He approaches you and you beam at him gratefully, taking the forefinger of his gauntlet and leading him properly to your parents. “Remember,” you whisper, “Like I showed you.” War scowls, either in concentration, or irritation you aren’t sure. But all the same, he slowly, carefully extends his hand towards your mother first, palm up, waiting for her to make the next move. She glances at you breathlessly, so you nod at her reassuringly. After an obvious internal struggle, she shakily places her hand on War’s, flinching as he ever so gently curls his fist around it and shakes it once, twice, up and down in greeting. 

War shoots you a questioning look and you give him a thumbs up, mouthing ‘perfect’ at him. Your father is next, who shakes nearly as much as your mother did, but he puts on a brave face and looks War in the eye as he shakes his hand. You try not to let your pride show too much as you witness this miracle in the works. War actually being gentle with someone other than yourself, your parents actually acknowledging what you said and trusting you enough to trust War. 

Miracle. 

Strife: “What if they don’t like me?” 

You roll your eyes as the horseman strolling along behind you voices his question for the 4th time in the last 10 minutes. 

“I mean, I know. As crazy as that may sound to you,” he continues, letting his signature cockiness shine forth expertly, “I can tend to be a little….intimidating.” You turn around to raise an amused eyebrow at him and catch him flexing one of his arms and flashing you a sharp-toothed grin. 

“Strife,” you begin, “would you stop worrying, they’ll adore you! How could they not?” The horseman seems to ponder this new information before nodding in agreement.

“True, true,” he pouts and you smirk at him over your shoulder before turning to reach for the door. The front door. Your door. The rather unnecessary door considering the gaping hole in the wall right beside it. Still, you push on the wood and wince as it suddenly falls from its hinges and falls with an almighty crash onto the floor. 

“That’s one way to announce our arrival,” Strife chuckles behind you. Coughing slightly, you peer into the gloom of your home whilst taking careful steps inside. The walls are lined with cracks and dust, decades worth of it. There’s a muffled commotion from somewhere in the house that alerts the hyper aware horseman beside you. He places a hand on your stomach and pushes you behind him as he unholsters Redemption and aims it into the darkness. 

“Strife, wait!” you hiss, “It could be-”

“Y/n?” 

You slump into the horseman’s back, relieved as two familiar faces appear out from the shadows. Strife’s eyes widen when you call out to your parents and rush around him into their embrace. He hurriedly drops Redemption back into its holster and clasps his hands behind him with an awkward grin. But your parents are far too busy smothering you with affection to neither notice, nor care about the other presence in the room. 

“Mum!” you laugh between kisses on the cheek, “Mum stop! I need to introduce you to someone!” At last, she and your father pull away, 

“Y/n,” your dad gasps happily, “Y/n we thought we’d lost you.” With a bright grin, you turn to beckon Strife forward and grab his arm excitedly. 

“Mum dad, I’d like you both to meet Strife. He saved my life-” you gaze up at the tall horseman adoringly, “-He’s my best friend.” Your parents exchange a look between themselves before turning to stare at Strife once again. There’s a beat where you’re certain they could either start laughing or cry hysterically. But it’s your mother who surprises you first when she steps forward, stares up at the enormous man before her, then, without warning, she throws her arms around him. Strife stiffens visibly, unused to having anyone other than yourself hug him like this. He looks to you briefly for help, but you merely fold your arms across your chest and quirk an eyebrow at him, saying smugly, “And you were worried they wouldn’t like you.” 

“Uh, heh,” the uncomfortable horseman laughs as your mother thanks him repeatedly, 

“Thanks for bringing Y/n home,” your father smiles at Strife, offering his hand to shake. After a moment’s hesitation, the horseman with your mother still clinging to his waist, raises his hand and places it in your father’s. You bite your lip, trying to get your monumental smile under control but you’re just so damn happy. Finally, your mother steps away from Strife, wiping her eyes. 

“Sorry,” she laughs tearfully, “Sorry, I’m just so grateful to you.” She dusts herself off, regaining her composure and falling back next to her husband. “Well, any friend of Y/n’s is more than welcome here anytime,” your father declares, causing Strife to shoot you a smug grin of his own. 

