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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 3 years

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COSMIC - S1:E6; Chapter Six, The Monster - [Pt. 1]

A Will Byers x Male!Reader Series

𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘌𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘠/𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘌𝘭𝘴𝘦𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘑𝘰𝘺𝘤𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘣’𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴.

|| 𝟑𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ||

Joyce and Hopper sat opposite one another at the kitchen table of the Byers' home. The house was cold and hardly lit, copies of newspaper clippings scattered all around the house. One of the only light sources was a dusty chandelier that hung from the kitchen ceiling above the table and their heads, illuminating the several papers.

"Look, we gotta go through this again." Joyce insisted.

"I told you everything that I saw."

"Oh, gosh," she sighs into her hands. "Tell me again."

"Upstairs or downstairs?" Hopper asked.

"Upstairs."

"There was a laboratory. It was where they must do experiments or something, and then there was... well you see, like I said, I got turned around."

Hopper was currently sharing all he had encountered on his rogue mission at Hawkins National Laboratory. Joyce, all the while was hanging on his every word.

"I told you, it was like, I don't know, it wasn't supposed to exist. That whole area, it was abandoned and... forgotten, like it was all some big mistake. Once I found my way back, I saw that... kid's room. That other kid's room, I mean. Like it was actually used, but it didn't even look like a kid's room, neither of them did. It looked like a prison."

Hopper sighed and rubbed the bottom of his palms into his eyes tiredly, is fingers held the lit cigarette inches away from his face as he did so. "If that even makes sense,"

"Well," Joyce began, trying to get to the bottom of this never ending mystery. "So why would you think it was a kid's room, then?"

"Because, I told you, the size of the bed, there was a drawing, there was a stuffed animal--"

Joyce interrupted the man quickly. "Y-You didn't say there was a drawing."

"Yeah, there was a drawing of a... an adult and a child. It said 'Eleven' on it."

"Was it good?" Joyce pressed.

"It was a kid's drawing, Joyce. It was stick figures."

Joyce had a knowing look on her face as she stood up with a sigh, retrieving a piece of crinkled line paper and slammed it down on the table for Hopper to see.

She pointed to the detailed drawing as she sat back down.

"Wasn't Will." She stated confidently, shakily bringing the cigarette back up to her lips.

Hopper examined the drawing and everything seemed to click. He returned his gaze to the anxious mother. Hopper quickly put out his cigarette in the ashtray and made a beeline for the coffee table.

"Earl..." he muttered, as he made his way into the living room. Joyce, who had abandoned her cigarette, was right on his heels.

"The night that Benny died, Earl said he saw some kid with a shaved head with Benny," Hopper and Joyce took a seat beside one another on the living room couch, Hopper's eyes fixed on the several news clippings splayed along the wooden coffee table. "Now, I pressed him, he said it might be Will, but maybe..."

The man began shifting through the papers, and Joyce spoke up.

"Wait... Maybe, it wasn't?"

Hopper pulled the article he had been looking for and pointed to the fuzzy photograph of the woman in the article.

"Look... this woman, Terry Ives, she claims to have lost her daughter, Jane. She sued Brenner, she sued the government... Now, the claims came to nothing, but what if... I mean, what if this whole time I've been... I've been looking for Will... I've been chasing after some other kid?"

|| 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ||

Everything is a mess.

Will is still missing, the party is falling apart, Mike and Lucas are still angsty messes that won't speak to one another, and now, El left us. She probably thinks I hate her.

'But I don't! I was just scared'

(Ok but like,,,, who else ships El and reader cause damn I've been giving myself feels lately, dang)

'We need to fix this'

I sigh and sit up from my bed and make my my way to Dustin's room.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"I just... I can't believe she didn't come back." Mike sighed.

Dustin and I agreed we needed to talk some sense into the rest of the party. So we got our bikes and made our way to Mike's. Dustin was standing opposite Mike while I currently occupied one of the D&D chairs I had pulled up. Mike was worriedly pacing the floor in front of us.

"She's gotta be close." Dustin offered.

"She said it wasn't safe. She just messed up the compasses because she wanted to protect us. She didn't betray us."

"Mike, calm down."

Mike only ignored Dustin and kept talking, more to himself than anybody it seemed.

"I shouldn't have yelled at her. I never should've done that."

"Mike, this isn't your fault." Dustin said.

"Yeah, it's Lucas'."

"It wasn't his fault, either." Dustin countered softly.

For the first time in what felt like ages, Mike stopped in his tracks. He looked at my brother dumbfounded and took a few steps in his direction. "It wasn't his fault?"

"No."

"So you're saying he wasn't way out of line?"

"Totally, but so were you!"

"What?"

"And so was Eleven."

"That's ridiculous! Y/n, tell him he's being ridiculous!"

Very calmly, I stood up with my arms crossed and stood next to my brother, and sighed, eyes fixed on Mike. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but Dustin is absolutely right."

Mike seemed even more furious. "Oh, give me a break!"

Dustin snapped at these words and stormed up to Mike. "No, Mike, you give me a break! All three of you were being a bunch of little assholes! Y/n and I were the only reasonable ones! But the bottom line is... you pushed first. And you know the rules. You draw first blood..."

"No! No way! I'm not shaking his hand."

"You're shaking his hand." I press, stepping forward.

He was sure to make eye contact with me over Dustin's shoulder as he spoke. "No, I'm not."

So I strode toward him and gave him a slight glare.

"This isn't a discussion. This is the rule of law. Obey or be banished from the party. Do you wanna be banished?" I asked firmly.

Mike crossed his arms and pouted before speaking up meekly. "No."

"Good!" I chirp, my face beaming as if we hadn't just been fighting which seem to only terrify him more.

I all but skipped over to the chair grabbing my coat, Dustin following my actions.

"Where are we going?" Mike asked with a hint of frustration.

"Where do you think?" Dustin asked as he put his arms through the sleeves of his coat.

"We're going to get Lucas." I finished, straightening my jacket then looked back to Mike.

My face softened and I tilted my head slightly. "And then we're gonna find Eleven."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The three of us stood on Lucas's porch and I rang the doorbell. We stood waiting until the door swung open and Lucas stood there glaring at all three of us, but mostly Mike.

"What do you want?" He spit, resting his hands in his pockets.

There was brief silence which was then interrupted by a muffled smack of Dustin hitting Mike in the arm.

Mike sighed softly and looked to Lucas, clearly hating every second of this.

"I drew first blood, so..." he extended his hand for Lucas to shake but Lucas didn't move.

Great. Of course nobody was going to make anything easy. Why would they?

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Somehow I had convinced Lucas to let us all in and now, we all stood in the middle of his living room as he paced silently across the floor considering Mike's offer. He finally stopped and stared at the three of us.

"Okay, I'll shake."

Mike sighed what I barely made out to be a "finally" as he extended his arm out once more. Dustin and I perked up, that was until Lucas continued.

"On one condition. We forget the weirdo and go straight to the gate." He finished, arms crossed defiant.

"Then the deal's off." Mike barked.

"Fine!"

"No, no, not fine! Guys seriously?" Dustin yelled, as I threw my head back frustrated.

Dustin forced Mike to face him as he spoke. "Do you even remember what happened on the Bloodstone Pass?"

Lucas and Mike shared a confused glance.

Dustin seemed shocked and offended that they had no recollection and continued.

"We couldn't agree on what path to take, so we all split up the party and those trolls took us out one by one. And it all went to shit. And we were all disabled! So we stick together, no matter what!"

"Yeah, I agree. But this is the party, right here in this room."

"El is one of us now."

"Um, no, she's not. Not even close! Never will be. She's a liar, a traitor--"

"She was just trying to keep us safe! She didn't mean to hurt you. It was an accident!"

"An accident?"

"All right, accident or not... admit it, it was a little awesome." Dustin said.

"Awesome?"

"Yeah, she threw you in the air with her mind!"

"I could have been killed!"

"Would everybody just shut up for one second, please!" I snap.

Everybody looks to me, a shocked expression on their faces.

I step forward and begin my long awaited rant.

"I am sick of your attitude." I point at Lucas. "I am sick of your whining." I point to Mike. "I am sick of all three of you bickering," I gesture to all of them. "I love you guys and I can't thank you enough for taking me in and including me, know that, but GOD I am tired of being stuck listening to you boys argue about every little thing!"

I myself began pacing, my voice continuously rising. "I'm sick of putting up with all your petty arguing when we should be looking for Will only to come home at the end of the day, having found NOTHING and crying my eyes out because the only person who never gave a shit about who started what is missing and probably dead!"

I stopped pacing and looked to the boys who were all silent. I sighed and lowered my voice. "Lucas, you're right. You could have been killed. Which is exactly why we need her. She is more powerful than all of us combined."

"Y/n's right. Do you seriously wanna fight the Demogorgon with your wrist rocket?" Mike said, anger still in his voice. "That's like R2-D2 going to fight Darth Vader. We're no use to Will if we're dead."

Lucas looked torn for a moment, but then he shook his head and pointed at the three of us. There was disappointment in his voice. "If you three wanna waste your time looking for a traitor, go ahead, 'cause I'm not spending my time on her anymore. No way!"

I sighed, putting my face in my hands. Lucas continued.

"I'm going to the gate. I'm going to find Will."

Lucas shoved the boys aside and stormed off, leaving the three of us alone in more ways than one.

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sugar-petals · 2 years

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for the fun ask game, 5 ,6 ,10 ,11 ,12 ,14 ,19 ,20, 21 ,25 (suga) ! just realized we are mutuals! Thanks for the follow 💛

yees, hello helloo <3 okay, for bts:

5. pick 2 members that would make the most successful business partners

myg to take care of the paperwork and producing the jingles (+ being the hot voice of the adverts), jimin as the testimonial. yours truly, ceo of PBH aka pretty boy headquarters. we’re gonna sell makeup for men and top forbes in two weeks. our first launch:

6. pick 2 members that would make the best parents

taehyung is always on eye level with people’s kids. hoseok is very responsible, upbeat, cleanly, cute, sweet — makes sense he’d be a good father.

10. who would you fight/bicker with the most?

jimbles, we’re mutually teasing a bit, but in good flirty spirits. namjoon and i could debate science and philosophy, that would be game on. we usually share opposite views but the same methods of thought, so it would be interesting. then again, namjoon yields by diplomacy, so we wouldn’t fight.

11. who would be your best friend?

jin. hands down. we will meme until we drop. and share many of the same values. after setting up a crazy youtube channel empire with the most miscellaneous troll content and taking over hybe, we’ll especially annoy bts’ stylists to bow to our demands and ideals 😈 waist length hair for everybody!!

12. who would you wanna party/get drunk with?

i’d take jimin with me. quality dance partner and (unlike me:) social butterfly. but i take care of him in return. he drinks, i don’t, so he has someone to carry him home. the problem is rather, i don’t drive, like a true bisexual. we’ll go like. by bus lmao

14. who would impress your parents/friends the most?

probably joon for his level-headed approach and stature. you'd have to speak german to impress grandma, he’d also manage that. my friends would probably think jin is hilarious.

19. pick 3 to go camping with

yoongi to set things up, cook, clean, budget, drive, and pick strawberries. needless to say, he’s the mvp when you wanna camp properly.

jungkook to fend off bears. he will be our guard at night.

jimin to smooch giggle and snuggle in the tent, things need to be cozy.

as for my task, i’m mainly there to eat yoongi’s masterful chef creations 😆

20. pick 2 to be in a love triangle w/you (the more dramatic the better!!)

holly VS yoongi VS caro 😂 who will hold paws with whom?!?!!

21. who would have the most successful solo career?

hobi's social skills are not to be underestimated. we know how easily he can go viral, rake in cash, and sense current trends.

25. (send me a member: yoongi) what’s their best quality?

pragmatism. he got a dry humor and knows how much olive oil to use.

#kpop game

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class1akids · 4 years

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BNHA 286 - Thoughts

I was still riding the high of Bakugou’s spectacular character development, so the drop from this chapter was a really, really bad one. The sheer helpless frustration, worry and anger in this panel accurately sums up my mood after reading it:

The same, Shouto, the same.

The deja-vu was strong, because here we are again, Deku with two broken arms, staring helplessly as Kacchan tumbles out of his reach (like even the eye shut swollen matches...)

Not before Bakugou voices the frustration I’ve been feeling ever since Deku entered rage-mode a while back.

And to think that the day would come when Bakugou gets to lecture Deku on teamwork with absolute cause, punctuating the sentiment with some splattering of blood. Because really, I was so so so hoping for some Origin Trio teamwork, but it looks like I’m not going to get any, and that makes me a sad, disappointed bunny.

At least this time Todoroki wins a round of catch-a-Kacchan, displaying also some serious one-foot-rocket-game there. If Horikoshi was trying to make the catch as ship-unfriendly as he could, he severely underestimated the audacity of TDBK fandom, because what’s better than a princess carry? Diving straight for your boyfriend’s pants, while you are lugging your unconscious trash dad around. It’s kind of perfect. That’s my OTP. (SQUEEE)

What’s not cool is that Bakugou’s sacrifice seemingly achieves nothing, because Todoroki for lack of hands can’t drag Deku away, and he falls for Shigaraki’s taunting, entering Rage+++++ mode.

It seems that Deku’s weakness is Kacchan (duh, we all knew that) (and my theory is that because of Search, AFO/Shiggy also knew that), but his even bigger weakness is people dragging Kacchan. So yeah, this was the part I didn’t like at all, because protagonist rage-power is just the biggest cliché ever, and nothing to glorify. There is even a flashback to Banjo warning Deku about the need to control his heart. So I suppose Rage+++!!!Deku is not a good thing says Horikoshi, who then proceeds to glorify Rage++++!!!Deku with lots of pretty art.

So sad, he’s crying...

Still I hope that this taunt is just Horikoshi trolling us and Bakugou’s sacrifice will eventually serve a much bigger narrative purpose than just rage-upgrading Deku (considering it meant preventing again Todoroki from entering the fight, grrrrr, I’m getting impatient, I want to see him do something other than first aid and designated ice-pack...), but I’m fully resigned to the fact that it may just happen in the terms of some talk (or a DvK3, ok, that would be kind of epic) where Kacchan reads Deku the riot act about his reckless behaviour. (For the Haikyuu!! fans out there, I’m partial to the kind of vibe where Iwa headbutts Oikawa and tells him that the team with the six strongest players is the strongest).

