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fuckyeahgoodomens · 3 months

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The Good Omens Musical Masterpost🎵❤

How it started :)

Some time before 2013: Vicki Larnach, the australian composer and lyricist, read the Good Omens book, imagined figures dancing on stage with brilliant music and thought, ‘Ah, I’m gonna ask Terry Pratchet and Neil Gaiman if I can turn it into a musical.’ and sent an email to the publishers. The next day she got an email saying, ‘We don’t want a musical but Terry’s coming to Australia, so come and say hello and tell us what you got.’

Rob Wilkins came down to meet Vicki and Jim Hare - Vicki's husband and writer - and took them to meet Terry. They spent an hour and a half with them where Terry asked ‘piercing questions’, had tea with them and they showed Terry a song that Vicki wrote (about the Chattering Nuns). Terry said to Rob, ‘Rob, write and email to Neil, “Dear Neil, this is Terry. I’m sitting in front of two hippies from Sydney and they want to make a musical out of Good Omens and I’m tempted to let them do it.”’ which was the best email they ever heard and then Terry said, ‘Okay, you have me curious.’ - it was because of the Nuns song which sounded like the book. ‘I’m gonna give you six months, come back with a first draft libretto and five songs.’

They then sent it to Terry who sent it to Neil. Terry said, ‘I really like it, you’re moving story, you’re doing all the right things, but where’s showstopper, where’s the toe-tapper, you know I need people to go to intermission just snapping their fingers with the song they just can’t get out of their head, and I haven’t heard that.’ - and they realized that they were so busy serving the story they forgot to do the wow-factor, but found it very encouraging from Terry that he wanted to make it better.

They went through the whole book again to find a centrepiece - and they found it when Warlock is growing up and Aziraphale and Crowley are with him, and spent months working just on that one thing and called ‘All Living Things’ [the song at the start of this post :)] which is a line from the book.*’ Terry gave that song to a person he knew and asked him to play it to his wife with no context and when the next day the person said that his wife woke up still singing the song Terry said to Vicki and Jim: ‘Well, that’s what I asked you to do.’

* [“This here’s Brother Slug,” the gardener would tell him, “and this tiny little critter is Sister Potato Weevil. Remember, Warlock, as you walk your way through the highways and byways of life’s rich and fulsome path, to have love and reverence for all living things.” “Nanny says that wivving fings is fit onwy to be gwound under my heels, Mr. Fwancis,” said little Warlock, stroking Brother Slug, and then wiping his hand conscientiously on his Kermit the Frog overall.]

Vicki and Jim got the permission to being adapting it as a musical in 2013.

Vicki and Jim on it a couple of years ‘fumbling about’, took it as far as they could and decided to bring another person into it: Jay-James Moody

In 2015, Jay James-Moody joined the collaboration initially as a dramaturge and directorial eye, eventually evolving into co-book writer. Vicki, James and Jay have continued to evolve through countless more revisions and a number of private development readings with the support, time and talent of numerous wonderful Australian performers testing the material.

In November 2017, the musical was presented in its then-current form and entirety for the first time before an audience of over 500 eager attendees. The cast included Luke Joslin, Lachlan O’Brien, Nancye Hayes, Barry Quin, Brett O’Neill, Lauren McKenna, Nicholas Craddock, Paul Capsis, Rob Johnson, Amy Lehpamer, Debora Krizak, Blake Erickson, Nat Jobe, Ana Maria Belo, Jordan Hare, Bella Thomas, Anthony Abrakmanov and Samson Hyland.

Following a rapturous response to this reading it continued to be refined and developed.

In 2019, ten days before the show came out they did their last presentation, since then they’ve been to London and shown a videotape of that workshop to Neil and Rob which was ‘a pretty heartstopping experience’ but both Neil and Rob were ‘so lovely and very generous with their time’ and they were showing it to them and in the intermission Neil said ‘I wish Terry could have seen this.’ (see here :))

Differences between the musical and the book

The ending of the musical is a bit different, they were worried about it but Neil said, ‘I totally understand, the ending of the TV series is different, because I had something that was book-shaped and I needed to make it TV-shaped. And you had something that was book-shaped and you needed to make it stage-shaped.’

It opens with the burning of Agnes Nutter and Aziraphale and Crowley are introduced there.

Act One ends with them ‘essentially breaking up’ because of a huge argument and they dissolve their friendship, Act Two starts with the first time they meet.

The Future?

What is the future for the musical: in 2021 they said that they need to work on some things and then they hope to do another run, initially in Australia.

There will be a CD of the soundtrack available when the show is produced in it’s full version.

Videos

Vicki, Jim and Jay talking 46min about the musical (this video was shown at the Ineffable Con 3 in 2021 :))

Sizzle Reel 6min

Anathema singing The Perfect Place

Crowley calling Dagon to check on the hellhound

Shadwell and Newt

Aziraphale vanishing Hastur 👀

Links

Webpage

Instagram - a lot of more bts videos and pics :)

How to support?

Subsribe to the instagram page and like and comment that you want the musical on posts :)❤. If you want to be a sponsor or donor, there is contact on their webpage.

#good omens #good omens musical #musical #masterposts #terry pratchett #neil gaiman #fun fact #:)

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eruden-writes · 8 months

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Room & Board - Part 18

Anonymous asked:

For the prompt submissions a vampire that feels guilty after feeding/attacking someone so they leave obscenely valuable ancient artifacts as payment/an apology?

Links under cut!

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The shock of the run-in with Lachlan runs out by the time the three of you get home, the sun already beginning to set. Not even five minutes through the door, your brain is already churning with ideas, ways to fight back, ways to save Tabaeus. As you kick off your shoes and stride further into the living room, turning on lights, you turn to your two companions, “Alright, he gave us a day. We should plan what to do.”

“What do you mean?” Ewan shoots you a curious look as he flops down on the couch. There’s something wilted about his posture, as if he was a dog exhaustedly returning home after being dumped elsewhere.

