#so we got away without having to have our souls be tortured for 50 years

[githvyrik]

boyfriend lowered my monk’s AC by one point. so 19. everyone who has ever dm’ed for this character cheered. then realized the bardcleric can cast greater restoration on her the following day.

[jezy]

My Ben 10 Reboot/Grim Dawn OC-- Libra Renov! :D

Warning! Some of these parts have uncomfortable stuff, so if you don't like it. Might wanna either scroll down faster or endure it if you still wanna read it.

Libra has a lot of expertise with being a Sage of Illusions but she's also a healer and wild card in case missions go south. Which is about 50/50 percent most of the time.

She's also one of the smartest sages there is. But she sometimes focuses on the puzzles way too much so she doesn't notices anything going on around her.

Libra has a few friends but they're just a bunch of royal jerks. Except Hex, she liked him when they've met. Disa and Libra are friends too, but she trusts Hex more than anyone.

Before Libra died, she was a human with wavy chocolate brown hair with deep blue eyes and fair skin. Now, she's an aetherial with messy black charcoal hair with glowing green eyes and her skin's pale white.

She is an adopted royal, let me elaborate : Her real parents' kingdom got dethroned by another kingdom in ledgerdomain. The king and queen who has a tomboy daughter which they don't like, and resulting for said daughter to left them with no heir. So when they dethroned Libra's parents, they took toddler!Libra under their wings and taught her how to be a girly-girl princess.

At first, Libra loved it but when she grew older she became a rebellious child (in secret) and would often read her adopted father's books about magic without permission.

When she met Hex (when she first sneaked out for the first time), she realized she can be so much more than just be a useless princess in her kingdom. She could help people on the front instead of doing it behind the walls of the castle.

So ever since then, whenever she gets the chance to do something rebellious, she would do it using illusions as distraction then she helps the people in need with a disguise. (Like Robin Hood).

Her adopted parents didn't liked it obviously and were trying to figure out who would do such a thing. They still haven't found out it was her.

Libra & Hex are the "friends to lovers" couple. They're glue you can't easily separate and will hurt you if you hurt one of them.

When she found out that she's getting arranged marriage to Hex's younger brother, she didn't liked it. Yes, she knew about Hex's younger brother, Spellbinder, but she didn't liked him like that.

So when Libra & Hex became 18 years old, they eloped to Cairn and became Sages since then. They're not exactly married in legal standards, but they don't mind it one bit.

When Hex gets pissed at someone, its Libra's job to calm him down.

Since she's the only thing that stands between Hex and his anger to the whole multiverses. That is, when she died in the first cataclysmic war.

Libra deeply cares about Hex and is deeply hurt whenever Hex does something he regrets. Like, cursing his brother when Spellbinder forcefully kissed her lips.

Of course, Hex hid away from her for a few years because of the fear he'll hurt her too.

This made her depressed and longed for him, even to the point on not eating or sleeping because she misses him too much. Till Disa slaps her from her depression and yells at her to get a grip.

Libra was slightly thankful for her, even though it hurts like hell. She now learned a lesson that Hex would come back. Which he did, and Libra basically sprung out to crush him with her hug.

Libra cried rivers when Hex came back, as well as him.

After that, they now have more love to each other. Which is a blessing for the other sages since they now feared/despised Hex because of what he did.

They were peaceful, until the cataclysmic war....

Now, the cataclysmic war isn't just some war, it was a war between The Gods of Cairn and The Aetherial. (I'll probably make a post about the Aetherials and Gods of Cairn, since I can't explain everything in here)

It affected everyone even The Sages, half of the faction died including Libra. Who got trapped inside the spell of the Handmaiden Shield and burned alive by the aetherfire the aetherials had caused.

When she died, her soul got flung down deep into where the aetherials (now just spirits) had now reside. When they noticed her and found out she wasn't one of them, they tortured her for eons till they came back to take over the world. But she held it together for as long as she can take.

That was until... Theodin Marcell, The Master of Flesh, had began experimenting & reanimating the bodies of humans. He searched for test subjects (alive and/or dead) and found Libra's corpse in an ancient graveyard, and decided they will make her their most perfect masterpiece.

And so he did, first they forced Libra's soul to go into an aether crystal (a sort of physical form of aetherials). Then, he sliced open Libra's body's chest and planted the crystal inside her heart. Then he started reanimating her.

When she first came back to life, she was strapped naked in an electric chair. She tried to get out obviously until she saw Theodin Marcell coming down.

"Ah, so you're awake..."

"What do you want with me?!"

"The higher ups of the Aetherhold has accepted my request to test on you, Miss Libra Renov..."

"That still doesn't my question bastard!"

"The higher ups also want you to join our army. A special soldier, if you will."

"I'll never join you! Not after what your kind has done many eons ago!"

"Of course, I know you won't accept, so we'll do it the hard way instead..."

"Wha--" Then she screamed. Theodin had activated a switch that activated the electric chair. There were iron nails, nailed through her hands, and seemingly connected to the wires up to the switch. Making her feel the pain through her nerves system.

It hurts like hell, it felt like she was on fire. Her organs felt on fire, her brain-- Everything felt like on fire.

Theodin kept doing this to her till she threw up bile onto herself. Coughing up the remaining bile in her throat.

"Hmm, interesting, a human body can take so much of electricity before they perish. But you however, since you were blessed by the gods, you can take so much more..."

"What the hell does that mean?!"

"That means, I have to do more experiments on you. But since you just woke up, I'll let you rest. Tomorrow, we will continue, and by then... You will sooner or later become a masterpiece....."

She only glared daggers at the possessed man as she was dragged away to a cell. They threw her and pinned her down, then they chained her up against the wall to make sure she doesn't escape.

Her hands felt numb from the electrocution, her body was shivering from the cold and shaking from the electricity. Her brain felt dizzy, if she focuses too much on an area, she would throw up.

Whatever the hell Theodin has in store for her, she'll endure it. She won't break from him. She'll get out and escape as soon as she finds a way how.

Besides, how worse can it get?....

Surely it won't be too much for her? Right? She's seen disturbing things, she has the confidence that she won't break.

Oh how wrong she was...

How very wrong she was...

The next day, when she was being escorted to the experimentation room. She tried to escape.

There were many aetherial possessed soldiers and once they saw her, they started shooting at her. Unfortunately, she was hit multiple times and died.

But that wasn't the worse part, the worse part was when she started to wake up. What she saw was scarring.

Her body's opened up like some frog in a science class, she could see her organs and everything from her perspective. Bloody equipment on a table, her beating heart, and Theodin poking and putting something inside her. It was enough to make her nauseous.

"Oh? Awake already?"

She was freaking out and started to squirm a lot.

"I suggest you don't squirm, unless you want an important organ to get cut from your recklessness."

She immediately froze from his words.

"Good pet." She growled at that nickname, she was very disgusted by him.

She tried to look around for any places where she can run, or anything nearby that she can use to break out of her confinement.

But she couldn't do anything, she knows that. She can't escape and she'll just bleed out if she somehow miraculously did. She was trapped.

She had no choice but to stare at what Theodin's doing to her for hours, mortified. And when he finished stitching up the slices he made, he did one more thing.

"Oh, and since you tried to escape. A little torture will be necessary."

And so he did, by stabbing her leg unexpectedly, in which she screamed. He kept doing this to different parts of her body until she began crying and whimpering.

Her face was covered in cuts and limbs that have stabs all over them. There were a few close calls to her neck making it look like scratches.

"Oh, you're crying? That's pathetic."

"...."

"Still not answering?"

"....."

"Whatever, because of your recklessness you got shot down by our troops. So I suggest you stop being stubborn and just accept it. You can't escape. And if you do, we'll be coming after you."

Those words slowly drilled down into her brain, she tried to ignore it but couldn't. In the next few days of those horrible electrocutions and mortifying tests that include getting her shoulders dislocated in the process, she was beginning to starve.

Theodin doesn't cares though so he just ignores Libra's whimpers of starvation and continued on the experiment. Even if it means Libra gets slammed like a bruised ragdoll.

There's more, more worse than that. When Theodin realized he couldn't do more experiments on Libra due to her lack of energy. He feeds her near-expired food, by literally shoving it down her throat till she chokes on it.

She absolutely doesn't likes it and tried to escape once after that. But she got stabbed from behind her and died once more.

Everytime she tried to escape, she keeps dying. And everytime she was brought back to life, she was punished. Either it was electrocution, beating her up, stabbing her randomly, or really painful whips in the back.

Her brown hair became darker until it was charcoal black due to getting electrocuted many times, her skin was so pale that you would barely see the cuts in her face. She has spots of burns on her skin when aetherfire was shot at her, body that has stitches everywhere, and her hands was beginning to glow bright green due to prolonged exposure to electricity.

Her head hurts, a lot and her chest feels funny every time she exhausts herself.

She cries in her sleep everytime, she can't take it anymore. She is in so much pain, so much stress. That she didn't even saw the worst part that happened to her.

"Fuck you..."

"Oh my, how dirty your mouth is."

"Screw. You. I can tell whatever I want to say."

"Oh my... Don't tell me you've forgotten one of the rules of your faction... That would be very disrespectful of you."

"Wait, the rules??"

"Yes, don't you remember the faction you joined and its rules?"

"My faction? Yes, my faction!... The err... S..So...The Sorcerers!"

"You meant 'The Sages'?"

"Wait, 'Sages'??? I thought--"

"Oh don't tell me you don't remember, The Sages of Cairn? The faction you dedicated your whole life into."

"Of course I remember! Its just err..."

"You seem to have forgotten your faction."

"N-No I don't! I do remember them!"

"Oh then please, tell me all about it."

"Its..erm, ugh! Why can't I remember?!"

"So you don't remember anything? Anything in particular. Your friends, your family, even your lover?"

"I...I don't remember....." Then laughter erupted from the man, as she tried to remember.

That was the worst part, she couldn't remember anything. Her memories full of holes, fuzzy dreams with no meaning to her, and sometimes nightmares would crawl into her mind. The only thing that she held onto was her name and the name of her lover, Hex, but memories of them being together was long gone.

And soon, Theodin had managed to succumb Libra in her weakest point. Where she was easily manipulated by the aetherial....

After a couple more years of experiments, torturing, etc. She was empty both inside and out. Her eyes were dull of life, her vision (sometimes) was such a haze but she didn't really cared.

Theodin had turned the once stubborn Sage into one of his mindless (very scarred soldier) soldiers for battle.

She couldn't feel pain no longer. After what she went through, she slowly became numb to pain. Which was good for Theodin Marcell, as they now have a perfect masterpiece, ready to go and do their bidding.

But the downside is that she became a masochist so every wounds inflicted to her, was a pleasure for her instead of pain. So she had to wear a mask, so people won't find out she loved the pain on herself.

She became a Mage Hunter, a mixture of an Inquisitor and an Arcanist. She disguised herself using illusions (that she vaguely remembers) and infiltrated the barracks of The Black Legion.

She then proceeded what Theodin tells her to do, smuggle the aetherial spirits to people who are the weakess mentally and with most negative emotions.

After Malmouth had fallen she continues hunting down humans for Theodin to "make a masterpiece" out of them. That was until Hex arrived.

One day, she received a mission to protect Warden Krieg in his home. So she used a rift to get there quickly, and when she did...

She saw none other than Hex who's fighting aetherials at the moment.

She stood there staring at him, thinking about how familiar Hex is to her. Though, she didn't know it was him. Until she decided to call out for him when he was finished with killing the aetherials.

"...Hex?"

That immediately caught Hex's attention and saw Libra standing there, shock mixed with confusion.

"How do you know my name?"

"I..I don't know, but I remember someone named Hex.... I'm not sure.... I just called out to you..."

"Well people don't know my name unless--"

"I'm Libra..."

That made Hex shut up quickly and come up to her with widened eyes before hugging Libra. Her mask was quickly swept to the side as Hex kissed her.

The hug and kiss really made her feel nice and warm. Like, they've been doing this for who knows how long.

But soon, the warm feeling disappeared when he let go, "How can I know you're Libra??? She died eons ago..." He said with sadness in his voice. That was a good choice, being skeptical was a good choice.

"I don't know either.... I can't remember anything, my memories are filled with holes..."

"Can you remember maybe a little bit?"

"Well, I've been getting nightmares more recently... My dreams were always different but I think I remember burning in one of them..."

"So it really is you... What happened?"

"I'll tell you, but first, we need to go somewhere and then we can talk."

Hex only nodded and followed her to a hidden place. That was when she told him everything she remembers so far, after the end of her talking Hex looked like he was going to rip Theodin Marcell into two. Which makes her scared.

She doesn't want to lose the only warmth that she has now, she needs to protect him. That was how she betrayed the aetherials and helped Hex with his missions.

This doesn't please Theodin though....

But she doesn't care, she's obsessed with Hex's warm feeling and she doesn't want to lose it.

Even though her memories is filled with holes, Libra felt like she belongs to Hex.

And since Hex is now together with Libra again, he can help her with those hole-filled memories.

And maybe now she can slowly remember what they used to be...

Here's the current gacha design for Reboot!Hex and Libra (Since I can't draw, lel)

Hope you enjoyed it!

[hopeassassin]

Rally’s Scribbles in the Work

So after that lovely anon blew my mind away with their kind words and wonderful support, and because I keep telling you guys about my writing plans without actually giving you even a teensy little detail, I have decided to stop being coy and actually likely get your hopes up a bit by dilvulging small details and bits of plots of what is currently going on in my G-Drive. 

This will be a brief recount of what I have currently baking in the AoMomo oven, so let’s dive right into it! Please note that the numbers are in no particular order - I just keep revisiting each of these stories and writing a bit more to them whenever I feel like it. So there’s no ranking and no importance, just a number to keep proper count.

1. “Knight of Renown” Dragons and Knighthood AU, based on that one AoMomo pic with Momo ithe Knight and Dragon Aomine that I reblogged a while back and I actually let me imagination go a bit too much in the tags. I ended up actually rather enjoying the premise I set up in the tags so I actually started writing that one out!  Completion rate at about: 5%? I’d say? Less? :D 

2. AoMomo Music AU - a dearly beloved project that I am pouring a lot of love and attentioin to. That’s why it’s coming along super slow. It’s been in the making since November and I chewed it and mulled through it so thoroughly that I’ve grinded to a halt with it. Intending for there to be 2 chapters, and I am at about 25-30% of chapter 1 currently ready currently. At the pace I’m going, it might be another full year before you actually get to see this bad boy up, but when you do, I’m sure you’ll see all the care and effort that went into making it perfect. Honestly, no joke here, I am intending for this to be one of my rare masterpieces in this tag. So I’m not gonna rush it!

3. AoMomo Car Accident AU where Daiki barely manages to save Satsuki from being run over by a hit-and-run and ends up being the one run over instead. This was my first piece of writing after coming back to AoMomo last summer and yet completion rate is a sad thing. I want it to be flawless, a perfectly agonizing, thrilling type of torturous read that gives you a great sense of relief by the end of it. Needless to say, the clusterfuck of negative feelings is a bit difficult to hold onto for a prolonged period of time and the work is coming along slowly. Planned at about 5 chapters, I have 2 complete ones and the 3rd one is at about ... 30%? Hopefully before this year’s whumptober, we’ll have a finished piece!

4. AoMomo bond character study, which went in a direction I did NOT expect nor intend. It was suppsoed to be an idea that you will see also listed below. But I started this one from their early childhood and somehow, instead of focusing on the kids and their bond and their weird interactions with each other and their first moments of realizing they are of opposite genders, it turned into something much too fun to let go of and the ideas for scenes just kept piling. It’s going to be a long one, very explorative and very in-depth character study on the bond between these two and how it changed over the years, and their first encounters with their sexuality inbetween (because that was really the main idea that I started with... xDDD;;;) Currently at 1 chapter complete, chapter 2 somewhere around 50-60% completion, and at least 6-7 chapters to come after that, soooo.... :’DDDD YEAH. THIS ONE AIN’T SEEING THE LIGHT OF DAY ANYTIME SOON.

5. AoMomo deciding to practice stuff on each other, because I am a sucker for this trope.THIS will be what the idea under previous number 4 was SUPPOSED to be like, but it instead spun out of control. So this one, under number 5, is going to be the smutty, idiots bumbling through physicality to discover that they actually have serious feelings for each other kind of piece. Chapters are planned at about at least 6-7 or so, but not my usual monstrocities! :D First we start with practice kissing, and we move our way up from there! 

6. “The Evil of Humanity” AU - a dystopian futuristic kinda mecha AU, sort of an amalgamation of some of my favourite anime in the genre - a bit of NGE, a bit of Gurren-Lagann, a lot of Darling in the Franxx rewrite and improvement, in distinctly AoMomo colors. I poured a lot of thought and love into initial outline of main moments for this one, and I really hope to make it an epic, thrilling action/adventure with a big dash of romance kind of read! Chapters currently not even planned properly, because I need to sit down and consider this seriously. It will definitely be more than 10-15 though, and they will be my usual chapter lengths so.... likely no time soon. :D 

7. Aomine Fanclub - I got a plot bunny some time ago and I shared it here and my friends were spurring me on with it, so I started trying it out a little more. I’ve written out like... maybe 30% of this one as well, but need to re-read and reconceptualize to get it back on track. The issue with this one is that I’m not really sure where I want to take it, thus it’s on the back burner at the moment.

8. KagaKuro AoMomo double-date kind of story, where Aomine is asking some curious questions of Taiga about going to America and pondering if any of his immediate friends know what Satsuki wants to do with her life. I’m really invested in this one but haven’t started properly writing it out yet beyond just sketching out the idea so I don’t forget it. (I’d say 1% complete here.) Really looking forward to using the idea of Kagami being super impressed with AoMomo perfect sync when playing as a team in arcade games!

9.Laws of Attraction Chapter 2 - You might be surprised at this, but I’m actually super invested in this one. Likely the reason why I am delaying so much working on it - I feel like all my great scene ideas are just too chaotic and I have a hard time starting the chapter flowing properly. I had like 4-5 false starts already and I’m feeling a bit skittish with picking it up. But I have such AMAZING concepts on where to take it after it revvs up the engine, so... Maybe sometime this year! Completion rate: 0% written, but at least about 30% ideas built up for the installment!

10. AoMomo college rooming together story - sort of an expansion on my fill for one of the prompts way back those years ago in AoMomo week. I really dig the concept and the trope of sharing spaces with someone you consider nothing more than a friend and then gradually learning to appreciate each other for something so much more. I am definitely doing this one some day, but not anytime soon, likely.

11. A random idea bit me the other day (read: a month ago) and I actually wrote out like... maybe 25% of it already as well. A random comment from Wakamatsu miffs Satsuki but then she realizes why he’s asking dumb questions and she comes to realize that something is wrong with the equation: either Dai-chan likes someone really close to them and she hasn’t realized, which is unlikely, or Dai-chan likes HER and is super blase about it in a way that betrays his feelings not at all, which is even more unlikely. Being a curious  individual, she sets out to find which it is! Some hilarity should ensue but mostly just some mess-with-Dai-chan fun!

12. Touou summer training camp at the sea - progress is practically 0, I wanted to write a summery piece and set my mind on this, but nothing beyond has come to me, so I’m not forcing it.

13. AoMomo cultural festival fic in second year of high school (meaning something approx end of Oct -> beginning of Nov.) with Daiki being in a distinctly Haruhu Suzumiya role at that festival (has anyone even seen this anime? I adored that episode to freaking bits, man, it’s engraved upon my soul) and singing Billy Idol’s “Rebel Yell” and one more song just like Haruhi did. And Satsuki just beholding the phenomenon he becomes in no time flat while he lays bare his passion for life for all the student body to see. Shippiness will happen in private afterwards!

14. You Can Leave Your Hat On Chapter 2 - Probably like 2-3 years ago while I was still in the damn woodwork and wrestling with real life and adulting being crap, I remembered this AU premise and I got super hyped on the idea of Club Owner Dai-chan being a flirt with innocent Satsuki who got dragged to his joined and fell in love at first sight with his shenanigans. I’ve already played around for like 7k words with the second chapter of this but I’m still not where I want to be at, so it will take a while longer to flesh it out.

15. Idol Worship - a story that I promised my mate aricana some 6 years ago the premise for which I am super hyped for but not quite engaging with it yet. The idea was that Momoi finally starts gettiing the dates she has been pesting Kuroko for for years, and Daiki feeling terrible about beholding that, whilst Kise is being pestered by Horikita Mai for a date and instead ditches her with Daiki because he knows his former Teikou classmate is a huge fan of her. Mai-chan isn’t particularly happy but somehow ends up enjoying her time with Daiki and starts considering actually pursuing him instead of Kise when she sees what an interesting soul he is, with the torch that he’s carrying for some girl in his life he doesn’t really talk about but is evident from the little things he drops off as hits. AoMomo shenanigans will start to ensue properly when Satsuki realizes that Daiki is actually having a close female friend who is not her but is Horikita Mai instead, Dai-chan’s perfect woman, practically. She doesn’t take well to the news and has to grapple with why that is! And what to do with these newfound frustrating emotions!

16. Obstruction of Justice Chapter 3 - MAYBE SOME DAY, I WILL GET TO WRITING THIS. Last summer I inteded to do just that but instead, Wild Side of Justice was born. And it became a spin off of sorts on its own. ORZ. I WILL FINISH THIS SOME DAY, I do have some plans for it and I do have the desire to pursue them. I just need to be in the right headspace for it ahsjkfhkjaf

17. A PWP story of Kagami arriving early for a practice match at Touou and somehow walking in on AoMomo getting busy with each other in very unexpected and explicit ways that Kagami did not see headed his way. Because, we need more PWP in this fandom, honestly.