“Hear that Y/n? Better get used to this face, cause you’re gonna be seeing a lot of it from now on.” 

You sigh and accept the arm that your mother is trying to curl around you. “Sure, it’s not like I haven’t been seeing it every day for the last century or anything,” you quip sarcastically. 

“Century!?” your mother and father cry in unison. Strife laughs loudly and slings an arm across both of their shoulders, walking them through into the sitting room where they all but collapse onto the sofa.

“Boy do we have a story to tell you guys,” he announces, “Which is great, I love talking about me.” With that, he launches into tales of heroism, adventure, danger, all of which make your parents pale and you reminisce. Despite his ego,  you can’t help but feel a flutter of affection for the horseman as you watch him regale your parents. 

‘This feels…..right,’ you decide quietly to yourself, snuggling further into Strife’s side and trying to ignore your father’s suspicious squint as the horseman pulls you closer. 

Fury: “Are you certain it’s the right time for me to be meeting your parents?” The horseman asks as you both traipse up the long, half rebuilt road that leads past your home. You smile up at Fury comfortingly, taking her hand and squeezing it tightly. 

“Jeez, you make it sound like I’m bringing my girlfriend home for the first time, Fury,” you laugh, noticing the slender eyebrow that rises then falls as her eyelids droop alluringly. 

“You mean that’s not what’s happening right now?” she teases and your face grows hot as you try not to stumble over your own feet. Fury’s wide smile looks a little too smug to be characteristic but you allow her to get away with it, at least just this once. 

Letting out a belligerent ‘humph’, you stick your tongue out at her briefly, an action that makes her recoil with exaggerated disgust. Smirking, you suddenly turn your face forward and notice that you’ve both arrived at your old home. 

Wind rushes down the road as you stare at the door, hand hovering in mid air without even realising that you’d been going to knock. Fury’s smile slowly fades when she notices you aren’t moving anymore and instead, remain deathly still and quiet. 

“Y/n?” she murmurs curiously, “What’s the matter?” 

You shake your head and blink rapidly as you realise you’re being spoken to. Tossing the horseman a quick smile over your shoulder, you finally grip the handle and push the door open slowly. “Hello!?” you call out, listening intently to the silence that followed. After a minute without a response, “Mum!?” you shout, “Dad?!” ……

Silence.

But then………”Y/n?!” Somebody cried from behind you. Both you and Fury spin around to look over the road opposite your home. 

“Well, that was convenient,” Fury appraises even as you break away from her to sprint at your parents who, against all odds, arrived at nearly the exact same time as you had to your family home. The horseman hangs back, leaning up against the wall of the house, content merely to watch the sweet scene from a respectable distance. You need this. 

Before too long, whatever you’d been discussing with your parents seems to accumulate on the horseman you’d arrived with. You turn and Fury can clearly see that you’re talking about her, gesturing all the while between yourself and her. She doesn’t miss the proud smile you wear when you fix your gaze on her once again and start to lead your mother and father across the road to where she stands. Respectfully, Fury pushes off from the wall and bows her head low to your parents. Greeting them with a smile despite their obvious trepidation.  You trot over to stand at Fury’s side and she blinks when you slip your hand effortlessly into her own.

“Fury, this is my mum and dad,” you introduce them by name and she shakes their hands respectively. “Guys, meet Fury: Horseman. Friend. Near enough soulmate, at this point.” 

“It’s a pleasure,” she beams. 

“Yeah, uh…Likewise,” your father stammers, “We um…saw you on the news.” He looks to your mother as she pipes up. 

“Oh yes, although we couldn’t quite believe it when we saw you standing next to Y/n,” she concurs with a nervous smile. You have one of your own when Fury releases your hand only to rest her arm around your shoulders. The eerily human gesture both unnerves your parents and puts them at ease a little. They both step closer sporting tired, relieved, if a little wary smiles. Slinking from Fury’s arm, you back up a couple of steps to make room for them, eager to see how they handle this.

