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jee-ns · 3 years

Text

catastrophe

pairing: jenniexfem!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: mentions of nudes.

words: 1.5k

synopsis: lisa didn’t mean to turn you into one of her. but you blame it all on her for your stubbornness. your cat jennie turned into a human now. but the worst part is you kinda like it.

notes: I AM SO SORRY FOR THIS. I SHOULDVE JUST LEFT IT IN THE DRAFTS BUT IK SOME OF YALL LIKE THIS TYPE OF STUFF. YALL FREAKY. BUT LIKE THIS IS THE WORST THING IVE EVER MADE SO FAR BUT YKW IDC. -admin 🗣

cats. you were never particularly impressed by these feline beasts. not much of them caught your attention. all you know is that they are completely autonomous and are as charming as they can be. they’ve only been interesting when you were at a sleepover with one of lisa. she was a major cat lady and unfortunately, she was your only friend in primary school. and you were expected to tolerate her rambling with her cats. she seems to get a new one every week. you don’t know how her parents deal with her. when you asked her “what’s so nice about cats?” she looks at you as if you just killed her mom. “you don’t like cats.” she asked with a tone that you’ve never heard from her. your eyes bulge out and quickly resentence your words. “false. i asked what’s so nice about them?” you held up your index finger right in front of her face and you wish you didn’t ask. god, what is wrong with you. “they’re amazing they’re really cute and learns fast. they don’t need too much attention and they can deal with everything by themself. they give you gifts!! you should come over one day and you’ll know why.” she said and after that day she begged you to come to her house on the weekend so she could show off her cats. you asked your mom if you could go to her house and sadly she was encouraging you to leave the house and spend some time with lisa.

you were skipping your way to the grey suburban house. it was a typical family home not anything out of the ordinary from the other rows of houses beside it. you walked up the porch that we’re decorated with hanging potted plants and knocked on the door. the door bursts open with a gleeful lisa. “Y/N!” she screeched, the cat in her arms flinching and pushing her away while she just hugged it tighter. “come in!” she opened the door wider for you to enter. you didn’t know that day was going to be the start of your miserable cat lady life

you walked into your small condo in Seoul. the small petit home was purchased for your convenience since you started college a year ago. the start of college was rough. you were 20 minutes late for class because you were busy running away from the club scouters. and your small condo was unworthy to be jennie’s new castle. you spent only 2 hours of sleep because jennie was moving around on the bed and claiming her territory. jennie was a spoiled brat. she always gets what she wants and if she doesn’t she’ll either annoy you or give you her cute face and smudge it all over you. your mom got her on your birthday right after you slept over at lisa’s place and fallen in love with them.

you called for jennie after putting aside your shoes. and as usual, she didn’t answer. she’s most likely to be napping on your bed with the new mattress you just bought. you walked to your bedroom and immediately let out a piercing scream. you were frightened. scared. shocked. you were everything but calm right now. there was a naked woman curled up on your bed. you couldn’t move. you just stood there frozen and scared as to why was there a naked woman on your bed and jennie was nowhere to be seen. the woman yawned and looked at you with her cat eyes. she smiled and got up and crawled over to you. “y/n’s home!” the more she got closer the more you backed away from her until your back touched the door of your bedroom. the weirdly attractive naked woman was rubbing her forehead against your shin.

your breathing was shaky. you just noticed how her body was perfectly curved and not a single muscle out of place. it’s getting hot in here. “jennie?” you called out, testing the waters. she looked up at you with an eyebrow cocked as if you were gonna ask her a question. you let out a staggered breath. you swallowed the lump in your throat that you didn’t realize was there. you slowly bent down to jennie’s level and took her head in your hands. you could hear her purring while she closed her eyes in ecstasy. you took her hands and stood up so she could try walking. she was wiggling and couldn’t stand up properly so you put her arm around your shoulders and led her to your bed. “are you jennie?” you ask for confirmation cause you don’t really know what’s going on. her head cocked to the side “am i not?” she asked as if she was a human for all her life.

“you’re a human!” you put your hands up with eyes popping out of your sockets. “yep it happened after you left for work. i don’t know what happened but i think it’s the snacks that you started buying from that sketchy store.” you closed your eye and opened them again hoping the nude woman infront of you turns back into her normal form. what’s happening right now. lisa was right you shouldn’t have bought some snacks from that sketchy store. god why are you so stubborn. you opened your eyes and walked over to your closet to get her some of your clothes. “here put these on.” it was a simple oversized hoodie with some undergarments and some sweatpants incase she gets uncomfortable but you doubt so. she’s been living as a naked animal for over 5 years. you only did that so you don’t catch yourself staring at her like a disgusting pervert you are. you watched her as she struggled to get her head through the hole and only moved to help her when she yelped.

after helping her get dressed you did your normal routine. you washed your clothes and normally jennie would be sitting on the washing machine and enjoying your pets. now, since she can’t curl up on top of the washing machine she sat there and dangled her legs from the machine. you didn’t bother to pet her cause you’d think that she would feel uncomfortable with your touch since. well. she’s a human now. but jennie didn’t change a single bit. she longed for your touch and suddenly became gloomy after she didn’t receive her daily pets. then you moved on to doing the dishes before going to the couch where jennie was sitting with her knees tucked into her chest while her eyes glued to the tv seeming to understand the words that she couldn’t comprehend before. you chuckled with amusement looking at her focusing on the tv and patted her head softly. not gonna lie her hair was just the same soft hair that was on her normal form. you sat down and sighed how long will this go on. will jennie never turn back into a cat again? will she be your roommate now? you turned your gaze from the tv to her laying her head on your lap while her legs cupped the pillows. you decided to call lisa for help.

“you weren’t lying.”

“why would i be lying?!”

you and lisa rambled while jennie occupied her time with the tv. “you know she hates me right why did you call me.” lisa didn’t want to deal with jennie cause she doesn’t know how worse she could be when she’s turned into a human. “cause you know alot about cats” you urged her to help you cause your pretty helpless now. you’ve always thought of lisa as a cat whisperer because every single cat that she comes across happens to like her. excluding jennie. so why can’t she do it now? she looked at jennie whose napping with a sheepish look and says. “nah shawty bae i ain’t dealing with that.” you rolled your eyes and shoved her away. proceeding to join jennie into slumberland.

you were awoken by jennie snuggling her head under chin. upon awaking you realised you both slept on the couch with a blanket draped over you two that lisa probably left before she went back home.you just stayed in that position since it was comfortable and you were in the mood of doing nothing. it was pretty weird to be snuggling with your cat who has just turned into a human. but that was a future you problem. then silence was broken “y/n?” jennie mumbled.

“yeah?”

“i love you”

you smiled. she probably got that from a movie and not knowing how much the weight is in those three words. jennie has never really been affectionate with you or been dedicated to you. she just follows you here and there. never really to attached. but now with some fortune she got to say it to your face. and to be honest you kinda like jennie like this. you pat her head.

“ i love you too “

-admin🗣

#blackpink scenarios #blackpink smut #jennie angst #jennie smut #jennie fluff #blackpink imagines #blackpink fluff #blackpinkxfemreader #blackpink #jenniexfemreader #jennie #cat #lisa

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aminiatureworld · 3 years

Text

In My Dreams IV

Characters: Xiao, fm!reader

Word Count: 3,167

Warnings: Brief depiction of violence, nightmares

Premise: The past is many things. Something to admire, something to learn from, something to hold dear. And yet how unreliable it can be, especially in the hands of ghosts.

In which the reader dreams of the past.

Author’s Note: Translation notes and historical references will come after the fic. This one was a little sketchy/ooc, prolly because I’m tired.

Xiao

If there was one thing that you appreciated most about your relationship with Xiao it was the fact that he never attempted to cage your independence.

Though the adeptus had a penchant for clinginess – something he’d never actually admit to – the circumstances of both his and your past had set a standard for a level of separation that you greatly appreciated. You were never pressured to tell Xiao about things you weren’t comfortable sharing and in return you never pressed your partner in regards to topics or events that made him somewhat uncomfortable.

And yet there was something very isolating about such a freedom.

It was an ordinary enough commission, laughably so in fact, the kind that you could knock back in ten minutes flat if you put a little effort into it. Treasure Hoarders were once more encroaching on Liyue, this time gathering at the vicinity of Dunyu Ruins, something that would surely be a hazard to the archaeologists who gathered to study the lost jade monument. The act of chasing out the Treasure Hoarders was indeed easy enough, and it was only until you started rifling through their loot that you found yourself uneasy.

The lid was an innocuous enough item. Though the box that it once covered was nowhere to be found it must’ve been a work of art, as the smooth tortoiseshell lid was clearly the result of patience and love. Painted a deep blue it depicted a snowy scene, with a castle or cathedral at the front and center. The building itself was of a unique design; a tall turret stuck out at the top while small onion domes sat a little lower, each painted a more outlandish color than the last. The architecture was completely unlike what one might see in either Liyue or Mondstadt, and really there should’ve been nothing to it except the odd design of the building. Yet the moment you set your eyes upon the building you felt something harden in the pit of your stomach.

You never thought about what you couldn’t remember; after all, what was the point of it? Why mourn something you weren’t even sure was good or bad? Yet in that moment you felt that you would give very little to not remember just a little bit. At least enough to know why the image of a cathedral in the snow made you wish deeply for something you couldn’t remember, and frightened you just as much.

“Something’s wrong with you face.”

“Xiao!” You sputtered, surprised by the sudden bluntness of your partner. “My face is just fine, a little dirt won’t kill me.”

“That’s not it.” Xiao scowled. “Your face is harder than usual. Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened! Sometimes I just don’t smile, okay?” You instinctively moved the corners of your mouth upwards, trying to ignore the sudden jump in your heart rate. “I’m fine.”