Shiggy and Deku are in full monster-mode and it looks kind of creepy-stunning, with Deku looking like Dark Shadow and we see the literal AFO grinning in the (physical or spiritual?) split in Shiggy’s face as he regrows his fluffy white hair amidst the happy screams of the Tomura-stans corner of the fandom through the miracle of regeneration.

Deku’s rage seems to lead to careless opening as he’s finally checkmated by Shigaraki’s hands on his face, ready to steal OFA. And look, poor Todoroki can’t do anything but helplessly stare (and ponder whether if he drops his trash dad, he could maybe grab his other boyfriend???).

The attempt to steal OFA leads into what looks like the MMA fighting ring of the Vestige plane. In one corner, we have Coach AFO hyping Shigaraki (who thanks very much does not want AFO to be there, because now he’s a big boy and has his OWN dreams which kind of look like AFO’s dreams...).

And their bickering may be Deku’s saving grace in the end, which would make indirectly Bakugou’s plan / Endeavor’s big prominence burn be decisive in the fight as the step to create the opening for AFO to enter Shigaraki’s mind.

In the opposite corner, we have Nana hyping Deku.

So if the vestiges were always gonna interfere, Deku could have just walked up to Shigaraki, skipping straight to this bit, saving a whole lot of bloodshed????

Anyways, it looks like either it’s gonna be Nana vs AFO Round 2, or Deku vs Shiggy where they are backed by their respective guardian spirits or perhaps all four of them? Nana’s physical hand (the one corresponding to what she places on Deku’s head) is still in Shigaraki’s literal pockets. Talk about awkward family reunions...

I hope that whatever happening in the spirit world, the fight will also continue on the ground. There is some chance of that, as it seems team Iida is on its way towards Deku’s location, bringing news of Machia.

So we may see this group (at least Iida, Neijire and Uraraka as they seem to have different action-lines than the other three) + Todoroki take on Machia / LoV. It could also mean getting Bakugou some essential medical help faster - if the injury is too much for Todoroki’s nine pee-pees - (though I was really hoping to see more of Bakugou fight, because he’s always a joy to watch). Obviously, I’m hyped for more class1a, but also hoping that Neijire finally gets the action she was denied in the Overhaul arc.

Another interesting detail was Machia sensing two masters. The obvious answer is him sensing Shigaraki and AFO (and good question which one will he listen to), but a twist could be him sensing Deku in there with Shiggy?

If you need emotional comfort, I highly recommend checking out this gorgeous full-color version of 285.

#bnha 286 #bnha manga spoilers #class1a reads bnha #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #shigaraki tomura #todoroki shouto #nana shimura #ofa #afo

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clansayeed · 4 years

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Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 8: The Tower Upright

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Ryder and Taylor head to local out-of-the-way voodoo vendor Laveau’s for the final ingredient in their protection ritual. While he waits, Taylor gets his fortune told by the real deal—a spirit medium descended from Marie herself.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Krom’s barely through the threshold before Taylor pounces; hovers around him comically short and buzzing like a gnat.

“So, what did they say? Do I need to call — I don’t have my phone, shit — please tell me I’m not cut from the show.”

Luckily the stone troll looks freaked-out enough to get him to stop and apologize. “Sorry,” he mutters, “I just…”

“No, no I completely understand!” Krom scratches the tips of his head and laughs it off, “I just didn’t want to step on you.”

“He’s not that short.” calls Ivy from her booth at the back.

Taylor shrugs it off. “But I appreciate it.”

“Anyway; the company manager’s a little mad no one could reach you but I convinced them to give you a week of sick leave? Even though there was this one weirdly giddy guy…”

They join Ivy on either side. Taylor groans and rubs his hand over his face.

“That would be Antoni. He doesn’t matter. I really appreciate you doing this for me, Krom.”

“It’s no trouble!” And the troll’s voice is so filled with sincerity he has no trouble believing it.

“That’s our darling Krom.” Garrus returns behind the bar with his tray of collected dirty steins and beer glasses. “He’s like an angel; always helping others. You’ve got nothing to prove sweetheart — you know that.”

Ivy answers Taylor’s question before he even has the chance to ask it; “Stone trolls have a bit of a rep’ around here. You saw their natural element at Persephone.”

“Bodyguards, hired muscle, and the like.” Krom agrees; pointedly trying to keep his voice his usual baritone despite Garrus’ casual compliments.

“So you’re a pacifist?”

“In the flesh — so to speak.”

There’s a thud from behind and all eyes turn to see a stack of crates stumbling out from behind the back room curtain. Not hovering in midair as Taylor originally thought but carried by a very red-faced Cal. Who still forces on a smile through his gritted teeth at Garrus.

“Where… where?”

The fae gestures with a bony finger. “Just leave ‘em behind here. I’ll unpack before the evening rush.”

He slams them down before Taylor can even try to offer help — grumbles under his breath about something he can’t quite catch but he knows Cal’s grateful to Garrus for giving him a place to stay. He must be paying off the stupor he drank himself into following their return as less-than-triumphant heroes.

“I should start taking in strays more often — pun not intended,” Garrus teases but all in good humor; especially when he slides a cool glass of water for Cal to chug when his hands are free, “someone to do the heavy lifting around here and all that.”

Krom shifts in his seat. Something so subtle only the two beside him notice it. But Ivy doesn’t give him the chance to let it go and kicks his rock of a leg with her heels.

“I — I could help with whatever you need, Garrus?” Even though it comes out as more of a question than anything.

The look the two exchange is strange but fond. Garrus’ eyes softening under the twinkling lights. Maybe he regrets what he said — or the implications behind it.

“But if you’re laboring around here then what would I have to look at for inspiration?”

Not the smoothest save, in Taylor’s opinion. But Krom acts like it’s the highest form of praise and brushes the compliment off with a wave.

“Are they always like this?” Taylor whispers to Ivy. The revenant just sighs and nods. A long-suffering struggle on her end no doubt.

Heavy footfalls on metal steps herald Ryder’s arrival from the apartments above. He looks around and beelines towards Taylor in a way that almost has him jumping and hiding.

“You, me; let’s go.”

“That’s not how you ask a man out on a date, Nik.” chides Ivy as she pushes the mortals together.

“What?” He blinks; shakes himself out of whatever thoughts compelled him to seek Taylor out. “Wh — shut up, Iv’.”

“Right,” she winks, “he’ll go with you anyway. It’s part of your brutish charm.”

“Shut up, Iv’.” Taylor parrots with a glare. “Is the spell finally ready?”

Not that he’s not enjoying his time at the Shift. And following the disaster that was the Bayou and Persephone he’s not exactly eager to go into other supernatural spaces any time soon.

But he’s never been one to stay cooped up for long.

Ryder huffs. “Not quite. Damn toad wart expired. Luckily though there’s a shop down the road that carries simple ingredients — so put away that grin Iv’. I’m done owin’ you for now.”

Probably a good thing judging by the low witchy cackle she gives instead.

“So let’s get goin’, hustle hustle.”

“But wait — is it safe?” Taylor follows anyway. Keeping at the Nighthunter’s heels is practically his new job. “You didn’t even want me leaving for the theater.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“With your hallelujah arrows, right?”

“Holy light arrows, Rook. You sound like an idiot when you say that.”

“Well now I’ll keep doing it to piss you off.”

“‘Course, because why would you do anything else?”

Their bickering continues out onto the ruins of another day of Mardi Gras fun. At least some things never lose a sense of normalcy.

It’s a small shop — one of those ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ types. The shop name LAVEAU’s is hand-painted above a doorway embellished with the classic purple, green, and golden plastic beads of the season’s parties.

Taylor stops Ryder before he opens the door. “‘Laveau’s’ like…?”

“Read the signs, Rook.”

There they are clear as day; painted by the same hand as the top sign but with an artist’s frustration behind every black-painted stroke. One on the door declaring ‘Yes, like Marie herself’ and then one blue-tacked beneath it; ‘Not Affiliated with Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo.’

“Oh. Got it.”

While the outside may lack the flair and panache that attracts the usual tourist crowds the inside is a whole other looking glass. Probably looks the way it does to differentiate between those who want fake dolls to poke with pins and those who want a real hex to mess with.

God, he’s talking about real hexes. When had this become his life?

Together they weave through the cluttered mess of uneven shelves and their uneven products. Books stacked flat where they’d fallen over at some point and left that way with little concern. A bundle of glass-looking orbs balancing precariously without cradle to keep them from rolling off the edge. A plant hanger in the middle of the room holds a pile of sage sticks just there. At second glance some look a little used.

The back ‘counter’ isn’t even that. It’s a folding table with a frayed tablecloth unevenly distributed atop and an old and rusting register in the corner.

First Taylor sees the joint resting in an ash tray made out of a mason jar lid. Only when it’s picked up and placed between two pink lips does he realize the man sitting kiddie-corner to the till.

“Welcome, wayward souls, to another side of the witch you know,” he recites as if from a script; monotone — doing everything he can to dissuade those who might darken his doorstep, “everything you see is one hundred percent bona fide authentic to the craft. Don’t do the rhyme if you can’t do the wiccan time.”

Ryder stops abruptly. Arms folded and a raised eyebrow looking over the pile of scattered tarot cards strewn across the table. That which holds the proprietor’s attention more than customers.

Unbidden he reaches out and plucks a card at random. Turns it over to stare at glittering golden words ‘The Emperor’ upside-down.

There’s no way the shop owner should know what card was grabbed — not like he can see though the matte black backing — but he gives a low and throaty chuckle. Lets smoke billow in a thin stream around the same lips now curled in a smirk.

“You always picked predictably, Ryder.”

Ryder who frisbees the card back onto the table carelessly. “I’m not still unconvinced you don’t set me up every time, Luc.”

“For all the shit you see…”

“I’ll always be skeptical of some damn cards, yeah. What else is new?”

“Good question.”

Luc finally drags his gaze up and away from his reading. Gives Ryder an easy and lazy smile that might possibly be the friendliest greeting to the Nighthunter Taylor’s seen so far. Had he not joined Ivy in teasing Krom only a short while ago he might have run himself ragged trying to understand the electric connection he’s witness to.

There’s definitely a history here.

Ryder sighs; knows Luc isn’t going to answer him until he answers himself. “The usual, man. Another day another job. Not much changes for me.”

“That’s not what I hear. In fact — I hear quite the opposite.”

“Sure those aren’t just voices from a bad trip?”

Luc laughs and kicks himself up to balance on the back two legs of his chair. Teeters dangerously close to falling backwards. “Could be, brother, could be. But I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout the spiritual radio this time. Everyone who’s anyone heard tell of a gutsy break-in among the city’s most elite. And all the chaos that followed.”

Ryder’s teeth grind together; his brow gives an almost imperceptible twitch.

“What did I tell you about listenin’ to the rumor mill, Luc?”

“Are they wrong?”

Not giving an answer is answer enough. Makes Luc give a haughty grin so wide Taylor likens him to a shark.

“I said what I said; another day, another job. It got me a rare ingredient I needed. I figured I could get the rest from your sorry ass if I could get you to look away from that damn deck long enough to ring me up.”

Luc makes everything look easy; from getting on Ryder’s bad side to letting his chair fall forward so he can stand. Like he’s not moving through air and gravity but dancing through deep watery depths.

But there’s a defensive edge to his voice — the first emotion beyond amusement — as he starts to gather up his cards.

“I’ll have you know I’m fond of this deck in particular. They were given to me as an apology from someone who never apologizes.”

“Oh yeah, what for?” Judging by Ryder’s tone, though, he already knows.

Still he lets Luc’s bright hazel eyes bore into his soul.

“Skippin’ out come dawn without so much as an adieu.”

Taylor laughs because, well, it’s funny? Only to quickly realize it’s not the right thing to be doing when he catches the strange look Ryder throws back at him; halfway and in profile — like he stops himself before he can make it a whole confrontation.

The teasing’s gone, now. “Yeah — listen, any chance I still have that standing credit here? I need frog warts and a few other things for a protection spell.”

“Ain’t like you to run around on an empty wallet.”

“Yeah, well… this job ain’t just another.”

And as ‘Another Job’ Taylor kind of takes offense to it.

Luc jerks his head towards a doorway shrouded with a curtain of thick wooden beads and the occasional bird feather. “You know where the stores are, cher. Just consider ya’self lucky Mardi Gras is a prosperous time for us all.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Luca. And if it makes you feel better the life you’re savin’ ain’t even mine.”

Taylor’s a step behind his heels when Ryder turns and keeps him at bay with a palm to his chest. His heartbeat stutters; spandex yielding to the firm press, but Ryder says nothing of it.

“Stay up here.”

Taylor scoffs. “Why? I’m not going to accidentally cast a spell or anything.”

“Maybe not, but the last thing I need is you gettin’ clumsy on the wrong object and fuckin’ us both even deeper.”

While he fumbles for a retort worthy of the witty comeback, though, Ryder makes his escape. Calls back; “don’t touch anything, don’t look at anything — and don’t let him suck you up in that damn deck!” before he’s gone in a clatter of beads.

They both know he’s not going to listen — he only says it so he can tell Taylor off when something inevitably happens. That seems to be how they function. Not that he plans on flailing his arms and messing with the first thing he hits, but…

“Since you ain’t dead I’m gonna assume Ryder’s not takin’ on the role’a teacher of the nighthunting arts.”

Snaps Taylor’s attention back to Luc; back in his chair and shuffling the deck in long and ring-adorned fingers.

“No.”

“Good. You might just stay alive then.”

“Apparently that’s a hard thing to do so, sure.”

Luc gestures to the chair across from him. It’s an offer, not a demand, but out of spite for Ryder’s twenty different moods — follow me, don’t follow me, around and around again — he takes it up. Watches Luc shuffle and reshuffle with naught but the soft collision of the cards as music.

When he realizes Ryder’s going to take his time, he figures the best way to start might be an introduction.

“I’m —”

“Pick a few cards for me, Taylor.”