Eager to get planning, your feet propel you into a back and forth pace as your hands gesticulate. “We could booby trap the house. If it’s all anti-vampire stuff, Tabaeus would need to stay somewhere safe, but-”

“No. There’s no way to defeat Lachlan.” Tabaeus suddenly steps between you and Ewan, casting a desperate expression between the two of you. Their movement has halted your pacing.

Your eyebrows furrow, confusion dampening your verve as your hands fall to yoru sides. “But-”

“There is no way,” Tabaeus hisses, that desperation in their eyes tinged with miserable fear. Their pointed ears droop a little as they step away, turning their back on you and Ewan. Removing his hat and setting it on a nearby hat rack, Tabaeus’s voice softens and cracks, “He always finds me, always drags me back.”

Ewan sits a little straighter, his concern piquing. You and the werewolf share a worried look, but say nothing. With the appearance of Lachlan, you’re not surprised that memories have finally triggered in Tabaeus.

Lachlan had been… a lot to take in. Intimidating and powerful, affecting a whole library with some sort of enthrallment. An icy sort of vileness in his movements and words. The promise of danger.

But you and Ewan don’t have the experience, the traumatic memories, that Tabaeus undoubtedly holds in reference to the other vampire. It’s a bit disheartening that, after so long trying to figure out Tabaeus’s amnesia, Lachlan is there to sully the recollections.

“What did he mean by punishments?” The words come out of you before you can consider them. Tabaeus’s back stiffens at the question, but they remain turned away. Licking your lips, you take a step forward and softly push, “Tabaeus?”

At the creak of the floorboard beneath your foot, the vampire half-turns to you. They don’t look at you and you get the feeling they can’t bring their gaze to you. Too ashamed or miserable to catch your eye.

After a long moment, Tabaeus sighs and turns around fully. “He killed Kieran and… others. The ones I sheltered with in all of my escape attempts.”

Conflict scrunches Tabaeus’s features further as their hand presses to their own chest. “If the people I am with have other ideas that could be construed as a punishment, Lachlan sits back and observes.”

Your lips thin, eyes narrow as you remember the autopsy scars marring Tabaeus’s torso. You don’t want to imagine what other torture Lachlan sat back and watched. It’s hard not to let your brain feed you awful scenarios.

“There has to be some way,” you say with soft earnestness as you touch Tabaeus’s arm. Their attention flicks to you, quick as a flinch, and your eyes flick over their face, tallying all the anguish crimping their features.

“No, nothing.” Shaking their head, Tabaeus dislodges your touch gently. They swallow heavily again, fighting down discomfort to continue speaking, “I suspect Lachlan can track me, hear me. Peek into where I am at. If not him, then others perhaps.”

Ewan has pushed himself off the couch by now and stands behind you, dallying at the edges of whatever is happening between you and Tabaeus. But at Tabaeus’s words, he presses, “Others?”

“Anyone who has used my… services.” The words sound bitter on Tabaeus’s lips, mixed with shame and frustration.

“For memories?” You’re still not entirely sure what that meant. The worrier in you thinks it’s something sexual or perhaps meant for a litany of experiences. Like a sex worker that will allow anything to happen to them, despite how they feel about it and despite little compensation. But you don’t think that’s all there is to it, even if a lot of vampire media loves the thought of bloodsucking debauchery and parties.

“Yes,” Tabaeus hisses, their lips puckering and eyes narrowing. “For memories.”

Lachlan had said something about making the memory of himself fresh in Tabaeus’s head, before they did a forced feeding. Something clanks in your thoughts, trying to piece together the meaning. Whenever Tabaeus fed on you, you saw things, hadn’t you? And there were moments where Tabaeus didn’t seem like themselves.

Did Lachlan mean that Tabaeus was used for memories in a more literal way?

“What does that mean exactly?” Ewan voices the question your brain suddenly churns over. He’s hovering behind your shoulder, his body heat warm. There’s a tingle along your back, as if you can feel the werewolf’s own anxiety.

“I am a vampire created to store the memories of other vampires.” Even as they answer, Tabaeus doesn’t bring their red eyes to your face or toward Ewan. They speak slowly, picking their words carefully as they explain something that, hours earlier, even they knew nothing about. “A receptacle for others to deposit or withdraw memories as they wish. As such, I am not supposed to make memories of my own, so they may utilize me to the fullest potential.”

Their explanation dips further into bitterness and frustration the longer they speak. Grim lines crease the corner of Tabaeus’s mouth.

“Why would they need that?” Ewan presses, eyebrows furrowed with confusion.

“Our brains are not meant to store centuries or millennia of memories," they explain, pressing fingers to their temple. As if the explanation causes some deep-seeded pain. “Remembrances deteriorate over time. Well, unless a coven has a Memory Keeper.”

Ewan voices the outrage that you feel, “Then let them make another Memory Keeper!”

“According to Lachlan’s memories, I am one of the last. He was not even my original owner,” they say, disgust radiating over the last word. “Ironic, the skills and ritual meant to create one of my own has faded from recollection.”

Driven by the unfairness of it all, you take a step closer and reach out to the vampire. “But we still have to try and stop-”

Before you can touch Tabaeus, they grab your hand in both of theirs. They clasp it tightly, the cool of their palms an unwanted balm against the heat of your adrenaline and determination. The fact Tabaeus is finally looking at you is a small consolation.

“Amata, I care for you. I love you. I do not want to risk you suffering Lachlan’s wrath.” The words come out rushed and watery as they give your hand a squeeze. Your heart stutters at their declaration, your mouth opening to say something but no words come. Their red eyes flicker to Ewan, continuing the earnest and pained timbre as they add, “Nor do I want that to happen to you. A werewolf would be tortured far worse than a human.”

A glance at Ewan tells you he agrees with Tabaeus’s words, his shoulders slumped and a discontented frown on their lips. From the way he holds himself, you can almost imagine wolfish ears drooping down and a sad sagging tail. Despite all this, Ewan quietly asks, “Then what do we do?”