Xiao looked supremely unimpressed at your efforts, sighing and flying up to the balcony of the Inn. You sighed, letting your expression once more droop. It was easy sometimes to forget how in tune Xiao was. You wouldn’t expect it from an adeptus who had spent thousands of years mostly secluded from humans, but your partner was impressively good at reading your mood. Usually you didn’t mind the ability of his, even welcoming the fact that he so bluntly brought up the question of your feelings. But today you wished despite yourself that he was a little less aware. After all, how could you explain to your partner what you didn’t even understand yourself?

The rest of the night was oddly tense. Though Xiao said nothing you could tell from the way he stared intently at your face that he hadn’t given up his suspicions. For your part you tried to ignore his gaze, talking about trivial matters such as the question of replacing the Guild roof and the fact that you had managed to gather a few Qingxin during your commissions. All the while you felt the roiling of your heart; and all the while you kept rubbing your fingers along the smooth finish of the lid in your pocket as if in doing so you might suddenly be struck with what you currently missed and currently, desperately, needed.

The next day you walked up to Katherine utterly exhausted. Though you’d made a concerted effort to sleep, knowing that if not you’d just arouse more worry in Xiao, most of the night had been spent tossing and turning, your eyelids feeling paper thin as you attempted to drag yourself down into the depths of sleep. Of course now that the sun was shining you felt like even a stone bench would be a soft enough mattress. Blinking heavily you smiled awkwardly at Katheryne.

“Any commissions today?”

“Two ordinary sweeps and one request.” Katheryne tilted her head slightly. “Are you sure you don’t need rest?”

“I’m perfectly fine Katheryne, thank you for worrying. You said there was a request?”

“Yes. It seems that the citizen who noticed the Treasure Hoarders for us claims to have been robbed by them. He says to meet you at Dunyu Ruins so you can hand over the item.”

“And what item is that?”

“He said it was some sort of box lid. He didn’t give many details I’m sorry. If you’re uncomfortable though of course we could send someone with you.”

“I’ll be fine, thanks for worrying.”

“Of course! Good luck!”

“Thanks.”

You turned around, trying to stem the ice that flooded your veins. Who was this man to whom the cathedral belonged? How did he come across such an odd item, was he from one of the other nations of Teyvat you hadn’t visited? Most of all you wondered if he held some connection to your past. The idea thrilled you in some way, though dread also lingered. You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to meet this mysterious person. Commissions were commissions however; you wouldn’t betray the Guild. No matter how much you wanted to; you couldn’t.

The Dunyu Ruins were still, no monsters seemed to linger at the gates and no other adventurers peeked out from behind old walls. The air was utterly still, something which worried you greatly. Walking at an increased rate you sought out your mysterious commissioner. The more you thought about it the more you wished the whole thing to be over as soon as possible. Turning the corner you stopped in your tracks, gazing in awe at the person a few meters in front of you.

The first thing you thought was how oddly he was dressed. The second thing was that he was much younger than you had expected. The third thing was that you felt an odd sense of familiarity from him.

“Ah yes, the adventurer who accepted my commission. Have you brought what I asked of you?”

Though a response was certainly in order you found the words stuck in your mouth. Staring at him you felt the ground shift between your feet slightly. He was familiar, this young man in front of you, and yet he was also a perfect stranger. He seemed more like an apparition than anything, a spirit who had yet to cross to the far side. You stepped closer, reaching out your arm slightly. If you went to touch his shoulder, would your fingers go right through him?

“You really must think it’s odd that I’ve returned.” The man chuckled. “I assure you I’m completely real. You weren’t the only one to survive sister, though I know that information might be too little too late?”

“Sister?” You snapped out of your trance. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Surely you aren’t pretending not to recognize me? I think that’s beneath even you. Come now, was I such a brat as that?” Reaching out the young man went to grab your hand. Instinctively you pulled away, feeling discomfort shoot through you.

“I don’t know what you mean? And you certainly aren’t my brother! I’ve never had a brother!”

“Then who was the kid you lived with your whole life before the incident?”

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know about any incident or any brother. You asked me here to return something so I’m returning it.” Reaching for the lid you thrust the little work of art in front of you. “Here. Take it.”

“So you really don’t know who I am?” The young man reached out to take the lid. “How is that possible? Have they gone so far as to erase me from your memories? Have I been taken out of your family?”

“They?”

“The gods.” The young man’s eyes seemed incredibly harsh all of a sudden. “Their presumptiveness holds no bounds.”

“Don’t speak of the archons that way.”

“Answer me this,” the young man ignored your protest, “where are you from.”

“Why should I tell you that?”

“Humor me.”

“I…” You stood there for a moment, wondering whether or not you should tell this strange figure the truth. Morbid curiosity floated in your mind, and you took a sharp breath. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“So I really have been erased from your mind.”

“Nothing’s been erased! I just don’t remember, should that surprise you so much?”

“Yes, it does. I see my plans will have to be changed.” The young man took a deep breath. “Very well then, we shall see what we shall see. I have an offer for you.”

“And what is that?” You felt suspicion wash over you.

“Join the Abyss.”

“Over my dead body!” Instinctively stepping away you drew your polearm. So that’s what this was about.

“I figured you might say that. However, let me tell you this. Our family was torn apart by the cruel whims of faraway gods. Teyvat suffered the same fate, still suffers it. You may not remember what happened to us, but I know it is buried in you somewhere. If you wish to avenge our family, then you’ll join us.”

“I have no petty thoughts of revenge against the gods.”

“That may very well change.” The young man smirked. “I’ll be back in a week. I expect your answers then.”

He was gone before you could say anything, carried away by a blanket of purple stars. You stared at the empty ruins, confused and empty, feeling far worse than you had felt when you arrived here.

“You look worse.”

“Thanks Xiao.” You let out a sigh, unsure how to respond.

You’d spent the rest of the walk back to the Wangshu Inn in agony, thoughts darting back and forth as you tried to reason with yourself about the veracity of the young man’s claims. There was no proof he was who he said he was after all, no proof that he wasn’t simply insane, or trying to convince you to join him by lying. Yet there was something about him, his demeanor, his anger, something that spoke to a truth about him. Not that the idea made you any happier. After all truth or not, he was still an Abyss member, or at least an advocate. You could never side with him, even if he was your long lost family. And yet what if he was your family? What then? Would it truly be a betrayal then to simply send him packing?

Xiao’s hand enveloped your own, the soft warmth drawing you out of your confused thoughts. Looking up you found him leaning into you, the tips of his hair lightly brushing your cheeks. His eyes bored into you ask he scanned your face. You stood perfectly still. You knew what Xiao was doing, knew that he was trying to figure out the depths of your discomfort. It was valiant of him, even if you hoped that he turned up empty handed. How could you tell Xiao, an adeptus who served directly under Rex Lapis, about the man who blasphemed the gods.

“You should sleep.” Xiao finally pulled away.

“It’s still early evening.”

“You didn’t sleep well last night, I could tell. You should sleep now; maybe you’ll feel better.”

“Maybe.” You replied, knowing that even if you slept better than you had ever before nothing would change when you woke up.

Still your eyelids were heavy and your feet aching. Sleep beckoned you with open arms, and you were quick to fall into its depths. Pressing a soft kiss on Xiao’s cheek you made your way up the stairs. Collapsing onto your bed you let out a sigh of relief. Sleep was coming on fast, and you quickly found the outside world swirling away. The last thing you were aware of was a dent in your mattress, and a set of familiar eyes staring down at you, filled with affection and worry.

It was dreadfully hot. That was the first thing you were aware of. The second was how loud everything was. There was a terrible sound swirling around you, inhuman shrieks seemed to rise up from the ground beneath you, accompanied with a banging that cracked through the air, echoing oddly in a night that was all too quiet. The third thing was that you had no idea where you were. Looking around you found yourself reeling at the scene that met your eyes. The house in front of you must’ve been nice at some point, but now had fallen into ruin and disrepair. Smoke was drifting up from a door that led into the ground, and bottles lay in pieces on the ground. A wall seemed to separate the house from the outside world, so tall that you had no idea what lay beyond it. Trembling slightly you felt yourself move towards the source of the noise, feet moving despite the rising dread that you felt. Making your way down a set of stairs a few lines came to you all of a sudden.

A ceiling of amber, a pavement of pearl

The smoke was thicker now, filling your lungs, leaving you short of breath. Little bits of orange blurred your vision, wielded by strange men in strange uniforms. They seemed distorted in the smoke, made into ghosts that might haunt a child’s nightmares.

Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still

You didn’t move your head towards the back of the room, somehow you couldn’t. Your very soul fought against it. Instead you closed your eyes, overwhelmed with how hot it was.

“You’ve come so far and you can’t even look?”

The voice was mocking, familiar, full of scorn. Opening your eyes you stared at the men in front of you, the men with fire at the tips of their hands. Why did he want you to look? You knew what you’d see. Somehow you knew.

We climb’d on the graves, on the stone worn with rains

You couldn’t make it out among the smoke. All you knew was that it was red.

You screwed your eyes shut, even as sudden clarity danced before you. Someone was calling your name.

There was a hand on your shoulder.

And alone dwell forever

The smoke cleared, and with it the dream.

The scream ripped through your throat before you could even process it. You knew that you should stop, knew that you were no longer dreaming, knew that the hand on your shoulder belonged to your terrified partner. Still you screamed. You screamed and screamed and screamed.

“Hey. Hey!” Xiao’s voice was frantic. Shifting your gaze towards him you felt yourself begin to tremble.

“It, it was true. It was true, I saw him. I saw him. I saw me. It was true. I, I, they’re dead. They’re dead.”

“It was a dream. No one’s dead.”

“But Xiao, they’re dead. He was right, they’re gone and dead and somehow I forget them.”

The loneliness slammed into you, mixing with the horror that sent your stomach churning. You dug you nails into your palm, desperately trying to stop shaking. Everything seemed distorted, the light emerging through the window just as menacing as the dark.

“Take my hand.”

Xiao pulled one of your hands on his lap, gently opening it and running his fingers over the marks that now rested in your palms. Unfurling your hand you it was flat against his he covered it with his own. Letting his palm rest gently against yours he looked up at you.

“No one is dead. You were having a nightmare.”