18. And since we DO need more PWP, recently when checking the 30 lemons community on LJ (shut up, I’m not ancient, YOU’RE ANCIENT) I was wondering how exactly a smut plot around the “Taken by the Faceless Stranger” could work for Aomomo and I came up with this Masquerade ball that they end up both attending because of their friends and meeting each other and hitting off fantastically just chatting the night and then banging in a niche in the long castle-like premise of the ball. :’DDDD Cuz it’s me and if I don’t have something like that in the works, you know i’m likely sick.

ALL OF THESE I am planning on eventually finishing one day. ONE DAY!

For now they are in various states of completion and in various stages of being cared for and improved on with more ideas added and fleshed out.

I am not joking when I say I am very invested in this fandom. I just have difficulty getting to writing out these ideas when I spend like 60% of my free time playing my mobile games. :D 

So there you have it. I didn’t want to say anything about these because 1) I don’t want to get your hopes up. You Can Leave Your Hat On 2, for one, has been in the making for 3 years, very on-again-off-again kind of way, and I just... can’t do that to you guys. I have decided against posting any incomplete fics so I don’t torture you guys and my muse doesn’t abandom me forever for them. So when something is complete, it gets posted promptly for your viewing pleasure!

And 2) If I divulge too much of the story, I feel like my hype of it may disappear completely. Ehh, my muse is a willful creature, what can I tell you... 

So let’s hope at least SOME of these get to see the light of day soon!

[castielchitaqua]

kaddish, allen ginsberg

I Strange now to think of you, gone without corsets & eyes, while I walk on the sunny pavement of Greenwich Village. downtown Manhattan, clear winter noon, and I’ve been up all night, talking, talking, reading the Kaddish aloud, listening to Ray Charles blues shout blind on the phonograph the rhythm the rhythm—and your memory in my head three years after—And read Adonais’ last triumphant stanzas aloud—wept, realizing how we suffer— And how Death is that remedy all singers dream of, sing, remember, prophesy as in the Hebrew Anthem, or the Buddhist Book of Answers—and my own imagination of a withered leaf—at dawn— Dreaming back thru life, Your time—and mine accelerating toward Apocalypse, the final moment—the flower burning in the Day—and what comes after, looking back on the mind itself that saw an American city a flash away, and the great dream of Me or China, or you and a phantom Russia, or a crumpled bed that never existed— like a poem in the dark—escaped back to Oblivion— No more to say, and nothing to weep for but the Beings in the Dream, trapped in its disappearance, sighing, screaming with it, buying and selling pieces of phantom, worshipping each other, worshipping the God included in it all—longing or inevitability?—while it lasts, a Vision—anything more? It leaps about me, as I go out and walk the street, look back over my shoulder, Seventh Avenue, the battlements of window office buildings shouldering each other high, under a cloud, tall as the sky an instant—and the sky above—an old blue place. or down the Avenue to the south, to—as I walk toward the Lower East Side—where you walked 50 years ago, little girl—from Russia, eating the first poisonous tomatoes of America—frightened on the dock— then struggling in the crowds of Orchard Street toward what?—toward Newark— toward candy store, first home-made sodas of the century, hand-churned ice cream in backroom on musty brownfloor boards— Toward education marriage nervous breakdown, operation, teaching school, and learning to be mad, in a dream—what is this life? Toward the Key in the window—and the great Key lays its head of light on top of Manhattan, and over the floor, and lays down on the sidewalk—in a single vast beam, moving, as I walk down First toward the Yiddish Theater—and the place of poverty you knew, and I know, but without caring now—Strange to have moved thru Paterson, and the West, and Europe and here again, with the cries of Spaniards now in the doorstoops doors and dark boys on the street, fire escapes old as you -Tho you’re not old now, that’s left here with me— Myself, anyhow, maybe as old as the universe—and I guess that dies with us—enough to cancel all that comes—What came is gone forever every time— That’s good! That leaves it open for no regret—no fear radiators, lacklove, torture even toothache in the end— Though while it comes it is a lion that eats the soul—and the lamb, the soul, in us, alas, offering itself in sacrifice to change’s fierce hunger—hair and teeth—and the roar of bonepain, skull bare, break rib, rot-skin, braintricked Implacability. Ai! ai! we do worse! We are in a fix! And you’re out, Death let you out, Death had the Mercy, you’re done with your century, done with God, done with the path thru it—Done with yourself at last—Pure—Back to the Babe dark before your Father, before us all—before the world— There, rest. No more suffering for you. I know where you’ve gone, it’s good. No more flowers in the summer fields of New York, no joy now, no more fear of Louis, and no more of his sweetness and glasses, his high school decades, debts, loves, frightened telephone calls, conception beds, relatives, hands— No more of sister Elanor,.—she gone before you—we kept it secret—you killed her—or she killed herself to bear with you—an arthritic heart—But Death’s killed you both—No matter— Nor your memory of your mother, 1915 tears in silent movies weeks and weeks—forgetting, aggrieve watching Marie Dressler address humanity, Chaplin dance in youth, or Boris Godunov, Chaliapin’s at the Met, hailing his voice of a weeping Czar—by standing

room with Elanor & Max—watching also the Capitalists take seats in Orchestra, white furs, diamonds, with the YPSL’s hitch-hiking thru Pennsylvania, in black baggy gym skirts pants, photograph of 4 girls holding each other round the waste, and laughing eye, too coy, virginal solitude of 1920 all girls grown old, or dead, now, and that long hair in the grave—lucky to have husbands later— You made it—I came too—Eugene my brother before (still grieving now and will gream on to his last stiff hand, as he goes thru his cancer—or kill—later perhaps—soon he will think—) And it’s the last moment I remember, which I see them all, thru myself, now—tho not you I didn’t foresee what you felt—what more hideous gape of bad mouth came first—to you—and were you prepared? To go where? In that Dark—that—in that God? a radiance? A Lord in the Void? Like an eye in the black cloud in a dream? Adonoi at last, with you? Beyond my remembrance! Incapable to guess! Not merely the yellow skull in the grave, or a box of worm dust, and a stained ribbon—Deathshead with Halo? can you believe it? Is it only the sun that shines once for the mind, only the flash of existence, than none ever was? Nothing beyond what we have—what you had—that so pitiful—yet Triumph, to have been here, and changed, like a tree, broken, or flower—fed to the ground—but mad, with its petals, colored, thinking Great Universe, shaken, cut in the head, leaf stript, hid in an egg crate hospital, cloth wrapped, sore—freaked in the moon brain, Naughtless. No flower like that flower, which knew itself in the garden, and fought the knife—lost Cut down by an idiot Snowman’s icy—even in the Spring—strange ghost thought—some Death—Sharp icicle in his hand—crowned with old roses—a dog for his eyes—cock of a sweatshop—heart of electric irons. All the accumulations of life, that wear us out—clocks, bodies, consciousness, shoes, breasts—begotten sons—your Communism—‘Paranoia’ into hospitals. You once kicked Elanor in the leg, she died of heart failure later. You of stroke. Asleep? within a year, the two of you, sisters in death. Is Elanor happy? Max grieves alive in an office on Lower Broadway, lone large mustache over midnight Accountings, not sure. l His life passes—as he sees—and what does he doubt now? Still dream of making money, or that might have made money, hired nurse, had children, found even your Immortality, Naomi? I’ll see him soon. Now I’ve got to cut through—to talk to you—as I didn’t when you had a mouth. Forever. And we’re bound for that, Forever—like Emily Dickinson’s horses—headed to the End. They know the way—These Steeds—run faster than we think—it’s our own life they cross—and take with them. Magnificent, mourned no more, marred of heart, mind behind, married dreamed, mortal changed—Ass and face done with murder. In the world, given, flower maddened, made no Utopia, shut under pine, almed in Earth, balmed in Lone, Jehovah, accept. Nameless, One Faced, Forever beyond me, beginningless, endless, Father in death. Tho I am not there for this Prophecy, I am unmarried, I’m hymnless, I’m Heavenless, headless in blisshood I would still adore Thee, Heaven, after Death, only One blessed in Nothingness, not light or darkness, Dayless Eternity— Take this, this Psalm, from me, burst from my hand in a day, some of my Time, now given to Nothing—to praise Thee—But Death This is the end, the redemption from Wilderness, way for the Wonderer, House sought for All, black handkerchief washed clean by weeping—page beyond Psalm—Last change of mine and Naomi—to God’s perfect Darkness—Death, stay thy phantoms! II Over and over—refrain—of the Hospitals—still haven’t written your history—leave it abstract—a few images run thru the mind—like the saxophone chorus of houses and years—remembrance of electrical shocks. By long nites as a child in Paterson apartment, watching over your nervousness—you were fat—your next move— By that afternoon I stayed home from school to take care of you—once and for all—when I vowed forever that once man disagreed with my opinion of the cosmos, I was lost— By my

later burden—vow to illuminate mankind—this is release of particulars—(mad as you)—(sanity a trick of agreement)— But you stared out the window on the Broadway Church corner, and spied a mystical assassin from Newark, So phoned the Doctor—‘OK go way for a rest’—so I put on my coat and walked you downstreet—On the way a grammarschool boy screamed, unaccountably—‘Where you goin Lady to Death’? I shuddered— and you covered your nose with motheaten fur collar, gas mask against poison sneaked into downtown atmosphere, sprayed by Grandma— And was the driver of the cheesebox Public Service bus a member of the gang? You shuddered at his face, I could hardly get you on—to New York, very Times Square, to grab another Greyhound— where we hung around 2 hours fighting invisible bugs and jewish sickness—breeze poisoned by Roosevelt— out to get you—and me tagging along, hoping it would end in a quiet room in a Victorian house by a lake. Ride 3 hours thru tunnels past all American industry, Bayonne preparing for World War II, tanks, gas fields, soda factories, diners, loco-motive roundhouse fortress—into piney woods New Jersey Indians—calm towns—long roads thru sandy tree fields— Bridges by deerless creeks, old wampum loading the streambeddown there a tomahawk or Pocahontas bone—and a million old ladies voting for Roosevelt in brown small houses, roads off the Madness highway— perhaps a hawk in a tree, or a hermit looking for an owl-filled branch— All the time arguing—afraid of strangers in the forward double seat, snoring regardless—what busride they snore on now? ‘Allen, you don’t understand—it’s—ever since those 3 big sticks up my back—they did something to me in Hospital, they poisoned me, they want to see me dead—3 big sticks, 3 big sticks— ‘The Bitch! Old Grandma! Last week I saw her, dressed in pants like an old man, with a sack on her back, climbing up the brick side of the apartment ‘On the fire escape, with poison germs, to throw on me—at night—maybe Louis is helping her—he’s under her power— ‘I’m your mother, take me to Lakewood’ (near where Graf Zeppelin had crashed before, all Hitler in Explosion) ‘where I can hide.’ We got there—Dr. Whatzis rest home—she hid behind a closet—demanded a blood transfusion. We were kicked out—tramping with Valise to unknown shady lawn houses—dusk, pine trees after dark—long dead street filled with crickets and poison ivy— I shut her up by now—big house REST HOME ROOMS—gave the landlady her money for the week—carried up the iron valise—sat on bed waiting to escape— Neat room in attic with friendly bedcover—lace curtains—spinning wheel rug—Stained wallpaper old as Naomi. We were home. I left on the next bus to New York—laid my head back in the last seat, depressed—the worst yet to come?—abandoning her, rode in torpor—I was only 12. Would she hide in her room and come out cheerful for breakfast? Or lock her door and stare thru the window for sidestreet spies? Listen at keyholes for Hitlerian invisible gas? Dream in a chair—or mock me, by—in front of a mirror, alone? 12 riding the bus at nite thru New Jersey, have left Naomi to Parcae in Lakewood’s haunted house—left to my own fate bus—sunk in a seat—all violins broken—my heart sore in my ribs—mind was empty—Would she were safe in her coffin— Or back at Normal School in Newark, studying up on America in a black skirt—winter on the street without lunch—a penny a pickle—home at night to take care of Elanor in the bedroom— First nervous breakdown was 1919—she stayed home from school and lay in a dark room for three weeks—something bad—never said what—every noise hurt—dreams of the creaks of Wall Street— Before the gray Depression—went upstate New York—recovered—Lou took photo of her sitting crossleg on the grass—her long hair wound with flowers—smiling—playing lullabies on mandolin—poison ivy smoke in left-wing summer camps and me in infancy saw trees— or back teaching school, laughing with idiots, the backward classes—her Russian specialty—morons with dreamy lips, great eyes, thin feet & sicky fingers, swaybacked, rachitic— great heads pendulous

over Alice in Wonderland, a blackboard full of C A T. Naomi reading patiently, story out of a Communist fairy book—Tale of the Sudden Sweetness of the Dictator—Forgiveness of Warlocks—Armies Kissing— Deathsheads Around the Green Table—The King & the Workers—Paterson Press printed them up in the ’30s till she went mad, or they folded, both. O Paterson! I got home late that nite. Louis was worried. How could I be so—didn’t I think? I shouldn’t have left her. Mad in Lakewood. Call the Doctor. Phone the home in the pines. Too late. Went to bed exhausted, wanting to leave the world (probably that year newly in love with R         my high school mind hero, jewish boy who came a doctor later—then silent neat kid— I later laying down life for him, moved to Manhattan—followed him to college—Prayed on ferry to help mankind if admitted—vowed, the day I journeyed to Entrance Exam— by being honest revolutionary labor lawyer—would train for that—inspired by Sacco Vanzetti, Norman Thomas, Debs, Altgeld, Sand-burg, Poe—Little Blue Books. I wanted to be President, or Senator. ignorant woe—later dreams of kneeling by R’s shocked knees declaring my love of 1941—What sweetness he’d have shown me, tho, that I’d wished him & despaired—first love—a crush— Later a mortal avalanche, whole mountains of homosexuality, Matterhorns of cock, Grand Canyons of asshole—weight on my melancholy head— meanwhile I walked on Broadway imagining Infinity like a rubber ball without space beyond—what’s outside?—coming home to Graham Avenue still melancholy passing the lone green hedges across the street, dreaming after the movies—) The telephone rang at 2 A.M.—Emergency—she’d gone mad—Naomi hiding under the bed screaming bugs of Mussolini—Help! Louis! Buba! Fascists! Death!—the landlady frightened—old fag attendant screaming back at her— Terror, that woke the neighbors—old ladies on the second floor recovering from menopause—all those rags between thighs, clean sheets, sorry over lost babies—husbands ashen—children sneering at Yale, or putting oil in hair at CCNY—or trembling in Montclair State Teachers College like Eugene— Her big leg crouched to her breast, hand outstretched Keep Away, wool dress on her thighs, fur coat dragged under the bed—she barricaded herself under bedspring with suitcases. Louis in pajamas listening to phone, frightened—do now?—Who could know?—my fault, delivering her to solitude?—sitting in the dark room on the sofa, trembling, to figure out— He took the morning train to Lakewood, Naomi still under bed—thought he brought poison Cops—Naomi screaming—Louis what happened to your heart then? Have you been killed by Naomi’s ecstasy? Dragged her out, around the corner, a cab, forced her in with valise, but the driver left them off at drugstore. Bus stop, two hours’ wait. I lay in bed nervous in the 4-room apartment, the big bed in living room, next to Louis’ desk—shaking—he came home that nite, late, told me what happened. Naomi at the prescription counter defending herself from the enemy—racks of children’s books, douche bags, aspirins, pots, blood—‘Don’t come near me—murderers! Keep away! Promise not to kill me!’ Louis in horror at the soda fountain—with Lakewood girlscouts—Coke addicts—nurses—busmen hung on schedule—Police from country precinct, dumbed—and a priest dreaming of pigs on an ancient cliff? Smelling the air—Louis pointing to emptiness?—Customers vomiting their Cokes—or staring—Louis humiliated—Naomi triumphant—The Announcement of the Plot. Bus arrives, the drivers won’t have them on trip to New York. Phonecalls to Dr. Whatzis, ‘She needs a rest,’ The mental hospital—State Greystone Doctors—‘Bring her here, Mr. Ginsberg.’ Naomi, Naomi—sweating, bulge-eyed, fat, the dress unbuttoned at one side—hair over brow, her stocking hanging evilly on her legs—screaming for a blood transfusion—one righteous hand upraised—a shoe in it—barefoot in the Pharmacy— The enemies approach—what poisons? Tape recorders? FBI? Zhdanov hiding behind the counter? Trotsky mixing rat bacteria in the back of the store? Uncle Sam in Newark, plotting deathly

perfumes in the Negro district? Uncle Ephraim, drunk with murder in the politician’s bar, scheming of Hague? Aunt Rose passing water thru the needles of the Spanish Civil War? till the hired $35 ambulance came from Red Bank——Grabbed her arms—strapped her on the stretcher—moaning, poisoned by imaginaries, vomiting chemicals thru Jersey, begging mercy from Essex County to Morristown— And back to Greystone where she lay three years—that was the last breakthrough, delivered her to Madhouse again— On what wards—I walked there later, oft—old catatonic ladies, gray as cloud or ash or walls—sit crooning over floorspace—Chairs—and the wrinkled hags acreep, accusing—begging my 13-year-old mercy— ‘Take me home’—I went alone sometimes looking for the lost Naomi, taking Shock—and I’d say, ‘No, you’re crazy Mama,—Trust the Drs.’— And Eugene, my brother, her elder son, away studying Law in a furnished room in Newark— came Paterson-ward next day—and he sat on the broken-down couch in the living room—‘We had to send her back to Greystone’— —his face perplexed, so young, then eyes with tears—then crept weeping all over his face—‘What for?’ wail vibrating in his cheekbones, eyes closed up, high voice—Eugene’s face of pain. Him faraway, escaped to an Elevator in the Newark Library, his bottle daily milk on windowsill of $5 week furn room downtown at trolley tracks— He worked 8 hrs. a day for $20/wk—thru Law School years—stayed by himself innocent near negro whorehouses. Unlaid, poor virgin—writing poems about Ideals and politics letters to the editor Pat Eve News—(we both wrote, denouncing Senator Borah and Isolationists—and felt mysterious toward Paterson City Hall— I sneaked inside it once—local Moloch tower with phallus spire & cap o’ ornament, strange gothic Poetry that stood on Market Street—replica Lyons’ Hotel de Ville— wings, balcony & scrollwork portals, gateway to the giant city clock, secret map room full of Hawthorne—dark Debs in the Board of Tax—Rembrandt smoking in the gloom— Silent polished desks in the great committee room—Aldermen? Bd of Finance? Mosca the hairdresser aplot—Crapp the gangster issuing orders from the john—The madmen struggling over Zone, Fire, Cops & Backroom Metaphysics—we’re all dead—outside by the bus stop Eugene stared thru childhood— where the Evangelist preached madly for 3 decades, hard-haired, cracked & true to his mean Bible—chalked Prepare to Meet Thy God on civic pave— or God is Love on the railroad overpass concrete—he raved like I would rave, the lone Evangelist—Death on City Hall—) But Gene, young,—been Montclair Teachers College 4 years—taught half year & quit to go ahead in life—afraid of Discipline Problems—dark sex Italian students, raw girls getting laid, no English, sonnets disregarded—and he did not know much—just that he lost— so broke his life in two and paid for Law—read huge blue books and rode the ancient elevator 13 miles away in Newark & studied up hard for the future just found the Scream of Naomi on his failure doorstep, for the final time, Naomi gone, us lonely—home—him sitting there— Then have some chicken soup, Eugene. The Man of Evangel wails in front of City Hall. And this year Lou has poetic loves of suburb middle age—in secret—music from his 1937 book—Sincere—he longs for beauty— No love since Naomi screamed—since 1923?—now lost in Greystone ward—new shock for her—Electricity, following the 40 Insulin. And Metrazol had made her fat. So that a few years later she came home again—we’d much advanced and planned—I waited for that day—my Mother again to cook & —play the piano—sing at mandolin—Lung Stew, & Stenka Razin, & the communist line on the war with Finland—and Louis in debt—,uspected to he poisoned money—mysterious capitalisms —& walked down the long front hall & looked at the furniture. She never remembered it all. Some amnesia. Examined the doilies—and the dining room set was sold— the Mahogany table—20 years love—gone to the junk man—we still had the piano—and the book of Poe—and the Mandolin, tho needed some string, dusty— She went to the backroom to lie down in