“I will get my things in order and comply with Lachlan. It is the only way I can be sure neither of you are harmed.”

You can see where Tabaeus thinks the situation is unwinnable. A vile master of sorts that may be able to track or see through Tabaeus’s own eyes. If not Lachlan, perhaps others. Which made the situation worse, since even if they dispatched one enemy, more may come in their place. That wasn’t even considering the actual experience Tabaeus has.

However, you can’t help but want to fight. Rolling over and just letting Lachlan take Tabaeus sours your stomach. “But-”

“Please, this is hard enough as it is.” “Do not fight me on this. I do not wish to enthrall you and wipe your mind of me, but I will if I must.”

“Tabae-” They swoop forward, not letting you finish your plaintive dissent. Their desperate lips catch yours, their palms cradling the sides of your face. The force of the gesture makes you stumble backward into Ewan, whose warm hands catch you by the hips.

Uncertainty pulses from the werewolf, his fingers curling into you. “Tabaeus, I don’t think-”

Ewan’s disgruntled words cut off as the vampire breaks from you and lunges for him. The werewolf yelps as Tabaeus grabs him by the hair, dragging him into a kiss of their own. It has the same level of desperation as the kiss they bestowed on you.

When Tabaeus next pulls back, they hold you and Ewan closer, lowering their head between the two of you. Pained and miserable, Tabaeus sighs, “Please, allow me to have one more night, one more good memory, before it ends.”

Tension echoes along your body and you can feel similar uncertainty radiate from Ewan. Both of you are stiff, even as your arm reaches around Tabaeus and your hand brushes down their back. An ache throbs through your chest. You’d like nothing more than to comfort the vampire, give them another good night, but your heart won’t comply. “Ewan?”

“Yeah?” The werewolf’s reply nearly comes out as a whisper.

Hesitance causes you to pause for a beat, mentally struggling with your next words. Finally, you dismally ask, “How can we stop Tabaeus?”

The vampire tenses against you, an almost imperceptible whine keening from their throat. “Do not, amata.”

After his own beat of reluctance, Ewan finally answers you in a soft, sober tone, “I can go full wolf and wrestle him down into… whatever he sleeps in. Wrap it in chains, put it behind anti-vampire protections so Lachlan can’t get to them but they won’t be able to get out.”

Even as Ewan talks about the options, he doesn’t sound convinced. If you were truthful, you doubt either of you want to go that route. It was one thing to have Tabaeus’s cooperation, and another thing entirely to lock them down against their will.

“Enough!” The snarl lights fast from Tabaeus’s lips as they forcefully push you and Ewan away. The power of the shove sends you flying into the far wall, air knocked from your lungs. Across the room, you hear Ewan land against one of the end tables with a grunt of pain as wood splinters beneath him.

Sparing a short glance at Ewan, you can tell the werewolf is okay. Perhaps a little sore and shamed but overall alright. Your attention jumps back to Tabaeus, your eyes widening as you take in the vampire’s state.

They have ripped most of their outfit off, red tears streaming down their cheeks. Whatever fabric still clings to their body has darkened, moldered as if it has been in the ground for ages. Lights flicker around them as their hair plasters to them, becoming a layer of short fur that creeps over their body. Their pointed ears have grown large, wide, bat-like.

To your left, you hear the telltale cracks and snarls of Ewan shifting. You don’t even need to glance over to know he’s gone full lycan, a heady canine scent tinging the air.

“I have made my decision,” Tabaeus growls, their red eyes glowing behind the still intact sunglasses. Their eyes flicker from you to Ewan, their words taking a rougher edge, “Do not try me, either of you.”

Even with their shoulders hunched, it feels like they tower over you. Innate power crackles through the air, heavy and dark.

Recollections of your first night meeting Tabaeus careen through your head. This was what they looked like, except with different disintegrating clothing. Inhumanly tall and lanky, claws bursting from their fingertips, eyes glowing in a dark-purple complexion and dark fur.

The sight makes residual fear stumble through your thoughts, but care and concern for Tabaeus refuses to let you back down. “I’m not going to just let you walk back into Lachlan’s control!”

“It is not your decision,” they snarl, their claws flexing with agitation.

A sense of hopelessness descends through your thoughts as you blink back tears. Faintly, you wonder if Tabaeus is projecting or if it’s your own dreadful feelings. “Just because you don’t think you can fight him-”

“I said enough!” Tabaeus slices their hand through the air, the action silencing you as they take a step forward. Before you can line up an argument, a brown furry figure tackles the vampire with a growl of their own. All you can do is stare as a fully shifted Ewan grapples with the transformed Tabaeus, fur and obscenities and growls flying.

It takes you a few breaths before your brain kicks you into gear. Attempting to separate the two would only get yourself hurt. Instead, a thought blooms in your head: The vampire hunter box. Was there anything in there that would incapacitate Tabaeus without killing them? You can’t remember, can’t recall.

Where did you even put the blasted thing?

Your feet are moving before you even think, making a beeline for the stairs and up to your bedroom. That’s right. You left it on your dresser, before heading to the library.

As you clamber upstairs, you hear a gnarl of rage behind you. That had to be Tabaeus, realizing your destination in your noisy ascent. Which meant the following growl was Ewan, returning the vampire’s attention to him.

The sounds below become fiercer, with wood splintering and glass breaking. Shoving the worry aside, you focus on getting to your bedroom, getting to the box.

Your lungs ache as you get to the landing, bruises from Tabaeus’s earlier toss throbbing along your back. On auto-pilot, you fly to your room and slam open the door, scrambling wildly to your dresser.

The box sits there, innocent and ignorant to the chaos below. Grabbing it, you throw the lid open and riffle through the contents. It’s not until you hear a loud crash downstairs, followed by a whimper, that your fingers start trembling.

“Amata.” Tabaeus’s voice echoes up from the stairs, just before you hear the creak of the wood underfoot.