“I was remembering, Xiao. I finally remembered something. And now I wish I never had.” You unfurled your other hand, wiping furiously at the tears that pooled in your eyes. “I’m so alone Xiao, I’m so alone.”

“You aren’t alone.”

“My family, my family is gone. The only one left is an Abyss member. I, I’m so utterly alone.”

You felt Xiao drop your hand slightly. The sudden lost connection made your founder for a moment, but soon the feeling was lost as Xiao wrapped his arms around you. Pressing kisses to your forehead his grip was tight and strong, encasing you utterly in soft comfort. Letting yourself collapse slightly you leaned into his embrace.

“You’ll never be alone. I’ll always be here.”

If promises were conveyed in actions then you had no reason to doubt Xiao’s. Though the air around you was sticky with heat you found yourself pressing into your partner’s chest eyes more, soaking up every bit of connection that you could get. Xiao said nothing more, simply keeping you in his embrace, lips brushing against your cheeks as he kissed away your tears.

You knew that he wouldn’t ask about your brother that night, perhaps not even the morning afterwards, or even tomorrow evening. After all your partner wasn’t one for words, and your relationship wasn’t built upon the expectation of painful transparency. If you weren’t ready to talk he wouldn’t push you.

Eventually your tears slowed, though the pain in your chest still burned like a brand. Bringing your hands to your chest you gazed up at the adeptus who was still wrapped around you.

“Can we stay this way a little longer?”

Xiao’s eyes gleamed catlike in the moonlight. Leaning down he brushed his lips against yours, sighing slightly as you met him with exhausted ardor. Pulling back you rested your head on your partner’s chest. The dulled beat seemed almost musical, a reminder that Xiao was alive, a reminder that he was right next to you.

You had assumed in some way that it meant he didn’t care, or didn’t want to know. Though you would’ve never thought that before, the feeling of loneliness that had threatened to swallow you up had made that perfectly clear. Yet Xiao did care, cared enough not to prod and poke at wounds that were surely bleeding even now. Cared enough to kiss your worries away, cared enough to let you embrace him as long as you needed. Cared enough to show that you weren’t truly alone.

In a week you’d give the young man who had once been your brother an answer. In a week you’d face the fact of your loneliness, of a family that you’d once been a part of. In a week you would let yourself be truly lonely. But until then you would listen to the familiar beat of Xiao’s heart as you remembered that you weren’t truly alone. That you never would be.

-------

The box lid itself was based off nothing in particular. The building painted on it is a reference to Saint Basil’s Cathedral.

The poem I used was “The Forsaken Merman” by Matthew Arnold

The scene in the reader’s dream is a reference to the execution of the last Imperial family of Russia. It took place in the basement of the Ipatiev House in Ekaterinburg on July 17th/18th 1918.

#genshin impact fanfiction #xiao #xiao x reader #genshin impact #genshin xiao #requested #scenarios #my writing #sorry mistagged as gn out of habit first jme

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slytherinbarnes · 4 years

Text

Sub Rosa [53]

viii. god complex

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: blood mentions, death by radiation, sketchy doctor experimentation, violence, anxiety, nausea.

Summary: with the death wave rapidly approaching, the question on everyone’s mind is: how far are you willing to go to save the human race?

a/n: the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

March 21st, 2150; Becca’s Lab

Your radio call with Bellamy leaves you in a good mood for a few hours, but that it quickly vanishes with the arrival of the black rain and the questionable experimentation on Baylis. During your call with Bellamy, your mom gave Baylis a dose of Nightblood, and you all wait around a few hours to make sure it has time to integrate with his system. Once it does, everyone is called to the lab to watch the testing that may save the human race, as horrifying as it may be.

Which is where you are now, standing beside Clarke near the radiation tube. Everyone else is scattered around the lab but also watching closely. Baylis is strapped inside, hooked up to monitors, tubes and wires connected to his body in various locations. Jackson checks over Baylis one last time as your mom monitors the screens in front of her. “Vital signs are strong. Jackson, seal the chamber.”

Jackson seals the chamber, his face blank of any emotion. “He’s ready.”

“Yeah, but are we?” You look over at Raven as she asks, her body rigid. Luna is near her, looking similarly upset. The air in the room is tense, nearly everyone opposed to what you’re about to do. Some of you can forgive the questionable tactics if it means saving your people, and the human race, but some of you can't. You’re conflicted, because as awful as Baylis seems to be, sticking someone into a tube and pumping radiation inside is an awful way to potentially die.

Emori, who seems okay with the decision, given what he did to her and her brother remind you all, “The guy's a monster.”

Clarke, tired of the arguing, looks around the room at each of you. “We've been over this. None of us wants to do this, but the death wave will be here in 10 days. Luna's stem cells grafted successfully, and Baylis is making nightblood on his own. This really is our only hope.”

Murphy backs up both Clarke and Emori. “We really still talking about this? Black rain is already here, and 18 people died in it yesterday at Arkadia. If Nightblood can let us walk around in it, I, for one, want to know about that.”

There’s another moment of hesitation, before your mom speaks up. “Okay. Jackson, proceed.”

“Copy that.” He reaches for the controls for the chamber, slowly spinning a dial. “Initiating...500 REM.”

All of you watch Baylis closely, and other than the changing lights in the chamber, his eyes are still closed, blissfully unaware of the radiation around him. Jackson moves the dial again, increasing the radiation. “850. This is where we'd see symptoms in a non-Nightblood.”

You and Clarke move closer to the chamber, getting a better look, searching for any signs of redness or lesions as your mother calls out, “Blood pressure is 100 over 50. Body temp is 98.7. Resting comfortably.”

And still, Baylis is unmoving, appearing exactly the same as when he was put inside the chamber. You tell your mom, “No visible effects.”

Jackson turns the dial again, increasing it even higher. “1,000 REM….1,500.”

“All good here.”

“2,000 REM, the level of the black rain.”

Clarke smiles from her place beside you, “Still nothing, it's working.”

You see Roan on the other side of the chamber also smiling, as Jackson increases the radiation once more. “2,500.”

The reaction is instantaneous. The machine in front of your mother starts to beep loudly, signaling a spike in Baylis’ heartbeat. And as you and Clarke watch the man, red spots start to appear on his body, burns caused by the radiation. They spread over him quickly, some of them turning to lesions and Clarke yells, “Turn it off!”

But it’s too late. Baylis wakes from whatever medication your mother was giving him, screaming out in pain, “It stings! It stings!”

Your mom rushes towards the chamber, ready to pull it open, “Get him out of there!” But Jackson grabs her and holds her back, “Wait! It's not safe yet!”

As you wait for the radiation to get sucked out of the chamber, you all watch in horror as Baylis continues to scream. His screams turn to coughing up blood, thick and black, all over the glass around him, until he grows still, head slumped to the side. The computer behind you flatlines, indicating that Baylis is dead, killed by radiation, and soon, so will the rest of you.

Your mother's voice is a horrified whisper as she stares at the dead man in the chamber. “What have I done?”

It takes a few more minutes for the chamber to clear up, but as soon as it does, your mother pulls it open, and her and Jackson transfer Baylis from the chamber onto a gurney. She takes a final blood sample from him before covering his body, ready to bury him as soon as the black rain stops. You stare at the blood soaked chamber in front of you, and the sight of it makes you sick, reminding you what you've done in order to survive. Another death that you could have prevented, another kill that you had a hand in. Maybe you deserve the Wanlida title, maybe you deserve to be called a monster. You walk off in search of some rags and cleaner, and when you return, Raven has a video feed pulled up for the death wave heading your way. Though it’s still 10 days out, it gets closer and closer with every passing second, reminding all of you of your impending deaths, especially now that Nightblood has failed.

You head straight back to the chamber and start to clean the blood from it, and seconds later someone appears at your side, jumping in to help. You look over and see Luna, who still looks bothered by the whole situation, but you nod at her in appreciation. You sit side by side and clean the chambers, as Jackson, your mom, and Clarke all pour over the blood analysis from Baylis. “Abby, take a look at this.”

Luna turns to you, a stone bracelet in her hand, found at the end of the chamber. “The stones of his ancestors.”

She hands them to you and you look them over, as Clarke questions what’s on the screen behind her. “What is it?”

“Sodium polyethanol sulfonate. It's an additive used to prevent clotting. Looks like the radiation broke it down and caused a chain reaction.”

You pass the stones back to Luna, your attention now on the conversation behind you, not sure you like where this is going. Clarke looks between Jackson and your mother. “What happens if we remove it?”

“We could save everyone.”

Out of the corner of your eyes, you see the others perk up and come closer, listening in on the conversation between the medical staff. Murphy is the first to butt in. “You could? So, you're saying this can still work.”

“Not without testing.”

Raven turns towards your mother, angry and incredulous. “The last guy just died, screaming in agony, and you wanna try it again?”

Clarke turns towards her, already in defense of your mother, and this experimentation. “Give us a better idea, Raven. Please.”

Murphy shrugs and gestures to the exit of the lab, “So what? We just go out there, hunt for someone else?”

Miller, whose head was down, leaning against the metal stairs listening to the chaos, lifts his head. “No one's going anywhere in this storm.”

“Then we wait for it to pass.”

Roan looks over at Murphy, refuting his argument. “When it does, there may not be anyone else to hunt for.”

“Hunting for someone else to kill.” Luna scoffs, looking everyone over. “What's the matter with you people? Even Baylis honored the dead, he wore the stones of his Rock Line ancestors. Who will honor him?”

Rock Line? You turn to her, looking confused. “Wait, Baylis was Sangedakru.”

Emori steps forward, speaking for the first time. “He was, he was also a thief. He probably stole those stones.”

Roan, now also suspicious, looks at Emori as if he doesn't believe a word she's saying. “A thief who didn't bear the mark of Sangedakru.”

Clarke looks over at you, and you can see the wheels turning in her head, before she reaches a conclusion, and turns to Emori. “That wasn't Baylis, was it?”