bed and ruminate, or nap, hide—I went in with her, not leave her by herself—lay in bed next to her—shades pulled, dusky, late afternoon—Louis in front room at desk, waiting—perhaps boiling chicken for supper— ‘Don’t be afraid of me because I’m just coming back home from the mental hospital—I’m your mother—’ Poor love, lost—a fear—I lay there—Said, ‘I love you Naomi,’—stiff, next to her arm. I would have cried, was this the comfortless lone union?—Nervous, and she got up soon. Was she ever satisfied? And—by herself sat on the new couch by the front windows, uneasy—cheek leaning on her hand—narrowing eye—at what fate that day— Picking her tooth with her nail, lips formed an O, suspicion—thought’s old worn vagina—absent sideglance of eye—some evil debt written in the wall, unpaid—& the aged breasts of Newark come near— May have heard radio gossip thru the wires in her head, controlled by 3 big sticks left in her back by gangsters in amnesia, thru the hospital—caused pain between her shoulders— Into her head—Roosevelt should know her case, she told me—Afraid to kill her, now, that the government knew their names—traced back to Hitler—wanted to leave Louis’ house forever. One night, sudden attack—her noise in the bathroom—like croaking up her soul—convulsions and red vomit coming out of her mouth—diarrhea water exploding from her behind—on all fours in front of the toilet—urine running between her legs—left retching on the tile floor smeared with her black feces—unfainted— At forty, varicosed, nude, fat, doomed, hiding outside the apartment door near the elevator calling Police, yelling for her girlfriend Rose to help— Once locked herself in with razor or iodine—could hear her cough in tears at sink—Lou broke through glass green-painted door, we pulled her out to the bedroom. Then quiet for months that winter—walks, alone, nearby on Broadway, read Daily Worker—Broke her arm, fell on icy street— Began to scheme escape from cosmic financial murder-plots—later she ran away to the Bronx to her sister Elanor. And there’s another saga of late Naomi in New York. Or thru Elanor or the Workmen’s Circle, where she worked, ad-dressing envelopes, she made out—went shopping for Campbell’s tomato soup—saved money Louis mailed her— Later she found a boyfriend, and he was a doctor—Dr. Isaac worked for National Maritime Union—now Italian bald and pudgy old doll—who was himself an orphan—but they kicked him out—Old cruelties— Sloppier, sat around on bed or chair, in corset dreaming to herself—‘I’m hot—I’m getting fat—I used to have such a beautiful figure before I went to the hospital—You should have seen me in Woodbine—’ This in a furnished room around the NMU hall, 1943. Looking at naked baby pictures in the magazine—baby powder advertisements, strained lamb carrots—‘I will think nothing but beautiful thoughts.’ Revolving her head round and round on her neck at window light in summertime, in hypnotize, in doven-dream recall— ‘I touch his cheek, I touch his cheek, he touches my lips with his hand, I think beautiful thoughts, the baby has a beautiful hand.’— Or a No-shake of her body, disgust—some thought of Buchenwald—some insulin passes thru her head—a grimace nerve shudder at Involuntary (as shudder when I piss)—bad chemical in her cortex—‘No don’t think of that. He’s a rat.’ Naomi: ‘And when we die we become an onion, a cabbage, a carrot, or a squash, a vegetable.’ I come downtown from Columbia and agree. She reads the Bible, thinks beautiful thoughts all day. ‘Yesterday I saw God. What did he look like? Well, in the afternoon I climbed up a ladder—he has a cheap cabin in the country, like Monroe, N.Y. the chicken farms in the wood. He was a lonely old man with a white beard. ‘I cooked supper for him. I made him a nice supper—lentil soup, vegetables, bread & butter—miltz—he sat down at the table and ate, he was sad. ‘I told him, Look at all those fightings and killings down there, What’s the matter? Why don’t you put a stop to it? ‘I try, he said—That’s all he could do, he looked tired. He’s a bachelor so long, and he likes lentil

soup.’ Serving me meanwhile, a plate of cold fish—chopped raw cabbage dript with tapwater—smelly tomatoes—week-old health food—grated beets & carrots with leaky juice, warm—more and more disconsolate food—I can’t eat it for nausea sometimes—the Charity of her hands stinking with Manhattan, madness, desire to please me, cold undercooked fish—pale red near the bones. Her smells—and oft naked in the room, so that I stare ahead, or turn a book ignoring her. One time I thought she was trying to make me come lay her—flirting to herself at sink—lay back on huge bed that filled most of the room, dress up round her hips, big slash of hair, scars of operations, pancreas, belly wounds, abortions, appendix, stitching of incisions pulling down in the fat like hideous thick zippers—ragged long lips between her legs—What, even, smell of asshole? I was cold—later revolted a little, not much—seemed perhaps a good idea to try—know the Monster of the Beginning Womb—Perhaps—that way. Would she care? She needs a lover. Yisborach, v’yistabach, v’yispoar, v’yisroman, v’yisnaseh, v’yishador, v’yishalleh, v’yishallol, sh’meh d’kudsho, b’rich hu. And Louis reestablishing himself in Paterson grimy apartment in negro district—living in dark rooms—but found himself a girl he later married, falling in love again—tho sere & shy—hurt with 20 years Naomi’s mad idealism. Once I came home, after longtime in N.Y., he’s lonely—sitting in the bedroom, he at desk chair turned round to face me—weeps, tears in red eyes under his glasses— That we’d left him—Gene gone strangely into army—she out on her own in N.Y., almost childish in her furnished room. So Louis walked downtown to postoffice to get mail, taught in highschool—stayed at poetry desk, forlorn—ate grief at Bickford’s all these years—are gone. Eugene got out of the Army, came home changed and lone—cut off his nose in jewish operation—for years stopped girls on Broadway for cups of coffee to get laid—Went to NYU, serious there, to finish Law.— And Gene lived with her, ate naked fishcakes, cheap, while she got crazier—He got thin, or felt helpless, Naomi striking 1920 poses at the moon, half-naked in the next bed. bit his nails and studied—was the weird nurse-son—Next year he moved to a room near Columbia—though she wanted to live with her children— ‘Listen to your mother’s plea, I beg you’—Louis still sending her checks—I was in bughouse that year 8 months—my own visions unmentioned in this here Lament— But then went half mad—Hitler in her room, she saw his mustache in the sink—afraid of Dr. Isaac now, suspecting that he was in on the Newark plot—went up to Bronx to live near Elanor’s Rheumatic Heart— And Uncle Max never got up before noon, tho Naomi at 6 A.M. was listening to the radio for spies—or searching the windowsill, for in the empty lot downstairs, an old man creeps with his bag stuffing packages of garbage in his hanging black overcoat. Max’s sister Edie works—17 years bookkeeper at Gimbels—lived downstairs in apartment house, divorced—so Edie took in Naomi on Rochambeau Ave— Woodlawn Cemetery across the street, vast dale of graves where Poe once—Last stop on Bronx subway—lots of communists in that area. Who enrolled for painting classes at night in Bronx Adult High School—walked alone under Van Cortlandt Elevated line to class—paints Naomiisms— Humans sitting on the grass in some Camp No-Worry summers yore—saints with droopy faces and long-ill-fitting pants, from hospital— Brides in front of Lower East Side with short grooms—lost El trains running over the Babylonian apartment rooftops in the Bronx— Sad paintings—but she expressed herself. Her mandolin gone, all strings broke in her head, she tried. Toward Beauty? or some old life Message? But started kicking Elanor, and Elanor had heart trouble—came upstairs and asked her about Spydom for hours,—Elanor frazzled. Max away at office, accounting for cigar stores till at night. ‘I am a great woman—am truly a beautiful soul—and because of that they (Hitler, Grandma, Hearst, the Capitalists, Franco, Daily News, the ’20s, Mussolini, the living

dead) want to shut me up—Buba’s the head of a spider network—’ Kicking the girls, Edie & Elanor—Woke Edie at midnite to tell her she was a spy and Elanor a rat. Edie worked all day and couldn’t take it—She was organizing the union.—And Elanor began dying, upstairs in bed. The relatives call me up, she’s getting worse—I was the only one left—Went on the subway with Eugene to see her, ate stale fish— ‘My sister whispers in the radio—Louis must be in the apartment—his mother tells him what to say—LIARS!—I cooked for my two children—I played the mandolin—’ Last night the nightingale woke me / Last night when all was still / it sang in the golden moonlight / from on the wintry hill. She did. I pushed her against the door and shouted ‘DON’T KICK ELANOR!’—she stared at me—Contempt—die—disbelief her sons are so naive, so dumb—‘Elanor is the worst spy! She’s taking orders!’ ‘—No wires in the room!’—I’m yelling at her—last ditch, Eugene listening on the bed—what can he do to escape that fatal Mama—‘You’ve been away from Louis years already—Grandma’s too old to walk—’ We’re all alive at once then—even me & Gene & Naomi in one mythological Cousinesque room—screaming at each other in the Forever—I in Columbia jacket, she half undressed. I banging against her head which saw Radios, Sticks, Hitlers—the gamut of Hallucinations—for real—her own universe—no road that goes elsewhere—to my own—No America, not even a world— That you go as all men, as Van Gogh, as mad Hannah, all the same—to the last doom—Thunder, Spirits, lightning! I’ve seen your grave! O strange Naomi! My own—cracked grave! Shema Y’Israel—I am Svul Avrum—you—in death? Your last night in the darkness of the Bronx—I phonecalled—thru hospital to secret police that came, when you and I were alone, shrieking at Elanor in my ear—who breathed hard in her own bed, got thin— Nor will forget, the doorknock, at your fright of spies,—Law advancing, on my honor—Eternity entering the room—you running to the bathroom undressed, hiding in protest from the last heroic fate— staring at my eyes, betrayed—the final cops of madness rescuing me—from your foot against the broken heart of Elanor, your voice at Edie weary of Gimbels coming home to broken radio—and Louis needing a poor divorce, he wants to get married soon—Eugene dreaming, hiding at 125 St., suing negroes for money on crud furniture, defending black girls— Protests from the bathroom—Said you were sane—dressing in a cotton robe, your shoes, then new, your purse and newspaper clippingsno—your honesty— as you vainly made your lips more real with lipstick, looking in the mirror to see if the Insanity was Me or a earful of police. or Grandma spying at 78—Your vision—Her climbing over the walls of the cemetery with political kidnapper’s bag—or what you saw on the walls of the Bronx, in pink nightgown at midnight, staring out the window on the empty lot— Ah Rochambeau Ave.—Playground of Phantoms—last apartment in the Bronx for spies—last home for Elanor or Naomi, here these communist sisters lost their revolution— ‘All right—put on your coat Mrs.—let’s go—We have the wagon downstairs—you want to come with her to the station?’ The ride then—held Naomi’s hand, and held her head to my breast, I’m taller—kissed her and said I did it for the best—Elanor sick—and Max with heart condition—Needs— To me—‘Why did you do this?’—‘Yes Mrs., your son will have to leave you in an hour’—The Ambulance came in a few hours—drove off at 4 A.M. to some Bellevue in the night downtown—gone to the hospital forever. I saw her led away—she waved, tears in her eyes. Two years, after a trip to Mexico—bleak in the flat plain near Brentwood, scrub brush and grass around the unused RR train track to the crazyhouse— new brick 20 story central building—lost on the vast lawns of madtown on Long Island—huge cities of the moon. Asylum spreads out giant wings above the path to a minute black hole—the door—entrance thru crotch— I went in—smelt funny—the halls again—up elevator—to a glass door on a Women’s Ward—to Naomi—Two nurses buxom white—They led her out, Naomi

stared—and I gaspt—She’d had a stroke— Too thin, shrunk on her bones—age come to Naomi—now broken into white hair—loose dress on her skeleton—face sunk, old! withered—cheek of crone— One hand stiff—heaviness of forties & menopause reduced by one heart stroke, lame now—wrinkles—a scar on her head, the lobotomy—ruin, the hand dipping downwards to death— O Russian faced, woman on the grass, your long black hair is crowned with flowers, the mandolin is on your knees— Communist beauty, sit here married in the summer among daisies, promised happiness at hand— holy mother, now you smile on your love, your world is born anew, children run naked in the field spotted with dandelions, they eat in the plum tree grove at the end of the meadow and find a cabin where a white-haired negro teaches the mystery of his rainbarrel— blessed daughter come to America, I long to hear your voice again, remembering your mother’s music, in the Song of the Natural Front— O glorious muse that bore me from the womb, gave suck first mystic life & taught me talk and music, from whose pained head I first took Vision— Tortured and beaten in the skull—What mad hallucinations of the damned that drive me out of my own skull to seek Eternity till I find Peace for Thee, O Poetry—and for all humankind call on the Origin Death which is the mother of the universe!—Now wear your nakedness forever, white flowers in your hair, your marriage sealed behind the sky—no revolution might destroy that maidenhood— O beautiful Garbo of my Karma—all photographs from 1920 in Camp Nicht-Gedeiget here unchanged—with all the teachers from Vewark—Nor Elanor be gone, nor Max await his specter—nor Louis retire from this High School— Back! You! Naomi! Skull on you! Gaunt immortality and revolution come—small broken woman—the ashen indoor eyes of hospitals, ward grayness on skin— ‘Are you a spy?’ I sat at the sour table, eyes filling with tears—‘Who are you? Did Louis send you?—The wires—’ in her hair, as she beat on her head—‘I’m not a bad girl—don’t murder me!—I hear the ceiling—I raised two children—’ Two years since I’d been there—I started to cry—She stared—nurse broke up the meeting a moment—I went into the bathroom to hide, against the toilet white walls ‘The Horror’ I weeping—to see her again—‘The Horror’—as if she were dead thru funeral rot in—‘The Horror!’ I came back she yelled more—they led her away—‘You’re not Allen—’ I watched her face—but she passed by me, not looking— Opened the door to the ward,—she went thru without a glance back, quiet suddenly—I stared out—she looked old—the verge of the grave—‘All the Horror!’ Another year, I left N.Y.—on West Coast in Berkeley cottage dreamed of her soul—that, thru life, in what form it stood in that body, ashen or manic, gone beyond joy— near its death—with eyes—was my own love in its form, the Naomi, my mother on earth still—sent her long letter—& wrote hymns to the mad—Work of the merciful Lord of Poetry. that causes the broken grass to be green, or the rock to break in grass—or the Sun to be constant to earth—Sun of all sunflowers and days on bright iron bridges—what shines on old hospitals—as on my yard— Returning from San Francisco one night, Orlovsky in my room—Whalen in his peaceful chair—a telegram from Gene, Naomi dead— Outside I bent my head to the ground under the bushes near the garage—knew she was better— at last—not left to look on Earth alone—2 years of solitude—no one, at age nearing 60—old woman of skulls—once long-tressed Naomi of Bible— or Ruth who wept in America—Rebecca aged in Newark—David remembering his Harp, now lawyer at Yale or Srul Avrum—Israel Abraham—myself—to sing in the wilderness toward God—O Elohim!—so to the end—2 days after her death I got her letter— Strange Prophecies anew! She wrote—‘The key is in the window, the key is in the sunlight at the window—I have the key—Get married Allen don’t take drugs—the key is in the bars, in the sunlight in the window. Love, your mother’ which is Naomi— Hymmnn In the world which He has created according to his will Blessed Praised Magnified Lauded

Exalted the Name of the Holy One Blessed is He! In the house in Newark Blessed is He! In the madhouse Blessed is He! In the house of Death Blessed is He! Blessed be He in homosexuality! Blessed be He in Paranoia! Blessed be He in the city! Blessed be He in the Book! Blessed be He who dwells in the shadow! Blessed be He! Blessed be He! Blessed be you Naomi in tears! Blessed be you Naomi in fears! Blessed Blessed Blessed in sickness! Blessed be you Naomi in Hospitals! Blessed be you Naomi in solitude! Blest be your triumph! Blest be your bars! Blest be your last years’ loneliness! Blest be your failure! Best be your stroke! Blest be the close of your eye! Blest be the gaunt of your cheek! Blest be your withered thighs! Blessed be Thee Naomi in Death! Blessed be Death! Blessed be Death! Blessed be He Who leads all sorrow to Heaven! Blessed be He in the end! Blessed be He who builds Heaven in Darkness! Blessed Blessed Blessed be He! Blessed be He! Blessed be Death on us All! III Only to have not forgotten the beginning in which she drank cheap sodas in the morgues of Newark, only to have seen her weeping on gray tables in long wards of her universe only to have known the weird ideas of Hitler at the door, the wires in her head, the three big sticks rammed down her back, the voices in the ceiling shrieking out her ugly early lays for 30 years, only to have seen the time-jumps, memory lapse, the crash of wars, the roar and silence of a vast electric shock, only to have seen her painting crude pictures of Elevateds running over the rooftops of the Bronx her brothers dead in Riverside or Russia, her lone in Long Island writing a last letter—and her image in the sunlight at the window ‘The key is in the sunlight at the window in the bars the key is in the sunlight,’ only to have come to that dark night on iron bed by stroke when the sun gone down on Long Island and the vast Atlantic roars outside the great call of Being to its own to come back out of the Nightmare—divided creation—with her head lain on a pillow of the hospital to die —in one last glimpse—all Earth one everlasting Light in the familiar black-out—no tears for this vision— But that the key should be left behind—at the window—the key in the sunlight—to the living—that can take that slice of light in hand—and turn the door—and look back see Creation glistening backwards to the same grave, size of universe, size of the tick of the hospital's clock on the archway over the white door— IV O mother what have I left out O mother what have I forgotten O mother farewell with a long black shoe farewell with Communist Party and a broken stocking farewell with six dark hairs on the wen of your breast farewell with your old dress and a long black beard around the vagina farewell with your sagging belly with your fear of Hitler with your mouth of bad short stories with your fingers of rotten mandolins with your arms of fat Paterson porches with your belly of strikes and smokestacks with your chin of Trotsky and the Spanish War with your voice singing for the decaying overbroken workers with your nose of bad lay with your nose of the smell of the pickles of Newark with your eyes with your eyes of Russia with your eyes of no money with your eyes of false China with your eyes of Aunt Elanor with your eyes of starving India with your eyes pissing in the park with your eyes of America taking a fall with your eyes of your failure at the piano with your eyes of your relatives in California with your eyes of Ma Rainey dying in an aumbulance with your eyes of Czechoslovakia attacked by robots with your eyes going to painting class at night in the Bronx with your eyes of the killer Grandma you see on the horizon from the Fire-Escape with your eyes running naked out of the apartment screaming into the hall with your eyes being led away by policemen to an aumbulance with your eyes strapped down on the operating table with your eyes with the pancreas removed with your eyes of appendix operation with your eyes of abortion with your eyes of ovaries removed with your eyes of shock with your

eyes of lobotomy with your eyes of divorce with your eyes of stroke with your eyes alone with your eyes with your eyes with your Death full of Flowers V Caw caw caw crows shriek in the white sun over grave stones in Long Island Lord Lord Lord Naomi underneath this grass my halflife and my own as hers caw caw my eye be buried in the same Ground where I stand in Angel Lord Lord great Eye that stares on All and moves in a black cloud caw caw strange cry of Beings flung up into sky over the waving trees Lord Lord O Grinder of giant Beyonds my voice in a boundless field in Sheol Caw caw the call of Time rent out of foot and wing an instant in the universe Lord Lord an echo in the sky the wind through ragged leaves the roar of memory caw caw all years my birth a dream caw caw New York the bus the broken shoe the vast highschool caw caw all Visions of the Lord Lord Lord Lord caw caw caw Lord Lord Lord caw caw caw Lord Paris, December 1957—New York, 1959

[bexterbex]

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 66

Warning, PLEASE CHECK TAGS IF YOU SEE SOMETHING YOU DON’T WANT TO READ THEN DON’T READ. Tag lists are closed

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Will tag as I go along, Will update tags, Slow Burn, Influenced by Star Trek and other Sci-Fi themes, References to We Happy Few, Tons of References and quotes to George Orwells 1984 see if you can find them all, The First Order is the new Big Brother,  but who is really surprised, Blatant Nazi Symbolism, Interrogation Themes, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Really just drawn out Slow Burn, Don’t repost without permission, Torture themes, Suggestive Themes, Execution themes, Disturbing Themes, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Controlling Kylo Ren, Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Possessive Kylo Ren, A character shamelessly based on Zelda

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

MASTERLIST

Chapter 66: Without a Proposal

Your brain was rather foggy when you felt a familiar pressure behind your ear. He continued down your ear and kissed you. You felt the weight of his body above yours, “Good morning Kitten, I’ll be leaving soon.” Another kiss fell on your lips. “Please wake up, I would like to see your beautiful eyes before I leave.”

You opened your eyes and were greeted by his dark cauldron eyes, scanning your face as he looked at you. Once you held eye contact long enough he resumed peppering your face and neck with kisses. Marking your collar bone with more love bites before meeting you for a deep kiss. “I have to go Kitten, but I will try and holocommunicate with you when I can.” He gave you one last kiss before he stood up.

You watched him leave, taking your heart with him as he left. You knew that he was leaving you for the greater good. To protect you, but that still didn’t mean you were fully ok with him leaving. Your protective hound was about to go out and fight while you were to stay behind. You also did not feel ok with him facing Rey, the scavenger, who wanted Ben to come home. You knew Kylo did not feel the same about her, they were connected through the Force but you were his match. He wouldn’t leave you especially with you being so close to being Empress, to being fully his. His mother was another thing that made you worry a bit, you didn’t have the best relationship with your family, but you could never imagine killing them. But they threatened your existence by wanting Ben Solo back.

Adlez and Olivia-Rose appeared around the corner and got you out of bed. You made your way to the dressing room where you sat down in front of the vanity. Adlez gave you a look as she worked on your hair, “How are you feeling?” There was a tone in her voice that seemed to judge you. “Good. Why are you asking?” You knew she suspected something but you didn’t know what yet. “You weren’t feeling well yesterday. We called the doctor, you did something with him and the Supreme Leader. We were told to put you back together. You went off to a meeting and when you returned we were ordered out. You spent the night alone with him and he leaves this morning and will be gone for who knows how long. I don’t like it,” said Adlez. “I would like to know if you are all right.”

“I am fine, there were some complications that are fixed now. The Supreme Leader needs to do some things in order to protect me, once it is done I will be Empress.” You met her eyes in the vanity, trying to reassure her and yourself at the same time.