He hadn’t even realized the man had started a spread; each card turned down and black as the void in a soft arc reaching out to him across the table.

Luc is courteous enough not to blow smoke in his face. Sits back slightly hunched and letting his focus flicker between Taylor and the cards. Like both are equally likely to speak to him in the silence.

“It’s probably useless asking how you knew my name, huh?”

“Smart boy. Sometimes they whisper an’ sometimes they scream, but I gotta say it’s been a good long while since I heard the cards call out the way they do to you, Taylor Hunter.

“So help me out here. Pick a few and let them show us why they’re so damn chatty.”

He wants to point out that the only chatty one around is Luca himself, but again that’s one of those useless things he’s finally starting to come to terms with. Knows another useless thing would be to ask why he can’t hear anything… but that’s because hearing is the only word he can think to describe it too.

They’re cards — just plain tarot cards. But like inky tendrils they’re reaching out to him across the table on another plane of reality. One where they have soft black fingers that wrap around his wrists and bring his hands to hover over them. Like safety.

Ryder said… “Well, Ryder said…”

The look Luc gives him cuts him off. Yeah, that was a bit of a stretch, wasn’t it?

He points at random; watches Luc pull a card out without flipping it over. Keeps going until a curt nod cuts him off and nine rectangles of shadow form a square across from him.

“This ain’t your average reading,” that much being obvious by the reverent way the shopkeep looks down at his selection, “and I ain’t your average reader. You’re not from around here.”

“Are you asking?”

“No. But I figure that means you did what all newcomers do — got yourself one of those back room phony shows at the House of Voodoo.”

He wants to say he hasn’t only for how ashamed Luc’s tone makes him feel about it. But yeah — yeah he had. Doesn’t remember much about the event itself but knows somewhere buried in the clutter of his desk back at his place there’s a piece of paper from whatever the alleged ‘psychic’ had him ask.

Luc nods slowly. “Mmhm. Sometimes — ‘bout as oft’n as pigs fly — the cards they play don’t listen and give out an ounce of truth. Nothing life-changing, but a slip enough to tempt the handler into believing.

“You won’t get none’a that here. Whatever’s shown when I flip these babies around has been, is, or will be whether you know it or not. But they only tell as much of a tale as you’re ready to hear.”

The unasked question: are you ready to hear it? And Taylor isn’t sure he knows how to answer.

He knows a lot about himself; inside and out. Has lived through too much and shoved too much inside for too long not to. It’s something he’s proud of. A lot of people spend their lives with no understanding of their inner self but he’s never had that problem.

But there’s a difference between knowing it and seeing… whatever these cards might show him.

What if what he knows isn’t what they say?

Life would be easier if Ryder took that opportune moment to reappear and save him the trouble of having to make the choice.

But life isn’t easy.

He nods — but before Luc can flip over the first card he reaches out and stops him.

“I’m not, like, sealing a deal with a demon or something, am I?” Judging by the look he gets he really shouldn’t have asked.

“Do I look like a demon?”

“I don’t know what demons look like.” He knows it’s a lie but says it anyway; can think only of that skeletal face sneering at him under the moonlight.

Luckily it’s not enough to deter the shopkeep who just bats Taylor’s hand away. “Judgin’ by your ghostly pallor I’m gonna call your fib on that one. But if it eases ya mind; no. No deals here. I get as much outta this as you do.”

Well that’s okay then, isn’t it?

Luc flips the first card over and has himself a little laugh. And why wouldn’t he — The Fool isn’t just an apt card but an apt description.

Taylor’s humor is, however, short-lived. “Seriously?”

“You drew the card. Only one to blame is you.”

“So I’m gonna be even more of a joke in my future or something?”

Luc shakes his head; spreads his fingers as far as they’ll go as the shadow of his palm casts over the center card. “This ain’t your future, but your self. This is you, Mister Hunter.”

“A fool.”

“A man of innocence,” comes the quick correction, “and oftentimes a free spirit. You do your own thing; march to your own drum. Ev��ry Sally and Joe likes to laugh at the Fool but he’s got his eyes set on the horizon and that’s worth admirin’. So don’t sell him — or ya’self — short.”

Innocent — not quite. But the rest Taylor doesn’t disagree with. Seems he knows himself as well as he thought.

Luc’s painted nail traces along a jagged line on the image. “But see here; the Fool stands at the cliff’s edge. He’s a card so it ain’t in his nature to look anywhere but where he’s told but you’re not a card, are ya?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you lookin’ forward at the horizon or down into that abyss,” — he flips over another card before Taylor can answer — “or maybe you see the Tower on the other side.”

The Tower card is actually at the Fool’s back but he’s learned enough now not to question the metaphors.

“All that love for life might come at a cost. An’ hey — maybe it’s one you’re willin’ to pay. I don’t judge.”

No matter how hard he looks he knows he isn’t going to see the same thing as his reader. But… “I’m gonna need you to be a little less cryptic and a little more straightforward.”

“This ain’t science. Everything’s up for interpretation when the cards are involved.”

“Okay so interpret what exactly you mean by a cost. What cost?”

His rings drum on the plastic surface slowly before Luc clicks his tongue. “Looks to me like you’ve been through some shit lately. Life-changin’ shit — shit that skips right over dippin’ a toe into destiny and pushes you right in the deep end tied to an anchor — or ten.”

Finally Luc looks back up but his gaze is guarded; carefully and excellently so. He can’t get a thing out of just a look.

“I could have told you that.” He mutters a defensive reply. “A couple of days ago everything was fine and then my best friend’s in a coma, I find out the shit I’ve been hallucinating my whole life is real, and on top of it some big scary Ugly wants my skinny ass for a meal.”

“That explains our friend Ryder, then.” Luc almost seems to peek at the row’s last hidden card. When he turns the Eight of Cups over the hum he hums reminds Taylor of endless weeks of therapists and their noncommittal noises failing to cover the scratching of pen on paper. “And it’s all a helluva lot, I bet.”

It’s a bit hard to play off the full-body adjustment to hide his discomfort but Taylor likes to think he pulls it off pretty well.

“Understatement of the century.”

“Makes a world ‘a sense. You’ve tried gettin’ away from it.”

“Actually I haven’t really had the time.”

Only Luc disagrees; shakes his head curtly and offers the Cups to Taylor like it’s written on the surface in plain sight. “The cards ain’t just talkin’ ‘round the physical. Sometimes we do all the runnin’ in our minds and we don’t even know it. It could be as simple as connecting new things in ya life to old ones and convincing ya’self they’re the same; whether they are or not.”

Oh, there it is — on the surface and in plain sight. Struggling for Cal and Donny. Taking blame for what happened (not that he’d tell Cal, he’s got enough to feel bad over). Jumping down Krom’s throat about the theater company.

“Don’t beat ya’self up too bad,” continues Luc in a way that makes him freeze in the sudden fear that he can read thoughts as well as tarot cards, “a little escapism is good for the soul. The hard part’s when you gotta come back to reality an’ doin’ it without a fight.”

Taylor offers the card back and watches it settle home beside the Fool. The same Fool he’s now a little reluctant to identify with so quickly. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Got it — now cut the ramblin’; you’re talkin’ over the cards.”

Only hasn’t he been the one doing all the talking? Arguing won’t help but that little nugget of petulance persists.

This time Luc reveals three cards one after the other. Makes sure to let each one rest face-up before moving on. Letting them breathe. Letting them speak.

Strength. The Hermit. The Two of Swords. The first two facing Taylor this time as if in judgment. No; they haven’t drawn that card just yet.

He realizes he’s waiting on bated breath when his lungs start to burn and beg for fresh air. Why is he so quiet all of a sudden?

“Tell me more about those hallucinations ya mentioned, Taylor.”

That’s not where he was expecting that to go at all; catches him off guard. “Sorry?”

“Don’t be,” but the other man sounds distant; lost in his thoughts, “jus’ tell me. Said you been seein’ things ‘your whole life’ right?”

“Yeah. But I’d really rather not, uh, go into…” Wasn’t his life story down on the cards? It was hard enough explaining everything to Kristin — and they knew things about one another bound to secrecy by the sanctity of roommate-dom. So he tries to keep it all in the realm of the reading; “I mean I know what they are now. I was seeing glamours. Like through them — without a charm or spell or whatever. I dunno, Nik can explain it better.”

When Luc doesn’t give the same shocked jaw-drop the trio at the Shift had he entertains the brief hope that the same talent runs through the psychic’s veins. But that’s dashed when he catches sight of the unconscious way Luc grabs onto one of the numerous stone pendants draped over his neck — the way he thumbs over the polished surface and tugs on the leather cord.

It’s not the same one Ryder has but pretty damn close; close enough to assume his glamour-charm used to have a home in this very shop.

“That kind-a inner sight’s awful rare.” He practically mumbles.

“Yeah, it’s been mentioned.”

“Not unheard of, mind you. Not in things that ain’t entirely mortal by blood and bone. When you draw Strength in reverse it’s not the opposite like you’d think; it ain’t sayin’ you lack strength.

“Think of it more like the meanin’ is just turned about. Upright’s outside and the other is inside.”

“So it’s inner strength.” He can get behind that.

“Or lack of it.”

I’m fucking sorry? “Who—what-now?”

“This row,” he gestures a little too grandly for the subject matter, “is your past, present, and future. I told you the cards were screamin’ — and they still are — but not this one,” — not Strength — “this’un’s more of a whisper. And it makes sense given that you called ‘em ‘hallucinations.’”

“And an explanation for us ‘card’-of-hearing?”

Luc bites his tongue — really and without metaphor; wince and all. Grabs a stray bit of crumpled receipt from god-knows when his last sale was and scribbles on it in blocky letters.

“‘Note to self,’” he enunciates his writing harshly, “‘add sign to shop: ‘Owner Has the Right to Refuse Service on Account of Shitty Fucking Puns.’”

The glare that follows tells Taylor it won’t be long before that sign has his name added to avoid confusion.

No regrets. None at all.

Puns aside, though? The level eye he gets across the cards takes a turn for the serious.

“I think it tells me a lot more than you’re ready to share. About ya life before this; about the things you done to make the pain go away. Some of us may be human but that don’t mean we ain’t still animals. And animals lash out when they’re scared.”

He’s right. It’s a lot more than Taylor’s ready to share. Makes him want to scramble the deck — flip the table on its end. And maybe the old version of him, the version in those cards, might have.

In his silence Luc gets the answer — “moving on…” he almost sing-songs — lets his fingertips dance on the card showing the present: the Hermit.

Which Taylor tries not to take personally. Who is there to be angry at other than himself?

“So since that one’s reversed too that means… what, that I’m a hermit on the inside?”

“I can see how you’d think that,” laughs Luc, “but not quite. How about we let the professional do his profession?”

Taylor gestures. The professional carries on. “It ain’t easy comin’ into this life so late. ‘Specially when you end up seein’ all the bad before a lick’a good comes your way. But you’re drownin’ in it — that’s what the Hermit’s tellin’ us. No time to ruminate?”

He scoffs. “Something like that.”

“Well make time. Lest it all starts crashin’ down and you get the proverbial water in ya lungs.”

“It’s not by choice. There’s things after me and —”

“And excuses ain’t gonna keep you afloat.” The man reaches over faster than Taylor can move back; actually flicks his forehead dead center.

“Ow!” He swats Luc’s hand away.

“It ain’t me sayin’ this, Hunter. It’s them,” he gestures to the cards, “and they know more about this world than either of us could learn in a hundred lifetimes. Take ya damn time and really work out how you feel. Else you won’t be able to face this here future with a clear head.”

Luckily Taylor doesn’t have to ask; isn’t certain he’d be able to as he looks at the Two of Swords card and feels sweat start to bead at his temples.

Playing with tarot cards is all fun and games when you don’t believe. Even when you do — a measure of healthy skepticism is good for the soul. But with everything he’s seen; been told?

Who would willingly ask for their future foretold after that?

“I think we can skip to the next cards.”

“Oho, this don’t work like that.”

“Why,” doing his best to keep his voice level, “it’s my reading, right? I don’t want to know.”

“Sucks to be you, then. You draw; you listen. That’s how all true readin’s go.” Luc leans back on the creaky chair and lets the Swords card flip and twirl between his fingers.

He could make it easy on them both; stop arguing and just get up and leave the reading unfinished. Find Ryder in the back and apologize for doing what he said not to do — again — and book it out of there right quick.

But he doesn’t.

“Now I get why Nik said not to do this.”

“Ha — well, hindsight ain’t much use in a house of foresight baby. So listen; an’ listen well.

“In proper tarot some cards are real close in meanin’. That’s where the spread comes in — the order, the intent; not to mention the cards all ‘round it. The Swords in your future point to some hard fuckin’ choices. And if ya keep on the path ya’re on you won’t be makin’ ‘em with all your marbles.

“I ain’t talkin’ about decisions that can be made for you, neither. When it comes down to it you’re likely to find ya’self alone — not only in the act a’ choosin’ but in dealin’ with the consequences.”

“So what kind of choices? What do the cards scream about that?”

“They don’t —” he tosses the card back down and it’s probably not a coincidence that it slides magically askew back in the reading’s place, “— on account of all the changes between now and when that time comes.

“The cards give truths where mortals lie; hope where the world pushes despair. But at the end’a everythin’ they’re just cards — bound by the same circumstances as you or I.”

It’s probably meant to be poignant; something that might be sold on a re-purposed wooden palette hand-painted and polished. In a shop similar to this — right between the mismatched crystal balls and Ryder’s coveted frog warts.

But all Taylor can think is; “Well that’s absolutely useless to me beyond freaking me out.”

Luc gives another one of his gap-toothed grins — “C’est la vie, mon petit,” — and doesn’t wait for permission or argument to reveal another card.

“If it makes ya feel any better —”

“Doubtful at this point.”

“— Fair. But they won’t leave ya hangin’. Unless the Hanged Man is drawn, a’course. Naw, rest easy knowin’ you won’t be goin’ the journey alone.”

He frowns; confused. “But you just said —”

“Hush. All the best journeys are made with friends. Though I… I ain’t sure I’d call the Nine a’Wands a friend…”

Curiosity replaced by twists and turns of his bewildered head; Luc bites down on his thumb nail and scrutinizes the seventh draw. “In fact, I’d call whomever this bad draw represents —”

“Ryder!”