“Come on Clarke, that's crazy. Of course-”

She cuts Murphy off, “Who did we just kill?”

You all turn to look at the couple in shock, waiting for their answer. Instead, Emori takes off running, grabbing an IV pole and lifting it over her head, intending to smash the radiation chamber. Roan grabs her and lifts a knife to her throat, and she yells, “John, take out the machine!”

Murphy immediately tries to smash the machine, but Miller is faster than he is and pulls out his gun, pointing it at Murphy. “Don't do anything stupid, Murphy.”

Roan looks between the couple and muses, “Looks like we know who's next.”

You look at him in shock, and Clarke walks off to get two sets of flexicuffs for the couple. A few minutes later, they open the doors to the rocket and handcuff them to the stairs that lead up to the rocket door, securing them in place, while the rest of you watch on in horror. As everyone walks out of the room and the doors are closed behind you, Murphy yells, “Now you're gonna lock us up!? She was just trying to save her own life. We're not gonna touch your stupid machine, all right? Please, Clarke! You can't do this to us! You can't let them do this to us!”

As the doors securely slide shut, Raven walks over to your mother and Clarke, who are standing nearby, looking at blood samples. “Please tell me you're not actually considering putting Emori in that chamber.”

Clarke, at the very least, does look conflicted as she turns to your mom. “Mom, I don't know what else to do.”

Roan answers before she can reassure your twin, giving her a serious look. “There is nothing else to do. We all know it.”

“Abby, there has to be something that doesn't make us murderers.”

Your mom looks at Raven, who refuses to back down and allow this to go on. “Jackson and I examined every possibility, and the only thing that we know for sure, is that if we do nothing, we die.”

She lets her words sink in, and then she glances over at Luna, who is nearby, leaning against a table. As you follow her eyes over to the Nightblood, you get your first good look at her in a while. There are large, dark rings around her eyes, indicating how tired she is and how much blood has been taken from her. She’s leaning against the table because her hip, the site of the bone marrow, is hurting, leaving her in pain. Her skin is pale, and she looks terrible, clearly unable to handle much more of this. Your mom, however, doesn't seem to notice. “Jackson, prep Luna for the next extraction.”

“No.” Everyone turns to Luna in shock, not expecting the words from her. “You've taken enough.”

“Luna, it's okay, we'll sedate you.”

“I said no. I won't allow my blood to kill any more innocent people.”

Without her blood, the human race will die, killing much more innocent people in the process. But something about this situation, about torturing Emori and potentially killing her just because she lied to save herself, seems worse than condemning the human race to extinction. The moral dilemma is not lost on you, you can see how complicated the situation is, but despite barely knowing Emori, you still don't want to watch her die.

“My blood is a curse. It will, however, keep you from following me into the rain.”

Luna starts to head towards the stairs, dragging her injured leg behind her. Roan steps into her path, right at the base of the stairs, radiating power and authority. “We can't let you leave.”

Clarke echoes his sentiment, as she watches Luna with pleading eyes. “We need you, Luna.”

Luna ignores both of them, heading towards the stairs again, but Roan stops her again. “You're wounded, and I don't wanna fight you.”

“You have no choice. Remember?”

She spins and lands a kick on his chest with her good leg, sending Roan flying into a cart of medical supplies behind him. The kick hurts Luna just as much as it hurts Roan, her body struggling to hold up her weight. Roan pulls himself to his feet and stalks towards her, swinging a kick to her back that knocks her onto the ground with a loud cry of pain. He grabs her in a chokehold, putting pressure on her neck until she falls unconscious, as you all watch on in shock. Once she's knocked out, Roan lifts her into his arms and lays her onto one of the beds nearby, looking at your mom as if to say, “Here you go.”

You and Raven, the only two besides Murphy and Emori who seem to despise this, share a look with each other, equal parts shock and horror. She turns to your mom, her voice a horrified whisper, “So you're gonna strap her down and take her bone marrow? Welcome to Mount Weather.”

You feel a roll of nausea, a flash of memories coming at you. Hiding in the vent system, watching Dr. Tsing drill into one of the delinquents as he clings to his last thread of life. Bellamy hanging upside down, unwillingly healing one of the men that killed your people. Fox, bloodied and bruised, dumped into a minecart like trash, dead. Your mom strapped down, drilled into while you, Bellamy, and Clarke are faced with an impossible decision.

You shake your head, unable to stand this room for another second. Emotion pricks at your eyes and anxiety washes over you, feeling panicky at the thought of standing in this room and watching someone else die just so the rest of you can live. A decision you’ve been faced with before, but something about this is so much different. Your feet carry you out of the room, up the stairs, and to the office. You don’t realize what you're doing until your hand is reaching for the radio, already switching the channel to 4, the one you and Bellamy agreed to talk on. “Bellamy, do you read me?”

You wait for an answer, but you're met with silence. Emotion rises in you again, choking you, making your voice sound thick. “Bellamy, please tell me you’re there, I need to talk to you.”

You’re met with a long moment of silence, and you put your head down in your hands, ready to cry your eyes out. Just as the tears start to fall, Bellamy’s voice comes through the radio, sounding worried, “My natshana, are you okay?”

“No.”

A sob breaks free from you, and you let the button go, not wanting Bellamy to hear you cry. “Are you hurt? What’s wrong?”

Tears spill down your cheeks, the emotion tight in your throat, leaving you unable to speak. You sit listening to the sound of his voice, tears falling down your face as he worries. “Talk to me, please.”

“We killed someone today when we tried to test Nightblood. Bellamy, it was awful. He was coughing up blood, burns and lesions appearing all over his body as he screamed in pain. He died in complete agony, and the test didn't even work. We failed. But now…”

You trail off, thinking of watching Emori die in the same way. Then Murphy, if that doesn't work. And once they’re dead, who’s next? Who will death bring to the table next, Wanlida?

“But now what?”

“Now they think they know what went wrong, and they want to test it again.”

“On another Grounder?”

“Something like that. Emori, one of us. It’s complicated because she lied to us, and I think people are using that as a reason to justify this being okay, but Bellamy I can't do that. I can't rationalize in my head that she deserves to die just because she was trying to save her life in the first place. If this is the price of survival, it’s too high, too much. And maybe we don’t deserve it.”

He’s quiet, taking everything in, before he whispers, “Do you remember what I told you when Pike offered you that leadership position?”

“That he was right to trust me, because I don't back down when things get hard.”

“That’s right. And I always thought that I did what was right for our people, but sometimes what I thought was right, wasn't. But you, you have always done what’s right for us. Even when things are hard, you don't back down. You make the tough decisions, the right decisions, because others can’t. It sounds like this is one of those decisions.”

You think on his words, mull them over, a plan already forming in your mind. A smile spreads on your face, because Bellamy always knows exactly what to say to you. “Thank you, Bellamy.”

You hear a knock on the glass, and you look up, meeting Clarke’s eyes. She pushes the door open and tips her head down to the lab. “We’re about to start.”

“Okay.” You lift the radio, “Bellamy, I have to go.”

You hear a door slam in the background when he answers, “Looks like I do too.”

“Wait, where are you?”

He sighs, “I’ll explain later. Radio as soon as you can, same channel.”

“Copy that. I love you.”

“I love you more than the stars.”

You smile and set the radio down, pushing the chair back and standing, looking up at your twin as you do. The conflict of this decision seems to be wearing on her just as heavily, the sag in her shoulders worse that normal, a frown permanently etched onto her face. You hate to do it, but you know you need to feed into her conflict, make her doubt the plan, because if you can turn Clarke onto your side, most of the others will follow suit. You walk towards the door, squeezing her arm as you walk past, whispering, “What would dad think about all this?”

You don’t wait for her response, you just keep walking towards the stairs, shuffling down them and coming to stand at the bottom. Clarke joins you a second later, and you can see the conflict in her still, growing deeper with every passing second. Still, she presses the button to the door for the rocket and walks into the room, Miller and Roan right at her side. “It’s time.”

Murphy looks at her in a panic, “Guys, just wait, okay? Hear me out.”

Clarke nods, trying to convince him, and herself. “It'll work this time.”

Tears spring up in Emori’s eyes, and her voice is thick with tears as she insists, “Then how about we just go with that and forget the test?”

Clarke turns to Miller and nods, and the man steps forward and injects Emori with a sedative, knocking her out instantly. Murphy starts to fight, yelling with rage and emotion, “Miller! Miller, I swear to God, I'll kill y-”

Roan cuts him off by putting a knife to his throat, but he ignores it as his threats turn to begging, watching as Miller takes his love away. “Miller, please. Just look at me, man. You don't need to do this!”

“I wish that were true.”

Miller backs out of the room with Emori over his shoulder, and Roan steps away from Murphy to follow him, leaving you, Clarke, and Murphy alone. He turns on Clarke, pissed. “You don't have to do this! Who the hell do you think you are, huh?”

Her jaw is clenched tight, Murphy only aiding in her conflict. “I'm trying to save us.”

“Save us? Ah, right. Wanheda, savior of us all! But maybe you're forgetting the last time you saved us, I was saving you!”

“I'm not forgetting.”

He tries to throw his hands up in frustration, and you get a look at the blood running over them, covering the bruises that are starting to bloom on his wrists from his struggles with the cuffs. “You haven't forgotten? Then, please, you don't need to do this. Don't do it.”

Hearing Murphy beg is foreign to you, and only aids in the nausea already starting to roll through you again. You glance back and see Emori laid out in a bed, awaiting her injections. Murphy switches to anger, his emotions high and running all over the place. “You know, it's too bad that you weren't a real Nightblood, because then you could have been Commander. Imagine how many people you could've killed then. Tell me something, after you murder Emori, am I next?”

Clarke says nothing, just turns her head away from him, and you start to think that maybe he is next. Murphy may be a scumbag cockroach, but even he has his redeeming qualities, and you’re not eager to see him killed. He continues his emotional campaign with desperation, the sound of it absolutely breaking your heart. “I'm begging you, please. I love her! Don't do this!”