They finished getting your ready in relative silence. You could tell neither of them liked the situation you were in. They knew you weren’t really telling them the whole truth. But you had other things occupying your mind. As you stepped out into the hall you were greeted by Dr. Dabrini.

“Good morning m’lady I am here for our follow up,” he gestured for you to follow him into the bedroom as Adlez and Olivia-Rose headed into the dining room. “How are you feeling?”

“My head is a bit foggy but I did not dream last night, at all.” “Good, good. I believe this may be what you need until the Supreme Leader gets back. I will be monitoring your doses closely for the next few days just to be sure. But if you feel any nausea or feel anything other than normal please contact me immediately.” After receiving confirmation from you he left and you joined the others in the dining room to eat your breakfast.

“Would you like to go over your schedule this morning m’lady,” asked Captain Mitaka.

“Yes, please.” You were wondering what Kylo has left you to do while he was gone.

“This morning the Allegiant General will be joining you to plan your ceremony to become Empress. You will then have a luncheon with members of the High Command. Then you have your lessons, and then a dinner of your choice.”

It dawned on you that this would be the first time in weeks that you would be eating dinner without Kylo, sleeping without him for the night. You also remembered he tended to take the knights with him when he left. “Who is guarding me with the Supreme Leader gone?”

“There will be a rotation between Captain Phasma and Commander Pyre with Knights Trudgen and Kuruk. They will be rotating 12-hour shifts and will switch over during your lesson time,” responded Mitaka.

Your staff tended to stay quiet as they were still getting used to you, and their first few days haven’t been the greatest as you have been affected by a number of different things.

“Shall we go wait for the Allegiant General in the lounge,” you ask the group, who all just nodded in agreement. You then proceeded to meander upstairs as you waited for Hux to arrive. You answered various questions from the staff as you watched him enter.

“Good morning m’lady, I hope you’re feeling better,” said Hux.

“I am thank you, so we are to plan my ceremony,” you ask him as he takes a seat across from you.

“Yes, there is a list of things we need to plan right away, one of them being your dress.”

“My dress,” you ask curiously. You assumed that there would need to be some sort of regal gown, but you didn’t think it would be that big of a deal that it would need to be planned first.

“Yes, I believe the customary color in your culture is white,” said Adlez.

You turned to look at her as curiosity took flame, “So like a wedding?”

“It is a wedding,” said Adlez with confusion on her face. “Did the Dark Lord not inform you as to what the ceremony is?”

“No, he didn’t.” You turned back to Hux. “So you're telling me he just up and left and is making me plan a wedding, without so much a proposing? I assumed I was just going to be crowned Empress or something, like that type of ceremony, Not a wedding.” You were now getting angry but reasonably so.

“I was unaware that he did not tell you what the ceremony is. Right now, unmarried you can only take the title of First Lady. But within marriage, you are allowed to take the title as Empress,” responded Hux. You knew he was telling you the truth there was no need for him to lie to you, especially about this.

“Now I can see why you suggested that I would want this to happen on Earth.”

“Would you like to change venues m’lady,” asked Mitaka.

“No, no I already agreed to Mustafar, a planet that is important to the Supreme Leader. So I will just have to deal with it. But if this is really a wedding I would like a white dress, is there any place I could look at designs or anything?”

“I can have a dressmaker come in and design something with you,” said Adlez. “That would be preferable, can you find examples of some of the most important dresses in the galaxy? So we know what we have to hit as a goal?”

“Anything you wear will be considered the most fashionable thing in the galaxy. After the ceremony, people across the galaxy will be asking for replicas, and you will be seeing similar dresses for years if not decades,” replied Adlez.

“I know but I only have Earth fashion to really base anything off of, I would love to be inspired by parts of the galaxy too.” “I can arrange for that, something inspired by his grandmother might be preferable. Although I would suggest less heavy makeup and not so intricate hair,” said Adlez, there was a giggled shared around by your staff members.

“Is there something odd about his grandmother’s fashion,” you ask not understanding the odd amusement.

“Naboo isn’t known for its simple fashion. They can be rather…,” said Hux.

“Avant-garde” jumped in Olivia-Rose.

“I see. I trust your judgment Adlez, send over sample ideas to beat, and then the dressmaker has a good idea where to start.”  

After that decision was made everything went rather smoothly. The luncheon with members of the High Command went quickly, nothing too out of the ordinary. And soon you were off to your very topical lesson with Hux. “I technically haven’t been given the go-ahead by the Supreme Leader, but seeing as you now already know we can finish your standard lessons.”

Ch. 20: Engagements

Ch. 21 Part 1: First Preparations before a Wedding (para. 1-50)

Ch. 21 Part 2: First Preparations before a Wedding (para. 51-114)

Ch. 21 Part 3: First Preparations before a Wedding (para. 115-end)

Ch. 22 Part 1: The Day of the Wedding (para. 1-57)

Ch. 22 Part 2: The Day of the Wedding (para 58-108)

Ch. 22 Part 3: The Day of the Wedding (para. 109-end)

After your lesson, you decided to take dinner alone. Not wanting to be disturbed by anyone as you have yet to be really alone for a long while. You have been constantly surrounded by others 24/7, you were surprised you could even go to the bathroom by yourself honestly. The peace and quiet were refreshing. After dinner you let Adlez and Olivia-Rose help you get ready for bed. Dr. Dabrini delivered you your sleeping pill, and Adlez insisted on staying until you fell asleep. Once again you were greeted by blackness, no dreams, no surprise visits. Only calming blackness.  

A/N: Check out this post for my fic recommendations. I will be recommending a few fics every Friday. Some Kylo Ren related and some not. But if you need something else to read before my next chapter go check it out. 

[waywardmasquerade]

Norsewood Viking Festival 2020:

Well, it was an experience.

On day one we arrived and got set up with the help of several lovely festival volunteers. It’s the first year the festival was run so it was small but interesting. In one part of the area a viking tent village had been set up. I didn’t get a close look at it till the second day though. In another area there was axe throwing, spear throwing, and archery.

Each day there was a parade of re enactors around Norsewood.

There were also Fjord horses, who were gorgeous and adorable, and pulled carriages sometimes, and some horses of mixed breed who did the horse part of horseback combat and archery, they were also gorgeous and adorable. I’m pretty sure Tootee is going to have something to say about me giving pears to strange horses instead of him.

In the morning it was breezey and then raining. We were lucky to have a spot that allowed us to tie our marquee to two fence posts and a tree. After learning from the medieval market, we ducttaped our mannequins to the marquee poles, dressed them, and then roped them to the poles as well. It looked a bit like we were holding them hostage, but it worked.

We met a few gamers the first day, and a few re enactors. One gamer lived locally but didn’t have a group and had not yet had a game, so we spent the rest of the festival interrogating every other gamer we met to try and find them a group. Many children got Dragon and Thulhu hugs (the hugs technically don’t cost anything, but if a Thulhu happens to nibble on a soul we take no responsibility).

We met a re enactor with a superpower. He arrived at our stall, pointed to an apron dress and bought it for a lady who did not come to try it on. I saw her wearing it the next day. Perfect fit. Maybe the guy was bitten by a radioactive tape measure.

I got to try a new style of archery (I’m unreasonably proud of my forearm bruise) and met a bowyer (bow maker) who was keen to barter sewing for a nice ash laminate bow *squee*.

Of course, we discovered that my presence in the stall generates two feilds.

First there is the “Customers wanting a custom order stay away” field

Second there is the “Eftpos machine and work phone cooperating” field

I came back the first time to find my helper had needed me for a custom order but couldn’t find me. I resolved not to leave the stall again without my phone.

We met several more gamers and a few re enactors, plus a few lovely stallholders who were very helpful.

In the evening we packed down the stall and put up our borrowed tents in the “modern” camping paddock. I discovered that the tent for me was big enough for three people spread out, plus a porch area.

My helpers tent was smaller. The airbed that went in it on the other hand... it was large. Very large. Queen sized and at least two feet deep. A couple of ladies camped next to us, and we got to meet their collie, a lovely fellow named Gus.

We wandered back to the viking age section and enjoyed some cider while watching larp sword combat. By far the best fighter was a little girl. Her technique was to run screaming and swinging at her opponent. It worked pretty well.

On the other side of the paddock we discovered the nerd table. We drank cider by candle light and raved about the month of feverish research that went into our stall, talked about the trouble with not speaking Norwegian, Icelandic, Swedish or Danish when trying to find good info, tried (and failed) to gracefully accept compliments on our outfits, cackled over some excellent reference books, and then retired to our tents and hot chocolate.

The forecast said that it would be 11C (32F) overnight. The forecast lied. It didn’t get to freezing point, but it got close. I put on all the regular clothes I had, plus a jacket, doubled up my blankets and curled into a ball. Eventually my teeth stopped chattering and I could read my discworld book in peace.

The second day was stinking hot. I got to try spear and axe throwing. I hit the target exactly once, which was all I needed ^_^. We got some new neighbours, there was a lovely lady who gave me advice about growing ferns, and a fun couple who do wood carving and had an adorable little jack russell called Yoda who liked to sneak under the table and lick the ankles of customers. Favourite animal of the festival is a tie between Mimi the elderly Fjord horse and Yoda the jack russell.

I also got to chat to a lady who lives in a functional viking village in Norway, she does a lot of handsewing, handweaving, hand processing of fibres. It was fascinating.

We discovered that my leaving the stall also generates a “phone doesn’t ring the first time” field. My helper got through on the third try, to inform me that the eftpos machine was refusing to work and the work phone was not letting them in (they had the password correct, I checked).

We did some experimenting. If I stayed within sight, the fields remained active. If I went to the bathroom (technically out of sight), the fields remained active. So I had to be out of sight and in an unknown location, even if it was less than 50 metres away. My money is on the Thulhus having some fun. They haven’t had a chance to torture somebody for a while (the couriers still aren’t picking up regularly).

We did eventually take a custom order for a tunic that I’m super excited about. I’m hoping we can get proper tablet woven bands for the trim. The poor customer who commissioned it has received a very long, very detailed email with a lot of links to look through and choose from.

We also discovered that no one, not even the blacksmiths is making turtle brooches in Aotearoa/New Zealand. One did mention that she might start making them, so I’m hoping we’ll see something along those lines soon.

Sadly we didn’t get a chance to get too many photos, but I’ll share links to some of the businesses we met people from over the next little while.

[imagine-loki]

Giftless

TITLE: Giftless CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 42/50

AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: 

Imagine that you are Stark’s niece and you secretly share a strong relationship with Loki since he entered the crew. One day you get hurt so bad during a mission that you are about to die.  Loki knows a spell that will save you and share his immortality with you but you and he will be linked forever sharing thoughts, pain, emotions…

RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS:  Also on AO3 click here

You found out early the next morning why Frigga had been so insistent that you needed to get back to bed. And why she had insisted you needed proper rest.  Loki shook and prodded and pestered you  awake in the morning. He had to fight through the sleeping potion to get you awake and out of bed. He had to threaten to dump you in a pond outside to wake you up before you finally stood on your own. He steered you to the bathroom and told you that you would feel better after a bath. The hot water did help wash the last of the sleep away.

Loki had left an outfit on the counter outside of the bath for you. You smiled at his thoughtfulness and put on the clothes he had provided. You were surprised that the outfit was was much simpler than yesterday’s fancy dress. It was a simple blue tunic and soft black leggings. You ran a bit of magic through your hair to dry it and went to go find your Loki. 

He was waiting for you on the couch in his sittingroom reading a book, as per usual. He looked up when you came in and gave you a beaming smile. “Feeling better?” he asked.  You nodded; the shower really had helped. He motioned for you to join him on the couch. You kissed him first, but then sat next to him. “Turn around,” he told you, taking your shoulders and shifting you so your back was to him. He ran his long thin fingers through your hair and slowly began to braid it, talking as he did. “Mother’s potions pack quite punch even for us. I’m not sure she took into account that you’re human when she prepared the one for you. I’m glad she was at least not too far off in the preparation. I’ll have to let her know she made it a bit too strong for you though. When I was young, I thought it was a punishment for having to be dragged back to bed to have to take one of her sleeping potions. I realized eventually that she intended it as a kindness to make sure I actually got some sleep.” You heard the fond smile in his voice. You also didn’t mind that he was braiding your hair, it seemed to soothe him and he was surprisingly good at it. You ended up with it braided back away from your face with the rest hanging in loose curls down your back. “We have just enough time to get breakfast before your appointment.” He announced when he was finished with your hair.

“What appointment?” you asked, confused. He hadn’t told you about any appointments.

He sighed and hesitated, but finally answered when you wouldn’t give up.  You could stare him into giving up and that was the skill you used not. “I am taking you to see the soul healer,” he finally said. He must have sensed your reluctance to go along with that plan. Smart man.

“Loki, I don’t need a shrink. I’m fine,” you told him heatedly. It wasn’t acceptable to openly see psychiatrists on Earth. It showed weakness.  At least that’s what you’d always believed.  

“Darling, I love you dearly, but you are not ok. There is no shame in not being ok. I feel the wounds on your soul and I feel your heart bleeding. If the wounds were on your flesh instead, you would not deny that you must see a healer.” His tone was gentle and kind. He was coaxing and you knew you were going to fail. “You might complain about having to stay in the hospital, but you would not deny that you needed to be there,” he added with a smirk.  Your hatred of the hospital was legendary.

You sighed. “Fine,” you finally replied. You didn’t have a choice especially since he was right. “But I’m not going to like it,” you grumbled instead of laughing. His face fell and he looked sad. You felt bad instantly, he had only been trying to help. “I’m sor-”

“No, darling. You are correct.  You will not like it,” he said sadly. He pulled you into his arms for his reassurance instead of your. He shook off the mood quickly and stood, pulling you up beside him. “We should go to breakfast before Thor comes looking for us.” 

You laughed and took his hand. “You could stop Thor with magic,” you reminded him, curious as to why he never took that action. 

Loki sighed heavily and looked grumpy.  “I cannot. There are two reasons: firstly, according to Mother and her many lectures of the years, it is against the rules of fair play in brotherly arguments unless he does something truly offensive; secondly and most importantly, my magic does not work against my brothers,” he sounded grumpy. You laughed, but filed that piece of information away.

You had a nice quiet breakfast with Thor and Sif. Odin and Frigga had already eaten and Torun was elsewhere doing toddler things. “Loki, you and Lady Y/N should probably be going soon,” Sif reminded him gently when you had dawdled too long at breakfast. You and Loki both looked away from her. You were dawdling and she was ruining our dawdling.

“You are correct, Sister,” Loki finally answered. You bid them goodbye and promised to see them later. Loki led you through the palace halls, his arm wrapped around you as you walked. “I’m sorry, love, but this is going to be hell on you. It is important healing, but the process shrinks months and years of emotional and psychological healing into a few hours,”

“That sounds awful,” you finally replied, getting scared.

“It will be,” he agreed. “But darling, I can feel your soul bleeding from the wounds there.” You thought you understood what he meant. You had been raped, had your powers blasted open, and killed two people, all fairly recently. You knew you needed this, much as you hated to admit it.

You entered a room in the healing wing. You stopped short, surprised when you saw Frigga waiting for you. Loki just chuckled at you as he pulled you the rest of the way into the room. “Darling, my Mother is the most gifted healer in the world. You should not be surprised that it is she who will be doing the healing,”

“But she’s the Queen,” you hissed in his ear while Frigga was laughing at us. Mostly at you  you was sure. That was too high an honor for a little earth girl.

Loki rolled his eyes and sighed. “Darling, you forget that you are a princess now that you are my soulbond. It would be an insult for you to be seen by anyone less than the best healer in the realm. Now kindly sit down so Mother can heal you,” he steered you into the chair directly in front of Frigga’s chair and held you there with his hands on your shoulders.

“Shall we begin, dear?” Frigga asked, holding out her hands palm up. You were scared, but nodded and placed your hands on top of hers. Loki let go of your shoulders when it was clear you was going to behave. An instant later, Frigga and her healing magic were in your mind. She was no-nonsense in her approach to healing. The first thing she did was heal the part of your mind that had gotten blasted away when the blocks on your powers had gotten ripped away. She was able to heal the control centers there when all of the healers at the compound hadn’t been able to.

The next hours of healing were hell. You visited all of the memories that were making your soul bleed and worked through your psychological issues with things that had happened, all the way back to the death of your parents. It was years of healing, years of learning to deal with the things you had done, and had been done to you, all condensed into a few long torturous hours. The scars on your soul would always be there, but after the healing, you could live with them and not let them eat you  alive.

You and Frigga both blinked back to reality at the same time when the healing spells ended. Loki was waiting for you, reading a book as per usual. He looked up when you moved. “Is it finished?” he asked Frigga. She nodded.

“It is,” she replied. She looked tired too, but not nearly as much as you felt. Loki came over to you and offered both of you a hand.

“I have a surprise for my two favorite ladies,” he told you both warmly. You both smiled up at him and took his offered hands at nearly the same time. He helped you to our feet, which was necessary as you were both stiff from sitting in the same position for hours. Frigga placed a hand on his arm, apparently used to being escorted by her sons. You took a step back, letting him have the moment with his Mother. He gave you a look, grabbed your hand, and made sure it was on his arm too. “I am escorting both of my favorite ladies,” he repeated himself firmly.

You zoned out during the walk, too exhausted from the hours of hell. Thankfully, the walk wasn’t long and it ended in a private dining room where Loki had an elegant lunch set out for you. He pulled out Frigga’s chair first, and then your. He was looking extra concerned over you. You tried convincing him that you were alright, but stopped before you even started. He would spot the lie. “Do not fear, Y/N. It is perfectly normal to feel fragile after a soul healing. It was also a quite a bit of magic and work, dear. It is also normal to be exhausted. I’m sure Loki has a nice quiet afternoon planned for you,” she explained with a smile. You smiled back at her and managed to eat the delicious meal Loki had acquired for you while they chatted and caught up. You tried hard to pay attention to their conversation and join in, but it was so hard when your brain felt like mush and your very soul was sore.

“Thank you for everything today, Mother,” Loki told her. “Shall I escort you back to the throne room?” he asked. She smiled at him.

“Anything for you, dear, and it was a pleasure to help your soulbond. I, however, am perfectly capable of returning to the rest of my duties without an escort,” 

Loki gave her a look. “Mother…” She held up a hand to stop his protest. He continued anyway. “You raised me to be a gentleman. A gentleman would not leave his mother without an escort,” he added. She smiled at him.

“And you will not,” she agreed. Torun burst into the room.

“Grandma!” she exclaimed, running to meet Frigga. Frigga had gotten up so she could hug the toddler.

“Right on time, Torun,” she told her. “See, my escort has arrived. Thank you for lunch, Loki. I will see you and Y/N at dinner tonight,” she looked at you more softly, more gently. “Feel better, dear. It will get better, you promise,”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” you replied formally, standing to curtsy to her. You still weren’t sure around her. She was so open and friendly, and obviously loved your affect on her son, but she was also still the queen. The moment she and Torun had left on whatever adventure Torun had planned, Loki swept you up in his arms. You didn’t even protest, just wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Quiet afternoon, right?” you asked him softly.

“Nice quiet afternoon,” he promised. “Just what you need.” He carried you to a quiet nook in a garden surrounded by rose bushes. He summoned the book about Hiccup the Viking for you and you sat in the garden together for the afternoon. “How are you feeling?” he asked, hours later.

“Like my brain is mush and my soul is bruised,” you replied, snuggling closer to him on the bench you were sitting on. 

Loki chuckled.  “That sounds about right,” he agreed. You stayed there until the bells tolled in the evening. “We have to go to dinner. I swear we will escape as soon as is seemly,” Loki promised you. You sighed, but nodded. He held out a hand to you and when you took it, a brief green light of his magic shimmered over you and you were both dressed in formal wear for the dinner. He held out his arm to you in a formal bow. You giggled and placed your hand on his arm, allowing him to escort you  to dinner like a princess, forgetting that here, you actually were one.

Dinner was a long, boring affair and lasted way too long. Especially since Odin kept wanting to steal Loki’s attention all night and hold him there talking forever and ever. Thor came over to save you. “Brother, stay and catch up with Father. I will escort your soulbond back to your suite safely,” he offered. Loki looked over at you and you saw the pure hope in his expression that his father was actually going to give him some proper attention and maybe some praise.

“I’ll see you back at our suite after you’ve caught up with your Father,” you replied. You was trying really hard to be as polite as everyone else in this setting. It was hard when you was so exhausted from the healing earlier. Thor offered you a hand. You took it and let him escort you from the room. “Where’s Sif and Torun?” you asked him once you were safely out of the dining hall.

“They returned to our suite already. Torun was sleepy. I will let Sif know you were concerned for her safety. She will appreciate the sentiment,” he smiled at you.

“You don’t have to walk me home,” you told him. “I’m perfectly capable of walking back to Loki’s suite alone. You should go be with your wife.” 

He just gave you a look. “Sister, that is not how things are done. My brother entrusted me with your safety. I do not take that lightly. Also you are my sister. Your protection is my duty. And I like you, little imp. You are good for Loki and you make him happy. The least I can do is see you home after the healing you went through today,” you smiled up at him, but tugged him to a stop.

“Hold on for a second,” you managed to find enough concentration in your mushy brain to use magic to change your outfit from formal wear to Earth pajamas. You couldn’t concentrate enough to focus on clothes that would fit in on Asgard, so your magic picked what you knew. Flannel pajama pants and a short sleeved pajama top. “Much better,” you commented and took Thor’s arm again.

