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terrific-togekiss · 3 years

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Rewriting Sonic Characters into other Continuities: Cosmo The Seedrian

With the 18th anniversary of Sonic X not too long ago, many fond memories of the anime started to resurface, as a question begun to ponder...

What if Cosmo The Seedrian was in other Sonic related media?

She was one of the most memorable parts of the show in my opinion, mostly due Season 3 of Sonic X being an original story. With that out of the way, let's get started!

These are just rough ideas and I would love to see some feedback!

Classic!Cosmo: About a month after the events of Sonic CD, Little Planet appears above Never Lake for its monthly visit to Earth. Sonic and Tails decide to visit and are surprised to find a growing population of plant people known as Seedrians.

As it turns out, Dr. Robotnik used the power of the Time Stones to reverse the Seedrians into the Miracle Planet flowers and seeds, before they had a chance to fight back.

Now that Dr. Robotnik is gone, they live in peace and praise the blue hedgehog that saved their people.

As Sonic is enjoying the festivities, Tails bumps into a shy Seedrian known as Cosmo. They become quick friends, bonding over sciences (Cosmo is more a botany genius in this continuity) and Tails even takes her for flight on the Tornado.

Sonic and Tails promise to visit her every time Little Planet comes back to Earth, to see their new friend.

This Cosmo is more quiet and keeps to herself, but the moment you get to know her she talks all the time.

Modern!Cosmo: The Cosmo of this era is a lot older and more independent, as she now leaves Little Planet on her to explore the Earth more, fascinated by this planet.

I'm addition to other Seedrians being NPCs in any open world Sonic games.

This becomes a running theme for Sonic games where she's off exploring and being in awe of the planet's flora, or just hanging with either Tails, Cream or Amy.

During Sonic Heroes, she would form a team with Might, Ray and herself. Since the three of them love nature so much and would be known as Team Naturals. Mighty being Power, Ray being Flight and Cosmo being Speed. The Team Blast involving the three of them homing attacking a series of giant seed bombs.

In Sonic Riders, she has an extreme gear board called "Mother Nature's Embrace", when you unlock her.

During Sonic Unleashed, her and Tails were testing Gaia energy on the local flora and fauna, to see if stopping Dark Gaia was the only cure to possessed people.

With small lovey dovey moments between her and Tails in the games, since we all know about the mandates. Or just a friendship if they're that strict and carry over to other characters.

During Sonic Generations, she's the NPC for the stage "Tidal Tempest" from Sonic CD and remarks if Sonic found the Time Stones again, if Classic Sonic saved her.

During Sonic Forces, she's in charge of food production in the Resistance, due to her power over plants.

The Cosmo of the Modern Sonic games is more akin to her in Sonic X, except with higher self esteem and doesn't have motion sickness. She can be rather clumsy, very kind, gentle and quiet, with a preference for not fighting unless necessary and a bit of a temper. She has a huge passion for botany and medicinal sciences, with gardening being a hobby of hers.

Unfortunately, she doesn't always know her own strength, as Seedrians are born with tremendous strength for housework and helping environments.

SatAM!Cosmo: A ship full of an alien species is soaring through the galaxy, with one mission in mind: find a new home.

They are known as Seedrians.

Once they arrive on a planet that reminds them of the a Mobius Strip in its composition, only to be attacked by robots.

Dr. Robotnik intercepted the space ship transmission and plans to roboticize these innocent aliens.

The Freedom Fighters intervene later on and are only able to save the kids, as the adults are all roboticized into robots. That destroy nature, ironically enough.

Cosmo becomes quick friends with the Freedom Fighters, relating on being orphans and absent parents that are now robotic slaves.

She doesn't really get out on the field like the rest of them, but she does help liven things up for the other kids at Knothole.

Underground!Cosmo: A forest spirit that takes a liking to music along with her sisters, as Sonic Underground makes their trek through Mobius.

I can see a single episode where Robotnik wants to use their powers as ornaments for a fancy gala... only for Sonic, Manic and Sonia to show up and save the day.

Fleetway!Cosmo: There is a legend of a race of warriors that travel across time itself collecting the finest flora, knowing of their extinction in the present day.

They are known as Seedrians.

These legends are found on Miracle Planet... a home to them for a couple of centuries.

Dr. Eggman of course desires this time travel technology for himself and for better use than "flower collecting."

Unlike the time Eggman gained control over all time via the Omni Viewer, he uses the time traveling alien technology to make up a fake history of him as an ancient, prophesied warrior to all of Mobius.

(It's also revealed that the Seedrians disappeared mysteriously and Cosmo has been working like crazy to carry on their work and find her people)

Only for Cosmo and the Freedom Fighters to put a stop to Eggman.

The Cosmo of this continuity is a lot more business oriented and moves from one task to the other, with little time for not following a structure. Underneath it all, is a scared girl that just wants to see her family again, that would never wish anything like that on others.

She bonds with Knuckles over losing your people and spends most visits with him.

Archie!Cosmo: In the Pre-Super Genesis Wave Universe, The Seedrians are seen as a myth to all of Mobius. Mostly due to Little Planet only appearing above Never Lake once a year every month.

The people Albion know of their existence, due to the Time Stones and The Seedrians both being a closely guarded of theirs.

The Seedrians of this continuity are more of a race of peace keepers and warriors, training under Nicholas O'Tyme and the mysterious Knights of Kronos.

Cosmo's father, Lucas develops a curiosity for Mobius and leaves with many other Seedrians to discuss alliances. With Lucas and his wife Earthia meeting the Acorn Kingdom.

Which goes as well as you would think.

Only for Dr. Robotnik to show up he seizes his grip over the planet.

Cosmo and her sister Galaxina go into hiding, along with many other children of the Seedrian adults. Earthia calls upon the powers of nature to to create an entire island, that exists outside of time.

Dr. Robotnik picks up the strange energy waves and attacks the island. With The Freedom Fighters showing up and turning the tide of battle on Robotnik.

Cosmo and Galaxina join the Freedom Fighters, with Cosmo becoming quick friends with Sally due to looking up her confidence and being in a similar situation, but choosing to stand for what's right.

Galaxina is more a mathematics genius and becomes good friends with Rotor and doesn't always get along with Antoine since he always wants play hero and she prefers a more grounded approach to things.

The Cosmo of this universe loves to explore, is a botany and medicinal genius and has a habit of casually mentioning random historical events, due to expose to the Time Stones. She's very kind to others and comes off as very quiet, but doesn't stop talking when you get to know her.

Due to her plant like nature and physiology, she loves Rock and Roll music, leading to her bonding with Sonic.

Her and Tails have a bit of thing going on, but are both shy around it and Tails doesn't have the best experience with relationships. The two of them hookup during Sonic's voyage/"death" in space with Tails' parents being in full support.

A rift is formed between her and her father, as him and many other Seedrians want to keep and redesign Robotnik's technology, while she sees it as ghosts of a rather scary past.

She also discovers the Krudzu and her kind nature surprising leads to her quelling the Krudzu, turning it on the side of the Freedom Fighters.

After the Super Genesis Wave, Cosmo is a resident of Little Planet that leaves to help the Freedom Fighters fight Dr. Eggman. Her personality is more or less the same as the old universe. Her parents stay back and organize Seedrian-Earth relations.

Nicole causes her to remember various events from the old universe like helping prepare for Bunnie and Antoine's wedding, the disagreements with her father, when she first kissed Tails, "befriending" the Krudzu and almost dying by saving most of Knothole and turning into a Chaos energy filled Tree.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic x #cosmo the seedrian #classic sonic #modern sonic #satam sonic #archie sonic #sonic underground #taismo #tailsmo #miles tails prower #dark oak #the metarex #long post #terrific togekiss

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caguaydreams · 4 years

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A thorough analysis on why Vah Medoh’s dungeon theme makes me want to cry

Yep, that’s an accurate title. Hi there! do you have a moment to hear about Breath of The Wild soundtrack? posting for yet a third time in hopes that tumblr won't hide it. I'm so tired

What started as a quick and harmless post, pretending to simply point out a couple of things, rolled downhill, out of my grasp and turned into a massive snowball of a short essay. How and why did this happen? Well, I assume a lot of people know about this song, and know what I’m talking about when I say that it makes me tear up and sob uncontrollably with every change in key as the seconds tick by and I spiral down into a dwell of misery from where I struggle to find the exit and to later recover.

……No?…..At the VERY LEAST it makes you a little uncomfortable. And I state this with much certainty, because after reading hundreds of comments everywhere online where this song is present, I picked up on a vast majority of people who expressed to feel the same way I did when it came down to our current music subject. See, statistics don’t lie… normally. So, naturally, my intrigue got the best of me. I wanted to find out exactly why this soundtrack was mercilessly stirring up everyone’s emotions, so I caved in and we ended up with this.

Buckle in, fellas.

Out of all Divine Beasts’ dungeon themes, Vah Medoh’s is the one that I can’t sit through. Not without growing antsy and wanting to turn it off as soon as possible. I find it genuinely difficult to listen to, and it’s not only because Revali is my favorite character and the song is just, plainly put, depressing, mind you.

We’ll start from 0 terminals activated.

It opens up similar to the other three dungeon themes; the pace is slow but eerie, gives off the impression that it sounds broken somehow. Something is off here, and it’s easy to figure out what that is from the get go: you’re basically entering a majestic, ancient, mechanical mausoleum, where everything went terribly wrong a century ago. Someone is gone, someone you knew, someone who was probably close to you, but it’s impossible to be sure. You don’t remember a thing, and this entire ordeal is confusing at best, and terrifying at worst. It’s your duty to make things right again.

It’s the same for all four Divine Beasts upon entering, save for the obvious little differences that separates them from each other and make them unique. Ruta’s is played on a major key, adhering to a sense of hopefulness. Naboris’s begins with a startling smashing of the piano keys, much like thunder of a sudden lighting strike. And Rudania’s theme starts threatening, dangerous, like scalding lava.

But now, back to Vah Medoh. The tone here is… alienating. The dissonant chords are all over the place, and feel disconnected, cold. It’s almost as if someone doesn’t want us to be here, or just like the elusive key, our presence is unexpected. Fitting, for a Divine Beast that’s high above the land, impossible for most to reach, yet we somehow made it. Apart from the piano, we have the occasional hint to rito culture, in the shape of a short, synthetic version of the rolled chords at the very beginning of Rito Village. A quiet reminder of where we come from. There is also, of course, the morse code distress signal, but we’ll talk more about that later.

As soon as this formal introduction is over, we finally get to the more, say, intimate stuff. Oh, and wouldn’t you know, it’s just tragic.

One terminal activated.

There’s no better short way I can describe this passage, other than anxiety-inducing. Especially when the strings come into play, and there’s two reasons I can think of why I feel this is an important thing to point out:

1- Characters and Symbolism.

I tend to associate stringed instruments, all of those which compose the violin family, with rito culture. And Revali, most specifically. In Creating a Champion we can see the early concept art and designs for all or most major characters in the game, and Revali’s highlighted rough design might be the one that changed the most throughout proper development of the character, out of all champions. He looks quite different from our usual depiction of him, it’s fascinating. What truly catches my eye, however, is the design of his bow.

You thought bird puns were bad? Oh boy, how do you feel about Revali having a bow that looks like a violin/cello/viola??? And do you need a bow to play it also??? Like, is it even an instrument or it’s nothing more than a mere fashion statement?-

Anyway. I believe this was originally going to be a not-so-subtle wink to rito culture, being heavily musically inclined as we can see and conclude for ourselves. Perhaps Revali was going to be a musician as well, now how cool it that!

Needless to say, the idea was eventually scrapped. But one detail I am CERTAIN carried over to the character we know and love today(okay not all of us love him but seriously if you dislike him why are you still here lol): strings. The association between bows(weapon) and stringed instruments, aside from being a quite clever and creative one, goes beyond the concept art and remains strong as part of Revali’s character, settling for having a presence via score. After all, Revali is a master of archery, so in that way it makes sense to keep strings as symbolism to reinforce the idea and drive it home.

But can you guess what other thing Revali excels at? That’s right: flying. He’s the only rito we know of who successfully managed to take advantage of wind currents and bend them to his will. And do you know what musical instruments are often used to evoke the feeling of flight and gale? If you thought of bowed strings, you’re correct! Unfortunately, I couldn’t find much support on this topic online, so you’ll have to take my word for it. I am most certain that this is fact, although not something worth discussing on the Internet, by the looks of it.

Anyhow, violins/cellos/etc are ever-present whenever we’re close to Rito Village or dealing with a rito related mission. Attack on Vah Medoh, for example, features a sequence of strings that is meant to evoke the strong winds we’re fighting against in that particular moment(*). Another great example is The Final Trial, the song that plays at the shrine of resurrection nearing the end of the Champions’ Ballad. Preceding the activation of each terminal, you’ll notice that a new instrumental element joins the crowd: the first one corresponds to the tambourines, related to the zora and Mipha; the second one are strings, referencing the rito and Revali, etc. I tell you, the moment I heard this during the trial I almost started crying like a baby. And, although strings have a lot to do with Rito culture in general, they tie most strongly to Revali, since he was the champion of his people, and his legacy carried over throughout the years. His accomplishments became material of folk tale, a legend, a source of pride and inspiration for the village. And let’s not forget that, at the end of the day, Revali is the crucial and foremost connection Link has to this place. Other than appeasing Vah Medoh, Link’s responsibility here is to free his past fellow champion’s spirit from Ganon’s malice. The soundtrack is referencing Revali first, and by extension his devotion to his home.

With all that in mind, let’s move on to our next point:

2- Nowhere to Go.

You shoot the canons, land on top of the Divine Beast, do what you gotta do, activate the first terminal and the soundtrack goes off unannounced. Like some sort of surprise anxiety bomb. The rhythm turns fast, the melody erratic, incredibly desperate in its execution. There’s this sheer despair, fear, this feeling of suffocation almost, which are so well achieved in this particular piece.

And that is, partially, because a quite familiar resource is used here as well; one that we’ve heard before in songs such as Rito Village or Revali’s theme. You could even think of it as a motif: two notes are played in an semitone interval, repeatedly and in quick succession. For the sake of later convenience, we’ll call this the Flight Motif, now let me explain why. In Breath of The Wild, this semitone loop is often followed up by some form of resolution. In Rito Village, formerly known as Dragon Roost Island(**), that resolution consists of a graceful descent of the melody, from a high that was built up previously during the motif. On the other hand, if you listen to Revali’s theme, you’ll notice that the interval repeats itself for a couple of times as thought charging up, to then rise fast and determined into a triumphal reprise of Revali’s distinctive assigned melody. This juxtaposition supposes the difference that lays between common rito flight and Revali’s trademark ability; both musical sequences are speaking of flight, albeit in two different languages depending on the way to achieve it. While the rito traditionally use their wings to glide and let themselves get swayed by the air currents Buzz Lightyear style, Revali takes full advantage of his flying capabilities to somehow create an updraft of his own, rising meters above the ground whenever he likes or needs to.

So, now that I layed out my base of thought when focusing on the strings, this’ll be much easier to explain. We’ve settled what the instruments themselves are a symbolic representation of Revali, in this scenario specifically. He was the only one inside Vah Medoh, and the score is, in a way, a retelling of what we can vaguely assume went down here during the Great Calamity, as much as it is what sets the tone and ambience for Link’s mission. But what are we hearing exactly? What we talked about, the Flight Motif, is being repeated nonstop. And that’s the thing, remember how I mentioned that this sequence usually finds resolution at the end? Well. Inside Vah Medoh,… it never does. The melody picks up in numerous occasions, but it’s not nearly as graceful, or calculated, as we’ve grown used to by now. It gets tangled and lost, and then inevitably falls to the ground in disarray. The pattern repeats itself, reaching higher after a handful of failed attempts, but no matter how much it tries, the cycle never ends. What used to tell us about flying and freedom in the skies, has morphed into an almost sinister musical incarnation of a tornado, and there is no way out of this trap. What do you think it must feel like to mindlessly flap your wings against wind currents so strong and violent, that it is impossible to get anywhere nearby, let alone take off every time you lose your balance. Or every time you’re shot down. On top of that, trying to aim and fight back in whatever short breaks and opportunities you get, at an enemy that’s much more powerful and relentless, who’s using your own element as a weapon to destroy you… it’s a risk Revali surely had to take in order to put up a fight. Even knowing full well that the odds were not in his favour, that he was most likely going to lose this battle, that he was going to die. Let that sink in. I’ll skip the activation of the second terminal, since there’s barely any change registered in the theme in general. So-

Three terminals activated.

I know this post is supposed to be a breakdown of the song purely, but that doesn’t mean there’s no place for a little theorising, and the following scrutiny is also quite relevant for our discussion. Bear with me for a bit. I’ve read almost everywhere about people’s most common interpretations on the Divine Beasts SOS signals, and how everyone thinks that Revali’s coming in last (a few seconds later than the other champions) has to do with him holding on for longer. Or, also, overconfident as he was, it means that the idea of calling out for additional support didn’t cross his mind until it was too late, and that’s why the beeping sounds more frantic and panicked than the others’ when it does appear. After giving it some thought myself, I’m betting on the latter option holding more ground, and that’s not all. I want to touch upon a detail of the piece that I never acknowledged was there until very recently(after seeing myself obliged to listen to this song fully and a handful of times, suffering every minute of it for the sole purpose of this analysis. It’s okay I didn’t need my heart anyway). Soon after activating the third terminal, the SOS signal disappears, or grows distant and faint enough that we can’t make it out from the background anymore. In its place, we’re confronted by this… shrill, piercing and painfully slow tune. It sounds synthetic, artificial, devoid of life. And it’s funny, because you know what it reminds me of? I’ll tell you:

A heartbeat flatline sound.

And I want to highlight that this doesn’t happen in any of the other Divine Beasts themes. All their SOS signals carry on, but Medoh’s is no more. This abrupt stop, followed by this bone-chilling tune…. makes me believe that Revali was the first of the champions to fall. A few days ago I came across SuperZeldaGirl’s video on a similar topic, theorising that this could very much be the case. There is not much evidence to support this claim other than some visual cues that could be suggesting to it, but after I found this in the soundtrack, and if we’re to rely on it for anything, I believe Revali was either the first champion to be ambushed by Ganon, or well…. the first to be killed. It is plausible, because short after Calamity Ganon unleashes his power, Revali parts from the group and flies directly to Vah Medoh, and he very well could’ve been the first pilot to arrive.

On this note…. we’ll have to wait and see for ourselves, when Age of Calamity provides long-awaited answers to many of our questions.

Four terminals activated.

An interesting melody is being played on what, for me, would qualify as a glockenspiel or a celesta, which are keyboard based instruments that produce a sound similar to that of a music box(***). If you want to pay more attention to it, I suggest listening to Vetrom’s Instrumental Mix Cover of the theme, where they practically zoom in on this part of the song (keep in mind that it uses the All Terminals’ time signature so it’s being played faster). For some reason, this particular addition makes me feel profound empathy. The sound of this instrument could be described as cute or childlike, magical, even. It is more often than not used to represent innocence, but I highly doubt that’s specifically the intention here. Much like the leading strings’ melody, the melodic contour of this one is trapped in a loop of going up and down constantly, but the difference is that this time around it sounds more under control. And much more uniform too. It doesn’t lose focus or takes risky, fruitless leaps, but rather chooses to stay on a path of waves that consistently rises and falls without taking detours. Like a determined battle strategy, giving it your all. You fall, but get back up again, and try again, and again. It reminds me of Revali’s approach to training, being persistent to the point of overworking himself. He had discipline nailed down to a tee, which I also think served him well in combat. It’s not just about being hard on yourself, either, but being confident and having complete faith in your abilities; believing that you’ll make it. For this to appear now, that the SOS signal is almost completely gone, is significant because it means that by this point, being so close to success on Link’s behalf, the music is sparing genuine encouragement for once, in spite of the tragic outcome of the past and the danger of the current situation. But, in all honesty, this is probably just me reading too much into it. Perhaps the composer just thought this addition sounded pretty bitching and there’s not much else to it, which is completely fine. Although, intentional or not, sometimes coincidences do happen, and at the end of the day, interpretations like this are a form of appreciation for an artist’s work and for what they can unknowingly accomplish.

All terminals activated.

This is the moment when the song finally lightens up. Notice how the strings abandon the wave pattern for a more even contour. The beat quickens, the melody stabilizes. At first I thought, coming from our flight analogy, that this meant a cease in movement entirely, and it was partly one of the reasons why the song in general makes me anxious. But thinking about it now, …there is something different going on here. The strings are playing on a steady rhythm. It resembles a march, it’s like a pounding heart. It’s a lively, hopeful statement. And what’s interesting is that, up until this point, there was so much fear and helplessness present in the score, even going as far as to reach a dead end when we activate the third terminal. But that’s it, isn’t it? the music just keeps going further.

It’s saying: this isn’t over yet. Even after complete and utter defeat, there’s still hope and an underlying wish to overcome this predicament, and we started to hear this as soon as a fourth terminal is activated. The melody we previously talked about? it’s here as well, and its beat is much more daring and confident.

And I just want to say… this is so powerful. Because this sentiment is deeply tied to the game’s story and Revali’s character arc. You see, he is introduced as someone who resents Link for being the manifestation of his failure, in a way, because Revali has trained arduously his whole life to be where he is, to be recognised. And yet… this hylian gets chosen by a magic sword and some tale of divine destiny and, apparently, that’s all it takes for him to be deemed the hero that will save the land. In Revali’s eyes, Link has done nothing to prove his worth before him, so it is easy to see why he despises the silent knight so much; he is yet another individual that was born into their destiny. Meanwhile, Revali has had to build his reputation from the ground up, earning him a place among the greatest warriors of Hyrule, and even then he finds himself surrounded by people who grew up praised for being born gifted. We can see how Revali is the odd one out, and can map out the reason for him acting so antagonistic towards Link.

But once we’re on Medoh, things start to change. When Link enters the Divine Beast, Revali greets him with disdain, as per usual. Of course, Link has no recollection of whatever happened a hundred years ago, other than a small glimpse of the rito champion talking down to him, a memory that came and went in a flash. So as Link, we more than expect Revali to act cold and mocking, which he does. He provides us with as little help as needed in order to free Medoh, reluctantly, shielding his wounded pride over having to wait for Link, of all people, to come to their rescue. But you can hear him starting to open up bit by bit(I wish I could translate his dialogue directly from Japanese but I’ll make do with a couple of dubs and other numerous sources from translators online). With each little step Link takes towards success, activating the terminals, the perception Revali has of him shifts from one of resentment to one of genuine admiration and respect. By the end of it all, he is willing to not only cheer on Link during the boss battle, but to trust him with his life’s worth achievement. And once left alone, he admits defeat and lets go of his bitterness, realising that he was wrong to underestimate Link, and later wishes he could’ve had a chance to measured up to him. To take all of this into consideration and work with it in the soundtrack I think it’s genuinely splendid. And for once, I am grateful that it ends in somewhat of a positive note that puts my soul to rest. I still have a hard time listening to the first two thirds of the entire thing, but now I can look forward to a hopeful and earnestly heartening conclusion for all the pain that this composition puts me in. I must admit that it’s beautifully and brilliantly crafted, and that I am enamoured of it regardless.