Clarke’s jaw shifts, trying to keep her emotions in check. “Emori will be fine.”

She turns away, already heading towards the door, walking past you on the way. The movement must have reminded Murphy of your presence because he yells at her retreating figure, “Look at me! If Emori dies...your twin dies!”

Clarke stills in place for a fraction of a second, and you look at Murphy, knowing he means it. But then she continues out the door, and Murphy turns to you, voice low and pleading. “You have to help her, I love her! I love her the way you love Bellamy, please! You can't let them kill her!”

You close the space between you, voice low and quiet. “I won't.”

And then you turn and walk out of the room, the door closing behind you. Once you step back into the lab, your eyes start cataloguing things, forming a plan. Miller and Roan are by the stairs, Raven is hovering nearby. Jackson is near the computers, your mom and Clarke are near Emori’s sleeping form. There’s a table beside her, a tray on its surface, two vials of Nightblood on the tray.

When you reach them, and everyone is accounted for, your mom reaches for the Nightblood vial, ready to inject Emori. But as soon as it's in her hand, moving towards the patient’s arm, she freezes, unable to do it. Clarke leans towards her and whispers, “Mom, we have to do this.”

“I can't.”

She turns and puts the vial back on the tray, stepping away and turning her back to Emori, unable to look at her. Clarke walks over her to comfort her, and you eye the Nightblood vials, forgotten on the tray. You glance at Jackson, who’s not paying attention, and Roan and Miller are behind you, unable to see around you. You grab the vial, hold it in your hand, and start to move towards your arm when a hand lands over your own, stopping you. You look up in surprise, meeting Clarke’s eyes, who lifts her other hand, revealing the other vial of Nightblood. She whispers, “Stronger together.”

You nod your head, and at the same time, you push the vials of Nightblood into your arm, injecting yourselves instead of Emori. Jackson says both of your names in shock, the only one to witness what you’ve done, and your mom turns around, eyes landing on the needles coming out of your arm in horror. She rushes towards both of you, but it’s too late. Each vial of Nightblood is empty, now injected into the Griffin Twins, starting the process of becoming Nightbloods.

The black blood traces a path through your veins, and you watch it track its way up your arm until it disappears beneath your sleeve. Your mother starts to cry, horrified, and the weight of what you and Clarke just did starts to hit you. It’s either you or your twin going in that chamber, and odds are high that whoever it is won’t come out again. Still, you try to use humor to diffuse the situation, locking eyes with your twin as you ask, “Aren’t twins usually the best test subjects anyways?”

Everyone waits around for two hours before Jackson motions each of you to a bed, ready to check to see if your blood has changed. He moves over to you first, drawing a vial of blood from your arm, and you watch in fascination as black liquid fills up the vial. He does the same to Clarke, and her blood is the same, no longer red like it used to be. You both look at each other and whisper, “It worked.”

Jackson puts both of your vials onto the lab table behind him, before standing in front of you again. “It’s been two hours, how do you feel?”

“Good.”

“Ready.”

You and Clarke stand, walking over to the chamber, but your mom stops in front of your path, blocking you. “I won't let either of you do it.”

Clarke puts a comforting hand on her arm. “We trust you, it’ll work.”

“Besides, you were willing to use it on Emori. Now you have to be willing to use it on us.” You turn to Jackson, nodding your head at him. “Turn it on.”

“Jackson, don’t!” Your mom looks between you, looking terrified. “If either of you go in there, you’ll die. I saw it.”

You shake your head, not understanding. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw it.”

Raven questions, “Like I saw the rocket?”

Your mom nods, but you shake your head, still not understanding what she means. Clarke is growing equally frustrated and confused, and she starts to walk towards the chamber again, reaching out for your hand to take you with her. “We're wasting time.”

As soon as your mom sees you on the move again, she freaks out. She pushes past both of you and grabs an IV pole, the same one Emori tried to use earlier, and she starts to smash the radiation chamber. You all yell at her to stop, every single one of you now collectively on the same page, but she doesn't. She smashes the glass and swings at the cables, severing them. She hits over and over until the machine is broken beyond repair, ignoring all of you yelling at her to stop. She drops the pole once she’s finished, sliding down to the floor, starting to cry.

Clarke goes over to her to comfort her, pulling your mom into her arms as she cries into Clarke’s chest. You watch on, shaking your head, more angry than anything. You turn away from the group, and head upstairs again, straight for the office. Bellamy is already calling out to you when you arrive, the sound of loud music pulsing and beating in the background. You run and grab the radio, joking as you answer, “Did you get lost at a rock concert?”

He gives you a sarcastic laugh in return, “Ha ha, no. Jasper is having an end of the world celebration party. He dragged me to the forest for jobi nuts earlier, which is where I was when you called.”

“Did he hear everything?”

“No, he was asleep in the back until I stopped the vehicle. Then he just woke up and hopped out without a word.”

“Oh.” You pause, and then joke, “Are you drinking jobi nut tea now?”

“No, never again. Though, Bree did try to get me to come dance with her.”

“Huh. Interesting.”

You feel a flash of jealousy, which Bellamy seems to sense, because he laughs, “Put your knife away, spitfire. I told her there’s only one girl in the world that I want to dance with and she’s currently stuck on an island so I’d have to decline.”

“Good.”

“Don’t think you can distract me from your earlier dilemma with your jealousy though. What happened? Is Emori alive?”

“Emori’s alive because we never tested her.”

“So you spoke up and stopped them? I knew you’d do the right thing.”

“Not exactly.”

You hear suspicion creep into his voice. “What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?”

“I mean, I injected myself with the Nightblood before they could give it to Emori and Clarke used the other vial on herself so they couldn't use that one either. But then mom got upset and said she saw a vision of us dying and she refused to let us run the tests so she smashed the radiation chamber and now there’s nothing left to do now.”

You say the words in a rush, the sentences coming out like one long word, and Bellamy calls out, “Woah, woah, woah, back up. You did what?”

“Injected myself with Nightblood.” You can hear him take in a sharp breath, and you feel a lecture coming, so you cut him off, “But you told me to do the right thing and do the hard thing, so I did!”

“That is not what I meant, and you know it.”

You can hear the scolding tone in his voice, and it makes you roll your eyes a little, his protective nature a little too protective at times. Not that you’d tell him that, because even at times like this, you appreciate it. “I know, but it doesn't matter anyways. Mom smashed the chamber so there’s no way to test it. It looks like the radiation really is going to kill us all, and we just have to accept it.”

Bellamy holds the button on his radio down to answer, but at the same time, the other radio in the Chancellor’s office comes to life, Kane’s voice frantically calling through. “Arkadia, come in, Arkadia do you copy?”

Bellamy keeps the button held down so you can faintly hear him answer, “Kane? It’s Bellamy, is everything okay? Harper told me you went to Polis.”

“We found it, Bellamy. We found the Second Dawn bunker.”

The air leaves your body in a rush, as you stare at the radio in shock. A smile comes over your face, and you laugh in disbelief, repeating the cult’s motto, “From the ashes, we will rise.”

next chapter

#the 100 #the 100 rewrite #bellamy blake #bellamy blake x reader #the 100 4x08

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8147 · 6 years

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reading hamlet for the first time (act 5: the finale)

masterlist

none of you told me it was going to be this painful . none of you.

a5s1

“Ophelia’s dead.” “Enter CLOWNS!”

Like im sure this has a different meaning in EMA but im gonna make fun of it because it’s fucking hilarious. (future (present? (now past once more (?))) antares coming back to say i did look at nfs and yeah theyre gravediggers)

“First Clown: What is he that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter? Second Clown: The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a thousand tenants.” damn not even just this one quote but these are some depressing clowns

hamlet and horatio!

okay there’s something about all of hamlet’s skull talk that makes me uneasy. like, not even the topic, just something in the words and how earnestly and (pardon my pun) gravely hamlet’s speaking about this. and it’s almost a mournful tune, too. it’s a huge difference from his “we’ll all be eaten by the same worms” speech to the point that it’s almost haunting.

“HAMLET: I will speak to this fellow.” C O N F R O N T

“HAMLET: I think it be thine, indeed; for thou liest in't.” (incomprehensible scribbling)

HAMLET, NOT IN ENGLAND: oh yeah lol he was sent to england huh u know why lmao

wait. did the. did the pirate situation get resolved. before act V.

I mean i think hamlet mentioned something about three years but the pirates are so fucking glossed over like what the fuck

“First Clown: 'Twill, a not be seen in him there; there the men are as mad as he.” HOLY SHIT ROAST THEM JFC

“HAMLET: Let me see. (Takes the skull)” THIS IS THE SKULL SCENE! I fucking KNEW it was bullshit that holding the skull was in the to be/not to be speech. I saw it being presented as such like once or twice while reading and I KNEW IT

hm okay so hamlet picks up this guys skull, of someone he used to know, and sure maybe i could ignore the “those lips i have kissed” but then he goes on to mention alexander the great and i mean come on

but jesus like i feel like im not doing justice to the stuff hamlet’s saying. just, the gravity of it all. Its kinda hitting home a bit hard bc like ive had a crippling fear of what happens after death and being forgotten etc since i was like in fourth grade and this is @ing that phobia

like, with that julius ceasar thing. “O that that earth which kept the world in awe / should patch a wall to expel the winter flaw,” it’s so strange. like, every fucking human who has lived, whether they be emperors, murderers, inventors, peasants, or philanthropists- as long as they weren’t blind, they’ve all looked at the same sky. like. It doesnt matter what the fuck you did or didn’t. It’s wild.

“First Priest: No more be done: We should profane the service of the dead To sing a requiem and such rest to her As to peace-parted souls.” hey i get that there are cultural taboos around suicide but like this guy’s a dick it isnt even clear if it was suicide, like, she was so fucking crazy she might not have even known she was, y’know, in a lake or w/e

laertes, dude, my guy. maybe jumping into a grave is cosmic foreshadowing for something you don’t want to happen to you. js.