Each resounding footstep breaks your concentration further as you try to make sense of the items in the box. Glass vials of water, presumably of the holy variety. The stairs creaked. Silver trinkets. The footfalls got to the landing. A crucifix. Wooden stakes. Closer, the footfalls echoed along the hall. A jar of beans. Outside the door, the steps paused. A hand mirror. A shadow filled the doorway, bringing with it a sense of deeper darkness.

Wildly you look up, blinking back tears.

The clothes on Tabaeus’s form hung like rags now, but it didn’t matter much. Fur coated the rest of their body, their face morphed into something somewhere between a bat and a human. In the scuffle with Ewan, they have lost their sunglasses, leaving you staring into familiarly terrifying glowing red eyes. They took a step forward, into your room. Inky darkness trailed at their back, like they brought the night with them.

Without much thought, you grab the jar of beans and fling it at Tabaeus. You’re not even sure if the jar hits them when it explodes in a cloud glittering shrapnel, little dry beans scattering. As the beans clatter on the floor, Tabaeus takes another step in, ignoring the mess.

Vampires do not obsessively count beans. One bit of lore determined useless.

Grabbing the box, you stumble backward, trying to gain distance between you and Tabaeus. Your hand rummages around in the box, until you feel the silver crucifix. With a shaking hand, you bring it up, holding it in front of you. “What did you do to Ewan?”

“He will be fine,” Tabaeus simply states, cocking their head to the side. Their glowing red eyes narrow on the religious symbol and you briefly hope it’s working. They dash your momentary reprieve by stepping forward once. Twice. Undeterred by the cross.

“Tabaeus, please. Let us help,” you plead, your shaking hand abandoning the cross to the floor.

“No!” The vampire’s word shakes the window panes in your room and sends dust floating down from your ceiling fan. They close the distance on you, eyes burning with frustration and pain. Their eyes rimmed red with bloody tears. “You read what happened to Kieran.”

As you continue to back away and grapple for something of use in the box, your fingertips graze the wood of a stake. Your stomach lurches at the very thought. If the other bits of lore failed, however, maybe a wooden stake wouldn’t kill Tabaeus. Maybe it would simply incapacitate them until you could figure something out.

Clinging to that hope, you try to buy a little more time. “But we can-”

You don’t get a chance to finish your plea as Tabaeus, a dark smear in the air, suddenly pins you to the bed. The wooden stake in your hand falls to the bed, bounces, and clatters to the floor. A shriek rends from you as your arms and legs lash out.

“Please, let us help!” Hot tears stream from your eyes as you struggle against the vampire, but it’s no use. They’re too strong. Their clawed fingers wrap tight to your wrists as they peer down at you. The expression they give you makes that pain in your chest ripple again and the tears come harder.

“My apologies, amata,” Tabaeus quietly says as they move your wrists to one palm and lean close to your neck.

Your struggles increase in desperation as you arch and dip your back, writhe under their hold, trying to shake off the vampire. “No!”

The singular word is all you can shriek as you feel the prick of Tabaeus’s fangs sink into your throat. A fuzzy feeling swallows your thoughts quickly as that strange suckling latches to your neck, but you still feel the tears stream down your cheeks. Sensations fill your head, your chest. Confusion and delight and fondness and happiness. Brief snatches of your time together saturate your conscious thoughts, bringing more of your own tears to your eyes.

Nothing lasts forever. Good things always end. The foreign words echo in your head. Not yours, not Tabaeus’s. Perhaps something they were told long ago, something that resonates in this very moment.

Further heat trails down your neck, but you know the tears aren’t your own. They are Tabaeus’s tears, staining your throat with further red streaks. Through the haze, a harder sob bubbles up from your chest. But your struggles have lessened, fallen slack. The world, your thoughts, your senses are dimming, turning dark.

In your quickly fading consciousness, you realize Tabaeus has let go of your hands. Their own grip at your shoulders, long spindly fingers trembling. Turning your face toward the hand on your right, away from Tabaeus’s feasting mouth, you find your sight blurring.

Before unconsciousness claims you, you press a gentle kiss to the back of their palm. Driven to somehow comfort the vampire, even at such a discordant juncture. Their fingers flex, claws digging into your skin as something akin to another sob bubbles up from their mouth.

That’s the last thing you hear as darkness pulls you under.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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verecunda · 8 months

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Spent my entire walk with the dog imagining a fixit scenario set during the events of The Gleam in the North, where Keith survived the attack at Morar, but Ewen didn't realise it - or patched him up but not well enough to be sure whether he'd survive (I'm handwaving details like hell). Somehow all the stuff with Archie still happens as scheduled (again, handwaving) and Ewen's in London, he saves Lord Stowe from the footpads, he's in the house, talking to Lord and Lady Stowe, then in comes young Aveling..... followed by Keith. Keith, alive and whole, beyond anything Ewen dared hope.

Also musing over the possibility of Keith having been invalided out of the army due to the severity of his wound from Lachlan. It'd be a handy device to manoeuvre him back up to Ardroy on a permanent basis. But what would the poor soul do with himself if he wasn't a soldier??

I don't know if this is anything I'll ever actually write, but it could be fun. I feel getting a Live Francis Reaction on their interactions could be quite something!

#The Flight of the Heron #The Gleam in the North

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theking-blackheart-muses · 6 months

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Continued from here @davidkarofskyindie

Wesley moaned into the kiss and kissed his husband back with passion and love and desire. After all this years, their love was still strong and powerful. It seems like it had only just grown so much stronger. Wesley could not imagine his life without his husband, he had been working too hard and needed more time with them. To Wesley his man and family came first which is why he worked so hard. He sighed after the kiss as Lachlan wrapped his arms around him and held him close as the water still fell on them. "That nice. I think a cruise for sure will be perfect. We get to spend time together, I get to taste that body of yours in our nice cabin and also we get to visit so many different place. How about I put in everything later tonight so then we don't chicken out after I give my husband so much more attention. Just shower sex is not enough. I need more of him."