“My brother has given you the gift of his magic, I see,” Thor commented. 

You nodded. “It came through the soulbond,” you explained. You had a feeling your words were slurring.  Thor looked concerned. You held up a hand before he could get any ideas. “I don’t need you carrying me to bed,” you informed him firmly. 

He pouted. “You’re no fun,” he complained, getting a laugh out of you . He walked you all the way to the door of Loki’s suite. “Stay in the suite tonight? I would rather not have to find you in the middle of the night again”

“We’ll try, but no promises,” you stuck your tongue out at him and ducked into the suite while he was still spluttering.

“Lock the door!” he yelled through the closed door. You sighed, but locked the door as you were bid. You curled up on the couch next to the fireplace with your book to wait for Loki to get back.

[howtohero]

#248 Countdowns

00:19:59

Well, it finally happened, somebody is trying to kill us. I suppose it was only a matter of time really. After all, we teach superheroes how to be superheroes. You could probably trace every foiled evil plot and captured supervillain from the past two and half years back to us. In fact, I recommend you do that right away. Any time evil has been defeated and the world has been saved is on us. We just haven’t been able to say that because we didn’t want villains coming after us, but like we said, somebody is trying to kill us.  (If you are a crime-fighter and take offense at the notion that all of your successes should actually be laid at our feet, please, stuff it, we’re the ones who are about to be killed. The least you could do is let us have this.)

00:19:34

About 26 seconds ago, we received a bomb at our offices. Well, technically we don’t know when the bomb was sent here. We are not good about checking our mail. We’ve all got our excuses. Parenthesis Guy is not allowed within 300 feet of any mailman in our city. (I got turned into a dog once and I was pretty jazzed because finally I could express my utter ire and hatred for mailmen in a socially acceptable fashion. Unfortunately, my colleagues here managed to break the curse just as I was about to pounce on our mailman.) Curly adamantly believes that if the Devil ever comes to collect on the debt Curly owes him, that he will do it through the United States Postal Service. {And I’ve yet to be proven wrong!} Lawyer Guy is a very lazy, good for nothing freeloader who can’t be bothered to pick up a few envelopes off the floor. [I… I don’t work out of your office. Are you guys ok over there?] No, we’re less than 19 minutes away from dying. Dr. Brainwave hasn’t been allowed to touch the mail ever since he built that army of origami robots out of envelopes with our address on them. <Honestly, even I was surprised that no superheroes came to take me away from here after that one.> And me? Well, I refuse to open the mail because I have a crippling fear of inadvertently starting a countdown on an explosive device. Validation has never tasted so sweet. (You were the one who opened it!) It was just my birthday and I thought somebody had sent me a present! {That seems fair actually, it did “Happy Birthday” on the package.} (Ok, but the “birth” part had clearly been crossed out and the word “death” had clearly been written above it.) I thought It was a hilarious gag! But honestly, this is fine. We can make this work for us. Today, for what may very well be our final post, we’re going to talk about countdowns.

00:17:03

I’ve often seen people wonder why supervillains would even include countdowns on so many of their evil schemes. Wouldn’t it be better not to give the heroes a clear timeframe for when their evil plot will be perpetrated? Would it not be better to simply show up, blow something up without warning, and call it a very evil and very successful day? Well, yes and no. While blowing something up with no countdown might result in a very successful and agonizing explosion, it causes the villains to miss out on being able to inflict an additional level of psychological torture on their victims as well. Think about all of us here, huddled around this bomb, watching it countdown. Why, we’re going positively mad. (We’re using this time to talk about the relative value of countdown clocks instead of doing anything productive to actually stop it so, yeah, that’s pretty batty.) Exactly! The mindset of villains is that their victims will suffer from fear, anxiety and desperation as the clock ticks down, and then they’ll get blown up! <Plus, countdown clocks are not really as useful of an early warning system as you seem to think. Most of the time, the numbers displayed on them are inaccurate and the explosive will go off much sooner than you think it will.> (Wait what?) [Seriously, do you need me to call someone?] Maximum torture. Maximum evil. {It’s maximum evil that our office is about to be blown up and you still won’t let us go home early for the day.} You should’ve thought of that before you used up all of your vacation days back in May! {For the thousandth time. I was mugged and in a coma.}

00:15:19

Curly makes a valuable point though. Few things are worth your life, and if you can get out of where you are, you definitely should without wasting any time trying to diffuse the bomb in the time you have left. One of the fun things about having foreknowledge of an impending explosion is that your adrenaline is going to be pumping through the roof. This means that many of your pain receptors will be dampened and you can get away with doing things you would not normally be able to. So you can hurl yourself out a nearby window. Kick down a door. Punch a wall down! Shrink yourself down and flush yourself down the toilet! When there’s a ticking time-bomb in your midst, any way of getting out is going to be safer than sticking around. (It should be noted, dear reader, that ever since our Escapology post all of our doors now lock from the outside and we have to come up with increasingly absurd ways to escape our own offices every evening. So we’ve very much backed ourselves into a corner here.)

00:14:01

If you can’t leave the room you’re in, perhaps the bomb can. Bombs are often much smaller than humans. (Shrinkers notwithstanding. Honestly, if you have access to shrinking technology, you should probably shrink the bomb before you shrink yourself and flush yourself down the toilet.) If you’re able to move the bomb, and you’re fairly confident that nobody around you will be injured, try throwing it out the window, or chucking it down a trash chute, or flushing it down the toilet! <Fortunately, our office is nestled in between two preschools, so no matter which direction we throw the bomb, we win.> That is obviously incorrect and we’re not going to do that, but there isn’t a preschool floating above us. (Wow, good thing we moved last year.) So what we’re going to do now is just pick up the bomb and throw it as high as we can. Worse comes to worst we accidentally blow up a bird or something, but honestly, they’ve had it too good for too long anyway.

00:05:59

Well that was a terrible idea, we should not have touched the bomb and we certainly should not have thrown it through our skylight because it fell right back down and we are 6 minutes closer to death and destruction. <Again, it’s going to be less time than displayed actually.> [Why do you guys even have a skylight that opens?] (When we first started How To Hero, we operated out of a car that had a dope sunroof and we’ve been chasing that high ever since.) If throwing the bomb doesn’t work, or it causes the timer to speed up, you might want to look into alternative methods of stopping the bomb from going off. Thankfully, we live in a world of superheroes and a world of superheroes is a world of fantastical science! We could use a time-dilation bubble to slow down the timer forever! We could open up a portal to a dead universe and drop the bomb through it! We could send it back in time! We could send it forward in time and make it tomorrow’s problem! We could use a technology neutralizer to neutralize the technology in the bomb! We could call upon our bomb-diffusing robot, Todd! The possibilities are endless! Well, not for us. Unfortunately, we keep our time-dilator, portal generator, time machine, and technology neutralizer in an offsite storage unit that is at least an 8-minute walk away. (Plus we’ve locked ourselves in.) And unfortunately, Todd the bomb-disposal robot is a disco convention in Tallahassee (he is a robot of many interests!) and it will definitely take him more than 4 minutes and 33 seconds to get here (and he has definitely been screening our calls).

00:04:29

If you can’t get rid of the bomb using the power of science fiction, you might have better luck simply disconnecting the timer from the bomb. If the timer isn’t connected to the bomb the bomb won’t know what time to explode and it probably just won’t! Maybe! I don’t know, we’ve only got 4 minutes to save ourselves. (Readers are encouraged to start playing “4 Minutes” by Madonna……….. Now!) If the timer is attached to the bomb with screws unscrew them. If it’s scotch taped just cut through the tape. If it’s a series of different colored wires… ah, hm. Which wire are you supposed to cut? Does anybody know? (Blue.) {Green.} <Chartreuse.>  So, no. Guys, come on, you’re looking at the bomb, you know none of the wires are those colors. Ok so we can’t remove the timer, we can’t move the bomb, and we’re stuck in here. (And Todd the robot who diffuses bombs won’t answer our calls.) Right, and Todd the bomb-bot won’t pick up the phone.  (Can’t really blame him though. You know how much he loves disco. He probably didn’t even bring his phone.) He is a robot his phone is in his head. {So, where does that leave us?}

00:03:30

If you can’t remove yourself, the bomb, or the timer from the situation, another thing you can do is to contain the bomb, and thus, the ensuing explosion. Look around you, see if there is anything that you think is powerful enough to lessen the effects of the explosion. You’re going to want something durable, so no glass display cases or wooden music boxes.  (Wait a minute... Something durable... Like something that can contain, among other things, unholy sky liquids, eternally damned souls, and all powerful cosmic artifacts?) Oddly specific but I guess. (Does anybody have one of Jerry’s Homegrown Condiment Jars????) Are you kidding me! (Do you have a better idea?) Well I guess not! Does anybody have a Jerry Jarman jar? {I’m pretty sure he blacklisted me after I yelled at him.} <Personally, I believe he’s the one who sent us this bomb!> Ah gosh.

00:00:50

(You know what? It’s really weird that “4 Minutes” by Madonna is only 3 minutes and 10 seconds long. Now what are we supposed to do? Just sit in silence like a bunch of idiots?) {Maybe one of us can eat the bomb?} Nobody’s eating the bomb! That’s stup- Wait, Dr. Brainwave’s Greatest Shame! (What?) {What?} <NO!> What, this can work! <You dare invoke that name!> Look, we’ve got a giant monster in our backyard that I’m reliably informed will eat anything. In my experience if something will eat me there’s little it won’t eat. She’s 38 feet tall, and a mile wide and an adorable abomination of science who I’m pretty sure will be fine if she eats this bomb! (I don’t know...) What other choice do we have! {Did you forget about the fact that all of her internal organs are sentient beings and musical theater professionals? We can’t risk them getting hurt in the explosion!} Oh, you’re right. I did forget about that. <That’s all right, I’ve figure out what needs to be done.>

00:00:10

<By my estimate we’ve got about five seconds left before this thing explodes and takes all of us with it. I don’t know about the rest of you but I find that completely unacceptable.> Yeah, the rest of us aren’t exactly pleased Brainwave. Though, if I’m honest. If I’m going to get blown up, I couldn’t imagine a better group to spend my last few minutes with. (Awwwwwwww. You love us.) {I think I’m gonna cry.} <All of you idiots shut up now. Listen, none of you are going to die. None of you can be allowed to die. You were right, this guide has saved the world, seemingly by accident, more times than I can count. And I’m a doctor, I can count pretty high. If you die here today, if this guide dies today, well that very well could be it. So I can’t allow that to happen.> What are you doing Brainwave? (I cannot believe it hasn’t been five seconds yet.) <Well, I guess you can say I’m saving the world.> Hey! Put that bomb down, every time we touch it it speeds up! <Well, t-minus three seconds then.> What are those? Rocket boots? Have you been wearing rocket boots this whole time? <I read what you said about air superiority being crucial, and it’s a good thing I did!> {Wait, you actually read this guide?} Put that bomb down right now. <Of course I read the guide, do the rest of you not read it?> (Only the parts I’m in.) {That doesn’t even make sense, your parts are all commenting on the other parts!} Brainwave, I don’t know what you think you’re doing but if you’ve really read through the whole guide then you know how stupid I think heroic sacrifices are! <Well, I guess it’s a good thing I’m not a hero then.> You are missing the point! <Thanks for letting me live in your basement. The mutant alligators will need to be fed. Tell DBGS that I love her, and tell Professor Brain-Scrambler that he’s a hack and that he can suck it.> Frederick wait! (Whelp there he goes. Right through the skylight. The skylight that we just said is retractable. He just went right on through it. Pretty baller actually.) How likely is it that this whole thing was just some big prank? {Pretty likely I’d say.}

00:00:08

00:00:07

00:00:06

KABOOM

[Guys? Guys what happened?] Oh god. He’s dead. [Who is? What’s going on?] Brainwave- Dr. Brainwave... He... He sacrificed himself for us. That idiot. (Oh god oh god there’s- There’s blood and glass everywhere.) (Who better to clean up all that blood and glass than Jer-) NOT NOW! [Is it true?] Yes. Dr. Brainwave is dead.

[taronunwin]

As He Breaks

Chapter 1 by Carver Edlund

Dean's wrists were badly chafed. He suspected his ankles looked the same, if not worse. He wasn't sure why he bothered fighting against the chains that held him to the rack just loosely enough to allow for some struggle but never enough to actually do any good. It had been weeks, months, years... maybe even decades, but still, he couldn't help himself. He had to fight against the pain. It was as natural a reaction as squinting after stepping into direct sunlight.

Sunlight. How long had it been since he'd seen that? Somehow that felt even longer ago.

He'd kept count for the first year. He would whisper it under his breath at the end of each day, at the end of each session. When Alastair laid his razor down on the table of instruments he kept close, Dean would grit his teeth and, through the blood in his mouth, groan out the number. The last he recalled saying was 368.

On day 369, he couldn't remember what yesterday was. Every day contained the same thing so he was surprised he'd kept track as long as he did.

"369," Alastair said when Dean didn't. His voice was unnaturally sympathetic. That startled Dean more than what he said. "It's day 369, Dean." He’d sobbed that day. Not that he hadn’t cried before here, but this time it wasn’t because of the pain—not totally, at least. Hearing his name said softly, almost kindly, broke his heart completely.

How long ago had that been, Dean wondered. Day 369 became 370, then it was 400, then he gave up keeping track when he realized that he had started counting because he believed it would end one day. But it wouldn't. This torture, this excruciating pain, it would never end.

On whatever day it was this time, Alastair glanced at Dean, returning from cleaning his blade on an already blood-soaked towel nearby. Dean’s jaw clenched tightly, the only pain he could control, and his eyes shut. His hands balled into fists and he tensed, knowing exactly what was coming. The day was nearly over, he never knew how he knew that but somehow he just did, so Alastair was cramming in what he wanted to finish before time was up.

The razor cut into the flesh just below his ribcage and, though he tried to keep silent, Dean cried out until his throat was raw. Or at least more raw than it had been at the start of the day. Water, or better yet whiskey, was unheard of down here. He knew screaming was just as useless as fighting, but he was powerless to stop either. No one would help, no one seemed able to hear, except Alastair.

Not that Alastair was the only one who took pleasure in Dean’s agony. Others came, some demon, some human on their way to becoming demons. But today it was just Alastair.

Finally, the master of torture stepped back, tilted his head, and smiled. He was hideous in every way, his un-vesseled form, but his smile made the ugly, evil face even harder to look at. Dean refused to open his eyes, instead hearing the smile in Alastair’s voice when he stated, “There. I think that’s quite enough for one day, wouldn’t you agree?”

Then, the same sounds he’d heard every night since he awoke here, suspended and chained in the abyss: the familiar metal-on-metal tick of the razer being placed on the table; a few footsteps; scribbling; Alastair’s notebook closing; more footsteps, nearing this time. Dean knew what the demon would say next and he knew what he had to say.

But yesterday something had changed. He’d felt his strength waning. Not that he had any left, but his reserves, the ones buried way down deep, were failing him. Years upon years of this had stripped away every ounce of resolve he had. And yesterday, when Alastair offered to take him off the rack, Dean hadn’t replied. It was the first time that he couldn’t find the will to say ‘no’, or one of the many other sarcastic responses he’d come up with. Instead, his silence spoke for him and Alastair returned the next morning with his tools and evil smile.

Dean couldn’t open his eyes if he wanted to look at the figure hovering over him, taking stock of the damage the demon had inflicted. Dean couldn’t recall ever being so exhausted. He had endured so much pain, he was at his breaking point.

“Did you know it’s our anniversary today, Dean?” Alastair asked, his voice just above a whisper.

Dean could barely breathe, his body torn to shreds, but he fought to focus on the words. What could it be, five years? Ten? Twenty?

“I know, you wanted to get me something special to celebrate but you’ve been just so darn tied up lately.” He laughed. Dean cringed. “Don’t worry, I got you something special.”

Alastair leaned in even closer as Dean angled his head as far away as he could manage. “I was thinking tomorrow, we get... a dog.”

Tears burned behind his closed lids and one escaped down his bruised cheek. His fists ached but he couldn’t release them. He imagined breaking these chains and... and what? There was no getting out or getting back to earth.

And Dean knew what kind of dog Alastair was referring to. A hellhound. It wasn’t the first time Alastair had let the beast at Dean but it had been a while—that was one thing Dean was thankful for.

“Oh, bother, I shouldn’t have told you. Now you’re so excited you won’t be able to sleep,” Alastair teased, straightening. “Unless, of course... you don’t want to.” He almost sang the words. “You know, if you wanted to get out of here, we could go somewhere nice to celebrate.”

There it was. The offer. Cruelly disguised as freedom, but it was there all the same: get off the rack and take Alastair’s place. Stop being the victim and start on his path to becoming a demon.

Alastair waited patiently. Moments passed and Dean said nothing. He couldn’t speak. He wanted to decline, scream it, shout it, spit it, but nothing came out.

“Alright,” Alastair finally replied, an odd mix of pleasure and disappointment in his tone. “Then I will see you bright and early tomo—”

“How long?” Dean didn’t recognize his own voice but he knew from the grating in his throat that he’d managed to speak.

“I beg your pardon?”

Dean swallowed painfully. “How long?” He forced his eyes open and tried to look Alastair square in the face.

The demon smiled. “How long have we been together? Why, Dean, I’m hurt. I thought you were keeping count this whole time.” He waited, expecting a snippy reply, but Dean had nothing to say. Sighing, Alastair replied, “30 years.”

Dean could have fainted. If it was earth and the natural rules applied, he would have. 30 years. To some extent, he couldn’t believe it had been so long but he was equally as shocked that so little time had passed. It felt like an eternity already. How could he possibly endure more, much less more without end?

His thoughts shifted to Sam, the only comfort he found here. Was he happy now? If 30 years had passed, Dean could believe that Sammy had moved on and had been able to forget about him. He’d be over 50 now. Dean almost smiled at the mental image of his brother with thinning hair and—

“And no, Sam isn’t an old man now.”

Dean froze.

“You see Dean, time’s different down here. Oh yes, it’s been 30 years here, but it’s only been 3 months up there.”

That statement, whether true or false, burned the last atom of strength Dean had left. He couldn’t fight anymore. He had fought for 30 years. 3 decades to the day. And he couldn’t take it any longer.

“Well, I’ll just be going now.”

Knowing the satisfaction it would give Alastair almost made Dean keep quiet but he also knew what would come tomorrow if he didn’t. “Wait.”

Alastair stopped at the door, his hand on the rusty knob. He didn’t look back. “Yes, Dean? Something you need?”

Dean closed his eyes against the spinning room. His heart slammed against his ribs like a sledgehammer. He was giving up and his body, or maybe his soul, hated him for it. “I’ll do it.”

The footsteps approached again. “I might have some blood in my ear, Dean, so could you repeat that? I want to get it just right for my diary.”

“I said... I’ll do it.” His voice was still unrecognizable to him. It was weak, unsteady, raw, just like the rest of him. It suited the victimized, abused man he’d become.

Then suddenly, he was that man no longer. His hands relaxed and the agonizing tension in every muscle eased. This had happened a million times before but this time the ‘healing’ felt different. He felt like himself again; powerful and capable, young and alive. The chains fell open as Alastair snapped his finger and for the first time in 30 years, Dean was free from bondage. He sat up slowly, cautiously. He felt sure that this was a trick, that the chains would close again around his limbs and he would be stuck again, left to contemplate his absolute aloneness until Alastair returned.

But it didn’t happen.

He swung his legs over the side of the cold metal rack and his torturer stepped back, giving Dean space. Dean couldn’t shake the unease he felt as Alastair watched him like Alastair was a starved monster and Dean was his lunch.

Even though he was whole again, uncut, unbloodied, Dean’s legs were not what they once were and his knees buckled when his feet touched the floor and his weight shifted. He held onto the rack and cursed. Alastair abruptly walked to the other side of the room to a cabinet that Dean had never seen open. Swinging it open and revealing at least a dozen bottles of liquor, Alastair glanced back. “Can I interest you in a drink to celebrate this momentous occasion?”

Dean’s mouth watered and his stomach growled at the sight. He was proof that food and drink wasn’t a necessity to survive in hell, he hadn’t eaten since his last meal at Bobby’s house, but he still craved it.

Alastair selected one and moved to the door. He opened it and called, “Bring her in.” Dean watched in shock as two demons dragged a woman in, wailing and begging. Dean moved away from the rack in horror as she was strapped into the space he had filled for the past decades. She too fought against the restraints uselessly, crying, her eyes darting around the room. She was as panicked as he had been his first day in this God-forsaken room.

Dean turned away from the sight, covering his face with a shaking hand. He knew what was expected of him, what his end of the bargain was for the woman taking his place. But he had spent his whole life helping people, saving them from monsters. Would he really become the monster now to spare himself?

“Oh Dean,” Alastair sang above the woman’s shrieks. Dean slowly, almost against his will, looked at the demon. Alastair held out the bottle of liquor but Dean wasn’t unaware of what Alastair was really offering him. His free hand rested over his razor and he tapped his finger impatiently on its handle. “Come on, grasshopper, it’s time to get started.”

Resisting the urge to vomit, if that was even possible in hell, Dean yanked the bottle from Alastair’s hand, broke the seal, and drank it greedily. He could barely stop but he needed air. Lowering it, he inhaled deeply, gruffly. Perhaps this was when the real torture began, he considered. Maybe there was a way to get free, to—

Suddenly Alastair was directly beside him, his hand tight against Dean’s throat. “I know what you’re thinking, Dean, and before you think it a moment longer, I want you to know that if you don’t pick up that blade and do exactly as I tell you, you will spend the rest of your days on this rack without another offer. And don’t forget, ‘the rest of your days’ is really just a figure of speech. You understand me?”