“HAMLET: [Advancing] What is he whose grief Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow Conjures the wandering stars, and makes them stand Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I, Hamlet the Dane. (Leaps into the grave)” hamlet is NOT one to be out-extra’d (posting-antares here to say, wait, ‘whose phrase of sorrow conjures the stars? is this my aesthetic-speeches-summon-ghosts theory? probably not, but i havent mentioned it for a while)

“LAERTES: The devil take thy soul! (Grappling with him)” IN A FUCKING GRAVE. THEY ARE FIGHTING. IN A GRAVE.

all because hamlet doesn’t want to be out-extra’d. my god.

“QUEEN GERTRUDE: This is mere madness: And thus awhile the fit will work on him; Anon, as patient as the female dove, When that her golden couplets are disclosed, His silence will sit drooping.” Ah yes gertie just talk about the distraught and angry madman as if he isn’t there. that’ll diffuse the situation.

You know what? We still haven’t discussed the pirates.

a5s2

“HAMLET: So much for this, sir: now shall you see the other; You do remember all the circumstance?” If this isn’t gonna be about the pirates im gonna. scream.

“HAMLET: My fears forgetting manners, to unseal Their grand commission; where I found, Horatio,-- O royal knavery!--an exact command, Larded with many several sorts of reasons Importing Denmark's health and England's too, With, ho! such bugs and goblins in my life, That, on the supervise, no leisure bated, No, not to stay the grinding of the axe, My head should be struck off.” god, though. imagine that. being exiled to another country by the person who killed your father, only to find out that they were going to have you killed, anyways. that’s fucking terrifying. jesus christ.

Damn this idea that pretty handwriting is ~beneath~ nobles confuses me so fucking much. I got called haughty once just because my main handwriting is cursive. I mean, they were right, but their evidence was circumstantial at best.

“HAMLET: That, on the view and knowing of these contents, Without debatement further, more or less, He should the bearers put to sudden death, Not shriving-time allow'd.” Hamlet’s Revenge.

but also, what the fuck, dude. two wrongs dont make a right.

damn i kinda lost myself while reading but it really doesn’t sound like hamlet’s insane anymore. Like he’s… tempered himself. he doesn’t feel insane, just solemn.

“OSRIC: Your lordship is right welcome back to Denmark. HAMLET: I humbly thank you, sir. Dost know this water-fly?” goddamn ROAST HIM HAMLET (also what a fucking mood)

Osric put on your fucking ha--

The wind is

The wind is northerly

“HAMLET: No, believe me, 'tis very cold; the wind is northerly.” I remember someone saying that this is important

Okay here: “HAMLET: I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw.”

oh no

Osric just wear ur fucking hat u doof

“OSRIC: Exceedingly, my lord; it is very sultry,--as 'twere,--I cannot tell how. But, my lord, his majesty bade me signify to you that he has laid a great wager on your head: sir, this is the matter,-- HAMLET: I beseech you, remember-- (HAMLET moves him to put on his hat)” excuse me a WAGER

but alas all hamlet cares about is osric’s fucking hat

“HAMLET: What's his weapon? OSRIC: Rapier and dagger. HAMLET: That's two of his weapons: but, well.” hamlet u sarcastic little shit i love you

I mean so is horatio. I love him too.

This stuff with the competition is. not gonna end well. not at well.

“HAMLET: I do not think so: since he went into France, I have been in continual practise: I shall win at the odds. But thou wouldst not think how ill all's here about my heart: but it is no matter.”

hamlet no. listen to your heart or whatever. jesus christ don’t do it.

“HORATIO: Nay, good my lord,--” HAMLET LISTEN TO HORATIO

Ohhh hamlet

okay reading what laertes said, you know what? i’m giving laertes one last chance. please do not prove me a fool, laertes.

everything is giving me mad anxiety. e v e r y t h i n g.

claud’s speech is insanely sketchy

“KING CLAUDIUS: [Aside] It is the poison'd cup: it is too late.” One, so that’s why it was sketchy. Two, the POISONED CUP?

IT’S TOO LATE?

Gertie’s. Dead.

Shit, shit, shit

“LAERTES: [Aside] And yet 'tis almost 'gainst my conscience.” YES! SO PLEASE! STOP FIGHTING!

“LAERTES wounds HAMLET; then in scuffling, they change rapiers, and HAMLET wounds LAERTES.” Oh no oh no oh jeez eheu they’re hurting each other, shit, fuck,

“LAERTES: ...woodcock…”

“KING CLAUDIUS: She swounds to see them bleed. QUEEN GERTRUDE: No, no, the drink, the drink,--O my dear Hamlet,-- The drink, the drink! I am poison'd. (Dies)” one, i love how claud is desperatley trying to stick to the plan, its almost adorable in a childish sort of way. two, oh god. ohhh god. gertie.

Oh no.

this is the bloodbath. THIS IS THE BLOODBATH.

BODY COUNT: 1

“HAMLET: The point!--envenom'd too! Then, venom, to thy work. (Stabs KING CLAUDIUS)” ...

BODY COUNT: 2

wait and hamlet’s on death row, as with laertes. Oh no.

“LAERTES: He is justly served; It is a poison temper'd by himself. Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet: Mine and my father's death come not upon thee, Nor thine on me. (Dies)’ oh my god already??? I haven’t even really accepted king claud’s death?? jesus christ??

My friend just sorta nudged me and asked if i was alright and i. I’m not. i’m in shock. goddamn. what?

BODY COUNT: 3

goodness thats three in like less than thirty seconds JESUS CHRIST

“HAMLET: Heaven make thee free of it! I follow thee.I am dead, Horatio.” that’s chilling. just, the poignancy. that’s so fucking spectral. i’m not okay.

“HORATIO: Never believe it: I am more an antique Roman than a Dane: Here's yet some liquor left.” No no no on no nononon NO NO oh my god are you going to-

“HAMLET: As thou'rt a man, Give me the cup: let go; by heaven, I'll have't. … If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart Absent thee from felicity awhile, And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, To tell my story.” hey i’m crying in study hall. i’m actually crying. what the fuck. I don’t cry unless i’m thinking about that one pair of 18th century shoes with the really good photo quality (transcribing-antares here. I fucking love those shoes. I’m looking at them right now and they’re so fucking beautiful. they look how velvet feels, which is odd, bc they're apparently silk. I don’t care they’re just so fucking lovely)

F O R T I N B R A S?

“HAMLET: O, I die, Horatio; The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit.” I’ve identified my emotion. Dread. pure, unadulterated Dread.

for all of you that’ve listened to the penumbra podcast: do you remember the concierge, right before final resting place, saying “you do realize you can just like, leave, and everything will be hunky dory and you won’t have to deal with the emotional consequences this episode will bring you” because i’m seriously considering doing that right now.

“HAMLET: The rest is silence. (Dies)” shit. (posting-antares here to say that i forgot to do the body count but honestly im crying while formating because of this goddamn fucking 400 year old play)

“HORATIO: Now cracks a noble heart. Good night sweet prince…” oh god. horatio.

“Good night sweet prince…”

(yet again tis transcribing-antares here to say that im fucking sobbing right now, the shoes are no match for this, and ‘goodnight sweet prince’ is actually never going to leave my head.) (editing-antares here to say im fucking crying again god fucking damn it) (posting-antares back again saying that this fucking line. this line. my god.)

“HORATIO: What is it ye would see? If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search.” oh, horatio. god. that isn’t something said without tears staining your skin and a bitter tone hard-won, not that its possession is a victory.

oh my god. this can’t. no. this can’t end like this. What. no. people must have rioted. No. no!!

i typically hate it but i would GLADLY accept a deus ex machina right about now!!

okay my friend just took my phone away from me and shut it off because i kept on trying to scroll past the end

jesus christ

okay so i’m not going to be okay for like, several eternities, so im going to play the sims until i. until i die, probably. my god.

masterlist

#shush antares #antares reads hamlet #thE PIRATES WERE NEVER ADDRESSED #also im crying but im STILL ANGRY #mostly in shock tho

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tiasgarden · 6 years

Text

Waking up.

Prompt: What if mike was in the convenience store visiting his cousin ( store manager) when El , Kali and the gang were there?

Mike’s POV

It was a cold blustery November afternoon, and I was in Chicago visiting my cousin Nate.

My mom wanted me to, spend more time with my cousins since I rarely saw them since they were much older than me. My mom had paid for me to come out here for the next two days just to see the place my cousin worked. I wasn’t too thrilled, being that there was a campaign this weekend and now it had to be rescheduled. Today was my first full day in Chicago. Yesterday I had ridden in on a train from Hawkins , and didn’t get in till late.

Today I was helping Nate at the store, for no pay. Yes, I wasn’t an employee of his BUT I'm his cousin so that counts for something right?. well, it didn’t, cause I was working a full day, but getting paid nothing. I had to sweep and even do the bathroom, like how gross is that. However, it did have its perks, being a wheeler. Nate let me eat whatever snacks I wanted from the store no charge. I also was allowed to take snacks back to Hawkins for free. SO I guess that was the only perk.

“ Hey Mike, would you mind watching the cash register? , I have to go do some sorting in the back for a bit. “ Nate said as he handed me the instructions. I nodded and he went back to the sorting room. It felt weird, being in a whole convenience store and being in charge for a bit. There was a little anxiety inside of me but mostly excitement. I was going to get the experience I needed if I wanted to ever own a store. The first lady I check out has a little boy with her. She is buying some snacks for her son’s birthday party. He looks up at me with the widest smile I had ever seen. I grab a lollipop from behind the counter and hand it to him.

“ Here you go buddy! I hope you have an amazing birthday” I say smiling at him and his mom. They soon leave but not without a huge thank you. After them, a few other people came in, some nice and some in a mood. It had only been 30 minutes into the hour, but it felt like I had seen 20+ people. I was just about to finish a crossword puzzle in the newspaper when 5 people walked in. They all looked punk rock, and I said hello, but no reply. They went in fast and through the aisles slowly. I saw them each pick out food that they wanted to take to eat. One girl who had slicked back hair went for eggos. The way she had grabbed 4 boxes in a matter of seconds made me think she was being starved.