#wesley and lachlan #{long live the queue}

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kaitaiga · 11 months

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⚔️Violence and Timing⚔️

“Price and Gaz enlist some old friends to help rescue Laswell from AQ, including Farah and the ULF alongside Australian Special Forces.”

*click for better quality!

Exams are over and now I can finally draw in peace…anyways, I wanted to imagine what it would be like if my ocs were actually in the game, so I recreated one of the mission brief cutscenes with them 🤩

Violence and Timing is one of the few missions in MWII that Lachlan and Damien are in. They spend most their time in Urzikstan, so Price went ahead and asked them for assistance in rescuing Kate Laswell from AQ’s hands.

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lorata · 11 months

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Just had an important exam go awfully and I’ve been rereading everything you’ve put on A03 to cheer myself up. Just popping up to say thank you for everything youve posted. Over the years it’s become my comfort read whenever things go badly

one time in undergrad i crammed so hard for a final that on the day i blanked and literally wrote nothing. as in like, it was a japanese exam and i couldn't even remember how to write my name in katakana despite having studied for 5 years

WHICH IS TO SAY i send all my commiseration and i fully endorse stress relief through putting characters in situations

to that end, here's an old thing I wrote and i ..... think ....? i never posted, of Petra having a worse day than me

(and if i already posted it and forgot....... YOU'LL HEAR IT AGAIN!)

Petra expected the sleep deprivation tests. It makes sense, given everything else that the Centre prepares them for, that they’d want to see how their tributes perform when pushed to the limit. It makes sense because the Centre makes sense, because the rules make sense, because that’s how the world works and anyone who wants to get anywhere needs to come to terms with that. Petra has a long time ago, whether she likes it or not, and she knows better than to complain.

It’s just. It’s just. When she imagined the sleep deprivation tests, she always pictured taking them alone.

Petra closes her eyes, imagining not sleep but silence, beautiful and dark and filling the room with its wonder and pushing out everything else. Pushing out the irregular beeping and humming and whining noises coming from the speakers at the ceiling; pushing out the sound of her own breathing, rough and ragged and rasping and much too loud. But most importantly, pushing out the sound of her test partner on the far side of the room, who’s decided to deal with the lack of sleep by talking to himself non-fucking-stop.

“Lachlan,” Petra says in what the Centre should give an award for being the nicest voice a person could possibly manage in this kind of situation. “If you don’t stop talking I’m going to make you stop talking. I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

Lachlan ignores her, continuing on the steady stream of babble. The words don’t even register anymore; at one point he’d been talking about his sisters, growing up in the merchant part of town and how they used to drag him out to look at fabric in the windows and beg their father to trade for some. That didn’t even make sense — who gets excited about fabric, what is wrong with civilians — and so Petra eventually tuned out the meaning, but it hasn’t stopped him from talking. His voice has gone dry and scraping but he keeps going, hands fisted in his hair.

A shadow moves in the corner, and Petra tenses and curls her hand around her knife but doesn’t move. It’s not real. It’s not real, it’s her brain playing tricks, because the first ten, fifteen times it showed up she attacked it and wound up crashing into the walls with nothing. It’s just her and Lachlan in the room no matter what she sees, because the walls are solid and she would know if a door opened to let someone in. She would know.

(She would know, wouldn’t she?)

It’s not just the room. There have been other tests, agility tests and weapons tests; after 24 hours and 48 hours they had to spar with each other while the trainers counted out each time their moves went sloppy, and they had to scale the rope and the climbing wall and do pushups while counting aloud. They only had to count to ten but Petra could never get past three without losing count, and by the time she got there her muscles burned and her arms trembled and she’d practically made out with the floor more than she had all the girls in Residential.

The worst were the memory and calculation tests, lists of numbers to add together or words to remember and repeat back. Petra rattled off the death list well enough, deeply ingrained in her brain like that, but everything else is a blur. She thinks she got all the answers right — it feels like she did — but Petra knows that arrogance and cockiness are in her file so she needs to be realistic. Maybe she passed, maybe she didn’t; she won’t know her score until the end. Every few hours they’re brought out and given another round, and Petra hopes they don’t make her write anything next time because all she’s going to manage is KILL LACHLAN over and over and over.

Air brushes the back of her neck, and this is a sealed room and how could there be air if something isn’t moving — Petra whirls and slashes with her knife but there’s nothing there. She hisses, moves with her back to the corner and keeps tracking. Lachlan, on his end, hasn’t stopped croaking.

“Lachlan, if you don’t stop I’m going to kill you,” Petra says. He keeps going and so she raises her voice to match him, their words spilling over each other. “I’m going to go over there and I’m going to cut out your tongue and feed it to you while you choke on the blood, and then I’m going to cut out your eyes and stuff them down your throat but I’ll give you a tracheotomy so you can keep breathing because I don’t want you dead yet, I want you to suffer because you are driving me crazy. You’re driving me crazy and I’m going to get a bad score and it’s going to be all your fault and then I’m going to find you and make you sorry, or you could just stop talking —“

On and on and on, until Petra can’t tell her voice from Lachlan’s anymore, the two of them rasping away on opposite sides of the room. A few times the shadows move and something lunges but Petra throws her knife and kills it, and once she’s sure it’s dead she retrieves the knife and goes back to her corner. Don’t kill Lachlan, she reminds herself, he’s her ally and she hasn’t been given the signal to kill him yet and she has to follow the rules, but she tells him what she’s going to do as soon as she’s allowed and it soothes her, calms her, to have a plan because plans are good.

Finally the door opens and light floods the room; Petra leaps to her feet and so does Lachlan, and they’re both swaying but they stand at attention because that’s what you have to do.

“And that’s time,” says the trainer from a million miles away. “Good job, both of you. Go to bed and we’ll have evaluations tomorrow.”

Evaluation means there’s something to evaluate and tomorrow means she’ll be here tomorrow, and both of those mean she passed. Petra laughs and pumps the air with her fist, and the shadows still move and her trainer’s face is screwed up in a terrifying rictus — or is it a mask, a mutt-mask — but she passed and so did Lachlan. She staggers out the door and heads out down the hall to her room.