Dean understood perfectly. This was his only chance to be free of an eternity of suffering. He nodded once.

Alastair released him and moved away, close to the woman. “Hello, my dear,” he swooned. “You are in for a real treat, I mean a real treat. You see this man, oh he’s really something special, dear. You might even say he’s a virgin and you’re going to be his first. Yes, this is going in my diary for certain. Now come on, Dean, let’s not waste the lovely girl’s time, can’t you see she’s ready and waiting?”

Dean finished the bottle. Slamming it down, he heard the woman cry out in surprise at the noise before continuing to sob, begging Alastair to let her go. Dean wished he was deaf. And blind.

With a trembling hand, he gripped the blade and turned. She eyed the razer and screamed even louder than before.

Alastair grinned. “That’s right, come here now.”

Dean didn’t remember much of what happened next. He listened to Alastair’s instructions, where to cut, how to cut, what places on the body produced the most and least amounts of blood, and so on. To Dean’s disgust, Alastair was teaching him.

Something in Dean’s mind switched ‘off’ that day. And it was at the exact moment that Alastair’s blade, held tightly in Dean’s own hand, sliced through the woman’s skin, drawing the most fear-filled cry he had ever heard. But she wasn’t afraid of Alastair. She was afraid of Dean.

To protect himself, he imagined, it was as though his humanity turned away and all that was left was the wounded animal who finally, after 30 years, had the chance to inflict pain back. He couldn’t hurt Alastair, but he could imagine that every soul placed before him was the demon.

And instead of counting the days, Dean began counting souls. Until he lost count of those, too.

[disasterjones]

Jarrett. Give us the tea my dude

Jarett: Describe your worst boss or teacher you've ever had.

my time has come,, 

this is obscenely long, apologies

okay so I used to work at a credit union (it’s basically a bank but they push this concept of “community” and “we’re not like the banks” except that they are, do not be tempted by their honeycomb claims, they’re as fragile as they are sweet) and I worked in the quality assurance department

we were tasked with everything from balance inquiries to opening accounts to being the equivalent of loan servicers (without the capacity to actually craft the loan agreement for underwriting, because then what would the loan officers do)

my boss, we’ll call him Bob, had two assistant managers, we’ll call them Jenny and August, who were probably the pacific northwest equivalent of Stepford Wives, with Bob being the superficially-agreeable gentleman that welcomes the unaware into the compound for assimilation

so anyway I joined this job through a temp-to-hire position and it was great for the first six months or so (as it turns out, even jobs have honeymoon periods), I made friends with coworkers, I established a presence and something of a reputation for being the friendly-and-decently-quick-learner, which I would later find out was to my detriment, because they took the “quick learner” concept and thought that translated perfectly to “teacher,” and about a year in they gave me a temp to train

the temp was never a problem, although she did sometimes like to be on her phone when we were in the middle of a call, but I’m just an employee that’s giving pointers, I’m not a boss nor am I her mother, so I don’t bother to give her too much hassle about it. she still manages to keep decent call times for a newbie and is able to navigate our systems after a little bit of repetition

this was the beginning of my issues with Bob, as he wanted me to be more strict and adhere as closely his own inflexible schedule as possible. problem is I can’t force a person to learn faster, nor had I asked for the responsibility of training someone in the first place. why hadn’t they asked someone with more experience? sure I’d learned the ins and outs of the programs okay, but i hadn’t developed the tools to quickly de-escalate angry callers yet, hadn’t even been given access to several systems I was expected to use to train this temp, but being behind was my fault no matter what I said

I’d already been dealing with some subtle snideness and condescension from Jenny and August on top of that, and it took me ages to realize it’s because I was the only person that didn’t engage in makeup culture (partially bc I can’t afford that shit lol) and that was literally the reason why: I wasn’t “put together” or “company ready,” even though I never personally interacted with members or anyone on site beyond people in my immediate department

so a year and a half of this, of subtle underhanded remarks and difficult demands, of having constant rising expectations and quotas, told at every turn that our goal is to have as many new members as possible, all the while a broken record of lie, just repeating constantly that “sales don’t matter, it’s about the community” 

(EXCEPT GET ALL THE ACCOUNTS DON'T LET THEM SLIP THROUGH YOUR FINGERS YOU FUCKING FAILURE YOU COULD HAVE GOTTEN THEM 3 ACCOUNTS YOU COULD HAVE GOTTEN THEM A GOOD RATE ON THE NEW CREDIT CARD IF THEY JUST SIGNED UP BUT REMEMBER WE DON’T WANT TO SELL THEM ANYTHING)

finally it’s Christmas time and I’ve been busting my hump for the whole year and it’s my second year so I’m eligible for a bonus and I’m literally gonna burst I’m so happy... until Bob and Co. announce that, despite all our stellar efforts this year, despite that we are ahead of company projections by a 15% margin across all departments, despite that I personally (and by proxy our department) was responsible for the acquisition of an account worth over 1.3 million, we were told our Christmas bonuses were actually going to be a bit sparser than they were the year prior, my first year, the year I got a $75 Fred Meyer gift card in

I had been looking forward to a cash bonus and had worked my ass off for it, had been damn near guaranteed it during a number of team/personal reviews with the managers, but surprise! three days before christmas, all I have to look forward to is $50 to a place that I can reasonably get a single pair of shoes from (and maybe some socks)

it’s a month or so later that the Big Change happens, and the entire building of employees moves across town to a new location. some people get let go in the shuffle, including one of my close friends I’d met there. financially stressed though she was, I could see how much happier she was to be out of that place, and I started to get inklings of leaving as my mental health began to deteriorate. another result of this change is that the parking availability for employees is cut down to a third of what we used to have, except it’s even less because most of the spots at the new building are intended for members, so everybody’s carpooling or riding bikes or bussing

side note: carpooling is all well and good in a green initiative, but do you have any idea how difficult it is to coordinate more than two people for a carpool? either you can make us carpool or you can have us in on time, you can’t have both

a bit of advice for anybody new to the job circuit or who might have trouble deciphering “appropriate” social gestures: no matter how open they say you can be, no matter how friendly or amenable they appear to be to mental health struggles, don’t fall for that trap and think you can show any moment of weakness. it’s true that not everyone will react the way my managers did, but don’t take the chance if you can help it. on the surface, they understood. on the surface they said they were with me.

i would go on to walk in on those same people mocking my symptoms and talking about how it can’t be that bad, that I must be trying to get attention.I was labeled unprofessional, and no matter how much they encouraged open communication and preached how “life happens and things get rough for people,” I was still an acceptable target. 

so I took my complaint to HR, who at first seemed taken aback at the notion that, of anybody, BOB could be engaging in such careless and callous behavior. “Oh, he’s such a nice man! I’m sure he didn’t mean those things.” and because he wasn’t the one saying them, but rather laughing along with them, and because it was my word against theirs, it was unlikely to go anywhere

time crawls on and it’s about march or so when everything finally snaps in my brain. getting out of bed feels like selling my soul and going to work feels more like torture than a paycheck. on The Dawn Of The Day That Broke My Back, I was up and ready, out in front of my apartment and chain smoking to keep myself awake, when I realized that no matter when my carpool shows up now, we’re going to be late

I try to keep myself in decent spirits, not be a grumposaurus on the way in. I feel prepared for the day, got my coffee and my lunch in a bag and a nice outfit and I feel like maybe today won’t be as bad as the rest of the month has been, even though we’ll be late

we arrive about 10 after, but I’ve got Jenny and August’s numbers in my phone, so I’ve sent them messages ahead of time to let them know that the carpool was a bit late because traffic has been troublesome. I don’t remember how true it was, but the point is I did my part to let them know ahead of time that we weren’t no-shows, just a bit delayed. as I’m walking in (mind you, following and followed by a number of other individuals just as late as me), Bob singles me out, pointing first at me and then another aggressive point in the direction of a closed office space 

fun fact: with the new change in locations, he no longer has his own office, in fact he now sits directly adjacent to me and close enough to hear me speak under my breath, something I had to be constantly aware of

he ignores the confusion on my face as soon as we’re inside and immediately begins to accuse me of slacking off, saying I’ve been skipping out on and coming late into work constantly, and I need to “get it together” or I’ll be out of a job. I try to express that I’m not trying to shirk my responsibilities, just that I’ve been dealing with a lot of personal stuff and it’s affecting my focus. He doesn’t care, his frustration continuing to escalate, and every time I offer a response or rebuttal to an unfair statement, he gets angrier and changes what he’s upset about.

Finally it happens. 

“You were late! 10 minutes late! You need to be in your chair at your desk and ready to sign in and be ready to take calls BY 8:00!!” 

I have grown tired of him yelling for no reason, and the backbone that had crumbled away over the last two and a half years suddenly snaps back into place hard as steel. 

“I would like to know why this is all aimed at me specifically, when you saw me enter with the remainder of my carpool, the carpool that you all made us set up in the middle of construction season, which of course is happening on the only road that leads here. 

“I would like to know how I’m supposed to control the environment or lives of the other people I am stuck riding with every day for this job that supposedly cares about us, even though it doesn’t seem to care about the extra expenses or time  crunch we now have to endure as a result of this change that miraculously doesn’t affect you. 

“I would like to know who put that stick so far up your ass that you thought it was necessary to yell at your employee about 10 damn minutes. If you don’t mind, I have a job to get to.”

And I go and sit at my desk. He fumes quietly in the office for a while before coming out to his desk, returning to whatever he was doing before he pulled me aside to treat me like a child.

Not a few hours later, I get a call from a member that had been working directly with Bob (big ordeal that needed a manager a few days prior, so he was the go-to for this particular account), and they wanted to speak with him, claiming it was urgent. I hold the call and stand up, trying to get Bob’s attention quietly since there’s other calls happening around me. I call his name quietly, saying “phone for you, it’s [member’s name]” but he doesn’t seem to hear me because he doesn’t respond. So again, I whisper his name, this time leaning more towards him to hopefully catch his eye with the movement, but he cuts me off before I can get the member’s name out

He starts yelling. Like, at the top of his voice, yelling. In a small room, to a person less than 5 feet away, audible to everyone both on a call and not (I would later find out it was also audible over the phone! a member asked what the yelling was about. but I’m the unprofessional one)

“CAN’T YOU SEE I’M BUSY? WHATEVER YOU HAVE TO BOTHER ME WITH CAN WAIT. GET BACK TO WORK.”

The resolve I’d summoned earlier didn’t stay with me, and this was the final straw. It’s one thing to be berated to and humiliated one on one, it’s another to be on the receiving end of it in the presence of 20 other people. I get back on the phone and tell the member, “I’m very sorry, he’ll have to return your call. He’s unavailable at the present.” and hung up, because I was about to cry and I needed to get out. I log out of everything, lock my computer, pick up my belongings and wave to one of my carpoolmates as I walk out and down to HR

they wound up convincing me to stay for a few more weeks, especially after they fired Bob (who it would turn out was going through a divorce, his second in four years, and I just happened to be the punching bag he needed that day), but eventually I left and never went back

[ Critical Role Ask Meme ]

[weirdness-on-the-roof]

critical role episode 48 campaign 2 notes and funny lines post break edit:this has detailed notes on all the stuff that happened later in the episode including physical descriptions near the end. enjoy ya nerds

don’t steal the books from a high powered mage; don’t kill the dude; beau turning into cad; look at beau planning for the future

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is marisha flirting with matt via matt playing yasha and beau flirting with yasha?

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‘tea the international language’ but no earl grey

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wensworth the goblin

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coming from Cad ‘im a fine tea maker’ is kinda a threat tbh

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elf that isn’t white/European??? yay! also really old elves are cool

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beau and cad tag teaming a political chat with a mage this can’t end poorly

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Nott: :beau ruins every situation shes in and is very abrasive

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send the freaking cat!!! why not?? caleb my dude

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god i miss allura and gilmore currently

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fucking fuck don’t lie to the mage beau plz stop this is painful ‘you’re not wrong’ sure blame the ancient sea god

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‘on the verge of returning’ yea no duh you let him out 2/3 of the way so fjord could get a spell

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‘we found a thing’ so smooth and eloquent beau ‘it was presented to us as the happy fun time ball’

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‘butter fingers with magical items’

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beau getting a geography lesson from a very old powerful elven mage

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‘magical geometric orb that has the ability to bend time and space and fate’ which is kept in a hot pink magic bag that happened to ‘fall into [their] lap’

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‘if youre down im down is what im saying... i have a few slots open in my loyalty bank if you’re willing to pay rent’ says the 20 some human who punches things to the centuries old wizard ‘

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liam stress eating

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cad’s hope in the group is heartwarming

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tower metaphors and a conversation!!!

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caleb reading shitty romance novel and nott eating a fish outside a mage’s tower in the morning sunlight in a major city

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caleb takes the rear

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first name drop and a while

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holy shit 200 years of magic using

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cad explaining materialistic nature of the rest of the party to elf dude is hilarious

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teleportation circles?????? in return for access to the sphere!! oh shit thats good

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or candy

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crap. no one has insight checked this dude and they gave him the happy fun ball and made a deal kinda.

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‘how do we prove our loyalty?’ ‘by not fucking me over’ sounds like a good plan

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is this guy just caleb’s patron now on the low idk this is how my head works and he said learn

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“you have a geometric shape that makes babies?” “yea they talked about that”

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fjord just kills the dude

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‘i got banishment on hold just in case’ *cackling laughter*

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i agree with elf dude, him not knowing anything about the dodecha is more concerning than him knowing about it

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ALL THE CITIES FROM CR1 MENTIONED FOR THE FIRST TIME!!! I STILL MISS ALLURA AND GILMORE

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good to know the pink bag protects from divination on this plane but just this one

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jester and the traveler figurine

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cad included the Traveler in the ‘chaotic forces’ i still think the traveler is some kinda arch fey evil things idk its real late here and this is incoherent

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‘well, thats been my morning tea‘ 

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caleb getting additional tour

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good aesthetic for the room tbh

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letting weird people in for morning tea is entertainment is a mood and something i strive to be able to do without getting murdered one day

-------

so yasha and caleb both have gotten the ‘stay with friends’ chat from a powerful being which is nice. but also the ‘use who you need to’ going to caleb is vaguely concerning

-------

personalized biscuits [bourbon, cinnamon, lobster, fish and three unknowns]

-------

‘caleb, what happened in there?’

-------

cad not believing caleb’s bullshit and opening doors for caleb warms my heart

-------

‘if this isn’t the death of us, and if not hes a good ally. somethings gonna be the death of us so [yolo]’

-------

‘you can’t bullshit everyone in this world’

-------

cad talking about beau telling the truth: ‘you’re not very good at it but you tried

-------

jester looking out for nott and her home town

-------

caleb and beau being cute while also giving each other shit is the most sibling like thing

-------

omg going back to allfield that was so long ago for fucks sake BRYCE my person thank god

-------

jester had a boy band phase its cannon and i think the girls had a sleepover in jester’s old room. also marion never leaves the hotel. THE RUBY NECKLACE MY HEART AND THE HONEY AWWWWW

‘the army of men and women and inbetween that will do as i want them to’ god i adore her being protective of jester

-------

also the fact matt makes such a good mom why is he like this

-------

travel time!!!! ‘roll for initiative’-tal

-------

how does matt keep these notes so organized and remember all the npc names

-------

the ranger/beast master in Laura is coming out with nugget

-------

caleb is a devout cat person and jester is the definition of a dog person

-------

nott refining oil on a magical moving cart, while jester reads a romance novel and trains a dog,

-------

Dyren- Beau’s roommate at colbot souls; ‘taught beau lots of really cool things’ got sent to a warfront. shaved head, dark clothes, buff b/c ‘been workin out’, ‘do you love her?’ they had ‘good times’, then literal booty call, and dropping locations, Dyren was in Bladegarden. ‘fierce eyebrows, pointed nose’

                    OH MY GOD THEY WERE ROOMMATES

-------

Vandren info drop to Fjord ‘he was making amends’

-------

Dyren responded and was hurt in Bladegarden but is safe. Beau looked immediately worried and happy about jester’s imput [’sounded way into you’]

-------

empire kids chat and caleb admitting insecurities about powerful people and being scared about the consequences of his actions and the group’s actions. caleb is scared about being forced to leave for safety and being ‘flayed alive’. my thoughts are he would leave if he became a threat to the others by being there or vise versa. trent would extort that b/c hes a dick

“caleb, unfortunately, you don’t get to choose who cares for you” you’re fucking correct Beau

“the problem with friends is that you have to care for them”

walks away “wow cool caleb! see- jester thinks you’re cool because shes your fucking friend!”

me too Tal “everything i like about those two characters in one conversation”

-------

5 years since Caleb left Trent and crew ie had a nervous breakdown

-------

gustav left town after being freed and trostenwald now has a WV accent that is too familiar

-------

100 extra soldiers in allfield. bryce is still up and kicking and wonderful. stuff ‘got this far east [quickly]’. the attacks came from underground apparently so fuck. the fields were burned, building destroyed a bit then they [Xhorhasians] left

“good thing is they’ve already been attacked so lightning doesn’t strike twice” oof thanks bryce

-------

beau just dead ass asking for illegal writing statements

-------

fjord having a thank u jesus bryce moment

-------

jester giving cad a pretty present is ‘so exciting’ and precious

-------

Cad not knowing cookbooks were a thing!!! and not being utterly literate enough to understand it

-------

wtf happened to liam’s voice in the ‘main export is oysters’ thing

-------

FELDERWEN!!!!!

-------

a dozen squads of 50 ppl each patrolling felderwen area so rippppp

-------

Nott knows where the halfing’s house is.... interesting... and is heavily drinking

-------

BLUE FLASH

elven woman in fine clothes of green and black ----lady vest durogna the arch mage of antiquity serboros assembly

a male figure in deep blue robes, older pale elf, fine clothes, the flash came from him----- martinette luden’th de____ arch mage of domestic protection

CALEB KNOWS THEM BOTH FROM THE ACADEMY AHHHHHH

he just lays flat and hides in the cart internally: ‘nopenopenopenope’

-------

several burned buildings, a warehouse, an inn, apothecary and several houses

-------

ohhhh shit the halfling was the owner of the apothecary and nott was looking for the shit she had been sending back this whole adventure....... im sad now that was confirmed

havent found a body of yeza

luke is yeza’s son at old edith’s house

            halflings only produce halflings according to something i read at some point but forget where sooooooooo

shattered vials and materials and house stuff

CHILDREN'S TOYS

locked basement which nott knows of?? Nott is anxious and impatient when the door doesn’t open. jester fails, yasha rages and at a 19 and doesn’t break the door. ‘it wasn’t [trapped]’ but dispel magic worked to open it.

a 15′x15′ room, tossed ‘not like you remember’ to nott, a 2x3 iron chest. a single chair in the center of the room. definitely a struggle with heavy impacts and blade scratched on wall

             nott was the torturer from the goblin tribe

chair was placed in the spot after the struggle

this was where he [yeza] kept chemicals according to nott

poisoned iron locked box (dull black glass)  inside a retractable silver tripod to hold something atop it, 3 empty vials 1 full one with a liquid/gas fog like dull colored thing, a pile of destroyed notes [two pieces of still legible paper which have props]

            dunamous field, causes ppl slow to be slower or faster, ‘captured crin operatives’ dunaments and dunamacy, origon gliffs, exist outside established schools of magic, theory in deeply rooted in arcana taken for granted, rooted in _____ town, 12-16 months to refine, word has found me that trent’s kiddos have knacks for this things, dreams are thrilling

well shittttt

            crin on battle fields, ‘breaking fields of fate, fuck the raven queen

SHIIIIIT

a piece of dunemous

dodecha goes in tripod according to beau

chair facing chest

-------

cricks did this apparently

a little under 100 crowns guard killed, 4 civilians burned

soldiers just ‘slowed down’ 

left via tunnels and collapsed them behind them

-------

nott dont be a bitch and don’t get mad at caleb and call them ‘his people’

-------

cad picks up caleb and ‘youre not at fault here, youre the solution here. don’t let her anger... its not about you’

my HEART

-------

the chest is too big for the haver sack but fits in lorenzo’s bag of holding

-------

people have entered and exited since the attack and left the chair and stuff

-------

lots ‘o chairs

-------

nott needs to see ledith and uke (?) and not flip the fuck out

‘humble hobble’

nott looked like halfling plump face, braids, tan skin

edith- human older, grey hair, beady eyes, ever present smile like face

          LUKE IS HER SON!!!!!!!!!!!!!! CANNON

         *edit- rewatching this and seeing ever one’s faces “wheres my son?!” particularly laura/liam/travis just hurt. liam just looked up after a second and travis did his face he does and laura just stiffened and eyes and hand to face. caleb/liam who knows just hugs himself the rest of the convo. marisha is note taking and fuck the video off now

about 5 yrs old, blue eyes, tan/light brown skin, halfling

gave him the doll of the king

IM GONNA CRY NOW BYE

‘HES PROABLY DEAD NOW TOO LIKE I THOUGHT YOU WER’

yenza locks him away when ‘the mean lady comes by’

mean lady has pointy ears and comes often, luke was kept in room, luke was pushed out of the house and told to go somewhere safe so he ran to edith’s house and ‘everything was on fire’

‘im not strong enough to come back yet but know that [im stll thinking of you and i send things] and i hope dad sends them to you.“ fuck my heart

“in my heart i think he is” “well don’t die”

-------

the elves are gong to the ruins of yenza’s house

-------

marisha looked so betrayed

tal ‘i was waiting for the riegel shoe to drop’

WOW

HEY CALEB- WOOOW

-------

we’ll pick up hiiiere

fuck you sam and matt and everything abou this my heart is just FUCKKK

ummm so enjoy the frantic poorly taken notes <3

[illyriandreamer]

Heal Me Chapter One

She died down there, the sex, blood and tears ruined her. A mask she was too afraid to take off. She needed to heal and he knew that all too well.