The Nighthunter emerges in a wave of beads carrying a pearly sphere the size of his head tucked in the crook of his arm. At the same time Taylor jumps — a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar — and swears when his knee bangs under the table.

Luc doesn’t notice — or doesn’t care; still fixated on the black-and-gold design in front of him. Mutters “could be him, but…” under his breath so low that no one catches it.

Taylor fumbles for an explanation — which is a pretty stupid move seeing as he was ready to just come clean only a minute ago — but doesn’t get the chance. Though he would like to state that it probably would have been an extremely convincing and well-versed one had Ryder not just held up a hand and rolled his eyes.

“I figured you’d ignore me. Already took out my anger with a mortar and pestle in the back.”

Well he’s a little offended now. “I wasn’t blatantly disobeying you or anything,” then; “I’m a grown adult and can make my own choices.”

And doesn’t that karma come around to bite him in the ass pretty damn fast. He makes a great effort not to look at what is no doubt a haughty look of ‘I told you so.’

“Yeah yeah, cry me a river.”

He props the sphere on a large cushion nearby to keep it from rolling and drags the last free seat over into Taylor’s personal bubble. Already looking at the spread like he, too, can hear these alleged screams from the deck. “So, Luc? Any tell on whether or not I’m gonna get paid for this gig?”

“Wha — hey!”

Taylor knows he doesn’t hit Nik’s arm that hard but the offended look he gets back is more than enough.

“Ouch. That hurt.”

“If that hurt I need a new bodyguard.”

“Don’t tempt me to pawn you off.”

“Please do.”

A tinny click draws their focus away from each other and to Luc’s newly lighted blunt. No longer puzzled by the cards — his eyes are brighter; they shine with understanding.

“Nevermind. I get it, now.”

“Get what?” barks Nik a little too defensively.

“Didn’ I jus’ tell ya not to mind it?”

Taylor cuts Nik off before he can continue arguing. They’ve been here too long already. “If we can’t leave until this is finished — can you finish?”

Two cards remain to be revealed. The fortune teller takes his sweet time with a few puffs before agreeing, if reluctantly. Maybe he just doesn’t like an audience?

All sense of the mysterium is gone. Luc flips the cards one at a time with one hand while sucking in his joint with the other.

The Five of Swords. The Wheel of Fortune.

It’s totally the secondhand high that makes the golden wheel glitter and seem to turn before their eyes. Totally.

He braces himself for another round of cryptic semi-explanations. Only they don’t come. Luc’s eyelids droop heavy — almost closed. And judging by Nik’s frown that’s not a normal part of the reading.

“Luca? Hey —” — he snaps in front of the man’s face — “— Laveau!”

He doesn’t quite jerk out of his momentary trance; eyelids flutter as if awakening from a dream.

“Maybe you had a point, Hunter,” after a throaty cough, “maybe it’s best this go unfinished.”

“What seriously? After all that earlier shit?” He balks. Beside him Ryder grabs the Swords and looks it over back to front.

“You’ve never left a reading hanging. What gives?”

“He’s still new to the life. I think he’s had enough bad news for today.”

Taylor practically snatches the card from Nik. But it seems just as reluctant to give up its secrets to him, too. Makes him toss it back down in frustration.

“Just tell me,” even he can’t believe what he’s saying, “since I dunno if it’s worse to know or to guess.”

“Trust me. The worst one’s knowin’.”

“I’ll take that as you’ve never encountered crippling anxiety, then.”

In rare sympathetic form Ryder reaches out and rests a hand on Luc’s exposed forearm. They aren’t hiding behind quips or dancing words any longer; you could see the remnants of intimacy between them from space.

“Luc — come on. For my sake, too.”

The doubt doesn’t ease off from the fortune teller’s brow. In fact it looks deeper than ever before. Finally he yields. “All right — but don’t blame me or the cards. We’re jus’ messengers after all.”

No longer in need of a familiar touch Luc shakes the hand off. Mutters something unintelligible under his breath and takes another few puffs to calm himself down before he covers the Five of Swords like he can’t do the reading while looking at it.

“There’s more than difficult choices ahead for you — and for those what end up around you. A fight looms —” he turns the Swords card on its back atop the revealed Wheel of Fortune, “— on a bigger horizon than that’a the Vieux Carre. Might even be one bigger than this world of ours.

“Not so much a fight as a battle; a war. Turnin’ and churnin’ at the banks of the river and out into the ocean. Ready to flood the whole damn city — every corner of the earth. And it’ll keep ragin’ and screamin’ with every body what falls to it.”

Ryder goes still as stone beside him. Taylor finds himself revisiting the notion of it being better not knowing.

“What does any of that have to do with me?”

“You, Mister Hunter — you’re smack dab in the middle of it. More’n that… you belong there.”

Apologies. Sympathy. Condolences. Luc can’t seem to settle on one way to look at Taylor so instead he just focuses on packing his deck back up. He isn’t as careful this time around — like he’s angry at the cards and what they had to say; to scream. Two separate entities working off of one another but, at the very least, both unhappy with the outcome.

“I’ll get a box for that crystal ball — the warts are yours but I’ll need interest on that relic.” He can’t get away from the pair fast enough. Shuffles the tarot deck in his hands as he goes.

He wants to be surprised that Nik doesn’t follow; doesn’t go to check on someone he obviously has a past and present connection with. But in the goody bag of his emotions he just keeps pulling out resignation — even when he cheats and peeks inside.

That’s all there is. All he can feel.

Where’s that opportunity for escapism the cards had mentioned earlier? He could use a bit of that at the moment.

Doesn’t know when exactly Nik started trying to comfort him; hand on his upper back, the gentle back-and-forth of his thumb. Taylor’s not a big fan of touch but that seems to be how Ryder connects to the world; through the physical.

And oddly it’s working. The comfort thing.

“You okay?”

He’ll sass such a ridiculous question later. “Uh, honestly I don’t really know what I am right now.”

Ryder’s face is unusually close when Taylor looks his way. The barest flicker — a crack in the bravado. Nik is worried for him.

“That can happen after Luc’s readings. You think I warned ya away to keep you from somethin’ fun? Knowin’ his connection with the spirit world makes it all really…”

He struggles for the right word. Weird, coming from him.

“‘Real?’” offers Taylor, and gets him a nod.

“Yeah, really real.”

Noises of shuffled boxes and Luc’s grunts draw them out of Taylor’s personal space and back to the world around them. Up near the back curtain Luc gently eases the crystal ball into a wooden box.

“So, question.”

“Yeah Rook?”

“What do we do now?” Because if turning tail and running like a shameless coward away from this war is an option, he’s taking it.

“We keep on going,” Nik answers, “We get back to the Shift and finish up this blasted protection spell and then we dive into findin’ your attacker and punch a bunch’a holy light holes in it’s ugly-ass face.”

This time when he reaches into the bag of emotions, luck gives him a break and lets him pull out the barest ghost of a smile.

“Man, it is ugly. Like — fugly ugly.”

Ryder’s smile is just as small — but no less sincere — than his.

“It damn sure is.”

#nightbound #nik ryder x mc #nik ryder #playchoices #choices fanfiction #cal lowell #garrus #krom #ivy #nightbound mc #mc: taylor hunter #oblv: bound by circumstance #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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rydain · 5 years

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Author's Notes from a Modern Brutale - Liberties of Adaptation

Tip of the iceberg canons are fun as hell for me to write for because they allow for such freedom of personal influence in sorting out their unstated specifics. I prefer to go more interpretative than compliant, building on the broad strokes of personality and chemistry and setting that strike me the most - bringing in the particulars that fit my greater vision, shrugging off those that don't, and giving a good yank to the author's strings as needed. As the Chips Fall toward their finale, I figured it would be fun to look back on some particulars of development for the cast and the manor that brought them all together.

Here there be spoilers, both for my series and The Sexy Brutale, if you wish to settle in for a long look behind the curtain.

Tequila

The glass shattering siren from modest means is drawn along the lines of a Deep Southern belle or a Texan pageant queen. Her roots wound up a ways north for me, though far enough in Appalachian coal country to be within that cultural ballpark, thanks to My Old Kentucky Home - just too perfect a song for the hope and homesickness of leaving town and country behind for such a foreign world of glamour. Kentucky's patchwork of dry counties also has special relevance to a particular paint can banging uncle I saw fit to imagine as an ace moonshiner.

I wrote Tequila as a rising star rather than an established one to explore the challenges of fitting into that new world - the polish of fashion and posture and speech and presence, the countless social norms learned on the fly but perhaps never fully internalized. The sense of impostor syndrome thus resulting, the conflict between pride in what she had earned for herself and the fear that she was only this far ahead because of Lucas - and that without him, she would only go right back to where she was. I made the two of them official beyond the canonical winking and nudging because she seemed too well stuck on him for an unrequited crush. This also got her across the pond early in her career for the challenges of culture shock and self-doubt outlined above.

Willow

Canonically a purveyor of curiosities and wrangler of eldritch horror, Willow was a tough one to develop within my idea of modern heightened reality. With her creation of charms and a mention of voodoo, I reimagined her as a consultant and adviser with deep family roots in the faith, and her second sight as an instinctive bent toward conversation that amounts to effective cold reading. This involves communication with spirits who Willow would have a literal sense of speaking to - especially Baron Samedi, lwa of death brought to mind by her skull motif, who can assist with the transitions of loss experienced by Tequila and others at the Brutale, and is very much the type to get handsy with lovely ladies.

Willow established her career in New Orleans' French Quarter near the voodoo shops of Rue Royal, inheriting a small townhouse from a beloved aunt who mentored her in such traditions. Word of mouth and within walking distance, her ecosystem supports a frugal lifestyle based on folkways and homesteading skills learned growing up in the bayou - which, along with an understated modest aesthetic, gives Willow a sense of having stepped out of time. This is a point of compatibility with Tequila and her focus on the classic jazz age and the Great American Songbook, modern music along similar lines, and subtly updated vintage style to complete her timeless presence. More fundamentally, both of them work with the emotional texture of everyday lives - stories that Tequila embodies onstage and Willow seeks in her clients with a guiding hand toward a rewrite.

Greyson

I gave Mr. Yolo Swaggins a hand up toward reformation catalyzed by the shock of a prison sentence he subconsciously courted to kick his own arse toward a clean break. This made for a focus on conflicts of the legitimacy Greyson wants so badly to earn. As a professional, he needs to work with difficult types like Thanos, who values traditional university education and thinks his secrets to be well beyond what he sees as inferior intellect, and Clay, who Greyson could bond with over a rude sense of humor and understanding of each other's cynicism - in turn, sharing respect and eventual friendship rather than begrudging acceptance for Redd's sake. Greyson continues to wrestle with temptations of larceny and proving himself to be beyond them, ultimately rejecting the torment and manipulation of a treasure hunt - Lucas' cruel generosity of playing to others' vices for his own amusement. Which Redd plays his own part in, saving Greyson in the psychological sense rather than physically hauling him out of trouble - helping to reinforce the stability Greyson is already working to develop, and that he gravitates toward Redd to share in.

Greyson's considerable ego - once a force behind the more elaborate and higher risk schemes he took part in - is now fed by his infiltration and analysis of locks and safes and security systems, his determination to be better than the epithets granted by his criminal record and prove his naysayers wrong with a glorious display of upright professional competence. Of course he's not above ripping off some scam or another, but Clay does appreciate the unofficial backup.

Redd

By way of this adorable cartoon and followup ask from @frayed-symphony , Redd likes to read. I extrapolated this into university study of literature and a keen sense of wordplay including all the best worst sorts of puns - an embrace of his awkward streak implied by those untucked shirttails and the Old Habits dance lyrics fail. He works through dense classics with the analytical focus of his piano playing, and he gravitates toward biographies and memoirs of infamous figures who lived much larger lives than his Good Boy nature and risk aversion would ever allow. This fascination also influences his attraction to Greyson and his intrigue of Lucas' employ and the Brutale itself, which Redd feels some desire to properly belong to beyond his initial goal of performing piano. Lucas takes a certain interest in Redd as well, wondering what hidden fatal flaw must reside in someone so upright and considered. Redd doesn't have anything nearly as spectacular as the likes of Greyson. Rather, there are natural disadvantages to his polite reserve - hesitation to go after various personal and professional goals, struggle to provide emotional support to Tequila out of discomfort with that messy and potentially prying sort of talk. Redd needs to learn from someone like Willow, with her well developed emotional intelligence, that he's overthinking the matter like so many others.

Redd plays a strong supporting role throughout my work. Favorite characters tend to do that, and he strikes me as a backbone of the Brutale anyhow - a highly capable, dependable, and well liked linchpin of the casino and music hall. His performance career had a good nudge from Greyson, who convinced Redd that he deserved to take the spotlight instead of feeling that it would be unseemly to ask - seizing a chance as he saw it rather than enduring in silence with that stoicism so clear in his game counterpart's somber expression.

The Rockridge bros lift because of shameless personal bias, because Redd needs to get his cage bending strength somewhere, and because I love the imagined contrast of their training - Redd lifting with meditative focus, Clay forcing himself through the most brutal of circuits because it's not a real workout until he's cursing in a lake of sweat. GO HAM OR GO HOME

Clay

With his responsibilities as head of security and care for Trinity beyond their good-natured trolling, Clay came off as a lovable roughneck rather than someone far more abrasive. He and Redd were implied to run the casino together on various occasions, so I imagined that he shared a close bond, mutual protectiveness, and a measured share of bickering with his much gentler brother. Clay is perceptive about scams and the people apt to run them and just as myopic about Redd's romantic proclivities because whatever happens in the flat - and not very often for either of them - tends to occur when they're on opposite shifts. Redd has good reason to know that Clay is accepting - and he is, beyond his initial frustration that of all the blokes in the world, why did it have to be a flashy, arrogant ex-con strutting around on every last one of his nerves? - but he also thinks it would be something he'd feel a need to explain, which of course he can't. This all let me play that eventual talk for laughs and brotherly bonding with just a fun fleeting touch of embarrassment.