That is why I wrote roughly 4k words about it! I hate myself!

If you’re as crazy as me about the soundtrack of this game, I recommend you read the published cd interview with the composers themselves! if you haven’t already. I just found it yesterday(unbelievable but it’s true) and… after writing all of this and checking it out, I felt validated. It sure is a one of a kind feeling.

Alright folks, we’ve made it to the end. Congratulations for sticking around and thanks being interested in my nonsensical rambling!

I also hope that you, like me, will now be unable to listen to bowed strings without being reminded of Revali. Good luck!

————– Annotations/Sidenotes/Whatever

(*)The Flight Motif(in point number 2) is also present in this track. We can hear it in the background right after the Rito leitmotif, as per usual. It starts with a clarinet, I think, before the strings take the lead. (**) Note that the Flight Motif only comes into play in the Breath of The Wild rendition of the song. (***)I strongly associate this instrument with Mipha, given that it is used in her theme, in every “response” to the initial melody. It can be heard in Attack On Vah Ruta, as well, it enters the scene when the notes Mi(E) and Fa(F) are played. The initial tune, Si and Do(B and C) are played on a clarinet or oboe, wind instruments just like the flute that leads Sidon’s respective theme. The celesta can also be heard inside Vah Ruta, activating the first terminal…. when the song really takes a turn just like Medoh’s. Mipha has nothing to do with the song of this analysis, however. We must understand that instruments, although they are attached to characters/various story elements in some cases, can always be used outside of that context, for that is the nature of an orchestral soundtrack. If you have this many tools at your disposal, you will make good use of them.

#Revali #Vah Medoh #botw #loz #aoc

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dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years

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Chizuru Town (End) Heaven and Hell

Caesar and the MC are let off the chain.

------

The boys all erupted into cheers as you closed your eyes. The man in the striped suit hugged you and then kissed you on the mouth. You didn’t struggle or open your eyes so they wouldn’t see what you were up to.

Your Soul Skill relies on connecting to the energy of the ground. Already, millions of filaments of your spiritual energy were penetrating the ground like a root system, forming a solid foundation for what was to come. Once your Soul Skill was firmly rooted, you could kill them all in an instant. So you didn’t care about what was happening around you right now. That is, you didn’t care until the ground began to give you feedback that something terrible was happening to Lu Mingfei.

You open your eyes ever so slightly.

Lu Mingfei was backed against the wall of the Internet Cafe. He was holding the empty gun as if he could still shoot but no one was buying it. Another group of boys were firing into the hole left by the Black Viper. If Caesar was still alive in there, he couldn’t come back out without getting shot.

And there was still no sign of Chu Zihang.

You’d waited to act long enough. At last, you could see the sparkle in the eyes of the elk.

You raise your golden eyes in the sky and scream. Your hair lifts from where it hung in a wet curtain to straight up, stiff in the air. The ground sparks with electricity and cracks form in the pavement with light shining up through the cracks.

The boys stop harassing Mingfei and stop firing into the hole in the building and stare in terror as the ground splinters beneath them. In the next second, the energy below the pavement erupts into blazing fire. Their clothes catch fire and so does their hair. They run away from the cracks in the ground, to roll on the wet pavement, steam rising from them. Their lungs have been seared by the heat and they’re choking and gasping after running such a short distance. Their hair is scalded off and they have no eyebrows.

They were the lucky ones. The unlucky sank their feet into pure lava, the heat turning all the moisture in their body to steam instantly. They could only give voice to their blinding pain for a few seconds before they passed out from lack of blood and oxygen and expired.

The air is filled with screams and moans and burning flesh. The street has turned to Hell.

Eruption is a Soul Skill of the King of Earth and Mountains. It summons the magma in an area, so it can usually take some time to charge if the magma is very deep, but here in Japan, the ground is floating on rivers of it and it is nothing for you to call a thin injection up and to squeeze through the plates beneath the earth.

The cars tip down into the widening cracks and their tires pop and shoot up flames in the escaping air, melting the fine paint and metal. The van you’re sitting on is an island in the middle of the destruction.

A phone rings. The man in the stripe suit is pale with shock. He silently read the text message and put down the phone. He stood up, staring down at you with a pale face full of fear. “This scare tactic is no big deal! Japan is our territory! And Chizuru Town is also our territory! You’re not going to win! Put your guns up and kill them!”

Your jaw drops. You had spared this last man because you figured Caesar would want to end him personally and now he - this last rat - was rallying his troops against you? Who was that text message from? How was this Lord so terrible that he could inspire some lowlife to face your power and defy you immediately after you’d just instantly obliterated so many of his gang members?

You smile and laugh! “Hahahaha! I really have to kill all of you! I really do! I can’t believe it!”

The wall Lu Mingfei was pressed against suddenly reverberated with a majestic roar and cracked open with a loud bang. The four-meter- high backhoe rushed out of the fire in the building, the huge gravel shovel dragging Lu Mingei into the air. Those remaining fired at the shovel with a dense shower of bullets.

Caesar sat in the cockpit of the shovel, his right hand holding the steering wheel and his left hand holding the body of the girl. Her blood was dripping down so much it formed a crimson strip on the metal under the cockpit.

You raise your chin to him. The redness of that blood was like a flag, marking you and Caesar as comrades in sorrow.

Caesar turned the backhoe to face away from the attackers. “Lu Mingfei! Get in!”

Lu Mingfei used all his strength to jump towards the shovel and Caesar pulled him in by his arm.

Caesar turned the back hoe back around. He handed the body of Makoto to Lu Mingfei who immediately looked like he was about to cry. Caesar’s face was as smooth and calm as granite as he looked at you and your river of destruction.

“Boss, are you okay?” Mingfei whimpered.

“I’m fine… I’m fine.”

The magma you called up was rapidly cooling in the rain and the steam rose up smelling like fresh asphalt. The charred corpses of the gangsters who had died were like black statues sticking out of the ground, frozen forever in their state of agony like the ash sculpture corpses of Pompeii and Herculaneum.

He breathed in and out. “MC. Stand down.”

“Ah.” You sigh. “Alright.”

“You lied to me. But I forgive you.” He said.

The man in the striped suit is staring at you and you stare right back. He finally understands that you were not a prize for him. Caesar Gattuso had deceived him into inviting a bomb right in the middle of his troops.

“Grenades! Grenades!” The man in the suit yelled.

The dozen gangsters that remained pulled grenades from their belts and flung them at the backhoe. The grenades blew through the wheels of the machine, rendering it motionless.

That’s when the dark clouds suddenly broke open and a giant B1 bomber descended like a black bird from the sky. The stirring back draft of the low flight swept the whole length of the street, shattering some of the windows, and nearly knocked you off the van . When you regain your balance, you see something descending on a white parachute from the bottom of it near Caesar.

He snatched the box out of the air, opened it and revealed two new weapons. He calmly started loading up his weapons. Was this the power of Cassell? Or was it the Gattuso family? Caesar had to have called someone...

“Boss! That bullet can kill people!” Mingfei gasps.

“The old guys in my family are usually a bunch of dirty bastards, but one thing they say is true. They say that God created the world to be fair and just, and if someone makes a mistake, he should pay the price. Hand for hand, foot for foot. If someone doesn’t pay for their sins, then who will believe in God’s glory?” After he finished loading the rounds, he made the sign of the cross.

“Is that what this is all about? Converting me to Catholicism?” You laugh with incredulity. Even after all this destruction, staring into the face of the black abyss, it was this religion that kept him grounded in his view of the world. “I think our beliefs will stay different. But I don’t mind calling you brother, Caesar. Ow!” You cry out as your hair is suddenly seized.

The man in the striped suit quickly picks up the shotgun and points it at you but then his hand bursts into a shower of flesh and bone. With nothing to hold it, the gun falls into the cooling magma and sticks in upright.

The man in the suit wails, clutching his now empty wrist. The bullet had accurately penetrated his hand. The rounds from the Desert Eagle guns have no difficulty in shattering the skull of a rhinoceros. A human hand was no problem.

Caesar fired both guns, and after emptying them of bullets, he threw the guns to Lu Mingfei for him to help reload. He took out an Uzi from the same box to continue shooting. The gangsters completely lost their fighting spirit, leaving their companions crying and jumping into the vans that were undamaged by the magma. Some were able to jump in but most fell in the rain before they could touch any vehicle. Each bullet passes precisely through their calves.

They had asked Caesar to cripple himself by shooting his hand and calf and now he was crippling them that way. It was casual genius. Caesar simply would not budge from his ideals, nor would you budge from yours. You simply provided space for each other. You found your niche, and he would work around that. So you do stand down and watch Caesar work, your heart icy cold, but warmed by the fires of his company in this wintry dark world.

The van’s wheels spun to get going in the rain, and the vehicles fled to the end of the long street, leaving behind their wounded companions. With them on the run, Caesar leaped from the backhoe and walked over the ruined ground. He raised the Uzi in a smooth arc and fired six shots at the apex, blowing out the tires of the vans.

The vans still tried to roll on the lopsided tires. But then they suddenly stop. The man in the suit got out of the vehicle, dragging the driver with him. Your smile fades a little and your heart rate jumps. But Caesar told you to stand down and these two wouldn’t serve any resistance, right?

The vans of the cargo doors burst open and the dark interiors shined with the lights of roaring motorcycles. Caesar stood like a pillar and closed his eyes.

The guns made a sound you had never heard a gun make before. Like an explosion but beginning and ending with some sort of snarl, like he was holding a vicious dog in his hands. The modified Desert Eagle shot extremely fast. Caesar blasted out a direct rain of bullets. When these gangsters were in range they entered Caesar's exclusive battle field. The tide of the bikes and the rain of the bullets collided head on. The bullets pierced through fuel tanks, broke axles, tore through the wheel wells, and shot out sparks. One by one, the heavy machines collapsed in the puddles, caught fire and exploded and the boys tumbled to the ground, crying out in disbelief. Caesar fired mechanically, his face without expression, not happy or angry or sad.

As for you, the MC, you were still uneasy. You understood what it was like to be herded into battle, as not all the orphans at the facility wanted to fight. Those weak ones were tossed headlong into the ring with more vicious and bloodthirsty opponents to fight it out and learn to like it. They didn’t have a choice.

Just like observing those reluctant kids, you realize suddenly that this whole scene is wrong. These people are being driven to this fight like slaves. You just now noticed their chains when they stopped trying to escape and turned around.

There were still three motorcycles coming in a second wave. Even from this distance you could see the striped suited man, hand missing, eyes white with frenzy, carrying a long knife. Caesar casually tossed a grenade on the ground and rolled it in front of them. It burst and sent the bikes on either side of the man in the suit flying, but he was so determined that he popped his front wheel in the air and rode the explosion, just like Caesar had ridden the air to save Makoto. His blade was aimed directly at Caesar’s heart.

You leap to your feet, but Caesar didn’t move other than to sweep his leg up and kick the fuel canister on the bike.

The man in the suit suddenly realized that his motorcycle was gone and he was floating by himself in the air. The bike had been kicked out from under him and he landed hard, smashing face down right in the road.

Caesar bent over, picked him up by his hair and forced him to watch, feet dangling, as he poured bullets into the motorcycle, smashing its four cylinder engine, axle, silver-plated tailpipe and handle bars, the leather seat, and the precious logo… his beloved motorcycle, that was like his beautiful woman, was turned into nothing more an scrap metal.

“My …” you say to yourself, glancing at the black corpses surrounding you and wondering who was better off.

“I’ll kill you,” Caesar was saying, “But before that, you have to tell me who that “Lord” behind the curtain is.” Caesar shot the man in the ankle, and one of his feet disappeared.

“I have little patience for forced confessions.” Caesar fired another shot, hitting the knee and the man’s calf disappeared.

The man in the suit was struggling to speak in pain, but then Caesar called Lu Mingfei to him. “Translate.”

Lu Mingfei, who had been hiding in the backhoe, fell clumsily from the machine and hurried over, trying not to trip over any charred bodies.

“He said he’s going to take a long time to explain and he’s going to pass out. He’s asking for some wine.” He puffed breathlessly.

“He wants to drink?” Caesar was a little surprised by this lecherous man’s courage.

From your vantage point on the van, you notice that someone is moving in the darkness behind the abandoned vehicles with the flat tires. You leap off the van and hurry over to the back hoe. There were still guns left there. One a Beretta. You snatch it and and run towards Caesar, eyes on the target.

The man in the suit fished out a test tube of purple liquid from his sleeve and sucked the liquid out faster than Caesar could react.

“Poison?” Caesar was taken aback, but it was too late. The test tube fell and shattered in the rain and the man hung limp. You slow to a stop. You thought the shadow was there, but now you don’t see anything.

The man in the suit’s body suddenly twitched feverishly. His flesh started to morph, like he was rapidly healing, yet dying at the same time. The man’s eyes opened with golden pupils! Caesar did not have time to dodge before the man’s fingers - now a pair of vicious bone claws - stabbed into his chest.

He pounced on Caesar with strength that overwhelmed him, hugging him tightly with the claws digging into his back and teeth closing on his neck.

You fire once. The man’s skull ragdolls back. And then again. The man in the suit releases a stunned and bloodied Caesar who lets him fall in a heap to the ground. Lifeless.

Chu Zihang was standing there. Evidently he was the moving shadow. He had run to help Caesar himself but your gun’s bullets reached him before he could. They were still some distance away from you. Between you and them were several of the wounded who were still crawling away, cowering behind trash cans and trying to hide between wrecked cars. All of them could turn into monsters, as far as you were concerned.

You catch the eyes of one who was crouched behind the mailbox. He held up his hands. He cried “No! No!” before his head shattered to pieces. You moved to the next who was scooting away behind two black trash bags. You pull the trigger and he dropped like a stone.

Chu Zihang is racing to meet you. You trace your fingers to draw a line across the street. The ground opens up and a river of lava’s heat comes between you. Meanwhile, you keep shooting, ignoring the gangster’s pleas and prayers. They have to die. They all have to die.

Chu Zihang suddenly seemed to fall from the sky. His eyes are blazing gold, his sword raised.

“No.” You say. You wave your hand and the ground lifts beneath you forming a jagged edge pointed up at him. If Zihang fell on it at this speed, he could have broken ribs or worse, but he rolls in the air, casting a spout of fire to blast him away at the last second.

Your eyes follow the trajectory of his arc. A crack in the pavement follows your gaze. Such extreme control of eruption is only possible thanks to the amount of filaments in the ground. The liquid rock underneath you is almost like a second limb. The ground is shaking and unsteady when Chu Zihang lands and he stumbles and falls. But now his eyes are wide with terror, but looking behind you. You turn and stare down the muzzle of an old revolver. You feel a flash of intense pain. The world around you spins. Colors and images blur together. You land in a puddle, coughing blood. Your world goes dark with Chu Zihang calling your name.

#Dragon Raja #Caesar Gattuso #TW: Death

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duhragonball · 3 years

Note

What are your favorite fights from each anime iteration of Dragon Ball? (DB/Z/GT/Super etc. Yknow lol) I’m curious!

This is a good ask, anon. Just wanted to point it out.

I'm not sure how long a list I want to make for this, because if I really go nuts with this I'll probably end up covering like 75% of the fights in the franchise. But I don't want to just pick one favorite fight from each series, because that feels too short. Tell you what, let's just play it by ear and see how this goes. I won't bother ranking these, because I'm not sure I can.

OG Dragon Ball

1) Goku vs. Jackie Chun, 21st World Tournament final

2) Goku vs. Tien Shinhan, 22nd World Tournament final

3) Goku vs. Piccolo Junior, 23rd World Tournament final.

We'll start with these, because they're tentpole moments for the series, and they define Goku's character arc so well. The Jackie Chun fight was pretty short, but it was really the first big fight in the franchise, and it set the tone for all the later battles to follow. What makes it work is how Chun is determined to keep Goku from winning, not for his own sake, but because he thinks Goku will lose interest in martial arts if he wins a big tournament on his first try. Chun entered as a ringer, but he finds Goku a lot harder to stop than he expected, and the match very nearly ends in a draw.

So you'd think Goku would be a shoo-in at the next tournament, but he has to get through Tien for that, and Tien turns out to be extremely tough and he wants to murder Goku to avenge his master's brother. It's an awesome fight, made more awesome by the way Tien's character arc begins to overtake the action itself. He starts out wanting Goku dead, then decides he'd rather fight fair because he enjoys the competition too much.

So by the time we get to the 23rd tournament, the contest itself feels like an afterthought. This is just the venue for the more important showdown between Goku and Piccolo. Except Goku still wants that World title. It means a lot to him, and no one else seems to get that. Through this whole arc, everyone is scared shitless of Piccolo, worrying that Goku might not be able to beat him. But Goku has a game plan, and he sticks to it and powers on through to victory. And yet it's still this insanely close match. I dare say this is the most even battle in the franchise, but Goku seems like an underdog to start out, and by the end of it, you see that he had things under control the whole time.

4) Goku vs. Red Ribbon Army HQ

5) Goku vs. King Piccolo

6) Goku vs. Grandpa Gohan

I guess you can call these #reference fights, because when I rewatched these episodes in 2019, I noticed how much they resembled battles I've written in to my big-ass OC fanfic. Goku just charging headlong into an army base is sort of the prototype for Saiyan mayhem, and when I started writing Luffa I quickly realized that this would have to be the sort of combat she'd be used to. There's no Vegeta or Perfect Cell to tackle a thousand years ago. She's got no rival, so her best bet is to fight large armies single-handedly, as Goku does here.

Likewise, I ended up inventing a lot of villains who think themselves invincible, only to get knocked on their ass when they find out how vincible they really are. King Piccolo's meltdown during this battle is a sight to behold, because once he starts losing, all he knows how to do is talk about his fearsome reputation, except it's completely hollow when the other guy is feeding you a can of whoop-ass. He just doesn't know how to process this beating, and that's always left an impression with me.

Let's just say, hypothetically speaking, that you had this character who has some relation to another character, and gosh, wouldn't it be nice if they could meet and fight each other, and one of them could leap forward beyond their natural lifespan to make that happen? I dunno, maybe it'd be kind of emotional? I haven't actually written anything like that so far, but if I ever do, it'll probably resemble Goku vs. Grandpa Gohan quite a bit.

Dragon Ball Z

1) Goku vs. Vegeta

I mean, what else can you say here? This one's a classic.

2) Anybody vs. Cell, pretty much.

Obviously, the Goku and Gohan fights from the Cell Games are the best of the best, but Cell's entire run in DBZ is awesome, including the fights he has with Vegeta, Trunks, Android 16, Piccolo... you just can't lose. I could go on, but I don't want to get too far down this one category.

3) Pikkon vs. Goku.

This one gets dunked on a lot because it's filler, but it's excellent. Just a friendly competition where everyone's dead and there's nothing at stake but bragging rights and fighting spirit. Pikkon's a brilliant opponent and Goku has to find a way to beat him, and that's really all the story you need, sometimes.

4) Goku-Vegeta II

This one's a bit wonky because there's no clear-cut winner and the Buu crisis overshadows it, and it doesn't quite hold up compared to the original Goku/Vegeta fight, but it's still awesome, because of the buildup and also a lot of the intensity. It kind of functions as a coda to the Androids/Cell Saga, where both guys were Super Saiyans but they never got a chance to duke it out. As it turns out, they're so evenly matched that it kind of works against the fight. One of them does a big move, and the other one just shrugs it off like nothing happened. In a way it's kind of the opposite of the Goku/Piccolo fight. When it's a couple of Super Saiyan 2's, there's just no way for anybody to pull ahead, and ultimately their battle takes on a very tragic tone, which is awesome.

5) Majin Buu vs. Everybody in Season 9.

Okay, apparently Tumblr won't let me post any more images, but that's cool, you all know what Buu looks like. I remember flipping through an issue of Beckett DBZ Collector at the grocery in 2003 or 2004, and it did this top ten fights article, with this as #1. I just liked the sheer gall of counting the entire Fusion and Kid Buu Sagas as one big fight. But let's face it, it works. From the moment Evil Buu shows up to the Spirit Bomb finale, it's basically nonstop action for Majin Buu, as he takes on one opponent after another in a zany gauntlet. And sure, I'd probably say Vegito and SSJ3 Goku were my favorite portions of that larger battle, but it's tough to isolate any one section.

Dragon Ball GT: There were no good fights in GT.

Dragon Ball Super

1) The Tournament of Power.

I suppose this also counts as one big battle, although my absolute favorite part is when Caulifla and Kale battle Goku and he ends up using Ultra Instinct to beat them.

There's also a lot to be said for Vegeta vs. God of Destruction Toppo, and the whole endgame with Jiren against Goku, 17, and Frieza. Oh, and the part where Universe 9 gets wiped out in one episode.

For my money, Dragon Ball Super doesn't really get off the blocks until the Tournament of Power begins, which has always frustrated me about DBS. It's basically one really good run of episodes at the tail end of an otherwise lackluster series. The U6 tournament was pretty weak and the Zamasu/Goku Black saga was downright pathetic.

Movie-wise... let me see here. Mystical Adventure had some good action, Dead Zone, Cooler 1, Super Android 13, Broly 1, Fusion Reborn and Wrath of the Dragon were classics, and Battle of Gods and Super Broly had some excellent fights too.

And yeah, I think that about covers it.

#dragon ball #ask duhragonball #dbgt has no good fights #no i will not elaborate #what else can i say?#if there was a decent fight in gt i would talk about it

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slytherinbarnes · 4 years

Text

Sub Rosa [41]

xii. demons

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: violence, mentions of blood, fighting, death, description of a gross death, near death experiences, language.

Summary: a return to Arkadia results in an unexpected reunion.

a/n: VERY IMPORTANT NOTE!!!! for those of you not in the US or in the Southern US, we are currently facing a hurricane down here. this has the potential (and likelihood) of knocking out our power. this means that I am unsure about the other updates for this week! I don’t know if I’ll have access to power or internet, and I will likely be focused on other things. because of this, considered the other two updates for this week temporarily delayed. if things change and I can post, I will, but I just want you to all be aware! the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

Sometime during the night, when everyone else is asleep, Monty nearly drives off the road. You and Bellamy are the only two awake to witness it, both of you too wired to sleep. Though it’s not like you usually slept well anyways.

You force him to stop and climb into the back with the others, while Bellamy slides into the driver’s seat. You get into the passenger seat beside him, looking back over your passengers and making sure everyone is okay before you nod at him to continue.

The ride through Azgeda territory, back towards Arkadia, is more peaceful than any of your previous trips, despite your tension with Bellamy. You glance over at him, noting that he’s rigid in the driver’s seat, grip tight on the wheel, jaw tense with stress. You can tell he’s playing Raven’s words over and over in his mind, reminding him of the guilt he was already carrying. He senses you looking at him, and he turns to look at you quickly before looking back at the road. He takes in a breath like he’s about to say something, and you look away, out the window, scared that he might change his mind. “When you first told me you were cursed, I thought you were being dramatic. I didn't understand how someone could blame themselves for every bad thing in their life, whether they were responsible for it or not. And then I started to do the same thing.”