“Well,” your mother begins, hesitantly clasping her hands around Fury’s and squeezing them gratefully, “Thank you, for keeping Y/n safe,” she breathes. 

“Believe me, it was my pleasure,” the horseman winks at you and smiles warmly down at your mother. You beam, something in your chest glowing and burning at the sight of your three family members accepting one another. You’re almost moved to fresh tears as the reality hits you. 

You’re home, with her. With them. No matter what, you know Fury will always be welcome with you. 

[ofcorsetstrash]

Between Scenes - Part 3

This is... less of a deleted scene from my weirdly epic kylux fic and more of a ‘I have no idea where to fit this in’ scene. So, yeah, consider this as actually happening. You know. Between You and Me.

Oh, and in case any of you were wondering about how much I’ve been borrowing from Trigun for this fic...

Wast Liorpan wiped at a stubborn sticky spot on the bar, hoping a little elbow grease would be enough. When it wasn’t, he shrugged and moved on, It wasn’t like his usual clientele would care. A small sigh escaped him. It had been a further step down than he thought it would be, moving to the wild and lawless Outer Rim. Guess that was the price of getting lazy with the less legal side-business. Next thing you know, people are yelling things like ‘jail time’ and ‘thirty-year-sentence’.

The bell hung over the door rang, which wasn’t terribly unusual. Even in the middle of the day, like this. Some people liked to get their drinking done nice and early. This person, though, didn’t really look the type. Tall, black robes, hood over his head and cowl pulled up to hide his mouth and nose. Or maybe to block out the smells outside. Skulked into the room like an awkward, gangly carrion-bird.

Wast set down the glass he’d been cleaning. “What can I get for you, stranger?”

The man dropped his cowl and hood, carefully seating himself at the end of the bar furthest from the door. He looked around the empty bar, shaking long black hair out of his face. Wasn’t a bad-looking face, either. Even with that scar.

“Do you have any ice cream?”

Wast blinked a few times. “Any… ice cream?”

The stranger smiled and nodded. “I haven’t had ice cream in… in years.”

Wast was about to laugh in his face and shoo him out of the bar, when he remembered. “Actually, yeah. I do. Use it for mixing up those slushy drinks the Yaroshians like so much.”

“Great!” The stranger was all but beaming, child-like glee bursting out of him. “Could you put some of that purple lindenberry sauce on top?” He pointed at the jar on the shelf.

Wast dug a wide glass out from under the counter and located a spoon. “Do you want sprinkles on it, too?”

“You have sprinkles!?” The kid asked. He must have been a kid. Looked like he might not even be old enough to shave regularly, with that smile lighting his face up like that.

“No.”

“Oh. You were joking.”

Wast got the ice cream dished up and set it down. Eager as he was, the stranger took only a very small spoonful at first, almost daintily taking his first bite. Wast was about to return to cleaning, but he noticed tears running down his customer’s face.

“Um…” Usually this didn’t happen until after several Coruscanti Specials. “Are you… alright?”

“Yes,” the kid sniffled. “I just… it’s been awhile since I had ice cream. It’s better than I remember.”

“Do you have a name, stranger?”

The kid nodded. “Kylo.”

“Just Kylo?”

Something dark tugged at the corner of the stranger’s mouth, and suddenly Wast wasn’t so sure about how old he was. “Yeah. Just Kylo.”

Wat gathered up a few glasses and ran them back to the sanitizer. When he got back the kid was still savoring a spoonful like a good round of geppers on a cold night.

“So,” said Wast, feeling more comfortable now and rather wanting to gossip. “Did you hear about that…” He’d heard the news from a Wookiee bounty-hunter, and wasn't sure how the word was supposed to translate into galactic basic. “Killing-Star?”

The kid, Kylo, lowered his spoon and stared at Wast. “Killing-Star?” he repeated, disbelief in his voice.

Wast couldn’t tell if that was because Kylo hadn’t heard or because he was saying it wrong, so he gave it another stab. “Killer Star?”

The kid set his spoon down. “What about it?” he asked.

“Oh,” Wast shrugged one side of his body. “Didn’t you hear? It blew up and now the government is a mess and a bunch of people are upset.”

“I hate to think what that’ll do to the economy.” Kylo said, his voice bland.

After that, Wast just let him eat in peace, content with his attempt at social interaction this early in the day.

*_*_*_*

“Hey. That guy. How long has he been sittin’ there?”

Wast tensed. The slavers sounded like they’d already been around to old Thristan’s place and drunk him out of business for the evening. They sounded like they were eager. Eager for a fight, or maybe to add to their collection that followed them quietly, eyes downcast.

“Beats me,” one of the slavers grumbled. Alarm rising in his throat, Wast realized that they were talking about the kid. Kylo, he’d said his name was. Still sitting quietly at the far end of the bar, nursing his third dish of ice cream. Damn. Wast kept an old Corellian blaster under the bar, but it was mostly for show, to scare some off the big talkers.

“You bitch!” One of the slavers suddenly roared, backhanding one of the girls behind him. “You were looking at him! You know I have to punish you, now!” He stood and slapped the girl again, sending her sprawling to the ground. “Disrespect! I can’t stand it when I’m disrespected!”

This was already looking to turn ugly. Wast looked down at the glass he was cleaning. It was already clean, but he didn’t stop trying to get it even cleaner.

A loud clack. “Alright, Boaz, that’s enough,” said another slaver, his voice calm, even bored.

“But she was lookin’ right at him!” argued the brutish Boaz. Wast wasn’t sure what species this guy was, but it sure wasn’t pretty to look at.

The other slaver, Wast thought he must be their leader, laughed a little. “You don’t stand a chance against him, anyway. Too bad. He looks like one of those ladykiller types. The kind the women all go after.” Wast finally looked up as the leader stood slowly, stretching his arms over his head. “Well, Mister Handsome, that’s real cruel of you. You see, these girls are too delicate. They have nothing. No families, no lovers, no pasts. And there you sit, making ‘em think of what they don’t have. Now I gotta take the time to help them forget it again, won’t I…”

Wast glanced down to the other end of the bar. The stranger, Kylo, gave no indication that he’d even heard anything from the slavers. Still a placid look on his face as he raised another spoonful of slowly melting cream to his mouth.

The big ugly brute growled, his hand drifting to the blaster at his hip. “Are you listening, slick? What, do you think you’re too good for us? Hey, PUNK!” The slaver drew and shot his weapon faster than Wast could blink. When he did blink, he saw Kylo blinking, as well, looking rather startled at the sheared-off end of his utensil. I’ll have to repaint that wall, Wast heard himself think. The slavers all chuckled, shifting as they smelled blood in the water.

Kylo looked up at Wast then, still no emotion on his face. “Could I have another spoon?”

“ASSHOLE!” A flurry of blaster shots flashed across the bar, and Wast ducked, tried to make himself as small and unnoticeable as possible.

Quickly, though, the noise died down, and Wast glanced up, fearing the worst. There sat Kylo, still, blaster holes in the wall next to him, his dark eyes finally fixed on the slavers. He looked… bemused.

“It isn’t wise to be hasty,” he murmured. “I was already planning on killing all of you later today, but…” Kylo stood, slowly, and seemed taller than he had an hour ago. The shadows around him seemed darker, too, but that must have been just a trick of the light. “Why is it you insist upon meeting your death sooner?”

The big, ugly slaver laughed. “You don’t make any sense! Just talking a bunch of nonsense…”

But Kylo was walking forward then, his eyes unblinking as he stepped closer to the slaver. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter,” he whispered. The slaver blinked rapidly. He hadn’t expected the scrawny person eating ice cream in the corner to tower over him, it looked like. Then, he raised his hand in the air.

Much to his own surprise, it seemed.

“Oh,” Kylo said with a grin. “We have a volunteer. How wonderful.”

“What the- What the hell are you doing to me!” the slaver screamed.

“It’s simple. You’re the first to die.”

Wast cowered behind the bar, watched in horror as the slaver’s limb twisted, seemingly of it’s own accord. The creature screamed, then screamed louder as his own fingers dug into the flesh between his ribs. Wast had to close his eyes, had to look away and try not to lose control of his stomach. The terrible screaming and the sound of tearing flesh continued for only about ten seconds, according to his chrono. It felt much longer.

“Boaz!” the leader shouted. Wast glanced up just in time to see him pull out his blaster, murder on his face as he stared down Kylo.

It wasn’t Kylo that he shot, however. Everyone in the room watched as, at the last second, he turned, firing his own blaster into another slaver’s chest. The dead man could only gape in silent shock at his leader as he crumpled to the floor. Before anyone could even think, all of the small band of slavers had their blasters drawn. All of them pointed at each other.

“What the hell are you doing!” The leader was screaming, now, his eyes full of fear like he’d probably never known in his life. Kylo only tipped his head slightly, that dark smile still dancing around his mouth and seeping out his eyes. “You bastard! DAMN YOU! BASTARD!”

“No!”

“Please stop!”

“I don’t wanna die!”

But none of them could move, suspended as they were, held captive by… by some kind of force…

Wast had to look away. He had to. Couldn’t watch this horrific display of terror and death as one by one the slavers began to shoot each other. Their screams rose in pitch, panic painting the room red, until only one lone voice remained. That voice cried out in terror, and was suddenly silenced.

The dead quiet was broken only by a very small scraping sound. Wast looked up to see the tall, dark monster gently placing a credit chit on the bar.