Clay has an intense nature and a self-punishing, self-destructive streak that fueled both his prize fighting career and alcoholism. Despite being the older of the two, he long since felt that he lived in Redd's quiet academic shadow, which caused him to give up on himself in various ways that he regrets. Trinity helps Clay to see his life, lumps and bumps and all, as experiences that tested him and left him better for the wear.

Trinity

Trinity first tried sculpting out of stubbornness to prove herself so capable, especially as her overprotective parents thought it would be nigh impossible. She took off well enough that her well off family willingly supported the study of working with expensive materials, the extra tutelage required to do so by touch, and her life in general until her work became steady enough to rely on. Annoyed at the fussy mores of her stuffier relations and the wealthy sorts who commission her, Trinity finds Clay's blunt and unfiltered nature refreshing. Her part time assistant, who helps with tasks beyond the capabilities of touch or muscle memory or adaptive technology, has a sense of down to earth polish and similar head for eloquent vulgarity.

After her in-game rescue, Trinity encourages an already trolleyed Clay to do shots. Rather than think she was bringing him down, unwittingly or otherwise, I see her as a hedonist who overestimates others' ability to compartmentalize. It's just a party - what's the harm in a bit of excess? Rather than feed Clay's alcoholism, Trinity helps him out of it - genuinely appreciating him just as he is, which inspires him to appreciate himself just the same.

Canonically, Trinity and Tequila are stepsisters in some official sense of the term. In my AU, this particular connection would have been difficult to make naturally because they grew up so differently, separated by an ocean and levels of financial means. In the game, the stepsister relationship implies a closeness between the two, gives Lucas a means of introduction to Tequila after admiring her from afar, and piles on the horror when Trinity finds Tequila's body in the laundry chute. The same sort of closeness arises, with found sisterly implications and all, as Tequila is adopted into Trinity's circles by way of her friendship with Redd. Tequila meets Lucas through the posh New Orleans parties she is hired to sing at and thus needs no other connection to him.

Lucas

So here we are in this hopeful world of competence and agency and self-actualization. And then there's Lucas - who I couldn't stand to leave as enough of a knobhead to not only pull an insurance fraud scam in the first place, but contrive it into a flagrant courting of disaster that I don't see myself ever forgiving his canon incarnation for. Then perhaps a magnificent trash fire as opposed to a dumpster inferno, so let's have at him, shall we?

My Brutale can be saved and is heavily implied to be. For that, I planted some seeds of Lucas' sense and a slow trend toward dialing back the worst of himself. He shows a capacity for analytic thought in his artistic patronage, biting poetic wit, and often successful divining of others' deepest desires. He keeps a modest office and cultivates a friendship with Willow, first seen as a quaint curiosity and soon respected for her straightforward insight and steadfast way of pitting such against his own. Lucas wants to do better on some level, but is welded to his identity as a master of ceremonies and peddler of overindulgence, as a grandiose gambler who very much meant to make a bad bet or three because he wound up with a better one eventually and a good story in the bargain. He gravitates toward people with stories of their own, and who have vices he finds amusing to play with, or who fascinate him - and perhaps somewhat frustrate him - because he can't figure out their downfall.

Lucas' issues are more of psychology than cash flow, and able to be turned around before his ledgers go fatally red. Before the worst can happen, other personal losses show Lucas the need to put real work into himself and his dealings - to fight his compulsions toward high risk propositions and assorted impractical excess, to face his failures of neglect and mitigate their fallout.

Eleanor

In the game, Eleanor is an archetype of purity whose forgiveness is meant to redeem Lucas in the player's eyes. I meant to parlay her cheeky macabre quirks into an endearingly oddball artist with an anthropomorphic sense of humor and a larger than life sense of whimsy, fundamentally compatible with Lucas and apt to help him toward his senses. Eleanor is as intrigued by the Brutale's legends as Tequila is tired of their absurdity, breezy and casually polished as Tequila struggles to play the lady of the manor in structured couture. They meet on neutral terms to be naturally contrasted but not cruelly so, and very much without tired tropes of romantic rivalry.

Lafcadio

A symbol of repentance for sins, canonically a separate character as per the origin comic, which made me very happy because he's interesting to envision as an actual person beyond some idealized facet of Lucas’ personality. In my take, Lucas admired Lafcadio's ability to walk away from the Brutale as it was dragging him down. They both preferred to tell the story as the spectacular bet from the comic - a fateful game of roulette - that Lafcadio arguably came out on top of by ditching this liability. This echoes the theme of rock bottom arse kick that my Greyson gets well ahead of time, and canon Lucas doesn't until it's far too late.

Lafcadio and Willow both intrigue Lucas with the depth of their respective faiths. They bond over their insights into their host and desire to inspire him toward better, though Willow is limited by never having seen the Brutale in its prior incarnation, or Lucas at his worst. In my narrative, Willow works behind the scenes by helping people unearth their own deeper truths and provide emotional support to others, mirroring Lafcadio's role in the game - though he will go on, offscreen as this might be, to likewise mirror the Willownage of Lucas that needs to continue.

The Sexy Brutale

Loath to commit the British equivalent of dropping a small city of a warehouse store on top of Tequila's old trailer in Closplint, Kentucky, I researched stately homes for inspiration toward location and overall aesthetic. I later learned I could have handwaved one within brief vague driving distance of any city, and perhaps in the city itself. Still I'm most confident in my sense of veracity when I can point to a spot on a map to rebrand. In this case, Somerleyton Hall, within train commuting and day trip distances of various points of interest, and with an appealing style and a clock tower that sealed the deal. As did its 19th century transformation by a private entrepreneur - which, in my alternate reality, would have been supervised by a master builder named Gorecki, whose descendants continued on with his upgrades and maintenance of the manor. Its adjusted name is Somerthwaite after the meadow surrounding it, thanks to a jaunt down the rabbit hole of Anglo-Saxon geographic nomenclature to ensure I wasn't trying to bollocks the manor on the edge of an active volcano.

British manor houses are so varied and eclectic that a place like the Brutale seems more matter of course than bombastic fantasy. Casinos in the UK were all private clubs until recently and can certainly carry on as such, and any property can house the owner's particular interests. To balance homage with my sense of historic floor plans, I kept the common areas of interest with some remodeling - great hall, casino, theater, music hall and practice rooms, library, conservatory, gardens - and closed off the south end of the west wing as Lucas' private quarters. The basement is for utilities and storage, the uppermost floor for guest rooms both rented and bespoke for close friends of Lucas.

#the sexy brutale #as the chips fall #tequila belle #willow blue #greyson grayson #redd rockridge #clay rockridge #trinity carrington #lucas bondes #eleanor sixpence #lafcadio boone #writing #meta

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imagine-loki · 7 years

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Loki and the Minion

TITLE: Loki and the Minion

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter-1

AUTHOR: latent-thoughts ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki hiring you as his manager while he slowly takes over Midgard again. You are to manage his PR, his daily schedule, and you also are his guide to everything Midgardian. He doesn’t make it easy for you, though. He causes trouble, doesn’t listen to your advice very often, and in general, annoys and intimidates you. He is the God of Mischief after all, and you are the nearest target available to him. You suffer through his antics because he pays well and also, you don’t know what might befall you if you refuse him. He is kinda scary after all.

RATING: T for now, will change later. NOTES/WARNINGS: None

A/N: Basically Loki being a diva, and a Disney Prince. Sort of…

____________________

Victory… Conquest… Subjugation…

Merely words concluding the struggle between two parties in opposition. A simple enough concept, but a rather difficult accomplishment.

You win at it once, and everyone thinks you invincible. You fail at it once, and everyone takes you for granted.

This fatal flaw in the perception of the nature of war is what Loki sought to exploit.

Loki’s second attempt at taking the realm of Midgard would be his and his alone. There would be no one breathing down his neck, demanding things he had no intent to relinquish.

This time, there would be no conscious lack of conviction, there would be no loopholes for the so called heroes to slip away through.

This time… everyone would see what a cunning strategist Loki was.

This time… everyone would witness the new ruler of Midgard in new light.

But before all that could happen, Loki was certain that he needed a most important addition to his victorious contrivance this time round.

No, it wasn’t an army, for he alone was enough to take on everyone.

Loki had a mighty need—a need to be respected, to be looked upon with hope and not merely fright, to be viewed as benevolent, yet just and exacting.

He had a need for a medium that would enlighten the world about his munificence and his acumen, and he knew he’d need to acquire a new asset for this very purpose.

______________________

Managing Tony Stark’s PR was no small feat. There were events to arrange, parties to organize, not to mention, the wrangling with the media and social media.

In short, it was a daily struggle, requiring a whole team to handle it. Being a part of the said team was considered both an honor and a curse. An honor, because you got to work for a literal superhero. A curse, because it was stressful and sometimes, life threatening.

Even though she had yet to face a situation where her life was on the line, Elsa Trembley had heard enough accounts of such situations to help her mentally prepare for it. However, no amount of mental preparation works to keep one calm when things actually take a turn for the worse. She realized this harsh truth one late afternoon, when a cryptic message was received on Stark’s official mailing address.

It was a short note, written in a calligraphic handwriting on a thick, gold hued paper-

‘I come in peace, to join your cause. Receive me well and you shall be rewarded. Receive me poorly and there shall be dire consequences.’

~Loki of Asgard.

Panicked, she tried to reach Stark, but he didn’t pick up her call. She tried for Pepper Potts, and the result remained the same. Both Stark and Potts being unreachable at the same time—could mean that they were together, and busy…

There was an event coming up later in the evening, and Elsa wanted to inform Stark of the strange, threatening missive before he went off to attend it. So, she rushed straight to the upper levels of the tower, ignoring the actuality that she might be interrupting something.

“What’s all the fuss about, queen?” Stark asked as he greeted her, after hearing her screaming at Jarvis to inform him of her presence at the door to his private chambers. “Everything okay? Did someone issue death threats for me? Or is it a fake pregnancy this time?”

A groan was heard from behind him, marking the presence of Pepper Potts. So, Elsa had interrupted something…

It wasn’t a surprise, though, for Stark and Potts had been pretty much inseparable ever since the battle of New York.

Elsa shuddered. Right. The battle of New York. Loki…

Without further delay, she handed Stark the missive she had received, noting how clammy her hands had gotten.

Stark studied the message and then started chortling. “Well, I guess it’s no longer ‘too soon’ for the Loki related threats to arrive at my door.”

“You don’t think it’s from him?”

“Nope,” he said, handing the note to Potts, who was leaning against the wall just behind him. “He was taken to Asgard, remember? By none other than Thor. There’s no way in hell he is coming back. Thor told me he’d be punished, and that too, severely.”

“But, just how much do you know about these Asgardians? Enough to trust them?” Elsa asked, still unsettled by the message.

Stark shrugged, looking unfazed. “He fought against his own brother to help us out. That’s good enough for me. Besides, don’t you think it’s a bit too obvious to be from Reindeer Games? The message itself is kinda contradictory. He wants to join us but threatens us with dire consequences if we don’t let him. What a joke!”

She nodded, feeling sheepish now. She should’ve known, after all she worked in the field of PR. Anyone could’ve impersonated Loki to send this message, just to create panic. It’s basically what trolls did, well at least the modern day ones.

Hence, the whole issue was brushed aside and everyone carried on as if nothing had happened.

____________________

The city hall was the venue for the evening’s event. Stark was to be felicitated and honored as a hero. It was officially New York’s ‘thank you’ to Stark. A bigger event was planned later, at the end of the month, to thank all of the Avengers.

By then all of them—except Thor—would be back in the city, marking an end of their three month long break. Elsa was eager to meet them. Now that they were officially recognized as a team, it was imperative that they collectively have a PR team to manage them. She was waiting for that to happen.

But first, tonight’s event had to conclude without a hitch.

She was one of the people from Stark’s team who were to ensure that nothing unseemly occurred during the felicitation. It was why she had been allowed access to the city hall much before the guests had arrived. It was an especially important event for Elsa, as it was the first time she had been given the task to lead the team in the handling of the event, PR wise.

It wasn’t her first major PR assignment, though. Before Stark, she had handled a couple of Hollywood’s upcoming stars. However, nothing compared to the intensity of handling a superhero’s PR. It was partly why she was here. She had been seeking a challenge, something which would stand out in her résumé.

When the event was finally underway, she was kind of relieved to see that everything had gone smoothly. Well, perhaps her own self congratulatory thoughts jinxed her then. Because as soon as that nebulous thought of success formed in her mind, all the lights went out.

A loud hum followed, where she could hear people giving in to panic.

“Everyone calm down, it’s just a power cut, nothing to be worried about. I’m sure it’ll be resolved,” she said, with a loud and firm voice to keep panic at bay, at least in the crowd that surrounded her.

The building had full power back up, and the present situation shouldn’t have happened. But it did. She just hoped that it didn’t amount to any sort of mischief on part of anyone.

Somewhere in the distance, she could hear Tony Stark bickering with Pepper Potts about the present situation and it made her nervous. She had been given the responsibility for the present event, and now it was on the verge of getting screwed because of one stupid power back-up failure.

Elsa knew the building plan—she had checked it out before the event—and decided to check on the power back-up system herself. Quite a reckless move from someone like her, but it was essentially her event, and she needed to rescue it.

When she reached the back-up unit, she found a tall man standing in front of it, with his hands spread. She watched silently as a strange light emanated from his hands and went straight into the unit.

He must have felt her presence, because he turned around and glared at her.

Panic struck her full force then. It was Loki, the one who had wrecked New York only months ago.

Loki… was back, in New York. LOKI WAS BACK!

A string of ‘oh shit, oh shit, oh shit’ ran through her mind then, as she beheld him. For a few beats, she simply couldn’t move, frozen in shock. And when senses came back to her, the first thing she tried to do was run. Obviously.

However, as she moved to run, the heel of her shoe snagged on something on the floor and she found herself stuck. Well, it was a sacrifice worth making, she decided, as she pulled her feet from the shoes and ran barefoot.

A sinister laughter followed her down the corridor and stairs.

The lights came back on as she was in the middle of dialing Stark’s number.