Flashback

“ got you breakfast,” I said while handing the girl a eggo.

She hesitantly took a bite. The look on her face looked like she tolerated it.

“ So listen this is going to sound a little weird, but I just need you to go out there, then go to the front door and ring the doorbell. My mom will answer and you’ll tell her you're lost and that you need help, BUT whatever you do you cant tell her about last night or that you know me, understand” I say with reassurance. I told her that we would just pretend to meet again and things would be okay. The girl who I can't think of the name nodded and said “ No” while taking another bite of her eggo.

flashback over

Something about that girl with the slicked back hair seemed slightly familiar, but I couldn’t think of what it was.

Meanwhile, the girl with a half shaved head and black long hair saw me staring. “ Hey look, kid, we don’t want no trouble, but we just need a few things,” she said while talking in a mysterious tone. She had in her hands two apples. Slowly I saw her grab a gun from the back of her pocket out of the corner of my eye. She slowly starts to bring it up to me.

“Hey listen, mam, I don’t want any problems either. Please lower your guns and put away anything you aren’t going to pay for” I say in a serious tone.

The girl soon asked” who are you anyway, isn’t Nate the owner of this store, you are kind of making this escape too easy” she says laughing.

“ I am Mike , Mike Wheeler, and I want to help you, just let me pay for a few of your things at least. “ I say in a desperate tone.

EL’s POV

“ I want to help you”, I looked over at the boy behind the counter while holding my eggos in one arm. In that moment my mind sensed something, something familiar about this young man.

Flashback

“ what were we supposed to do leave her in the rain Lucas?” I hear the boy say as he has his arm around me. I see bikes being parked and being in Indiana.

“ uh yes, we went out to find will not, a girl, look at her she looks extremely sketchy,” one of the other boys says.

“ does not, she looks afraid and lost, I want to help her, I will help her,” the first boy says while his arm is around me, opening the basement door before going inside.

Flashback over

I wonder why I just thought of those boys, who I barely remember because this boy had nothing to do with that situation.

“ You let us go without telling Nate and we spare your life, sound like a deal?” Kali says as she raises the gun to his chest. She is still standing a bit away from him but, slowly moves closer.

“ Please let me help you, there must be someone you can contact to help you pay for these “ he pleads as he slowly faces the fact that in seconds he could be dead. Then I see him turn to me. His brown eyes meet mine. “ Please, how about you?, please can you let me pay for the eggos ,I just want to help you”, he says slowly reaching out his hand hoping for mine in return. I then look down and slowly walk past him and over to Kali. As much as this boy seemed to have good intentions, I didn’t know him and he didn’t know me.

Then Kali whispers in my hear” Good Job Jane, good job” and I just shrug, hoping I made the right choice for me, for once I hoped I made a good choice. Once I was by her side the rest of the gang members came over. They stood behind us. Kali now held the gun up to Mike, just a tad lower than his chest.

“ any last words Mike?, “ Kali says only seconds before pulling the trigger.

He doesn’t even get to say anything before the bullet goes straight for his lower abdomen. He falls, blood pouring out.He is unable to get up, and his face shows that he is in a horrible pain.

Kali then signals for us to move now with our food. Though I am frozen in fear. My legs won’t move. Tears pricked my eyes as I look at him, my eyes finally meeting his. I stare at them. I then slowly go into his mind. He is thinking about his family and his friends. They all seemed so kind. But then this girl popped into his mind. She also had brown eyes and a shaved head. She looked a lot like herself, but she knew it couldn’t be her.

I soon got out of his mind and decided I couldn’t just leave him. I would regret it if I left him here to die. I drop all my eggos and go to his side.

Kali called me, but I said no multiple times and then they left me with him.

I sat by Mike, moving his head onto my legs I then take off my arm bandanas and put them on his wound.

“it's going to be okay, I will call the police and get help. “ I tell him before getting the phone with one simple levitation. I slowly tell them what happened, that the cashier Mike had been hurt and how a gang had gotten away. i then notice tears forming in my eyes.

“ I just um, wanted to say I’m sorry, for not taking the help you offered,” I say looking at him.

“ it is just that, I’ve always fended for myself, I mean at first I liked being with the gang, I didn’t feel alone, but today it’s over. I know I am better off alone than with horrible people who kill for fun” I say tears now rushing down my face.

Before we knew it the ambulance arrived. I was still holding onto his hand. He gave me a squeeze. “ Thank you and I’m so sorry you felt alone, you sound like a very strong and capable girl, that deserves better friends,” he tells me while giving me a small smile.

I gave him a smile back. In all my years, maybe I had gotten the meaning of friend wrong. I just assumed that a friend was someone who you did everything with, including killing. In the past, few months I had killed a bunch. A lot of the victims were probably good people as well. But Kali convinced me to because I had been abused so much in my earlier years.

But hearing Mike say those words to me, made me realize that a friend shouldn’t manipulate you. They should be there for you and listen to you and your feelings. That he was right, I was better than this and that I needed a clean start.

“ Hey Mike, um I don’t actually now have anywhere to go, do you know of a shelter or just somewhere safe where I could lay low for a bit.” I asked, not wanting to ask for much.

“ Oh and by the way, my name is Jane, Jane Ives.” I say to him while the paramedics take him onto a stretcher. I then slowly released my hand from his, when he grabbed it right back. “ come with me, you’re the only one who knows what happened” he says. I then look at the paramedics and they say I can go since they assume i was his “friend”. I slowly go in and sit on the small bench next to him as they close the door.

I slowly take back his hand in mine. While looking down at Mike who is now sleeping. I ask myself the following questions. Why do I suddenly feel like he needs MY help?. And more importantly, why does he seem so familiar.

TBC….

#eliza rants #mike and eleven #mileven #stranger things #mike wheeler #eleven #mileven fanfic #mike x eleven

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ephillipsresearch · 4 years

Text

Places of the mind – British Watercolour Landscapes 1850-1950 Kim Sloan Notes

-Victorian and early modern painters attempt to convey the emotional and spiritual impact of place rather than just their physical properties. Artists of the later 19th and early 20th c developed these traditions to include personal responses to cultural and social upheavals of the time. 1923 William Russel Flint’s ‘moral doctrine’ for watercolour painters after Thomas Kempis’ ‘In Praise of Watercolour’

See distinctly. Compose devoutly. Sigh deeply. Suffer patiently the wind that blows, The cold that freezes, the sun that burns, And the model that arriveth not. Work swiftly. Work thoughtfully. Paint no stroke hastily Prevent your speech discreetly Temptations resist strongly Lest you alter foolishly Use water plentifully Your colours generously And your brushes charitably Observe the rain cloud lovingly Protect your picture thoroughly Pack your kit hurriedly Stably grounded in humility Return the next day meekly

Kempis makes the activity comparable to a religious experience in which the painter is silent, humble and withdrawn from society. Other artists shared this view, noting the importance of patient study, avoiding temptation of tricks and shortcuts, the humility to abandon a work and start again, and the immersion of the self in nature. Similar language is used by Paul Nash and his contemporaries to describe watercolour painting and the ‘religious reverence for nature’ this was a big motif in the writing of John Ruskin - Running parallel was growing popularity of Japanese watercolours as they were collected and made available by the British Museum in 1880s which tied watercolour painting with poetry and calligraphy as the highest forms of expression and spiritual quest. -From 1880 the art market grew and attracted middle class buyers to private galleries that placed the works in a higher position. Popular paintings conformed to a new visual aesthetic that represented a certain version of Englishness (rural, idealistic) Critics like Frrederick Wedmore, Ds Macoll and Elizabeth Robins (the so called ‘new critics’), who promoted the French impressionists favoured the less ‘complete’ painting style – sketchy, un-laboured with loose washes and diluted colour. Whistler popularised this style with his works depicting the Thames, Hastings, the Channel Islands, St Ives and Holland which he displayed in smaller independent galleries, creating a controversial public reaction and challenged ideas of what kind of watercolours could be displayed and what a watercolour could be. This so called ‘golden age of watercolour is said to have ended with the death of Turner. - During later 19th/early 20th c, British values lied in commerce, where art had no real value and was often seen merely as a hobby (particularly landscape which was discouraged by the RA for their feminine and amateur connotations) – Were Flint and Nash perhaps searching for a new ‘moral doctrine’ to justify arts place in society? -The tradition of British watercolour painting, having died with the Victorians means modern watercolour painters have been brushed aside in favour of the avant garde and treated as irrelevant in the narrative progression of British art. - eg work of artists like William Simpson labelled as a topographical reporter, dismissed as uncomfortable reminders Britain’s imperial past despite their beauty and technical mastery. -Towards the late 19th century the notion of the ‘south country’ became the desired lifestyle and aesthetic: a thatched cottage in rural landscape with large gardens amid rolling hills. This was no longer the home of the workman, cottage life was now sought after by wealthy city dwellers. Interest in nature increased with the establishment of the national trust and other preservation societies, and the growing popularity of cycling and rambling- the middle classes were lured out to the countryside for a healthier life (gardening became more common in landscapes, strengthening the association of the countryside with good health, but inciting controversy over images of women labouring in fields.) There is no reference in these paintings to the agricultural recession that took place in the late 1890’s which left hundreds of acres of farmland unattended – sustaining the myth of rural life took precedent over social reality and artists like George Clausen increasingly painted unidentifiable landscapes, dream like renderings of rural utopia. -The appeal of living in an old English cottage and a village way of life with all the newest amenities was the early inspiration for the building of Letchworth garden city and what became a movement of garden city and ‘new towns’ conceived by Ebenezer Howard, with cottage style housing close to London -For many artists, drawing for pleasure eradicated the need to conform to standards of taste or technique in fashion , allowing them to experiment in their attempts to achieve the ‘sense of place’ or ‘places of the mind’ , resulting in great number of private works that stood outside the commercial art world. -The watercolours of Philip Wilson steer, part of the London impressionist group show the growing discourse about Englishness and the British landscape: Steer was influenced by the traditional Turner, Constable, style for its romantic nostalgia. They presented a sentimental view of the unsullied countryside – this nostalgic vision was part of a wider anti-urban and cultural concern with the English countryside. -The association of Steers watercolours with national identity fed into a specific discourse which associated the transparent or ‘true’ watercolour painting with Englishness, with the particular suitability of the medium for capturing the English weather -In the 1930s, artists questioned traditional practice but continued to use the south country motif to experiment with abstract forms and new ways of evoking sense of place -Motoring and the wider surrealist movement had an impact on artists such as Paul Nash and Ralph Maynard Smith – the experience of seeing images fractured in space at high speed through unfamiliar landscapes having triggered more imaginary, surrealist compositions, taking biomorphic forms and re arranging them unconsciously to create bizarre new landscapes, sometimes from collected natural detritus. -Growth in tourism in the West Country and development of rail travel benefited artists and gave a new context to these works which were often bought as souvenirs, and appeared so frequently in galleries that the constructed image of West Country’s most desirable features was emphasised to the point of being unrealistic. The conceptual image of the far west became associated with recreation and pleasure, an anti-dote to working life with a placid, contented population – entirely separate from the modern industrialised urban England. - This masked the reality of economic hardship with agricultural recession, collapse of the mining industry and subsequent declining population (almost halved between 1841 and 1911. -Painters like George Lewis and Samuel Palmer disregarded topographic accuracy and in the new age of photography made more suggestive works concerned with mood and exploration of texture and composition. With the rise of Cubism more artists paid attention to design process over place. -Tension between physical and geographical landscape- not every watercolour is enriched by scrupulous attention to subject however showing an awareness of the wider issues can be more rewarding.