“That should cover the ice cream,” Kylo’s voice was deceptively soft. Deceptively bloodless. “And the cost of body disposal. Plus a little extra, for the inconvenience.”

~~~*****~~~

[english2121]

Discussion Leader 10/3

Quotes One:

“And when, on the morrow, she presented Elizabeth to me as her promised gift, I, with childish seriousness, interpreted her words literally and looked upon Elizabeth as mine — mine to protect, love, and cherish. All praises bestowed on her I received as made to a possession of my own. We called each other familiarly by the name of cousin. No word, no expression could body forth the kind of relation in which she stood to me — my more than sister, since till death she was to be mine only” (Chapter 1).

“But my chief delights were the sights of the flowers, the birds, and all the gay apparel of summer; when those deserted me, I turned with more attention towards the cottagers. Their happiness was not decreased by the absence of summer. They loved and sympathised with one another; and their joys, depending on each other, were not interrupted by the casualties that took place around them. The more I saw of them, the greater became my desire to claim their protection and kindness; my heart yearned to be known and loved by these amiable creatures; to see their sweet looks directed towards me with affection was the utmost limit of my ambition” (Chapter 15).

Question 1: Throughout the novel, Victor Frankenstein and his monster exhibit instances of their mental states shifting due to the events around them (i.e. perception of nature). Can we say these instances make them similar to one another?

Quote Two:

“‘But soon,’ he cried with sad and solemn enthusiasm, ‘I shall die, and what I now feel be no longer felt. Soon these burning miseries will be extinct. I shall ascend my funeral pile triumphantly and exult in the agony of the torturing flames. The light of that conflagration will fade away; my ashes will be swept into the sea by the winds. My spirit will sleep in peace, or if it thinks, it will not surely think thus. Farewell.’ He sprang from the cabin window as he said this, upon the ice raft which lay close the vessel. He was soon borne away by the waves and lost in darkness and distance” (Chapter 24).

Question Two: Towards the end of the novel, we are given an open ending of the monster’s fate. Is this in any way Romantic? Why do you think Shelley chose this open ending?

Quotes Three:

“Great God! What a scene has just taken place! I am yet dizzy with the remembrance of it. I hardly know whether I shall have the power to detail it; yet the tale which I have recorded would be incomplete without this final and wonderful catastrophe. I entered the cabin where lay the remains of my ill-fated and admirable friend. Over him hung a form which I cannot find words to describe — gigantic in stature, yet uncouth and distorted in its proportions. As he hung over the coffin, his face was concealed by long locks of ragged hair; but one vast hand was extended, in colour and apparent texture like that of a mummy. When he heard the sound of my approach, he ceased to utter exclamations of grief and horror and sprung towards the window. Never did I behold a vision so horrible as his face, of such loathsome yet appalling hideousness. I shut my eyes involuntarily and endeavoured to recollect what were my duties with regard to this destroyer. I called on him to stay” (Chapter 24, Sept. 12th letter).

“‘The task of his destruction was mine,  but I have failed. When actuated by selfish and vicious motives, I asked you to undertake any unfinished work, and I renew this request now, when I am only induced by reason and virtue’” (Chapter 24, Sept. 12th letter).

Question Three: What do Walton’s letters provide for the end of the novel and do they affect the ending? Why do you think Walton did not fulfill Frankenstein’s wish in killing the monster?

Quote Four:

“He paused, looking on me with wonder, and again turning towards the lifeless form of his creator, he seemed to forget my presence, and every feature and gesture seemed instigated by the wildest rage of some uncontrollable passion. ‘That is also my victim!’ He exclaimed. ‘In his murder my crimes are consummated; the miserable series of my being is wound to its close! Oh, Frankenstein! Generous and self-devoted being! What does it avail that I now ask thee to pardon me? I, who irretrievably destroyed thee by destroying all thou lovedst. Alas! He is cold, he cannot answer me.’ His voice seemed suffocated, and my first impulses, which had suggested to me the duty of obeying the dying request of my friend in destroying his enemy, were now suspended by a mixture of curiosity and compassion” (Chapter 24, Sept. 12th letter).

Question Four: The monster has become fixated on causing Frankenstein pain and suffering after being rejected by him and the rest of humanity. However, he manages to show regret over Frankenstein’s death. Can this be a sign of character growth (meaning the monster has reverted from committing malicious deeds) or is this another mind game that he is playing? Can this be seen as a sign that the monster never truly wanted to cause suffering for Frankenstein?

Quotes Five:

“In the Sorrows of Werter, besides the interest of its simple and affecting story, so many opinions are canvassed and so many lights thrown upon what had hitherto been to me obscure subjects that I found in it a never-ending source of speculation and astonishment. The gentle and domestic manners it described, combined with lofty sentiments and feelings, which had for their object something out of self, accorded well with my experience among my protectors and the wants which were forever alive in my own bosom. But I thought Werter himself a more divine being than I had ever beheld or imagined; his character contained no pretension, but it sank deep” (Chapter 15).

“But Paradise Lost excited different and far deeper emotions. Like Adam, I was apparently united by no link to any other being in existence; but his state was far different from mine in every other respect. He had come forth from the hands of God a perfect creature, happy and prosperous, guarded by the especial care of his Creator; he was allowed to converse with and acquire knowledge from beings of a superior nature, but I was wretched, helpless, and alone. Many times I considered Satan as the fitter emblem of my condition, for often, like him, when I viewed the bliss of my protectors, the bitter gall of envy rose within me” (Chapter 15).

Question Five: The monster has exhibited a deep hatred for his creator and humanity due to their rejection of him, which allows him to sympathize with Werter. Do you believe that if the monster would still have this similar mindset if he had never read The Sorrows of Werther and Paradise Lost? Do you believe that this texts have truly shaped his perspective on humanity (inducing his hatred and maliciousness)?

Argument:

  Throughout the novel, Mary Shelley composes scenes which show Frankenstein’s bond with his monster through the likeness of their mental states: these two characters manage to have composed, rational thoughts but then break down to irrationational thoughts - thus repeating a cycle. This further shows a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde dynamic between the two due to the fact that they both are parallels of one another (mindsets, perception of nature, their temperaments). But why does Shelley make them similar? By analyzing the scenes where they exhibit similarities, it could be said that this is a way to show that all of humanity has a monster within us all - whether it is created and illustrated through our ideologies, beliefs or actions. In this sense, it could show Shelley’s opinion that too much curiosity, self-exploration, and experimentation could be damaging to us and our morals which thus creates our monster. This is shown through Frankenstein committing himself to experiment with the creation of life, which proves to be his fatal mistake as his creation has now become an abomination, later, destroying his happiness and life.