She doesn’t remember getting there but she must have, because she wakes up in her own bed, flopped on top of the covers. Someone took the knife, though.

Petra sleeps for fourteen hours and no one comes to wake her, which is another sign she did well. Once she wakes Petra drags herself up to the shower, and she scrubs her fingers through her hair and holds her face up to the spray, letting the cool needles of water bring the blood back. She looks like shit when she catches herself in the mirror, bloodshot eyes and dark, hollowed sockets, but one of the older girls showed her a trick for that. It takes a few minutes, but Petra turns the water in the sink on full cold and scoops up handfuls, pressing it against her face and gasping at the shock.

By the time she finishes and pats her face dry, the circles under Petra’s eyes have faded. She grins at her reflection, pinches her cheeks to bring back the blood flow, and runs her fingers through her hair to let it start to curl.

The last thing she wants to do after three days without sleep is worry about what she looks like, but no Two ever won the Games by looking unattractive. Nobody in the Capitol wants to see a Victor who looks like a mutt chewed them up and spat them out, and Petra heads back to her room to change into a fresh uniform before she makes it out to the cafeteria.

Not all the others in her year have made it, and Petra gives herself a small high-five. Selene is there, of course she is, and she’s not stupid either; she’s done the same as Petra, made sure she looks a little less like death before coming in, but some of the girls are slumped over the table, hair mussed and faces pale.

“Chipmunk made it, huh,” Selene calls out, poking desultorily at her plain oatmeal. There’s fresh fruit on the breakfast bar, at least, and Petra grabs herself an apple and two peaches along with the bowl of unappetizing mash and the mandatory protein shake. “Thought you would’ve chewed through the walls.”

“Ha, ha,” Petra says, dropping into her chair. Normally she’d be at Selene’s throat, but she’s tired enough not to care and just rested enough after her sleep to be charitable. “How’d you do? I wanted to kill Lachlan, he wouldn’t shut up.”

Selene grins, sharp and triumphant, and Petra raises her eyebrows. The last time she looked like that, she’d driven a girl out of the training room in tears and Sarah hadn’t come back the next day. “I actually did try to kill Adam. He flipped out, started screaming for the trainers. They had to come take him out.”

As a general rule Petra tries not to approve of anything Selene does, but Adam is the most annoying boy in her year. She’ll never forget being dared to kiss him when they played spin the dagger, how he’d shoved his tongue down her throat and then acted all boo-hoo baby when she chomped down hard enough they both choked on the blood. Adam is annoying and entitled and the only bad thing is that Petra wished she’d had the honour of driving him out of the Program.

Petra cracks up, and Selene is grinning and Petra hates her but she hates boys more, and Petra leans her head against the table and laughs until she can’t breathe. “We need to convince Lyssa to break into the office,” Petra says finally. Lyssa is the best at picking locks; she’s gotten them all their files so they can see exactly what the Centre has on them. If Selene had taken a shot for every time hers said insubordination she’d be dead now. “I would kill to see that.”

Selene tosses her a showy wink, and Petra snorts and picks up the peach, tossing it in her hand before taking a big, juicy bite.

Later the trainers tell her she got a high pass, and Petra revels in it for all of half an hour before finding out that so did Selene. It makes sense — in the Arena, responding to lack of sleep with instinctive murder is a pretty good reflex — but Petra still grumps and takes it out on the targets at the throwing range. The only consolation is that she catches Selene stomping over to the crossbows, which means she’s just as annoyed about Petra’s score as Petra is about hers.

That cheers her up, and Petra grins and gets the next bulls-eye with her eyes closed, just because she can.

#lorata answers #anonymous #we must be killers: tales from district 2 #my writing #oc: petra

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series-thoughts · 6 months

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Breaking the Dollhouse AU

Glen and Glenda get their doll body and after some time, they “wake” the doll up. They give GG a makeover and the doll is a perfect mixture of both Glen and Glenda. And Junior absolutely loves their doll sibling. He loves to carry them around, even in public, do each other’s nails, and in general just hang out (I also prefer imagining GG having Lachlan’s voice, just with a British accent).

Junior asks them a lot of questions about what it’s like being a doll, pros and cons (I do have an AU of Junior having put his soul into a doll, so I like the idea of Junior imagining what it would be like to be both a human and a doll), and GG will ask him too about what school is like, public and homeschool.

Overall, they both get along so well and are basically inseparable, Junior and the twins and GG might as well be quadruplets.

I love the idea of GG having Lachlan's voice with a British accent.

All of them absolutely adore GG and Junior often brings GG to sit with him and Nica during his homeschooling so they don't get lonely. 🥺

#chucky #chucky 2021 #child's play #chucky syfy #junior wheeler #glen ray tilly #glenda ray tilly #gg ray tilly #nica pierce #Breaking the Dollhouse #final family #eloise's random chucky thoughts

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mayasdeluca · 5 months

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Now that we know when station 19 is going to be back i wanna know some of your thoughts on some things non-marina related.

-do you think andy and sullivan will get back together or they set more on him and ross (i personally don’t care about either i just want to hear other peoples thoughts)

-will we get to see ross be more of a chief or is she just stuck being sullivans girlfriend

-will we get to see vic doing more with crisis one or is her storyline going to be focused on the theo/kate drama and will that girls fire camp she started ever be seen again or was that a one and done

-will ben go one more calls this season or will he be regulated to desk duty, the clinic, crisis one like last season

-will we see beckett again (i don’t think he’ll be a regular but i could see him showing up for an episode)

-will eli and travis last or will they pull another “you are not my dead husband and i can’t love you like that”

-with dixon being dead could emmet possibly pop back in

-etc.

I think in general it's going to be interesting how many characters they actually have this season because I remember seeing an article about Grey's possible reducing some characters to recurring because they have so many season regulars and they wouldn't all be able to have a storyline in a 10 episode season. They hinted that it could possibly affect Station 19 as well but who knows. Honestly with a 10 episode season I personally don't think that Beckett, Kate or Eli should get a minute of screentime. But knowing this show and the way they love to spend time on useless things, they will. They're also bringing in that new guy that's part of the Union that's most likely getting involved with Andy, so another new character that will be taking up time.

It seems like the writers really love Sullivan and Ross so as long as they intend to keep Ross on the show I think they're going to stay together. It's just going to be another season of Andy with some irrelevant person and it not working out in the long run and then Sullivan and Ross doing who knows what. Sullivan is probably going to realize he does still want to be with her after she nearly died but I don't know how they're going to do that with both of them not wanting to give up their careers because I really can't see them having Sullivan actually give it up for Ross...but maybe he will.

I really hope we get to see more of Ross as the Chief and being fair with everyone (yes, that includes Maya 😐) because she has so much potential but when she's dragged down by Sullivan or being used to prop Andy up, she's not of interest to me whatsoever.

If Vic's storyline is centered around the Theo/Kate drama that Jack also knows about and ends up being involved in, I'm going to lose it. She deserves so much better than that. I really hope they will finally let her shine with Crisis One and give her other things besides being dragged down by deadweight Theo...that man shouldn't even be on the show anymore either he wasn't needed to begin with and now that he's not with Vic anymore he's truly just taking up space. They completely destroyed his character that was barely interesting to begin with, now he's just unbearable and annoying to watch. I can't think of much worse than Vic's storyline being tied to 3 of the most boring characters. (Theo/Kate/Jack) Please give her something else.

I think Ben will still stick to being around the station and not doing anything too dangerous because of Pru but I'm curious what else they'll do with him...I guess it also depends how big of a part the clinic will have in this season...hopefully still a decent amount so we get to see Carina being a doctor more but we'll see.

There's no way Eli and Travis are going to last, they do the same thing with Travis and love interests all the time and it's annoying. I can't imagine this being any different. I do think it's interesting that Lachlan reposted the video Station made about coming back though. I could have seen them doing something with Emmett coming back and dealing with Dixon's death if it was a regular length season but again, do we really need to spend time on that when it's only 10 episodes? Unless they are going to do some type of Eli/Travis/Emmett love triangle thing...who knows. But how many times are they going to bring Emmett back only to then have him leave?

I think it's also pretty obvious that Jack is going to live but I wonder how dramatic they're going to make it and how long he'll be out of fire duty and all of that. Of course he probably won't remember the Theo/Kate hookup until later on in the season to make it last longer but once again they never have any clue what to do with this man except have him involved in other people's storylines and it's tiresome.

Also they better not have Vic stupidly take Theo back and give him another chance only for him to act all guilty about being with Kate and this be a secret the whole time that eventually gets revealed...she deserves so much better than that man and there's no world in which she should try again with him.

#asks #anon #i'm definitely concerned where they might take these other storylines and i just hope it's not boring lol #and for the love of god treat carina right and put her in all 10 episodes i'm tired

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sweetface1 · 9 months

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I know Paul is probably someone the twins made up but I’d like to think if he was real he’s probably going through it right now.

Imagine not hearing from your partners only to see their mother is wanted for murder. Not only that but imagine he gets into contact with one of them and they reassure him everything is fine only for him to find out they both “died”. I’m sure he’d find out about it through social media and news outlets. I feel like the death of the twins would be everywhere especially since Jennifer Tilly is still wanted.

On a more lighter note I always imagined that if Paul was real he’d be played by Johnathon Whitesell. Specifically because he and Lachlan have already played characters that are love interests. In the show I thought they had such a cute relationship.

Down below is Johnathon Whitesell as Robin Goodfellow and Lachlan Watson as Theo Putnam from the Chilling Adventures of Sabrina.

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comfy-whumpee · 7 months

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Significance

Whumptober 4: "I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.”

Northlight had stopped crying by the time the time the laboratory started to awaken. When the full lights came on and voices began to trickle down the vast corridors outside of their chamber, they were sure their cheeks were no longer flushed, their eyes dried, to hide the moment of weakness. Poor, idiotic Kurt, going along with so much for so little. Naïve, foolish Lachlan, gambling his life for his brother's.

Caroline was present in passing, checking they were still secure and leading a group of initiates to look at them, but otherwise didn't approach.

There was tension in the air. Caroline stood on the other side of the observation glass, a handful of students behind her staring and listening. Kurt sat on the chair beside Northlight's trolley, book resting on his knee, keeping watch peacefully. The siblings had not spoken to each other. Northlight knew Caroline must have found out about the visit. Perhaps she even guessed that Kurt had removed the muzzle.

Of course, whatever happened as a result wouldn't be explained to the body. Kurt would simply disappear one day, or worse, nothing would change at all. They probably wouldn't have a confrontation in front of the students, either, to keep rumours from swirling. Northlight passed the time by imagining how they would retell the story later.

Caroline: (with great feeling) How could you betray me, brother? But worse, how could you betray the cause?

Kurt: I did not intend to harm you, sister.

Caroline: Oh, of course you did not intend anything.

Kurt: Truly. The creature, it… It has such eyes. They stare so deeply into you.

Caroline: Romantic nonsense.

Kurt: It is true. Yesterday, it shed tears of sorrow, could you not see?

Caroline: I saw only the crocodile tears of a monster mimicking human feeling. Your emotions always get the better of you, brother.

Kurt: (turning away) I am sorry. I know our Lady's orders were to never allow them to speak.

Caroline: Then why?

Kurt: (after a deep breath) I believe the creature does feel. If not exactly as your or I do, then as well and as deeply to be compared. Why else would it show sadness when none of us around it did? It thinks, it feels, it has its own life. I have tried to ignore it, but I can no longer. We must act. They must not be treated as a monster any longer.

Northlight stopped the script there. Even in their own imagination, they knew the story had gone astray. Kurt wasn’t able to go that far. He needed time, and maybe some bad times.

If they could, they thought they would ask him why he had joined. It was clear that Caroline was senior between the two, so perhaps it was her own doing. Or was there once a condition or illness that affected him or his family? Was he here to save others or save himself? Had Caroline honestly believed it would be better for him to sit around next to a body on a tray, instead of practising family medicine?

But then… What doctor didn't want a miracle cure for all their poor patients? Maybe the career itself had driven Kurt here.

It was horribly unclear. Their head was full of words they couldn't get out. They needed to talk. They needed so badly to just talk.

Caroline led the students away. The hallway was empty. Northlight wondered if their voice would ever move normally again. The weight and pressure of the muzzle only grew worse each day. When it came off, would their skin come with it? Would their jaw and tongue? Or would it always be part of them like the scars and the drip?

Their treasures were all lost. That hurt the most. Maybe they were kept somewhere, or they could already be destroyed. Maybe they were being pored over by some underpaid clerk who was tasked with divining their significance. The hair tie from Patience Penrose. The folded tamale wrapper from the clinic. The geode. The wooden star. Their beloved scarf.

Their thoughts were too miserable to sustain, and eventually, Northlight let them drift away into stories. Easier for them to remember their loved ones that way. There were stories they told where they didn't even remember the events they were based on, and they probably changed a little each time they were told. But at least, those old and future friends would be brought to some semblance of immortality in Northlight's mind.

And then, when these stories were told, they live on in others, and that was the greatest gift Northlight could give. Immortality without cost.

The next few days passed in relative peace. Lachlan remained elsewhere, his entire healing process laboriously recorded. Caroline stayed clear of Kurt, and Kurt stayed clear of Caroline. When she came with her trainees to experiment, her brother became scarce. Her students took notes, dug out sampled of flesh, and one even took nail clippings. Northlight had barely slept, was dizzy with the eternal electric lights, and dissolved into hysterics at the feeling. Locked in an underground laboratory for vampiric bloodletting, and some middle-aged medic was cutting their nails. What, was he going to try eating them?

Eventually, Lachlan was deemed ready. He had healed enough. Northlight knew it was coming when they were taken on their trolley-bed back to the room where it happened. The one with the other bed, and the lockers of supplies that nobody would use.

Lachlan walked in a moment later, unaided. He didn’t look at anyone. There was a dark line across his throat, but even Northlight could tell it was far better healed than should be possible. Caroline, who had probably examined it in minute detail, was confident she could get away with more.

Lachlan lay on the clean table. The chest scars were also fading fast. They now looked more like the one scar he had before the experiments began, closer to it than to the cut at his neck. Northlight wished they could feel impressed, or even proud, of the work their blood had done. Instead, there was only tired horror and shame.

Caroline arranged her devices to capture every moment. Lachlan tipped his head back, then dropped it again.

The other doctors watched. Kurt watched. It was the first time that the Swindon siblings had been in the same room this week.

“Head back,” Caroline ordered, her tone as flat as if she was reading from a sign.

Lachlan tensed, spine arcing, and his chin tucked in. He stared straight up, his chest rising and falling in rapid breaths.

Caroline put a hand on his shoulder, and the noise he made broke Northlight’s heart. It was a small, soft, round noise, stuffed to the brim with fear.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out sharply. “I-I’m sorry, I, I can’t.”

Caroline leaned over him, forcing his eyes to meet hers. Lachlan wasn’t one of her students, and she treated him like little more than a servant, but Lachlan’s respect for her was obvious. He tried to calm himself. His hands were pale knuckles around the edges of the table.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I-I’m weak.”

If he was watching for disappointment, there was none to be found. Caroline merely asked, “Do you need to be restrained?”

His eyelids fluttered closed in shame. “Yes, please.”

Northlight looked away. The process was silent and methodical, and he couldn’t bear to watch Lachlan start to relax as his freedom was taken away. Willingly given, his freedom and his life, it was impossible to witness.

They closed their eyes and let their tears fall again freely. If Kurt was watching, let him believe it was the sign he had been waiting for.

Caroline and her scalpel produced a guttural noise of pain, kicking legs, and a noise that might have been words if it wasn’t for how she had killed him. Lachlan fought, helplessly, but at least he tried. Northlight was grateful for it; at least some part of the boy knew there was nothing to gain by dignity. Neither of them had the respect to lose by being pathetic.

Lachlan’s struggles stilled alarmingly quickly. Northlight tried not to look, knowing the blood would be part of this. The healing may have already started, before death could take him. Would it be faster or slower? He didn’t want to know. Either way would lead to more blood taken.

They wondered if Caroline would stop bringing them into the room for these murders. They were her emergency blood bag, but soon she would grow confident in her ability to resurrect her dead. Then, they might not see Lachlan at all. He would always be recovering from some almost-mortal wound.

Almost-mortal, they think again. A good term for these laboratory vampires.

Absent-mindedly, their eyes opened. Their head was tilted towards the doctor, who watched in silence as the others began to quietly discuss the process happening, not stunned speechless anymore. Kurt kept his eyes on Lachlan.

Northlight couldn’t bear it. They turned their head.

The pale blue scrubs were stained with lurid blood. Lachlan lay unconscious, head turned away from them all, hands slack where they rested, strapped to the side of the bed. Northlight couldn’t see if he had healed – Caroline had moved her camera to capture that, and the screens were above their head. But after a moment, they noticed what had caught Kurt’s gaze.

Lachlan’s knuckles were still pale, off-colour, as if he had maintained his death grip on the side of the bed. The tips of his fingers were sallow too. Bloodless.

Northlight turned their head slowly, and the deliberate motion drew Kurt’s eye back to them. They met his gaze.

With a jerk of his head, the doctor looked away. He rose, and went to speak to Caroline.

#whumptober2023 #lab whump #magical healing #lab whumpee #experimentation #murder #whump #my fic #northlight #lachlan #kurt #caroline #no.4 #i see the danger it's written there in your eyes

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