-From the 1930’s – fear that the intrinsic English identity of the pastoral was being destroyed by transport networks, heavy industry and suburbanization: inspired recording Britain under Clarke, William Russel Flint and Percy Jowett – 1549 works, 97 artists, covering 32 counties in England and Wales. Work began ahead of Ariel bombardment. The war was largely absent from these paintings, prioritising ‘fine tracts of landscape that are likely to be spoiled by building developments or factories, ‘towns and villages where old buildings are about to be torn down’ ‘parish churches’ and ‘country parks’. - 1942, John Farleigh a contributing artist admitted public appetite for these subjects were diminishing in favour of ‘beautiful buildings to be handed down as a guide to the future generations of the beauty that always wins’ -The picturesque, said to be Britain’s greatest contribution to European art, had to be newly interpreted to accommodate the modern world =, evolving different norms of beauty. After ww2 an aesthetic that represented the ‘authentic landscape of modern England’ was advocated instead.

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itsworn · 6 years

Text

Street Beast Big-Block–Powered 1967 Chevelle

You might forget a birthday. You might forget your third girlfriend’s name. You might even forget what you had for breakfast yesterday. But you’ll never forget the day you were sucked into the car thing and trapped in it like a beast in a tar pit.

Mark Young’s slow, inevitable ascent up the chain didn’t begin on concrete or asphalt. His feet were in the dirt, every Friday night in Chesterfield, Virginia, at Southside Speedway, the fecund short-track in his home burg. When he was 17 he’d had enough of the prosaic, he pulled stakes and went where the money was, in the north, to Chicago.

Seven years in he quit the car scene, married Jenny and they had a couple of kids. As his oldest son came of age, the kinship was undeniable; Mark rejoined the mystical ranks. Along about 1997, he was working alongside someone who had a 1967 Chevelle SS equipped with the juice lifter L35 that mustered 325 horsepower.

Mark lusted openly. “I told him all the time how much I liked it. I would visit him, you know, just to see the car. I kept at it. Three years later, he sold it to me and shortly after that, he decided to move. My wife and I bought his house. It had a 30×36 garage, but more important, it was heated. A new chapter in my life started.”

The Chevelle had been someone’s twist for a long time, so long that no one could remember the original painter or what paint was used (it looks pretty black to us). In its early life, it had suffered a frame-on resto that included replacing sketchy floorpans. Lately, though, Mark performed a body-off stint, mainly to rehab the chassis. JJ Powdercoat in Zion, Illinois, preserved it with Monarch Black semi-gloss. Mark counts a few close friends as co-conspirators; they poured in two years of grunts, curses, cases of beer, likely stentorious aromatherapy (from all that beer), and fun until it was well enough to drive.

Mark was after a combination: old-school looks and styling cues clapped with a bigger big-block orchestrated by modern fuel delivery. The engine’s a forged “crate” short-block built by BluePrint Engines. Opel Engineering, a local enterprise, staged the headers, camshaft, intake manifold, and ignition. The goal was a fat, unctuous torque curve, nearly 540 lb-ft of it all in at a piddling 2,800 rpm. To complement, the Doug’s primary tubes are undersize (for this displacement) at 1 3/4 inches and provide a modicum of backpressure.

Rather than a fool’s carburetor, Mark would mark time with a FAST XFI 2.0 system driving eight individual fuel injectors. He’d bridge the oval-port Edelbrock cylinder heads by a Victor Jr. intake plate and, to keep the appearance original with a fullsize air cleaner, he fixed a mass air meter to the Victor where a carburetor would normally go. Anyway, more horsepower and grunt than Mark really needs is absorbed by a Turbo 400 fronting a Saturday Night Special converter with a 2,800-stall speed. The 9-inch carries a 3.70 gear and 31-spline axleshafts. To think about this tire-squalling bad boy tends to raise hair in sensitive places.

Setting up the chassis was a breeze. Mark didn’t feel the need for tubular stuff or hydroformed anything. His Chevelle was gonna make it in a straight line. His concession up front was limited to QA1 adjustable dampers. In back, he got more adventuresome: QA1 adjustables working with Hotchkis upper and lower control arms. He put 12-inch rotors and four-piston clampers at each corner squeezed by the OE master cylinder.

Then he blasted his A-body right back to the day; old-school cues that work, gathered the signature around wheels with a 15-inch diameter. Weld hoops with modest 7- and 8-inch stretch, as they would have been yesteryear, capture tall 60-series 235 and 275 aspect Mickey Thompson treads. Hey Mark, thanks for not even thinking about the S/S or Americans cliché; the forged Welds frame your Chevelle right.

So, yeah, the project is really one from the archives, one that began long before Mark picked it. He knew that it had a frame-on resto somewhere along the line but really nothing more than that had been done in 1993. Two years ago, when Mark embarked on the project, the quality of the work was still stand-up, so he was free to concentrate on the customizing cues.

For the interior, he saw no reason to go beyond the original theme, tapping YearOne for the bucket seats, Classic Dash for the slick dashboard insert, and the array of AutoMeter Phantom dials. That good-looking SS steering wheel is original, too. Everything else is reproduction stuff or original.

From all indications, Mark’s old A-body is an absolute gold magnet. At shows. “All together,” he crowed, “I have collected 23 trophies—eight from the Chevy-Vette Fest and six from the World of Wheels in Chicago, and nine trophies from around town. I plan to retire in five years and this Chevelle will be driven daily so long as weather permits.” Mark, after listening to you and your oil burner habit, we think you’d drive it in a rainstorm if the mood struck. CHP

Tech Check Owner: Mark Young, Streamwood, Illinois Vehicle: 1967 Chevelle SS Engine Type: Mark IV Displacement: 496 ci Compression Ratio: 10.8:1 Bore: 4.310 inches Stroke: 4.250 inches Cylinder Heads: Edelbrock RPM 454-0, 110cc combustion chambers, 2.19/1.88 valves Rotating Assembly: Scat steel crankshaft, forged H-beam rods, forged flat-top pistons Valvetrain: Comp 1.7:1 rocker arms, roller lifters, 3/8-inch pushrods, Comp springs Camshaft: Comp Xtreme Energy (0.560/0.580-inch lift; 300/306-deg. duration at 0.050), Proform rocker covers Induction: Victor Jr. intake manifold, FAST EFI, mass air meter, Proform air cleaner, 22-gal. Holley Sniper EFI tank Ignition: FAST XFI 2.0 controller, MSD Pro-Billet distributor, Blaster coil, MSD 8.5 primary wires Exhaust: Doug’s headers, 1 3/4-inch primaries, 3-inch collector; 2 1/2-inch stainless system, Flowmaster mufflers Ancillaries: Edelbrock water pump, Be Cool four-core radiator, Powermaster 110-amp alternator, Billet Specialties accessory drive, YearOne pedal assemblies Machine Work: BluePrint Engines (Kearney, NE) Built By: Short-block by BluePrint Engines; heads, cam, intake system, ignition coordinated by Ted at Opel Engineering (Streamwood, IL) Output: 543 hp at 5,500 rpm, 538 lb-ft at 2,800 rpm Drivetrain Transmission: Turbo 400, TCI flexplate and 2,800-stall converter, assembled by Higgins Transmission (Elk Grove, IL) Rear Axle: Currie 9-inch, 3.73:1 gears, 31-spline axles, 3.0×0.083-inch chromoly driveshaft w/ 1350 U-joints Chassis Front Suspension: OE, QA1 adjustable shocks Rear Suspension: Hotchkis upper and lower control arms, QA1 adjustable shocks Brakes: Right Stuff 12-inch rotors, four-piston calipers, front and rear; OE master cylinder Wheels & Tires Wheels: Weld Weldstar 15×7 front, 15×8 rear Tires: Mickey Thompson Sportsman S/R 235/60 front, ET Street 275/60 rear Interior Upholstery: YearOne Material: Vinyl Seats: YearOne Steering: OE column, OE wheel Shifter: Hurst Quarter Stick Dash: Original w/ Classic Dash insert Instrumentation: AutoMeter Phantom Audio: Ken Harrison head unit, 6-inch MTX front speakers HVAC: Windows down Exterior Bodywork: N/A, floorpans replaced Paint By: N/A Paint: N/A Hood: OE SS Grille: Parts Place Bumpers: OE

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