Elvie of the Night Court, was the first daughter. And everything she did was for her family’s survival. Except she didn’t care about her own.

Azriel/OC {Mature Themes/Content}

Time had meant nothing to me for a while now, I don’t know how long I was in her clutches that afternoon, all I was to her was a slab of meat to please herself, to give her power. I only wished that I could mist her right in front of me, her body turn to atoms underneath my fingertips. My powers were fleeting, there was no possible way to carry out my dream of turning her to dust or shattering her mind to the extent so she couldn’t wipe the dribble off her own chin.

These were the thoughts that kept me sane while her hands caressed my body and violated my pale skin. She would smirk to herself as she tasted me, thinking that my body was reacting to her touch. It was the thought of her death that kept me slick between my legs. I glowered at her as if she was the only person in my life.

After my tongue had bought her to the edge multiple times that day I was released. I felt sick to my stomach and did she know it. That was her goal when my brother or I were whoring ourselves in her bed. She took everything we had and made it hers. To tear and create the little puppets that she loved so dearly. Amarantha liked to think she had control over us, and maybe me and Rhys were the only ones here that weren’t. This was a means to an end

I picked myself up off her satin sheets, picking up the sheer black veil gown she forced me to wear to her bed. She came up behind me and ran her fingers through my hair and shivered at her touch. She wrapped her fingers in my waist left waves. I wanted to tear away not caring if clumps of black hair went with it. She seemed to have some twisted obsession with pulling on my hair in bed

“My beautiful girl.” She whispered in my ear. “You’re so good at serving your queen.”  I closed my eyes forcing a smirk and turned to face her. I gave her a kiss on the corner of her mouth.

“Always.” My voice was not mine own, a mask. A mask that I wore in front of her, the hewn city, that I once wore in the presence of my father. I took a slow walk out of her suite, thinking about scrubbing my skin raw to get rid of her scent. I slammed the door behind me and leant against the wall. I wanted to scream, and shake, tear down the vile court she had built. I was being watched and I turned to the right of the corridor to see the filthy Attor staring me down. Its black eyes clung to the shape of my body. I needed an outlet and that creature had sent me over the edge.

I marched forward at the beast ready to use what I had to tear it limb by limb, not caring what Amarantha did to me for it. The few measly parts of my darkness that I had control over reached out as I boiled over. Graciously from no where my brother put a hand on my shoulder and shielded my exposed body from sight. His eyes raging violet he turned to the Attor with dictation in his voice.

“Why don’t you find somewhere else to fester. Unless you need to lose an eye for looking at Higher Fae like dinner?” The Attor didn’t dare to respond to Rhysand as he scrambled away on his beady little legs.

Rhys pulled his tunic off his body and put it over my head, I slipped in my arms and welcomed the comfort of fabric to my thinned paled body. Rhys pulled back my hair tied it back with a piece of leather from his wrist. I stood there and let Rhys look after me, because I knew that it helped him. When things came to their end, when we had a way out of this, Rhys needed to be okay and id just heal when I could.

“Did you get some sleep?” I asked as he guided me towards me room. People kept their heads down as we walked by. Both of us stood straight and wore our masks.

“Enough to keep you safe.” He kissed the top of my head.

My brother ran me a bath as I sat on the edge of the bed. I wanted to go home. I wanted to see the stars from the house of wind. I wanted Cass to hug me tightly in the morning. When I woke up in the night I wanted Az to be there hiding in the shadows. Rhys came into view and leaned against the door frame.

“I’ve ran you a bath. I’ve left some of my clothes in there, to try and get off the smell of her. But you’ll have to dress again for tonight.” Tonight, I don’t think my body could take even being around her even if it was around other people too. “No sleep actually. I’ll take care of her.”

“Rhys.”

“You’ve tired her out. It will just be charm.” He kissed my head. “For Velaris.” He whispered.

“For our dream.” I whispered back, and he left me to it.

I soaked in the bath for what seemed like hours, not that I cared. The water went cold and it wasn’t until Nuala and Cerridwen came to my room. I was silent as they helped me into the clothes that Rhys had left me and made me get into bed.

“High Lord gave us strict instructions you’re to rest tonight.” Nuala told me as she tucked me in like a child. I rolled my eyes as Cerridwen gave me a glass of wine.

“Do you miss him?” I asked the twins, my mask dropping in front of the half wraiths. “Tell me whose orders are better. Humour me?” I asked.

“The Shadows.” Nuala told me and walked to the door.

“The Shadows.” Cerridwen smiled as I took a sip of wine. She took the goblet and set it down for me. “Sleep well, my lady.”

Sleep was something that I wanted and yet feared. She was in my every dream, she was in my every waking moment. I couldn’t escape her. It felt like those hours before. The touch in my dreams felt just like I was awake. And so did the pain and punishments. As I slept I knew Rhys was receiving one or she would wait for me and terrorize us both, pull our subjects in front of us and torture them to the point of death and not even then could we help.

Rhys told me to sleep. I didn’t get much of it, I woke up drenched in sweat. I picked up  the goblet and forced the wine down my throat. To give me a buzz of any sort to stop feeling so broken. I climbed out of bed and I couldn’t smell her on me anymore. Rhys’ tunic had done its job. I pulled open the wardrobe and pulled out a soft silk dress. I ripped away the night court fabric replacing it with the navy blue high neck dress. I had no under garments, Amarantha liked to have easy access. I wanted to be sick at just the thought. I rested my hand on my aching stomach, I was hungry and I glanced at the doors. If I wanted to eat then I needed to leave the safety of my room. I brushed my hair through and pushed it back with a diadem.

I looked down to tie up the ribbon on my heels and when I looked up I jumped back at the person who was in mirror opposite. Today she had called my beautiful, but my eyes were hollowing, the tanned skin that ran in my blood was grey. The high cheek bones that anyone would die for was because my body was starving myself, of love, happiness, flying, and the stars. I was dying. I was not the same girl that walked in arms with her brother, followed by their court of nightmares. I could not seem weak. I had to seem like I was still that girl at least in front of her.

I walked to the ‘throne room’ passing a number of other courts people of the way, the mask of strength and power, and bitch wore on my face. As I came close to the high stone doors they opened to a girl bloodied and bruised dragged out by two guards.  I looked closely at the girl. She was human, and I felt sorry for her pain. I wanted to reach out and take it away. I rested my hands in front of me and walked again into the throne room.

There she was bright red hair and a tight red dress with red lips. Everything red for blood and power. I strutted towards her wearing a smirk and bowed gently at her then blew her a kiss as if I was the happiest girl in the room. She nodded at me and then I was free to walk towards Rhys.

He was sipping wine in the corner of the room surrounded by a few nightmare court people. When I walked over they stopped talking. Rhys was leaned against the wall with one hand in his pocket, he smirked as he sipped on his wine.

“Shoo.” I flapped my hands at them and they scurried off like mice leaving me and my brother in private. I took his wine off him, if I got drunk enough maybe it would be easier tonight. “Who was that girl?” I asked him. Rhys looked pained when I mentioned it.

“The girl from the Spring Court. She came back for Tamlin.” He answered. I looked at the body of Claire Beddor. Welts and all.

“I thought Claire was his human girl.” I frowned at him and he shook his head. I crossed my arms. “Rhys.”

“I thought she gave me a fake name, when the Attor turned up with a girl.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “I knew it wasn’t her. I lied to her said it was, now she’s come to claim Tamlin. Break the curse.” My heart stopped for a moment.

“We’re going home.” My voice cracked.

“Not until she completes three tasks of her choosing.” He pointed his chin towards the bitch lounging on the throne.  I looked back at Rhys.

“Think she can?” He nodded with a smile. A real smile on his face for once.

“Not without a helping hand.”

“Rhysand!” Amarantha called him over. He leaned down to kiss me on the cheek.

“Lucien needs to help her heal. Go tell him.” Rhys whispered. I nodded as he brushed past going over to red haired witch.

Things were beginning to change around here. Amarantha seemed to be on edge, even worse than the weeks leading up to the end of Tamlin’s 50 years. Everyone under the mountain could feel the change in her. That she was suddenly threatened by a human girl, maybe not realising this herself.

I shoved the glass into the arms of someone walking by and swayed my hips over to the broken soul Lucien. This girl better be worth it.

I tapped Lucien on the nose of his fox mask and trailed down to his lips where he grabbed my wrist and stared me down with his golden eye. I smirked.

“Id like you to unhand me now.” I asked sweetly. Keep the mask I told myself. He let my hand drop and drunk more wine. Seems like he was drinking to forget.

“What do you want Elvie?” He snapped.

“Me?” I placed my hand on my chest and feigned shocked. “What makes you think I want anything from you foxy?” He just stared at me. Fake it Elvie. “Okay, okay you got me.” I put my hands up in the arm at him. I leaned closer to him so my whisper would carry to his ear.

“What you’re going to do is simple. Guards change every three hours. So just before change over youre going to visit that little human girl, and you’re going to help her as much as you can. Do you hear me? I shouldn’t have to ask twice, youre quite fond of her too right?” I leaned back. Lucien nodded at me taking another sip. “Good foxy.”

I walked away leaving him to drown in his self-pity. I had enough of my own.

[lupus-sanguinem]

Dear friends and family.

This has been coming for a long time.

I've been feeling this was since a young age.

Throughout my teenage years it got worse and now my twenties even worse.

Everything is just so overwhelming and I mess things up over and over again. The reality checks I get are just to inform me I am better alone. Better away from people. Better dead.

I've wrote many of these. Some not taken seriously. Some never to be revealed. Some aimed at people some aimed at myself.

I'm serious about this one.

It's like a big black painful hole that sucks everything in, extinguishes flames, vaccuming your breath, collapsing all happiness, an entire being crumbling into the abyss.

I don't know who I am.

I never knew.

Everyone of you have a version of me in your memories, never once telling me. Never thought to care really.

I don't have the privilege of knowing me, or rather lack there of.

I am the person building me, but there's nothing there.

I just take on other people's personalities, likes, hates, hobbies just to feel love. Or a belonging.

I never felt like I belong anywhere.

This sad sick tortured world.

Doesn't deserve anything.

Ran by corrupt governments. Corrupt schools. Corrupt people. Corrupt children.

I wish I never been born.

The world is loveless. Cold. Cruel. And it made me the exact same.

I thought I was good. I thought I could conquer evil by just not doing anything just smile and be kind and love everything and everyone unconditional. But that world bullied me into being the same as it.

I was bullied by girls in school. Boys were repulsed by me. Teachers thought I wasn't doing enough, one yelled for not being loud enough.

I was shoved. Spat on. My hair pulled and ripped out. By girls my own age. I didn't understand, how could this happen over a stupid boy? Oh yes. Of course! Because he sexually assaulted them! And I had no idea! It was my fault I was warned but I ignored them for my own self interest. I'm toxic you see. My brain thrives in the drama because that's what it was taught.

The world is sexist and forces women to have children, banning abortions. Society forces it on you. You're not a real woman unless you have experienced child birth. What a load of bullshit. I hate the pressures. Sometimes I wish I was born a man.

But the feminist in me would also tell that thought to fuck off. We don't need more horrible men. We need good ones and women who are strong and have good careers and have the decision to choose what they want to do to their bodies.

Not men!

I blame my mother for how I am. She isn't a mother. Not mine. Not anymore. I hate her with a passion for how she treated me.

Letting strange men in our home, making me feel unsafe. Choosing them over me. Her daughter, whom she supposedly loved. But ever chance she got berated me.

Destroyed my trust by prying information from friends, boyfriends and family.

Filled me up with false promises of girly days and to repair our relationship.

She gave no shits. She felt okay abandoning that relationship and replacing it with having more kids. Those kids abused. Lying in the fifth and piss because she can't be bothered waking up after 2pm and an extra hour to wait for attention whilst she Chainsmokes 50. She's a trump supporter and an antivaxxer and anti-medicine. Scourge of the earth.

You are my reason for wanting death.

You are my soul reason wanting to be dead. You gave me these mental health issues and more learned toxic mechanisms.

You are the reason I had to navigate feminism alone without a female role model.

Now we move onto evil people.

Jordan. I was 14 almost 15 when you pestered me relentlessly about sex. You were 17 and 18, Crying everytime I said no. If I wanted to sleep you had to touch me with your sweaty slithering hands. I get flash backs every day. Mortified at how grossly you groomed a young teen.

You made the decision to tell my mother things.

You were my first downfall.

Laura

Again what the fuck. I'm too young. And then talk to girls even younger when I'm dating you? Also why the fuck would you expose a teen to porn and sex toys and cry about inserting them. Cry about wanting sex all the time.

Knuckles

Fuck off you. You caught me whilst I was vulnerable. You didn't respect me. You wanted to get back at a guy that was way more respected, gentlemanly and achieved than you. You thought it was okay to put my in a position to report him. You thought it was okay during my grief to touch me and pester me for sex and when I said no and placed boundaries you thought it was okay to sexually assault me as I'm asleep. Then not give any regard to me and still double down it was someone else's fault.

They sexually abused me and they should be accountable for my pain.

----------

Beth P. For the the longest time you have been my longest friend. But dropped me so many times because I wasn't exciting.

You'd ignore me.

Then only come back to me after break ups or when you pass through or childhood town.

Is it because my name is exotic somehow? Because everytime you met someone you had to show me off like a new purse? But never checked in to see how I was when there was countless times I checked in with you, sent you a card and gift and what did I get?

Ignored.

I know where I stand.

I love your family and want you to be happy. I just need to vent it out. Be happy. Don't make the same mistake. Check in on everyone. Or rather don't check in on them at all and make it clear you aren't friends if you can't mentally handle that.

I hope your baby is healthy and he is loved.

I hope you are loved by Dan. You are perfect for eachother. I hope you get married, I hope you have a flowy dress and perfect flowers and have the perfect vows. I love you for everything you have taught me and helped and supported me. I cherish a lot of of our memories both sincere and goofy.

Elanor. I'm sorry. Our friendship has grown since level 3 music and I love your humour and you are so talented. You have always listened to me and offered advice than you for that. I appreciate you so much. I appreciate our time at gigs, you could have taken anyone but you chose me and that have me hope and a spur of happiness and acceptance for a while. Thank you.

To my dear Father.

I used to be angry about the past and you leaving but that's not your fault. You needed to leave and rightfully so. I know you talked about if things were different you would have your children with you always and I love you for that.

I am still hurt from a lot of things you did when I was young but I also understand I was a little shit and deserved that.

I have trust issues I know and I'm sorry I never checked in with you. I never knew what to do. I love you.

To my brother's.

I love you all. You are all brave and strong and would do anything to protect me. But you can't protect me from myself. And I wish you could.

I wish you all successful careers. And happy love and partners and families.

Ride those bikes. Ride them on winding roads and straight roads. Hot days and okay days. Not wet days and maybe mildly windy days.

It's hard growing up the only female. I felt ignored and second best. But it's not your fault. Not any of your fault. I love you.

I don't think I have ever been chosen first. Just something that people say 'oh you'll do" or "you're not my ex but that's okay" "you're not this friends I like to party with but meh we'll work around it"

My anxiety stopped me from doing anything good in my life. Living in this shitty comfort bubble thinking things will come naturally.

No one taught me to help myself.

No one taught me to fix myself.

It's the hardest part but I'm so far gone from it.

I just want to disappear.

The pain I've caused, I'll only continue to carry it and more will be collected and it will continue to consume me.

Dear Anthony. I'm sorry my love, for everything.

But we part ways forever from here.

You can be free. You get get better.

Be better. Achieve all the good things without me holding you back and you don't have to hurt anymore. Soft bee. Beautiful crow.

All the hurt ends here.

All the hurt ends with me.

I don't want a funeral, cowards don't deserve them.

But I want everyone to listen to Life Eternal By Ghost at least once

The world won't miss someone that was always invisible. Used. Underappreciated. Cold and calloused.

[travelcenter-uk]

Exploring the scariest places on earth this Halloween!

Let the horror movies and chills wait this Halloween because we are ready to take you on a real horror ride with the scariest places on earth as perfect treats while you are trick or treating. This Halloween, test your courage with these places that will awaken the ”spookster” in you! Starting from the scariest places in the UK to some of the ghoulish scariest places in the world, we got the spell worked out and all ready to cast. Let the cauldron boil right away!

ISLAND OF DOLLS, MEXICO

If you watched Chucky and cannot stand dolls in your room anymore, you need to visit the Island of Dolls!

Located in the channels of Xochimilco, south of the center of Mexico City, it is home to one of the scariest places on earth; The Island of dolls is something that will make you look twice on the path you walk.

For those who have the perfect imagination of dolls being possessed, this Island can be the spookiest one you’ll visit this Halloween. Why? Let me give you more details! Dolls alone are sometimes creepy; imagine an Island full of them hanging on trees; scary, right?

The Island of Dolls in Mexico is full of dolls hanging on trees. You’re right; it can be just a normal ritual. But here’s the plot twist: these dolls were hung to ward off the spirit of a drowned child!

Later on, following that tradition, many dolls were hung all over the Island, which became popular tourist attractions.

Up for a challenge this Halloween 2021? Visit the Island of dolls and see you can spot any unnatural activities.

Aokigahara Forest, Japan

If you are Xylophobic, Aokigahara cannot just be your worst nightmare but is also the best place to finally challenge yourself to overcome your fear!

As the dense forest of Aokigahara whispers eerie stories in your ear, this forest trail is quite the Halloween adventure if you’re ready for the chills.Owning a setting as it can appear in upcoming horror movies, it has a suicide record of 50 to 100 a year; but that doesn’t stop the hikers from exploring this special Halloween 2021 edition on our list of scariest places in the world.

It’s not just the spooky elements of the Aokigahara forest that make it among the scariest places in the world. Its lush greenery-filled atmosphere is a popular hotspot for tourists as well; yes, we’re talking to the thrill-seekers reading this! I mean, getting lost in the woods can sound like an ‘adventure’ but have you ever had nightmares of getting lost in a ‘suicide forest’? If you are looking for a creepy journey that is off the radar on Halloween getaways, then this is something you should consider.

Did you know?

The Aokigahara Forest in Japan is also called the ‘Suicide Forest’ and was used as the setting for the American Supernatural horror film ‘The Forest’ directed by Jason Zada.

Bran Castle – Bran, Romania

There’s something very mysteriously attractive about vampires!

If you didn’t have a crush on Edward from the movie twilight, then it’s just me on the fans club.

Well then, if you do love vampire stories, make your way to the Bran Castle in Romania for a tour of the castle. Initially getting its identity from Bram Stoker’s “Dracula,” there sure might be other undiscovered blood-rushing stories waiting to be discovered on your visit.

Tread in the footsteps of the night stalker himself. Yes, it may sound mythical but let me tell you what the locals around the Bran Castle have to say!

The Romanian locals are said to have believed ‘Strigoi’ roamed the area after dark. They claim that the Strigoi were spirits that rose from the dead and fed on their victims’ blood to quench their thirst. If this isn’t bloody enough, then here’s the spinechilling fact: some of the Romanian locals still believe that ‘Strigoi’ were ‘normal people’ during the day but during nightfall, their souls left their bodies in sleep to torment the neighbours.

What do you know? You have plenty of chances to bump right into a ‘Strigoi’ on your visit to the Bran Castle. Ready for a thrill ride?

As the bats rush out, tie your shoelaces for a tour that will upgrade your regular spooky experiences to one epic Halloween 2021 adventure.

Tower of London, England

You know London for its mind-blowing architecture and history, but have you ever heard of the ghosts that reside in the Tower of London?

Yes! The Tower of London’s sinister reputation is what attracts millions of visitors to come to hear stories of imprisonment, torture, and execution.

It’s not just the illustrious stories of souls roaming in the tower that makes it one of the scariest places in the world. History speaks volumes of the number of executions made at the site, two of which have been recorded as Henry VII’s wives!

Each tower in the Tower of London has its own spooky and enthralling element that attracts innumerable visitors to date!

Your tour of this spooky tower of London can start from the East End, one of the battlefields where it is said you can hear ghostly footsteps pacing back and forth. Then you can explore the Byward Tower, Toppling Tower, the Wakefield Tower, the Salt Tower, the Martin Tower, and many other towers one by one until you reach the traitor’s gate.

Sounds like playing a good game of Resident Evil? Now that’s what makes this one of the scariest places on earth, and why you must visit it for Halloween 2021.

No one has been able to escape the Tower of London regardless of birthright or rank. So, as you shake off the dust of history from your shoes and leave this grim fortress to its memories and shadows, you might as well want to offer a prayer for their repose!

Salem, United States

We’re casting a spell on you to make you travel to Salem in the United States!

What’s a Halloween story without witches? Visit the witch house that holds its history as Salem’s only home with direct ties to the Witch Trials of 1692.