He pauses for a long minute, looking out at the road in front of him with an intense expression. “Seeing Shumway with you that night in the woods, and then me failing to protect you, it hit me that I had failed you. And then you got stabbed looking for Clarke, and you nearly died in Mount Weather because I made you stay, it hit me again that I failed you, and I swore I wouldn't let that happen again. And along came Pike. I was hurt and afraid to lose you, and Octavia, and I let him convince me that the Grounders were the problem. But like Octavia said, that’s no excuse, because people got hurt. The army, Niylah’s dad, Indra, Monroe, Lincoln, Octavia…”

He turns to look at you, and you meet his gaze. He softens a little, some of his stress melting away. “You. The two people I swore to protect no matter what, and all I did was hurt them both.”

“You were doing what you thought was best for us.”

“I was wrong.”

You shake your head. “But that doesn't change your intention, Bellamy. You and Pike are not the same, you know that, don’t you?”

He doesn't say anything, just glances your way, then back to the road, the muscle in his jaw shifting, and you realize he doesn't see a difference. “Pike is brutal and manipulative and power hungry, and he only has one goal in life, which is to kill Grounders. He thinks they’re heartless savages that need to be broken and put down, but you know that none of that is true. We have always had a complicated relationship with the Grounders, and I won't blame you for lashing out from fear. But I know you and I know your heart, and I know that you don't genuinely believe that all Grounders are monsters.”

“We’re all just doing what we need to do to survive, right? Us and the Grounders alike.”

You almost smile, remembering the conversation in the woods, the one he’s quoting back to you now. A conversation that feels so long ago, back before Mount Weather, and Pike, and an AI hell bent on taking over the world. You nod, still believing in your words. “Yeah. Doesn't mean anyone is right or wrong or good or bad for it. It just means we’re trying.”

He’s quiet, absorbing the conversation. Some of the tension has left his body, his posture relaxing slightly, and that brings you relief. Bellamy’s guilt won't disappear overnight, the same way he can't earn his forgiveness from the others overnight, but this feels like a step in the right direction.

When the sun rises high enough in the sky, and the others have woken up, Bellamy parks the rover in a field to let it charge. As him and Monty adjust the solar panels, getting them right, the rest of you spread out in the grass, passing around rations and chatting about nothing. Bellamy plops down beside you when they finish, and you pass him the package of nuts in your hands, which he takes with a quiet thank you.

Raven sits sandwiched between Clarke, who is checking over her wounds, and Sinclair, who refuses to let her out of his sight. Octavia is on your other side, quiet, watching the others, and Jasper and Monty sit across from you, side by side. Before Clarke settles back into the grass, she pulls out a small container, and slides the lid far enough back to check on the small chip inside. Satisfied that it’s in place, she pushes the lid closed again, and tucks it into her pocket, looking up and finding your eyes, which are watching her closely. You nod to her pocket. “How did you get it?”

“It’s the Flame. Each Commander gets it during the Ascension ceremony, and after death, it is removed for the next Commander. Lexa always talked about how her spirit would choose the next Commander and how she would never truly die, but I just thought she was talking about reincarnation. I didn’t know it would be an AI.” She takes in a shaky breath, steadying herself. “I was there when Lexa died, so I saw Titus remove it. When Ontari became the new Commander, he knew she couldn't have it, so he gave it to me, and told me to find Luna.”

Bellamy looks at her in confusion. “Why couldn't Ontari have it?”

“She murdered all the novitiates in their sleep so she could be the last one standing.”

“Holy shit.”

Raven shakes her head. “If the Grounder’s don't know that it’s an AI, how do they know what to do with it?”

Clarke reaches into her jacket, and pulls out a small notebook. “Because Becca left them instructions.”

Raven’s eyes light up, already reaching for it. “May I?”

Clarke passes her the notebook, and Raven opens it eagerly, already absorbed in Becca’s words. Clarke fills the rest of you in on everything that happened in Polis while the rest of you were in Arkadia dealing with Pike, and it’s almost hard to believe everything she’s telling you: a coup against Lexa, Lexa’s fight against King Roan, the murder of the Ice Queen. Finding the army, stopping Lexa from retaliation, Emerson being gifted to Clarke, Octavia arriving, Murphy arriving, Lexa’s death. And despite the dark subject matter, you can almost pretend that you’re all just a normal group of friends, laying out in the sun, catching each other up on your lives. You can almost forget that your people need to be saved. Again.

But Octavia is the first to remind you, and after checking on the rover and seeing the battery full, you know it’s time to go, so you all pile into the rover again, this time with you behind the wheel and Bellamy beside you, ready to make the last bit of the trip home.

You’re close to Arkadia when Raven finally looks up from Becca’s notebook, her voice full of awe. “Becca's journal is amazing. At 26, she found a pathway to access the human mind. That same year, she had to lock up Alie because her answer for what was wrong with the world was 'too many people'. She was 27 when it launched the bombs.”

You glance over at Bellamy, who is half turned in his seat, listening. Clarke asks, “What did she write about the Flame?”

“Alie 2.0. She saw it as a way to atone for her sins. She designed it to not just access a human mind, but to merge with one. It could never wipe us out because it would be one of us. She would put it in herself first, altered her genes so her body wouldn't reject the implant.”

Clarke hums. “Bekka Pramheda, the first Commander. The gene therapy made her blood black, didn't it?”

“Yeah.”

Octavia glances at Clarke in surprise. “How did you know that?”

“Nightblood, that's where it came from. Somehow, it became hereditary. Luna has it, which is why we have to find her, because if she can access Alie 2...”

“She can tell us how to stop Alie 1,” you finish for her.

Bellamy turns back to the front, and when he sees where you are, he tells the others, “Eyes sharp, weapons hot. We're almost home.”

You grab the radio, ready to warn the others. “Miller, come in.”

You receive no response, so you try again. “Harper, you there? Your ride's two minutes out.”

You are met with silence, and the heavy feeling of panic washes through you. You exchange a worried glance with Bellamy as Jasper muses, “Good start.”

When you reach the edge of the woods, Bellamy puts a hand on your arm. “Stop here.”

You stop the rover as he turns and looks at the others. “Monty, you take the wheel, Raven you’re up front with him. Jasper, you’re in the turret, and the rest of us are outside the rover, walking alongside it. I want eyes on all sides.”

No one argues, grabbing up their weapons and taking up their positions before Bellamy motions for Monty to drive the rover into camp, slowly. As you get closer, you can see that the gate is wide open, which Clarke also notices. “We left two days ago, why haven't they fixed the gate?”

“Maybe because there's no one here to fix it.”

As the rover rolls through the gate and into Arkadia, you are met with nothing but silence. No guards, no kids, no Pike, no Grounders, nothing. You feel a heavy pit in your stomach as you turn to Bellamy. “It's like a ghost town.”

Bellamy lifts his radio and asks, “Miller, where the hell are you?”

When he receives no answer, he turns to you, shaking his head. “I don't like this.”

“I don't either.”

Jasper looks around, then glances down at Bellamy. “Maybe they got chipped.”

“If they got chipped, they'd be waiting at the gate.”

“Maybe they saw the open gate, went in for Lincoln's book.”

Octavia glares up at him. “Maybe you should stop saying ‘maybe’.”

“If they’re chipped, then Alie already knows we're coming.”

Monty stops the rover on a small patch, allowing all of you to look around for any sign of something. Octavia walks over to your side of the rover, and she freezes in place beside you, causing you to look at her in alarm. You follow her gaze to the ground, finding a dark red stain in the mud. Blood. Lincoln's blood.

You swallow a wave of emotion, the sadness that threatens to rise to the surface, and Octavia never looks away from the spot as she snaps, “Let's get his book and get the hell out of here.”

“That's a plan I can support.”

Octavia runs back to the other side, and Clarke and Bellamy step up on either side of you, looking down at the blood stain. You whisper, “Lincoln.”

You can feel Bellamy tense up beside you, and he looks at the stain for a long second before he bangs on the back of the rover, signaling for Monty to keep moving. You all progress through the camp slowly, finding nothing as you maneuver the rover towards the hangar bay. Monty stops the vehicle inside before closing the door to the hangar bay quickly, leaving you all in partial darkness, the only light coming from the rover.

You all walk through the hangar bay slowly, in a tight group, weapons drawn, looking at the scene before you. Half eaten plates of food, card games abandoned mid play, projects left incomplete. Clarke looks around in confusion. “It's like they just got up and walked away.”

Bellamy looks at the others. “We're in and out. Pack as much gear as you can into the rover.”

“I'll get the map.”

Jasper nods towards Octavia’s already retreating figure. “I'll uh...go with her. Probably shouldn't be alone.”

Raven gets out of the rover, and joins your group. “What's the rush? They won't be coming back.”

You turn to her, unconvinced. “How do you know?”

“Alie’s mission is to chip everyone. It wouldn't make sense to return to a place she's already taken.”

Sinclair shrugs, “Might make sense if there was someone in that place, i.e. you, who could tell us stuff like that.”

“Good point. Let's load gear.”

You turn to Bellamy, “Armory?”

“I’ll go with you.”

You nod and open the hangar bay door just enough for you to both slip through, not wanting to walk through the dark halls of Arkadia. You head across the camp to the armory, grunting in annoyance when you try to open the door but find it locked. Bellamy steps towards you, motioning for you to move away, “Step back.”

You do as he says and watch as he kicks the door in, and motions for you to go in first. You lift your weapon and step inside, looking around for anyone hiding in the shadows, but when you find nothing, you holster it and head straight for the rifles. Bellamy follows behind and you both pull open the doors, finding almost every weapon left behind. As you start digging through the containers beneath the rifles, you almost laugh with relief when you find case after case overflowing with bullets. Bellamy smiles at you, feeling the same excitement as he lifts his radio. “Everyone finish what you're doing and meet us in the armory.”

Clarke is the first to answer. “Why? What's going on?”

“You'll see when you get here. We just got lucky.”

“On our way.”

You turn to Bellamy, and nod towards the guns. “We’re gonna need bags to carry all this. I’m gonna go grab some.”

“I’ll go with you.”

You shake your head, waving him off. “No, don’t worry about it, I’ll be fine. Just stay here and wait for the others, I’ll only be gone for a minute.”

“Radio if you need me.”

“I will.”

You walk out of the armory and head to the room where they keep most of the extra inventory, sure that they have bags laying around in there. When you reach the small room and step inside, you feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand, though you don't know why. You look around in worry, searching the room for any sign of danger. You swear you see a shadow shift, and you reach for your gun, but before you can grab it, you’re knocked to the side.

You turn around in surprise and open your mouth to scream when you come face to face with a Grounder in a skull mask. They swing an arm around to punch you, the hit landing on your cheekbone, the same one left bruised by Gillmer, and your scream dies in your throat. Your survival instincts kick in, and you scramble to your feet, away from the Grounder. You reach for your gun, pulling it from your holster, but as you lift it towards them, they knock the gun out of your hand, sending it flying across the room.

You hear it slide across the ground and you use the distraction to close the space between you and the Grounder, swinging an elbow towards them, hitting them in the stomach. You hear the air leave their body in a whoosh, and they double over, grunting in pain, and you grab their head and pull it down towards your rising knee. You hear a crack as your knee makes contact with their face, and they pull away in pain, the move effectively removing their mask. You look up at the Grounder, surprised to see that it isn't a Grounder at all, but Emerson from Mount Weather.

“Of course you’d be the last Mountain Man.”

You drop the mask at your feet as he clutches his nose, blood rushing between his fingers. He shifts the bone, setting it back in place with a pop, before smirking at you. “You’re so much like your sister.”

For the first time in your life, the compliment chills you to the bone, because the information is not something that he should know. His smirk grows wider at the sign of your shock. “Imagine my surprise when I find out the great Wanheda has a weakness. A twin. Echo wasn't good for much, but she was good for that.”

You stand staring at him, trying to figure out what to do: run? Fight? Warn the others? You decide the the last option is the best, and you grab the radio from your belt with lightning speed, scrambling backwards as you rush out, “Bellamy, help-”

The rest of your plea is cut off when Emerson comes running at you full speed, crashing his body into yours, knocking you backwards and knocking the wind out of you. As you lay gasping for breath, Emerson gets to his feet and pulls you to yours, before spinning you around and wrapping his arm around your neck, trying to knock you out. You feel your feet lift off the ground and panic sets in as spots dance at the edge of your vision, unconsciousness on its way. The last thing you hear before the world goes dark, is Bellamy frantically calling your name over the radio, sounding worried.

The first thing you notice when you wake up is a growing ache in your shoulders. You pull your eyes open, and they land on your hands, tied to the wall above your head. A gag is pulled tight in your mouth, and you feel your anger grow. Someone to your right is trying to call your name, but it comes out muffled, and when you turn their way, you see Octavia, also chained to the wall, and also gagged. To your left you see Jasper and Raven, both chained up and sitting. Behind you, on the opposite wall is Miller, chained up like you and Octavia, and Monty, Harper, and Bryan are all chained like Jasper and Raven.

You feel relief flow through you when you don't see Clarke or Bellamy amongst you, but that relief is short lived. Emerson steps into the room, and for the first time, you realize you’re all chained up in an air lock. He walks over to you and pulls the knife from the holster on your thigh, before grabbing your hair and pulling your head back. You hear the others try to yell through their gags, but it’s nothing more than a symphony of muffled cries. Emerson uses the hand in your hair to turn your head to the door of the airlock, and seconds later Clarke steps into view, hands raised in surrender. You try to yell at her through your gag, urging her to turn around and run, save herself, but none of that comes out. Her eyes fall on you, face etched in worry before she moves her gaze over to Emerson. “I held up my part of the deal. Your turn, let my friends go.”

He lifts the knife to your throat, pressing the blade into your skin slightly. “Tell Bellamy to show himself first.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

You can see Emerson nod his head once, annoyed, and he abruptly turns and punches Octavia in the stomach. She doubles over with a cry of pain, and a second later, Bellamy appears from around the corner, gun raised, yelling, “No!”

“Okay now, take out the clip and throw it down the hall. Put the gun on the ground and get inside.”

You and Octavia both protest the best you can, yelling at him to turn around and run. When Bellamy takes too long to do as Emerson says, he steps away from you and grabs Octavia, yanking her head back and dragging your knife across the skin of her chest, cutting her. The sight of her blood is enough to send Bellamy into action. “Okay, okay! Just stop!”

He pulls out the clip and tosses it down the hall, before tossing the gun down the other. He slowly reaches down and discards his knife and radio the same way, before walking towards the airlock with his hands raised. Emerson nods to a third pair of cuffs on the wall, beside you. “Those are yours.”

Bellamy locks himself in place, and Emerson pushes Octavia away from him, stepping back. He pulls out a gun and lifts it, pointing it at your twin, “Get on your knees, Clarke.”

You start to struggle, trying to slip yourself from your cuffs. Beside you, Octavia is also trying to escape, using her feet to push off the wall and create tension on the cuffs. Both of you struggle to no avail, as Clarke sinks to her knees. Emerson yells, “Put your hands behind your head.”

She does as she is told, and he keeps the gun trained on her as he steps out of the airlock and presses a button, sealing the door closed. You feel your panic start to rise as he closes the space between himself and Clarke, and she starts to beg, voice sounding muffled through the thick doors. “No, you can do anything you want with me. Just let them go!”

He grabs her by the hair and pulls her to her feet, before he pushes her towards the door, pressing her face into the glass and forcing her to watch you. He lifts the gun to her head and wraps an arm around her throat, cutting off her airway, and you struggle harder, trying to free yourself.

“You murdered 381 people. You took the lives of my children, my brother, my friends. Did you really think that I would be happy with just one life in return, hmm?”

He loosens his hold slightly and Clarke struggles to breath as he pulls her back towards the control panel for the airlock. He presses a button and a red light starts to flash in the small space, the voice on the P.A. system announcing, “Airlock 5. Oxygen venting.”

Dread lands heavy on your stomach as you realize what he’s doing, killing all of you, and forcing Clarke to watch. He presses her up against the door again, giving her a front row seat, but you struggle to pay attention as the oxygen gets sucked from the room. Every one of you immediately starts to struggle for breath, and you pull hard against your cuffs, your fight or flight instinct kicking in. You can feel the metal biting into your wrists, breaking skin, blood already blooming there. You feel the burn in your lungs start grow, the lack of oxygen getting worse, making you feel heavy and useless.

The fight starts to leave you, and your body sags, all of your weight supported by the cuffs around your wrists. Bellamy and Octavia are in the same state, struggling to breathe, and you hear Octavia let out a desperate cry for Bellamy. You turn towards him, but he’s already looking your way, gaze flitting between his sister and you. You glance over at Clarke, watching as she struggles against Emerson, sobbing, before your gaze moves back to Bellamy again. Your body grows heavier with each passing second, until your legs can no longer support you, and you hang there, watching Bellamy.

His eyelids flutter close, the fight leaving his body, and yours do the same, the energy leaving your body at an alarming rate. You try to ignore the burn in your lungs as your body gasps for air, taking what oxygen it can as the rest is sucked out. You feel yourself start to lose consciousness, and you know it’s just a matter of time before you take your last breath. You feel regret that your relationship with Bellamy is still rocky, and that’s how it’ll end, with Bellamy full of guilt and acting distant. Just as the darkness starts to take over, leading you towards death, you suck in a deep breath of air, rich with so much oxygen it makes you dizzy.

You don't question it, you just sag against your restraints and pull in deep gasps of air, letting your senses return to you slowly. You feel hands brush over yours, and your cuffs are unlocked, releasing you. Someone catches you as your weak knees fail to support you, and lower you to the ground. You open your eyes and see Clarke in front of you, blood spread over her cheekbone, smiling in relief. You smile back and she pulls you in for a hug, bone crushingly tight, but you don't care. She pulls away and Bellamy is there next, pressing kisses onto your face and your hair as he checks you over.

Everyone stays in the airlock for a while, gathering oxygen and strength, before someone mutters, “Can we please get the hell out of our almost coffin?”

There’s a collective sound of agreement as everyone pulls themselves to their feet and trudges out of the airlock. Bellamy helps Octavia and Clarke helps you, and as you walk by Emerson’s body, you pull out of her grip and kneel down beside him. He looks terrible, blood dripping from nearly every orifice, and you ask, “What happened?”

“The Flame. If you take the Flame without Nightblood, the Flame takes your life.”

“Intense.” You shake your head, and start to dig through his pockets.

“What are you doing?”

You glance at your twin, before returning to your search. “Getting what belongs to me.”

You feel your hand close around the familiar handle, and you pull your knife from his jacket with a smile, before returning it to its rightful place in your thigh holster. Then you stand and follow the others back to the hanger bay, away from near death.

The drama of the night continues upon your return to the hangar bay, where you discover Sinclair’s body. Clarke bandages everyone’s wounds as Bellamy takes charge and directs half of the group to construct a funeral pyre in the center of camp, and the other half to go to the armory and start loading weapons so you’re ready for anything. You follow Bellamy and some of the others to the armory, but halfway through you notice him slip away. You sneak after him, watching as he slips out of camp, beyond the walls. You follow, keeping your distance, doing your best to stay quiet, but it's not long before Bellamy turns around and finds you in the shadows. “You’re not nearly as quiet as you think you are.”

“Damn.” You shrug and step out of the shadows, opting to walk at his side. You don't bother to ask where you're going, his demeanor clearly closed off and not open to conversation. You walk for a few minutes into the woods before Bellamy stops, and points at a strip of white fabric reflecting in the moonlight. As you walk closer to it, you realize it’s a body, and you have a sneaking suspicion of whose as you drop to your knees and pull back the fabric around the head.

Your eyes fall on Lincoln and your tears instantly start falling, mourning the loss of your friend, properly, for the first time since you witnessed his death. Bellamy lets you cry for a few minutes, kneeling beside you with an arm wrapped around you, until he whispers, “Grounders burn their dead.”

You understand what he means and you stand and step back, allowing him to lift Lincoln in his arms. You walk by his side as he carries him back to camp, and as you walk through the front gates, your eyes seek out Octavia. She’s kneeling with her back to you, loading up ammo, and Monty puts a hand on her shoulder to get her attention. Everyone turns your way as Bellamy carries Lincoln into camp, laying him down softly at Octavia’s feet.

She shifts over to Lincoln, pulling the fabric away from his face to see him one last time. A brokenhearted sob breaks free from her, and she starts to cry over her dead lover. There’s nothing the rest of you can do, other than watch on in sorrow, allowing her the chance to mourn. When her cries die down, she presses a kiss to Lincoln’s head and then steps back, allowing Bellamy to lift Lincoln and carry him over to the pyre, where Sinclair’s body is already waiting.

Bellamy puts Lincoln down on the other end, and the rest of you spread out around the pyre. You ready the torch and light it, passing it to Octavia. She waits, allowing Raven to say her goodbyes to Sinclair, and when she steps back, Octavia moves forward, lighting the pyre and stating, “Yu gonplei ste odon.”

Your fight is over. She steps away from the pyre as the fire spreads and the rest of you repeat the words as you watch the bodies catch fire. You reach for her hand and she lets you take it, accepting the comfort you offer. You stand there watching for a while, all of you lost in your own heads, quietly mourning the loss of Lincoln and Sinclair. It’s hard for you to accept the fact that Lincoln is really gone. He’s not just away looking for someone, or playing diplomat in a nearby village, he’s dead, lost to the rest of you forever, killed by a fascist asshole. You’ll never get to see him put Bellamy on his ass during a sparring session again, he’ll never finish teaching Trigedasleng. He’ll never offer you comfort when you’re hurting, or joke about how overprotective Octavia and Bellamy are. His body is in front of you, alongside Sinclair’s, overtaken by flames, as tradition states.

You can feel Octavia tense beside you, tucking away her sadness before she breaks the silence. “It’s time to go. I'll get the map.”

She abruptly turns and walks away, and when you and Bellamy lock eyes across the fire, you can see the concern in them. You give him a reassuring smile, your way of saying she’ll be okay, though you’re not sure if you believe it yourself. You feel a drop of water land on your forehead, and you look up just as more start to fall, the sky mourning Lincoln and Sinclair with you.

Everyone heads back to the armory, grabbing the discarded weapons and ammo and taking them back to the rover, loading everything as quickly as you can. Once everything is packed up, you all gather around the rover, and Bellamy looks at Raven, who looks like she’s going nowhere. “Hey, we're leaving. Why aren't you ready?”

“We're not going with you.”

Clarke starts to protest, “Raven-”

“I can barely walk and my shoulder's killing me, but my brain is all kinds of awesome.”

Monty looks at her with admiration. “She remembered that Alie downloaded herself into the Ark mainframe. If it's still there, we can find a back door.”

“I'm guessing once you connect Alie 2 to Luna, we'll need to find Alie 1 to take her down.”