When she reached the hall where the event was being held, she saw that every decoration had been turned into green and gold, including everyone’s clothes.

WHAT THE FUCK!

And then he was there, in the middle of a raised dais that she was pretty sure wasn’t there earlier. More importantly, Tony Stark was stuck to one of the columns in a weird cocoon like thing. The absence of the rest of the Avengers was sorely being felt right about now.

Everyone had thought that the planet was safe for now. How wrong were they…

“Greetings everyone. I am Loki,” the dreaded man began, in a loud, authoritative voice. “And all of you probably recognize me as the scourge of New York, among other things.”

A villainous speech… oh god, this was getting worse.

“You believe me to be a threat to your realm, however, this time I come in peace…”

He didn’t get to finish his speech. Tony Stark’s flying monkeys—his suits of armor—came flying on some sort of command from him, Elsa were certain. They started attacking Loki and nearly wrecked the whole building in the process.

Loki didn’t attack the suits. He chose to disappear instead, much to everyone’s surprise.

When everyone tried to free Tony Stark, it was found that he had been stuck to the wall by nothing else but some industrial strength taffy.

He even ended up eating some of it out of stress, once he was freed, that is.

Everyone was sent home in a hurry, while Stark went calling in all the Avengers. There was no way to call Thor, though, as he was stuck on another realm.

When Elsa reached home, barefoot and frazzled, she was shocked to find Loki waiting for her in her living room. He held her shoes in his hand while he smiled at her enigmatically.

“I believe these are yours,” he said, offering them to her.

The situation called for a Cinderella reference… that is, if Cinderella had been trying to run from a villain and lost her shoes, and was then found by the said villain because of those very shoes.

Happily ever after? Yeah, right!

The sheer terror she was feeling at present qualified it for a horror version, though.

Loki blinked at her, as if confused. “What sad ways have I to tread, to be greeted with silence for bringing you your prized possessions?”

Sarcasm was practically dripping from the tenor of his words.

What could she say in return?

“Th-Thank you…,” she stuttered, grasping at an attempt towards graciousness, “…good sir.”

Really? Good Sir?

She felt like smacking herself silly.

His smile grew into a grin then, his teeth glinting and his eyes dancing in utter delight. She briefly wondered if it was his pre-murder grin. It was kind of attractive, if not a hell lot of creepy.

“Would you come closer, mortal, for I’m not sure we can converse in a proper way, with you standing so far away.”

Oh… pre-murder fancy talk? About what exactly?

Very slowly, Elsa closed the distance he was griping about, coming to stand in front of him.

“Do sit down,” he ordered, his voice lowering to a silky purr. “We have much to discuss and the night is fading fast.”

As she sat down on one of the single seater sofas, he lowered himself on his knees. Much to her continuing astonishment, he bent forth and took her foot in his hand.

She jerked in response, as his hand was cold, and her fear was dripping down her back in the form of perspiration.

Gently, he placed her foot into the shoe, playing out the grimmer than Grim Brothers’ version of Cinderella with aplomb.

It reminded her that he was, after all, a prince. The manners of the royalty were still there, apparently.

The other shoe was placed on its rightful foot as well, marking an end of the whole Cinderella act, she assumed.

Perhaps now it was time for murder…

“You must be wondering why I am here,” he stated, rising on his feet. His already impressive height was now further emphasized, with her still seated and him standing. It made him look even more intimidating than usual.

Elsa nodded, curious, even though she still dreaded the answer that might come. “I gathered that it wasn’t just about the shoes.”

“Good, we may proceed on to it, then.” He clasped his hands behind his back and gave her a head-to-toe assessing look. “You’ll be pleased to know that I’ve chosen you for a very vital purpose.”

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spiritcc · 7 years

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Baskerville Hound

And here goes another series off the marathon list, with a final episode that went off with such a bang one day in November 2013 that I realised this series stole my heart once and forever.

I’ll never stop repeating myself that the title is not a critical research failure on my part and it’s totally intentional, and maybe only needs a better phrasing at most. It’s not the hound dammit, stop side-eyeing me.

Anyway, here comes the episode that wraps it all up nicely, shakes the irony by the hand, tips its hat off and makes you wish there were more, despite the fact that series was finished perfectly.

My friend Sherlock Holmes, huh

I don’t know why I never really considered this episode anything special when it delivers so fucking much. I don’t know, I did think it was good and all, but for some reason I never gave it the appropriate credit. I think the main reason was that this was the last episode after all, it’s its duty to wrap it all up nicely. Idk what kind of reasoning was that, but for some reason I always overlooked it until I’ve read somewhere that somebody considered this their favorite episode. That was big news for me, like wow, this episode could be actually considered...an episode, that can be liked, not just a some sort of obligatory addition that has to end the series.

Whatever the hell I was thinking, I’m better now, this episode is beyond enjoyable.

First of all, holy shit I was not expecting this.

I, just as always, totally expected this very genius very scary Moriarty to die at the Reichenbach and call it a day, because really, Moriarty always died at the Reichenbach. Always! No matter the genius, that’s always where it ends and Holmes defeats his “mortal” enemy and that’s it. I’ve seen Moriarty pull out the rope and shit, but I didn’t give it a second thought, because Moriarty always dies.

This fucking series hit me with a truck right there, it was so casual and yet so fucking shocking. I’ve never seen any other adaptation do that, and I’m pretty sure that’s not just my general disregard towards other Holmes stuff. Well, a few months later Sherlock S3 waddled along and suddenly pulled the same card, which was rather interesting since neither show could’ve borrowed the idea from one another. Suddenly the non-existent pedestal was stolen from the new series that did it first, but then this year S4 came along and HAHAHA bitches, we’re taking the well-deserved crown back. WE did it first, and nobody has still done it second, take it away, Holmes!

He’s still doing the same business as observed in episode four, trapping peeps by card debts, demanding crazy stuff in return. The peep had a cameo in My Dearly Beloved Detective, by the way, as a gambling guy in the bachelor club. Come 30 years and a different adaptation later and he’s still gambling. Don’t do cards, kids.

That was a very cool opening regardless, I think this series always nails that pretty well. Liked the cold colors, the canon exposition of what’s in those Holmes stories, they even squeezed some tiny chasing in, that was very cool in how morbid it went.

Glad to know Watson and Mrs. Hudson are doing fine, very domestic, very settled.

Don’t ask me why she’s still going by Mrs. Hudson, I honestly have no explanation for that besides the assumption that they didn’t marry in the first place, everybody stubbornly keeps calling her Mrs. Hudson. I don’t know, really, all the clues are there, but these guys are not this edgy at that day and age to share the bed and don’t share last names.

Well, Watson’s pipes from the first episode make an arc

As well as the infamous broken English that flashes in every Russian adaptation, good to know it’s still doing well.

Everything to keep the lie afloat, Watson sacrificing his pipes to appeal to the readers and the fictitious look of Sherlock Holmes. By the way, I completely forgot about that, Watson quit smoking there, two and a half years ago at least. Wow. Why tho, but I’m still impressed.

Now, there was the second shook(tm) of the day, the final Mycroft reveal.

When I realised we’re not going to see his face, I initially thought it’s because Mycroft was so important and so top secret we just would’t have the luxury. Just like Moriarty kind of, this show doesn’t let the audience forget that it’s just the audience that is far from being almighty, so here we go: a person from the highs of the government will not allow to flash his face left and right.

I’d still like to stand by my point, because I still don’t want to accept the real reason being some good old trolling.

Like seriously, when he came in I thought wow, okay, we’re not bothering with the reunion(tm) then, but then the reveal came and I just lost it. No, he wasn’t that important. He just always had the same fucking face. That was just Petrenko all along. That was Petrenko who did his voice, with a deeper baritone, that pic of the sibling in Holmes’ room had two identical dudes on it and Watson even gestured about their faces, but we never noticed, and got trolled for it. That was hilarious no doubt though, but the remains of my initial butthurt are still lingering. For the whole series they were like ooh very serious much mystery pay attention to everything, and then in this episode they just went “lol chill” on everything. I loved it, but not much when they actually fooled me.

By the way, before I forget, Watson’s opening narration. The only narration clearly done in the present tense, which means everything before was written past Reichenbach. Watson’s life did turn for the boring there, even Mrs. Hudson said that.

She continues to be the wisest of the bunch, always pushing Watson to do the right thing. Still don’t know why he needs to be persuaded, but oh well.

I used to wonder who was who there, but now I know for sure that this certainly Mycroft.

The baritone, the posture, no quirks, nothing extra. Don’t think he was anywhere near as bright as Sherlock though, no evidence of any sort of extraordinary intellect flashed in this series. Maybe that’s why he won in Watson’s book, having Sherlock’s face and still acting adequately automatically makes him a better person, the plank is just this low.

Here we go again with “lol chill” trolling, now I’m pretty sure the creators were just fed up with pretentious suspense about an event that everybody knows by heart. Random suspicious man that happens to be where the main characters go? There he is.

Now chill.

Now, the next time we meet Mycroft, THAT was fucking Sherlock. Before everything, before I got the chance to look at his body language and everything, I realised it’s this fucker in 0.1 seconds just by one thing.

That fucking laugh.

That motherfucking laugh that been echoing in this series in its full majestic euheuehe, just this little fucking laugh was more than enough for me to realise The Holmes is fucking back.

Then there’s the body language of a man having a seizure, the swearing, the drinking, all that, Watson managed to notice that too so that’s no surprise. Holmes the master of disguise that can’t even play his own fucking twin, never mind anything else.

By the way, I’m going to give some credit to this fuck up of a man that sold his country to Moriarty, at least he was conscious about the situation to some extent. At least he tried defending West, after trying to blame everything on him beforehand alright, but you know, it does seem that he suffered and that’s good to know.

And there goes the touching reunion, aka the punching reunion, which I found rather ugly the first time because well, you know, the Soviet series *clears throat* yeah I was still biased back then. Holmes and Watson exchanging insults, yikes. Now, it’s actually pretty funny.

It’s all true what they’re throwing at each other, but it’s been said many times before and yeah, just losers bickering. Can’t believe I was watching those “friends” burn each other and I laughed.

I can at least finally conclude that their friendship arc also makes perfect sense to me, both of them explained why they stuck to each other in the first place. If Watson’s motives were clear way before that dialogue, Holmes had finally vocalised his reasoning that was exactly what I’ve suspected: Watson is just this lively and curious to ignore him. Holmes brings the thrills in their lives, Watson never allows Holmes go beyond proper limits. They’re polar opposites, but that’s why they’re attracted to each other, since difference lights up their everyday lives. Weird friendship that always made sense. Quite refreshing to witness.

When things get way too heated, Mrs. Hudson slaps some sense into everyone once again.

Is the in the gang? Is she? Well she should be cause yall fuckers kill each other without her being the only normal one.

Mandatory Reichenbach explanation: yep, bullshit.

This episode finishes the arc of Holmes’ Laugh as well, gifting us the best one to date. Thank you guys for not clearing the museum set up.

These two have a great dynamic, actually, they only needed the child to come back to make it work.

Well, the fun didn’t last long, the “late” part from the third episode said hello.

I knew shit was going to go down when that made an appearance in the third episode, but it didn’t happen then, nor in the seventh episode, so I kind of forgot about it already. And that is when it managed to surprise me.

This scene and the entire aftermath were the things that made me reconsider stuff about my opinion about Adler. I made it clear I don’t like her and her romance plotline was not necessary and it all annoyed me more than anything. Before I started rolling my eyes here, the fucking Big Ben stroke a big one. Well, of course it’s a pity that she lived such a shitty dependable life and was disposed in the end like a dog. Well, her murder was even kind of impressive since it’s the bestest Moriarty’s thing in action, but still. That’s where the drama ended for me seemingly because I’m not with Holmes on that one, but then the rest of the episode made me think about a few things. He was broken, angry, depressed, her death hit Holmes hard. I may say, he even lost in the end, just like maybe his Livanov dad before: Watson’s got everything, Holmes has just lost everything, even though he was the one that worked the hardest. I watched Holmes suffer there, and you know what, I don’t think I’ll ever hate Adler as much as I claim to, she mattered a lot to Holmes and I just have to accept that. She mattered a whole lot, and I might not understand that entirely, but I accept that - it is a tragedy. I think even the episode itself could be split into pre- and post- Adler’s death, because that was some massive final addition to Holmes’ arc. I don’t think he will be the same anymore. A lot of things will, of course, remain, but I think something deep inside him died with Adler once and forever.

Watson counting shots again, always my favorite thing.

Here starts the interesting part of the case, after the first part of the episode being so weirdly canon. This is where even the most inattentive viewer realises some things were there all along, like the importance of ballistics and random Big Ben pictures in the album.

All this Big Ben showdown was the actual ultimate dream of Moriarty, everything went towards this creation that was there ever since Moriarty worked for the Queen, if that’s what it was. Shitting on her plans every now and then? Alternative scenarios that Moriarty was able to afford. Chasing after some guy’s money? The self-funding that would’ve allowed him to build the weapon. Everything went towards one thing, one way or the other, and it always was Moriarty getting his revenge on the Queen. Such a simple premise, but makes so much sense in so many episodes.

Here comes the ironically cynical part that I’m not sure I’ve managed to translate correctly.

Mortgages, that’s what it says so far. Bills of sale is what the wikipedia says. Mortgages is what flashes on the actual papers Moriarty reads, but then again, their fantastic take on English is not to be trusted.

Well, basically, what were these papers everyone was so pumped up for? Submarine blueprints, monarch letters? Haha, the fucking government sells the crown because it’s constantly broke. Indeed, that’s what traditions cost, Watson, the government earns extra money by selling the fucking crown of England back and forth and profiting on percentages.

That was so delightful in how cynical the reveal turned out to be, I don’t even care how far away from the truth that take was, I’d still totally imagine them doing that. The pride, the traditions, all those values - all for some mortgage papers where the country itself sells its pride, its traditions and its values. So in the vein of this series and how bluntly it approaches sensitive issues in Russia, big sentiment costs nothing, your own country sells itself. Fantastic, honestly, don’t care about the bullshit meter, I love me some truly revolting politics in never political Sherlock Holmes.