Salem’s witch trials began in the spring of 1692, when several girls in Salem Village, Massachusetts, claimed to be possessed by the devil and accused local women of being witches. Today, it is the real stories that runs in its past, that makes Salem one of the scariest places in the world to visit!

Intrigued to see what actually we are talking about? Drop a comment, we’ll tell you more!

On your visit to Salem, in a true magic circle, real witches will welcome you and share their wisdom. At Crow Haven Corner, you will perform a candle magic spell with candles made by a real Witch and a stone spell to receive a wish. You can also be a part of a blessing that will be performed at the Witch Trials Memorial in memory of the victims of 1692 by one of the witches herself!

We are sure you would love to make a visit and take a trip learning about its mystical history and admire the seventeenth-century architecture.

If you are ready, all you need to do is contact our travel experts, and they’ll get your magic broom ready for you to fly away!

Hill of Crosses, Lithuania

We’re going a bit out of the topic to talk about mystery, religion and oh hey, you can use this topic to cool off a bit from all of the spookiness!

This is not something you will see in the upcoming horror movies. Did the Crosses that appear mysteriously in the 14th century form a hill full of them, or did people put it there?

If this doesn’t stir your curiosity, we don’t know what will!

This spot was filled with metal or wooden crosses, icons of saints, and photographs of revered local patriots for nearly two centuries.

But we don’t really know how it started!

The Hill of Crosses still stands strong as more than 100,000 crosses decorate the place with a religious fervour. Curious much? Read more about this place here

The hill of crosses: sacred or Scary? You get to decide!

This Halloween 2021, visit and see this mysterious wonder as Dangling rosaries chime in the blowing wind will create the perfect soundtrack as you stroll around admiring this work of art.

Paris Catacombs, France

The only thing visible to your eye up to a certain distance is human skulls; if that alone doesn’t make it one of the scariest places on earth, then you have our gutsy award!

What makes this skull-filled adventure even scarier is not just the fact that these are actual human skulls, but the fact that several visitors who had been to the Paris Catacombs had gotten lost wandering alone in this creep-real. Not to worry, that’s why our guided tours help you get back safely!

To give you more insight into this place, here’s a Tragical story alert!

It all started when bodies from Paris’s cemeteries were moved down into the city’s former limestone quarries; this led to underground tunnels of 6 million bodies from its past.

This might be the perfect add-on to your Halloween getaway! What do you think?

Loftus Hall, County Wexford

Now we come in direct contact with a place where the devil himself set foot on! Ireland has its share of scariest places in the UK, everything from haunted castles to ancient satanic clubs that will make the ghost-hunter in you happy. Well, in this case, you will see the evidence he left. (We don’t say his name!) The Loftus Hall has stories of a girl named Anne, who haunts the place, not only being prepared for ghost sighting but something a bit creepier. Along with that, you get to see the mysterious mark on the roof, which the devil left before he flew through the roof. Visitors can visit via a pre-booked guided tour of the hall and see its eerie specialities. Why wait now? Get packing this Halloween 2021.

Hoia-baciu forest, Romania

A photograph of a “UFO” hovering over the forest in 1968 made many heads turn (mysterious alien music plays).

Making the atmosphere even more spooky while hiking the forest trails or biking is the curved trees that encompass the forest, and it doesn’t stop there!

From UFO sightings to a sinister-looking atmosphere, the hoia-baciu forest ticks all the boxes to make it one of the scariest places in the world.

If you are ready to witness this wicked forest, make your way to experience it.

Pendle Hill, Lancashire

The story starts from the 17th century where 10 witches were buried after being found guilty of the murder of up to ten people.

Now the spirits of the witches haunt the villages, and many people say about their supernatural encounters when in Pendle Hill.

If you feel like going witch hunting, then take picturesque walking routes and see what this experience offers! It might not be one of the scariest places on earth, but it is one of the most haunted places in England.

See if you can spot a pointed hat!

Chillingham Castle, Northumberland

This castle can make an appearance in the upcoming horror movies! With a past full of tragic stories, you’re in for an adventure of a lifetime when you visit.

People have witnessed tortured spirits and friendly ghosts in their experience with the Chillingham Castle, the most common ones are the ghost of a frail figure in white begging for water and the Blue Boy who haunts the pink room.

All of these stories together make this castle one of the most haunted places in England.

Do you feel like you are all set for a hair-raising journey? Then the Chillingham Castle awaits.

Halloween is just around the corner, and we’ve got you prepped up with the scariest places on earth! We’re Bringing you the spine-tingling experiences that will make your Halloween the best one ever. This Halloween 2021, make your spooky stories even spookier by planning your getaway with us. Happy trick or treating! (Evil laugh)

Read More:-  Exploring the scariest places on earth this Halloween!

This Article, Information & Images Source (copyright):- Travel Center UK Blog

[fuckyeahjamieandclaire]

It turns out love can conquer crow’s feet. Executive producer Maril Davis on the period drama’s decision to let love, not age lines, drive Claire and Jamie’s reunion arc despite a 20-year time jump.

There’s always been plenty to envy about Claire and Jamie, the star-crossed couple whose centuries-spanning romance propels the period drama Outlander. They’re capable, brave, and beautiful, blessed by an unbreakable bond, strong convictions, and even stronger sex drives. Since the series’ first season, their ear-pleasing accents, smoldering, soul-searching looks, telegenic love-making, and repeated rescues of each other’s lives have set a high standard, relationship-wise. But recent episodes of Outlander have introduced us to yet another quality we wish we had in common with Claire and Jamie: They’re almost immune to aging.

By their third seasons, many TV series settle into a rut—a familiar and welcome one, in the case of some comfort TV, but less so for hour-long dramas with fantasy elements, which traffic in twists and upheaval. But disrupting the status quo wasn’t a struggle for Outlander, an adaptation of Diana Gabaldon’s book series, which comprises eight novels (with a ninth on the way) and assorted shorter works. Through 37 episodes, the Starz series’ story is still closer to takeoff than landing, working through the third book in the sequence, 1993’s Voyager.

The events of Voyager dictated an unorthodox interlude for a program that’s centered on the interplay (and intercourse) between two charismatic and chemistry-laden leads: an extended separation and a mutual 20-year time jump. At the end of Season 2, the pregnant Claire (a 20th-century English nurse who in the first season accidentally slips into the past through, um, a mystical stone) and Jamie (her 18th-century, red-haired highlander lover) are forced to break up by the impending Battle of Culloden, at which Jamie, a Jacobite rebel, expects to be (and nearly is) killed.

To protect their soon-to-be-born daughter Brianna, Claire (played by Caitriona Balfe) returns to the 1940s. Believing that Jamie (played by Sam Heughan) did die, she does her best to move on, relocating to Boston, raising Brianna, becoming a doctor, and growing apart from her first husband, Frank, who’s caring and attentive but lacks Jamie’s highland lilt, kilt collection, and Men’s Health cover physique. Jamie, meanwhile, survives battle, torture, and imprisonment (nothing new for him), grows and shaves a big beard, fathers a son, pivots to printing and smuggling, and gets married again out of loneliness, all while carrying an eternal torch for Claire. Midway through the third season, after almost five episodes apart, they reunite in the mid-1760s, two decades older but no less in love—and, curiously, looking a lot like they did the last time they were together.

“I wanted to look—well, the same as when you last saw me,” Claire says with some trepidation during their first conversation, admitting that she’s dyed away the single gray streak that had appeared in her hair in earlier, Boston-centric scenes. Mission accomplished, Claire. Neither member of Outlander’s leading duo looks any worse for wear after 20 years of imprisonment, parenthood, and pining for lost love. 

For Outlander’s creators, the time jump presented a production dilemma, not because of the story (which Gabaldon had already plotted out) or setting (most viewers aren’t well-versed in the intricacies of 1740s vs. 1760s style), but because of the actors’ appearances. In real life, a two-decade difference isn’t invisible, no matter how much St. Ives Oatmeal and Shea Butter Lotion you lather on because of Balfe.

Heughan, 37, and Balfe, 38, were both 34 when the series premiere aired in 2014, but their characters were considerably younger. “Jamie’s kind of early 20s, Claire is late 20s when it starts,” Outlander executive producer Maril Davis says by phone. Three years passed between Claire’s first time jump back to 1743 and the Battle of Culloden, which, Davis says, would put both of them in their “mid- to later-40s after the [20-year] time jump.” Although the creators talked about shortening the story’s time jump to reduce the need to alter the actors’ appearance, they found that they couldn’t do it without omitting too many plot points from the characters’ time apart.

Aware that the time jump was looming, the producers started doing screen tests last season with Balfe and Heughan, in consultation with head of hair and makeup Annie McEwan, who had worked on Season 4 of Game of Thrones before joining the Outlander crew. After experimenting with various looks, the creative team decided, essentially, that both Balfe and Heughan were too hot to convincingly tamper with by obscuring their actual features. “We have two actors who happen to be incredibly beautiful people,” Davis says. “It is hard to make them look bad, damn them.” Originally, the pair’s first post-reunion sex scene featured a reference to stretch marks, but the writers lost that line from the script, Davis says, when the makeup crew informed them that stretch marks “don't read very well on camera.”

Even apart from the specific challenge of wrinkling, graying, and thickening two age-resistant actors, the transition from 20s to 40s is a particularly tough one. “It's hard to make young people look incrementally older,” Davis says. “It's obviously a little easier—and I put ‘easier’ in quotes—if you're aging someone up from like 30 to 80. … With two actors who look so young anyways in their real life, we realized that we couldn't do major jumps without it looking fake, and also taking a lot of extra time in hair and makeup, as well as using a lot of extra prosthetics.”

For Davis, a veteran of more explicitly sci-fi (and more makeup- and prosthetic-reliant) productions such as Star Trek and Battlestar Galactica, Outlander’s understated approach to the aging process didn’t come intuitively. “There were some times that I said to our hair and makeup team, ‘Can we go farther? Because you can't read some of these lines that you're painting on camera,’” Davis says. “And they were horrified. They were like, ‘Are you kidding? Oh my god, we can't go any farther.’ It's interesting, because you also have to take the advice of people that have been in the business doing the hair and makeup a long time, knowing that they can only go so far until they feel uncomfortable because it doesn't look real anymore.”

In addition to the aging uncanny valley, there’s the time cost to the talent and crew to consider. A heavier hand on the cosmetic side—on top of the prosthetic flogging scars already applied to Heughan’s back in shirtless scenes for much of the series’ run—would mean much more time in makeup chairs, staring blankly into mirrors as fake years and real hours add up. Though according to Davis, Balfe and Heughan, who were frequently consulted, never expressed any reservations about hiding their youth under veneers of age. “They're both very game for whatever we want to do, and so this isn't a vanity thing,” she says. “Neither of them, I don't think, at any point has ever said, ‘I have to look good, so don't make me look too old.’”

This was a weighty decision, because the ramifications for the series could extend far into the future. Unlike some shows or movies that might insert a brief flash-forward in a single scene or episode, Outlander is committed to the time jump for the long term. Whatever aging the crew applied to Balfe and Heughan now would sentence them to the same look for years to come on a series that may still be relatively early in its run (which already has been renewed for a fourth season). That’s not only a nuisance, but potentially an acting inhibitor, as Davis says Heughan discovered while wearing his wild beard in the third season’s second episode. “If you have something on your face like that, sometimes it's a little harder to talk, you're more aware of it, it takes you out,” Davis says. “So all of these things are factors, and same with if we were getting into heavy prosthetics to make actors appear much older than they are.”

The end result of all the discussion and screen tests is a difference so subtle that you have to squint to see it—just like the new, older Jamie has to squint to see small text without wearing his reading glasses. Specs aside, he looks almost unchanged. “With Sam, we've kind of weathered him, adding more shading to his face,” Davis says. “We've got some lines that the hair and makeup department have put in themselves, and then greying at the temples for him, as well as with Caitriona. We realized because her skin is also so young that we'd have to sell a lot of it with the gray in her hair.” Of course, even that gray is gone now, at least temporarily, although Davis says its absence stems from an impulse to portray Claire’s humanizing insecurity, rather than a need to preserve the stars’ romance-novel looks (which she acknowledges are part of the show’s appeal). “So much of our talk about appearance is motivated from a character standpoint,” she says. “I don't think we ever go, ‘Oh my god, they have to look amazing because this show is trying to sell a fantasy element.’” But who’s to say that the mystical stones don’t have anti-aging effects?

In navigating the time jump, the producers’ overriding desire was to avoid distracting the audience by going overboard on aging. “You don't want to be taken out of the moment, sitting back watching at home,” Davis says. At times, though, the lack of aging is its own sort of distraction. My wife and I giggled through one supposed-to-be-tender scene as the script tried to sell us on these nearly identical-looking 30-something specimens as people pushing 50. “I don’t look like an old man?” Jamie asks self-consciously, shortly before exposing his still-chiseled chest. And Claire, after completely disrobing to reveal her youthful frame, tells an admiring Jamie, "You must really be losing your eyesight." Nobody’s buying it, guys.

The aging-related dialogue is less jarring when it alludes to the absurdity of the situation, as when Claire marvels to Jamie, “Most men in their 40s have started to go soft around the middle. You haven't a spare ounce on you,” or when she greets the family lawyer by exclaiming, “You look exactly the same!” (No Battlestar fat suits here.) In other scenes, though, the actors convincingly convey the passage of time through emotion, even though they both remain outwardly radiant. “We had so many discussions with Caitriona and Sam about this internal aging, because some of it, you are trying to sell this gravitas of 20 years of loss through their acting, which I think they do so well,” Davis says.

The best asset Outlander has in hand-waving its characters’ immutability is an audience that’s willing to suspend disbelief. “Let's be honest, we could've kept these two apart for a week and it would've seemed like an eternity,” Davis says. “I think for the fans it probably seemed like 100 years—for us as well. So I don't think we needed to add to that at all.”And if—like a lot of the Outlander faithful—you’re the sentimental type who doesn’t mind some soapiness, you’ll accept that love can conquer crow’s feet. “I think in a weird way, that 20 years just kind of faded away when they saw each other again,” Davis says. “In some ways, it was like so much time had passed, and in other ways it was like no time had passed at all because that love had never died.”

With the reunion episode’s semi-awkward aging exchanges behind it, Outlander soon stops dwelling on appearances: The following week, Jamie fireman’s carries a man from a burning building, and the week after that, not-so-newlyweds Claire and Jamie tear off their clothes and writhe around on the floor. Most Outlander watchers wouldn’t have it any other way.

Judging by the books (spoilers!), there’s still a chance that we’ll see an actually old-looking Claire and Jamie in future seasons. “If we're lucky enough to do all the books, they're in their 60s in the current books,” Davis says. “So we do want to also have somewhere to go, and we do need to use, as a base, our two actors, who are very young, and so we want to be with them on this journey.”

But based on this season, don’t be surprised if the 60-something couple doesn’t look a day over 45. “Time doesn’t matter, Sassenach,” Jamie says in Season 3’s sixth episode, using his pet name for Claire. “You will always be beautiful to me.” And also, most likely, to everyone watching at home.

[noeyes-noproblem]

November 19th 1945

Content warning for the following: Death, Cult activity, Drugging, Murder, Demon, Summoning, Torture, Homophobia.

This is my longer write up of the night Jack died, and became the Jack he is now. 

The leaves crushed under the feet of the young man as he walked down the path he’d walked hundreds, maybe even a thousand times when he was younger. The friends he grew up with who had moved out of state a few short years ago. His first crush being one of them. The way the boy smiled and laughed always made Jack have butterflies in his stomach. Those days seemed so much better now. 

Jack wanted to unwind for a few hours. He’d had a test that day, and wanted to take a moment to look back on his childhood. For these few short moment it felt like he the past was so close he could reach out and touch it. 

He wondered if word had gotten out to them about the stories. The fact that he kissed another man in his class. Of course, a lot of the town knew already. If they were still here they would definitely know. He wondered if they would care, or if they would whisper about it behind his back like others did. 

Of course, there were a few who didn’t treat him any differently. It was nice to know. 

He looked up at the trees into the darkening autumn sky, only visible through the gaps in the trees where leaves have fallen. The moon was full, and it let small spots of light to shine down through the trees. Though that alone was not enough for Jack to see everything. 

In the shadows he could see the outline of the treehouse that brought him years of memories. Sitting with his friends, joking, playing, doing homework. It felt nice remembering those days. He looked at the treehouse as he got closer. It was weird to him how he thought it was so high up back then.

“I wonder” he said out loud to himself. Jack reached up his arms and grabbed onto the old worn wood that was once the floor of the small, rickety building. And- CRACK- The wood broke and Jack dropped back down. 

He was able to shake it off much easier than he was as a child. He still remembered the sound his arm made when he broke it all those years ago.

SNAP.

That- wasn’t him. It came from behind him. Jack spun around, expecting to see a wild animal as he flashed his light into the foliage. But all he saw was- someone in a cloak.

“Hey” he shouted “I see you there! I have a knife.” He did have one, he knew that it could be dangerous to be in the woods alone at night. As he shouted he reached for it.

Before he could react footsteps rushed up behind him, a strong hand ripped the knife from Jacks finger tips and tossed it to the ground “not anymore you don’t” a voice hissed into his ear. Then a cloth was forced over his mouth and nose. 

Jack thrashed to break free but wasn’t able to, the person holding him was far to strong, and held him with so much force Jack was sure something would break. The last thing he saw before he blacked out a was more people stepping out from behind him. Some holding lanterns as they walked past him. 

A sharp pain woke Jack up. He tried to move but was tied to a plank on the ground by his wrists and ankles. As his eyes came into focus, he saw one of the cloaked people looming over him their hands harshly grabbing his head as they strapped it down as well “ssh” they whispered, running their cold fingers down his cheek “this will be easier if you don’t move or say anything. The elders might even give you a chance to repent if you’re good.” They patted his cheek they gave the strap a harsh tug causing Jack to yelp in pain.

“I- I don’t know what’s going on” he whimpered “someone please explain. I- who are you? What do you want?” 

A cloaked person walked over to him and looked down. Jack guessed he was one of the elders, from the fact this one had a gold rope around their robes. “You have given into the most depraved of temptations” the person hissed “only the darkest of souls would allow themselves to be with someone of the same sex.”

Jacks eyes widened “this- this is a joke RIGHT? Some sort or conversation- fear- thing?” 

The Elder shook their head “I’m afraid now, my boy” they said “it’s too late for you. So we have decided to take it upon ourselves to use your rotten soul to please Kissius. The one who feeds on darkness.” They knelt down beside Jack. He could feel their eyes staring straight through him, despite then being hidden. 

“Are you cockeyed” Jack shouted “this isn’t going to work! You’re just going to kill me.”

The Elder laughed “so there’s nothing lost” they said “trust me, you ain’t gonna wanna be alive once we are done here. Death will be a mercy.” 

Just as as that left the mans mouth, Jack watched as someone walked up to him with a grapefruit spoon in their hand, someone following behind with a black candle, dripping wax. 

They held the spoon over the small flickering flame as the elder began chanting. 

“See no evil. Burn away the sins. Speak no evil. Punish the filth. Bring upon a new world. Turn light into dark. See no evil, but bare its mark.”

The spoon plunged into one eye, and Jack let out a scream of agony, and tried to break away but was unable too. As soon as it was out, he could feel the wax start to drip in. Before they could do the second eye, Jack passed out from pain. 

When he woke, something had been placed over his mouth  and everything hurt. He couldn’t see anything but he could hear everything around him. It was clear the people were standing around him, chanting something in unison. One by one, they all took turns sticking something into his flesh. A gift to their god Kissius. There were about.. 20.. no 30 of them. 

“Now, the heart” a voice echoed, shouting the the sky. He knew it was the leader “stop the heart, and put end end to the evil for another 50 years.” He heard the person walk up to him, and pludng a knife deep into his chest.

He was still for a few seconds. Then- one by one the straps holding him down exploded off. He felt his skin grow over all the wounds, like thick leather. His nails turned into long dark claws as he slowly got to his feet. 

Jacks mouth parted, showing rows of long sharp teeth as he let out a horrific screech and attacked.  

The next morning, he sat on the ground in the woods, covered head to toe in blood and with bodies surrounding him. 

He reached his hands up to his face and felt around it. Where his mouth had been seemed to have sealed over. He looked around and slowly stood up. He coudn’t see anything. At all. And yet, he knew were everything was. What happened to him? Why him? 

A voice called out from the distance, calling for him. It was his mother. 

“Mom” Jack called out, though the voice didn’t come from his mouth “mom I need help!”

He could sense her running towards him. But what she saw wasn’t the son that she knew. 

Before her stood a beast, clothing torn and bloody that looked like what Jack has been wearing the night before. But it’s skin was blue, and clung to his bones. Black goo leaked from it’s eyes and it came towards her. It’s tail drooped on the ground. 

She let out a horrified scream and picked up a rock throwing it at the beast “get away” she cried “no- you monster! You monster! You killed him!”

Jack froze him place, and let himself get hit in the head hard. Then- he turned around and fled deeper into the woods without saying anything else. 

Jack Terrence Edwards was never seen again. 

It didn’t take long for his story to spread. A young man, killed by a cult. Only one survivor our of them all, the survivor left the cult after that and refused to tell the story for 20 years. Once he did, he never spoke a word. 

Stories of Eyeless Jack, as the youth started calling him, would come up now and then. And as the internet became a thing, and grew so did stories of him. Most of them false. But he didn’t care.  He preferred some of them to the real thing anyways.