Bellamy turns to Miller and gives him a serious look. “Miller.”

Miller motions between himself and Bryan. “We'll keep them safe.”

Harper smirks and points to them. “I'll keep them safe.”

Bellamy turns to Jasper. “How about you? It's gonna be dangerous.”

“You know me well. I'm in.”

He already knows he doesn't have to ask you, Octavia, or Clarke, because you were always in, no matter what. Everyone says their goodbyes, hugging and waving to each other as one group prepares to leave, and the other stays behind. Once the goodbyes are said and a chorus of “may we meet agains” has been exchanged, Bellamy walk to the drivers side and gets in. You take the passenger seat while Clarke, Octavia, and Jasper all get in the back.

As soon as everyone’s inside, you turn to look at them. “Ready to save our people?”

“Let’s do this thing.”

next chapter

#bellamy blake #bellamy blake x reader #the 100 #the 100 rewrite #the 100 fanfiction

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glacecakes · 3 years

Text

Alchemy Lullaby (16/?)

Of all the changes that came with living in the castle, becoming a father was not one he anticipated. When Eugene encounters a small child suffering like he did, he gives them the opportunity to grow up the way he never did… helping them both heal. (AU where Varian is 4 and gets adopted by Eugene)

The worst child custody fight you’ve ever seen.

Read the rest on AO3

Y'all I am so nervous I really hope this delivers! I spent a good 5 days just agonizing over how to get my idea across, editing, redoing, this was a monster to make. The biggest goddamn shoutouts to Scar server, coloring_the_banner, @aj-reblogs, and @space--butterflies for ideas and inspiration, and @finnoky for being my partner in this whole mess, as well as the amazingly talented artist for this chapter. SIMP FOR FINN OR DIE BY MY BLADE Oh also, I had to retcon the last sentence from the previous chapter you shall see why.

Quirin and Ulla, glaring one another down.

A flask in Ulla’s hands, a sword in Quirin’s.

Varian whimpered from the doorway. Rapunzel and Eugene were so close, he could feel it! As each second ticked by, another rock reacted to her warmth, heating up his soul, his heart. He just had to hang on a little longer, and he could go home! Right?

Quirin stared Ulla down. His back was turned away from their son in the doorway, and he didn’t intend for Ulla to step any farther.

“Quirin,” she says, exasperated. “This is what you wanted, is it not?” She swirled the small vial around in her hand. “You wanted the moonstone, the rocks taken care of! This will do that!” To demonstrate, she let a single drop fall onto a nearby rock. Amber creeped up the surface, swallowing the rock wholly until it crumbled away, leaving only the amber behind. “If we give this to Varian, it’ll eject the moonstone from him!”

“I want the moonstone destroyed, and I want Varian safe,” Quirin hissed. “You were the best option; I didn’t want to kill him!”

Ulla raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “I thought you were all about duty? ‘No matter the cost’?”

“Not at the expense of a child!”

“Oh, relax. This won’t kill him. Probably. I’m actually not sure.” She shrugged, and Quirin’s anger grew. How could she be ok with killing a child, her own son? The whole reason he was here was to satisfy his morals and duty, and yet her solution was not feasible.

He’d let Ulla manipulate him for far too long. She knew how he felt about her, and she’d used it against him this whole time! She preyed on his desire for a son, for a family, and he’d totally bought into it. The man had told himself he was doing this out of duty, but he never was.

“If you cannot guarantee his safety, then I won’t let you hurt him.” He said, and Ulla’s face fell. “I only put up with those experiments in the hopes of a solution, and yet all that’s come from this is pain. I…” He looked back at Varian. “I stole a child from his father in the hopes that you could end this.”

“And I can,” Ulla insisted. She thrust an arm out, reaching for Varian. “If you would just trust me!”

“What a fool I am,” He sighed. “To ever think I could trust you.”

Her eyes narrowed, face morphing into a scowl. Quirin brandished his sword, but alas she was prepared. From her apron she pulled a small vial and threw it at Quirin’s feet. It exploded into goo, trapping him in place.

With him out of the way, Ulla’s attention fell solely to the boy. Her hair practically floated in midair, more and more chunks falling out her bun as she stalked forward. “Oh, Varian,” She sang, gaze trained solely on her son. “Come to momma, moondrop. Let momma fix you.”

Quirin struggled desperately to escape from the goo trap, but the alchemy held strong. “Varian, run!” he cried.

The child backed up in fear, shaking his head. “Punzel’s gonna be here! She’s coming for me!” He insisted. Just a little longer, he just had to wait a little longer…!

His momma laughed in agreement. “Yes, stay. It doesn’t matter, Varian. Just take your medicine, and all our problems will go away…” Now that Ulla was closer, her scowl morphed into a cheshire grin. She ran a hand through her hair, leaving a large piece hanging like a curtain over one eye.

Varian’s mind reeled as tears streamed down his face. Think, think! Eugene always told him to come find him when he was in danger, but he knew where Eugene was! He was coming! Why wasn’t he here yet?

He glanced around wildly, looking at anything aside from his momma and the glowing vial in her hand. From Quirin, who struggled to free himself, to the moon shining through the window…

Wait, that’s it! The incantation! The one Quirin said to only use in danger! This surely counted as danger, right?

“Wither and decay…” He mumbled, and Ulla’s face lost all color. “End this dest-destiny…” He didn’t really know what the words meant, did that matter? He hoped not.

“Don’t you dare,” Ulla growled, grabbing Varian’s arm roughly. “Don’t you dare you brat! You worthless child!” She pushed the vial into his face. “DRINK IT!”

BANG!

“GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

Eugene stood front and center at the lab’s entrance, chest heaving as he stared at the scene in anger. His baby boy, backed into a corner and at a madwoman’s mercy! Righteous justice bubbled in his chest, a desire to grab Varian and cause just as much pain to this lady as she had caused their family. Rapunzel at his side readied her frying pan while her braid shone like the sun. Cassandra stood by as well, sword drawn and ready to fight Quirin, though she lowered it slightly when she saw he was no threat.

The alchemist snarled, throwing down Varian’s arm and reaching for her alchemy. “Honestly, if you all had just waited five minutes, I would’ve gladly handed him back…!” Why did none of them see her way? She just wanted to extract the moonstone from a baby who had no use for it, nor a proper grip on his powers. She wanted the rocks to vanish, just like the rest of them! Ulla charged at the trio, throwing a smoke bomb to distract them. The room filled with smoke, hiding Varian from sight.

“Varian!” Rapunzel called. “Hang on, honey! We’ll save you!”

Ulla’s voice rang out loud and clear from behind. “I’m trying to save us all, you morons!” Rapunzel brought up her frying pan to bat away another bomb now that she could see Ulla through the smoke. “If I had the moonstone, I could retract all the rocks!”

“What makes you so sure you can control them if Varian can’t?” She barked. The only response she got was a goo bomb trapping her pan to her hand. “Ugh, seriously?” Ulla smirked, throwing another bomb she knew Rapunzel couldn’t dodge. The princess braced for impact, only for Cassandra to push her to the floor just in time.

“Eugene!” Cassandra called through the smoke. “Go find Varian!”

Eugene held up his shirt to help his breathing through the smoke, though it was slowly beginning to dissipate. He could barely make out Quirin’s form, trapped under Ulla’s alchemy. While part of him still hated the man’s guts, seeing that he was not on Ulla’s side (anymore) was enough to push that down for now. “Quirin,” He rasped. “Varian. Is he ok? I swear if you hurt a hair on his head-”

“He’s fine, I tried to stop Ulla from using that chemical. I’m so sorry,” That got Eugene to blink in shock. A truce, a common enemy, that would’ve been expected, but an apology? “I should never have taken him, I was just trying to do my duty, I never wanted him to be hurt-!”

Eugene cut him off. “Yea, we can hash that out later. Varian?” That made Quirin blink a few times in shock. He was just ignored, just like that? Well, he couldn’t blame Eugene, it was his son after all. But still, ow. He pointed his sword in the direction of the boy.

“Varian, bud, you there?” Eugene said, and the smoke finally cleared enough that he could see his son still in the corner. “Oh thank god-” He trailed off at his son’s appearance. “Varian…?”

Pitch black eyes stared back. His baby’s lovely hair, raven black with a streak of moonlight, was now dark as the rocks he controlled, with teal flowing through his head. A large shadow loomed behind Varian, creeping and slowly swallowing the room in darkness.

“Break these earthly chains… and set the spirit free.”

The floor beneath him cracked, and the air turned stale, blowing away any remaining smoke.

“Wh-” Cassandra tried to speak, but broke into violent coughs. Like sand in an hourglass, energy sapped away from the adults in the room, redirected towards the toddler. With each heartbeat Eugene felt himself weaken, but still he staggered forward, dropping down onto his knees in front of his son.

The past few days have been wrought with anxiety, but now, seeing Varian in front of him, so close yet so far… that was worst of all. Eugene’s boy was dressed in rags similar to when he was first found (Where was his suit? His suit that he adored and made Varian look like himself?). Oh how Eugene wanted to scoop Varian up. To run away, to the ends of the earth. But that would make him no better than Ulla. To think just a few days ago, nothing was wrong, their only problem had been Varian’s jealousy towards Rapunzel. How had it all gone so wrong? Did that make Eugene a bad parent? If he had fought harder, would Varian be in this position? Or would this destined to happen, the forces inside his son doomed to swallow them all whole?

He reached out, hands shaking, and pulled Varian into his arms. His clothes sizzled slightly under Varian’s touch, but he didn’t care. He rocked Varian back and forth, just how he liked it. “Varian?” Eugene whispered. “Varian, can you hear me?”

“...Wither and decay,” Varian murmured, another tear falling.

Distantly, Eugene could hear the others struggling. He heard a thump as someone collapsed, the distressed cries of Rapunzel. He glanced up, and… was it just him or was her hair flashing? Like a candle on the verge of going out, Rapunzel’s hair flickered between blonde and brown. She grasped at her chest, clawing at it as if something was trying to burst out. From under her fingertips a faint gold glowed.

“....Thief…” Ulla’s voice rasped. She lay on her stomach and rolled a vial over to Eugene. “U...use that on him! Make him drink it! Otherwise we’ll all die…!” Her eyes turned desperate, a silent call for a truce.

His arms were now burning where Varian touched. He rested his chin on Varian’s normally soft hair, only for it to feel hotter than a thousand suns. But none of that mattered. All that mattered was the boy he had in his arms. His baby, his darling, finally back where he belonged.

Eugene held the golden chemical, ready to move it to Varian’s lips…

And faltered.

No.

He wasn’t going to risk Varian’s life for his own.

He tossed the vial aside and placed a kiss to the top of Varian’s head, ignoring the searing pain it caused his face. Though it might have just burned his stubble off. “Bluebird,” He whispered. “Dad’s here. You’re ok now. Come on, Varian, come back to me.”

“End... this destiny…” Varian faltered ever so slightly.

From where she had collapsed, Rapunzel sat up shakily. “Varian, you mean so much to us. Please…” While his vision was blurred, Eugene could tell he was right; her hair was brown again. A golden stone pulsed on her chest, giving her the strength to stumble towards them. Upon reaching her love and son, she collapsed once more, placing shaking hands on Varian’s shoulders. Miraculously, she didn’t burn.

“Sweetie,” She whispered. “We’re here, we need you.”

A single tear trailed down Eugene’s cheek. “We love you,” he said.

There was silence.

Tiny hands squeezed at Eugene’s arm. It didn’t burn.

“Daddy…? Mommy…?”

Varian blinked once, twice, eyes no longer tar, but rather the same electric blue as always. His hair was back to normal too, and the burns slowly began to fade to a general ache instead of searing. Even breathing felt easier. Eugene let out a wet laugh, placing a kiss to the crown of Varian’s head once more.

“Yea bud, daddy and mommy,” he choked out, and Varian sighed, content. They sat there for a moment, the three of them, Rapunzel wrapping both of them into a hug. Finally, after days of agony, they were together again.

Slowly, steadily, Cassandra stood up, leaning against her sword. She couldn’t help but feel a little awkward, but nonetheless glad to see Varian back to normal. Quirin, who had finally managed to free himself from the goo, also seemed at peace. They stood in place, watching the family with smiles on their faces.

For a moment, all was calm.

A hand snatched Varian’s shirt collar, retching him from his parent’s grasp with a cry. Eugene barely had any time to react before Ulla was forcing the amber solution down Varian’s mouth.

“No!” He yelled as his son began to cough and sputter, writhing in Ulla’s grasp so much that she almost dropped him. With hungry eyes she watched as Varian curled in on himself and screamed, his pain causing a flurry of rocks to sprout all over the lab and weaken the already damaged structure. Not only that, but creeping tendrils of amber engulfed each new rock, reaching claws out to try and ensnare anything that ventured too close.

Cassandra tried to strike one with her sword, but it shattered on impact. Shit, this stuff was just as strong as the rocks!

“How is this better than the moonstone!?” She hissed at Quirin. The knight didn’t respond, instead shielding her when a nearby rock exploded from the force of the amber. A war of yellow and black raged, ravaging the room.

“Varian!” Eugene screamed, horrified as the child seized on the floor. Much like Rapunzel moments ago, a bright glow centered on his heart grew. This one was cyan, and as it got brighter, his hairstripe grew dimmer.

Ulla’s hand dug into the boy’s chest, seizing what grew. He let out a final scream, and the room exploded in a bright light.

Rapunzel’s own breast glowed briefly, reigniting her hair long enough for it to wrap protectively around her boyfriend. Quirin and Cassandra huddled together to brace for impact. Wind howled around them, so loud that it was all they could hear, and dust blew directly into their faces.

When Rapunzel’s hair parted, and Cassandra and Quirin opened their eyes, the house was destroyed.

Shattered support beams lay strewn across the landscape, some impaled by black rocks that were beginning to move. A loud groan echoed, haunting as the rocks of Old Corona shifted directions until all of them faced towards the ruined lab.

At the epicenter, where all the rocks pointed, lay a very still boy.

Too still.

“No no no!” Eugene lurched forward, coughing violently as the debris that coated his lungs made itself known. But that didn’t stop him, dragging across the ruins until he was at Varian’s side. “Varian!” He begged, shaking arms picking up his son. He cradled him close to his chest, hoping, no, praying, that Varian was ok.

He was quickly joined by Cassandra and Rapunzel, who's searching hands checked Varian for signs of life. Cassandra placed a finger on his neck, and let out a massive breath. “He’s alive,” she whispered. “Just unconscious.”

“What on earth was that…?” Rapunzel asked, fear clouding her emerald eyes.

In all honesty, Eugene had no clue. He glanced at his sunshine, with her once again brown hair, and Cassandra, with her broken sword and shattered look, and sighed.

Suddenly, the rocks lit up blue around them. It started off their usual hue, glowing brighter and brighter, even more so than when Rapunzel’s hair reacted to them. The air hummed with electricity, and sparks jumped from rock to rock with loud cracks.

“Finally…”

The trio whipped their heads around. Eugene’s heart leapt into his throat as he clutched Varian tighter.

Ulla stood off to the side, previously silent, now admiring her new form. Her hair was set free from its bun, ending at her waist and a bright teal, more saturated than Varian’s hairstripe. Gone was her alchemy apron and goggles, replaced by a black, capped sleeve dress. Dark blue spikes covered her lower arms.

The moonstone spritzed with power on her chest.

“After 5 agonizing years…” Ulla’s voice was haunting, almost melodic. She spread her fingers out, beckoning a rock to her command. It creeped up from the earth until she rested her palm on its surface. The power was addictive, filling Ulla’s veins with refracted sunlight. No wonder Varian put up such a fight, she’d rather die than be without this power ever again!

Her euphoric haze faded at the sight of the trio. In the thief’s arms was her son, the boy who had given her so much grief for all these years. It was laughable, how easy the solution had been in retrospect. But oh well, live and learn.

Rapunzel glared down the other woman, clutching Eugene’s bicep in support. Like hell they would let this woman get away with what she did. So what if she had an indestructible body armor and ultimate power? She hurt their kid, and they’d kick her ass.

Ulla’s grin turned wicked sharp. “I can make the world as it should be,” she raised her arm, and the spike she’d summoned grew. Then another joined it, and another, and suddenly a ring of obsidian rose around her. Their points all faced the family, preparing to spring forward.

“Starting with you.”

Without warning, the rocks formed a trail, several jutting closer and closer, snaking through the earth preparing to meet flesh. They braced for impact-

CRUNCH.

Ulla gaped at the piece of rock that jutted out of her chest.

Panting, Quirin drove the point further into her.

She fell to her knees.

Then her side.

Her eyes stared forward, unblinking, gazing at the son she never loved.

#varian #tangled the series #tts #tts varian #eugene fitzherbert #tangled eugene #tts eugene #team awesome

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vespertine-legacy · 3 years

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Spirit of Vengeance Walkthrough

Welcome to my (hot-mess) attempt at a walkthrough of the Spirit of Vengeance flashpoint.

This walkthrough will mostly pertain to Story Mode difficulty, as I have yet to run Veteran or Master mode (hoping to get some guildmates to run it with me once they’ve gotten through the story content), but my expectation is that they’re mostly just harder mobs and no kolto stations in Master.

Obviously, there will be spoilers ahead for the 6.2 flashpoint.

If you do Solo-Story mode (the Cinematic Story version where you have the default companion, thankfully now set at influence level 25 instead of 1), you’ll notice that this default companion is ranged. That’s probably a hint as to the type of companion you might want to bring with you on the other difficulty levels. It seems that, as the name implies, you cannot bring group members into solo-story mode, so hopefully in that mode, you won’t encounter too many bugs or issues. Story mode has been stealth patched some to not be too terrible, but lots of players are still having difficulty and running into glitches.

One of the biggest themes of this flashpoint is that there are a lot of mobs. It’s been compared to an uprising, but there are bigger breaks between mobs. Though it is really easy to get the 75, 150, and 300 kills achievements for Varad, Dar’manda, and Ash’ad.

You start out on the Champion’s Glory, and when you run down the hallway, you run right into a Varad mob. You can stick along the right-hand-side wall to not immediately trigger them if you want. In Varad mobs, Bloodsworn are healers, Beskaryc are standard silvers, Hulks are standard golds with a decently nasty knockback, and Hounds are their puppies (you’ve seen them before in Mandalorian Raiders). Nothing much to watch out for with them. There’s one Bloodsworn in the first mob in the room who likes to glitch and be stuck up on a pillar where you can’t target him and can only reach him with AOEs.

Before you leave the first room, there is a Relic for the Relic Hunter achievements here. On one of the tables in the north east corner, you’ll find the Heirloom Varad Warstaff. However, it may be glitchy, and it may not show up. I took my Jedi Knight and my Trooper into the room four times each and it never showed up, but my Bounty Hunter got it on the first try. (The Relics will not be visible in my screenshots since I’ve already collected them, but I’d like to give an idea of location).

Continuing down the hallway, you’ll encounter some more mobs, and you’ll see your first kolto station. You’ll probably use these in at least one of the boss fights.

After fighting a biggish mob in the final room, you’ll see a big blue console to disable the first boarding tether. Before clicking it, make note of the three kolto stations around the room, since you may end up needing at least one of them. Disabling the tether summons the first boss, Gorga Brak. He has almost 3 million health, which is maybe a little absurd, but he’s not really thaaaaaaat bad, you’re just in for a long, boring fight. He does Full Auto, Flame Sweep, and Fire Bomb. Remember when I said you might want a ranged companion? Don’t quote me on this, but I think he’s less likely to put the Fire Bomb on a ranged companion. Also I thought for a while that Fire Bomb couldn’t be interrupted, but then I was able to interrupt one of them, so I’m not sure anymore. Maybe you can only interrupt it if it’s targeting you? You can interrupt Flame Sweet and Full Auto, both of which are kind of annoying. Anyway, depending on your dps output, [Spongebob Narrator voice] Several Minutes Later, you will kill Gorga Brak. On to the next ship by clicking a panel by one of the boarding pods in the next room.

Now you’re on the Dar’manda ship, the Fortune’s Folly, and everything is on fire. Fire bad. As soon as you move, a mob runs in. At least the Dar’manda have the decency for the healers to be labeled “medics.” Commit war crimes and kill the medics first. Next on your kill list should be specialists because they throw some grenades and Fire Bombs and shit that are just annoying.

In the room with the big holes in the floor, just stick to the right-hand-side in order to do the least jumping and potential falling. Turn off sprint if you’re worried. Your companion may just leap to their death because companions Be Like That sometimes, but there’s a platform at the end with a med droid where you can re-summon them. There is a lore item on the south side of the room before you go across, a little datapad.

After crossing the Gaps of Doom, you’ll start seeing yellow NPC nametags for War Profiteers and Dancers. Try not to kill any of them, because if you manage not to, you’ll get an achievement (alternatively, try to kill all of them, maybe there’s an achievement for killing all of the innocent [read, “innocent”] bystanders on the Dar’manda ship). You’ll have to be carefully with AOEs and DOTs, because my pyrotech’s scorch jumped to a LOT of yellows…

The next room has a lot of enemies and a lot of yellows, so depending on how much you want the Mercy achievement, be careful. On your way out of the room, be sure to grab the Flask of Aged Kri’gee from the floor beside one of the benches by the door on the east side for the Dar’manda Relic.

When you get to the Officer’s Quarters, you can pick up the Bonus Mission. If you go into the little side rooms, on the south, there are some biggish mobs there, but there are also two blue crates to click by some of the beds which have keys in them, which gives you the bonus mission Goldie’s Locks. This is for the bonus mission to fight Goldie, a Rancor the Dar’manda are transporting. You might as well pick it up, because even if you don’t pick up the keys, getting too close to Goldie’s cage starts the fight with her, and she’ll be able to kill you but you won’t be able to damage her (features, amiright?).

The room with the second boarding tether has a largish mob and Goldie. Depending on your class, your companion, and your armor rating, you may end up needing one of the kolto stations in the room, but if you do, be very careful that you don’t run close to Goldie’s cage, or you will engage the fight with her, which you’ll have to /stuck out of most likely because her cage door will still be closed and you won’t be able to open it to fight her, but she’ll still be able to kill the shit out of you.

The fight with Goldie is relatively simple. She’s like most of the other Rancor fights--think of the Rancor in the Battle of Rishi or Karagga’s Palace if you’re familiar with either of those. She does an alley attack that you can step out of, but a conal attack that whoever she is targeting has to just eat because it can’t be interrupted, so just point it away from the group (it’s a knockback, but it’s not awful. Her slam isn’t as bad as Bonethrasher’s slam. If you’re on a more mobile dps class, she’ll be a piece of cake. If you have to stand still to do your dps, you may get a little annoyed by her, but it’s not too bad (sorry, snipers and slingers).

There’s also a datapad with lore in the room with Goldie:

On to your next boss fight! Bask Sunn got stealth-nerfed some, but is still a little glitchy (can apparently punch you off the ship entirely according to one report?). Most people’s tactic is to kill his adds first, then take him out. I’ll say though, on my pyrotech, I just put a scorch on each of the four adds, then kicked his ass in about seven seconds, then took out the adds (and on my lightning sorc, I also just focused the boss, doing some AOE damage to the adds, but mostly just burning Bask). So, it’s really up to you. The adds don’t do a whole lot of damage, but they’re annoying, and while they did lower the damage Bask Sunn can do, he can still knock your health down a lot, so I found it easier to just Burn Him (literally, in the case of my PT). My PT was being healed by a level 1 influence Shae Vizla and my sorc was being healed by a level 50 influence Ginx, and both had a great time with just burning the boss, but your mileage may vary on this fight.

For a good time, there are a ton of places you can stand on the bridge and be in the Skybox as I like to call it and just look out into space. When you’re done goofing off, click the panel to go to the Ash’ad ship.

Welcome to the Seeker’s Vigil. In the Ash’ad mobs that greet you, Lorekeepers are healers, and Seekers have an attack called “Surge” with a box that looks like it ought to be a knockback, but either I killed them too quick or it doesn’t actually do shit, so those are your priority targets. Maybe on Veteran and Master step out of it, just in case.

In the “Archives” level of the Seeker’s Vigil, straight west from the door you come out of, there’s a bench with a little toy tauntaun Lore Item on it.

There’s some mobs in the middle of the room that aren’t too bad. Then, if you have a self-yeet to enemy target (Warrior/Knight Force Charge/Force Leap; Powertech/Vanguard Jet Charge/Storm; Assassin/Shadow Phantom Stride/Shadow Stride, but those may be unreliable just because they sometimes like to mess with you when you’re changing elevation; Operative/Scoundrel Holotraverse/Trick Move, similarly may not work since you’ll be changing elevation) you can go upstairs to the Lorekeepers. You can’t get around the debris on the ramp to get up there, you have to yeet up to them (or if you’re in a group and someone else can yeet to them, and then you’ve got a Yeet to Friend, or someone’s got a yoink, etc.), but there’s some cool stuff to look at up there. There isn’t anything to collect that I could find, but just neat stuff to look at.

Next up is The Trap. Don’t run willy nilly into this room. There are lore objects on either side of the room, but there are also two Annoying Snipers on the other end of the room who will engage with you as soon as you run in. You can’t hurt them and you can’t yeet to them, so don’t bother. There are plenty of things you can take cover behind, so run over to the lore objects and click them while you’re not being sniped. The snipe interrupts the “cast” on collecting the lore, so time your click carefully, or prepare to be annoyed. Then, run into the trap, because like I said, you can’t fight the snipers. I’ve placed markers of where the floor will fall. Depending on your graphics settings, it’s pretty obvious when the floor is going to fall out from under you, but just in case. It’s also approximately the edge of where the snipers would be in range of most attacks if your attacks would actually work.

If the fall hurts you too much, you can run up the ramp and hide behind some shipping crates for a bit to get out of range of the tentacles for a moment.

The Ash’ad Relic, the Ajak Genealogical Datacron, is in the boss room of this ship. It’s on a crate behind the boss (south east end of the boss, behind the tether controls). It’s pretty easy to miss, so don’t forget to grab it before you leave. You can run over and grab it before engaging the boss if you keep to the edge of the room.

Troya Ajak is a pretty easy fight. Songbird’s Volley knocks you back when it goes off. Pick Off (which I definitely read as “fuck off” while it was casting) blows you up a little when it goes off. I don’t even know if either of these are interruptable, because this was a pretty straightforward “get the boss’s HP to zero before they get your HP to zero” fight.

All righty. Almost done! Now you get some mobs that are mixed groups of all the clans you’ve fought so far. Remember the healers are: Varad Bloodsworn, Dar’manda Medics, and Ash’ad Lorekeepers, so if you see them, they need to go first. The ones that do special ouchie attacks are Dar’manda Specialists and Ash’ad Sharpshooters (honestly the Varad suck and we’ve known this since Mandalorian Raiders; you tried, gold star for effort). The rest of them, just kill them when you can. On to the boss!

Heta Kol will come down and fight you for a little while, then she’ll get buttmad and fly off while some adds come to the door. If you’re ranged, go ahead and stay on the platform to take them out. If you’re melee try to draw them into the room. Some have said that what resets her health when she comes back down is you leaving the room to fight the adds (but the adds like to run back into the hallway, and if you don’t have ranged attacks or a taunt, you might have to chase them; now might be a good time for your saber throws, your grenades, whatever your longest-range attack is).

The second wave of attacks does bring down Sharpshooters (aka snipers) on the platform, so if you’re focusing on the hallway adds and getting confused as to why your HP is still dropping, try turning around, because there may still be someone sniping you. Her move “Lockdown” can be interrupted, and if you don’t interrupt it, you’ll be dropping red circles from it that you want to stay out of. She throws grenades at someone in the last phase, and it seems to be whoever is closest to her (hello, ranged companion!), and it doesn’t seem like you can cleanse them off (or maybe you can, but then you need to, you know, get out of the circle it drops, and companions are too dumb to do that).

Overall, not a terrible flashpoint, just a little on the long side, and a lot to take in. I’m still excited to try it on the harder difficulty modes, and to find all of the hidden achievements, which there seem to be several spots for.

#swtor 6.2 #swtor 6.2 spoilers #spirit of vengeance #spirit of vengeance spoilers #spirit of vengeance walkthrough #swtor #november plays swtor

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silent-era-of-cinema · 3 years

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Mary Brian (born Louise Byrdie Dantzler, February 17, 1906 – December 30, 2002) was an American actress, who made the transition from silent films to sound films.

Brian was born in Corsicana, Texas,[3] the daughter of Taurrence J. Dantzler and Louise B.. Her brother was Taurrence J. Dantzler, Jr.

Her father died when she was one month old and the family later moved to Dallas, Texas.[3] In the early 1920s, they moved to Long Beach, California. She had intended becoming an illustrator but that was laid aside when at age 16 she was discovered in a local bathing beauty contest. One of the judges was famous motion picture star Esther Ralston (who was to play her mother in the upcoming Peter Pan and who became a lifelong friend).

She didn't win the $25 prize in the contest, but Ralston said "you've got to give the little girl something." So, her prize was to be interviewed by director Herbert Brenon for a role in Peter Pan. Brenon was recovering from eye surgery, and she spoke with him in a dimly lit room. "He asked me a few questions, Is that your hair? Out of the blue, he said I would like to make a test. Even to this day, I will never know why I was that lucky. They had made tests of every ingénue in the business for Wendy. He had decided he would go with an unknown. It would seem more like a fairy tale. It wouldn't seem right if the roles were to be taken by someone they (the audience) knew or was divorced. I got the part. They put me under contract." The studio renamed her Mary Brian.

After her showing in the beauty contest, she was given an audition by Paramount Pictures and cast by director Herbert Brenon as Wendy Darling in his silent movie version of J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan (1924). There she starred with Betty Bronson and Esther Ralston, and the three of them stayed close for the rest of their lives. Ralston described both Bronson and Brian as 'very charming people'.

The movie studio, who created her stage name for the movie and said she was age 16 instead of 18 because the latter sounded too old for the role, then signed her to a long-term contract. Brian played Fancy Vanhern, daughter of Percy Marmont, in Brenon's The Street of Forgotten Men (1925), which had newcomer Louise Brooks in an uncredited role as a moll.

Brian was dubbed "The Sweetest Girl in Pictures." On loan-out to MGM, she played a college belle, Mary Abbott, opposite William Haines and Jack Pickford in Brown of Harvard (1926). She was named one of the WAMPAS Baby Stars in 1926, along with Mary Astor, Dolores Costello, Joan Crawford, Dolores del Río, Janet Gaynor, and Fay Wray.

During her years at Paramount, Brian appeared in more than 40 movies as the lead, the ingenue or co-star. She worked with Brenon again in 1926 when she played Isabel in P.C. Wren's Beau Geste starring Ronald Colman. The same year, she made Behind the Front and Harold Teen. In 1928, she played ingenue Alice Deane in Forgotten Faces opposite Clive Brook, her sacrificing father, with Olga Baclanova as her vixen mother and William Powell as Froggy. Forgotten Faces is preserved in the Library of Congress.

Her first sound film was Varsity (1928), which was filmed with part-sound and talking sequences, opposite Buddy Rogers. After successfully making the transition to sound, she co-starred with Gary Cooper, Walter Huston and Richard Arlen in The Virginian (1929), her first all-sound movie. In it, she played a spirited frontier heroine, schoolmarm Molly Stark Wood, who was the love interest of the Virginian (Cooper).

Brian co-starred in several hits during the 1930s, including her role as Gwen Cavendish in George Cukor’s comedy The Royal Family of Broadway (1930) with Ina Claire and Fredric March, as herself in Paramount's all-star revue Paramount on Parade (1930), as Peggy Grant in Lewis Milestone’s comedy The Front Page (1931) with Adolphe Menjou and Pat O'Brien.

After her contract with Paramount ended in 1932, Brian decided to freelance, which was unusual in a period when multi-year contracts with one studio were common. The same year, she appeared on the vaudeville stage at New York City's Palace Theatre. Also in the same year, she starred in Manhattan Tower.

Other movie roles include Murial Ross, aka Murial Rossi, in Shadows of Sing Sing (1933), in which she received top billing; Gloria Van Dayham in College Rhythm (1934); Yvette Lamartine in Charlie Chan in Paris (1935); Hope Wolfinger, W.C. Fields’s daughter, in Man on the Flying Trapeze (1935); Sally Barnaby in Spendthrift (1936); and Doris in Navy Blues (1937), in which she received top billing.

In 1936, she went to England and made three movies, including The Amazing Quest of Ernest Bliss, in which she starred opposite Cary Grant, whom she became engaged at one stage.

Her final film of the 1930s was Affairs of Cappy Ricks, but she auditioned unsuccessfully for the part that went to Janet Gaynor in A Star is Born.

When World War II occurred in 1941, Brian began traveling to entertain the troops, spending most of the war years traveling the world with the U.S.O., and entertaining servicemen from the South Pacific to Europe, including Italy and North Africa. Commenting on those events that had occurred over 50 years ago, she said in 1996,

I was with Charlie Ruggles in Okinawa. And I was on the island of Tinian when they dropped the atomic bomb. Colonel Paul Tibbets, who was the pilot and the officer in charge [of dropping the bomb] took Charlie and me on the plane the next day, and nobody had been allowed in that encampment. So I was on the Enola Gay.

Flying to England on a troop shoot, Mary got caught in the Battle of the Bulge and spent the Christmas of 1944 with the soldiers fighting that battle.

She appeared in only a handful of films thereafter. Her last performance inmovies was in Dragnet (1947). Over the course of 22 years, Brian had appeared in more than 79 movies.

She played in the stage comedy Mary Had a Little... in the 1951 in Melbourne, Australia, co-starring with John Hubbard.

Like many "older" actresses, during the 1950s Brian created a career in television. Perhaps her most notable role was playing the title character's mother in Meet Corliss Archer in 1954. .

She also dedicated much time to portrait painting after her acting years.

Although she was engaged numerous times and was linked romantically to numerous Hollywood men, including Cary Grant and silent film actor Jack Pickford, Brian had only two husbands: magazine illustrator Jon Whitcomb (for six weeks, beginning May 4, 1941) and film editor George Tomasini (from 1947 until his death in 1964). After retiring from movies for good, she devoted herself to her husband's career; Tomasini worked as film editor for Hitchcock on Rear Window (1954) and Psycho (1960).

She died of natural causes on December 30, 2002 at a retirement home in Del Mar, California at the age of 96. She is interred in the Eternal Love Section, Lot 4134, Space 2, Forest Lawn – Hollywood Hills Cemetery, overlooking Burbank, California.

In 1960, Brian was inducted into the Hollywood Walk of Fame with a motion pictures star at 1559 Vine Street.

#mary brian #silent era #silent hollywood #silent movie stars #golden age of hollywood #classic movie stars #classic hollywood #1920s hollywood #1930s hollywood #1940s hollywood

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officialcherubcampus · 3 years

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Three Futures - The Chairman

So what happens to James, Lauren, Kerry and all the gang after Shadow Wave?

Robert Muchamore has written three stories, depicting alternative futures for James and Kerry set in the year 2031.

October 2031 - No 10 Downing Street

James Adams tipped his armchair back and stared at the portraits on the wall. He recognised Winston Churchill, but he’d never paid much attention in history class at school so he didn’t know any of the other historical figures who were glaring at him.

He’d been waiting for long enough to know every detail of the room. He’d drunk two cups of black tea because he couldn’t figure out how to work the milk dispenser and didn’t want to splash his best suit. He’d also eaten two iced fancies and a mini scone off the cake stand and grown fond of the way his well-polished shoe left an impression every time he pulled it out of the ultra-thick carpet.

James’ thirteen-year-old middle daughter Sarah had polished th shoes before school. She was the only one of James’ three daughters who still lived at home, because fifteen-year-old Ellen was a qualified CHERUB agent who preferred to live amongst her friends on campus, and eleven-year-old Gwen had just begun her second attempt at CHERUB basic training.

A glance at his watch confirmed that James had been waiting for more than an hour, but as he lunged towards a second mini-scone the door clicked. James shot out of his seat, but was disappointed to see a slim civil servant in a three-piece suit.

“We’re sorry to keep you waiting, but the PM and your sister have been in an urgent meeting regarding the Bluewater Bombing.”

“Has there been any update on the casualty figures?” James asked. “I usually keep a close eye on the news, but I had to surrender all my electronic devices when I entered the building.”

“At least a hundred dead, but they’ll find more because the roof of a department store has collapsed. There could be hundreds more shoppers trapped in the rubble.”

“Christ,” James said. “So can the prime minister still see me at all today?”

“She’s got a helicopter flight in less than half an hour,” the civil servant said. “If you’re willing to ride with her to the heliport, she’ll talk and walk.”

James nodded. “If she can, I can.”

“And your sister will be present as well, of course,” the civil servant added.

...

CHERUB campus, Basic Training Compound B

Gwen Adams had been in CHERUB basic training for sixteen days. It was going better than her first attempt when she’d only lasted eight before breaking her wrist during a jump out of a tree, but she hadn’t slept for the last two nights because the instructors kept waking all the trainees up with blasts of freezing water from a fire hose.

Now she’d been dragged out of her bed for her first one-on-one interrogation session with a training instructor. The idea of the one-on-one was to take a tired and physically exhausted recruit and subject them to a night of bright lights, choking smoke and deafening noise to try and break their spirit.

Gwen had spent the last hour trapped in a cramped steel dustbin that stank of pig manure, with a dozen vicious African bees for company and reggae firing from a huge loudspeaker stack that was so loud it made her teeth vibrate.

“Tell me why I should let you out,” Chief Training Instructor Jake McEwen shouted, as he ripped off the metal lid. “You get any stings off those nice bees?”

“No,” Gwen said, quiet but defiant.

“Pity,” McEwen said. “Next time I might have to drop the whole hive in!”

“If you keep still they won’t sting you,” Gwen said.

“Then maybe I’ll make you carry the can up a big hill, and roll it down with you and the bees inside. That should liven things up!”

Gwen didn’t give McEwen the satisfaction of an answer.

“You don’t deserve to be a CHERUB agent,” McEwen said nastily. “You didn’t get in on talent. You got in because of who your parents are - or were in your Mother’s case.”

“That’s bull,” Gwen said. “I’ve been a red shirt for four years. I’ve trained as hard as anyone who got recruited from outside.”

“You shoud have been sensible like your sister. She never even started basic training.”

“Ellen’s a black shirt,” Gwen replied. “A damned good agent. Sarah chose not to become an agent. She didn’t fail basic training. She never tried because she’s into drama and music and wanted to be an ordinary teenager. That was her decision and I respect her for it.”

“Well you haven’t got what it takes either,” McEwen said. “If you quit now, at least you’ll save a lot of suffering.”

Gwen sneered. “Is that the best you can do? You’ll have to try a lot harder than this to make me quit, McEwen.”

“How about another few hours in the container?”

“Bring it on, sir,” Gwen said defiantly.

“Your mother wasn’t the big hero everyone makes her out to be you know,” McEwen said. “Everybody loves you when you’re dead, but the Kerry Chang I knew was a moody slut. It wasn’t just your dad she slept with. She bonked half of the blokes on campus, you know.”

Gwen didn’t like anyone talking about her mum, but her big sister Ellen had given her some tips for basic training. One of them was that if an instructor is trying to torment you, the best thing to do is to waffle on for ages just to slow them down.

“My mother died from breast cancer when I was three years old,” Gwen said deliberately. “I suppose you’re right in a way. I’m sure Kerry had flaws and wasn’t the perfect person that everyone makes out she was. I just wish I could have one chance to meet her in the flesh and find out for myself.”

“Christ,” McEwen said, making a gagging noise as he gave the metal bin an almighty boot and knocked it over. “You’re such a syrupy little brat I can barely hold off from heaving my guts up all over you.”

Gwen scrambled out on to muddy ground as the can began rolling down a slight hill. As the bin rolled on, McEwen grabbed the back of Gwen’s neck, yanked her to her feet and gave her cheek a hard pinch before shoving her so hard that she barely stayed upright.

“Grab your kitbag and get back to your bunk,” McEwen growled. “I’ve got eighty-four more days to break you Gwen Adams. And you might as well quit now, because McEwen will break you.”

“If you say so sir,” Gwen said, tired and angry but more determined than ever as she squelched down the muddy path towards the trainees’ dormitory.

...

James knew that the Prime Minister’s home had several basement levels, but he was surprised to find himself shooting down more than a dozen storeys in a high speed lift and stepping out on an underground railway platform.

“How long has this been here?” James asked.

The slim civil servant smiled. “Not very long. With the current level of sophisticated terrorist attacks, it was vital to have a system that enabled government officials and senior politicians to travel between buildings in complete safety.”

As the civil servant spoke, a driverless two-car electric train could be heard rumbling towards them. As the lead car pulled into the station, James noticed Prime Minister Finch sitting in a large leather recliner. The only other passenger was James’ sister Lauren, who had to make do with one of the shiny plastic benches along the side.

James felt rather special as the train pulled up just for him. Then he felt overawed as the Prime Minister of Great Britain and current president of the European Union reached out to shake his hand.

Prime Minister Finch had a little joke ready. “I take it you’ve met my intelligence minister.”

Lauren laughed as James shook the Prime Minister’s hand.

“You want to watch my sister,” James told Finch. “She’ll be after your job in no time.”

Finch seemed to like James and laughed noisily. “Over three thousand people have died in terrorist attacks in Britain so far this year. If Lauren does want my job, she’ll not be part of a very long queue. This isn’t a good time to be Prime Minister.”

“It’s an even worse time to be the minister in charge of fighting terrorists,” Lauren added.

Lauren had come into politics almost by accident. She’d been working for the Secret Intelligence Service (MI6) when an undercover mission led her to meet members of Prime Minister Finch’s New Revolutionary Conservative (NRC) party.

The newly formed break-away political party had needed an intelligence expert to give it credibility and Lauren was on the lookout for a new challenge after working for British Intelligence since the age of ten, with only a three year gap for university.

When the NRC swept to power in the 2027 general election, Lauren found herself elected to parliament and thrust into the high-profile role of intelligence minister at a time when global terrorism was spiralling out of control.

“I wish I’d had time for the scheduled meeting,” Finch told James, as the hydraulic doors shut and the automated train began rolling into the tunnel in almost total silence. “I understand your role in the expansion of CHERUB has been absolutely critcal.”

“Back when I was a teenager there were two hundred and fifty kids on CHERUB campus,” James explained. “Now we have more than six hundred in the UK. Our European campus in Spain has another three hundred from EU countries. And there’s more than enough strife in the world to keep all of them busy.”

“And the Americans?”

“The Americans have developed their own CHERUB like facility with our support. We have joint training exercises. But we have to be careful: the more people using kids as undercover agents, the greater the chances of someone finding out about us.”

The concrete tunnel ribs started to blur as the train picked up speed.

“And as well as deputy chairman of CHERUB, you’re a single father?”

James nodded. “Three daughters.”

“You’ve never remarried?”

James laughed. “With three daughters and a high pressure job? I haven’t had a lot of time for dating these past few years.”

“Well I won’t keep you in suspense,” Prime Minister Finch said. “I’ve accepted your application to become the new Chairman of CHERUB, when Zara Asker retires on December first.”

James smiled. “Thank you very much.”

Becoming Chairman was a huge responsibility and James felt nervous. He’d only been on the CHERUB staff for twelve years, but the cards had fallen in his favour: Many more experienced staff had either declared themselves too old for the Chairman’s job, suffered health problems that took them out of the running, or simply lacked the appetite for such a demanding role.

“And if you’re chairman I’m your new boss,” Lauren added.

James couldn’t resist a dig at his little sister. “At least until your lot gets voted out next summer.”

But suggesting that the government was about to get kicked out touched a raw nerve with the Prime Minister. James withered under Finch’s steely glare and the remaining ninety seconds of the journey passed in awkward silence.

“I can’t believe you said that,” Lauren whispered, when the train doors finally opened and Prime Minister Finch got swallowed by a cloud of aides, bodyguards and civil servants.

“Will she have it in for me now?” James asked nervously.

“Finch has got much bigger fish than you to fry,” Lauren said. “But I wouldn’t make a habit of pissing her off...Oh, shit!”

“What?” James asked, as Lauren looked forlornly back into the train carriage. “Lost something?”

Now it was Lauren’s turn to look uncomfortable.

“I’m supposed to be flying on the helicopter with the prime minister,” she explained. “But I’ve left all my briefing documents in the cabinet room.”

“Can’t they just scan and e-mail them?” James asked.

Lauren shook her head. “Don’t be dense. They’re ultra secret. I’m not even supposed to let the briefcase out of my sight.”

Lauren left James behind and began pushing through bodies trying to speak with the PM. James followed his sister because he had no idea what else to do. He soon found himself sharing a rapidly ascending lift with Lauren, Prime Minister Finch and a couple of her political flunkeys.

Lauren used her most grovelly voice as she told her boss what had happened. James wasn’t prepared for the way Prime Minister Finch ripped into her.

“For god’s sake!” Finch yelled. “We’ve just had one of the biggest terrorist blasts in history and you’ve left some of the most sensitive papeers in government lying on a table.”

“It’s not a problem,” Lauren said. “It’s not like they just let any old cleaner in to tidy up the cabinet room after a meeting.”

“It had better not be a problem,” Finch roared. “If those papers get leaked I don’t know what the consequences would be. You go back and pick up those documents. Have we got another helicopter?”

One of Finch’s aides nodded and said that another helicopter could be dispatched for Lauren.

“I have to arrive on time because I’m the prime minister and I can’t be seen to have my schedule disrupted by terrorism. You get your papers back and fly up on the next flight.”

After dressing down Lauren, the PM turned and spoke to her press secretary. “If anyone from the press asks why the Intelligence Minister didn’t fly with me, we say that she was held back in an urgent crisis meeting. Right?”

By this time the high-speed lift was slowing and the doors opened into a full moon, with city lights all around them. They were on the rooftop of a twenty-four storey office building alongside the River Thames. There was an RAF helicopter ready to take flight. More than two-dozen armed police officers guarded the rooftop, while a fleet of pilotless protection drones hovered in the air overhead.

One thing James had learned in life was that the more important you are, the less time you spend waiting around in airports. The British Prime Minister was airborne in the time it took to walk to the helicopter and buckle her seatbelt.

“I can’t believe I left those papers in the cabinet room,” Lauren told James, shouting over the buffeting from the rising chopper. “I’m just so tired. With all this terrorist activity, I’ve barely slept in two nights. My kids haven’t seen me in over a week.”

James reached across to put a reassuring arm around his sister’s back, but as he did he saw an orange flash out of the corner of one eye. When he looked over, James saw that one of the protection drones had launched a missile directly at the Prime Minister’s helicopter.

“Jesus Christ,” James shouted, as the Prime Minister’s helicopter’s tail rotor was hit square on by the missile.

“The terrorists must have hacked into the controls for the protection drones,” Lauren said, as they both dived for cover.

James didn’t hear half of this sentence because the exploding helicopter had lit up the sky.

The force of the blast lifted several of the armed police who’d been guarding the perimeter off their feet, blowing them over the building’s edge to certain death when they splattered the streets below.

James was luckier and found the blast slamming him back into the lift. Lauren was alongside but she’d whacked her head as she’d fallen back and now slumped at James’ feet inside the lift car.

“Lauren?” James said, as he crouched over his sister and pinched her cheek.

But she was out cold.

Even worse, James now saw that the terrorists had hacked more than one of the protection drones. Two of the small, pilotless, planes swept low across the rooftop, shooting at lines of policemen who had nowhere to hide on the flat helipad.

The cops’ body armour was no defence against 20mm anti-aircraft shells, and while some managed to get a few shots at the drone, most were annihilated before they even raised their weapons.

James looked at the lift panel and hammered the controls, hoping that they’d descend back into the building, but the lift required some kind of pass or key to operate and James didn’t have one.

He realised that if the terrorists had hacked the drones, they’d have high resolution night-vision images from the drone’s onboard cameras. As intelligence minister, Lauren was the most important person still alive on the rooftop and the drones would surely target her if the bad guys spotted her.

James looked around the lift car, hoping to see an access panel that would let him escape into the lift shaft, but if there was one he couldn’t see it.

As one drone took another sweep across the rooftop, one police officer acted dead until it was right over him. As it passed overhead he rolled over and aimed straight up with his gun. Several shots to the belly did enough damage to send the small black craft spiraling out of control, but the cop’s only reward for his bravery was a well aimed shell from a partner drone.

At least while the bad guys were munching up the cops, they weren’t looking at who was in the lift. James crawled out of the car and found what he was hoping to find: a maintenance grille on the outside of the rooftop lift shaft.

Years of lock picking experience meant he made short work of a bulky padlock holding the panel in place, but one of the drones was swooping in for a third attack run as he ripped the panel away, revealing a two-storey ladder that led down into a maintenance area around the lift shaft.

Luckily James’ best suit was a similar colour to heliport tarmac and the black beast skimmed overhead without taking a shot. As soon as the unmanned plane had passed, James scrambled back towards the lift.

But James wasn’t the only man alive on the rooftop. Three surviving police officers had seen him rip off the maintenance flap and began a desperate sprint towards it as the drone turned to make another attack run.

Their running would make the escape route obvious to the drone pilots, and while all the cops had to do was make it to the hatch, James had to double back and carry Lauren from the lift car.

“Christ you’re a big lump.” James told his unconscious sister, as he threw her on to his back.

As James staggered back out on to the roof, two drones were making attack runs from opposite sides of the gore-spattered helipad. Two of the cops had made it through the maintenance shaft and down the ladder, but the third man saw what James was trying to do and stayed bravely at the top of the ladder waiting to help James get Lauren inside.

James had spent much of the last few years working behind a desk on campus. He wasn’t terribly fit and his shoulders ached and stomach muscles strained as he waddled along with Lauren on his back.

The drones were closing from opposite sides at over a hundred and fifty kilometres an hour and James felt sure that it was only a matter of seconds before a 20mm laser-guided shell ripped through his torso and turned him into a big red smudge.

“I’ve got her legs,” the cop shouted. “Let her go.”

As James let Lauren flop off his back into the arms of the policeman, one of the drones opened fire. The three-metre-wide aircraft skimmed so close to James’ head that heat from its tiny jet engine singed hairs on the top of his head.

But instead of firing a 20mm shell at James, the drone sent a trio of missiles spiralling upwards, taking out the drone coming in from the opposite direction.

Apparently the terrorists hadn’t managed to hack into all of the Prime Minister’s protection drones and James had been saved by one of the ones still controlled by the good guys.

Still, James wasn’t about to stick around to watch dogfights and dived head first through the hatch, straining all the muscles down one side as he grabbed the metal ladder and pivoted his body until his feet hit the rungs.

He clanked breathlessly down two and a half storeys on the outside of a lift shaft that went all the way down to the secret railway twelve storeys below ground. The policemen who’d made it through the hatch had sat Lauren on a landing, then opened a fire door that led into an office whose workers had gone home several hours earlier.

“What happened?” Lauren asked groggily, as she rubbed her eyes. “I’ve got a concussion. I’ve not had a concussion in years!”

The struggle on the rooftop wasn’t over and chunks of rubble tumbled down the lift shaft as more 20mm shells punched through the helipad two storeys up. But nobody else made it through the access panel, either because they didn’t know it was there, or because they were all dead.

One of the cops smiled at James. “I don’t know who you are, but I reckon you saved all our lives up there.”

James didn’t respond because he’d ripped several muscles. As he slumped against the wall he knew he’d just witnessed one of the biggest terrorist acts in British history. The prime minister was toast, but James couldn’t think about that and all he saw in his head were the faces of his three daughters and he felt an almost overwhelming urge to find them and give them hugs.

“So who am I?” James asked himself quietly, as tears welled in his eyes.

“You’re the new Chairman of CHERUB and you’re going to do a great job,” Lauren said, as she shuffled half a metre across the carpet tiles and rested her badly-grazed hand on the ripped knee of her brother’s best suit.

...

As James and Lauren hobbled down forty-eight flights of stairs to ground level, an emergency meeting of senior cabinet ministers took place in Downing Street. The assembled ministers agreed that a decisive message had to be sent to the British people by rapidly selecting a new Prime Minister.

Three senior cabinet ministers put their names forward but the NRC was a deeply divided political party and even the candidates themselves eventually saw that they needed a compromise candidate that they could all unite behind.

When news arrived that the Intelligence Minister had survived the rooftop attack, a consensus began to form that in a time of major crisis a young dynamic minister with a background in intelligence and anti-terrorist operations would be an ideal candidate for Prime Minister.

Lauren was in the basement lobby of the office building when the Chancellor of the Exchequer called her mobile.

“We think you’re the right candidate and certainly the only one who might carry the support of the entire NRC party,” the chanellor told Lauren. “The top job’s yours if you want it.”

Lauren had just bumped her head and still wasn’t quite with it. “Top job,” she mumbled. “What are you talking about?”

“We want you to become Prime minister.”

Lauren gulped. Did she really want to make the biggest decision of her life right after a nasty bump on the head? Did a mother of two young kids really want to replace someone who she’d just seen blown up by terrorists?

“I’ll need a minute to think about it,” Lauren said.

And then she hung up.

#CHERUB #cherub books #Robert Muchmore #Three Futures #James Adams #Lauren Adams #Jake McEwen

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noonemonitorsmyscreentime · 3 years

Text

Ungodly

Because I, again, lost my goddamn mind I decided to write the fight from S15, ep19 from Chuck’s perspective, sort of. Like it’s from Chuck’s perspective but in the third person because that makes sense somehow. It’s like real short. And obvs fan fiction, but like commentary, maybe, idk. Anywaaay... enjoy?

“You can’t defeat GOD!” thought Chuck as he kept punching and kicking Sam and Dean. He was finally going to make them show him the respect he deserves. How dared two little insignificant humans mess with his story? They were his toys to do as he saw fit. He kept trying to fix them and yet they were constantly broken. At what point do you give up on trying to make them work?

Chuck couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw those two Winchester bastards rising up after each blow. The constant defiance had lost its cuteness a while back. What would it take to finally beat them?

They could barely stand and had to use each other for support. Together they couldn't make for a whole man and yet, they still chose to try and be two. It really wasn't a fair fight. "Why are you smiling?”

“Because, you lose.” Sam Winchester’s bloodied face was defiant. Maybe he had punched the sense out of the younger brother. Lucifer would have been disappointed to find out that the one who finally broke Sam Winchester had been his pops. But Sam wasn't looking at him. His gaze was fixated on something behind him.

Ha!

Jack. Poor kid was going to see his adoptive dads being beaten to death before he, himself… well, not meet his maker-- before he, himself, would be silenced for good. And with the brothers gone, it would also stick.

What was that silly little child going to do? There was no angel daddy to trade his life for him, his actual daddy, the supposedly new favorite son was soundly sleeping in the empty and his two mommies were in Heaven. This kid did not have a great track record with keeping parents alive. He killed all his moms and all his dads died for him. In any case they will soon. Chuck supposed that the Winchesters could wait a while longer for the next punch. “Hey, Jack.”

He slowly closed the gap between them. The kid was just staring at him. This was too easy. How much fighting had they done and how much pain had they suffered to bring the boy back, and he was just standing in front of him, not even a weapon in hand?

The kid was a great story beat and Lucifer really threw him a curveball by becoming a father. Jack had outlived his narrative expectation to a greater extent than Chuck would have thought possible. He had to admit that his grandson was, as late story additions go, a good one in spite of his cliched beginnings. But how many kids with abusive fathers and dead mothers can you have before it all gets too tedious? He was so innocent, so pained, so tortured and so, so very and thoroughly annoying.

Chuck snapped his fingers expecting the boy to dissolve in a delightfully fine mist of pink. After all, how many times did he need to get rid of the kid to finally make it stick?

Nothing happened. Jack was still in front of him, mirroring his look of disbelief. He'd give him that just like all the men in his life, he was hard to get rid of. Chuck snapped his fingers once more. Again. Nothing. Jack was still in front of him, but he could see that something was changing in the child. He took a step closer to god.

Snap. Nothing. Step. Snap. Nothing. Step. Snap. Nothing. Step. Snap. Nothing. Step. Snap. Nothing. Step. Snap. Nothing. No more steps left.

The boy put his hands on each side of Chuck’s face while his eyes glowed and the veins in his body became illuminated with a powerful gold light. Chuck had known this feeling before; this incredible river of power leaving him was the power needed for the Creation. But, it was at the same time different; he was not merely being drained of power, he was losing it, never to be replenished again.

It was agony. It was his hell. It was never ending.

When the last flicker of power was consumed Chuck fell to the ground trying to catch his breath. He had never felt so weak. He had never been this weak. He would always be this weak.

He heard a snap and prepared to be disintegrated. Instead he saw Sam and Dean healed.

Sam picked up his book that now lay open on the ground. “What… What did you do?”

Dean Winchester looked at him from above, his face half illuminated by the warm sun, each feature of this perfectly crafted weapon was sculpted and majestic “We won.”

“So this is how it ends. My book.”

By the time he finished his words Sam had arrived near him, book open in hand. “See for yourself” he said as he threw it in front of him.

The pages were blank. There were no words. “There’s nothing there.”

“Oh, there is, but only Death can read it.” Cold chills moved up and down Chuck's body at the younger brother's words. They hadn't known how to beat him. He knew that it was time for the victory monologue. He needed an explanation. And, boy, did the brothers deliver one

!“That’s right. So we had to come up with a plan B. That wasn’t too hard though when we realized that Michael really is a daddy’s boy. See, he didn’t take it too well when he found out that you asked Lucifer for help. Oh, he was desperate to be the favorite again.” Dean stated in a cold voice, some disdain directed to Michael. It was natural after all, one iteration took his body for a joyride of murder, mayhem and world domination and the other tricked and used Adam to bring about the end of times.

“Since we couldn’t read the book we had to come up with a story about finding the spell, which we knew Michael would feed straight to you” Sam continued. “All that prep work we did to turn Jack into a cosmic bomb? Well, it turned him into a… a sort of power vacuum. He’s been sucking up bits of power all over the place. So, when the two heavyweights -- your boys-- showed up to duke it out, oh-hoh! That charged him right up.” Oh, if only his children had managed to work together all of this could have been so different. With Michael and Lucifer by his side Sam and Dean would have never won.

“See, we knew Michael would warn you and you’d show up here. And you did. And you killed your own son.” This was the fatal mistake, Michael should have been punished last. John Winchester had it right, kill the spirit, not the body.

“And you beat the crap out of us. Releasing all kinds of power. God power.” “Jack absorbed it all. It made him...”“Well, it made him unstoppable.” Dean finished the explanation.

Chuck can’t help but laugh. “This… This.. This is why you are my favorites.”

Sam, Dean and Jack look at each other wondering if Chuck understood anything of what he had been told or if his mind had gone alongside his powers.

“You know, for the first time I have no idea what happens next. Is this where you kill me?”

It’s easy to see on Sam’s face that it's a tempting idea and one that had been given some thought. He looks at Dean, on whose face only disgust is shown. “I mean, I could never think of an ending where I lose. But, this, after, everything that I’ve done to you… to die at the hands of Sam Winchester… of Dean Winchester, the ultimate killer...”

Both brothers got a long look from the former god when he said their names. In turn they exchanged a glance, cold fury shone in Dean’s eyes, while Sam’s bore a much somber look of sad pensiveness. A quiet conversation was taking place. Sam would follow Dean’s lead, who now held Chuck’s fate in his hands, in what, the former Supernatural writer, felt was an ironic twist.

Chuck laughed in a last attempt to taunt the boys, to make them dance to his music “It’s kind of glorious.” He knew how to push their buttons, he’d done it for so many years. They were as close to a perfect creation as he had ever come. “Sorry, Chuck.” was Dean’s verdict, who moved right along to sentencing.

Chuck cowered in fear. Dean had no weapon in his hand, no magic gun or special knife. No stakes or arrows or even grenades. Death had to come by hand. But it didn’t. “What? What?”

“See, that’s not who I am. That’s not who we are.” They are free of him. Killing is not the only option anymore.

“What kind of an ending is this?” The last sliver of control that Chuck had over his precious Winchesters faded away.

They are his creation! They are not his favorite when they act in unexpected ways that don’t benefit him. Or his story. A little death, then straight to Heaven for some peace and quiet and relaxation. He deserved it. He only knows how much.

“His power. You sure it won’t come back?” Sam asked the kid. “It’s not his power anymore.” Jack replied truthfully.

Sam gives a short half smile to this. What Jack said is good. “Then, I think it’s the ending where you’re just like us and like all the other humans you forgot about.”

“It’s the ending where you grow old, you get sick and you just die” despite Dean’s mercy, it was clear that it would have given him great pleasure to make Chuck feel a fragment of what the men in front of him had endured for his amusement, but he took content in knowing that Chuck’s own creation would do the job for him. The world would save Dean from killing after all the killing Dean had done for its sake.

“And no one cares. And no one remembers you. You’re just forgotten.” The final blow delivered with steel precision right in Chuck’s, now human, heart had been made by Sam.

The trio moves towards the Impala leaving him in dust. “Guys… Guys.. wait.”

The engine revs and they drive away to the sound of Chuck’s begging “Guys… Guys! No, wait… G-guys… Guys, wait! Guys, wait! Guys, wait! Wait! Wait! Wait! Please, wait! Guys!”

Chuck falls into the dust sobbing.

He has no one. He’s all alone.

“

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yikesharringrove · 4 years

Note

Hi there! Can I get something with #13 and #39 with lots of hurt!Billy?, please friend?

Thank you for your request!

13: “Does it hurt?”

39: Stranded with a broken-down car

Prompts!

This got very long, and very angsty although I tried to throw some sweetness around. I hope you enjoy! I have included a lot of my own headcanons about Billy’s mom and his early life soooo. I was also thinking this takes place after season 2, maybe late April? idk.

There isn’t all that much hurt Billy, more Billy’s hurt leads him to word vomiting at Steve and them bonding 🤷‍♀️ I really hope you like it though!

Steve was fucked.

The engine of the BMW was cold. It wouldn’t even try to turn over when he turned the key in the ignition. No sound came from the under the hood.

Steve was on the edge of Hawkins, he had been at the quarry, wiling away some time while he couldn’t sleep. It was probably close to four in the morning now, so he said fuck it, got out of the car, and started walking home. He would hopefully make it with enough time for a shower and some coffee before walking to school. Maybe his old ten-speed was in the garage still...

Headlights blared at him from around the corner, sweeping over and past him before the car stopped and reversed, pulling up with the passenger door at Steve’s elbow.

“Harrington, what the fuck are you doing here?”

Billy Hargrove, his knight in shining denim was speaking through the window, near shouting over the loud purr of the engine and the screaming of some metal band Steve didn’t bother to know the name of.

“I’m walking.”

“I see that, dumbshit. Why are you walking down the fucking highway at four-thirty in the fucking morning?”

“Car broke down by the quarry. Figured I would walk home.” Steve shuffled his feet, looking down. “I, uh, couldn’t sleep. So. Went for a drive.”

“Get in.” He almost didn’t hear Billy’s command, but Steve knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth. So, he got in.

“Thanks, man.” Billy just nodded slightly, his face mostly hidden by the darkness of the night. He floored the car, speeding along away from Hawkins. “Um, you know my house is-it’s the other way.” Steve took in how tense Billy was, his jaw clamped and his shoulders raised. His grip on the steering wheel was nothing like the lazy one-hand her usually kept.

“You ever just need to escape? Even for a little bit?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I really do.” Steve settled in his seat. He was not opposed to taking a drive with Billy, who seemed to relax a bit. Steve was always good at reading other people. Sometimes he ignored his gut feelings in favor of something he so desperately wanted (the whole Nancy situation was example enough for that), but he could tell when something was wrong. And something was really fuckin wrong with Billy Hargrove tonight.

They drove in silence, flying down the main highway, past the Leaving Hawkins sign.

Steve turned down the music a fraction. “You wanna go get breakfast? I know a good all diner in Indianapolis. They’ll probably be open by the time we get there. My treat.”

Billy just shrugged, but he didn’t turn the music back up, and Steve called that a win.

It was nearly two hours to the city, longer if the person driving you wasn’t a speed demon, so the sun was rising by the time fields began to give way into suburbs, suburbs blooming into urbanism.

Steve sat up, ready to direct Billy to the diner on the corner of Shelby and Norton when he caught sight of Billy in the weak morning sun.

“Jesus fucking Christ. Billy, what happened?” His left eye was puffy, the cheekbone below it swollen and purple, a cut right on the high point. His jaw had long bruises on either side, as though, well it looked as though someone had grabbed him by it.

Steve thinks the worst thing were Billy’s hands.

His knuckles were white, his grip a vice on the steering wheel, but they were free of any bruising, any splits. Steve had been on the receiving end of those fights. He knew Billy fought back, and well, so if he didn’t.

Maybe he couldn’t.

The thought sent a chill down Steve’s spine.

“Can it Harrington. I’m fucking fine.”

“You’re obviously not ‘fucking fine’, Billy. What happened? Who did this?”

“Look, Princess. I’m not one of your fucking kids, so just shut your fucking mouth and leave it the fuck alone or I will make you get out of my fucking car and WALK back to shithole Hawkins. Give me directions, or get out.”

Steve sighed and led Billy along, only speaking when absolutely necessary.

They pulled up in front of Joe’s Shelby Street Diner just as a kind looking waitress with a round face and a gray ponytail was flipping the sign from closed to open.

“Welcome in boys. Take a seat anywhere you like and I’ll be by with some menus.” She blinked at Billy’s face. “And some coffee.” Steve just nodded at her and led Billy to a corner both against the windows.

“My parents used to take me here.” Steve was staring down at his hands on the table, not knowing where to look. “When I was little my dad opened a branch in the city and got an apartment out here. He would only come home on weekends so every Tuesday my mom would pick me up from school, and we’d drive out here together, and meet my dad for dinner.” He doesn’t know why he’s telling billy all of this.

“My mom worked at a joint like this. I would come and hang out after school. She would sneak me rootbeer floats and help me with my homework on her breaks.” He was smiling bitterly. Steve had never heard Billy say anything about his mother before.

“What was she like?”

Billy took a breath, his own hands nervously tugging on the sleeves of his jacket. The denim one. Steve liked it.

“She had me real young, dropped outta high school when she got pregnant at fifteen kinda young. My dad was in Vietnam when I was born. Married her when he came back. I was six. She was a total hippie, she got kicked outta her house when she got knocked up, and lived on a commune with a buncha people until my dad came back. I think she only married him so she could have a place to sleep that wasn’t a tent in a field. I don’t remember a lotta that. didn’t eat any meat until I was, like eight years old. And she fuckin’ named me after William Pester, this like hippie leader who was real famous or something. ”

Billy took a break from his story when the kind waitress returned to get their orders, both boys loading up on breakfast. Steve tried not to speak so loud, afraid of breaking this spell he had created in this booth with Billy.

“Once my dad was back in the picture, it was pretty different. He’s an asshole. Made her change everything about herself. She was always real Catholic, but kind of a free spirit. Only listened to the parts of The Bible that were nice and said to love everyone, but my dad said pickin’ and choosin’ from The Bible was just pussyfooting around religion. She didn’t like that.

“He was a piece of shit from the jump. Married her because ‘a good man supports his family’ or some garbage. Good man my ass. He would yell at her about how she was raisin’ me. Said he left to defend our country, and here she was making sure his only son grew up to be a fuckin’, well. He has a few choice words about me.”

Their food was set down before them, Steve absolutely enraptured by everything Billy was saying. They ate in silence for a minute.

“Do you mind if, I mean, did she pass away?” Steve wanted Billy to keep talking. He liked learning more about him. Every word he said only softened the edges, made him so much more human.

“Nah. She left. Packed her shit one night and was just, gone. She called me a few weeks later and I fuckin’ BEGGED her to take me with her, but she wouldn't come back. I think she went back to her commune or something. I haven’t seen her since I was ten.”

“So, you’ve been with your dad ever since?”

“Yeah. He’s not jazzed about it. Always likes to remind me that I’m a bastard. He’s the one that fucked a fifteen-year-old. He was like, twenty when he did that.”Billy rolled his eyes, shoving a piece of toast into his mouth.

“Did he, do,, that?” Steve asked the question slowly, carefully. Billy snapped his eyes up to meet him.

“So what if he did?”

“I mean-I just, does it hurt?” Billy just stared.

“Are you stupid?” Steve recoiled. “Of course it fucking hurts. He got me real good this time. He’s been especially bitter since we moved here.”

“I’m sorry. That was a stupid, stupid question.” Steve pushed around the scrambled egg on his plate. “Why did you guys move here?”

“You want Neil’s fake answer, or do you want the real one?” Billy leaned in conspiratorily. Steve mirrored him without even meaning to. “Can you keep a secret, Pretty Boy?”

Images of tunnels, of monsters, of staring death in the face and charging it with a spiked bat, dreams of hard, muscular masculine bodies flashed through his mind.

“Yeah. I’m good at secrets.”

“So Neil likes to say it’s to get a fresh start. Move somewhere where nobody knows us. We can have a clean slate as a family.” He spat the last few words out. “But the real story is, he wanted to get my gay ass outta liberal, free lovin’ California, to a shitty hick town where I would be the victim of a fuckin’ hate crime if I let my impulses run wild. He caught me with a guy. We weren’t even doing anything good, just makin’ out. Dad went apeshit though. Threw me down some stairs.” He rolled his eyes and casually kept eating like he hadn’t just dropped this enormous fucking bomb on Steve.

“I’m so sorry, Bill.”

“Why are you sorry? You didn’t hit me. It wasn’t the first time, sure as shit wasn’t the last.”

“Is that why your mom left?”

“Yeah, she was gettin’ it pretty bad there. I mean, so was I, so I don’t get why she left me there with him. Sometimes I really hate her for it.”

“I’m sor-” Steve cut himself off when Billy gave him a sharp look. “You don’t deserve that, is all.”

“I don’t get you, Harrington. You sit there, after I dumped all this shit on you, gave you some incriminating facts about me, and you just tell me I don’t deserve to get hit by my old man. I beat the shit outta you, remember?”

“Yeah, but honestly, I was being super shady that night. I shouldn’t have lied to you about Max.” Steve shrugged.

“That wasn’t all you, Harrington. I had gotten into it with my dad about her, how she’s my responsibility and all that, and then Mrs. fuckin’ Wheeler was all over me when I went there-I mean, don’t get me wrong. I definitely flirted a little to get some information from her, but all I really did was like, stand there. I think I ate a cookie. Usually, older women just get a little flustered, but she was, like, into it. So, I was runnin’ pretty hot by the time I met you.”

“Oh my GOD, Karen used to flirt with me all the time! I would just sit and awkwardly smile and be like, yes hello, I am here to see your teenage daughter, since I am her teenage boyfriend.” Billy laughed at that, a real boisterous laugh Steve had never heard from him before. Steve decided he liked it.

“That’s fucking disgusting. Just because she’s unhappy with her life, doesn’t mean she gets to throw her cat at teenage boys.” Steve choked on his pop, trying not to spew it all over the table.

“Please never say that again,” he coughed out as Billy threw his head back and laughed. He slowly regained himself. “And, you know, I mean what I said. I’m good at secrets. I won’t, I’m not gonna tell anybody.” Billy smiled at him.

“Yeah? King Steve got some secrets? Any you’d like to share with the class? You know, so we’re on even turf here.” Billy winked. Steve’s face went hot.

“Well, I mean, you and I may have some things in, uh, in common.”

“What, like shitty dads?”

“No. Well, I mean yes, but other things.”

“Mommy issues?”

“Oh, definitely, but like, OTHER stuff, too.” He willed Billy to understand. He didn’t know if he’d be able to say it out loud.

Luckily Billy got it. A look of pure shock spread over his face, followed by a huge grin.

“No fuckin’ way. No fuckin’ way you’re gay too, Harrington.”

“Well, I mean. I don’t know.”

Billy’s face fell.

“You don’t know?”

“I mean, like, I like girls. A lot. Like I love girls and everything about them, but there’s also, there’s also guys. And I-there’s definite interest, is what I’m saying.”

Billy smiled again, a softer one this time.

“That’s okay. Y’know some people are into both. Bisexual, is the word. David Bowie is bisexual. For some people, it’s more about the personality of the person, less the, bits I guess.”

“There’s-I mean-Bowie? Sorry, I just mean, like, there are people like that?”

“Yeah, the whole thing doesn’t have to be black and white if that’s not what you feel.”

“Fuck. That was-thanks man.” Steve mulled the word around in his head. Bisexual. It made sense. It felt, good. “Bisexual.” Billy smiled at him again. He returned it.

Billy checked his watch, yawning like a huge cat.

“Fuck, Pretty Boy. We should probably head back. If we go fast we could probably only be a little bit late for class.

“I mean, or we could say fuck it.”

Billy’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah? What do you suggest we do?”

“I don’t even care man, but it’s been way too long since I’ve been in the city, and I feel like we could both use a break from fucking Hawkins. Plus, I don’t know. I like hanging out with you.”

Steve ducked his head, studying the patch of table by Billy’s left elbow, face hot and undoubtedly red.

“I could go for a nice day of playing hooky with you.” Steve beamed at Billy, throwing some bills down on the table.

“Then lets fucking go then.” He bounded back to the Camaro, Billy’s sweet laugh ringing through the diner.

Oh yeah, Steve could definitely get used to this.

#yikes writes #harringrove #steve harrington #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #billy hargrove #prompt fic #prompt fill #harringrove prompts #Harringrove Prompts list #harringrove fic

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kindled-ashes · 3 years

Text

We Need To Talk

“Dorian...I need to...tell you-” the Inquisitor began between ragged gasps, fighting against the exhaustion threatening to knock him from the Dracolisk they were both precariously perched upon.

“Later, Amatus.” the Tevinter cut him off, struggling to keep the pair of them righted as the party pushed for Skyhold. “You can tell me when you've rested.”

A mildly irritated, if resigned, grunt was given in reply as he curled closer to his lover, shivering against the hollow feeling within him.

------

It had not been a kind day for the Inquisitor and his friends. The four of them; Uriel, Dorian, Cassandra, and Cole; had set out to find a missing scouting party between Skyhold and Haven, one Uriel insisted on tracking down himself despite Dorian's protests regarding the cold. They'd found the party, beset by a group of Red Templars, which had apparently been attempting to locate the Inquisition's new base for Corypheus.

The party had leaped into the fray, Uriel himself charging in to lash out with a Spirit Blade when he saw one coming toward himself and Dorian.

“INQUISITOR!” came the cry from Cassandra as Cole gave a cry of alarm, hurling a dagger toward the warrior's retreating back to no avail. It hit a gap in the armor perfectly, but he kept plowing through the snow.

Unfortunately for them, this particular Red Templar was apparently new enough that he could still access his original Templar talents. One moment Uriel had formed the Blade and was coiling his muscles to swing it, the next he was on his knees, gasping for breath as his blood felt like ice in his veins, from the effect of the Smite that he'd been hit with.

A roar of rage came from the Tevinter behind him as the enemy raised his blade, poised to cleave the Marcher's head from his shoulders. Time almost seemed to slow, or perhaps he was moving faster, as he launched first a Horror and then a Walking Bomb spell at the warrior, a Barrier thrown around the Inquisitor for good measure. It would hit him later that he'd cast Haste before the other trio of spells.

The afflicted warrior promptly ran screaming, right toward the other remaining Red Templars. Luckily, there had been a pair of mages in the scouting group who recognized the spells that had been cast and frantically threw a series of Barriers around their allies just before the Walking Bomb took effect. The warrior exploded into a shower of Red Lyrium and blood, causing a chain reaction in the non-protected enemies, bringing them to the same fate.

When the rain of gore was finished and the Barriers faded, the entire group rushed toward the mages, Dorian already at the Inquisitor's side. Cole made it to his other side almost immediately.

“What were you thinking!?” Dorian hissed, hands running frantically over him to check him for injuries.

“Cold, aching, hollow and twisted and dark. Gone. Alone. Haven't felt this since I got to the Circle. He is not hurt, but he can't use his magic, and-” Cole commented, tilting his head to the side as he 'listened'.

“That's enough, Cole.” The spirit's whispy voice was cut off by a rasp from the mage in question, his tone rough and harried, exhausted. He stayed hunched, eyes squeezed shut. “Is...everyone alright?”

“We are fine, Inquisitor. Some injuries, but all will live if we return to Skyhold quickly.” Cassandra answered. “I am surprised that he was still capable of using a Smite.”

“You're...not the only one.” Uriel managed in a weak laugh. “I'll...need to ride with someone...too weak to-”

“You'll ride with me.” Dorian cut him off. “Cole, help me get him on that bloody beast of his.”

“We can double up so that the wounded do not have to walk.” Cassandra said before setting about directing everyone else as the spirit did as he was asked. One of the Inquisitor's arms was slung over his shoulders, the other over Dorian's, as the pair helped their weakened leader onto his Dracolisk.

------

It took them the better portion of a day to return to Skyhold, the party greeted with a flurry of mixed concern and relief at their arrival. With the help of the Iron Bull the Inquisitor was carried up to his room, Dorian being left with instructions to make certain that he got as much rest as possible and assurances that they would not be disturbed the following day. Once they were alone the younger of the two stripped them both of their armor before depositing his exhausted lover onto the bed. After a brief trip around the room to close two out of the three balcony doors and feeding the fire before clambering into the bed beside him, curling up beside the already slumbering other- purely for warmth, he told himself. He was still angry at him for risking his neck.

------

Uriel didn't wake until nearly the midpoint of the following day. Prying his eyes open he found Dorian reclining beside him in the bed, propped up on the pillows as he read one of the many books he'd found on the Inquisitor's personal shelves. With a quiet groan he stretched, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“Avanna. Finally awake, I see.” Dorian commented without looking up from the book. He was answered with a noise of affirmation as the other rolled to his side, curling himself around the Tevinter's waist and legs.

“How long have I been asleep?” he questioned through a yawn.

“Twelve hours roughly. It's not quite midday, yet. One of the servants brought a tray of breakfast up earlier for when you woke.” came the distracted response as a page was turned in the book. After a moment the book was clapped shut, his next words coming out clipped and irritated. “What were you thinking, Amatus!? Yes, you've been learning the Knight-Enchanter's arts, but you've not mastered them, yet! You could have been killed!”

“I couldn't let him get near you...that was the only thought in my mind.” Uriel sighed, keeping his eyes closed as he sluggishly sat up, pulling one leg up to his chest and wrapping his arms around it.

“Vishante kaffas, I can handle myself, Uriel! I am a grown man and a perfectly capable mage.” he snapped, turning to glare at the other. “You don't need to risk your neck on my account! You're not the replaceable one out of the two of us.”

“Don't say that, don't ever say that! You're not replaceable! There's only one you, Dorian!” came the instant admonition as the Inquisitor tugged his leg tighter to himself. A string of muttered Tevene was hissed through the younger's teeth before he snorted. They'd had this argument frequently.

“Eat something before you make yourself ill.” he said, shaking his head.

“...where is the tray?” he questioned quietly after a moment's silence.

“Tsk. In plain view, right there on your desk, of course. Where else would it be?” His brow furrowed after a moment when the other made no move to get up.

“Dorian, we need to talk. It's...it's rather important.” He would never admit it, but Dorian's heart clenched in his chest, a knot growing in his belly, at those words. He was going to tell him he didn't want to see him anymore. Of course he was; the Inquisitor couldn't very well be distracted and left liable to make such rash actions in battle because of them, after all- and over the 'evil Tevinter magister' of all people. His usual impassive mask slipped into place as he put the book he'd been holding down toward the foot of the bed.

“Oh? I am, as you say, all ears.” he commented, hoping his voice was steadier than he felt.

“I...haven't told you quite everything about myself. I haven't told anyone about this, actually- not even my family knows.” he began, swallowing roughly against his suddenly-dry throat. “You know I was an Enchanter at the Ostwick Circle... Roughly a year before the Conclave, I was attempting to teach an Apprentice how to cast a Lightning Bolt; the spell misfired...struck me square in the face, and knocked me clear across the room. From the time the spell struck me until I hit the wall, all I recall is darkness and searing pain in my eyes. I was unconscious for three days, they tell me. When I awoke, I couldn't see. The best healer in the tower did everything he could, but said it was possible I would never see, again.”

Dorian listened silently, his brow furrowing as the tale went on. Something even his family didn't know? Perhaps he wasn't going to tell him that they needed to end things between them, after all. When the older paused to take a breath, he spoke, voice laden with confusion. “While I do enjoy learning more about you, Amatus, what, precisely, are you trying to tell me?”

Uriel took a deep breath, attempting to quell his trembling limbs as he lifted his head, opening his eyes once he was facing the direction that his lover's voice came from, (hopefully) meeting the gaze of the younger with his own glazed, white, eyes. “... He was right. I'm blind, Dorian. I've not been able to see since that accident.”

“Well...that wasn't what I was expecting, I'll admit. How in the Maker's name can you fight if you can't see? Also, I know I may be a bit easily distracted by your other fine features, but aren't your eyes generally blue?” he questioned after a moment's silence.

“I'm getting to that.” He fell silent himself, listening to the faint sounds of the Brothers and Sisters in the courtyard below filter up through the open window. His flinched as he heard one of the most quoted portions of the Canticle of Transfigurations. He'd never liked that particular verse of the Chant, even less so since being appointed Inquisitor. Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world or beyond. “Promise me one thing, first? Promise you won't go running for Cullen or Cassandra...or tell anyone...”

“Of course, Amatus.” Now Dorian was well and truly puzzled, and more than a little concerned. Why would he feel the need to go to Cullen or Cassandra? Another moment of silence passed before Uriel spoke again, terrified of what the other's reaction would be.

“… At some point during the week after I first awoke, a Spirit I came to me as I slept; yes, I am positive it was a Spirit. It was a Spirit of Wisdom, similar to Solas' friend, that we rescued- at least attempted to rescue. We had spoken before, many times, while I slept. My friend took pity on me when it learned of what had happened and offered its assistance. It would be my eyes in return for the knowledge I would gather by being able to see. I agreed on prevision that it would return to the Fade as I slept and we might discuss the day's events and any new knowledge we might have found.” he explained, hesitantly. When Dorian's eyes grew wide and his posture stiffened, given away by a curse in Tevene, Uriel's expression turned frantic. “It's not a demon, nor is it possessing me, I promise, Dorian! It's not even here right now! The Smite...wounded it...and forced it back to the Fade! It won't be able to come back for another day or more!”

Despite the assurances, the Tevinter pushed off of the bed, pacing around the room as he ranted in his native tongue. The Inquisitor's other leg was pulled up to his chest alongside the other, both of them hugged to his chest as he curled in on himself as if to try to sink into the mattress.

“Do you even realize how dangerous that is?! I know that Spirit Healers get help with their healing from Spirits, but that's temporary! The Spirit doesn't stay with them! You saw what happened to that Spirit when it was made to fight! If you'd seen half of the things I've seen, Amatus!” he railed, gesturing vehemently- for all that the other couldn't see it at the moment. When he finally paused for a breath and turned to look at the older male, seeing the state his lover was in, Dorian deflated. He heaved a sigh and went back to the bed, sitting on it and pulling him into a hug as he lightly pulled his fingers through the long, brunet, hair that was normally pulled up into a tight knot. “Fasta Vass. I can't stay angry at you when you look like someone kicked your Mabari.”

“... I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier.” he murmured, leaning his head against the other's shoulder as sightless eyes fluttered closed. “I know it's dangerous...we agreed that I would never ask it to help- nor would it offer to help- with anything other than my eyes...”

“You ought to let Cassandra know, at least. You take her with you more often than not, and-” Dorian was cut off when Uriel gave a firm shake of his head. “Cullen, then?”

“Cass has enough to worry about, and you know how she feels. Cullen is even more out of the question after what he went through in Kinloch Hold. No. No one else. Please, Dorian...” he insisted, shifting to stretch his legs out and wrap his arms around him.

“Festis bei umo canavarum. Very well, Amatus, but I am going with you when you must leave. Someone has to keep an eye on you.” he agreed, giving a rather put-upon sigh. Uriel was about to speak again when he was interrupted from a rather loud, and undignified, growl from his stomach.

After a moment of silence the pair could not help but laugh at the absurd timing of it. Dorian pried himself from his lover's grasp long enough to retrieve the tray of food, settling it on the bed between them. They continued talking as they ate until a servant brought them lunch and, later, supper. The next morning, sooner than Uriel had anticipated, eyes blue with the hue of his Spirit friend slid open to land on the sight of the other mage, still sound asleep beside him.

#Mine #dragon age inquisition #da:i #My Inquisitor #Dorian Pavus #My Dorian #tevinterxredeemer

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impressivepress · 3 years

Text

Rivera, Kahlo, and the Detroit Murals: A History and a Personal Journey

The year 1932 was not a good time to come to Detroit, Michigan. The Great Depression cast dark clouds over the city. Scores of factories had ground to a halt, hungry people stood in breadlines, and unemployed autoworkers were selling apples on street corners to survive. In late April that year, against this grim backdrop, Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo stepped off a train at the cavernous Michigan Central depot near the heart of the Motor City. They were on their way to the new Detroit Institute of Arts (DIA), a symbol of the cultural ascendancy of the city and its turbo-charged prosperity in better times. The next 11 months in Detroit would take them both to dazzling artistic heights and transform them personally in far-reaching, at times traumatic, ways.

I subtitle this article “a history and a personal journey.” The history looks at the social context of Diego and Frida’s defining time in the city and the art they created; the personal journey explores my own relationship to Detroit and the murals Rivera painted there. I was born and raised in the city, listening to the sounds of its bustling streets, coming of age in its diverse neighborhoods, growing up with the driving beat of its music, and living in the shadows of its factories. Detroit was a labor town with a culture of social justice and civil rights, which on occasion clashed with sharp racism and powerful corporations that defined the age. In my early twenties, I served a four-year apprenticeship to become a machine repair machinist in a sprawling multistory General Motors auto factory at Clark Street and Michigan Avenue that machined mammoth seven-liter V8 engines, stamped auto body parts on giant presses, and assembled gleaming Cadillacs on fast-moving assembly lines. At the time, the plant employed some 10,000 workers who reflected the racial and ethnic diversity of the city, as well as its tensions. The factory was located about a 20-minute walk from where Diego and Frida got off the train decades earlier but was a world away from the downtown skyscrapers and the city’s cultural center.

I grew up with Rivera’s murals, and they have run through every stage of my life. I’ve been gone from the city for many years now, but an important part of both Detroit and the murals have remained with me, and I suspect they always will. I return to Detroit frequently, and no matter how busy the trip, I have almost always found time for the murals.

In Detroit, Rivera looked outwards, seeking to capture the soul of the city, the intense dynamism of the auto industry, and the dignity of the workers who made it run. He would later say that these murals were his finest work. In contrast, Kahlo looked inward, developing a haunting new artistic direction. The small paintings and drawings she created in Detroit pull the viewer into a strange and provocative universe. She denied being a Surrealist, but when André Breton, a founder of the movement, met her in Mexico, he compared her work to a “ribbon around a bomb” that detonated unparalleled artistic freedom (Hellman & Ross, 1938).

Rivera, at the height of his fame, embraced Detroit and was exhilarated by the rhythms and power of its factories (I must admit these many years later I can relate to that response). He was fascinated by workers toiling on assembly lines and coal-fired blast furnaces pouring molten metal around the clock. He felt this industrial base had the potential to create material abundance and lay the foundation for a better world. Sixty percent of the world’s automobiles were built in Michigan at that time, and Detroit also boasted other state-of-the-art industry, from the world’s largest stove and furnace factory to the main research laboratories for a global pharmaceutical company.

“Detroit has many uncommon aspects,” a Michigan guidebook produced by the Federal Writers Project pointed out, “the staring rows of ghostly blue factory windows at night; the tired faces of auto workers lighted up by simultaneous flares of match light at the end of the evening shift; and the long, double-decker trucks carrying auto bodies and chassis” (WPA, 1941:234). This project produced guidebooks for every state in the nation and was part of the Works Progress Administration (WPA), a New Deal Agency that sought to create jobs for the unemployed, including writers and artists. I suspect Rivera would have embraced the approach, perhaps even painted it, had it then existed.

Detroit was a rough-hewn town that lacked the glitter and sophistication of New York or the charm of San Francisco, yet Rivera was inspired by what he saw. In his “Detroit Industry” murals on the soaring inner walls of a large courtyard in the center of the DIA, Rivera portrayed the iconic Ford Rouge plant, the world’s largest and most advanced factory at the time. “[These] frescoes are probably as close as this country gets to the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel,” New York Times art critic Roberta Smith wrote eight decades later (Smith, 2015).

The city did not speak to Kahlo in the same way. She tolerated Detroit — sometimes barely, other times with more enthusiasm — rather than embracing it. Kahlo was largely unknown when she came to Detroit and felt somewhat isolated and disconnected there. She painted and drew, explored the city’s streets, and watched films — she liked Chaplin’s comedies in particular — in the movie theaters near the center of the city, but she admitted “the industrial part of Detroit is really the most interesting side” (Coronel, 2015:138).

During a personally traumatic year — she had a miscarriage that went seriously awry in Detroit, and her mother died in Mexico City — she looked deeply into herself and painted searing, introspective works on small canvases. In Detroit, she emerged as the Frida Kahlo who is recognized and revered throughout the world today. While Vogue still identified her as “Madame Diego Rivera” during her first New York exhibition in 1938, the New York Times commented that “no woman in art history commands her popular acclaim” in a 2019 article (Hellman & Ross, 1938; Farago, 2019).

My emphasis will be on Rivera and the “Detroit Industry” murals, but Kahlo’s own work, unheralded at the time, has profoundly resonated with new audiences since. While in Detroit, they both inspired, supported, influenced, and needed each other.

Prelude

Diego and Frida married in Mexico on August 21, 1929. He was 43, and she was 22 — although their maturity, in her view, was inverse to their age. Their love was passionate and tumultuous from the beginning. “I suffered two accidents in my life,” she later wrote, “one in which a streetcar knocked me down … the other accident is Diego” (Rosenthal, 2015:96).

They shared a passion for Mexico, particularly the country’s indigenous roots, and a deep commitment to politics, looking to the ideals of communism in a turbulent and increasingly dangerous world (Rosenthal, 2015:19). Rivera painted a major set of murals — 235 panels — in the Ministry of Education in Mexico City between 1923 and 1928. When he signed each panel, he included a small red hammer and sickle to underscore his political allegiance. Among the later panels was “In the Arsenal,” which included images of Frida Kahlo handing out weapons, muralist David Alfaro Siqueiros in a hat with a red star, and Italian photographer Tina Modotti holding a bandolier.

The politics of Rivera and Kahlo ran deep but didn’t exactly follow a straight line. Kahlo herself remarked that Rivera “never worried about embracing contradictions” (Rosenthal, 2015:55). In fact, he seemed to embody F. Scott Fitzgerald’s notion that “the test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function” (Fitzgerald, 1936).

Their art, however, ultimately defined who they were and usually came out on top when in conflict with their politics. When the Mexican Communist Party was sharply at odds with the Mexican government in the late 1920s, Rivera, then a Party member, nonetheless accepted a major government commission to paint murals in public buildings. The Party promptly expelled him for this act, among other transgressions (Rosenthal, 2015:32).

Diego and Frida came to San Francisco in November 1930 after Rivera received a commission to paint a mural in what was then the San Francisco Stock Exchange. He had already spent more than a decade in Europe and another nine months in the Soviet Union in 1927. In contrast, this was Kahlo’s first trip outside Mexico. The physical setting in San Francisco, then as now, was stunning — steep hills at the end of a peninsula between the Pacific and the Bay — and they were intrigued and elated just to be there. The city had a bohemian spirit and a working-class grit. Artists and writers could mingle with longshoremen in bars and cafes as ships from around the world unloaded at the bustling piers. At the time, California was in the midst of an “enormous vogue of things Mexican,” and the couple was at the center of this mania (Rosenthal, 2015:32). They were much in demand at seemingly endless “parties, dinners, and receptions” during their seven-month stay (Rosenthal, 2015:36). A contradiction with their political views? Not really. Rivera felt he was infiltrating the heart of capitalism with more radical ideas.

Rivera’s commission produced a fresco on the walls of the Pacific Stock Exchange, “Allegory of California” (1931), a paean to the economic dynamism of the state despite the dark economic clouds already descending. Rivera would then paint several additional commissions in San Francisco before leaving. While compelling, these murals lacked the power and political edge of his earlier work in Mexico or the extraordinary genius of what was to come in Detroit.

While in San Francisco, Rivera and Kahlo met Helen Wills Moody, a 27-year-old world-class tennis player, who became the central model for the Allegory mural. She moved in rarified social and artistic circles, and as 1930 drew to a close, she introduced the couple to Wilhelm Valentiner, the visionary director of the Detroit Institute of Arts (DIA), who had rushed to San Francisco to meet Rivera when he learned of the artist’s arrival.

Valentiner was “a German scholar, a Rembrandt specialist, and a man with extraordinarily wide tastes,” according to Graham W.J. Beal, who himself revitalized the DIA as director in the 21st century. “Between 1920 and the early 1930s, with the help of Detroit’s personal wealth and city money, Valentiner transformed the DIA … into one of the half-dozen top art collections in the country,” a position the museum continues to hold today (Beal, 2010:34). The museum director and the artist shared an unusual kinship. “The revolutions in Germany and Mexico [had] radicalized [both],” wrote Linda Downs, a noted curator at the DIA (Downs, 2015:177). Little more than a decade later, “the idea of the mural commission reinvigorated them to create a highly charged monumental modern work that has contributed greatly to the identity of Detroit” (Downs, 2015:177).

When Valentiner and Rivera met, the economic fallout of the Depression was hammering both Detroit and its municipally funded art institute. The city was teetering at the edge of bankruptcy in 1932 and had slashed its contribution to the museum from $170,000 to $40,000, with another cut on the horizon. Despite this dismal economic terrain, Valentiner was able to arrange a commission for Rivera to paint two large-format frescoes in the Garden Court at the new museum building, which had opened in 1927. Edsel Ford, the son of Henry Ford and a major patron of the DIA, pledged $10,000 for the project — a truly princely sum at that moment — and would double his contribution as Rivera’s vision and the scale of the project expanded (Rosenthal, 2015:51). Edsel also played an unheralded role in support of the museum through the economic traumas to come.

A discussion of Rivera’s mural commission gets a bit ahead of our story, so let’s first look at Detroit’s explosive economic growth in the early years of the 20th century. This industrial transformation would provide the subject and the inspiration for Rivera’s frescoes.

The Motor City and the Great Depression

At the turn of the 20th century, Detroit “was a quiet, tree-shaded city, unobtrusively going about its business of brewing beer and making carriages and stoves” (WPA, 1941:231). Approaching 300,000 residents, Detroit was the 13th-largest city in the country (Martelle, 2012:71). A future of steady growth and easy prosperity seemed to beckon.

Instead, Henry Ford soon upended not only the city, but much of the world. He was hardly alone as an auto magnate in the area: Durant, Olds, the Fisher Brothers, and the Dodge Brothers, among others, were also in or around Detroit. Ford, however, would go beyond simply building a successful car company: he unleashed explosive growth in the auto industry, put the world on wheels, and became a global folk hero to many, yet some were more critical. The historian Joshua Freeman points out that “Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World (1932) depicts a dystopia of Fordism, a portrait of life A.F. — the years “Anno Ford,” measured from 1908, when the Model T was introduced — with Henry Ford the deity” (Freeman, 2018:147).

Ford combined three simple ideas and pursued them with razor-sharp, at times ruthless, intensity: the Model T, an affordable car for the masses; a moving assembly line that would jump-start productivity growth; and the $5 day for workers, double the prevailing wage in the industry. This combination of mass production and mass consumption — Fordism — allowed workers to buy the products they produced and laid the basis for a new manufacturing era. The automobile age was born.

The $5 day wasn’t altruism for Ford. The unrelenting pace and control of the assembly line was intense — often unbearable — even for workers who had grown up with back-breaking work: tilling the farm, mining coal, or tending machines in a factory. Annual turnover approached 400 percent at Ford’s Highland Park plant, and daily absenteeism was high. In response, Ford introduced the unprecedented new wage on January 12, 1914 (Martelle, 2012:74).

The press and his competitors denounced Ford — claiming this reckless move would bankrupt the industry — but the day the new rate began, 10,000 men arrived at the plant in the winter darkness before dawn. Despite the bitter cold, Ford security men aimed fire hoses to disperse the crowd. Covered in freezing water, the men nonetheless surged forward hoping to grasp an elusive better future for themselves and their families.

Here is where I enter the picture, so to speak. One of the relatively few who did get a job that chaotic day was Philip Chapman. He was a recent immigrant from Russia who had married a seamstress from Poland named Sophie, a spirited, beautiful young woman. They had met in the United States. He wound up working at Ford for 33 years — 22 of them at the Rouge plant — on the line and on machines. They were my grandparents.

By 1929, Detroit was the industrial capital of the world. It had jumped its place in line, becoming the fourth-largest city in the United States — trailing only New York, Chicago, and Philadelphia — with 1.6 million people (Martelle, 2012:71). “Detroit needed young men and the young men came,” the WPA Michigan guidebook writers pointed out, and they emphasized the kaleidoscopic diversity of those who arrived: “More Poles than in the European city of Poznan, more Ukrainians than in the third city of the Ukraine, 75,000 Jews, 120,000 Negroes, 126,000 Germans, more Bulgarians, [Yugoslavians], and Maltese than anywhere else in the United States, and substantial numbers of Italians, Greeks, Russians, Hungarians, Syrians, English, Scotch, Irish, Chinese, and Mexicans” (WPA, 1941:231). Detroit was third nationally in terms of the foreign-born, and the African American population had soared from 6,000 in 1910 to 120,000 in 1930 (WPA, 1941:108), part of a journey that would ultimately involve more than six million people moving from the segregated, more rural South to the industrial cities of the North (Trotter, 2019:78).

DIA planners projected that Detroit would become the second-largest U.S. city by 1935 and that it could surpass New York by the early 1950s. “Detroit grew as mining towns grow — fast, impulsive, and indifferent to the superficial niceties of life,” the Michigan Guidebook writers concluded (WPA, 1941:231).

The highway ahead seemed endless and bright. The city throbbed with industrial production, the streetcars and buses were filled with workers going to and from work at all hours, and the noise of stamping presses and forges could be heard through open windows in the hot summers. Cafes served dinner at 11 p.m. for workers getting off the afternoon shift and breakfast at 5 a.m. for those arriving for the day shift. Despite prohibition, you could get a drink just about any time. After all, only a river separated Detroit from Canada, where liquor was still legal.

Rivera’s biographer and friend Bertram Wolfe wrote of “the tempo, the streets, the noise, the movement, the labor, the dynamism, throbbing, crashing life of modern America” (Wolfe, as cited in Rosenthal, 2015:65). The writers of the Michigan guidebook had a more down-to-earth view: “‘Doing the night spots’ consists mainly of making the rounds of beer gardens, burlesque shows, and all-night movie houses,” which tended to show rotating triple bills (WPA, 1941:232).

Henry Ford began constructing the colossal Rouge complex in 1917, which would employ more than 100,000 workers and spread over 1,000 acres by 1929. “It was, simply, the largest and most complicated factory ever built, an extraordinary testament to ingenuity, engineering, and human labor,” Joshua Freeman observed (Freeman, 2018:144). The historian Lindy Biggs accurately described the complex as “more like an industrial city than a factory” (Biggs, as cited in Freeman, 2018:144).

The Rouge was a marvel of vertical integration, making much of the car on site. Giant Ford-owned freighters would transport iron ore and limestone from Minnesota and Michigan’s Upper Peninsula down through the Great Lakes, along the St. Clair and Detroit Rivers, and then across the Rouge River to the docks of the plant. Seemingly endless trains would bring coal from West Virginia and Ohio to the plant. Coke ovens, blast furnaces, and open hearths produced iron and steel; rolling mills converted the steel ingots into long, thin sheets for body parts; foundries molded iron into engine blocks that were then precision machined; enormous stamping presses formed sheets of steel into fenders, hoods, and doors; and thousands of other parts were machined, extruded, forged, and assembled. Finished cars drove off the assembly line a little more than a day after the raw materials had arrived at the docks.

In 1928, Vanity Fair heralded the Rouge as “the most significant public monument in America, throwing its shadow across the land probably more widely and more intimately than the United States Senate, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Statue of Liberty.... In a landscape where size, quantity, and speed are the cardinal virtues, it is natural that the largest factory turning out the most cars in the least time should come to have the quality of America’s Mecca, toward which the pious journey for prayer” (Jacob, as cited in Lichtenstein, 1995:13). My grandfather, I suspect, had a more prosaic goal: he needed a job, and Ford paid well.

Despite tough conditions in the plant, workers were proud to work at “Ford’s,” as people in Detroit tended to refer to the company. They wore their Ford badge on their shirts in the streetcars on the way to work or on their suits in church on Sundays. It meant something to have a job there. Once through the factory gate, however, the work was intense and often dangerous and unhealthy. Ford himself described repetitive factory work as “a terrifying prospect to a certain kind of mind,” yet he was firmly convinced strict control and tough discipline over the average worker was necessary to get anything done (Ford, as cited in Martelle, 2012:73). He combined the regimentation of the assembly line with increasingly autocratic management, strictly and often harshly enforced. You couldn’t talk on the line in Ford plants — you were paid to work, not talk — so men developed the “Ford whisper” holding their heads down and barely moving their lips. The Rouge employed 1,500 Ford “Service Men,” many of them ex-convicts and thugs, to enforce discipline and police the plant.

At a time when economic progress seemed as if it would go on forever, the U.S. stock market drove over a cliff in October 1929, and paralysis soon spread throughout the economy. Few places were as shaken as Detroit. In 1929, 5.5 million vehicles were produced, but just 1.4 million rolled off Detroit’s assembly lines three years later in 1932 (Martelle, 2012:114). The Michigan jobless rate hit 40 percent that year, and one out of three Detroit families lacked any financial support (Lichtenstein, 1995). Ford laid off tens of thousands of workers at the Rouge. No one knew how deep the downturn might go or how long it would last. What increasingly desperate people did know is that they had to feed their family that night, but they no longer knew how.

On March 7, 1932 — a bone-chilling day with a lacerating wind — 3,000 desperate, unemployed autoworkers met near the Rouge plant to march peaceably to the Ford Employment Office. Detroit police escorted the marchers to the Dearborn city line, where they were confronted by Dearborn Police and armed Ford Service Men. When the marchers refused to disperse, the Dearborn police fired tear gas, and some demonstrators responded with rocks and frozen mud. The marchers were then soaked with water from fire hoses and shot with bullets. Five workers were killed, 19 wounded by gunfire, and dozens more injured. Communists had organized the march, but a Michigan historical marker makes the following observation: “Newspapers alleged the marchers were communists, but they were in fact people of all political, racial, and ethnic backgrounds.” That marker now hangs outside the United Auto Workers Local 600 union hall, which represents workers today at the Rouge plant.

Five days later, on March 12, thousands of people marched in downtown Detroit to commemorate the demonstrators who had been killed. Although Rivera was still in New York, he was aware of the Ford Hunger March before it took place and told Clifford Wight, his assistant, that he was eager “not [to] miss…[it] on any account” (Rosenthal, 2015:51). Both he and Kahlo had marched with workers in Mexico and embraced their causes. Rivera had captured their lives as well as their protests in his murals in Mexico.

As it turned out, they missed both the march and the commemoration. Instead, the following month Kahlo and Rivera’s train pulled into the Michigan Central Depot, where Wilhelm Valentiner met them. They were taken to the Ford-owned Wardell Hotel next to the Detroit Institute of Arts. The DIA was the anchor of a grass-lined and tree-shaded cultural center several miles north of downtown. The Ford Highland Park Plant, where the automobile age began with the Model T and the moving assembly line, was four miles further north on the same street. Less than a mile northwest was the massive 15-story General Motors Building, the largest office building in the United States when it was completed in 1922, designed by the noted industrial architect Albert Khan, who also created the Rouge. Huge auto production complexes such as Dodge Main or Cadillac Motor — where I would serve my apprenticeship decades later — were not far away.

Valentiner had written Rivera stating, “The Arts Commission would be pleased if you could find something out of the history of Detroit, or some motif suggesting the development of industry in this town. But in the end, they decided to leave it entirely to you” (Beal, 2010:35). Beal points out “that what Valentiner had in mind at the time may have been something like the Helen Moody Wills paintings, something that had an allegorical slant to it. They were to get something completely different” (Beal, 2010:35). Edsel Ford emphasized he wanted Rivera to look at other industries in Detroit, such as pharmaceuticals, and provided a car and driver for Rivera and Kahlo to see the plants and the city.

But when Rivera visited the Rouge plant, he was mesmerized. He saw the future here, despite the fact that the plant had been hard hit by the Depression: the complex had been shuttered for the last six months of 1931, and thousands of workers had been let go before he arrived (Rosenthal, 2015:67). His fascination with machinery, his respect for workers, and his politics fused in an extraordinary artistic vision, which he filled with breathtaking technical detail. He had found his muse.

Rivera took on the seemingly impossible task of capturing the sprawling Rouge plant in frescoes. The initial commission of two large-format frescoes rapidly expanded to 27 frescoes of various sizes filling the entire room from floor to ceiling. Rivera spent the next two months at the manufacturing complex drawing, pacing, photographing, viewing, and translating these images into large drawings — “cartoons” — as the plans for the frescoes. He demonstrated an exceptional ability to retain in his head — and, I suspect, in his dreams — what he would paint.

Rivera’s Vast Masterpieces

Rivera’s “Detroit Industry” murals are anchored in a specific time and place — a sprawling iconic factory, the Depression decade, and the Motor City — yet they achieve the universal in a way that transcends their origins. Rivera painted workers toiling on assembly lines amid blast furnaces pouring molten iron into cupolas, and through the alchemy of his genius, the art still powerfully — even urgently — speaks to us today. The murals celebrate the contribution of workers, the power of industry, and the promise and peril of science and technology. Rivera weaves together Aztec myths, indigenous world views, Mexican culture, and U.S. industry in a visual tour-de-force that delights, challenges, and provokes. The art is both accessible and profound. You can enjoy it for an afternoon or intensely study it for a lifetime with a sense of constant discovery.

Roberta Smith points out that the murals “form an unusually explicit, site-specific expression of the reciprocal bond between an art museum and its urban setting” (Smith, 2015). Over time, the frescoes have emerged as a visible and vital part of the city, becoming part of Detroit’s DNA. Rivera’s art has been both witness to and, more recently, a participant in history. When he began the project in late spring 1932, Detroit was tottering at the edge of insolvency, and 80 years later, the murals witnessed the city skidding into the largest municipal bankruptcy in history in 2013. A deep appreciation for the murals and their close identification with the spirit and hope of Detroit may have contributed to saving the museum this second time around.

I still vividly remember my own reaction when I first saw the murals. As a young boy, the Rouge, the auto industry, and Detroit seemed to course through our lives. My grandfather Philip Chapman, who was hired at Ford’s Highland Park plant in 1914, wound up spending most of his working life on the line at the Rouge. As a young boy, I watched my grandmother Sophie pack his lunch and fill his thermos with hot coffee before dawn as he hurried to catch the first of three buses that would take him to the plant. When my father, Max, came to Detroit three decades later in the mid-1940s to marry my mother, Rose — they had met on a subway while she was visiting New York City, where he lived — he worked on the line at a Chrysler plant on Jefferson Avenue.

One weekend, when I was 10 or 11 years old, my father took me to see the murals. He drove our 1950 Ford down Woodward Avenue, a broad avenue that bisected the city from the Detroit River to its northern border at Eight Mile Road. Woodward seemed like the main street of the world at the time; large department stores — Hudson’s was second only to Macy’s in size and splendor — restaurants, movie theaters, and office buildings lined both sides of the street north from the river. Detroit had the highest per capita income in the country, a palpable economic power seen in the scale of the factories and the seemingly endless numbers of trucks rumbling across the city to transport parts between factories and finished vehicles to dealers.

We walked up terraced white steps to the main entrance of the Detroit Institute of Arts, an imposing Beaux-Arts building constructed with Vermont marble in what had become the city’s cultural center. As we entered the building, the sounds of the city disappeared. We strolled the gleaming marble floors of the Great Hall, a long gallery topped far above by a beautiful curved ceiling with light flowing through large windows. Imposing suits of medieval armor stood guard in glass cases on either side of us as we crossed the Hall, passed under an arch, and entered a majestic courtyard.

We found ourselves in what is now called the Rivera Court, surrounded on all sides by the “Detroit Industry” murals. The impact was startling. We weren’t simply observing the frescoes, we were enveloped by them. It was a moment of wonder as we looked around at what Rivera had created. Linda Downs captured the feeling: “Rivera Court has become the sanctuary of the Detroit Institute of Arts, a ‘sacred’ place dedicated to images of workers and technology” (Downs, 1999:65). I couldn’t have articulated this sentiment then, but I certainly felt it.

The size, scale, form, pulsing activity, and brilliant color of the paintings deeply impressed me. I saw for the first time where my grandfather went every morning before dawn and why he looked so drawn every night when he came home just before dinner. Many years later, I began to appreciate the art in a much deeper way, but the thrill of walking into the Rivera Court on that first visit has never left. I came to realize that an indelible dimension of great art is a sense of constant discovery and rediscovery. The murals captured the spirit of Detroit then and provide relevance and insight for the times we live in today.

Beal points out that Rivera “worked in a heroic, realist style that was easily graspable” (Beal, 2010:35). A casual viewer, whether a schoolboy or an autoworker from Detroit or a tourist from France, can enjoy the art, yet there is no limit to engaging the frescoes on many deeper levels. In contrast, “throughout Western history, visual art has often been the domain of the educated or moneyed elite,” Jillian Steinhauer wrote in the New York Times. “Even when artists like Gustave Courbet broke new ground by depicting working-class people, the art itself still wasn’t meant for them” (Steinhauer, 2019). Rivera upended this paradigm and sought to paint public art for workers as well as elites on the walls of public buildings. By putting these murals at the center of a great museum in the 1930s through the efforts of Wilhelm Valentiner and Edsel Ford — and more recently, under Graham Beal and the current director Salvador Salort-Pons — the Detroit Institute of Arts opened itself and the murals to new Detroit populations. Detroit is now 80-percent African American, the metropolitan area has the highest number of Arab Americans in the United States, and the Latino population is much larger than when Rivera painted, yet the murals retain their allure and meaning for new generations.

Upon entering the Rivera Court, the viewer confronts two monumental murals facing each other on the north and south walls. The murals not only define the courtyard, they draw you into the engine and assembly lines deep inside the Rouge. The factory explodes with cacophonous activity. The production process is a throbbing, interconnected set of industrial activities. Intense heat, giant machines, flaming metal, light, darkness, and constant movement all converge. Undulating steel rail conveyors carry parts overhead. There were 120 miles of conveyors in the Rouge at the time; they linked all aspects of production and provide a thematic unity to the mural. And even though he’s portraying a production process in Detroit, Rivera’s deep appreciation of Mexican culture and heritage infuses the frescoes. An Aztec cosmology of the underworld and the heavens runs in long panels spanning the top of the main murals and similar imagery appears throughout the frescoes.

On the north wall, a tightly packed engine assembly line, with workers laboring on both sides, is flanked by two huge machine tools — 20 feet or so high — machining the famed Ford V8 engine blocks. Workers in the foreground strain to move heavy cast-iron engine blocks; muscles bulge, bodies tilt, shoulders pull in disciplined movement. These workers are not anonymous. At the center foreground of the north wall, with his head almost touching a giant spindle machine, is Paul Boatin, an assistant to Rivera who spent his working life at the Rouge. He would go on to become a United Auto Workers (UAW) organizer and union leader. Boatin had been present at the Ford Hunger March on that disastrous day in March 1932 and still choked up talking about it many decades later in an interview in the film The Great Depression (1990).

In the foreground, leaning back and pulling an engine block with a white fedora on his head may have been Antonio Martínez, an immigrant from Mexico and the grandfather of Louis Aguilar. A reporter for the Detroit News, Aguilar describes how fierce, at times ugly, pressures during the Great Depression forced many Mexicans to leave Detroit and return to their homeland. The city’s Mexican population plummeted from 15,000 at the beginning of the 1930s to 2,000 at the end of the decade. If the figure in the mural is not his grandfather, Aguilar writes “let every Latino who had family in Detroit around 1932 and 1933 declare him as their own” (Aguilar, 2018).

A giant blast furnace spewing molten metal reigns above the engine production, which bears a striking resemblance to a Charles Sheeler photo of one of the five Rouge blast furnaces. The flames are so intense, and the men so red, you can almost feel the heat. In fact, the process is truly volcanic and symbolic of the turbulent terrain of Mexico itself. It brings to mind Popocatépetl, the still-active 18,000-foot volcano rising to the skies near Mexico City. To the left, above the engine block line, green-tinted workers labor in a foundry, one of the dirtiest, most unhealthy, most dangerous jobs. Meanwhile, a tour group observes the process. Among them in a black bowler hat is Diego Rivera himself.

On the south wall, workers toil on the final assembly line just before the critical “body drop,” where the body of a Model B Ford is lowered to be bolted quickly to the car frame on a moving assembly line below. Once again, through his perspective Rivera draws you into the line. A huge stamping press to the right forms fenders from sheets of steel like those produced in the Rouge facilities. Unlike most of the other machines Rivera portrays, which are state of the art, this press is an older model, selected because of its stylized resemblance to an ancient sculpture of Coatlicue, the Aztec goddess of life and death (Beale, 2010:41; Downs, 1999:140, 144).

On the left is another larger tour group, which includes a priest and Dick Tracy, a classic cartoon character of the era. The Katzenjammer Kids — more comic icons of the time — are leaning on the wall watching the assembly line move. The eyes of most of the visitors seem closed, as if they were physically present, but not seeing the intense, occasionally brutal, activity before them. Rivera, in effect, is giving us a few winks and a nod with cartoon characters and unobservant tourists.

~ Harley Shaiken · Fall 2019.

#diego rivera #frida kahlo #detroit industry murals #painting #exibition review #review #clas berkeley

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