Also, great sibling dynamic, Petrenko is casually great, as always, there’s a clear distinction between Sherlock and Mycroft. Plus, heil the all improving combined shooting techniques, you can’t even tell that this scene was obviously shot separately.

Now, I did talk about the fact that this show barely explains anything and I hope that nobody finds this annoying, because as it turned out, that was always the intention and I will always love that. Take that wanky translation away, Holmes:

The curious reader can't wait to see what happens next? He waits for Sherlock Holmes to come, stretch in his chair, sort everything out and elegantly pull a rabbit out of a hat. And could the reader think of everything himself? He saw everything I saw, and he knows everything I know. So what, now let's see who will be smarter: the reader or Sherlock Holmes.

If you haven’t noticed, the show indeed never hid anything from us, it wasn’t like the reveal in the Hound that I still hate where Holmes pops up out of nowhere and delivers vital information that was nowhere near the reader. Everything was always there in front of you, it was always only up to you to gather it together and make your own conclusions. All the little details, let’s just take one: Watson figuring out that Sholto is the rat without explaining his reasoning to the audience. Sholto appeared everywhere Holmes and Watson went. Sholto’s views. Sholto was the one screaming at Watson to shoot his former comrades. Sholto stopped Gregson with his stick, in probably the same manner as he’d stabbed Small; Holmes elaborates on the nature of the wound in the next scene. All of that was always there, the Gregson scene even got some pretty evident focus. All these details were always there in front of you. Watson figured it out. And you should’ve too, since you’ve seen everything he did, no more, no less.

I always believed that this show leaves enough information for you to make your own conclusions, and I will always love that. Holmes will not do everything for you, and you will not just mindlessly watch him do some shit and then come back with a perfect explanation. Can you think for yourself? That’s the question the series is asking from you.

Nah fuck the fanservice.

So, I’m pretty sure the entire clock thing was pretty understandable, but I chewed on it properly today and yeah, it’s quite understandable. There’s the Big Ben, and there’s the Queen’s personal clock. The Queen’s clock is the important one, it’s the actual standard, and that’s what they follow in the palace. Holmes fucks with the pendulum, Big Ben is a minute faster as a result. Twelve hits, Big Beg fires. The actual clock shows 11:59, so the Queen remains behind the closed doors for another minute despite the Big Ben ringing. Since Big Ben was a minute early, the bullet only shoots the doors and gets stuck there safely. The Queen exists when it’s actually twelve. The bullet’s been already shot into nothing. Moriarty sucks dong. British weeaboos sing happy birthday.

As a little detail, when Big Ben hits twelve, you could actually see the weapon firing, but the Queen is still inside.

Watson had the final attack of this series and that one hit him hard.

Again, the post-war trauma arc, which will never finish because it never actually vanishes as the narrative pleases. To be honest, here it actually served the narrative as a way of leaving Watson behind to have the Holmes vs. Moriarty 1 to 1, but you know, still nice to know they’ve never forgotten. Poor Watson though.

Thinking about it now, I think I can understand why the creators never fancied the waterfall fight, if that’s what it was.

Because it’s not their fight.

Maybe I’m going crazy with all those details that aren’t probably there, but I started noticing that Holmes and Moriarty are kinda similar. I don’t want to pull some pretentious “two alike minds at different sides of law” thing, but there were parallels. Episode three, Watson says a whore doesn’t matter when thousands of soldiers are involved, Holmes calls him an accountant. Next scene, Holmes decided to quote Watson saying a whore is not worth the lives of thousands of soldiers, Moriarty calls him an accountant. Episode six, Lestrade says police sounds scary, Holmes replies that they can be bribed, poisoned, killed. Moriarty flashback. Policemen say police sounds scary, Moriarty replies the same as Holmes. Every scheme Moriarty does, Holmes always figures it out, because he can keep up with the man’s vivid imagination when it comes to crimes. Both are scientists. Both wear glasses at the end of the day. Both operate with the only extraordinary thing they have - their brains.

And that’s why I think the waterfalls don’t work in their narrative, a physical fight is not their fight. That was their true fight - sitting next to each other at the top of Big Ben, patiently waiting until their strictly intellectual game outplays their opponent. In this series, Holmes and Moriarty fight with their intelligence, and that final showdown was their ultimate round, and by god it was much more fascinating than the beating.

This is where I started to realise that every character had an arc that I followed to the point that I felt like I knew everyone for years. I knew exactly what Holmes was thinking about before the flashbacks even bothered to elaborate.

The man went through a lot during this series, he’s lost a lot, he’s suffered a lot, but despite everything he always carried on, and his little brainy game played the most amazing act to date.

I shed a tear because I’m so proud of him. He deserves all the applause there is. He has indeed won, as many times before, but this day, it was truly his triumph, for Irene and for everyone else.

And in the most ironic way ever, Moriarty just kills himself. See, in the end, Moriarty could only be killed by Moriarty. Fair enough, he’s lost his biggest battle, but his suicide is just as satisfying as it’s...kinda underwhelming in a hilarious way.

What still doesn’t leave my head is Holmes’ last words to Moriarty: “Professor, let’s go”. What was he planning to do? Did Holmes really just win and propose Moriarty to just...leave the clock together for starters? Those words honestly do not leave my mind, that speaks so much about who Holmes is and even how he treats his own achievement.

The final winner, the awkward conqueror of the world.

All of that happened and nobody would ever find out. Stakes so high, yet so invisible.

A second arc coming to an end, Lestrade and his secrets and weaknesses. I mentioned it a lot how much I love this little scene and how quality Boyarsky’s acting is, the man went from happiness to murder in less than a second. And when he asked about Higgis, Holmes lied to him, and I’ve known Lestrade for so long now I perfectly understand why. I see Lestrade on the outside, but at the end of the series, I feel I can see through him, what breaks his heart and scares him, even though the show doesn’t give any visible clues about that anymore.

I see you now, Lestrade, and I love you.

Let’s also point out that Holmes decided to lie because he knew what the news would do to Lestrade. Holmes actually cared that much he decided not to break him.

This lady I haven’t mentioned yet, she’s been here and there on tv, but this role is one of the few dramatic ones and I think she played it beautifully.

Holmes just can’t stop staring, because I think that he realises both of them are going through the same thing.

Sucks to lose a loved one, not exactly glad to know you’re not the only one.

The show just keeps punching, now since the first time in forever we are refused in watching everything Holmes does, and when he does, it’s a completely sudden beautiful, and very painful performance on his violin, the one that he allegedly never learned how to master.

The tragic ceases with this freakin guest

Mrs. Hudson’s face in the background,

The Queen, yes, the actress finishes the Barrymore couple from the Soviet series. Mr. Barrymore was the editor here, Mrs. Barrymore - well, here. Quality canon migration.

The Queen is such a real MVP she actually acknowledges the fact that Watson wrote the stories, and actually applauds him. Then the Queen delivers a burn to Mycroft’s self-esteem, that was great.

Then the Queen delivers another burn to the audience by pulling out this little file

That explains a lot :’) I’m sure it does Sherlock my boy :’) I’m really glad you got to know all of that :’) you that have seen everything we did :’) I’m sure you deserved to know the entire explanation :’) we’ll just congratulate you :’)

Well, if so, even from whatever we’ve got I think there’s enough to finish the puzzle. Moriarty probably worked for the Queen one way or another, conflict over the weapon, went into hiding, Queen went on a hunt, she was chasing him and he kept systematically poisoning her life. Whatever in that file would probably be totally mindblowing but :’) whatever we’ve got I guess.

And finally, the Queen delivers her final present and I even went so unnecessary extra as far as to split the subtitles and give “dog” a separate line to keep the hilariousness.

Here comes dat good boi the subject of this episode’s title, Baskerville

That was legit fucking hilarious, a final spit into the Make Your Own Unique Holmes Adaptation 101 kit that always included the mandatory hound adaptation: here’s your fucking hound. Of the Baskervilles. Woof.

Made even funnier on a meta example since Watson probably got so fed with the dog he wrote the entire story where he gets Holmes to shoot the fucker five times after calling it names.

Also, here goes my final crazy reference hunt of the day, but if that was intentional, then it’s the ultimate shout out.

Hound of the Baskervilles 1983, Frankland’s dog.

Sherlock Holmes 2013, Baskerville Hound, image above.

?????

And finishing the awesomeness exchange, Holmes gifts the Queen the same penny that saved her life.

Finally, the main arc of this one main character of this show ends up in a single, very satisfying sentence.

I’m a writer.

If you’d followed his remarks since episode one, that is satisfying beyond belief.

Holmes and Watson’s friendship is sure a weird, but a still an enjoyable one. They can hate on each other however they want, switch from respectable to informal “you” depending on how pissed they are, they can bicker all the want because they are different. But both know they’re invaluable to each other. As the director said, Holmes becomes the Holmes we know because of Watson. But Watson becomes the Watson we know because of Holmes.

How is he going to call his new book? My friend Sherlock Holmes.

Hi, the accidental ACD of this universe. Of course Watson can name his book whatever he wishes. Because YOU, editor sir, certainly support the final line of this entire series: especially when all those stories are lies anyway.

The credits roll, the music kicks in, and I cry, cry every time because I love this show so much. Whatever there was, it all wraps up nicely, everyone went through an arc, the story makes perfect sense, the series is awesome, and I will never ever regret clinging on it so hard that I decided to subtitle it.

So here it is, Sherlock Holmes 2013. An incredibly unique and fantastic series that sure has changed my life no matter how much I’d want to deny it. Of course, I have a blog about you, just like about the Soviet series, and just like about every other Russian SH adaptation - of course I’ll see you in like five minutes. It doesn’t make another journey any less emotional though.

#new russian sherlock holmes #marathon notes #the hound named baskerville

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usatrendingsports · 6 years

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WWE Uncooked outcomes, recap: Braun Strowman, Kane battle seems endless

With the vacations quick approaching and greater than a month remaining earlier than the 2018 Royal Rumble, it is likely to be tough to search out confidence in Uncooked delivering a three-hour present able to transferring you.

If final week was an aberration in that sense — with robust in-ring work and a collection of quick-moving and impactful segments — Monday night time noticed a return to the anticipated. Whereas the lengthy and entertaining matches have been fortunately nonetheless there for the second successive week, the dedication to inventive over the size of the present sadly wasn’t.

After which there was the ending. If the concept was to ship followers dwelling blissful, WWE woefully failed once more as Kane was booked to yet one more most important occasion on Uncooked in 2017 with the form of reserving that places a damper on something good that got here earlier than it.

Braun Strowman, Kane shut the present … once more

Introduced early Monday on social media as a No. 1 contender’s match, the winner of Strowman-Kane would safe a possibility to problem for Brock Lesnar’s common championship at Royal Rumble in late January. The match did not start till 11:01 p.m. ET and ended shortly after. Strowman’s sizzling begin was countered by a pair of chokeslams which pressured him to twice kick out on two. Kane was then pressured to do the identical after Strowman responded with one among his personal. After spilling outdoors and into the group, Strowman hit a working clothesline by means of Kane and the barrier wall, leading to each superstars getting counted out. Strowman continued the beatdown by utilizing the metal steps and organising a desk contained in the ring. Following a quick rally from Kane with a chair, Strowman shocked him by sitting up in Kane/Undertaker trend. Strowman closed the present with a working powerslam by means of the desk.

The thought of 50-year-old Kane, in 2017, routinely securing useful actual property in the principle occasion of Uncooked has jumped the shark to such epic proportions that it must be a troll job at this level by WWE inventive. If it is not, the corporate has inadvertently succeeded in each burying Finn Balor’s character and watering down its most red-hot famous person in Strowman. Taking the heartbeat from the group response (or lack thereof) but once more was sufficient to substantiate that.

With nonetheless greater than six weeks to go till Royal Rumble, it is comprehensible that inventive is likely to be dragging its heels a bit to stretch storylines out by means of the vacations`. However the gratuitous use of Kane, which no fan of their proper thoughts might’ve requested for or been enthusiastic about, stays an unforgivable sin. Overlook the much less offensive job of forcing viewers to droop disbelief sufficient to simply accept his favorable reserving of late, the truth that it has been offered in such a mailed-in trend solely exasperates the difficulty. Does WWE have the heart to incorporate Kane in a triple menace title match at Royal Rumble? Like a automotive wreck you may’t flip away from, we will solely sit and watch to search out out.

Kurt Angle, Jason Jordan angle builds momentum

Jordan approached the Uncooked normal supervisor backstage and apologized for barging in and demanding a match one week in the past. However after Angle accepted with a smile, Jordan pulled a whiny 180 and questioned his father for not giving him a match with Samoa Joe tonight earlier than including, “No marvel Stephanie [McMahon] was in your case final week.” An aggravated Angle lastly snapped: “Pay attention, I’ll say this to you because the GM and never your father.” He went on angrily clarify to Jordan how “holding your individual” in massive matches just isn’t the identical as successful and that he’ll get the match he covets when Angle says so. “OK, dad,” Jordan mentioned, “or perhaps I ought to say, ‘OK, Kurt.'”

Nonetheless sore upset about final week, Jordan crashed Joe’s match in opposition to Dean Ambrose and watched from a folding chair on the stage like Joe beforehand did to him. Lured to ringside mid-match by Joe’s trash speak, Jordan’s presence practically price Joe when Ambrose rolled him up for 2. Jordan continued to become involved when the motion moved outdoors as Joe utilized the Coquina Clutch from behind till Ambrose knocked down each with a suicide dive. Jordan’s mood bought the perfect of him and his try and enter the ring and assault Joe created a distraction of the referee. Ambrose hit an elbow from the highest rope onto Joe however the referee was late to the depend. After Ambrose bought into Jordan’s face outdoors, Joe hit a flying forearm by means of the ropes on Ambrose and a senton onto Jordan. Joe then utilized his Coquina Clutch on Ambrose within the ring to supply the faucet.

Jordan wasn’t given wherever close to the 47 minutes he shouldered to open final week’s present, however he was simply as impactful this time round when it comes to furthering the storyline and growing his entitled character. His fixed bickering with Angle has produced loads of planted seeds towards an intriguing heel flip that feels before later. And take into account the brand new wrinkle of his beef with Ambrose to be nothing in need of promising. Jordan can do no unsuitable in the mean time and Uncooked can be sensible to experience the recent hand whereas killing time forward of Royal Rumble.

What else occurred on Uncooked?

Samoa Joe units lure for The Defend: Joe opened the present by saying Reigns is nothing with out The Defend and challenged him to return out solo and end their beef. With Ambrose and Seth Rollins watching backstage, Reigns took the bait and a hockey struggle ensued. The Bar rapidly ran in from the group to triple crew Reigns as Joe utilized his Coquina Clutch. Ambrose and Rollins ran in to assist, just for the trio of heels to beat and stand tall.

Paige & Mandy Rose def. Bayley & Mickie James through pinfall: “Girls, I believe it is time to put your hair up and sq. up as a result of Absolution is a symphony of carnage and the music is about to begin,” Sonia Deville mentioned through the pre-match promo. Her stablemates then stayed sizzling with one other victory as Paige took benefit of late chaos by interrupting James’ MickDDT try with a superkick, resulting in a pin by Rose.

Bray Wyatt and Matt Hardy repeat dueling video promos: Not a lot new was revealed for Week 2 because the alternating laughing returned. Hardy mentioned “the good warfare has perpetuated for eons … and now it continues on the battlefield often called WWE.” Bray known as him “the yin to my yang” earlier than saying, “how I’ve been ready for you.” After Hardy talked about beforehand “strolling hand in hand” with Sister Abigail’s soul earlier than she turned hooked on evil and inhabited Wyatt’s physique, Bray closed with, “Why would you comply with a jester when you may stroll within the footsteps of a king. Select your sides correctly. Solely one among us can survive.”

Finn Balor def. Curtis Axel through pinfall: Axel and Miztourage stablemate Bo Dallas mocked Balor’s entrance earlier than beating him down earlier than the match. After promoting an injured left shoulder, Balor rapidly rallied and went on to hit his Coup de Grace for the win as he slowly rebuilds.

Seth Rollins def. Sheamus through pinfall: With their tag crew companions banned from ringside, these two placed on a heck of a free TV match over two lengthy segments. Rollins bought an injured left knee all through and rallied for a trio of dramatic close to falls late. The end got here when Rollins sidestepped a brogue kick earlier than hitting a superkick of his personal and a Kingslayer knee for the 1-2-Three.

Cedric Alexander def. Ariya Daivari (through pinfall), Tony Nese and Mustafa Ali: WWE pulled the suspended Wealthy Swann from his No. 1 contender’s match following his real-life arrest for home assault. A brand new bout was created with the winner going through Drew Gulak subsequent week. The match featured one excessive spot and close to fall after one other, highlighted by Alexander’s combo of a standing Spanish fly right into a lumbar examine on Ali. Alexander would go on to hit the latter on Daivari for the pin.

Nia Jax flirts with Enzo Amore: The cruiserweight champion started with a backstage lecture of Gulak for insinuating that he would take Amore’s title after defeating Alexander. Jax interrupted and answered Amore’s catchphrase query with a sultry, “I am doing simply advantageous.” After the champion responded in nervous however trend, Jax closed with a flirty, “Enzo, we should always speak a while when you find yourself not busy.”

Intercontinental Championship — Roman Reigns def. Cesaro through pinfall to retain the tite: Contemplate this the match of the night time with unimaginable pay-per-view depth. Each guys bought out from begin to end as Reigns labored additional time to promote a proper arm damage that turned the storyline of the match. Every try at rallying from Reigns was met by Cesaro countering to accentuate the damage. In the long run, Reigns countered out of a Gotch neutralizer try and hit his spear for the 1-2-Three.

Absolution pressured to face down: Asuka’s scheduled match with Alicia Fox by no means occurred because of a backstage assault on Fox’s arm by Absolution. The heel faction got here out to method Asuka and threaten her to get out of their manner. After initially preventing them off, Asuka succumbed to the quantity’s sport. However simply as Paige was set to try her finisher, Sasha Banks’ music hit and the whole Uncooked girls’s division — heels and faces alike — ran in to assault Absolution. Paige and Deville finally escaped and pulled Rose out by her legs earlier than scurrying away.

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mandysimo13 · 7 years

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Chapter 7 - Where is My Gallant Knight

Chapter 7 is up, guys, gals, and non-binary pals! This one is a doozie and a long one so I hope you folks enjoy! I’m just so giddy after writing this I can’t stand it! - Also on AO3 (X)

It was no surprise to John that he woke up with an armful of Sherlock. His chest fluttered with fondness but tightened immediately with guilt. He had been so close to taking advantage of his charge and John felt himself frown as he looked down on the sleeping man. It didn’t matter that Sherlock was a grown man, fully capable of making his own decisions. He came into Sherlock’s life because of a job. A job he was well on the way to finishing. That job did not include seducing Sherlock before dropping him off at his doorstep.

But that didn’t stop him from wanting it desperately.

Sherlock shifted in John’s arms, clearly still asleep, and a new wave of guilt invaded John as he watched Sherlock dream. Knowing he should give the man some privacy, John started to slide backwards and out of the bed but Sherlock’s arms tightened around his torso, preventing his escape. He whined softly in protest and John settled down into the mattress again for fear of waking him. Wanting to soothe him, John brushed the hair back from Sherlock’s face, noting the frown lines creasing his brow. Clearly, whatever his dream was, it was not a pleasant one. Sherlock whimpered once more and burrowed his face into John’s neck.

“Shh,” John cooed softly, stroking the man’s hair as Sherlock’s dream further distressed him. “I’m here.”

“Juuh,” Sherlock’s drowsy voice huffed into his neck. “Nnnno.”

John’s eyes widened. Was Sherlock dreaming of him? “Juh” could be the beginning of any number of words, not just his name. It could be coincidence.

John weighed the pros and cons of waking him. On one hand, he was probably going to be hungover and needed all the rest he could get. By the way the sun glinted in the window, they already lost a good head start of the day anyway and a couple more hours wouldn’t make much of a difference at this rate. But what if he was scared in his dream, his mind countered. You could comfort him while he was awake. Then he thought of how they needed to find Greg and resupply for the next leg of their journey.

All thought ceased, however, as he felt Sherlock’s lips press meaningfully into his neck. John stilled as if frozen. The skin on his neck tingled where Sherlock’s lips ghosted over him just above the collar of his shirt. It was apparent that whatever dream Sherlock had been having turned from a nightmare into something else entirely and John was both loathed to end it and wanted it to keep going. Sherlock’s fingers clutched the fabric tightly on John’s chest and the unmistakable feel of warm, hard flesh through two layers of fabric pressed into his stomach. Sherlock’s hips twitched minutely and then the decision to wake Sherlock was taken out of his hands.

Sherlock gasped awake. He went from warm and pliant to marblesque in the span of a second and loathed to feel the exchange from asleep to awake. From unconscious desire to waking regret.

Maybe he hadn’t been dreaming of me , John thought sadly.

Silence enveloped them and stretched out in unbearably long minutes until John broke it. “Good dream, I take it,” he teased, hoping Sherlock found the prod humorous.

Sherlock cleared his throat but refused to move his face from the security of John’s neck. “It was enjoyable, yes.”

“Dare I ask what it was about?”

Rather than answer, Sherlock scrambled over John to stalk towards the door to make an escape. John sat up, mouth open to stop Sherlock’s retreat but he was spared the need. Hand outstretched to turn the knob, Sherlock suddenly realized his state of dress and realized that, unless he wanted to scandalize the scullery maids, he would need to put clothes on. Greg’s nightshirt, while comfortable, was not at all suitable for public appearances.

John watched him as he snatched up his discarded clothes. He quickly jammed his legs into the trousers before whipping off Greg’s shirt and tossing it in John’s direction. It landed on the bed just as Sherlock brought the hem of his shirt over his head and settled it over his stomach. Another quick dart of his arms brought him his boots and he strode out the door barefoot and quite disheveled.

Once the door closed, John flopped back down onto the mattress and with a deep groan he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” John cursed to the empty room.

He kicked off the covers and quickly dressed himself. He took the extra time to do up his boots and shrug on his doublet and grab Sherlock’s as well before leaving their room. He sighed, knowing they would need to rent for another night. They still needed to resupply and he was sure it was nearing midday. No sense at riding off at this point, John scowled internally.

John made his way down the stairs and into the common room to find Greg happily munching away on food. Sherlock was nowhere to be found.

When Greg caught sight of John he waved him over and then waved over his girl from the night before. “Penny, this is my friend and employer, Sir John Watson.”

John made a bow and said, “how do you do, miss?”

“You’re The Sir John?! From the stories?!”

John nodded, uncharacteristically shy. Sherlock bolting had left him more vulnerable than usual and he felt his ears warm in embarrassment. “That I am. At your service.”

Penny perched herself in Greg’s lap and gave him a sultry look. “Should’a been at your service last night.”

“Oi! Weren’t hearing any complaints from you last night, missy,” Greg complained.

“Ooh, of course not,” Penny soothed, kissing him full on the lips.

“As touching as this is,” John gestured between the two, “have you see Sherlock?”

“Yeah,” Lestrade jabbed a thumb towards the door. “Saw him bolt outta here barefoot without his jacket. What’d you do?”

“Why does everything have to be my fault,” John asked rhetorically, dropping into the chair opposite Greg and put his head in his hands.

“Penny, dear,” Greg said, “would you mind getting Sir John a plate?”

“Of course.”

When she was gone Greg addressed John. “Look, I’m not blind. Something’s going on between you two, just admit it.”

“Nothing to admit,” John answered honestly. “We haven’t done anything.”

“Except wake up in each other’s arms every morning. And bicker like an old married couple. And tell each other stories of your childhood, even if I know you’re not telling him everything. Not to mention ignoring all else but yourselves this entire time.”

John frowned. “I didn’t mean to ignore you,” John said, chastised.

“I won’t say it doesn’t smart sometimes. But I get it. That’s part of the squire game, John. I’m used to being scenery.”

“You’re more than scenery, Greg.”

“We’re not talking about me here, John. We’re talking about you and Sherlock and this... thing you two have.”

“Which is nothing,” John said firmly.

“So sure of that are you?” John nodded and Greg sighed. Penny returned with John’s plate and made herself scarce, knowing she was not welcome in the conversation. “Think about it. Do you really think that he’d still be here, letting you wrap your tentacly arms around him every night if he didn’t feel something, too?”

“He’s the one with the tentacle arms,” John decreed. “I never initiate the cuddling.”

“And yet there you are, every morning, happily snoring into his ear and he lets you. I love you, John, but the only time you and I ever cuddled was for warmth when we were adventuring in the unforgiving north in winter. And that was more out of survival than desire to hold you close.” Then he speared a bit of sausage and grinned at him before taking a bite. “Not that you weren’t a pleasure to spoon with, mind.”

John snorted a laugh despite himself. “Prick.” He stabbed into his own sausage and hummed in pleasure at having something in his stomach.

“In all seriousness. You should think about this before you go dismissing the signs, mate.”

“I have thought about this. You were there. He punched me and shouted that I was unwelcome to touch him. And while we’ve been friendly so far on this trip that doesn’t mean he wants me for anything. We don’t know if his magic has recharged itself, he could just be waiting until it is to go running off again. He hasn’t expressed interest in me, or “us”, while being awake. Some people like to cuddle and will do it to a troll while asleep. Means nothing.”

Greg just shrugged and didn’t press the point. They ate quietly for a few moments before he pointed at Sherlock’s forgotten doublet on the back of John’s chair. “Why’d you bring that?”

John cast a glance at it and shrugged. “Thought he’d stick around long enough for me to give it to him. He walked off without it and I felt bad, him running out half dressed.” Greg nodded and they finished their meal in peace.

After they ate they called for Millie and told her they’d be using the room for one more night. Not much later, the two made their way to the shops to stock up supplies for the next leg of their journey. Half bushel of apples, few wheels of cheese, loaves of hardened bread, more dried meat, and John pushed for a precious measure of salt for cooking. Next they paid their dues at the well and got all the water they could carry. Ladened with supplies, John and Lestrade crashed into their room to find Sherlock soaking in a steaming tub.

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 3 years

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COSMIC - S1:E6; Chapter Six, The Monster - [Pt. 1]

A Will Byers x Gender Neutral!Reader Series

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

"Look, we gotta go through this again." Joyce insisted.

"I told you everything that I saw."

"Oh, gosh," she sighs into her hands. "Tell me again."

"Upstairs or downstairs?" Hopper asked.

"Upstairs."

"There was a laboratory. It was where they must do experiments or something, and then there was... well you see, like I said, I got turned around."

Hopper was currently sharing all he had encountered on his rogue mission at Hawkins National Laboratory. Joyce, all the while was hanging on his every word.

Hopper sighed and rubbed the bottom of his palms into his eyes tiredly, is fingers held the lit cigarette inches away from his face as he did so. "If that even makes sense,"

"Well," Joyce began, trying to get to the bottom of this never ending mystery. "So why would you think it was a kid's room, then?"

"Because, I told you, the size of the bed, there was a drawing, there was a stuffed animal--"

Joyce interrupted the man quickly. "Y-You didn't say there was a drawing."

"Yeah, there was a drawing of a... an adult and a child. It said 'Eleven' on it."

"Was it good?" Joyce pressed.

"It was a kid's drawing, Joyce. It was stick figures."

Joyce had a knowing look on her face as she stood up with a sigh, retrieving a piece of crinkled line paper and slammed it down on the table for Hopper to see.

She pointed to the detailed drawing as she sat back down.

"Wasn't Will." She stated confidently, shakily bringing the cigarette back up to her lips.

Hopper examined the drawing and everything seemed to click. He returned his gaze to the anxious mother. Hopper quickly put out his cigarette in the ashtray and made a beeline for the coffee table.

"Earl..." he muttered, as he made his way into the living room. Joyce, who had abandoned her cigarette, was right on his heels.

The man began shifting through the papers, and Joyce spoke up.

"Wait... Maybe, it wasn't?"

Hopper pulled the article he had been looking for and pointed to the fuzzy photograph of the woman in the article.

||𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕||