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randomoranges · 3 years

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tech this comes before relationship status: conjoint but also is it’s own thing based on my own thoughts and whatnot. i really like the idea of edward, somehow, being jello about isabella. sometimes i forget about her and recently i remembered her and then went - oh but okay she was totes there at ets birthday and ed was there!!! and then i just put these two random ideas together and here we are

Jello 20XX

It’s a quiet evening at home, after a busy day out. They’re both lounging on the sofa in the living room, Étienne conveniently using his body as a pillow, when Étienne’s cell phone breaks the comfortable semi-quietude of the space. He lazily extends a hand towards the coffee table, where he’s last left his phone, and after some foraging, he retrieves the device and spares a look at it.

Edward expects his boyfriend to let the thing go to voice mail, as he often does, but then Étienne sits up and answers the call, motioning to him that it won’t be long. Edward thinks little of it and offers to give him some space for the call, but Étienne lets him know he can stay so he does, far too comfortable to move.

At first, Edward pays little mind to the conversation and does his best to tune it out, but it is rather difficult to do with Étienne sitting a mere few feet away from him.

“Oh, you’re totally right – it has been ages!” Étienne says with a laugh and Edward starts his game of trying to narrow down who could be on the other end of the line.

“Oh my God, I know! But, yeah, it would be so cool to hang soon now that we can again!” It must be a friend of sorts, clearly. Someone who doesn’t live in the greater Montreal area. Edward starts being invested in the conversation and steals glances at his boyfriend, trying to read the emotions off him to help him solve the mystery. Étienne looks comfortable and happy – edging on excited. This is a good call, obviously and he’s surprised by the unexpectedness of it.

“Yeah? That could work, hang on, lemme check,” Étienne brings his phone away from his ear and taps away at it, most likely looking at the calendar. “Okay, so three weeks from now works. I’ll be home and I have nothing really planned. I might have to move a thing, but it’ll work.” He grins, pleased and laughs when his friend responds on the other line.

In three weeks from now, they’ll both be back in their own homes, miles and miles and miles away from each other. He’ll return to his everyday life and Étienne will, apparently, have a guest to entertain. Étienne will wine and dine his friend, like he does with all his friend, and show them a great time. Étienne is good at that, Edward knows. He wonders what type of friend this is – who it is and whether or not he knows this person. He’s eliminated some names from his game, but Étienne knows far too many people for this to be easy.

“Of course – well, obviously you’ll stay with me! There’s gotta be some perks after all. Plus, it’s been literal years. It’ll be good to catch up.”

Emma is eliminated with this new information. She lives too close to Étienne for the two of them to spend more than two months without seeing one another. It would be a tragedy, in Étienne’s opinion and outright cruel, in Emma’s words.

“Okay – yeah, it’s still there,” Étienne sits up again and folds his legs over and grins, bright and eager and excited, “Can’t wait! I’ll see you then! Yeah – me too! Okay – yeah you too! Bye!” He hangs up, then, and flops back with a grin that speaks of mischief and fun to be had in the future. He looks down to his phone, as if confirming this all happened, and then laughs when he receives a text, supposedly, from the person he’d just been speaking with.

Edward watches from the corner of his eye as Étienne quickly responds to the message, puts his phone back where it originally was and then returns looking for his original position on Edward’s chest.

“Good call?” He asks, finally, once Étienne is settled and he doesn’t seem to be willing to share any information.

“Yes! Just found out Isa’s gonna be in town for a thing, in a few, and so she was wondering if we could hang.”

“Oh.”

Ah.

Isabella.

Right.

Edward has – conveniently – forgotten about her.

The conversation makes more sense now.

“I have not seen her in ages so it’ll be really great to catch up! I mean – we’ve spoken and such, but like – it’s always different when you can spend time together.”

He knows that much. He lives through that much. Edward knows. He makes a noise of commitment, but otherwise doesn’t add anything else.

He’s – not exactly sure how he feels about Isabella.

(Okay, he does, but he likes to believe that he’s beyond petty emotions like jealousy. Especially when he’s not even sure why he’s jealous.)

(Well, he does, but – he’d be digressing.)

Edward doesn’t exactly know the specific day and year that Étienne and Isabella became friends, but she seems to have appeared in his boyfriend’s life around the turn of the century. He forgets who was visiting where, but they ended up bonding over mutual interests and struck a friendship through it. After some time, their friendship had turned sexual and even though Étienne had told him time and again that Isabella was just a friend to him, albeit one with a few extra perks and benefits, Edward was – jealous.

And it annoys him that he’s jealous. Notably, because at first, he had no right to be. He and Étienne had a falling out. He’d gone off and eventually figured himself out, before starting something with Calvin. It only made sense that Étienne would do the same. Regardless of what he called it. But, it seems as though Étienne is genuine when he says that he and Isabella are just friends. He likes her, yes, but as a friend. And Edward can tell that it’s the truth.

The problem is that for years now, he’s been jealous of this woman he’s met once, briefly.

It had started at Étienne’s big party, a few years back now, when they’d been slowly rebuilding their friendship. Edward had been invited, he’d finally decided to go, figuring it would be good and also because deep down, he wanted to go and for some absurd reason, he thought that Étienne wouldn’t be actually seeing someone that way. As if Étienne was supposed to forever remain single. Which made no sense. Étienne was allowed to do and see whomever he pleased. Just like he was. But, Étienne hadn’t mentioned anyone in their numerous chats and so Edward had assumed, until they’d all been at the party and she’d been there.

Friggin Isabella.

Étienne had introduced them and Étienne had made a joke saying it was a good thing Edward hadn’t asked to crash with him, since Isabella was staying at his and it had – stirred something ugly in the pit of Edward’s stomach. Which made no sense, at the time (and still now), because he was in a relationship. With Calvin. And he was totally over Étienne. Totally. That was done and over with. Book closed, chapter done, he’d moved on, merci, bonsoir – as they said.

Yet, hearing those words, seeing Isabella stand close to Étienne – seeing them laugh and dance together. The way he leaned into her space, the kiss she stole from him, the thought of what they’d do together once they’d return to Étienne’s place...

Oh, Edward had felt things.

He ended up writing the whole thing off as just shock and surprise, really, but once back home and alone with his thoughts, he’d revisited them and had eventually admitted to the fact that yes, he’d been jealous and that maybe – just maybe, he still cared for Étienne in a more than just friends type of way.

Luckily, for his own sanity, Étienne also felt the same and by some miracle, they’d managed to get their act back together and he was quite content with his life now. He had Calvin, he had Étienne, and his two boyfriends did not seem to totally mind the presence of the other. It was great. Better than great – it was goddamned near perfect.

Étienne was free to do whatever the hell he wanted and even though Edward was perfectly aware of the fact that Étienne slept with other people and it did not bother him – for real, Isabella still, for some reason, got to him.

And he didn’t fucking understand why.

(Lies, he did know why. However, admitting to it felt really stupid.)

Reason 1: Even though it had been literal years, there was still some stupid part of Edward’s dumb brain that still couldn’t fully wrap itself around the fact that Étienne would genuinely and truly want to be with him for so long. (He was actively working on that and it really did help that he currently had said boyfriend close by, draped over him, occasionally looking at him as though he’d personally hung the moon for him.)

Reason 2: Somehow, his brain also liked to convince him that one day, Étienne would really miss being with a woman and leave him to be with one. Hence, Isabella was a worthy candidate for that role. (This made no sense. At all. Then again, fears were often irrational.)

Reason 3: Edward didn’t mind Étienne sleeping with other human people, for he knew that Étienne would never get as close to them as he would with him. Étienne would not and could not fully open up to them, given the fact that he was semi-immortal and that they would eventually die. Therefore, Étienne could totally be himself with him. Isabella, however, was just like them and was more – sophisticated than he could ever even care to be and so, she had the extra advantage over him. Therefore, it could be possible for Étienne to develop a real bond with her and ultimately pick her over him.

And obviously, Étienne was totally allowed to do that and he’d respect his boyfriend’s wishes, but Edward loved the bastard too much for his own good and did not want that to happen. (He’d get used to it, if Étienne loved them both and – oh God, oh mighty God – was this how Étienne and Calvin felt? At first? How they still felt? Maybe? It was horrible. He was horrible. What had he done to them?!)

“Hey – you okay?”

He blinks and realises that he’s been extremely quiet for an abnormally long time and very much lost in his own head. Étienne looks at him worried and Edward tries to school his face into something that may pass off as normal.

“Yes. Absolutely. So she’s coming over. That’s great! I’m sure you’ll have tons of fun!” Even to his ears, he sounds off and he really hopes Étienne won’t notice.

“Édouard.” His boyfriend says in his don’t mess with me tone.

Étienne notices.

Shit. Fuck. Câlice. Merde. Ugh.

“Oh my – Oh my Lord – are you – holy shit, you’re jealous, aren’t you?!”

His dumb stupid boyfriend looks too fucking pleased with this news. He shouldn’t look this pleased. He should be annoyed. Hell, he’s annoyed at himself. Étienne should humour him and be annoyed.

“No.”

Stellar answer, really. He should win an acting award, at this point.

Étienne sits up and pulls him up so that he can properly look at his face and gloat – the fucker. “You are! You’re jealous of Isabella!” He laughs, amused and Edward doesn’t get it. He’s never understood Étienne, but this is a new level of incomprehension even for him. The man’s insane, he already knew that, but this – takes the cake.

“Okay, sue me, I am – be normal about it.” He huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, wanting very much to disappear out of here. Forget about all of this and just – return to normal.

“Aww, Eddy, it’s cute!”

Edward gives him a look. Sometimes, (often), he’s not convinced Étienne has stopped the drugs. No sane person would react this way.

“It’s not cute – it’s lame. You said I had nothing to worry about. I trust you. Yet, here I am, coming up with stupid scenarios.”

“Oh?”

Sometimes, Edward wonders why he can’t ever shut up. This is such a time. Obviously, Étienne wants to know his dumb scenarios. Étienne is always curious.

“Just – it’s stupid. Forget it.”

“Nah-ah.” He sits closer to him and pokes his chest until Edward, who tries valiantly to defend himself from his boyfriend’s incessant bothering, gives up and abdicates.

“Like – I don’t know – something lame. Like you’ll just – leave me and go down south where it’s warm back at hers and have a torrid love affair and leave me to rot in my frozen waste land.” He raises his hands up in frustrated surrender, his cheeks warming up and Étienne, bless him, erupts in loud laughter.

“Oh, you precious thing!” He wipes a tear from his eyes – imaginary or not, Edward cannot tell, and he’s vexed by Étienne’s gleeful pleasure of his misery, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, that’s exactly what we’re gonna do – but I have every intention of coming back to your – and I quote – frozen waste land so you can properly warm me up as well.” Étienne noisily pecks his cheek and it only makes him flush darker still. Étienne is being merciless in his teasing and he knows it was coming, but it’s still not fair.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” He asks from the comfort of Étienne’s loose embrace around his shoulders.

“You have no idea. But, if it makes you feel better, I would never string you on and if ever I did develop actual romantic feelings for her, I would let you know. And if ever I stop loving you – or if ever I want us to just be friends, I would let you know. I respect you too much to not give you that courtesy.”

Edward sighs and leans his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder, “I know, I know and I appreciate that. And – I don’t want you to think that I don’t want you to do whatever it is you wanna do. Far from it. Which is why I feel stupid for even being jealous in the first way.”

“Emotions are stupid and often times make no sense. If anything, it just means you care about me and our relationship. That’s the way I see it. We’re good, so don’t worry about it. And you can always talk to me about these things, yeah? Just like I can talk to you about my own insecurities and general fucked up thoughts.” Étienne kisses the top of his head and this time, at least, it’s not patronising or teasing.

“Yeah, I know – thanks.”

“No problem.”

They fall back, silent, and Edward, finally, is convinced that this is all behind them. This will just be a distant memory and he’ll never ever have to remember this ever again.

“But wow, can’t wait to tell Calvin you were jealous. He’s gonna get a kick out of this.” Étienne grins, while Edward groans. The bastard.

“Oh my God, don’t.”

“He’ll never let you live it down.” Étienne ads and pokes his sides again.

“You’re not letting me live it down either!” Edward retaliates by pushing Étienne’s hand away and trying to get to his sides where he’s tickling.

“Do not – Edward Murphy do not – don’t you dare!” Étienne shrieks, as he tries to get away from him, but Edward seizes this opportunity for some good revenge.

“Watch out, Maisonneuve; you’re mine.” He manages to trap Étienne and he shows no mercy as he reaches for all of Étienne’s most ticklish spots, his boyfriend’s peals of laughter resonating in his ears. It remains to be seen as to who will get the last word between the two of them.

FIN

#pc: montreal #pc: edmonton #edward murphy #étienne maisonneuve #fic #projocanondoko

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skzafterdusk · 4 years

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lee minho + "And July"

request from the Dean Title Track List

tags: vampire!reader, immortal!minho, daddy kink

The sun has already set; you can tell that much. If it hadn’t been for the darkening cracks in your closed blinds, you would have never noticed the way the room around you has grown dim. You could turn on the kitchen light, flicker on a lamp in the living room, but you were almost petrified in your spot on the kitchen counter; your right leg bent so your arm could rest on your knee, and your left leg dangling over the edge. Any bruises you probably had on your face hours ago have already healed, the pain long gone, as well.

Minho’s body is just in eyesight from where you’re sitting. Splayed out and unmoving, you pay close attention to this heart in his chest that remains still. You’d snapped his neck hours ago, but you count down the moments.

10 metaphorical heart beats…

9…

8…

7…

The silence should be deafening with not a single breath to inhale. But you quite enjoyed the feeling. Even after years of being undead yourself...to not need the oxygen in your lungs...but to prefer it. Odd.

5…

4…

You like to wonder if this time will be different. So many shows would like to have you believe that coming back to life is like crashing into your own body, the sudden way one wakes up after dreaming of falling to their demise. Minho never came back in that manner.

3...2...1…

It’s always the first beat of the heart. The first noise to fill the apartment in so many hours. Then it’s the rush of blood as they circulate through his veins. And he takes his first breath...his lungs fill with a mighty gulp of air...but he remains still. And it’s the softest sound, but you can almost make out the flutter of his lashes when he blinks his eyes open. And thus, Lee Minho has come back to life, yet again. And the fun shall continue.

“Good!” You exclaim, moving your stiff joints to hop down from the counter. On the impact of your bare feet hitting the floor, it’s met with the crunch of some snack-like food; chips, perhaps. But the crumbs under your feet are of no importance as you make your way through the doorway and into the living room. That is when the comparatively softer bed of broken chips turns into a gravely path of broken glass. Never the most comfortable, but you’ll live.

Minho is just beginning to stir, sitting up in his spot and going to nurse his head as if he suffered from a night of drinking heavily, to the point where his body screamed at him in agony from the inside out.

“You’re awake,” you say cheerfully, a too innocent grin on your lips.

The man huffs as he rubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms. “You bitch.” Such a simple statement that holds the weight of his anger.

Anger, of course, that can only spell fun for you.

“You’ve called me much worse.” Your statement only holds objective truth.

He’s finally able to stand up, slow at first, but his energy seems to flow through him once his eyes land on you. Are you the predator or prey? It’s usually so hard to tell, really.

He stalks towards you in an instant, making sure to crowd your space and look down at you from under his nose. “Why the fuck did you kill me?”

You shrug with a scoff, electing to move past him and further into the living room. You’d left it in disarray after you guys had begun fighting. Drinking glasses hurled at walls, chairs and tables strewn about. You go to turn on that lamp, the only one still managing to stand after the hurricane that is you and Minho.

You’re not entirely sure what his excuse is, but immortality has left only two states of mind for you: insufferable boredom or rollercoasters of emotions. Clearly, one of them sounds more entertaining, yes?

The warm light of the lamp illuminates the chaos around you. Your voice, as you answer, doesn’t necessarily fit the current state.

“You were getting annoying. You probably would have tried to stab me if I hadn’t gotten to you first.”

Unfortunately for Minho, though, is that in some places, stabbing is quite...exhilarating.

The immortal other seems to be at a loss for words, since he decides to go to the kitchen rather than come up with a response to your excuse.

“All the time I was out and you couldn’t bother to clean this place up?” grumbles Minho, searching through a cabinet before finding the prize, a bottle of whiskey.

You turned your nose up at the sight of the bottle. You hated the taste of whiskey, and you hated even more the way Minho’s blood tastes after he had his fill. It was a sure way to make sure you didn’t feed on him, which must be the payback for...well...yknow.

“I didn’t make the mess by myself. We clean it together if you’re so worried about it.”

He doesn’t even bother getting a glass (possibly he wouldn’t be able to find one), just tears the cap away and starts taking swigs.

“Only thing I’m worried about is how I’m gonna get you back for snapping my neck.”

You roll your eyes as you lean against the wall adjacent to the kitchen doorway. He’d turned on the dim fluorescent light. The scar on his lip and cheek are still there because his bruises don’t heal quickly like yours. No matter for you. You’ve always preferred the look of him a little beaten up.

“Think this through, babe,” you start. “If you try anything, you’ll be stuck with this messy place until I can wake up.”

He makes sure to take a longer drink before slamming the bottle on the counter. Again, as he stalks towards you, he almost looks like the predator, like he’s capable of doing any real harm to you. He’d get pleasure out of it, regardless.

His grip is firm when he grabs your face, fingers digging into your cheeks until they plump up and pucker your lips.

He spends a long while just examining your face, eyes flitting to your lips, searchin your eyes, observing and appreciating the slope of your nose. What he sees makes him smile; it’s a sadistic premonition for the near future, the dark behind his white teeth.

“How about I whip out the cuffs? Know how much you hate being tied down.” His breath already smells like the cursed wood barrel that stored his whiskey, but you make sure to keep your face cool, so as not to show him how he’s already getting under your skin.

“Please, you love it when I scratch you up. No need to torture yourself, as well, daddy.”

His smile drops immediately at the pet name, eyes of fire suddenly bursting with fury. “Told you never to call me that.”

You shrug. “Not my fault you can’t handle your own kinks.” He snaps your head back until it meets the wall. The angle is awkward enough for it to not cause much impact, unfortunately. “Aw,” you coo. “Did I make daddy angry?”

His hand goes down to close around your neck, just under your jaw. The air you’d been breathing cuts off immediately. He already knows it doesn’t make much difference to you, but the pleasure still starts to travel south, waking your core to the possibility of what Minho might do to you in his fit of rage.

“You’re so lucky you’re already dead. How would you and your filfthy mouth survive otherwise?”

Your time as a human started fading by the end of your second decade as a vampire. It wasn’t much of a life, and Minho had known exactly why. A survivalist like yourself knew when to speak and when to keep her mouth shut. But being at the top of the food chain...well…

“And you’re lucky you found me.” You bring a hand to rest against the hand fisted around your neck. You can feel the pulse of the veins in that hand. Maybe he didn’t drink enough to make his blood taste so strongly of the alcohol. Maybe you’ll be able to bypass it. “You know how boring your immortal life would be if I hadn’t come along?”

He laughs loudly, but no humour resides in its hearty sound. His jaw is clenched, grasp growing stronger around your neck. Cutting off circulation to veins that need not produce new or fresh blood. You’d say his efforts were all for naught, but then that wouldn’t take into consideration the way liquid fire seemed to drip from your pores in anticipation.

“Do you think I enjoy being killed?”

“Don’t make it sound like I do it that often, daddy, be reasonable.”

If you were a human in this moment, everything would have happened like a blur in front of your eyes; the way Minho dragged you from the wall, throwing your body to the floor -you probably wouldn’t have noticed the shards of glass that broke through your clothes and cut through your back-, how he suddenly was on top of you, taking one of the bigger shards and pressing the jagged edge to your throat. One wrong move as a human, and you would have been dead.

But you’re not, and the thrill that comes is not of terror, but of excitement. See? Had you been wrong?

You can feel his semi-hard length against your stomach. It makes a smarmy grin grace your lips, challenging eyes looking at his. “Fucking knew it. Daddy gets so hard-”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

With a nod, you answer matter-of-factly. “Yeah, when you’re dead. Then I don’t have anyone to play with.”

The glass must have cut Minho’s hand, for soon the sweet smell of iron fills your nostrils, and the crimson drips to the point of the glass that meets your skin. Automatically, your fangs elongate from your gums, and your mouth begins to salivate.

“Let’s stop fucking around,” you suggest, voice a mere hiss. “And let’s play some games.”

Minho doesn’t see the world as you do, doesn’t get the advantage of the same reaction time. That’s why he isn’t able to stop you before you can rip the glass from his hand and sink your teeth into the heel of his palm. It’s not the best place to bite from, but the skin there is always easiest to puncture, and the blood likes to flow freely there.

The first mouthful of blood is always bliss, so satisfying like jigsaw pieces slotting into place. It’s so euphoric, you remember you’d have tears in your eyes your first few feeds. Immortals like Minho are rare, but they’re the best source to feed from. His blood doesn’t taste any better, but he’ll be around way longer than any human can.

He grinds his hips down, looking for friction, pleasure. You pull away, reveling in the blood that slides down your throat, before sitting up, your faces breadths apart.

“Looks like daddy wants to play.”

“(Y/N)...” he only calls your name like a warning, seemingly somewhere between anger and pleasure. He still wants to have an upperhand.

Maybe tonight you’ll let him. As an apology, of course, for killing him.

#skz #stray kids #lee minho #lee know #dean title track series #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids headcanons #stray kids smut

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

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Chapter 19: Martin

It shouldn’t really startle Martin when he falls asleep mid-conversation. After all, it’s been a rather traumatic twenty-four hours, both physically and emotionally. He’s in a decent amount of pain, and he needs rest to heal. He knows all of that, logically. But he’s also never been good at sleeping if there’s anyone else awake in the room, so when he wakes up in a dark room and realizes that the last thing he recalls is Tim starting—but not finishing—one of his terrible jokes, he’s not sure what surprises him more, the fact that he fell asleep or the fact that he actually feels rested.

Sort of, anyway. He’s sore all over—the painkillers have obviously run their course—but he’s not too tired to think, and he’s obviously slept deeply. He stares at the blurry void currently standing in for the ceiling and tries to figure out how he feels about that. It should be a good thing, but it’s…well, there’s no other word for it, it’s weird.

In the grand scheme of things, it’s not that weird. Not as weird as the fact that he’s been talking to a future version of himself for eight days—somehow without knowing he’s blind—or the fact that his future self and Jon’s future self seem insanely close. Not as weird as being held hostage by a woman riddled with worms or attacked in his workplace by that same woman and her moderately-sized army of parasites. Not as weird as entities fueled by fear or an apocalypse being caused by a semi-immortal man currently disguised as an ordinary pencil-pusher. It is, in fact, the ordinary kind of weird, and really, Martin shouldn’t be getting hung up on it. Nevertheless, here he is, unable to understand when he came to trust the rest of the Archival team enough that he feels safe enough to fall asleep while they’re still awake to do things to him.

He really needs therapy, something he’s known for years, but several of the reasons he needs therapy tie into why he avoids therapy and it’s just a whole mess. The only reason he hasn’t done it that doesn’t tie into yet another trauma or blow to his psyche is the fact that he really can’t afford it. He’s barely scraping by as it is, and God only knows how he’s going to manage the need to move. He’s been in the same building for eleven years and rent’s gone up twice, and it’s still cheaper than most other places. Even if he does find someplace that doesn’t cost more, he’ll have to come up with the first month’s rent and the security deposit ahead of time, and then there’s the fact that he’s going to have to replace pretty much everything he owns that he didn’t manage to gather up for his temporary stay in the Archives; Jon and Sasha came back from getting their things and informed him regretfully that Mrs. Mattson had already thrown out what was left in his old flat and rented it out again. Add in the fact that he has to make up almost half of the fees at the home his mother insisted on moving into, and he’s not going to have the spare funds for, well, anything. Let alone therapy.

He sighs heavily and tries to sit up. It’s nice of Tim to let him sleep in the recliner, but when he first wakes up, it’s a bit of a struggle. And he honestly can’t figure out how he keeps lying back, since he’s pretty sure he falls asleep still sitting up. Maybe he’s doing it in his sleep, or maybe he’s just so tired he doesn’t remember settling back. Whatever it is, he discovered yesterday that it’s hard for him to use the appropriate strength to manipulate the recliner back into an upright position. Or at least to do it quietly. The others are still asleep—as far as he knows—and he doesn’t want to disturb them. He can tell himself all he wants that they need rest, that they deserve to have their sleep uninterrupted, that it’s been a rough couple of days for them too, but if he’s being honest it cycles back to his fear of the consequences of disturbing his mother while she was resting. Nine years and he still can’t make himself turn on a light before sunrise if the door isn’t firmly shut or listen to music without headphones after four in the afternoon. He wonders if he’ll ever be free.

The handle engages suddenly and the footrest goes down with a deceptively soft thwump that rocks Martin forward abruptly. He bites back a gasp of pain and waits for the world to stop swimming.

“Martin?”

The whispered call from not far away makes him flinch. Martin looks up, apologies ready on his lips, then realizes he’s not wearing his glasses and has no idea who was talking. He fumbles for them and puts them on just as Jon steps carefully around the end of the coffee table and perches on the end of the sofa next to him.

“I heard you starting to wake up,” Jon says softly. He holds something out—a mug. “I, ah, I was making tea anyway, so I thought…”

“O-oh.” Martin blinks in surprise and reaches out carefully to take the mug. “Ah, thank you?”

Their fingers brush, and it’s all Martin can do not to drop the mug or spill it on himself. He can feel the blush rising in his cheeks. God, it’s probably visible even with no lights.

“You’re welcome. I—you do so much for us. It seemed like high time someone did something for you for a change.” Jon pauses, then adds, “I hope I got it right. I—I know I haven’t exactly asked, but it—it seemed like what I remembered from after dinner?”

Martin takes a cautious sip of the tea and nearly chokes in surprise. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

He can just make out Jon’s unfairly attractive smile before he brings his own mug to his lips. They sit in silence for a long moment, both of them seemingly lost in thought. Martin isn’t sure how much he’s actually thinking, though, beyond panicking slightly. It’s the first time he’s been alone with Jon, really, since he started living in the Archives. And after the last couple of days…he still has no idea where the two of them stand. If they’re on a friendlier footing, if they’ve found common ground, or if things are going to go back to normal once the initial shock wears off.

“What time is it?” he finally asks.

“About four in the morning. You’ve been asleep roughly nine hours.”

Martin exhales. “Christ, I had no idea I fell asleep that early.”

Jon tilts his head slightly. “Well, you’re healing. You’re likely going to do a fair amount of sleeping. We tried to keep it down.”

“I don’t mean to be an inconvenience like that,” Martin says, his stomach twisting. The idea that everyone has to be quiet because of him…

“Don’t be ridiculous, Martin, you’re not an inconvenience.” Jon sets his mug down on the table and turns to face Martin fully. “I—I know I’ve been overly critical of you over the last year. I really am sorry. I never meant to—I shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

“It’s—”

“Don’t say it’s all right. It isn’t. You’ve never been anything but diligent and conscientious, you’ve always gone above and beyond, and I—” Jon exhales. “The truth is, I-I was scared. I didn’t feel…adequate. Like I wasn’t up for the task. I didn’t—I never applied for this job either. Elias picked me, and I had no idea why. I don’t have a background in library science, o-or administration or anything like that. I couldn’t have told you why he offered me the job, but…well, I’m not sure I could have said no if I’d wanted to. A-and then you turned up in my office and said Elias had appointed you, and…I honestly thought he’d sent you to keep an eye on me. To, to report back to him if I stepped out of line or didn’t do the job properly. And then Rosie gave me a copy of your CV and I saw how long you’d been with the Institute, and all your credentials—”

“Most of which were fake.”

“Which I didn’t know at the time. I—I got intimidated.” Jon gives a small laugh. “I saw someone with more experience than all three of us put together and I thought, God, he wanted this job and didn’t get it and now he’s going to be reporting back to Elias every time I step out of line. I kept putting you down on the official recordings because—I don’t know, maybe part of me was hoping it would influence things in my favor if there was ever a dispute? And…I think I was projecting a lot of my own insecurities onto you. I am deeply sorry.”

Well, Jon won’t let him say it’s all right, but…Martin swallows hard and tries to smile. “I forgive you. And I’m sorry, too. I should have told you the truth sooner, but…I don’t know. I was afraid you’d fire me.”

“Considering the first interaction we ever had was me threatening you over that dog, I’d be afraid I’d fire me too.” Jon pauses. “I wonder what would have happened if I’d actually tried.”

Martin actually doesn’t want to think about it. He looks into the depths of the mug in his hands, then sets it on the end table where his glasses were previously. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“You didn’t—oh, you mean the ‘I heard you starting to wake up’ thing? I was already awake.” Jon sighs. “I honestly don’t sleep very well these days. I-it’s not just the nightmares, it’s also…the worrying. About you. All three of you, really, but—you in particular.”

“Me?” Martin’s voice is louder than he means it to be. Tim grunts from somewhere else in the room and both Martin and Jon freeze, but after a moment he makes an odd sort of snorfling sound and seems to settle back into sleep. Martin rubs a hand over his mouth, trying to be careful of the bandages.

“Why me?” he asks, remembering to whisper this time.

Jon is silent for a moment. Martin is about to apologize for having asked when he says, “I could be glib and say it’s because you were the one being stalked by Jane Prentiss, and that is part of it, but…it’s also just that it’s you. It’s not that I don’t think you can take care of yourself just as well as Tim or Sasha can. I do. It’s…I really wasn’t sure before the last couple of days why that was. I’m still not completely sure, but I think I have a bit of a better idea.”

“We worry about you, too, you know.” Martin desperately wants to ask what Jon’s idea is, but he also doesn’t want to pry. “Ask, erm, Martin Prime. I asked him what I could do to help and he said not to let you get hurt and I kind of panicked a little.”

Jon chuckles. “I suppose that is a next-to-impossible task.”

“No, I mean I panicked at the idea that you would get hurt,” Martin says. He wonders how much he can say without betraying how he feels. The Primes are close friends, that much is obvious, but he and Jon aren’t anywhere near that point and he doesn’t want to ruin his chances of even that by blurting out that he’s fallen for his boss like a ton of bricks. This is also probably not the time to bring it up. They’re all a bit…emotionally compromised right now, and he’s still not sure what’s going to happen when the adrenaline of the last two days wears off. Even if Jon’s just said he worries about Martin. Fleetingly, he wonders if Martin Prime ever told Jon Prime how he felt and when, and he wishes it was a question he thought to ask while they had some time alone in the last week. “I-I mean, that was my biggest worry when I realized Jane Prentiss had followed me home, you know? I wasn’t just worried about what she’d do to me. I was worried she might…follow me to the Archives. Come after one of you, but especially you. A-and then when she texted you after I made my statement…” He sighs. “It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid. But there was a part of me thinking that if I needed to stay in the Archives, maybe the rest of you should have too, you know?”

“No, you’re—you’re not wrong. Truthfully, that was one of the things that I kept obsessing over last night,” Jon confesses in a low voice. “When I saw—when I realized—” He breaks off and looks away. “All I could think was that something had happened, that you could be hurt, and that you’d been alone and—God, I should have insisted we all stay. Or that you come stay with one of us from the outset. Although in retrospect…I’m not certain what would have happened if your counterpart had been alone in the Archives at the time. Not that I knew he was there, but…”

“Yeah,” Martin says quietly. He swallows against the sudden, unexpected lump in his throat. “I’m—I’m still glad you weren’t there, though. I-I was glad when it happened, and I was even more glad when I saw Jon Prime and…honestly, Jon, this sucks. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Least of all you. O-or Tim,” he adds hastily. “Or Sasha, but, I mean, she didn’t…not in their timeline, anyway.”

“No, but…that doesn’t mean we wanted you to have to get hurt, either,” Jon says. “It’s not exactly a fair trade.” He looks up at Martin. “A-are you in pain? Do you need your painkillers?”

The answer is yes, but Martin fights the urge to nod. “They, ah, they have to be taken with food. It’s—it’s not as bad as it was yesterday, at least.”

“Hold on. I think I can help with that.”

“Jon—” Martin begins, but it’s too late. Jon has already stood up from the sofa and headed in the direction of the kitchen.

Martin swears under his breath in Polish, then manages to get to his feet without hurting himself. He carefully picks up both mugs of tea and follows Jon, a bit more slowly. Partly it’s the pain, partly it’s force of habit. He doesn’t know where the joists or creaky floorboards might be, and it’s still early, he can’t risk waking people up because he’s walking too loudly. He’s already had one close call too many tonight.

He makes it to the kitchen. Jon is messing about with something, using the night-light mounted above the sink to see by. Martin can’t see what he’s doing. He sets the mugs down carefully on the table and asks, “What are you doing?”

Jon jumps and whirls around, brandishing a butter knife in one hand. He relaxes. “Martin—I didn’t hear you come in. I—I just thought—” He gestures at the counter. “It’s not much, but I thought I’d make you a sandwich at least. Get something in your stomach so you can take the pills.”

“You really don’t have to do that,” Martin protests, feeling his cheeks heat up. “I-I can wait until—”

“I’m sure you can, but there’s no reason you should,” Jon says briskly. “It’s been enough time that you’re certainly able to take your painkillers, and you need them, so why wait and make yourself feel worse?”

There’s a certain amount of logic in that, Martin has to admit. “I just…don’t want to be a bother.”

Jon places a sandwich in front of him firmly and lays a hand on his arm. “Martin,” he says sincerely, “the last thing you are is a bother. Sit down and eat. I’ll be right back.”

He heads out of the kitchen, leaving Martin incredibly confused and slightly embarrassed.

Lacking any better option, he sits down to eat the sandwich Jon has made for him. He doesn’t know what to expect, but it’s certainly not what he bites into. The first taste of it on his tongue almost makes him cry, and he closes his eyes, savoring it.

He hears footsteps and swallows hastily, opening his eyes as Jon comes back into the room. He sets the pill bottle next to Martin’s elbow, then sits down next to him and picks up his mug of tea. “Is it all right?”

“It’s perfect,” Martin says before he thinks it through and almost swallows his tongue. Oh, well, no taking it back now—best to press forward. “I didn’t know Tim ate cherry preserves.”

“I don’t think he does. He teased me a bit about being ‘elitist’ the first time he saw me eating them.”

Martin stops mid-chew and definitely swallows a too-solid bite. It takes him a second before he’s able to speak. “You like them, too?”

Jon’s eyes widen. “Too? I—I mean, obviously you like them, you’re eating the sandwich—God, I didn’t even think to ask, I just assumed…”

“No, it’s—I’ve always liked them,” Martin says. “My—my granddad had a couple cherry trees in his backyard. He used to make preserves every year, and…I dunno. They just remind me of visiting him.” He takes another bite of the sandwich.

Jon nods thoughtfully. “I’ve always been fond of cherry preserves. Well, cherry anything, actually. My grandmother used to bake cherry pies on my birthday in lieu of a cake.”

Martin smiles. “Granddad always did that for me, too.”

“I’ll remember that for next year.” Jon smiles, too.

For a few minutes, there’s silence as Martin finishes the sandwich. When the last bite is gone, Jon takes the plate and gets up to wash it while Martin struggles for a moment to get the cap off the pill vial and shake out a painkiller. The moment feels oddly…domestic. Calm. Cosy. Martin isn’t sure what to do with it, but he decides to try and let himself enjoy it. It’s never worked for him before, but he can give it a shot.

Finally, Jon sits back down next to him. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” It’s not just the painkiller, which probably hasn’t actually started to work yet. It’s the tea, and the sandwich, and Jon being nice. He tries to figure out how to articulate it, then finally says, “It’s the first time in I don’t know how long that I don’t feel afraid.”

Jon exhales. “I know the feeling. I mean—I know I should be. The world is objectively terrifying, and learning what we learned today made that exponentially worse. But…this right here? I’m definitely calmer and more relaxed than I’ve been since I took the Archivist job.”

Something in Martin’s chest warms at the comment. It probably isn’t meant like that, but it’s nice to hear he’s not making Jon stressed by his mere presence, at least. And, hey, he can dream. All he says, though, is, “’S nice.”

“It is.” Jon takes a sip of his tea and stares into it for a moment, then snorts softly and shakes his head.

“What?”

“It’s just…something my counterpart said. While we were talking outside. I hadn’t thought about it before, but…he’s right.” Jon looks up. “He told me he hasn’t finished a cup of tea in years that—that his Martin hasn’t made for him. It just occurred to me that I’m the same way. Even when…those two weeks you weren’t in the office? When Jane Prentiss was—” He swallows hard. “I just realized that I would brew myself a cup of tea and it would just…sit on my desk and get cold. I never managed to drink more than half of it. I suppose it just tastes better when you make it.”

Martin doesn’t know quite how to respond to that. “You make tea just fine. This is perfect.”

Jon hums noncommittally. He seems to be debating with himself, then sighs. “You’re far more observant than I am at times…you know they’re together, right?”

Martin’s brain pulls up short. “Wait, what?”

“Our…counterparts. The Primes. They’re—they love each other. He told me that when I asked him, and…God, in retrospect, it’s so obvious. I-I suppose I just didn’t see it.” Jon looks suddenly nervous as he scans Martin’s face. “You’re more…in tune with that sort of thing than I. You did know, didn’t you?”

“N-no,” Martin manages to stammer out. Oh, God, he can feel his cheeks heating up. Jon’s right, though, in retrospect it’s obvious. He thinks about all the little interactions the Primes have had with one another, the way they both fuss over each other, the way they seem to know what the other is thinking. The lighthearted, affectionate banter, the near-constant physical contact. Jon Prime rubbing his thumb over Martin Prime’s knuckles to calm himself when he gets overwhelmed, Martin Prime reaching for Jon Prime instinctively when he needs a hand up.

Then, suddenly, he remembers the way Martin Prime spoke about the person who was coming back to meet him, when he assured Martin that if they’ve come through somewhere else, they’re looking for me. Logically, he knows now that person was Jon Prime, but he somehow didn’t make the connection between the two. It’s as if his brain saw Jon Prime walk in and instantly erased every conclusion that conversation made him come to. It didn’t occur to him, at the time, that Jon would even bother to bring him back in time with him, let alone be looking for him. Now he takes a mental step back, re-evaluates every moment between the Primes in light of that conversation, and wants to smack himself on the forehead for being an idiot.

“You’re right, though. I really should have figured that out sooner,” he murmurs. “God knows I had enough information to put it together. Guess I just assumed there couldn’t possibly be a universe where I—”

He snaps off the words as quickly as he can. Oh, God, he really almost said it out loud. Almost let Jon know how he feels. He’s not stupid, the Primes have a lot more history between them than he and Jon do, and he doesn’t doubt for a minute that they haven’t been together long, relatively speaking. Probably only since Jon Prime rescued Martin Prime from the Lonely. The circumstances that led them to this point are ones they’re trying to undo, and Martin seriously doubts he and Jon will ever get to that point. It’s best if he tries to let this thing die now and be happy for his counterpart getting this much.

Jon looks like he wants to ask him a question, but doesn’t. Instead, he says quietly, “They weren’t going to tell you. Us, I suppose, but…I asked him. How he felt about his Martin. Mostly because I was trying to figure out how I felt about you, and I thought knowing his thoughts would help untangle mine.”

Martin has to try twice before he can get the words out. “Did it?”

Jon gives a small, humorless laugh. “Not really. In truth, it just made things more confusing. I…” He rubs his thumb against the knuckle of his index finger, the same nervous tic Jon Prime uses when he doesn’t have Martin Prime’s hand to hold. “I-I got scared when I arrived at the Institute the other night. I was…there was all that chaos, all those lights and sirens and activity, and—and I realized you weren’t in the crowd. All I could think of was that there’d been a fire and you hadn’t woken in time, or that you’d been trapped and been…burned or breathed in too much of the CO2 or something. I tried to—they wouldn’t let me in after you. Obviously. That makes perfect sense, but…at the time, all I could think of was that you were in there a-and I needed to get to you, that I needed to know you were safe. I was staring at the idea of a world without you and I couldn’t face it. And then…Elias told me Tim and Sasha were down there, and then mentioned Jane Prentiss, and it all got worse and…I don’t know, Martin, I’m rambling. But Tim’s right. I was—I must’ve shouted down half a dozen officials trying to get one of them to tell me where you were, how you were, to—to let me see you. Everyone kept saying you were going to be all right, but I knew I wouldn’t believe it until I saw you.”

“I—I mean, if it had been Sasha or Tim—” Martin begins.

“I don’t know how I would have reacted if it had been them who was hurt. I was definitely worried about them, but…I don’t know.” Jon takes a deep breath. “I’ll be honest. I still don’t really know how I feel. I—I do care about you. I worry about you, I want you to be safe. Beyond that, I—I’m afraid I don’t know.” He manages a small, slightly roguish smile. “I don’t suppose you know how you feel.”

“Oh, Christ,” Martin practically whines. This is not how he wanted any of this to come out, and he doesn’t know if he should say it.

Then it occurs to him that Jon didn’t ask. Jon, who has just learned that he’s developing the ability to force people to answer his questions, and who is probably more likely to do it when he’s tired or stressed out, deliberately avoided actually asking a question. It’s a simple statement. He’s giving Martin permission to not say a word if he doesn’t want to.

Which…actually, weirdly, makes him want to.

He takes a deep breath. “O-okay. The truth is…I’ve kind of had a crush on you for a while. I wasn’t going to say anything, because it’s—I mean, I didn’t want to make things weird, a-and I know you—I was just trying for ‘he doesn’t think I’m a complete idiot’ for a while there. I also thought it was just a stupid workplace crush, and I was kind of hoping it would eventually go away on its own. It didn’t. Ever since I started living in the Archives, it’s just got worse. I guess that’s why I didn’t realize how the Primes felt about each other. I kind of thought I was projecting, o-or seeing what I wanted to see, maybe? I don’t know. But I do worry, and I do…I do care.”

“That’s not why you went back to Carlos Vittery’s apartment, is it?” Jon’s voice is so soft Martin almost doesn’t hear it, but his eyes are worried. “Because you thought I…?”

“No,” Martin assures him. “No, I—you know, I know I said I was trying to ‘make sure I’d done my due diligence’ and all that, but what was behind that was that I’d been…I felt pressured to go back. Like a nagging, persistent headache. I get it all the time, really, when I’m doing research. Remember when you sent me to track down that…that Angela woman? For the—”

“The man who was falling to pieces. I remember.”

“I know you got exasperated with me, but I literally couldn’t stop until I’d talked to every Angela I could find. I’d think ‘well, I’m not going to find her, I’m going back to the Institute now,’ but I’d get this blinding headache and it wouldn’t go away until I went ‘okay, just one more.’ It’s only got worse as time goes on. So no, I didn’t…get myself into this mess because I was trying to impress you or whatever.” Martin can’t help the small, nervous chuckle that escapes him. “’Course, if it did impress you, I wouldn’t complain.”

“What impressed me was that you kept your head well enough to survive and get back to your apartment, never mind the Institute,” Jon says warmly. “If it were me, I’d likely have done something stupid like go back for my phone when I realized I’d dropped it.” He sighs. “I—I don’t want to make things awkward. But I also don’t want to…promise anything.”

“I don’t expect anything, Jon.” Martin learned a long time ago not to expect anything. As far as he’s concerned, the phrase good things come to those who wait is inapplicable. In his case, it’s more like good things come to those who aren’t you. He has friends, in Tim and Sasha at least. That’s more than he probably deserves.

Jon studies him for a moment, then smiles slightly and holds out his hand. “How about I apologize for being such an ass to you, and we start with friends and see where it goes from there?”

This is the last thing Martin would have ever anticipated, but he’s certainly not going to object. He smiles in reply and takes Jon’s hand. “Deal.”

They shake on it—very gently, Jon is careful of the healing wounds on Martin’s hands—and then sit back. Jon studies Martin. “Did they tell you how long you’ll need to wear the bandages?”

“Until things stop bleeding when I take them off?” Martin shrugs. “Hopefully not too long. Some of them are…deeper than others. I’m supposed to make an appointment with my regular doctor for a follow-up in a couple of weeks.”

“We’ll make sure you get there safely,” Jon promises. He picks up his mug and salutes Martin with it. “After all, what are friends for?”

Martin grins, feeling more relaxed than he’s felt in a while, and salutes Jon back. “What indeed?”

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #mentions of emotional abuse #acts of service as a love language

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petri808 · 3 years

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TW: Non con/Dubious con/NSFW sex act w/supernatural creature. Vampire, chase/hunt prey. Primary Character Dabi (Todoroki)

For @bnhamonsterball 2020 Tumblr/Twitter main event piece 1. A Treat for hibakyochan on Twitter. Beta’d by Imitationicarus. 2k words

Give or take the last three hundred years they’d been alive, this had to be one of the silliest holidays for an immortal to witness. Locally, one would call their kind Kyonshī, but ever since the Halloween concept came to Japan, there was a new term attributed to the undead. Vampires.

Not that the Todoroki clan cared about labels, but this holiday allowed them to come out of the shadows for one day of the year without fear of being discovered. Shibuya train station was the hotbed of Tokyo nightlife for Halloween. There were so many people out and about. The pickings were like a kid in a candy store--all these human’s dressed in an array of costumes. It was a part of their culture, so it made sense this holiday pulled the attention of the Japanese people.

“It’s stupid,” Todoroki Dabi hisses. “Why should we dress like these weirdos?!”

“Because it’s easier to blend in.” His younger brother, Shouto, ignores the tirade and fusses with his cape. “This is how the humans think vampires dress.”

Dabi rolls his eyes. “Capes and stupid looking suits? What’s with your slicked back hair?”

“I enjoy dressing up fancy, and I care if you go out looking like a corpse. So, shut up and get dressed so we can find some food tonight!”

The brothers make their way into a nearby nightclub and slip into one of the shadowed booths. It was easy to move unnoticed through the semi-darkened lounge. Glowing Halloween decor was scattered along the walls. Things like skeletons to pumpkins, ghosts and bats; basically, all the cliche holiday images you could think of. The loud music and disco lighting kept the mindless dancers focused off of the other patrons and boozed up barflies lined the bar counter in giggling packs. So, the only ones paying attention to newcomers were trolling for some action.

It doesn’t take long for interested parties to drop by. Tall and handsome, Shouto found it easy to attract anyone he desired--men and women--but he was mostly interested in the blood scent they gave off. Dabi, with his crazed features, tended to attract humans that were into seedier whims. Well, they’d better, because they were his favorite meal.

Drinks were ordered to keep up appearances, and Shouto already had an attractive brunette draped across his lap. A blond woman in a zombie-esque costume sidles up to Dabi.

“Are you Frankenstein?” the blond questions as she runs her fingers along the textured staples and warped skin covering the exposed areas of Dabi’s body. “Wow! These seem so real!”

“Woman, I’m not that fucked up monster from the movies. This shit is real.”

“Pfft. This fool got himself chopped up and tossed in a fire, so I had to put him back together.” Shouto smirks at his brother. “He’s lucky they missed his heart.”

“Tch,” Dabi grunts and looks away.

“Is that why you’re burned too?” The female on Shouto’s lap asks as she touches the area around his left eye. “You poor baby.”

“Yes.” He teases her lips back to his own, dragging his canines across the flesh before pulling away. “Which is why I need the assistance of a beautiful woman like you.”

“Mmm…” The woman moans at the contact. “Anything you need, cutie.”

“Gross,” Dabi huffs. “You play with your food too much.”

“And you should learn,” Shouto continues to ghost his fingers over the woman’s cheek and neck, pulling more purrs and enchanting her with his stare, “to have a little fun. Makes it so much sweeter.”

“This is why I hate hunting with you.” Dabi stands and pulls the second female to her feet. “Let’s go have some fun blondie.”

The woman giggles and happily allows the man to drag her away. “I didn’t catch your name, mister.”

“Just call me Touya.”

“Touya,” she purrs. “Where are we going for this fun?”

“You’ll see.”

Humans were such gullible creatures. In the old days, they were much more suspicious and difficult to catch, but now, it was child’s play.

Take for instance the ridiculous story about being chopped up. The girls probably thought the siblings were joking. No one believed in supernatural creatures. Vampires, ghosts, and demons were just a bunch of nonsense to scare little kids. Sometimes, Dabi misses the sport of the old days because easy gets boring, and that’s no fun for an immortal.

So, as soon as they reach an alleyway devoid of Halloween revelers, Dabi pushes the woman against a wall. While one hand grips the base of her throat, the fingers of the other toy with her, tracing long fingernails over the contours of her cheek.

“Such a naïve little thing.” He leans in close, licking and teasing the shell of her ear as he talks. “You know it’s not smart to let a strange man take you into a dark alley.”

The pace of her heartbeat steadily rises, and the delicious scent of arousal mixed with fear pours from her flesh.

His knee nudges her legs apart, then seats itself between them, pressing his thigh forward until it rubs against her groin. A whine squeaks out from the woman and catches in her throat when his hand constricts tighter around it.

“Do you like it rough? Cause I do. Now be a good little girl and close your eyes for me. That’s it,” he whispers as he watches her eyes roll back from the lack of air. “Time to take a short nap.”

Dabi picks the woman up, throws her over his shoulder like a sack of rice, and heads for the forests surrounding Mt. Tanzawa. A human traveling this distance would take hours, but for a vampire, it only took just minutes with their preternatural speed. Sort of like jumping through space and time, they moved faster than the naked eye could process. To others watching, they were simply a blur.

“Wake up!” He slaps the woman’s face, hard.

The sting instantly revives her. “W-What’s g-going on?!” The trees blocked out the bulk of the moonlight, making it pitch black. “Where are we?”

“Far outside of Kanagawa.” Dabi grins and leans into one of the scant beams of moonlight. The woman flinches when he flashes the elongated fangs that were not there earlier. “I’ll give you one minute to run before I turn you into my prey.”

“A-are you gonna k-kill me?!”

“Mmm.” He rubs his chin. “I haven’t decided yet. So, get moving!”

The darkness swallows her screams as she takes off running as fast as her legs could carry her. But he knows it’s hard to see where she’s going with brush and fallen tree limbs, rocks and other debris tearing through her clothing. She trips and scrambles to her feet again, tears pouring down her face. Behind her, Dabi’s manic laughter echoes and bounces off the trees making it difficult to pinpoint his location.

“Someone help me!”

“There’s no one for miles,” Dabi replies harshly.

“What do you want from me?!” she cries out.

But her pleas go unanswered this time. He could hear the sounds of brush crunching under her feet as she barrels through the forest. They mask his own movements well, and the further she runs, Dabi could imagine the pain being exacted through lashes all over her skin. ‘Ughhh!’ Dabi groans and licks his lips. The woman smells absolutely delicious! Her blood and sweat trail left in her wake and the fear coursing through her veins! Nope little brother, this is so much sweeter! He loves the pounding of her heartbeat echoing in his eardrums like a primal rhythm driving him wild! It’s been so long since he’d had a meal like this one, and it was time to enjoy it.

He pounces on her from behind and clamps down so quickly, she has no chance to react. The woman’s screams tear through the night along with the puncture of his fangs into the supple white flesh of her neck. She claws in vain wherever she can reach, but the larger Dabi has no problems controlling her writhing body.

“That’s it, scream for me baby,” he mumbles into her skin.

Fuck, she tastes as good as he’d hoped! He sucks gingerly at the coppery blood. There’s no rush to this meal. And besides, the slower he drinks, the longer the heart holds out.

“Please,” the woman whimpers, “I’ll do anything. Just don’t kill me.”

Dabi releases his fangs and flips the blond over.

“Is that so?” Dabi keeps one hand on her throat, and he runs the other between her thighs and up her skirt. She instinctively clenches her legs. “Tch, thought so.”

“No, wait! I’m sorry!” she sobs and relaxes her legs again. “Take it. Please j-just don’t ki-kill me.”

“If you insist.” He grins and releases her neck. “Get the fuck on your hands and knees.”

The blonds shaky body complies, and she assumes the position. Dabi flips her skirt up and tears the fabric of her panties, then releases his own cock. He yanks her hair and wraps his hand around her throat to hold her still.

“You’re being such a good girl.” His icy breath fans over her skin, causing her to shiver. “And if you satisfy my dick, I’ll let you live.”

His cold hard cock buries itself in the woman’s tight and hot pussy.

“Fuck— yeah,” he moans, pounding relentlessly into the woman.

Her pussy was so perfectly tight, it practically sucked his dick in. She couldn’t control her body’s reaction to his conquest as sticky liquid trails down her thigh. Her quieted sobbing falls on deaf ears with Dabi too engrossed in plundering his prey.

“You should feel special, blondie.” He leans in close and licks her cheek. “Not many can say they’ve been fucked by a vampire and lived.” Dabi laughs. “Course no one’s gonna believe you, either!”

The swell of his impending orgasm triggers his icy blue eyes to turn blood red. Dabi pulls her up until they’re both just on their knees and bites down on her neck once more. He grabs her hips hard, and his sharp nails dig into the flesh.

Her moans echo into the still night air as a different set of heat floods her entire body. It was a chemical from his bite that brought on the wave of euphoria. It wasn’t something he always used to placate his prey, but it was harder to control during sex and simply came out.

She weaves one hand behind his head, and another around his ass and thigh seemingly begging for more contact.

“Tou—ya...” she purrs, his name dribbling over and over from her lips as he rides out his orgasm.

“Damn bitch,” Dabi sneers after unhinging his fangs from her throat. “Don’t get comfortable unless you wanna become my sex slave.” He knew it was just the spell making her so compliant, but frankly, the idea was appealing to him. Been a century since his last one. With all the blood loss, the woman is slowly losing consciousness. Sent into a dream world created by the chemicals of lust and the toxins from his bite. Perhaps he’d unlocked a side of her that she’d never known existed?

“I-I want more,” she whispers.

Dabi pulls out roughly and turns her around. “What did you say, slut? Getting turned on are ya?”

“I-I don’t know,” she cries, tears falling down her cheeks and skin tingling from the icy grip of his fingers. “I l-like it…”

“Hmm, maybe I could have a little more fun with you after all. What’s your name, bitch?”

“T-Toga.”

Dabi’s eyes flash red with the most sinister of smiles, then pricks his own finger on one of his fangs. He smears a drop of his blood on Toga’s lips before forcing her to suck more of it in. And as her eyes slowly turn red, he smirks.

#bnhamonsterball #trigger warnings #bnha #dabi todoroki #dabi #Bnha dabi #vampire #halloween event #tw: noncon #tw: violence #tw: sex #tw: prey

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years

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Fic: No One Mourns The Wicked

Happy Halloween! Have an angsty semi-ghost story to, erm, celebrate.

Summary: S3 divergence. Rumpelstiltskin sacrifices himself to defeat Pan, and Storybrooke returns to normal. But it will take more than a sacrifice to lay the darkness to rest, and in the midst of the paradox of it having no true host, it clings to the nearest desperate soul – the young woman on her knees in the street, howling with her loss.

Belle knows there’s darkness within her. She doesn’t care. All she cares about is getting Rumpelstiltskin back…

Rated: M

NB: Character death.

=====

No One Mourns The Wicked

Belle stands alone in the cemetery. There is no grave. There was no body to bury. There wasn’t even a funeral. Rumpelstiltskin gave his life to save them all, and the world has already all but forgotten his sacrifice, taking their precious and petty and pathetic little lives for granted again already.

No one mourns the wicked. Belle knows that. She’s known it for years. It was the cautionary tale drummed into her all through her childhood. No one mourns the wicked. No one lays a lily on their graves.

Belle would lay a lily if she had a grave to lay it on, but she has nothing, no memorial to the love she has lost.

She should be sad. She should be mourning the loss of the man she loved and the man she got to spend so little time with. Even a lifetime together would not have been long enough to fit all of her love into, let alone the scant few weeks they had together in the wake of the curse breaking.

Belle is not sad. Belle is not mourning. It’s the age-old adage brought true: no one mourns the wicked. Belle is not mourning, but not because Rumpel was wicked. Belle is not mourning, because in this moment, she feels wicked herself.

No, Belle is not sad. All she can feel is anger at those who dare to forget the sacrifice that Rumpelstiltskin made for them. They bury it under the list of imagined wrongs that he committed against them; deep down, they’re glad he’s gone so that they no longer have to worry about the prices – always fair and just prices, not that they see that in their self-centred stupidity – that he will come to collect from them in their deals.

Something is stirring within Belle that she has never felt before. This seething anger is crystallising into something darker, much darker. Something that was not there before has now taken root inside her, clawing and gnawing and taking her pain and her loss and turning it into something tangible, something dangerous. She knows that it’s happening, and a small, scared part of her is terrified at the thing that she is becoming inside her own mind.

Rationally, she even knows what it is. The Dark One must always have a host: the poor, unfortunate soul who killed the previous host. In sacrificing himself and taking his own life, Rumpel has created a paradox, and the universe hates such things, seeking to rectify them as soon as possible. So, the Dark One has taken root in another host.

A host with such powerful negative emotions washing over her as she collapsed to her knees in the street, overcome with grief and pain and sadness and not one single person helped her, or even thought to ask if she was all right. Because hey, Pan was gone, and they got rid of Rumpel in one fell swoop too; they should be celebrating! Leave the Dark One’s whore on the ground where she belongs.

Belle wants to make they pay. She’s already hurting so much; her heart aches with her loss. Every time she sees them going about their business without a care in the world, it drives that pain a little deeper. Every time they speak to her as if nothing has happened and as if Rumpel wasn’t so hugely important to her, they twist that knife a little deeper. Are they doing it on purpose? Perhaps before, Belle would have given them the benefit of the doubt, but now she sees the world through a darker lens. An evil lens, that twists everything in front of it to evil too.

Belle is in agony now, and the blinding pain in her chest that takes her breath away every time she remembers Rumpel’s smile, that one that was just for her with nothing but love in it, is unbearable.

She needs to make it stop. She needs peace. But she’ll never have it, not whilst there is so much unfinished business that will never be put to rest until Rumpel is mourned. Not whilst this darkness is growing inside her.

Belle sits down on the cold ground. The part of her mind that is still her own is telling her that this is not the best idea; that she needs to be free to move on and live the rest of her life. That by doing this, she is simply trapping herself in a prison of sadness and pain and hatred, and she will never be rid of it.

The more primal part of her mind, a new addition since Rumpel’s death, is telling her that this is the only way for her to live now, and that if she goes ahead with it, she’ll feel better again. And if she only feels better again for a short time, then that’s all right. There will be plenty more opportunities to seek short-term relief. Right now, all she wants to do is to stop the pain of Rumpel’s loss from gnawing on her bones like a starving rat.

It’s simple enough math when one thinks about it logically. The source of all her problems and all the horrible things that she is feeling is the fact that she no longer has Rumpel. So, in order to buy herself a reprieve from that loss and a balm for this hurt, all she has to do is have Rumpel by her side again.

Magic can’t bring back the dead, she’s known that since long before she even met Rumpel and was exposed to his particular brand of magic. Magic cannot create life where there is none, but the deepest, darkest magic that Rumpel was a master of and everyone else feared, well, that can do all sorts of things.

It cannot create life, but it can perhaps create a facsimile of it.

Belle opens her bag and takes out the book of spells she found in the pawn shop, mixed in with all of Rumpel’s other magical things that were brought through to this realm with the curse, and she opens it to the right page. Ideally it should be performed on the grave, but there is no grave; there was no body.

Sometimes she wonders if Rumpel really is even dead, or if this thing that has begun lurking in her heart, the ever-present darkness that she had so lamented in his own time, is keeping him tethered to life. After all, the Dark One is immortal. Everyone knows that.

She hopes that this is the case. If it is, then her idea will work. There’s no body, there’s no grave, but there might still be a spirit, and if she cannot have her true Rumpel by her side, then a spirit will have to do. She cannot raise the dead, but she may just be able to lift their spirits.

Belle places her hands on the cold grass as she reads the incantation. A plea to the earth to release the soul from the body – not a problem, the body was destroyed, and the soul was freed with it at the time. That part shouldn’t be difficult.

Onwards to the next step, a sacrifice of blood to link the living and the dead. Belle picks up Rumpel’s dagger. His name is still etched into the side, as stark and clear as it ever was, but sometimes, if she holds it in just the right light, she can see her own name beneath the letters, ever so slight and faint, but undeniably there.

Something evil has taken root in her, and for all she had wanted Rumpel to be free of it, now that she feels its power coursing through her veins, Belle can quite see why he found it so intoxicating at the time.

She pricks her finger with the point of the blade, squeezing out a drop of blood and watching as it falls to the cold ground. The second part of the spell is complete. Now, for the grand finale, a wonderful denouement to her plans.

She takes Rumpel’s shawl from round her neck, the shawl that had been Bae’s. She wonders if perhaps she ought to have consulted Neal before embarking on this course of action, but she knows that he would only try to talk her out of it, and besides, he has his own problems to worry about. He’s grieving his father, yes, but there was too much bad blood there that never had a chance to be put right, and he has the living to worry about. Belle does not bear him as much grudge as she does the rest of them. Maybe she’ll spare Neal when the time comes.

When the time comes to do what? The voice in her head that’s entirely her own keeps asking her where she’s going with this plan and what she hopes to gain from it, but then her anguish drowns it out, and the moment of clarity is over.

Belle lays the shawl down on the ground over the drops of blood and presses her hands down against it. Something from life to bring the soul forth, and a final incantation.

There’s an unnatural breeze in the cemetery, and the pages of the Grimmerie flap wildly before the book slams shut with the finality of a spell cast from a place of such venom and pain that it will hold and stick for as long as it possibly can.

“Belle?”

Belle smiles, for she recognises that voice. It sounds whispery, far away, speaking to her from beyond the veil, indeed, but she would know Rumpel’s voice anywhere. Her Rumpel, the one she fell in love with back in the Dark Castle, the impish trickster with his quips and snips. The man Gold had been just as wonderful, but right now, it is her Rumpel that her heart aches for.

“It worked.” She almost can’t believe it, but then, Rumpel’s spells have always been kind to her. She thinks of the protection spell for the town line that he left for her. “It worked!”

“Belle, what’s going on?”

His voice is stronger now, and Belle almost doesn’t want to turn and risk ruining the illusion. What if she’s just imagining things now as a coping mechanism to deal with this grief?

But she must turn. She has to see him.

He’s there.

He’s not quite right, but he’s there.

His leathers and silks, his scaled, slightly gold-dusted skin, his claw like fingers, his dark, slate-grey eyes. It’s all there, just as she remembers from the old times, although he’s faded, his colours washed out like fabric that’s been laundered too many times. He’s not all there, but he’s there enough, and that’s all that Belle needs.

“Rumpel!”

She scrabbles to her feet and runs over to him, throwing her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder. He doesn’t feel quite right either, a little like holding air that’s just a bit more solid than the rest of the air, like it might vanish into vapour at any moment.

But he’s there, in her arms where he should be.

“Belle, I don’t understand, what’s going on? What happened?”

“I brought you back!” Belle says, and she can’t keep the giddy excitement out of her voice. “Well, not entirely. I know that you can’t bring back the dead. But I called up your soul. Look!”

She takes his hand, dragging him over to the site of her spellcasting, squeezing tightly in case he vanishes out of her hold as soon as she looks away from him.

“Oh, Belle. Oh, Belle, please tell me you didn’t...”

Rumpel shakes his head as he takes in the blood-stained shawl and the Grimmerie on the ground. His expression is mournful.

“Belle, my love, you should have let me go.”

“Why?”

Rumpel just stares at her. “What do you mean?”

“Why should I have let you go? Why do I have to accept misery for the rest of my life? Everyone else is getting their happy endings; what did I do that means I don’t deserve mine?”

“Belle, you do deserve a happy ending. You deserve every happiness in the world, but you’re not going to get that from this… shadow.” He indicates himself.

“But I am happy,” Belle protests. “I have you back, that’s all I need. I’m happy now.”

She doesn’t realise that tears have begun to fall until Rumpel reaches out to brush them away.

“Are you really?” he asks.

“Yes!”

“Belle, what you’ve done cannot be undone. The Grimmerie’s magic is too powerful for that. You know I only ever used that book for my darkest spells, and what you’ve done…”

He breaks off, looking into her eyes intently, and Belle knows that he can see it, the darkness inside her, the darkness that they now share.

“Oh no,” he breathes. “Oh, what have I made you become?”

Belle shakes her head.

“You haven’t made me become anything. I did this of my own free will. What you have made me, Rumpelstiltskin, is happy, and I couldn’t bear to let go of that happiness when it was cut short. I thought I’d lost you forever when you went to Neverland. I know I said that I would see you again, but there was a part of me that knew I maybe wouldn’t. I had you back for a day and a half and then I lost you again, for real this time. I had a day and a half of happiness with you!” She gestures towards the town beyond the cemetery gates. “Everyone out there will have a lifetime of happiness thanks to you! You gave up my happiness with you so that everyone else could have theirs! That’s not fair, Rumpel! I’m reclaiming my happy ending from you now!”

“Belle, this isn’t a happy ending!” Rumpel is pleading, but the darkness is clouding Belle’s vision now and she doesn’t care. She’s got him back, and that’s all that matters. “Summoning this shadow, this vision that I am, it will not bring you happiness! All it will do is hold you back from finding something good and true.”

Belle turns her gaze back on him, and he takes a step back with the force of the look she gives him.

“We had something good and true, Rumpel. We had true love, and you were just starting to see that and accept that we would be together forever. So many paths, but the only one you wanted was the one where you and I were together. So now, we can tread that path. Now, we can be together.”

“Belle, it’s not the same thing, this is…”

“I know it’s not the same. I know I can’t bring back the dead, no one can. But this is as close as I’m going to get, and if I have to settle for a shadow then I’d rather have that than nothing at all!”

The force of her emotion seems to have got the better of him, and he just gives a slow nod. He goes to pick up the dagger and the Grimmerie, but his hands go straight through them. By linking his soul to her blood, she is the only thing he will be able to interact with in this world.

Belle stows the items back in her bag, and they begin to make their way back towards the pink house that Belle has only recently come to call home. The silence between them is tense; Rumpelstiltskin’s soul does not appreciate being roused from the sleep of the dead like this, and Belle feels that he still does not fully understand why she had to do what she did, to save her breaking heart and her sanity.

For her part, Belle cannot understand why Rumpel is so upset with this course of action that she’s taken. He was taken from life before his time; certainly, he went on his own terms, but Belle knows that if she died of anything other than old age, she would welcome a second chance to be part of the world again. Well, it’s not exactly the same as being alive again, not able to interact with the world. Maybe it’s a case of all or nothing; maybe he would prefer death to this state of halfway between.

The part of Belle’s mind that is still clinging to the light in her heart tells her that she needs to let him go, that this cannot be anything less than torture for him to be here but not here, that she would not enjoy it if it happened to her.

The part that is giving in to the darkness tells her that right now, she needs him with her, by any means necessary, and maybe he should have thought about the consequences before he took himself away.

He did it for the greater good, she thinks. He was the only one who could save us all, and that was the only way. We would all be dead if it wasn’t for him.

The thoughts don’t help her, not when she thinks that she would rather everyone, including her, were dead, so that she doesn’t have to live with this pain anymore.

There’s a storm in the air as they walk side by side through the town. Ironic, really: the forecast had been for sunny skies. There’s not a single head they don’t turn as they pass through, the townsfolk all gawping at the sight of Rumpelstiltskin calmly making his way through the town, a vision of the impish yet all-powerful sorcerer he had always been in the Enchanted Forest, all of the fear that Gold inspired now increased four-fold as Rumpelstiltskin returns.

Belle smiles. That should scare them. They’ll think twice before thinking that they’re free from Rumpelstiltskin now. Oh yes, they thought they’d got rid of him, so relieved when he removed himself from the picture.

Now they’ll see. Now, they can’t escape fate. Now, they’ll pay.

Pay for what, a part of her asks. She brushes it aside. She can work that out later.

They thought that they were free of the Dark One, but Belle knows better. What darkness didn’t die with Rumpel lives on in her. It’s not something they’ll ever get rid of, and Belle’s going to make sure that they don’t forget it.

Belle is tired. She stares out of the window at the steel grey sky, wishing that she had the energy to do something, to feel something, anything. Anything except this darkness eating her from the inside and making her numb to the world. At first it had fed just on her happiness and positivity, leaving her with only pain and rage and grief, but now it’s taken those as well. She’s just a shell of her former self, exhausted by evil.

She wonders how Rumpel managed for three hundred years, before she comes to the horrible conclusion. Rumpel had something to fight for. He was determined to get back to Bae. Belle has nothing similar. Everything she could have fought for was taken from her, and she brought it back in shadow form, the shadow that hovers beside her, stroking her cheek softly with one claw. She doesn’t turn to look at him; she doesn’t have the will.

“You’ve got to let me go,” he whispers, and she’s heard the words so many times now that sometimes she hears them even when he’s not saying them. “It’s not too late, but soon it will be. Let me go, my love, and you’ll be free. You’ll move on, and you’ll be happy again, and you’ll love again, and you’ll fight this darkness. Please, sweetheart, let me go whilst you still have the chance.”

Over the last few years, the shadow that she brought back has become more and more tangible, more and more able to interact with the world around it. What began as a ghost is becoming frighteningly close to real, to breaking that cardinal rule of magic: you can’t bring back the dead.

Soon there will come a time when even if she lets him, he won’t be able to go. Ghosts are souls with unfinished business on earth, unable to move on until that business is resolved. Rumpelstiltskin had no unfinished business when he died, but as soon as Belle grabbed his soul from the beyond and tethered it to her, pulling him back into life, she gave him some very unfinished business in the form of herself. The longer he stays – well, the longer she keeps him here – the more complicated that unfinished business will become.

She knows she has to let him go. He’s told her so every single day from the day she brought him back, so far in the past now that she can barely remember it. But just as he is becoming more inextricably linked back to life, Belle is becoming more inextricably linked back to him. He once described magic as a crutch he didn’t know how to live without.

Rumpelstiltskin has become Belle’s crutch, and she doesn’t want to know how to live without him. Without him, she fears that the darkness inside will simply swallow her whole. It has already consumed so much of her. Rumpel assures her that this is not the case, that letting him go will let the darkness go as well. Belle isn’t so sure, and it’s not a risk she’s willing to take. For as long as he is with her, she can fight against this darkness. It’s a losing fight, but it’s still a fight.

“Come on.” Rumpelstiltskin’s hand closes over hers. “Let’s go outside. Fresh air will do you good.”

Belle nods, and she lets him pull her up out of her chair and guide her out of the front door with a gentle hand on her back.

Storybrooke is so different now to how it was in its heyday. Belle remembers walking through the town with Rumpel having just brought him back. There were so many people around, all the shops were busy and bright and full of life.

There’s no-one here now. Everyone moved on. In dribs and drabs at first, then in an exodus when it became clear that the darkness was rapidly spiralling out of control. Belle didn’t care at the time. She quite enjoyed having the entire town to herself and Rumpel. He saved it, after all, why shouldn’t it be theirs after that sacrifice?

Now though, the sight of the place, fallen into such disrepair in the intervening years, leaves her chilled. The weather doesn’t help. The sun hasn’t shone since that first day, when sunny skies had been forecast and she had brought them a storm of darkness instead. Belle doesn’t miss much, but she misses the sun.

She leans closer into Rumpel’s side as they make their way down the main street, past Granny’s – long since boarded up, neon switched off permanently. Belle knows where they’re going. They always find their way back to the cemetery in the end.

She shakes her head.

“No, Rumpel. Please. I can’t. You’re the only thing I have anymore. I can’t let you go.”

“If you let me go, sweetheart, then there’ll be room in your life for more things. For light, and for living. You can’t stay here in a dead town with a dead love. Please, let me go. For both our sakes.”

“I don’t want to lose you again. I already lost you too many times. I can’t go through that pain again. It’s going to destroy me, Rumpel!”

She’s gripping his arms in an iron grip, gazing desperately into his face and hoping that he sees her fear. It’s the only thing she feels anymore, the fear of losing him completely. Why can’t he see that’s why she can’t let him go?

Losing him again will destroy her, if losing him the last time didn’t already, when the darkness crept into her heart and began to eat everything around it. Something logical in the back of her mind tells her that she can hardly be more destroyed than she already is, and maybe Rumpel is right, that losing him for this final time will be the first step in putting herself back together again.

“You’ll find me again, love. I’ll be right there waiting.”

“No. Please, no. I don’t want to wait. I want you here with me now. Forever.”

This time, Rumpelstiltskin doesn’t say those fatal words of ‘what have you done?’ They both know what she’s done. They both knew it was only a matter of time before the magic would weave itself into them so intrinsically that she would never be able to let it go. Belle can feel the finality in her words, and the darkness deep within her smiles to itself. Now, they will never be apart.

They’ll be stuck here in this ghost town forever, neither of them able to move on, but they’ll be together. They’ll never lose each other again.

“Belle.”

He feels more solid now as he takes her in his arms and she crumples against him, all of her pain and her rage and her grief coming rushing back in a flood now that she has truly past the point of no return. The darkness continues to creep through her veins as she cries for everything that she has lost over the years, including Rumpel.

Because she never really brought him back. Magic can’t bring back the dead. She doomed his shadow to walk the earth, and in doing so, she’s now doomed herself. He’s still just as lost to her as he always was, even as she feels his arms around her.

“I’m so sorry,” she gasps.

“It’s ok,” Rumpel says. “The darkness is like that. Believe me, I know.”

They stand in the cemetery in the twilight for a long time, two lost souls manipulated by darkness, bound to each other and the earth.

They can’t move on, so they stay where they are. They can’t let go, so they keep holding each other.

A brief flicker of light amidst an ocean of darkness.

Henry watches the New England forest slide past the yellow bug, almost on autopilot. It’s been so long since they left Storybrooke that it almost feels like living there was in another life. So much has happened since they all got out and left it for the ghosts, but he’s never been able to put it fully out of his mind, not even now, with a family of his own and so much more life under his hat.

He’s never been back since they left; as far as he knows, no one has. Still, the road is familiar, and he doesn’t need a map to find his way. Not that Storybrooke was ever on any commercially available maps in the first place, but this intuition guiding him back to the place he was never really able to stop calling home even after everything went wrong there is, well, kind of creepy and reassuring at the same time.

After Belle went… He trails off the thought, wondering what the right word is. After Belle went mad? After Belle went dark? Neither of them really fit, because what happened to her was so tragic, it deserves more than a simple word to express it. None of it was her fault; any more than it was Rumpelstiltskin’s fault. The darkness got into her, the nearest desperate soul who needed its siren call, and she let it in readily, in so much pain and so full of grief that it was a balm to her, a solace. Once it was there, it took root, and took over, like a parasite, feeding her pain whilst feeding off it at the same time.

She never became a new Dark One, not whilst Rumpelstiltskin was still around in some shape or form, and Henry has to wonder what became of her in the end, after everyone around her stopped trying to help and just packed their bags and left her, a lost cause. Some people can’t be saved, they said. People have to want to change before they can be helped.

It’s more complicated than that, Henry knows it is. He’s seen so much in his life, especially when it comes to the dynamics of family and friends and good and evil. All he has to do is look to Regina to know that things are never cut and dried when it comes to darkness. Regina was the last to leave. The town had always meant so much to her, and she was determined to stay as long as she could. She’d bargained with Rumpelstiltskin’s ghost, and he had tried to bargain with Belle, and they had both told her over and again to let him go and to step out of the darkness.

The last time Henry saw Belle, she was almost as much of a ghost as Rumpelstiltskin was, and he wonders what that means for them now. He wonders how much of Storybrooke is even left now that the magic that brought it into being has long gone.

Henry shivers as he crosses over the town line. The orange paint has long since faded and the sign is so covered with overgrown foliage that it can barely be seen, but he knows exactly where he is. It's as if someone walked over his grave. Ironic, really, since he's likely the only truly living thing in the town now. As he enters the town proper, he can see how abandoned it is. Everything has gone back to nature; perhaps the magic imbued in the town has started to wear off and it is returning to the untouched Maine forest it had always been before the fairy tale characters landed in it so unceremoniously, over half a century ago now.

There's not a single building that looks maintained in any degree, and the electric connections have long since gone. Despite everything, all Henry can feel is a deep sadness. He still has so many memories connected to this town. Some are good, some are bad, but it was such a formative part of his childhood and so many things happened here. He can't help but grieve the loss of its otherworldly vibrancy.

Jacinda had offered to come with him; they could bring Lucy along and go on a road trip to see the place where Henry grew up, but he didn't think that would be a good idea, with the possibility of vengeful ghosts roaming around. Now, he's not so worried about the ghosts. He simply doesn't want Jacinda and Lucy to see the place that he held so dear in a state of such disrepair.

Still, he didn't come here simply for a nostalgia trip. He came here with purpose, and he's going to fulfil it.

It's time for Storybrooke's ghosts to find peace at last. Maybe no one could help them at the time, when everything was still too fresh and raw and the darkness was still too untamed, but now, with so much time having passed, he thinks they deserve a second chance. They deserve to be mourned.

Henry continues to make his way through the town, out into the quieter residential areas where his grandfather's pink house sits. It too is abandoned and broken, and Henry feels his heart sink. He had entertained visions of it being the only place left in the town with any degree of life in it, but then, when he thinks about what he came here to do, he realises how silly such a notion was.

He's at a loss now, unsure where to find them if not in the place Belle had turned into her own Dark Castle, her own little hermitage. He abandons the bug in the driveway and considers stepping inside before deciding against it. He never went into Belle and Rumpelstiltskin's home before, and after the ghost returned, it became almost sacrosanct. He can't break that now.

He walks back into the town on foot, turning his collar up against the chill wind that has started to blow. He hadn’t particularly noticed the cold before, but now the weather is definitely taking a turn for the worse. Henry wonders if it is doing so purely in response to him. After all, the sun has not shone in Storybrooke ever since Belle brought Rumpel’s ghost back, and it certainly shows no signs of breaking with tradition now.

He can feel someone watching him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, but he doesn’t turn to see what, or who, it is. So much time spent around fairy tales and stories has made him canny when it comes to the classic creepy tropes. He keeps on going, straight ahead. He never felt any fear of Belle or Rumpelstiltskin before he left the town. It was everyone else who was nervous, but Henry knew that he had nothing to fear. He and his father were about the only people who knew they’d be safe; that no matter how vindictive Belle might become in her darkness, Rumpelstiltskin would never allow anything to happen to Neal or Henry.

He comes to a halt in front of the cemetery gates. They’re open – wide open. They’ve been left like that purposefully, not just left to fall apart like the rest of the town. Strangely enough, this is the only place that feels even remotely alive, and Henry knows just why that is.

After all, Belle was more ghost than alive by the end. They’re probably more at home here, doomed never to move on and join those beyond the veil, however much they might yearn to.

Whoever it is, they’re still watching him, just over his shoulder as he steps into the cemetery and walks through the unkempt graves.

“How have you been?” he asks. “Did you get lonely after everyone left?”

“No.”

Henry glances to his side. It’s Belle, there but not there, almost translucent, everything about her in tones of grey and sepia and yet just a little bit too close to real to be a ghost.

“I had Rumpel,” she continues. “I always managed to convince myself that I didn’t need anyone else.”

Henry wants to ask what she is – shadow? Shade? Ghost? Spirit? Are all those things the same thing anyway? Did she die; is there a skeleton somewhere in this ghost town, or did she simply turn into a ghost? He suspects the latter, the darkness consuming her so much that there was nothing but her soul left. It seems rude to ask, so he goes for a different tactic instead.

“Where’s Rumpel?”

“Around. We’re always around.”

“You can’t move on, can you? You’ll be stuck here forever.”

Belle shrugs. “It’s not so bad. We have each other, that’s all we really need.”

“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable… you know… elsewhere? In the great beyond, or whatever comes next?”

“Yes.” Belle’s voice is soft and could so easily be mistaken for the wind in the trees. “But that can’t happen, Henry. We’re stuck. We always will be. I made sure of that, in my own way. I thought it was what I wanted at the time. That’s the thing about darkness. You always think it’s what you want at the time, and it’s only much later that you realise that everything comes at a price.”

“Surely there has to be something I can do to help you. Every curse can be broken by something.” Their story is so tragic, their terrible fate borne not from a desire to do evil but from desperation, pain, loss. The same beginning as so many tragedies.

Belle shakes her head. “No one mourns the wicked.”

She’s gone then. She doesn’t vanish suddenly or fade away. She’s just gone, as if she was never there at all.

And Henry knows what he has to do.

It doesn’t take long to find what he needs; there’s more than enough tree branches around the place. Attempting to cut them takes longer as all the saws and blades in the hardware store are so dusty and out of use now that they just fall to bits as soon as he tries to use them. It takes him a couple of goes with the twine as well, until he finds some in good enough condition.

It’s not exactly a marble slab with names and dates and meaningful words on it, but nonetheless, it’s a marker, something stuck in the ground to show the world at large, even in this wholly abandoned place, that someone is dead and someone else cares that they are. Two little wooden crosses, even though there is nothing to bury.

He feels like he ought to say a few words, but none are forthcoming. What can he say that will encompass the decades of hurt and isolation that they’ve been through? So, instead, he just sits there on the ground and thinks, until he feels the warmth of the sun creep up over his back, and he smiles.

He knows what that means, and he can’t avoid giving in to the cliché. He turns to glance over his shoulder as the clouds over Storybrooke begin to clear for the first time in so very many years.

Belle and Rumpelstiltskin smile at him for the brief moment that they’re visible before they’re gone, gone for good this time. For that brief moment, everything is bright and colourful again, the grey and the sepia is banished to the past and they’re bathed in the light of whatever comes next.

Peaceful and free at last.

By the time Henry has walked back to the bug, it’s a truly beautiful day.

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #Belle French #Rumpelstiltskin #angst #with a sort of happy ending #ghost story #season 3 divergence #dark!Belle #ghost!Rumpel

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moviegroovies · 5 years

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oh my go d i swore to myself i would stop until at least tomorrow with the headcanons but now that i’ve opened up the floodgates they just keep coming so here we go, part 2!!!!

out of all the lost boys (other than michael, obviously), paul is the one who would get along the best with sam, if the vampires and the emersons ever figure out how to make peace with one another. in fact, they have pretty similar interests; paul’s into mtv, too, and he hangs around stores with tvs all night trying to catch a glimpse of it, probably running into sam once in a while without even noticing when sam’s out doing the same. plus, he’d never admit it, but he thinks sam’s clothes are pretty cool...

not that he’d give up his rocker style for it

or that david would LET him ruin the group’s aesthetic by giving up his rocker style for it dshgfdhg

in general paul’s pretty good with kids, but in like a “fun uncle” way. he’s DEFINITELY not suited to be a child’s main caretaker, but he likes things they like, so he’d be good at having fun with them: taking them out for ice cream or the arcade, palling around, that kind of thing. he’s probably the kind of guy who dares kids to do dangerous shit without ever considering whether or not they’ll, you know, be okay.

dwayne on the other hand is intensely cognizant of that stuff, to the point of anxiety; even if he doesn’t actually stop the goings on he’s just Super Aware it’s happening and he won’t relax until the kid’s feet are on the fucking ground, thank you.

which isn’t to say that kids don’t think dwayne is fun. really, all of the lost boys (including star) are more suited to be fun uncles + aunt (or more accurately, fun older sibling types) than actual parents. the whole group is mostly about having good times forever, so it’s not like them to get bogged down in responsibility and adult stuff. that’s not on their radar.

marko and paul goof around together a lot. you know how i said paul would unthinkingly dare human children to do dangerous stuff? IMAGINE the kind of shit he tries to get an invulnerable immortal to do. half the time they spend with each other is just spent trying to think of increasingly awful things to wish on the other until one of them finally backs down from a dare, which can take weeks.

other people can get dragged into these battles; dwayne is the most frequent victim until michael shows up and does so many dumbass things because he doesn’t quite realize he’s being hazed.

david HATES it

he thinks they’re all being dumb and immature as hell, but at the same time, he’s no more mature than they are, no matter how much he likes to act it. if one of them goes “i triple dog dare you,” he’s going to hold out for about three seconds before his pride gets the better of him and oops, there he goes, off to do the stupid thing

michael figures this out about him fairly quickly, and one such dare is the way he finally gets his revenge for getting tricked into giving up his mortality and that whole incident with the train on the bridge

one fought shark and two weeks of watching david regrow partially missing limbs later, nobody fucks with michael anymore. go figure.

ok honestly i have even less to go on with jasper than i do for the rest of the lost boys, which is already fairly sparse, but i want to think about him so I Am.

based on the lost boys: the beginning script (what little there is of him in it, honestly--he’s definitely got the least lines, never mind that he isn’t even in the real movie), my characterization of him would revolve around him being a bit of a dandy. kind of thinks of himself as a gentleman thief, the montparnasse of the group, if you get what i’m saying. he’s not actually all that slick (never mind the bad poetry he writes), but he tries to dress a little better than the others, and they let him think he’s a wine connoisseur when they really suspect he’s just teetering on alcoholism.

underneath the prettyboy poet thing, he has the capacity to be kind of nasty if the opportunity presents itself (on the sliding scale of control to bloodthirst from my last post, i’d put him below dwayne but above marko, making him semi-controlled, but still liable to go vicious on a hunt), but when he was human, he mostly preferred to run from fights rather than fight them--he was the fastest of the group (after his death, david briefly took that place, until star showed up), and had the best hands for pickpocketing.

he’s also a little bit of a dork underneath it all. when he’s had a little too much to drink he’s liable to gush about his affection for his friends, or a stranger, or anyone who gets within gushing distance. everybody gave him a hard time about it, but once he’s gone, they secretly feel like they should have appreciated it more when he was around.

on the other hand, he could be somewhat prone to bouts of melancholy.

dwayne said Gay Rights.

when jasper was alive, the two of them were the closest, having a pretty steady (though not entirely monogamous) relationship over the course of about a year of their human lives and around three or four solid decades of vampirism. the other guys knew, naturally, but apart from some mild teasing, they mostly just let it be. it’s not like any of them are particularly straight--if anything, they were probably just jealous that they found each other and had a relationship that made them that happy. not that they’d ever say that, of course.

the end of the prequel script almost made me think that jasper died then, somehow? but then he said something new a few lines after the line that made me think that, so i’m just going to work off the assumption that he lived through that and died later.

instead, i think he was killed by grandpa emerson and some other vampire hunters when grandpa was in his prime.

in the wake of jasper’s death, the whole gang kind of falls apart. even after all these years of killing, none of them have ever dealt with real loss, the loss of a blood brother (or, in dwayne’s case, a dude he’s been in love with for a much longer stretch of his life than the part where he wasn’t) before. the only thing they can all agree on is that they have to get revenge immediately.

even though he’s never been on the front lines of these hunts, it’s a unanimous agreement that dwayne lead the charge to find the hunters who killed jasper. for once, when they get to the group, dwayne isn’t feeding, he’s just annihilating every single person even tangentially involved. the only person who escapes the massacre with his life is grandpa emerson, who just barely makes it out unnoticed in the aftermath of the thing, when david finally has to physically remove dwayne from the corpses and take him back to the cave for his own good. even then, he’s in no condition to hunt vampires for months, and even when he recovers, he never gets his full health back. instead, he lies low, the thought that the vampires will one day realize what they missed eternally ringing at the back of his mind, and moves his wife and young daughter outside of the city limits, staying away from santa carla as much as he can.

that’s pretty much it on hunting for grandpa emerson. at least, for the next few decades, that is...

after a few years, things go more or less back to normal for the lost boys, except with the loss of the relatively quiet, subdued jasper, the group’s dynamic takes a little bit of a turn for the worse. dwayne’s more nonverbal than ever, and also a little wilder, a little more inclined toward violence when he remembers the last humans who got too close to their dwelling. marko, seeing the opportunity, tends toward more extreme violence in those days, and paul, who gets easily drawn in by the smell and sight of blood, tends to follow suit. even david finds himself lost in the kill sometimes, coming to hours afterward and realizing that he’d been clumsy, even reckless, in his hunting the night before.

they’re all making mistakes and egging each other on, and david doesn’t like it. he’s got the presence of mind (not to mention the eternal protective instinct regarding his friends) to realize that they’re spiraling, and if they keep it up like this, more hunters are going to rise in the place of the ones they killed. this starts a search for a more level-headed member of their group to replace jasper, a search that, naturally, leads him to star.

her inclusion to the group definitely helps things. the guys, having lived in pure testosterone for some 60 odd years, are a little awkward in her presence, and for the first year or so, they’re quieter when she’s around, trying to impress her.

they all go out and get the canopy bed especially for her (they do like her, from the beginning) when it becomes obvious that star’s penchant for long skirts will only make things awkward if she tries to sleep upside down with them, not to mention their mutual unease regarding a co-ed bat cave.

they have no idea what girls, especially girls in the 70′s, like, but they try to dress it up and they’re very proud when they present it to her.

from the beginning, star doesn’t trust marko all that much--she refuses to be alone with him, and forms a habit around being on the other side of the room from him in group settings. it sort of pisses marko off (mostly just because he doesn’t understand why), but david sees this and understands, intervening in such a way that leaves marko no room for argument whenever he tries to confront her about it.

star doesn’t like david, either, mostly due to the growing resentments she builds over the decade and a half she spends with them for him letting her become a vampire. her hatred, given that it was her decision (that she’d asked him specifically to make her a vampire) pisses david off a lot, but he lets her get away with a lot, too, because he remembers how much he fought against being turned, and can understand her moral dilemma.

star feels the safest when dwayne is around, but she had some fun times goofing off with paul and dancing to the radio. those times were probably the ones where she regretted her decision to join the lost boys the least.

dwayne’s residual anger and bloodlust from the incident with jasper finally starts to fade when she shows up, which david notices and appreciates

still, her inner conflict over joining them is obvious and leads to a different kind of tension in the group, so he has to keep searching for another member to cool things down.

hence: laddie

honestly i can’t tell what i think about the origin of his inclusion. part of me thinks it could be a claudia in iwtv situation, where david tries babytrapping star, banking on the idea that she won’t be able to leave if she knows there’s a little kid there that she has a duty to protect. on the other hand, david intentionally condemning a little kid to a kind of stunted half life where he can’t grow up and is taken away from his parents sort of conflicts with the david that unrobbed a dude because he saw that the guy had little kids relying on him, and anyway, up until this point, david had only known star as a somewhat reckless teenage girl; banking on her having a maternal instinct he’d seen no proof of seems like an awfully big gamble.

so what i’m thinking is more like: david kept looking for a sixth member, but he was looking at the young adults in their age range on the boardwalk, not children. instead, some unforseen event happens around the same time as he’s looking (i’m thinking maybe the boys go too far when hunting one night and laddie got seriously injured in the crossfires, leading dwayne or star or david to take him back to the hotel for blood to save his life), and bam: sixth member.

i think his inclusion kind of does what david wanted it to do and kind of Doesn’t.

like, as soon as he shows up, star completely lets go of any notion of leaving the group and running away, which is good. at the same time, though, she resents david even more for turning laddie, even if it saved his life (naturally, it was the boys’ fault that laddie was in danger in the first place, so she kind of has a point) and now she’s always preoccupied with questions about turning back and she spends a lot of time mourning her humanity.

so david is still fucking looking for another person to even this new mess out.

i think laddie and star both have instincts on some level (or, if laddie doesn’t, he’s guided by star, and star does) about the safest place to be in the semi-volatile vampire den at any time. like, star visibly doesn’t get along very well with david, but she still knows that he’s got the most self control and at least some semblance of a moral code, so when it comes down to it, she hovers around him. they’re definitely not dating, and never were, but it could easily seem that way to an outsider; on the boardwalk, when she’s with the boys, she sticks as close to david as she can, and if she’s riding on the back of anyone’s bike, it’s his (she also only lets laddie ride with either david, if she’s not riding, or, more often, dwayne. paul and marko are strictly off limits).

david is also possessive of her, because to david, she’s one of them, and he can tell that half the guys he’ll find her with (the way he found her with michael), she’s just throwing herself at because she wants out of the group, away from the lost boys, and he feels like he’s got to remind her where she belongs.

it’s pretty toxic, really. over the tense year or so the group exists as we see it at the beginning of the film, david, dwayne, marko, paul, star, and laddie, things only get worse as david’s temper starts to heat up and star clashes with him at just about every opportunity. things are getting to the point where they HAVE to break, and finally they do:

michael moves into town.

at first, david sees him as just another escape for star (the same way star sees him, really). when david issues a challenge and michael responds to it, and not only that, for a split second, he’s winning, beating david’s bike despite being indisputably outclassed, though, david starts to see potential... a potential which shines through when michael shows his anger, picks a fight (and what passion!), and still follows them back to the cave, not because star is going to be there, but because david is.

on the way there, he decides that michael is the final missing link they’ve been needing. he doesn’t know, yet, about max’s infatuation with lucy, or the plan to put the blood sucking brady bunch together. he just knows, in that moment, that his boys are teetering on the edge of irreconcilable dysfunction, and michael is the final piece he needs to fix it: he’s calm enough that he won’t add to marko and paul’s mania, but still fiery enough that his voice will come into play in favor of more thought-out decisions. plus, he can tell the boys are starting to like him (of course, they like anyone who takes a swing at david, even if they’d be tearing the perpetrator to pieces in seconds if they thought the swing was taken with legitimate malice behind it), and he knew from the first second that star did. michael is one of them.

with this thought in his mind, david is the one who becomes reckless in his need to convert michael. he gets sloppy.... but, since these are my headcanons and i get to choose the rules, i’m just going to say that eventually, things work out, michael becomes the final member of the gang, and everyone lives happily ever after.

holy shit, i just wrote a goddamn timeline.

i mean. wow, i think i’ve written less intricate fanfiction, fuck.

well, if you’ve made it this far, i’ve got a few more fun and low-stakes (ha, ha) headcanons as a reward for you, before i give this post the mercy killing it is begging for

david likes movies.

not just good movies.

david and the gang sneak into the cinema pretty much every time they get something new, and no matter how cheesy the dialogue or how predictable the plot twists are, he’s totally entrenched. it makes sense on a certain level, probably, if you consider that when he was growing up even silent films weren’t so much as a whisper on the horizon, but still, there’s a definite element of cognitive dissonance involved in watching the strict and intimidating leader of their gang clap and cheer at the end of every shitty b-movie that comes to their local theater. i mean, really.

it’s after he goes on a few of these movie nights with everyone that michael finally starts to really warm up to david. he wants to still be mad about the way things went down, but at the end of the day... it’s kind of hard to be scared of a guy you’ve seen cry at the end of working girl.

marko and paul really like action flicks; paul gets into action-adventure, while marko is more into the slasher genre (although secretly, he’s more than a little intruiged by pretty, indie movies they show in the art house... not that he’d be caught dead there in a million years). dwayne, on the other hand, goes to those movies with them, but in his heart he just really likes comedies. they’re fun. sue him.

david would say he prefers horror, but it’s only barely the truth. he does like horror movies... but at the same time, he likes every other genre and practically every other film he’s ever seen. vampire movies are always his favorites, though, for personal reasons.

star doesn’t go to the movies with them a lot, but she enjoys the occasional blockbuster with the guys, and she takes laddie to see more family-oriented films when he asks.

michael..... likes romances. he’s always so embarrassed to be there with all the ladies his mother’s age, but there he is in the audience, hiding his face behind his hand, totally fucking loving this. hey, at least david is there too, throwing popcorn at the horny couples making out in the row ahead of them and getting just as horrifyingly into the plot as he is.

they never talk about those movies after they’re over. what happens in the santa carla movie theater stays in the santa carla movie theater.

not that this is any particular place for a good end for this post, but this is the last thing i have for now: when michael moves into the hotel with everyone else, he elects to sleep in the canopy bed with star, rather than hanging from the ceiling with the guys. they start ribbing on him constantly for this--saying that the main room of the cave must be reserved for women and children--but the joke’s on them, in michael’s opinion--not only is he not hanging by his feet from the alcoves, but he’s also the one who sleeps holding a beautiful girl every day. things could be a lot worse.

#the lost boys #text post #headcanons #paul #sam emerson #david #dwayne #marko #star #michael emerson #grandpa emerson #laddie #jasper #man what do i even have left to say i've SAID IT ALL #this is everything i've got #take it or leave it gfdshgfh #just kidding i'll probably be back with more tomorrow

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indigosquid · 4 years

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5 Shows and Some Questions

Rules: Pick 5 shows, then answer the following questions. Don’t cheat. Tag 10 (or however many) people.

I was tagged by @wynafryd-manderly for this, thank you so much! You have no idea what you’ve brought upon us all, because boy do I love talking about my favourite tv shows.

1. The Witcher 2. The Umbrella Academy 3. Game of Thrones 4. Misfits 5. Criminal Minds

Who is your favorite character in 2? I know it’s the super obvious answer, but Klaus of course. I mean, Robert Sheehan was the reason the show got on my radar before it came out, and boy did he not dissapoint, and I can’t wait to see how they’ll develop his character in season 2 (trailer pls netflix). Though, I have read the comics in the mean time, and suprisingly Allison is my favourite in that version.

Who is your least favorite character in 1? Well, there’s only been one season so far, and I know from playing the games she gets more and more interesting and gets more stuff to do as the story goes, but for now I have to say Ciri. But I already know she’s gonna be a blast next season, trainig at Kaer Morhen, and I am extremely looking forward to seeing her dynamic with Geralt play out.

What is your favorite episode of 4? Misfits only has 13 episodes (I like to pretend only season 1 & 2 exist) and they’re all golden, but I have to go with season 2 episode 1, aka the one with the döppelganger plotline. Once again, they’re all great, but this is the one I come back two when I just want to watch an episode real quick (misfits is kind of my comfort show). Shout out though to episode 3 of season 2, aka the one where they made the fandom’s favourite slash ship canon for an episode with the nathan-gets-a-magical-tattoo-which-makes-him-hopelessly-and-sluttily-fall-in-love-with-simon storyline

What is your favorite season of 5? season 2, definitely. The show really got its footing here after season 1, has the best roster of agents (Reid, Morgan, Hotch, Rossi, Emily, JJ and Garcia) and has the angstiest, whumpiest, storyline in the history of crime procedural shows with Reid’s kidnapping and his subsequent Dilaudid addiction. Oh, how I miss the times when Criminal Minds was still great.

Who is your favorite couple in 3? Robb and Theon till I die. One of those ships that I didn’t necessarily need to be canon in the story itself (there wasn’t really any room) but is great for AU and fix-it fic. Love me a modern Throbb AU with some background past Thramsay for a dash of angst

Who is your favorite couple in 2? Let’s be wholesome and say Klaus and Dave, because we need more Klaus and Dave, but I kind of like Kliego? I know it’s not entirely ethically responsible, but remember kids, liking a ship doesn’t mean you endorse it in real life and if Allison and Luther get to be in a semi-incestious relationship, so can Klaus and Diego

What is your favorite episode of 1? Bottled Appetites, because the gang’s all together for the first time, and lots of great Jaskier content

What is your favorite episode of 5? Oh god, there’s like, more than 300 episodes. But I have to say 2x15 Revelations, because angst (but pretty much every Reid centric episode is my favourite)

What is your favorite season of 2? Well.. there’s only one so far sooo

How long have you watched 1? Once again, only one season out so far, but I jumped on the bandwagon pretty early, about 2 days after it came out I binged the entire first season in one evening because I’m a big fan of Witcher 3

How did you become interested in 3? There really was no escaping game of thrones in our cultural landscape ever since it came out, but when I first watched it around season 1 I fell asleep during a political mumbo-jumbo scene and stopped watching after that. But then my dad and my sister were binging season 3 in the living room one day and I caught some of Theon’s scenes and I was like... okay let’s give this another shot

Who is your favorite actor in 4? I started watching Misfits because I was making my way through Iwan Rheon’s filmography after seeing him on game of thrones but let’s be real, it’s Robert Sheehan.

Which do you prefer, 1, 2, or 5? I’m all on board the Witcher train right now, but Criminal Minds will always have a special place in my heart as my first real fandom

Which show have you seen more episodes of, 1 or 3: Not really a fair comparison, so Game of Thones by default

If you could be anyone from 4, who would you be? Nathan Young, purely for his power of immortality because I aaaam irrationally scared of dying

Would a crossover between 3 and 4 work? Not a crossover per se, but I still have a very, very detailed Game of Thrones Misfits AU that I’m really proud of outlined in my notes that I never got around to writing. I might get around to posting a lil pitch on here soon.

Pair two characters in 1 who would make an unlikely but strangely okay couple? I’m cheating by using a character that hasn’t showed up in the show yet, but boy do I love the rarepair of Jaskier and Lambert.

Overall, which show has the better storyline, 3 or 5? Not a really fair comparison because criminal minds barely has an overall storyline, and ever since season 6 with the switch of show runners the storylines they did have were kind of crap, but Game of Thrones nose-dived around season 5, so I guess by default I’ll have to give it to GOT only on the grounds that it actually has an overall storyline

Which has better theme music, 2 or 4? Ooooh now this is difficult. Both don’t have an awful lot of original music, but what they have is great and unique, and both have an excellent selection of perfectly picked existing songs for their main soundtrack. They both introduced me to a lot of great songs that I never would have come across otherwise, but I’ll give it to Misfits because I can immediatly recall Misfits’ main theme right now but can’t remember any of Umbrella Academy’s OG music (though I do know I really love that original piece from the season finale

I tag @eternallyaltered, @wynafryd-manderly, @forbiddenhero @calyssmarviss @bateyjoey @mimitheflame @ilylynnbelle

I know I already tagged some of you guys in one of these yesterday, but I’m sure yall don’t mind (right?)

#tags #about me

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badchoosey · 5 years

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BloodBound, Book One. Chapter 1: The Interview

New York City.

Raines Corporation Headquarters, downtown Manhattan.

You sit in the sleek modern lobby, waiting for your job interview to begin. Men and women in expensive suits bustle by.

Amazon: (Everyone looks so serious and professional… do I even have a shot? I really need this job…)

A pair of doors slide open, and a stunning woman with an icy demeanor approaches.

Nicole Anderson: Amazon?

Amazon: Yes, that’s me.

Nicole Anderson: I’m Nicole Anderson, VP of Operations at Raines Corp. I’m ready to interview you now.

Amazon: Oh! Uh, sure… absolutely…

Nicole Anderson: You sound surprised.

Amazon: I just wasn’t expecting to be interviewed by someone so high up in the company…

Nicole Anderson: You’re applying to be the executive assistant of our CEO, Adrian Raines himself, one of the most powerful and influential men in the world. We take our hiring process very seriously.

Amazon: Of course! I totally understand!

Trying to keep up a confident look, you follow Nicole into a sterile conference room.

Nicole Anderson: Now then. The Raines Corporation is a global leader in technology and innovation. Why exactly are you interested in being the executive assistant to our CEO?

Amazon: Look, I’m not going to lie. The pay here is through the roof, and I need the money bad. I’m drowning in student loans, I still owe my roommate half of last month’s rent, and I’m a little worried I’m going to get scurvy from living off expired ramen. No one in the city is offering the kind of money you are. And I’ll do anything for it.

Nicole Anderson: An unusually candid answer. I suppose there’s something to be said for that…

Just then, the door at the back of the room swings open, and a handsome man in a perfectly-tailored suit strolls in. His eyes sparkle with a cold intelligence as he assesses you.

Nicole Anderson: Adrian. I wasn’t expecting you…

Adrian Raines: I had a free minute. Is this the candidate?

Nicole Anderson: Yes… but I’ve just started the interview and--

Adrian Raines: I’ll take over from here.

Nicole Anderson: … Of course, sir. Go right ahead.

Adrian pulls up a seat opposite you. It’s like his eyes are burning right through you.

Adrian Raines: Amazon, is it?

Amazon: That’s right.

Adrian Raines: Tell me, Amazon. What do you desire?

Amazon: You mean… why do I want this job? Because I--

Adrian Raines: I didn’t ask why you want this job. I asked what you desire.

Amazon: I desire power.

Adrian cocks an eyebrow.

Adrian Raines: Really?

Amazon: I want control over my life. I want to make my own choices. I want the power to do what I want, when I want, how I want.

Adrian Raines: I’m impressed with your honesty.

Amazon: Hey, you asked, right?

He looks down at your resume.

Adrian Raines: Let’s see here. Graduated college a year ago… Bachelor’s in Communications… interned at Mannon Financial… Volunteered in San Trobida abroad for a year.

Amazon: Yep. That’s right.

Adrian Raines: And how was that? Tell me in three words.

Amazon: Difficult. Enlightening. Rewarding.

Adrian Raines: Good. This job can be challenging and unpredictable. Are you comfortable running unusual errands?

Amazon: Absolutely.

Adrian Raines: Handling confidential information?

Amazon: I can keep a secret.

Adrian Raines: Working nights?

Amazon: Always been a night owl.

Adrian Raines: Good. Anything else I should know about you?

Amazon: I have a great memory.

Adrian Raines: Oh? What was the first thing I said when I walked in?

Amazon: Look, I’m Adrian. Howdy howdy howdy.

Adrian Raines: I definitely did not say ‘howdy’.

Amazon: Okay, so my memory’s not great… but I’m hilarious, right?

Adrian Raines: I’ll give you that. One last question.

He leans forward, hands folded together on the table. His expression is intense, impenetrable.

Adrian Raines: A long time ago, there lived a man in a distant village. He had a good enough life… a wife, three kids, a village of friends, a plot of land to call his own. But one day, while plowing his field, he found a buried lamp. And when he rubbed it, a genie appeared and gave him three wishes. For the first wish, he asked for great wealth. A pile of gold appeared all around him. But the rest of the village suffered instantly. Their crops withered, wells dried, larders went empty.

Amazon: Mmhmm..

Adrian Raines: Next, the man wished for immortality. The genie granted it… but when he ran into his house, his wife and children were all dead.

Amazon: Okay…

Adrian pauses, stares into your eyes, searching, intense…

Adrian Raines: Tell me, Amazon. What should the man ask for, for his third and final wish?

Amazon: He should choose to undo his last two wishes.

Adrian Raines: Because…?

Amazon: Because he’d already had all he really wanted or needed. It’s a story about greed and temptation. There’s no way for the man to win, because he should never have played this game. All he can hope for is to bring things back to the way they were.

Adrian nods thoughtfully, momentarily far away… He pauses, deep in thought, fingers steepled… and grins.

Adrian Raines: You’re hired.

Amazon: Wh… what? Seriously?

Adrian extends his hand, and you take it. His grip is firm, his skin impossibly smooth.

Adrian Raines: Welcome to the Raines Corporation.

Nicole Anderson: But… we have fifteen more candidates! We haven’t even--

Adrian Raines: This is the one.

Nicole Anderson: … Of course. Understood.

Amazon: Mr. Raines, sir, I--

Adrian Raines: Call me Adrian.

Amazon: Adrian, I’m just… so honored for this opportunity! I promise I won’t let you down.

Adrian Raines: Good. Because I take promises very seriously.

Amazon: When do I start?

Adrian Raines: Right now.

Nicole leaves to process your paperwork, and Adrian escorts you towards a glistening, shiny elevator… You step inside, and Adrian presses his keycard to a scanner to make a display with buttons appear. He presses one labeled ‘Executive Office’.

Amazon: So… is this your own private elevator?

Adrian Raines: Yes.

Amazon: Wow…

Adrian Raines: It’s not as pretentious as you might think. Sometimes it’s necessary for me to get around the building quickly.

Amazon: Oh, I didn’t mean… I understand you’re a busy person.

Adrian Raines: One of your jobs is to help me be more efficient so I can get more done. My previous assistant… she didn’t understand that.

Amazon: Is that why she’s no longer… with the company?

Something unexpected passes in Adrian’s eyes. Guilt?

Adrian Raines: … Among other reasons.

Adrian turns his steely eyes to yours, studying you almost clinically, without a word…

Amazon: (His eyes… like stars in a night sky…) I’ll do my best, sir… I mean, Adrian.

Adrian Raines: I have no doubt you will. That’s why I hired you.

Amazon: I’m ready to hit the ground running. What’s on the agenda for today?

Adrian Raines: My schedule for the rest of the day is packed. Right now, I need to prepare for a meeting with some very important partners.

Amazon: Got it. I’ll be sure to meet them as they arrive.

Adrian Raines: Don’t worry about that. They’re longtime associates of mine. They’ve been here before and know where they’re going.

Amazon: How many of them are coming?

Adrian Raines: Just two.

Amazon: Would you like me to order some dinner for the three of you?

Adrian Raines: That won’t be necessary. But there is one thing I’d like for you to do.

Amazon: Of course.

Adrian Raines: My guests are formidable people, at the height of power in their fields. And I’m conducting some delicate negotiations… So I wanted to welcome them with some memorable gifts.

Amazon: No problem. Would you like me to run out and shop for some special items? I can shop like nobody’s business. Especially with someone else’s money. I’m seriously like, semi-pro.

Adrian Raines: I’ve actually already personally selected a few… unique things. All you need to do is pick them up for me.

Amazon: Absolutely.

The elevator stops at the top floor and the doors open to reveal the lobby outside Adrian’s office.

Adrian Raines: This’ll be your desk.

Amazon: Wow.

You step towards it, but Adrian stops you.

Adrian Raines: You’ll be going back down. All the way down… to the basement archives.

Amazon: Is… that where the gifts are?

Adrian Raines: Yes. They should have everything ready for you. Afterwards, come find me on the 75th floor conference center. Just be prepared… The archive clerk can be a bit… unusual.

Adrian reaches into the elevator and pushes ‘B’ for basement…

Amazon: ‘Unusual’? Wait, is this some kind of test?

Adrian doesn’t answer, just steps back out and smiles faintly as the doors close… The elevator descends, down, down, down…

You exit the elevator and find yourself in the basement archives.

Amazon: Um… okay… not what I expected…

Archive Clerk: What are you doing here?

Amazon: Whoa!

You’re startled by an old clerk with a deep scowl and an old-fashioned suit. You gather your composure and offer your hand. He doesn’t shake it.

Amazon: This is a test, right? This has to be a test.

Archive Clerk: I have no idea what you’re talking about.

Amazon: Right. I’m here to pick up some items for Mr. Raines…. Some gifts he requested for his guests?

Archive Clerk: Do you have an authorization form?

Amazon: Authorization? No, I…

He turns on his heel and hunches away…

Amazon: Wait! I’m so sorry, sir! Please, just give me a moment.

The clerk stops and turns around.

Archive Clerk: You’ve got one moment.

Amazon: I’m Mr. Raines’ new assistant. I just started today. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I needed an authorization form, but Mr. Raines himself requested that I come speak to you directly. Thank you for letting me know the proper procedure. I’ll be sure to follow it next time, but Mr. Raines is expecting these items. I don’t want to get fired before I even get a chance to prove myself.

The clerk doesn’t answer. He just grunts and disappears down a dark aisle of shelves.

Amazon: (Please, please, please let that have worked… Maybe I should’ve cried a little?)

A few moments later, the clerk reappears with a carved wooden box in his hands.

Amazon: Is that… everything?

Archive Clerk: It contains three things. Do not get it wrong.

Amazon: Get what wrong?

He reaches into the box and pulls out an elaborately engraved silver dagger.

Amazon: Um.

Archive Clerk: The dagger is for Mr. Castellanos. It’s from the 14th century.

Amazon: Like… the for real 14th century?

Archive Clerk: Do I look like I play jokes?

Amazon: No. I was just expecting like… a fancy pen with a Raines Corp logo or something.

He carefully places the dagger back in the box, and next takes out a gold Egyptian scarab beetle, encrusted with precious stones.

Amazon: That’s… beautiful.

Archive Clerk: This scarab is 2100 years old.

Amazon: Like…

Archive Clerk: For real 2100 years.

Amazon: Holy… I studied these in a history class…

Archive Clerk: It is intended for Ms. Sayeed.

Amazon: Got it. Anything else?

The clerk pulls one last item from the box: a tiny glass vial filled with a red powder and sealed with a tiny cork.

Archive Clerk: Mandrake extract. That is something Mr. Raines requested for himself.

Amazon: Dagger, scarab, mandrake… I’ve got it.

The clerk nods and hands you the box.

Archive Clerk: Godspeed.

He turns and disappears down a dark corridor.

Amazon: Okay… Thank you, bye…

From down the corridor, you hear him muttering…

Amazon: (Well, that was incredibly weird. What is the deal with this place?)

You get back in the elevator, carefully cradling the box and its precious contents. As you ride up in the elevator, you pull your phone out of your pocket with one hand and search ‘mandrake extract’.

Phone:

Mandrake extract is hallucinogenic and narcotic. It was historically used to treat melancholy. In large doses, however, it can induce delirium or unconsciousness.

Amazon: (Okay, like… at what point do I get alarmed?)

You slide the phone in your pocket and pull out the mandrake vial. You hold it up to the light, examining it. The red powder is refined, silky, mysterious…

The elevator arrives. You tuck the vial into your pocket and knock on the door of the conference room. Adrian lets you in.

Adrian Raines: Excellent, Amazon. Come in please…

You see two other people seated at the massive table. A stunningly elegant woman with an intense gaze and a sweaty, older man who looks you up and down with hungry eyes…

Adrian Raines: This is Amazon, my new assistant.

Kamilah Sayeed: You do go through them rather quickly…

Adrian Raines: Amazon, this is Kamilah Sayeed, CEO of Ahmanet Financial.

You reach over to shake Kamilah’s hand, but she dismisses it with a curt nod.

Adrian Raines: Kamilah is a brilliant and fascinating woman, but warmth is not her forte.

Kamilah rolls her eyes at him.

Lester Castellanos: I, on the other hand, would be more than happy to shake your hand, gorgeous…

Adrian Raines: … And this is Lester Castellanos, of Castellanos Meats.

Lester rises and grasps your hand in his. With his other hand, he reaches out and strokes your forearm gently…

Lester Castellanos: What a beautiful, beautiful girl…

Amazon: Whooo… Um… Adrian….?

You look over to Adrian, alarm in your eyes…

Fast, impossibly fast, Adrian crosses the room, grabs Lester’s wrist, and slams his hand into the table with a crack.

Adrian Raines: Hands to yourself, Lester.

Kamilah Sayeed: Lester, please, come join us in the 21st century. This sort of conduct is so tiresome.

With a scowl, Lester jerks his hand back and cradles it.

Adrian Raines: Amazon, I apologize for Lester’s behaviour, since he doesn’t have the manners to do it himself. Are you okay?

Amazon: Yes, thank you.

Adrian Raines: Back to business. To commemorate our partnership, I have chosen some small gifts for you. Amazon, can you do the honors?

Amazon: Absolutely…

You reach into the wooden box and pull out the bejeweled scarab.

Amazon: This scarab is for Lester Castellanos.

Adrian Raines: Ahem…

You look to Adrian, he subtly tilts his head towards Kamilah.

Amazon: So sorry. My mistake. This is actually meant for Kamilah.

Lester Castellanos: What a tease you are, Amazon…

Amazon: So sorry. (sorrynotsorry.)

You hand the scarab to Kamilah. Kamilah turns it over in her hands, admiring it.

Kamilah Sayeed: Ptolemaic Dynasty. Very nice, Adrian.

Adrian Raines: I thought you’d appreciate it.

Amazon: The scarab is a symbol of rebirth, if I’m recalling my college class correctly?

Kamilah glances up at you, as if really noticing you for the first time. Your eyes meet. Hers are brown, the deepest, most beautiful brown you’ve seen… like you could lose yourself in them…

Amazon: (What…)

Lester loudly clears his throat, pulling you out of the moment.

Lester Castellanos: Lovely. Poetic. But what do I get?

You pull the dagger from the wooden box.

Lester Castellanos: Ooo… angel with a switchblade! I’m in love.

Kamilah Sayeed: For god’s sake…

Amazon: Actually, it’s an antiquity from the 14th century… and it’s for you, Mr. Castellanos.

Lester Castellanos: Please, call me Lester. Or Daddy. Whichever you prefer.

He takes the dagger, facetiously making a point not to touch your hand as he does.

Lester Castellanos: Thank you, Adrian. And did you see, I minded my manners!

Adrian Raines: Congratulations, Lester. You did the bare minimum not to be walking slime. Thank you, Amazon. You may go.

Amazon: Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be at my desk.

You leave the room.

Amazon: (Blech, what a creep. Though Kamilah seems pretty cool… I’m just glad I made it through that without being fired!)

You head to your desk and wait for the meeting to be over, and text your roommate Lily.

Amazon - It’s getting late and they’re still in there. This = weird. Do I stay or come home?

Lily Spencer - It’s your first day. Stay. It’s not like you have plans.

Amazon - Yeah… I guess he did say I’d have to work some nights…

Lily Spencer - Careful w/ that. Been more weird attacks all over the city…

Amazon - More?

Lily Spencer - Yeah…

Amazon - Ugh, so creepy. What are you up to tonight?

Lily Spencer - Date night w/ Melanie

Amazon - Sexay…. Have fun, you be safe too. Gotta go! Later!

You hear the door to the conference room opening, and hear Adrian saying goodbye to Kamilah and Lester. You tuck your phone back in your bag as Adrian approaches your desk.

Adrian Raines: You’re still here?

Amazon: Well, I wasn’t sure if you still needed me, so… How was the meeting?

Adrian Raines: … Satisfactory.

Amazon: Fair… enough. So… is there anything else I can do for you, or…

Adrian Raines: No, you’re welcome to go home. I don’t want to keep you any later. But…

Amazon: But?

He hesitates for once… as if thinking it carefully over…

Adrian Raines: I make it a point to get to know my new employees. Especially those I’ll be working closely with. There’s a restaurant I was planning to go to tonight. One of the finest in the city. Perhaps you’d care to join me for dinner? If you’re not busy that is.

Amazon: I… have other plans.

Adrian Raines: Ah, I understand. That’s too bad… Another time, perhaps. Thank you very much for your help today. Have a good night, Amazon.

He smiles, and there’s a surprising kindness to him, for just a second.

Adrian Raines: I look forward to working with you.

Amazon: Yeah. Me too.

You grab your bag and head out. A little while later, you arrive back at your apartment. Your roommate Lily is there, hanging out on the couch playing a videogame…

Lily Spencer: Gold medal for kills… gold medal for damage done. Play of the game…. The real Play of the Game would be getting McCree and Hanzo to kiss…

Amazon: Happy as I am to see you crushing it, didn’t you have a date with Melanie tonight?

Lily Spencer: Still waiting for her to text me…

Amazon: Oh…

Lily Spencer: Forget it! Tell me all about the new job!

Amazon: It was good.

Lily Spencer: Awesome! Overly Excited Roommate High-Five!

You emphatically high-five Lily.

Lily Spencer: Dude, no one deserves a break more than you.

Amazon: Yeah, yeah. You’re just happy I can make rent.

Lily Spencer: Not gonna lie, that’s a perk. Well, let’s toast to you being gainfully employed, and… wait, what’s your actual job anyway?

Amazon: I’m assistant to the CEO.

Lily Spencer: Wait, the CEO? Like Adrian Raines?

Amazon: Yeah.

Lily Spencer: Oh snapaloosa! Tell me all about him!

Amazon: I’ll tell you everything… if you have a drink with me.

Lily Spencer: Sure thing. Just know that Melanie is supposed to text me any minute.

Amazon: She flakes on you all the time…

Lily Spencer: No, she doesn’t… Okay, she does…

Amazon: Why do you put up with it?

Lily Spencer: I don’t know. Honestly.

Amazon: Give her the benefit of the doubt. You wouldn’t want to mess this up if she’s innocent, right?

Lily Spencer: Yeah. Right. You’re the best bestie. I love you.

Lily hugs you.

Lily Spencer: Now, where’s that bottle of the good stuff we were saving for a rainy day?

Amazon: Or an employed day!

Lily pulls a bottle of red wine out of the back of the cupboard and opens it.

Lily Spencer: A toast to Adrian Raines!

You laugh and grab two wine glasses from the cabinet.

Lily Spencer: What’s he like?

Amazon: He’s super hot.

Lily Spencer: Now that’s what I’m talking about. Dish! DISH!

Lily pours the wine into the glasses, and it flows like a red waterfall… Something about the color jars your memory..

Amazon: Oh no… wait!

Lily Spencer: What?!

Amazon: The red mandrake!

Lily Spencer: Red mandrake? Are you into magic now? Because I am always down for a Buffy marathon…

You pull the small glass vial of red powder out of your pocket.

Amazon: I forgot to give it to Adrian!

You throw your jacket on and grab your bag.

Amazon: Sorry, sorry, I have to go!

You rush out into the night, leaving Lily alone.

Lily Spencer: So… I realize I poured this for us to drink together… but some poor grapes gave their lives for this wine and it would be a tragedy to waste it…

Lily drinks her wine. And yours.

You dash back to the office, begging the security guard to let you in, and take the elevator back to your desk. You see a crack of faint light under the door to Adrian’s office, just beyond…

Amazon: (Phew, he’s still here…)

You push his office door open…

Amazon: Adrian… Oh my god!

Adrian cranes his head up from the body of his VP, staring at you…

Amazon: AHHHHHHHH!

#bloodbound #choices bloodbound #choices bb #choices #playchoices #bad choices

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words-writ-in-starlight · 5 years

Note

Headcanon meme: Logan? (Or Laura, your choice.)

Some of both, I think, because I love them both so much. Speaking of which, I’m rereading the X-Men comics I own starting with the very first issue in the 60′s, with the overdramatic dialogue and the ridiculous costumes, and...I love them...so much. For this headcanon meme!

HeadcanonLaura! Is! Trans! Good talk!

For Logan, I still really truly believe that he and Steve Rogers ran in similar circles for a minute or twenty in WWII, because quite frankly if one super soldier is good, one super soldier and one dude with an upsetting talent for taking a bullet and walking it off is better. Steve remembers Logan much better than Logan remembers Steve, because Logan’s working with a fair amount of memory loss just purely because, yeah, he can take a bullet to the brain and get back up, but memory storage is a delicate business and repairing the neural paths doesn’t necessarily repair the memories. The two of them get drinks sometimes regardless.

HeartcanonLaura and Logan are both Highly Paranoid (with good reasons) and therefore people tend to expect them to radiate enough unease to make animals nervous. They are Deeply Wrong. Laura, at first, tends to be more afraid of animals than they are of her, relic of a long history of any and all new creatures being basically a gladiatorial fight to the death, but she comes around pretty quickly when Logan shows her how to entice a stray cat toward her. As soon as Laura calms down the pair of them are always the most popular kids at the dance when it comes to domestic animals (with the exception of horses, which are anxious enough to need some soothing first) and one time Laura wandered out of the woods behind the manor with a real-ass fox in her arms.

“You’re a Disney princess,” Kitty gasps, thrilled.

“I am not,” Laura snaps, blushing, and puts the fox down. It does not leave. As far as it’s concerned it’s found the universe’s friendliest apex predator and it’s pretty sure that following her around is going to get it enough food to turn it into a fox-colored sphere.

Gutcanon...the HYDRA cell that cloned Laura included a neurobiologist who used to work for the Red Room, and as such Laura has command coding modeled off the Winter Soldier and the Black Widow program deeply laced into her brain. They learn this in the worst possible way (of course) and the ensuing fight to keep her contained nearly kills even Logan. When she comes back to herself, she’s covered in his blood and Logan is still standing between her and the rest of the X-Men, because he knows from bitter experience that coming out of a haze and finding you’ve killed someone you love is the worst experience in the world.

See, the Weapon X program, when it experimented on Logan, was well equipped mechanically but underprepared for the delicate process of brainwashing. Their first attempt crossed wires badly with Logan’s mutation, and accidental (or intentional) activation of the programming would send him into berserker rages, and...yeah. He’s not letting that happen to Laura. A lot of bad shit’s happened to her because of him, including this, but he’s pretty sure she’ll come out of it before she actually kills him for good, so he takes the punishment and does. Not. Move.

JunkcanonHey listen, I know Kitty/Illyana is, like, The Thing, but: Illyana/Laura? Anyone? Anyone? Just me? They would be a narratively perfect match, and also I would LOVE the parallel of Sweet Smiling Sunshine Illyana Who Is Also Belasco’s Heir and Grumpy Scowly Swear-y Laura Who Is Lowkey On A Righteous Crusade. Tall Illyana in her high femme armor with a bigass sword and short Laura with her hair up in a ponytail and the blood of her enemies on her highly practical uniform. Laura’s mutation and training mean she’s strong enough to carry her girlfriend bridal style even though Illyana is extremely Colossus’ sister and like a good solid seven inches taller than Laura’s 5′4″. Illyana is enthralled with this fact. One time Laura saw Illyana throw her sword like a javelin in a training session and instantly got clobbered by a mock Sentinel while she was staring. It was totally worth it because Illyana spent the next hour fretting over Laura, healing factor notwithstanding.

Illyana had more of a childhood than Laura did (although not THAT much more) and teaches her dumb stuff like clapping games and jumprope, and one of the languages Laura learned in the lab was Russian and she falls in love with the language like she’s never done before when she hears Illyana telling bad jokes in it.

It takes Illyana a little while to get over her hopeless crush on Kitty, and it takes Laura even longer to figure out what the fuck pining even is, let alone that she’s been doing it, and then they’re sweet and clumsy and earnest together while Logan and Colossus kind of eye each other dubiously over their heads.

Come the fuck on, guys, this is a great concept. This is, like, the Sweetest Ship.

God, catch me getting feelings about an AU where Laura is an angel and Illyana is a demon even though I’ve never read a single Magyk comic.

SpleencanonCanon can frankly suck an entire dick, especially on the subject of their perennial Death Of Wolverine nonsense. Like, listen up? Bitch? You can have an immortal character. It’s okay. You can do that. I understand that you feel like you need to keep doing the death thing because it’s “emotionally poignant” or whatever, but fucking COUNTER-PROPOSAL: you have a bunch of potentially immortal characters, which, understandably, you milk for a lot of angst. That’s okay, I like mortals-and-immortals angst, but you need to stop fucking killing Wolverine because it’s nonsensical and annoying and never sticks, so what you’re going to do instead is have Wolverine start a whole fucking daisy-chain of immortal found family narratives. Just have Logan adopt all of them. Literally every single immortal character who isn’t actively out to do a genocide is Logan’s child now.

Laura? Yep.

Illyana? That’s his baby girl.

Thor? Thor needs a strong father figure in his life and Odin ain’t always top notch.

Silver Surfer? Norrin is a sad and shiny boy who could probably stand to have a parent around so he stops making so many bad fucking decisions.

Elixir? You KNOW Logan’s already on his game there.

Steve Rogers? Depending on your canon homeboy could live a long fucking time with that serum, and as we’ve discussed Logan was already Full Dad Mode in WWII, it’s just the status quo.

And like, Logan doesn’t need to keep all his new kids at home with him, most of them are grown folk, they’re adults, they can take care of themselves, but what I’m going to need is an ever-growing network of semi-to-fully-immortal characters who know that they can call up Wolverine when their girlfriend or their children or whoever lives out a long mortal life and dies of old age.

You think I’m kidding but I’m EXTREMELY serious.

#xmen #logan #wolverine #x23 #laura kinney #smolverine #headcanon meme #ask meme #well that got long #mostly because of those last two #but SERIOUSLY i'm VERY SERIOUS about those last two #WHERE is the laura/illyana content i crave #i came up with this ship years ago because honestly illyana/kitty weirds me out a bit #just because...like...kitty helped raise illyana when she was little? pre belasco?#that's a weird dynamic for me and i opted out #but bisexual illyana is 10/10 and like #lesbian trans laura: you're welcome #actually laura's original creator wanted to make her a lesbian on xmen evolution #but TRAGICALLY it was canceled before that dream was realized #also #wolverine's home for immortal fools #i'm...so right i honestly can't even believe it #@marvel hire me #i've been rereading the early xmen comics (with like the OG team) and i forgot how genuinely i love them #this is not to say they are necessarily Good (very little in the comics of the 60's is Good) but i love them sincerely #also i fucking forgot that the entire team calls scott poker face when they want to get under his skin and that's. so good.#scott summers was my favorite as a smol bab and i still love him very much #i'm just going to post this rather than queuing it #i'll queue the rest #necer0s

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liesandarbor · 6 years

Text

A Falling Star in Westeros Pt II: Analyzing Ashara Dayne

A Falling Star in Westeros

Part II of V in a collection of writings regarding the mysterious and ‘late’ Ashara Dayne, her potential effect on narrative, and compelling arguments for and against her fate. Part II deconstructs popular - yet unlikely - theories surrounding Ashara's fate, and, while not as thorough as Part I, lays groundwork for future parts of the series.

Ashara Dayne by Bellabergolts

Tower of Joy: a Conspiracy

Ned's wraiths moved up beside him, with shadow swords in hand. They were seven against three.

"And now it begins," said Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. He unsheathed Dawn and held it with both hands. The blade was pale as milkglass, alive with light.

"No," Ned said with sadness in his voice. "Now it ends." As they came together in a rush of steel and shadow, he could hear Lyanna screaming. "Eddard!" she called. A storm of rose petals blew across a blood-streaked sky, as blue as the eyes of death.

-Eddard X, AGOT

Readers are left puzzled by George RR Martin’s remarkably vague accounts of Robert’s Rebellion. Whether the fever dream retelling of the Tower of Joy in Eddard X, or missing birth timestamps, everything has been left deliberately unfinished, leaving room for major speculation. Martin’s tight-lipped nature on the Rebellion even transcends into what HBO adapts:

We're not doing Robert's Rebellion either. I know thousands of you want that, I know there's a petition... but by the time I finish writing A SONG OF ICE & FIRE, you will know every important thing that happened in Robert's Rebellion. There would be no surprises or revelations left in such a show, just the acting out of conflicts whose resolutions you already know. That's not a story I want to tell just now; it would feel too much like a twice-told tale.

(Notablog, 5/14/17)

The Rebellion changed how war was waged in Westeros, destroyed relationships, and scarred our main characters in the process - both physically and emotionally (promise me/the tolling of the bells/Jaime, my name’s Jaime). While Martin’s exposition throws us in the shoes of main characters (a brother and a girl dying in a bed of blood, a melancholy but noble prince, the ever-paranoid king, a man at war to bring his betrothed home to him, independence from the crown), we are reminded of what the ‘Game of Thrones’ is about: power, money, land, and control. Smallfolk fought for their homes against rebels (Gulltown, Summerhall, the Reach), many dragged into war for lords they had no reason to respect. The suffering was on a different plane than ever before, and not just for the high lords.

The Rebellion wasn’t necessarily about Rhaegar leaving his wife to get his rocks off with a Northern girl. In fact, the Northern girl was merely a blip - whether prophecy, lust, romance, or fate - in the middle of a bigger plan. With Tywin Lannister financially backing Rhaegar at every turn (The Fall of the Dragons: the Year of the False Spring, TWOIAF), and Rhaegar ready to depose his paranoid, cruel father from the throne, tensions were at an all time high throughout the kingdom. Add insulting the North, Dorne, and someone with an influential social network - and big ‘ol warhammer - and you have a mess on your hands.

Other essayists have more than explored pre-ASOIAF plots and politics in depth. Whether you’re reading the so-gripping-it’s-almost-dubious Harrenhal Conspiracies by Reddit user U/KingLittleFinger, the impeccably thorough Southron Ambitions by Stefan Sasse, or the illustrious Rescue at the Crossroads by Lady Gwynhyfvar, these compelling pieces highlight one similar train of thought: there’s information about this Rebellion that we, as readers, are missing.

Martyn Cassel had perished with the rest. Ned had pulled the tower down afterward, and used its bloody stones to build eight cairns upon the ridge. It was said that Rhaegar had named that place the tower of joy, but for Ned it was a bitter memory. They had been seven against three, yet only two had lived to ride away; Eddard Stark himself and the little crannogman, Howland Reed. He did not think it omened well that he should dream that dream again after so many years. -Eddard X, AGOT

Ned remembered the way she had smiled then, how tightly her fingers had clutched his as she gave up her hold on life, the rose petals spilling from her palm, dead and black. After that he remembered nothing. They had found him still holding her body, silent with grief. The little crannogman, Howland Reed, had taken her hand from his. Ned could recall none of it. "I bring her flowers when I can," he said. "Lyanna was … fond of flowers."

-Eddard I, AGOT

Eight cairns stand in the blazing heat of Dornish mountains. A small crannogman and a silent, grief-stricken man built them, after defeating three Kingsguard members, emerging the final surviving combatants out of the eight “dead”. How long would it take a semi-catatonic, grieving man to pull down that tower? Days? Weeks? Did Ned Stark suddenly snag a +3 in Masonry while we weren’t paying attention? These two men - and whoever ‘they’ were - lugged the body of a dead sister, a newborn baby, a wet nurse , and an ancestral sword southwest to Starfall, following their weary hearts out of the mountains to return north; to return home. Not a single body’s bones returned to their families: not Arthur Dayne, Oswell Whent, Gerold Hightower, Willam Dustin, Ethan Glover, Theo Wull, Martyn Cassel, or Mark Ryswell.

Rejoining the current narrative, the state of Westeros reads mostly as ‘everything has been swept under the rug, and everyone is pretending nothing happened.’ Ned hasn’t seen Robert Baratheon in nine years, or Howland Reed in fifteen; he hides in his winter fortress, safe within PTSD encrusted walls. Every loose end from the Rebellion tucked behind Winterfell’s gates, threatening to spill out at any moment.

Why did Benjen join the Night's Watch? Good question. One day you will get an answer. But it will not be today.

-SSM

If the only other Tower of Joy survivor was Howland Reed - and no one has seen him in years - the weight of hiding Lyanna’s dragonspawn becomes far easier to manage. But we know that’s not the case. They weren’t the only ones carrying the knowledge of Jon Snow’s parentage - they couldn’t be.

With indefinite language like “they found him still holding her body”, and conflicting stories, like Edric Dayne’s Dornish milk-brother story ("Brother?" Arya did not understand. "But you're from Dorne. How could you and Jon be blood?" "Milk brothers. Not blood. My lady mother had no milk when I was little, so Wylla had to nurse me." Arya VIII, ASOS), we’re sideswiped with waves of mystery.

Stark returns home with a baby on his hip, quite obviously carrying the family genes, and his younger brother immediately signs up for a life of celibacy in a freezing tundra (SSM). Three kingsguard are placed in the mountains of Dorne, with the knowledge that what they are guarding is worth more than their lives. House Dayne sends their own serving woman, Wylla, to the tend the tower. Ashara plunges from the Palestone Sword Tower as the Rebellion ends, her body conveniently never found (SSM). Martin has even hinted the Reed children “might know something about it” (SSM), something backed up by Bran II, ASOS. The question is no longer ‘what happened in that tower?’ - it’s what created that tower? What actions put our leading lady in this tower, and why?

Compelling Arguments against Ashara Dayne as other “Popular Theories”

Because I could not stop for Death – He kindly stopped for me – The Carriage held but just Ourselves – And Immortality. - Emily Dickinson

The shadow cast by Lyanna and Rhaegar’s romance found many agency-deprived Rebellion ladies meeting their doom. Often called “The Dead Ladies Club” by members of the fandom (commonly coined by JoannaLannister), we rifle through pages of women led to slaughter by the same societal standards that they’re told will nourish them. While not the leading, love interest, Ashara Dayne encompasses the “lady-in-purple” idea; a sexualized enigma. Ashara’s reintroduction furthers her importance, the reader glimpsing her through Catelyn, Arya and Barristan chapters.

As far as dead ladies go, Lyanna Stark clocks in at a whopping twenty-six mentions by name in AGOT, while Ashara Dayne bottoms a lowly ten for the entire series. Does that ten look small? Of course. But the consistent spacing of that ten serves as an important reminder: Ashara Dayne’s mystery still lies in the ocean, unresolved.

The game of Telephone surrounding Ashara’s fate warrants questioning. Characters hiding post-Rebellion are constantly being introduced to the story, and each page begs: what reveal comes next?

It’s not enough to ask “why” Ashara would be in hiding to justify some of the crazier theories. Isolating her arc helps us closely examine the mystery at hand, balancing theories by what adds depth to her story.

If Ashara fakes her death, as popular theories tend to offer, there are many interesting ideas about her fate - but many tend to fail under a microscope.

Justice for Elia

Yet sometimes Dany would picture the way it had been, so often had her brother told her the stories. The midnight flight to Dragonstone, moonlight shimmering on the ship's black sails. Her brother Rhaegar battling the Usurper in the bloody waters of the Trident and dying for the woman he loved. The sack of King's Landing by the ones Viserys called the Usurper's dogs, the lords Lannister and Stark. Princess Elia of Dorne pleading for mercy as Rhaegar's heir was ripped from her breast and murdered before her eyes. The polished skulls of the last dragons staring down sightlessly from the walls of the throne room while the Kingslayer opened Father's throat with a golden sword. -Daenerys I, AGOT

One dark day in 283 AC, Elia Martell of Dorne learned that monsters were real. As family and life were ripped from her arms, one thing was certain: Dorne would not forgive the parties involved until Justice was served. From ASOS on, we are introduced to the Justice For Elia plot, and as we travel along, the plot thickens - as it tends to. A long-thought dead exiled Lord and a ragtag crew of Rebellion Nobodies turns up, advocating for what seems to be the lost son of Rhaegar and Elia, Aegon Targaryen.

The Soiled Septa

There was something wonderfully wicked about the thought of peeling the septa out of those chaste white robes and spreading her legs. Innocence despoiled, he thought … though Lemore was not near as innocent as she appeared. She had stretch marks on her belly that could only have come from childbirth.

-Tyrion IV, ADWD

At the surface, Ashara Dayne as Septa Lemore is an easy fit. A group of B-List Rebellion members emerge from the depths of the story, embarking on a journey to enthrone Rhaegar Targaryen’s suddenly-alive-son. A mysterious septa with long, dark hair and tactfully placed stretch marks ignite a spark in the reader. “Wait! You said everyone is in hiding from the rebellion! This is the perfect place to find Ashara!” Readers wait with baited breath for a reveal in (fake!)Aegon’s camp, and they’re waiting for something that will never come.

Afterward, Nurse had Ser Jorah's chains fastened to a stake near the cookfire whilst he escorted the two dwarfs inside the master's pavilion and showed them where they would sleep, in a carpeted alcove separated from the main tent by walls of yellow silk. They would share this space with Yezzan's other treasures: a boy with twisted, hairy "goat legs," a two-headed girl out of Mantarys, a bearded woman, and a willowy creature called Sweets who dressed in moonstones and Myrish lace. "You are trying to decide if I'm a man or woman," Sweets said, when she was brought before the dwarfs. Then she lifted her skirts and showed them what was underneath. "I'm both, and master loves me best."A grotesquerie, Tyrion realized. Somewhere some god is laughing. "Lovely," he said to Sweets, who had purple hair and violet eyes, "but we were hoping to be the pretty ones for once."

-Tyrion X ADWD

Lemore is introduced through both Tyrion and Jon Connington. Tyrion spends a solid half of ADWD gushing about Valyrian Lore in his brain, and the other half feeling sorry for himself (and being a general drunken sack of crap). Given what we know about Tyrion’s obsession with old Valyria, and what we know about Ashara’s physique: why didn’t Tyrion mention Septa Lemore’s eyes? ‘He’s distracted by her body,’ arguments arise, ‘he was already overwhelmed by the stretchmarks.’ Well, friends, those arguments are ridiculous.

When Lemore climbed back onto the deck, Tyrion savored the sight of water trickling between her breasts, her smooth skin glowing golden in the morning light. She was past forty, more handsome than pretty, but still easy on the eye. Being randy is the next best thing to being drunk, he decided. It made him feel as if he was still alive. "Did you see the turtle, Hugor?" the septa asked him, wringing water from her hair. "The big ridgeback?"

-Tyrion IV, ADWD

The most defining description of Ashara in eleven on-page mentions are her haunting (or laughing) violet eyes. In Tyrion IV, Tyrion sees Young Griff’s eyes are a dark blue or purple in the dusk. In Tyrion X, a few chapters after Lemore’s stretch marks appear, Tyrion makes note of a slave’s purple eyes. Too easy to miss, and completely out of character for Tyrion to ignore.

The prince arrived to join them four days later, riding at the head of a column of a hundred horse, with three elephants lumbering in his rear. Lady Lemore was with him, garbed once more in the white robes of a septa. Before them went Ser Rolly Duckfield, a snow-white cloak streaming from his shoulders.

-The Lost Lord, ADWD

Prince Aegon Targaryen was not near as biddable as the boy Young Griff had been, however. The better part of an hour had passed before he finally turned up in the solar, with Duck at his side. "Lord Connington," he said, "I like your castle."

-The Griffin Reborn, ADWD

Tyrion isn’t the only POV with an affinity for purple eyes, either. Connington turns attention to Young Griff’s eyes, reminiscing on Rhaegar’s deep purple set.

"Your father's lands are beautiful," he said. His silvery hair was blowing in the wind, and his eyes were a deep purple, darker than this boy's.

-The Griffin Reborn, ADWD

Yet Connington - one of Ashara’s famed tourney dance partners (Bran II, ASOS) - fails to mention that Lemore catches his eye in the same way. In fact, there is no mention of Lemore’s eye color in any of the chapters she appears in.

Were eye color not enough to dispel the Lemore/Ashara theory, age throws it where it belongs: in a trash can. Tyrion guesses Lemore past forty - where Tyrion has misjudged age in ASOIAF before (“Tyrion sighed. "You are remarkably polite for a bastard, Snow. What you see is a dwarf. You are what, twelve?" "Fourteen," the boy said.” - Tyrion II, AGOT), one to two years is not a very drastic difference. Martin has stated Ashara would be in her thirties if alive (SSM) - to be in her forties, she would have been born between 250 and 260 AC, which puts Ashara 22 to 32 years old during the Tourney at Harrenhal. While 22 isn’t unbelievable, anything older just doesn’t fit Martin’s thematic and harrowing depictions of young, tragic Rebellion ladies. (see Ashara Dayne Age Calculation in Pt.I reddit/tumblr)

Aegon’s crew unfolds in ADWD, revealing these nameless survivors of the Rebellion - and countless questions. An exiled lord, a rogue almost-maester, an apprentice smith with a shady past, and a soiled septa; all with reasons to hide, implementing the “rightful king” on the iron throne. But where does Ashara fit? Besides Connington, the group seems to be comprised of… well, nobodies. In fact, the whole plot is pretty dead end, whether the real Aegon or not - Aunt Dany and her Dragons loom just ahead, surrounding Young Griff’s political campaign with fire, blood, and ultimately death.

"Prince Aegon was Rhaegar's heir by Elia of Dorne," Ser Jorah said. "But if he was this prince that was promised, the promise was broken along with his skull when the Lannisters dashed his head against a wall."

-Daenerys V, ACOK

Many find themselves desperately wanting to fulfill the Lemore connection, to find closure for the mystery behind Ashara Dayne. But when readers tug at the plot to make their theories fit, there are parts that don’t flow.

So be it. He had grown fond of Lemore, but that did not mean he required her approval. Her task had been to instruct the prince in the doctrines of the Faith, and she had done that. No amount of prayer would put him on the Iron Throne, however. That was Griff's task. He had failed Prince Rhaegar once. He would not fail his son, not whilst life remained in his body.

-The Lost Lord, ADWD

Ashara Dayne, after losing friends and family, goes into hiding, only to emerge, championing Elia Martell’s born-again child and teach him about the Faith. Heck, let’s take it deeper, like most fans tend to: Ashara Dayne, who had a stillborn child, mad with grief after Ned Stark returned her family’s ancestral sword home, ‘slaying her brother’, emerges from committing suicide, championing Elia Martell’s born-again child and teaching him about the faith. Ashara once more is turned into the sexy woman getting watched by seven guys on a boat, much like her place in the Tourney at Harrenhal, and much like her place in the fandom: stuck on a pedestal.

The months Ashara spent attending Elia of Dorne - yes, months, and definitely no more than a year - weren’t months of Ashara skipping down hallways, giggling and singing songs with fellow bedmaids and the Princess. Rhaenys’ birth was extremely traumatic, leaving Elia bedridden half a year (The Griffin Reborn, ADWD). It is doubtful the Daynes and Martells were distant, per se, but besides Ashara’s dancing with Oberyn at Harrenhal, Arthur being a sworn brother to Lewyn, and House Dayne’s fealty to House Martell… we don’t have textual basis for a strong relationship between the Dayne and Martell family. In fact, the strongest friendship Arthur is referenced having throughout TWOIAF and ASOIAF (besides Connington and sworn brothers) happens to be with Rhaegar Targaryen.

Comparing it to present-day ASOIAF, Alys Karstark hadn’t seen the Stark brothers since she was six years old (ADWD, Jon IX). Northmen are loyal (to a fault, as we know the Dornish vassals can be), but there is nothing that suggests that House Martell and Dayne’s children were more than casual friends, just as House Karstark and Stark: it is more likely they merely met whenever their parents convened/arranged.

The Rebellion Dayne gang aren’t brought up in a single Dornish chapter, barring Gerold’s introduction (The Queensmaker, AFFC). The first mention of Ashara through someone related to her, Ned Dayne, informs Arya her dad was in love with her; with not a single Martell name-drop. Beneath the theory’s already fragile surface, there is weaker motivation: Ashara Dayne showing up with a group of B/C-list Rebellion characters to help a son she never met, of a friend she barely knew, relies closely on House allegiancy.

And what about the eventual demise of “Aegon” “Targaryen”? With Young Griff’s heritage speculated (and arguably accepted as fandom-wide canon at this point) to be from the Blackfyre line or faked, the laid seeds of “Aegon Targaryen” are lost in Ashara Dayne’s narrative. Jon Connington spends years in exile raising the “perfect Prince”, only to fail once more, never avenging his silver Prince. Ashara once more finds herself enveloped in tragedy for someone else’s story. This ending does nothing but cheapen her original demise.

Fan theories often outline outlandish ideas, too complicated to be solved in the last two ASOIAF books: Ashara was in love with Rhaegar and couldn’t be with him, Ashara was dishonored by Aerys II and had his baby; there’s even a rather unsavory “Brandon Stark and Ashara Dayne” theory I’ll tear apart later.

So where are the textual ties to the stillborn/baby alive theories?

Daenerys has the same eyes. Sometimes when the queen looked at him, he felt as if he were looking at Ashara's daughter …

But Ashara's daughter had been stillborn, and his fair lady had thrown herself from a tower soon after, mad with grief for the child she had lost, and perhaps for the man who had dishonored her at Harrenhal as well. She died never knowing that Ser Barristan had loved her. How could she? He was a knight of the Kingsguard, sworn to celibacy. No good could have come from telling her his feelings. No good came from silence either. If I had unhorsed Rhaegar and crowned Ashara queen of love and beauty, might she have looked to me instead of Stark?

-The Kingbreaker, ADWD

Not a single character factually knows of Ashara’s stillbirth; Barristan, an established unreliable narrator, thinks of how he might have done things differently to avoid the war, and the memory of Ashara’s “child” come rushing to the front. Martin time and time again wants the reader to remember that characters don’t always see things through a “20/20” lens, as seen in Barristan’s thoughts regarding Quentyn Martell.

Prince Quentyn was listening intently, at least. That one is his father’s son. Short and stocky, plain-faced, he seemed a decent lad, sober, sensible, dutiful … but not the sort to make a young girl’s heart beat faster. And Daenerys Targaryen, whatever else she might be, was still a young girl, as she herself would claim when it pleased her to play the innocent. Like all good queens she put her people first—else she would never have wed Hizdahr zo Loraq—but the girl in her still yearned for poetry, passion, and laughter. She wants fire, and Dorne sent her mud.

-The Discarded Knight, ADWD

Dany unrolled the parchment and examined it again. Braavos. This was done in Braavos, while we were living in the house with the red door. Why did that make her feel so strange?

She found herself remembering her nightmare. Sometimes there is truth in dreams. Could Hizdahr zo Loraq be working for the warlocks, was that what the dream had meant? Could the dream have been a sending? Were the gods telling her to put Hizdahr aside and wed this Dornish prince instead?

-Daenerys VII, ADWD

It becomes easy to accept Barristan’s thoughts on Daenerys’ suitors at face value, until we remember Daenerys’ thoughts on Quentyn. We know that, had he come to the Dragon Queen earlier, it would have been an easy alliance. Barristan finds Daenerys’ behavior rash when it comes to Daario Naharis, the studly sellsword with nothing to offer her but his weapon and member. But at this point in the story, Daenerys has ceased sleeping with Naharis, and sacrificed personal and political ambitions to keep peace in Meereen.

Where Barristan sees a young girl choosing fire, he does not know every conflict that plagues her mind, each internal thought she grapples with. The idea that Barristan projected what happened to Ashara isn’t farfetched. Once more, the reader is given more information than Barristan seems to know - we know that there is more at play in the story than the idea that Daenerys is a silly little girl with silly little girl dreams. Barristan’s projections on Quentyn sound a lot like “might she have looked to me instead of Stark” come again.

The Baby Swap

“Or was it the grieving sister, the Lady Ashara? She threw herself into the sea, I'm told. Why was that? For the brother you slew, or the child you stole?” -Eddard XII, AGOT

The idea of the Tower of Joy being part of a bigger conspiracy allows ideas and answers that, while eccentric, are open minded approaches in sifting through text. With the amount of information that we aren’t given, credit where credit is due: some crazy stuff could have gone down surrounding the Tower of Joy. We just don’t know. What we can use to reel us in is how the reveal would come to be - and how it affects the overall story.

Some theories go too far. When the phrases “Ashara + Aerys = Aegon”, “Ashara + Brandon = Jon/Aegon”, “Ashara + Ned = Jon/Aegon” pop up in any which order, I can’t help but cringe. I say this at the risk of crucifixion, but if you’re with me thus far, some of these ideas are too outlandish to work. Whether you accept the canon of the show, or have actually read the same books we have been reading, Jon’s parentage has been more than hinted at. However this mess pans out, I feel we’ve come to the point in our adult lives where we can and should accept that Rhaegar and Lyanna are the parents of Jon Snow/Stark/Garyen/Sand. Ned’s fever dreams, his trauma, sheltering his family and daughters, and his entire AGOT investigative arc loses all emotional resonance when Jon’s parentage is assigned to someone not Lyanna and Rhaegar. Daenerys’ House of the Undying visions, Ned’s ferocious love for ‘whoever Jon’s mother must have been’ (Catelyn II, AGOT); they become hollow thoughts on a piece of paper, and not at all how Martin plants and harvests his writings.

“Prince Rhaegar's friend might have been on hand when my father sacked King's Landing, to save Prince Rhaegar's precious little son from getting his royal brains dashed out against a wall."

The lad flushed. "That was not me. I told you. That was some tanner's son from Pisswater Bend whose mother died birthing him. His father sold him to Lord Varys for a jug of Arbor gold. He had other sons but had never tasted Arbor gold. Varys gave the Pisswater boy to my lady mother and carried me away."

"Aye." Tyrion moved his elephants. "And when the pisswater prince was safely dead, the eunuch smuggled you across the narrow sea to his fat friend the cheesemonger, who hid you on a poleboat and found an exile lord willing to call himself your father. It does make for a splendid story, and the singers will make much of your escape once you take the Iron Throne… “

-Tyrion VI, ADWD

The younger sister of Arthur Dayne gets knocked up in King’s Landing by someone of extremely convenient genetics, and has the child taken away from her - possibly as “the Pisswater Prince”. Varys, being the one who stole a child from Ashara, switches the babies, and she raises Elia’s son as her own until the time is right.

When the lad emerged from the cabin with Lemore by his side, Griff looked him over carefully from head to heel. The prince wore sword and dagger, black boots polished to a high sheen, a black cloak lined with blood-red silk. With his hair washed and cut and freshly dyed a deep, dark blue, his eyes looked blue as well. At his throat he wore three huge square-cut rubies on a chain of black iron, a gift from Magister Illyrio. Red and black. Dragon colors. That was good. "You look a proper prince," he told the boy. "Your father would be proud if he could see you."

-The Lost Lord, ADWD

Martin highlights Aegon and Rhaegar’s difference in eye color through Connington’s chapters. As PoorQuentyn mentions on Tumblr, Martin drops a Doylist hint for the reader in these chapters: the son’s eyes are not like the father’s - something Connington clings to, refusing to actually confront (“his eyes were a deep purple, darker than this boy's.”-The Griffin Reborn, ADWD). If one of Ashara’s purposes in the story is to serve as a red herring for Jon Snow’s parentage to the public eye, she can’t possibly fulfill that and some sort of pseudo-mother for F!Aegon. The truth of the matter: that’s sloppy, and there isn’t enough page-time for it.

Clear pathways lead from the stories of the Rebellion, and unite in current narrative. Elia Martell’s plot lives on through relatives as they seek revenge for the injustice done to their family, but ends in fire and blood through miscalculations along the way. Lyanna Stark’s tragedy fronts us the savior, and allows us to follow Jon Snow as he transforms into the front line of battle against the Others and the Long Night to come. Is Ashara Dayne left with no real end to her plot, solely serving purpose as a sacrificial lamb? Where do her lines lead, and what results because of her story?

The Wild Wolf

"Someone has been down here stealing swords. Brandon's is gone as well."

"He would hate that." She pulled off her glove and touched his knee, pale flesh against dark stone. "Brandon loved his sword. He loved to hone it. 'I want it sharp enough to shave the hair from a woman's cunt,' he used to say. And how he loved to use it. 'A bloody sword is a beautiful thing,' he told me once."

"You knew him," Theon said.

The lantern light in her eyes made them seem as if they were afire. "Brandon was fostered at Barrowton with old Lord Dustin, the father of the one I'd later wed, but he spent most of his time riding the Rills. He loved to ride. His little sister took after him in that. A pair of centaurs, those two. And my lord father was always pleased to play host to the heir to Winterfell. My father had great ambitions for House Ryswell. He would have served up my maidenhead to any Stark who happened by, but there was no need. Brandon was never shy about taking what he wanted. I am old now, a dried-up thing, too long a widow, but I still remember the look of my maiden's blood on his cock the night he claimed me. I think Brandon liked the sight as well. A bloody sword is a beautiful thing, yes. It hurt, but it was a sweet pain.

-The Turncloak, ADWD

If the Rebellion and main text revolve around Lyanna and Rhaegar’s Tower of Joy lovefest - and the bouncing, bundled product of it - there are silly theories we can knock off from the start. Ashara Dayne and basically anyone producing Jon Snow, for instance.

Passion is a driving force where this Ashara theory is concerned, and hinges on little to no textual evidence, but rather, once more, an easy means to ending Ashara’s plot. Brandon Stark, the older wolf brother: sexy, arrogant, wooing the tantalizingly ‘hot’ Dornish girl. First requesting her favor to dance with the solemn younger brother, and later ‘dishonoring’ her in the heat of the night. Where this theory works as an easy fit (‘had she turned to me instead of Stark, losing a child, killing herself out of grief’) the finer details fail under examination.

Look. We get it. Brandon Stark was a Northern Stud. He hooked up with highborn girls, had long hair, dared to ride to the red keep - with an army - to call out the problematic silver-haired prophecy abiding hipster, Rhaegar Targaryen. He was “badass”. Cat knew it, Ned knew it, Barbrey knew it. But did he really have time to throw one more highborn Lady into his juggling act?

Following Brandon’s timeline, his betrothal to Cat took place somewhere between 276 and 277 AC (Catelyn VI, ACOK). In 281 AC, Brandon would have been posing as next-in-command for House Stark at the Tourney at Harrenhal, as Rickard didn’t attend - possibly keeping an eye out for an advantageous betrothal for Ned, the middle brother. With Hoster Tully’s lack of attendance (speculated via the insult of Jaime Lannister’s Kingsguard induction - and not marrying Lysa) there’s no chance Brandon would risk further spectacle. Brandon, the born leader, was still seeing Barbrey (tourney was pre-wedding date announcement to Catelyn) and betrothed to Catelyn Tully; someone would tell. Someone always tells.

Some theorists latch on to forbidden love in the dungeons of the Red Keep, and the dates just don’t line up. The only opportunity for Ashara Dayne to get pregnant by Brandon Stark would have been during the Tourney at Harrenhal in 281 AC. Following the tourney, Elia Martell returned home to Dragonstone, giving birth to Aegon in early 282 AC. Ashara, ‘not long at court’ (The Kingbreaker, ADWD) would make for Dorne; and if rumors were true, pregnant. Brandon Stark’s famous death at the hands of Aerys II Targaryen took place in early 282 AC in the throne room of King’s Landing.

Ashara’s ‘death’ - and Brandon’s more certain one - is used as a convenient device in these theories. Without either to give their living word, how can we possibly disprove it? But at the same time, how can we possibly prove it? Brandon’s story is over; the songs have been written, the wild wolf has been put to sleep. But Ashara’s mentions don’t fade, like her story has. What would Ashara Dayne’s romance with a very officially dead man, many years ago, add to the narrative? With Jon Snow’s parentage being of the Dragon and the She-Wolf, and both Ned and Brandon long gone, there would be zero point in any Ashara and Brandon reveal: dead or alive.

Wrapped in Starlight

"If you have some warning for me, speak plainly. What do you want of me, Quaithe?"

Moonlight shone in the woman's eyes. "To show you the way." -Daenerys II, ADWD

Quaithe of the Shadow appears in Daenerys’ POV’s across ASOIAF (ACOK I, II, III, ASOS III, ADWD II, X). A Shadowbinder from Asshai maintaining a certain amount of mystery, she appears periodically to deliver cryptic messages and prophecies to Daenerys - she even projects herself through the stars. Where Quaithe is bathed in starlight and enigmas, many speculate the imagery and mystique matches Ashara Dayne, leaving hints to help the Dragon’s daughter.

Once more, an easy fit from outside - a woman with a hidden identity and lacquered mask, speaking in riddles, never revealing herself to reader or POV character.

Dany had not noticed Quaithe in the crowd, yet there she stood, eyes wet and shiny behind the implacable red lacquer mask. "What mean you, my lady?"

-Daenerys III, ACOK

Much like the Lemore theory, diving skin-deep into the Quaithe as Ashara theory is enough to break it. Dany mentions Quaithe’s eyes twice - once in ACOK, another in ADWD. Wouldn’t Daenerys be surprised by and eager to explore Quaithe’s purple eyes, something that would signify some sort of Valyrian connection to her; Daenerys, who yearns for home, constantly craving the company of the family she never knew?

Two direct mentions of Quaithe’s eyes make the page, with zero descriptions of color. In ADWD alone, Daenerys focuses specifically on Ser Barristan and Missandei’s eye colors. if Quaithe had anything majorly important about her eyes, the audience would be aware.

Most sinister of all the sorcerers of Asshai are the shadowbinders, who's lacquered masks hide their faces from the eyes of gods and men. They alone dare to go up river past the walls of Asshai, into the heart of darkness.

-TWOIAF

"All sorcery comes at a cost, child. Years of prayer and sacrifice and study are required to work a proper glamor."

"Years?" she said, dismayed.

-Arya II, AFFC

And so the theory goes. Ashara Dayne, in hiding from the Rebellion, begins training to become a shadowbinder, with 15-20 years under her belt to suddenly become heckin’ mystical, wearing a mask, communicating to Daenerys with a glass candle, haunting her dreams, meeting her in Qarth.

"What feeds a dragon's fire?" Marwyn seated himself upon a stool. "All Valyrian sorcery was rooted in blood or fire. The sorcerers of the Freehold could see across mountains, seas, and deserts with one of these glass candles. They could enter a man's dreams and give him visions, and speak to one another half a world apart, seated before their candles. Do you think that might be useful, Slayer?"

-Samwell V, AFFC

Last of the three seekers to depart was Quaithe the shadowbinder. From her Dany received only a warning. "Beware," the woman in the red lacquer mask said.

"Of whom?"

"Of all. They shall come day and night to see the wonder that has been born again into the world, and when they see they shall lust. For dragons are fire made flesh, and fire is power."

When Quaithe too was gone, Ser Jorah said, "She speaks truly, my queen . . . though I like her no more than the others."

-Daenerys II, ACOK

While House Dayne’s mystical qualities seem to be important, Shadowbinders are of the night. They work their art in darkness, where Ashara and her immediate family seem to be of the light, Arthur as the Sword of the Morning. With so little text about Quaithe and House Dayne, this is a theory that’s as hard to rebuff as to prove.

If Quaithe is using a glass candle to communicate with Daenerys, or at least is aware of the burning glass candles, she is using/seeing a Valyrian method of magical contact; which ...isn’t very Dayne. Descending originally from First Men, and commonly theorized from the Great Empire of the Dawn, Valyrian sorcery and Shadowbinding both hold one similar trait: House Dayne doesn’t seem to have a history with it.

The woman took a step backward. "You must leave this city soon, Daenerys Targaryen, or you will never be permitted to leave it at all."

Dany's wrist still tingled where Quaithe had touched her. "Where would you have me go?" she asked.

"To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward you must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow."

-Daenerys III, ASOS

So where does the Daenerys connection come into play? Did Ashara Dayne hold so much regard for Rhaegar Targaryen - and whatever prophecy may or may not have come into play - that she threw herself off of a tower, faked her death, and dedicated the next decade and a half to becoming a magical sorceress for his sister? Doubtful - that doesn’t seem to be where her loyalty lie.

The biggest truth of any of these theories? We don’t have enough page time for them. Whatever Ashara’s fate becomes in the books, the nature of its reveal won’t take up more than a handful of pages - at best. With eleven mentions (ten by name) in the story, and 155+ plot threads to be wrapped up, Ashara currently has about 850 words surrounding her plot - out of 1.77 million words in the entire story. That’s far less than 1% of the plot. This story is huge, and while Ashara Dayne played an integral part in the Rebellion - whatever it was - a chapter long reveal of these theories is not in the cards at this point.

#ashara dayne #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #ashara meta #house dayne

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darkwatercomics · 3 years

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~ Issue # 12 ~ Book One: Chapter Twelve: In Our Time Of Dying ~

PAGE 1, PANEL 1

Page width panel. Evening. In the foreground of the shot is the top half of an old fashioned tower with a green metal dome. Although it isn’t clear at first this is the Byzantine Academy, but at an earlier time than we’ve seen previously. This tower, the Astronomy Tower is gone by the time of Tom’s arrival there. What happened to it? We’ll find out in Volume Two. In the background are the suburbs of lower Manhattan, an orange sunset along the horizon. Written on the green dome are the words ‘Way Back When.’

MARISSA ( O.P ): So, here we are, on the eve of everything we’ve been working toward for years, and as usual the Five are only four. I thought today of all days he might at least make the effort to show up.

ELIJAH ( O.P ): Do you really expect him to change after all these years.

PAGE 1, PANEL 2

Three panels on this bottom tier. Interior of the tower. Overhead shot of four figures stood facing each other, indistinct, bathed in the evening glow that falls through the arched windows of the round room. The floor is covered in intricate astronomical and celestial symbols. It‘s important we can‘t make out the four figures properly, just glimpses of them and their late 19th century attire. It’s Elijah, Marissa, Valentyne and another character we haven’t previously met, Magenta Pryde. We do the full reveal on the next page. We’ve hinted at this in previous issues but this is the first time we’re being given definitive proof of their immortal nature.

MARISSA: We have. Well, we’ve at least tried. This is what this place is supposed to be about, about us doing things differently, isn’t it?

VALENTYNE: We should give him time. I think it’s harder for him. He’s been around a lot longer than we have. He’s seen more, done more, so I think it’s understandable if it takes him longer to change.

ELIJAH: Don’t forget he made much of this possible.

PAGE 1, PANEL 3

Full shot of the four of them, three figures thrown into part shadow by the shafts of sunlight, three of them stood in the centre of the room, the fourth in the foreground, who is Marissa, resting their hand thoughtfully on a large bronze person sized telescope.

MARISSA: I know. It’s just, the five of used to be so close.

MAGENTA: This place is his dream, he’s fought for it, he’s spilt blood for it. When this place opens tomorrow I guarantee he’ll be here.

VALENTYNE: He likes to make an entrance, remember.

MARISSA: Yes, you’re right of course.

PAGE 1, PANEL 4

Overhead shot of the four of them, two in front, two behind, descending down the steep spiral stone staircase of the tower’s interior.

ELIJAH: I have to admit, it’s a strange feeling, that after so much work, so many delays, it’s finally done. It’s actually finally happening.

MARISSA: I never thought I’d see the day.

MAGENTA: Yes, you did.

MARISSA: Yes, I did.

PAGE 2, PANEL 1

Half page panel. Full shot of Elijah, Marissa, Valentyne and Magenta, descending the main stairs of the academy lobby. This is our first reveal of the former three in the past, barely looking any different to how they look years from now, apart from the hairstyles and attire. It’s also our first look at Magenta Pryde, who has a slightly more modern look to her, wearing clothes that more resemble an explorer the inhabitants of late 19th century New York.

MARISSA: Now, if Alfred were here, it might just be close to perfect.

MAGENTA: Nothing’s perfect, Marissa, but we can get close enough.

PAGE 2, PANEL 2

Half page panel. Full silhouetted shot of Magellan stood in the lobby by the door of the main entrance, the double doors partly open.

MAGELLAN: In that, Magenta, you and I are in total agreement. My friends, I’m sorry I didn’t join you earlier, I simply needed a moment to properly appreciate what it we have actually achieved here.

MAGELLAN: This academy, the first of its kind, is nothing short of a miracle. No longer will the Ministry or Magic Kind itself be schooled in secret, hidden from those who would seek to destroy us.

PAGE 2, PANEL 3

SPLASH: In the foreground of the panel is the street outside of the Byzantine Academy but the late 19th century version of it, with horse drawn hansom cabs and New Yorkers in period attire, bonnets and top hats, suits and dresses. And through the main gates and across the main courtyard we see Magellan stood on the main entrance steps with Elijah, Marissa, Valentyne and Magenta.

ARTIST NOTE: The title is written on the bottom of the panel, on the cobbled road of the street, Book One: Chapter 12, In Our Time Of Dying.

MAGELLAN: For better or worse we are now truly a part of society.

PAGE 2, PANEL 4

Insert.

Head to chest profile shot of them together, Magellan in the foreground.

ARTIST NOTE: Insert is positioned in the bottom right of panel 3.

MAGELLAN: When these gates open tomorrow history will be made.

PAGE 3, PANEL 1

Three panels on this top tier. Forehead to chin shot of Abel, a grim determination clear in his eyes as he stares across at his sister.

ABEL: So, shall we do this, sister?

PAGE 3, PANEL 2

A forehead to chin shot of Amaris, staring across the alleyway at him.

AMARIS: We don’t have to do anything.

PAGE 3, PANEL 3

Head to waist shot of Abel, his arms stretched out, palms faced forward as the familiar blue energy emanates out from them toward his sister, an undisguised anger on his face. Written on the wall behind him in spray graffiti are the words ’Many Years Later.’

ABEL: Oh, I think we do.

PAGE 3, PANEL 4

Three panels on this tier. Head to chest shot of Amaris holding her arm up in front of her face, protecting herself, her hand glowing.

AMARIS: Stop this, Abel.

PAGE 3, PANEL 5

Head to chest shot of Amaris, with her glowing hand in the foreground of the panel, firing a blue bolt of energy out at him in return.

AMARIS: I don’t want to fight you!

PAGE 3, PANEL 6

Head to waist semi-profile shot of Abel, the shot fired by Amaris narrowly missing him as he defensively fires a bolt right back at her.

ABEL: You’re still holding back, sister, have you really learnt nothing!

PAGE 3, PANEL 7

Two panels on this bottom tier. Head to waist profile shot of Amaris being thrown back through the air as the bolt hits her, wounding her arm, catching her off guard, head being thrown back.

AMARIS: Umph!

PAGE 3, PANEL 8

Head and shoulder semi-profile shot of Valentyne, now full of anger.

VALENTYNE: Abel! Enough!

PAGE 4, PANEL 1

Page width panel. Full profile shot of Valentyne and Abel facing each other. Amaris is lying face down near a wall, bloodied, not moving, crashed down into several crates with splinters over the ground.

VALENTYNE: So, you’d see your own sister come to harm now? Have you become what you once fought. Has it really come this far?

ABEL: It’s come this far because you wouldn’t act, because you stood by.

VALENTYNE: I wouldn’t act because it wasn’t time. You’ve jeopardized everything, Abel, I thought maybe after all this time you’d actually learnt something but it seems yet again I got it wrong.

PAGE 4, PANEL 2

Two panels on this tier. In the foreground Amaris is lying on the ground, eyes closed, her face dusty, blood running from her mouth. Behind her is a full shot of Valentyne from behind facing Abel.

ABEL: What I learnt is no matter who you put your faith in, they always let you down in the end. All these years I thought you were different.

VALENTYNE: I never promised you anything, Abel, but I knew you always had certain expectations. I’m sorry I didn’t dissuade you of those expectations a long time ago, that’s on me, that’s my fault.

PAGE 4, PANEL 3

Head to waist shot of Abel, leant forward, frowning hard, glaring at Valentyne, the resentment he feels rising up without any restraint.

ABEL: Expectations? I’ve given seventeen years of my life to this. I’ve given it everything. For what? For you to let Thomas Hyde steal from us, threaten the very thing we’ve worked so hard for. He’s the enemy, Michael, he always was, why have you never seen that?

PAGE 4, PANEL 4

Three panels on this bottom tier. Head to waist shot of Valentyne. He’s the opposite of Abel, calm, focused, holding his hand out to him.

VALENTYNE: This isn’t about who is the enemy is, Abel. That thought process is what ripped Magic Kind apart in the first place.

VALENTYNE: Everything we’ve built, the Acolyte Order, Alphaville, all of it is about leaving the past behind. We’ll deal with Tom, show him he’s wrong, but this isn’t the way, not like this.

PAGE 4, PANEL 5

Forehead to chin shot of Abel, there’s a disturbed kind of glee in his expression, like something’s broken that can’t be fixed. He’s slipping over the edge and he’s slipping fast, losing all sense of control.

ABEL: And your way has been working so very well? Our dream is a failure! Anyway, this whole conversation might even be moot. I should have mentioned it before, but I left him and Miss Winters with the house burning down around them. They’re probably dead.

PAGE 4, PANEL 6

Close up shot of Valentyne, from his forehead to his mouth, eyes narrowed. He’s clearly angered and is struggling to contain that anger.

VALENTYNE: That, Abel, was a mistake.

PAGE 5, PANEL 1

Two panels on this top tier. Similar to the shot of Valentyne in page 4, panel 6, but now with a forehead to mouth shot of Abel in turn.

ABEL: A mistake I can live with.

PAGE 5, PANEL 2

Head to chest shot of Abel, with his glowing hand in the foreground.

ABEL: But perhaps you can’t.

PAGE 5, PANEL 3

SPLASH: Full profile shot of them releasing a bolt of magical energy against each other which impacts between them in an explosion that lights up the alleyway about them. Behind Valentyne, Amaris is now awake, looking groggy, sat up against the wall.

VALENTYNE: Abel, don’t do this! I don’t want to fight you!

ABEL: Too late!

PAGE 6, PANEL 1

Page width panel. Similar to the previous panel but now Abel has determinedly moved forward, using both of his glowing hands, using all of his power against Valentyne, who is now on his back foot and is clearly struggling against this attack. In the background Amaris is using the wall to pull herself up onto her feet.

VALENTYNE: Abel, we can fix this. It doesn’t have to be this way!

ABEL: No, this is the only way it can be now. You promised us so many things, and when you fail to deliver there has to be a price to pay!

PAGE 6, PANEL 2

Two panels on this bottom tier. Full profile shot of them with Abel now only a few feet away from Valentyne, bearing down on him, with Valentyne buckling, now almost down on his knees. It’s all he can do to defend him, but there’s also a sense he doesn’t want to fight, he isn’t using his full power, his brief flash of anger gone.

ABEL: Fight me, damn you, fight me!

PAGE 6, PANEL 3

A shot of Valentyne from Abel’s P.O.V, looking down on him now on his knees, exhausted, defeated, looking for all the world like he’s accepted this, that he’s willing to face whatever Abel does next.

VALENTYNE: I won’t fight you. I can’t. Not after everything.

VALENTYNE: Just do what you think you need to do.

PAGE 6, PANEL 4

Two panels on this bottom tier. Full shot of Abel, now stood over Valentyne, his hands still glowing, while in turn Valentyne‘s have dimmed. In the background Aamris is now stood up, holding her arm.

ABEL: So be it.

PAGE 6, PANEL 5

Head and shoulders semi-profile shot of Valentyne, his head thrown back in agony, screaming, his face glowing with blue magical energy as Abel puts his glowing hand against his forehead.

ABEL: Goodbye, Michael.

PAGE 7, PANEL 1

Half page panel. Similar to page 22, panel 4 of issue # 11. Full semi-profile shot of Tom peering around the alcove wall, Zoe and Zek behind him. The words ‘Way Back When’ are above the alcove.

TOM: And I can’t let that happen.

TOM: I won’t.

PAGE 7, PANEL 2

Two panels on this vertical tier. Similar to the previous panel but now it’s a head to waist shot of them. Tom looks concerned and has clearly seen something amid the fighting that has alarmed him.

TOM: If it means I break my promise to Elijah then so …

ZOE: What? What is it?

PAGE 7, PANEL 3

Head and shoulders shot of him, looking more worried at what he sees.

TOM: Elijah? No …

PAGE 7, PANEL 4

SPLASH: Full profile shot of Elijah and Magellan in the centre of the main courtyard as the fighting continues about them. It’s an echo of the previous scene with Valentyne and Abel. Elijah is wounded, a scorch mark on the shoulder he’s now holding. He has been brought to his knees, looking defeated and exhausted. Magellan is stood calmly over him, his glowing palm above his forehead.

MAGELLAN: This is over, Elijah. It’s pointless to keep fighting.

PAGE 7, PANEL 5

Insert.

Head and shoulders semi-profile shot of Tom, now moving forward.

TOM: No, I can’t let this happen.

ARTIST NOTE: Insert is positioned in the bottom right of panel 4.

PAGE 8, PANEL 1

The page is split into three full page length panels. A low angled shot of Tom, tilted, off kilter, suggesting his mindset at this dizzying turn of events. He’s out in the main courtyard now, exposed, looking very much alone, but determined and defiant. This is the moment he steps out of Elijah’s shadow, defying the weight of the prophecy and taking his destiny into his own hands. In the background Zoe and Zek stand outside the alcove, looking helpless. His hands both now glowing with the familiar blue of magical energy.

TOM: Stop! I’m here, I’m not hiding anymore.

PAGE 8, PANEL 2

Similar to the previous panel but now he’s holding his hands up in front of his chest, the glow now more powerful and expanding outward, and as it builds the frustration and anger shows on his face.

TOM: Just leave him alone.

PAGE 8, PANEL 3

Forehead to chin shot of him, his face filling the full page length panel. His eyes are now glowing with the familiar tinge of yellow, as through his rage he inadvertently taps into his power using Dark Magic.

TOM: I won’t let him be hurt, not because of me!

PAGE 9, PANEL 1

FULL PAGE SPLASH: Full shot of Tom stood in the main courtyard, his head thrown back, hands away from his sides, palms facing forward as his entire body explodes with magical energy, which is the familiar blue but with golden light shafts within.

PAGE 9, PANEL 2

Insert.

Head and shoulders semi-profile shot of Magellan, only partly shielding his eyes from the burst of energy. His expression is one of surprise but he’s also clearly intrigued by the power Tom is showing.

ARTIST NOTE: The insert is positioned in the bottom right of panel 1.

MAGELLAN. Impressive.

PAGE 10, PANEL 1

FULL PAGE SPLASH: Similar layout to that of the previous page. High view of the main courtyard as his energy explodes outward, the waves of it impacting into those still fighting, instantly disrupting the conflict going on. On the edges of the panel around Tom we see the two sides either being knocked to the ground or shielding against the blast as it effectively brings the battle to a swift end. The panel is bathed in the blue hue of the energy.

PAGE 10, PANEL 2

Insert.

Full shot of Magellan from behind, acting fast, using his glowing hands to throw up a magical circular barrier that surrounds both himself and the remaining members of the Twelve from the blast impact.

ARTIST NOTE: This insert is positioned in the bottom left of panel 1.

PAGE 10, PANEL 3

Insert.

Full shot of Tom fallen to his knees, head bowed, looking utterly exhausted, with the blue and golden energy now fading about him.

ARTIST NOTE: This insert is positioned in the bottom right of panel 1.

PAGE 11, PANEL 1

Three panels on this top tier. Similar to page 6, panel 5. Head and shoulders shot of Valentyne, his face filled with agony as the blue magical energy flows into him through Abel’s palm on his forehead. Abel is clearly intent on making him suffer before he ends it.

ABEL: No quick death for you. I want you to feel every single moment.

VALENTYNE: Abel, if you do this … there’s no going back … ever.

PAGE 11, PANEL 2

Head to waist shot of Abel looking down from Valentyne’s P.O.V. There’s no anger in his expression now, no showing fury in his eyes. He looks utter impassive as if already passed the point of no return.

ABEL: That’s kind of the point. You failed, Michael. You failed all of us.

PAGE 11, PANEL 3

Full shot of Amaris stood nearby, pale, holding her wounded arm, with Valentyne and Abel in the foreground framing the panel. Written on the wall behind her are the words ‘19 Years Later.”

AMARIS: Abel, please, don’t do this.

PAGE 11, PANEL 4

Three panels on this bottom tier. Similar to panel 2, a head to chest shot of Abel looking down from Valentyne’s P.O.V. There’s a smile curling at the edges of his mouth and it’s clear to both the reader and Amaris that he’s already made his decision to end this now.

ABEL: This has to end sometime. How many times has he let us down? How many times can he break a promise? I can’t keep doing this.

ABEL: Not anymore.

PAGE 11, PANEL 5

Full shot of the three of them. Valentyne is now sagged and Amaris has stepped closer, now barely a foot away from her brother.

AMARIS: Then don’t. We can walk away from this, all of it. You and me, like it used to be. We can find somewhere that’s right for us.

PAGE 11, PANEL 6

Head to chest semi-profile shot of them. She’s very close to him now, leaning in close, trying to appeal to him, to get through to him.

AMARIS: We have to make our own future now, look to ourselves. We’ve always put our hopes in others, and you’re right, it’s always led to disappointment, so, why don’t we for once put ourselves first.

PAGE 12, PANEL 1

Three panels on this top tier. Forehead to chin semi-profile shot of Abel, his face bathed in the blue glow of the magical energy as he listens.

PAGE 12, PANEL 2

Similar to the previous panel. There’s no emotion in his expression at all now. His steady gaze is cold, devoid of any feeling.

ABEL: No, I don’t think so. I want it all to burn.

PAGE 12, PANEL 3

Forehead to chin semi-profile shot of him, his gaze utterly focused.

ABEL: All of it.

PAGE 12, PANEL 4

Three panels on this bottom tier. Head to chest shot of Amaris from Abel’s P.O.V. her expression is one of being utterly heartbroken. It’s like she’s just heard possibly the worst thing ever.

PAGE 12, PANEL 5

Similar to the previous panel but now her head is bowed, her shoulders sagged. She’s taking this in, accepting it, making a decision.

PAGE 12, PANEL 6

Similar to the previous panels but now she’s staring straight at him again, and she’s oddly calm, as if forcing herself to stay focused.

AMARIS: I was afraid you’d say that.

PAGE 13, PANEL 1

Two panels on this top tier. Close up of her hand as she plunges a splinter of wood ( taken from the broken crates ) into his stomach.

AMARIS: I love you brother.

PAGE 13, PANEL 2

Head to chest shot of Abel, his expression one of disbelief as he looks at her, like he can’t quite process what she has just done to him.

ABEL: Sister?

PAGE 13, PANEL 3

SPLASH: Full shot of Amaris holding him, cradling him, clearly devastated by the choice she’s made, her hand tenderly placed on his face as blood trickles from his mouth. Behind Valentyne is now stood over them, staring down, looking as equally devastated.

AMARIS: Damn you, why couldn’t you ever listen?

PAGE 14, PANEL 1

FULL PAGE SPLASH: High view of the courtyard, Magellan stood at its centre, with the remaining members of the Twelve stood around him, all of them stood within the magical barrier he threw up. His other followers are stood near or outside the main gates. On the ground is the fallen member of the Twelve, Ministry guards and professors. Some students are sat against the walls, injured, bloodied, while others are stood or wandering around shocked. Tom is still on his knees, Elijah stood over him, his hand on his shoulder, with Marissa and Valentyne behind. At the main entrance professors are attending to students and Noah on the ground. In chalk on the wet ground the words ‘Way Back When.’

MAGELLAN: Is this what we wanted? I ask you sincerely, is it? It is not what I wanted. You are not my enemy. I do not wish to fight you.

PAGE 14, PANEL 2

Insert.

Low angled view of Magellan with a head to waist semi-profile shot, his face bathed in the blue glow of the magical energy barrier.

MAGELLAN: We are the same, all of us. When we fight, we should fight as one. We should be united, of one vision, one belief.

PAGE 15, PANEL 1

Three panels on this top tier. Head to waist shot of him now, playing to the crowd, demonstrating his point in a theatrical fashion, holding his arms in the air as he indicates to the city outside.

MAGELLAN: The enemy is not here, it is out there. Do I hate them? No. Do I recognise the threat they represent? Yes, every day.

MAGELLAN: How can I not?

PAGE 15, PANEL 2

Head and shoulders semi-profile shot of Magellan looking upward.

MAGELLAN: Each of you know our history, know how we have always been treated by them. Do I want a war? No, I absolutely do not.

MAGELLAN: But if we have to we must fight for our place in this world.

PAGE 15, PANEL 3

Head and shoulders semi-profile shot of Tom looking up at Magellan. He looks utterly defeated, his face bathed in the blue glow.

MAGELLAN ( O.P ): I look at your faces and I see our future.

PAGE 15, PANEL 4

Two panels on this bottom tier. Head and shoulders semi-profile shot of Jobe, peering around the edge of the alcove. He’s looking wide eyed, entranced by the speech Magellan is giving. It’s clear from his expression that he’s hearing something that’s pulling him in.

MAGELLAN ( O.P ): If you chose not to fight, then that is your choice, but to those of you who feel constrained by the rules of the Ministry, who seek to change this world for the better, I offer you this.

PAGE 15, PANEL 5

Head to waist shot of Magellan, his hand outstretched and open, a perspective shot, inviting those who may be listening, enticing them with his body language as well as with his voice and his words.

MAGELLAN: If you come with me I will show you the true power of magic you have within you, I will show you your ultimate potential. I will give you nothing less than your rightful place in this world.

PAGE 16, PANEL 1

Three panels on this top tier. In the foreground is a close up of Jobe’s feet, now stood out in the open of the courtyard. in the background is Magellan and the others. Magellan is half turned to him.

MAGELLAN: It seems at least one of you is willing to do what is necessary.

PAGE 16, PANEL 2

Head and shoulders semi-profile shot of Magellan, half tuned to him.

MAGELLAN: But the first and the last, or the first of many, I wonder.

PAGE 16, PANEL 3

Full shot of Tom now getting to his feet, with Elijah holding him up.

TOM: No … not you.

PAGE 16, PANEL 4

Three panels on this bottom tier. Full shot of Jobe now stood exposed in the courtyard, looking vulnerable, lonely, filled with fear.

JOBE: I’ll come with you, if you show me who I am, what I am.

PAGE 16, PANEL 5

Head to waist shot of Magellan, holding his hand out, inviting Jobe to come forward. It’s a perspective shot, his hand in the foreground.

MAGELLAN: I can.

PAGE 16, PANEL 6

Similar to panel 3 but a head to chest shot of Tom. He is filled with belief, struggling to process how Jobe is even contemplating this.

TOM: Jobe, please, this isn’t the way. He won’t help you.

PAGE 17, PANEL 1

Three panels on this top tier. Head to waist shot of Jobe from Tom’s P.O.V. He looks lost, desperate for someone to give him answers.

TOM: And have any of you done any better? I have to do this, Tom.

PAGE 17, PANEL 2

Full shot of Magellan from behind, using his hands to make an archway in the magical barrier. We see Jobe walking toward it. Tom and Elijah are stood near him, Elijah no longer holding him up.

JOBE: If you care about me, Tom, if any of you do, then don’t stop me.

PAGE 17, PANEL 3

Full profile shot of Tom passing by Tom and Elijah, with Marissa and Valentyne stood nearby, all of them watching helplessly as he goes.

JOBE: Goodbye Miss Winters, thank you for looking after me.

PAGE 17, PANEL 4

Three panels on this bottom tier. Full shot of Jobe, stood with Magellan and the remaining members of the Twelve within the magical barrier, their figures faint, the arch way closing in on itself.

JOBE: Goodbye Tom.

PAGE 17, PANEL 5

Similar to the previous panel but now the archway has closed and the magical barrier is expanding outward, erupting with shafts of white light. Jobe, Magellan and the members of the Twelve barely visible.

PAGE 17, PANEL 6

Full shot of Tom, Elijah, Marissa and Valentyne from behind, stood in the main courtyard. The magical barrier is gone, Magellan, the Twelve and his followers are gone and most important, and devastatingly for Tom, Jobe is gone, possibly for good.

PAGE 18, PANEL 1

Three panels on this top tier. Full shot of Jesse and Jeremiah in the street outside the hotel. He’s sat up, coughing as she holds him.

JESSE: Okay, that’s it, cough it up.

PAGE 18, PANEL 2

Similar to the previous panel, but now it’s a closer shot of both of them. Jeremiah has stopped coughing but looks very pale and tired.

JEREMIAH: Marissa … Mother M, is she okay?

JESSE: Don’t know, I couldn’t see any sign of her. Maybe she got out, huh?

JEREMIAH: Maybe.

PAGE 18, PANEL 3

Head and shoulders semi-profile shot of Jesse, half turned, looking behind herself as she hears someone shouting out from nearby.

AMARIS: You!

PAGE 18, PANEL 4

Three panels on this bottom tier. Jesse’s P.O.V shot of Amaris charging toward them, holding her wounded arm, her face bloodied and tear stained and full of grief as she rages toward them.

AMARIS: This is your fault, all of it! Ever since that first day it’s been coming to this. You can’t help it, can you? Death courts you, Thomas Hyde, it follows you around, anyone who ever gets close to you.

PAGE 18, PANEL 5

Head and shoulders shot of Amaris looking down at Jeremiah, a fury burning in her eyes, clearly struggling against the rage she feels.

AMARIS: They get burned or they die.

AMARIS: And now, finally, it’s time for it to catch up to you.

PAGE 18, PANEL 6

Similar to panel 3 but now Jesse is holding her hand out defensively, essentially putting herself between Amaris and Jeremiah.

JESSE: No!

PAGE 19, PANEL 1

Half page panel. In the foreground are Jesse and Jeremiah from behind, with a full shot of Amaris stood, stopped close to them, her hands now glowing blue, with Valentyne stood a few feet behind.

VALENTYNE: Don’t do this, Amaris. I know you’re angry, I understand your grief, but if you do this it will lead you along the same path as it lead your brother. After it, you’ll be lost, just as he was.

PAGE 19, PANEL 2

Two panels on this vertical tier. Head and shoulders semi-profile shot of Amaris, still full of anger, but we can now see doubt in her.

VALENTYNE: He made his own choice and took responsibility for them, but there’s a price for that. What you did, however hard, you had to do, but if you do this, then what you did will count for nothing.

PAGE 19, PANEL 3

Forehead to chin semi-profile shot of her, her face no longer full of anger but now anguished as Valentyne’s words start to hit home.

VALENTYNE: Jobe will have died for nothing.

PAGE 19, PANEL 4

Three panels on this bottom tier. Head to chest semi-profile shot of her looking up at the night sky, literally screaming at the heavens, her face filled with anguish and pain as she screams in rage.

AMARIS: Arrrrrrghhhh!

PAGE 19, PANEL 5

Full shot of her now fallen to her knees, sagged, her head bowed. She’s clearly exhausted, looking drained, her face showing no emotion.

PAGE 19, PANEL 6

Forehead to chin semi-profile shot of her, a tear falling on her face.

AMARIS: Fuck.

PAGE 20, PANEL 1

Page width panel. On the left of the panel Valentyne is now stood by Amaris, addressing Jesse, who, on the right of the panel, is still crouched on the ground, holding Jeremiah, who is less pale and staring up at Valentyne. Not fully recovered but still looking better.

VALENTYNE: Amaris is right in one thing, of course, death follows him, it always has. You should leave him, Normal, unless you wish to suffer a similar fate, because sooner or later it will happen.

JESSE: Only death I see around here is what you people brought with you. Ain’t no one got killed until her brother showed up in town.

JESSE: And my name is Jesse by the way.

VALENTYNE: Well Jesse, Abel made his own choices. You should too.

JEREMIAH: Still getting people to make their own choices, Michael.

PAGE 20, PANEL 2

Two panels on this tier. Head to waist semi-profile shot of Valentyne, the conviction in his expression and body language is clear.

VALENTYNE: Always.

VALENTYNE: Jesse, if you stay, be sure it is your choice, that your reasons are your reasons alone, and that those reasons are right for you.

PAGE 20, PANEL 3

Similar to the previous panel but it’s a closer head to chest shot of him.

VALENTYNE: I only offer you this advice. Leave, go now. This world, our world is not for you, and you should go while you still can.

PAGE 20, PANEL 4

Two panels on this bottom tier. Head and shoulders semi-profile shot of Jesse, now seeming as if she just might be considering his offer.

JESSE: You know, I find that a really enticing offer.

PAGE 20, PANEL 5

A closer shot, forehead to chin semi-profile shot of her with a half smile.

JESSE: But you see, I’ve already had a better one.

PAGE 21, PANEL 1

Three panels on this top tier. Full profile shot of Valentyne facing Jesse and Jeremiah, Jesse now helping a recovering Jeremiah to his feet.

VALENTYNE: I see, it’s your choice of course, as will be the consequences. And you, Tom, I take it the Octagon isn’t here in Magic Town?

JEREMIAH: Did you really think it would be?

VALENTYNE: No, I suppose not.

PAGE 21, PANEL 2

Head to waist profile shot of Jeremiah facing Valentyne, Jesse off panel.

VALENTYNE: You realise if Amaris and I weren’t outnumbered here we would simply take you with us. We need to talk, you and I.

JEREMIAH: I won’t change my mind.

PAGE 21, PANEL 3

Similar to the previous panel but now it’s a head to chest shot of them.

VALENTYNE: You can still say that, even after people have died?

JEREMIAH: Do you think I wanted this to happen. All I’m doing is trying to put things right. That’s all I’ve ever tried to do, you know that.

VALENTYNE: And if you can’t?

JEREMIAH: Then at least I’ll know I tried.

PAGE 21, PANEL 4

Two panels on this bottom tier. Head and shoulders profile shot of Valentyne facing to the right of the page. This and the following panel are like one page width panel that’s been split in two.

VALENTYNE: I remember you saying something similar in the last days of the war. Do you really think this will turn out any better?

PAGE 21, PANEL 5

Similar shot of Jeremiah to panel 4 but he’s facing to the left of the page.

JEREMIAH: If any of this means anything, it has to.

PAGE 22, PANEL 1

Two panels on this top tier. Full shot of Lady Stardust and Izzie, Winston and Mort behind them, the rest of Magic Town gathered in the background, a hint of blue seeping into the night sky. They’re approaching in unison, ready and willing to protect their town.

LADY STARDUST: Okay, I think it’s time we broke this party up.

PAGE 22, PANEL 2

Full profile shot of Lady Stardust and Izzie now stopped a few feet away from Valentyne and Amaris, who has now got to her feet again.

AMARIS: Do I know you?

LADY STARDUST: Damn straight you do. We went to the Academy together, wouldn’t expect one of the Elite to remember though.

AMARIS: I remember everything.

PAGE 22, PANEL 3

Two panels on this tier. Forehead to chin shot of Lady Stardust staring at them, a sense of determination we haven’t seen in her before.

LADY STARDUST: Good. Then remember this. Magic Town no longer welcomes you. Your brother has spilled blood on our streets, streets that have remained clean since this place was founded.

LADY STARDUST: There’s folks here would string you both up for what’s gone on here tonight. No Magic Kind has harmed another here since the war, and tonight you stained that, stained what we built.

PAGE 22, PANEL 4

Similar to the previous panel but now a closer forehead to mouth shot.

LADY STARDUST: Trust me, I’ve seen other swing for less. But tonight might be your lucky night. None of our people got killed. Also, you’ve lost your brother and I think that’s punishment enough.

LADY STARDUST: So, you go now, and you don’t ever come back.

PAGE 22, PANEL 5

Two panels on this bottom tier. Full shot of Amaris, with Valentyne stood behind, his hand on her shoulder in a show of support.

VALENTYNE: Come Amaris, we won’t win here, not tonight.

AMARIS: Not any night, I don’t ever want to come back here, not ever.

PAGE 22, PANEL 6

In the foreground on the left of the panel is a full shot of Lady Stardust from behind, watching Valentyne and Amaris as they walk back down along the main street, passing by Jesse and Jeremiah.

LADY STARDUST: I promise you safe passage. We’ll give your people a proper burial and my people will help you with your brother.

PAGE 23, PANEL 1

Two panels on this top tier. Head to chest shot of Jeremiah stood by Amaris as she stops, turned to him, only a few feet between them.

JEREMIAH: Amaris, what happened with Abel, I’m sorry.

AMARIS: I don’t need your sympathy. I don’t need anything from you.

PAGE 23, PANEL 2

Similar to the previous panel but now it’s a head to chest shot of Jeremiah and Valentyne stood by each other, Valentyne leaning in.

VALENTYNE: Something changed here to night, Tom, and not for the better.

VALENTYNE: I can only guess where it will lead.

PAGE 23, PANEL 3

SPLASH: Full shot of Valentyne and Amaris walking away, with Jeremiah and Jesse stood in the street watching them go. In the background are Lady Stardust, Izzie, Winston, Mort and the gathered Magic Kind under a sky that’s now showing hints of sunrise.

PAGE 24, PANEL 1

Page width panel. Wide shot of Noah Hawthorne’s funeral taking place at Calvary Cemetery, with the New York skyline in the background, dominated by the Empire State building, against a pale blue and orange sky, broken by long streaks of cloud. There’s a fresh layer of snow on the ground and the surrounding gravestones. Members of the council are stood around the coffin as the priest gives her sermon, including Elijah, Marissa and Valentyne, as well as the previously featured Agatha Richmond and Nathaniel Sparrow. It’s a quiet affair, no professors, or students, or even Tom. In the foreground is the statue of a union soldier and written on its stone base are the words ‘Way Back When.’

CAPTION: Calvary Cemetery.

CAPTION: Queens.

PAGE 24, PANEL 2

Page width panel. Full shot of Elijah, Valentyne and Marissa stood by the open grave talking, while the priest, Agatha, Sparrow and the others are walking away after the service has finished. Snow is falling lightly in the winter air in the foreground of the panel.

MARISSA: This wasn’t right, not after everything he did for the Academy. Everyone should have been here, his colleagues, the students, they should have been here. He didn’t have any family left.

MARISSA: They were his family.

ELIJAH: I know.

VALENTYNE: The Ministry felt it wasn’t safe, not after everything that’s happened in the last few weeks, and for once, I agree with them.

PAGE 24, PANEL 3

Three panels on this tier. In the foreground is a head to waist semi-profile shot of Marissa, head bowed, the others across from her.

MARISSA: We shouldn’t have lost him. We shouldn’t have lost anyone.

PAGE 24, PANEL 4

In the foreground is a head to waist shot of her walking away, with Elijah and Valentyne still stood by the open grave, watching her go.

ELIJAH: This has hit her hard.

VALENTYNE: Not just this, Jobe too. She feels like she failed him.

ELIJAH: She did everything for him.

VALENTYNE: Try telling her that.

PAGE 24, PANEL 5

Full profile shot of them facing each other, snow lightly falling down. In the foreground is a raven perched on top of a gravestone.

VALENTYNE: I can’t help but wonder, if you had both …

ELIJAH: What, Michael? Killed them like we were supposed to?

VALENTYNE: You both agreed at the time.

ELIJAH: And we were both wrong.

PAGE 25, PANEL 1

Two panels on this top tier. Similar to page 24, panel 5, but we’ve panned in for a closer shot, the raven almost out of the frame of the panel.

VALENTYNE: Perhaps, I only hope you’re right about this.

ELIJAH: Right or wrong, it’s not a decision for us to make, it never was.

PAGE 25, PANEL 2

Full shot of them both, the raven is now flying off from the gravestone.

VALENTYNE: How’s Tom?

ELIJAH: Then you do care?

VALENTYNE: Of course I do.

PAGE 25, PANEL 3

Page width panel. Full shot of Tom stood on the balcony of the clock tower, a lonely looking figure. In the background the rooftops of Manhattan and the horizon a clash of yellow and orange.

CAPTION: “He hasn’t spoken in almost a week. Everyone saw what he did, the power he had. The secret’s out. The Ministry knows. His fellow students know. For him, the world just changed.”

PAGE 25, PANEL 4

Two panels on this bottom tier. Head to waist shot of him, staring outward. He’s looking pale, tired, clearly lost to his troubled thoughts.

CAPTION: “Right now, he’s the most famous person in the magic world. He knows all eyes are on him now. In a night he’s become important to everyone. He’s never been more noticed or more lonely.”

PAGE 25, PANEL 5

Head to chest semi-profile shot of him, head bowed, the horizon behind.

CAPTION: “He knows people might even be afraid of him now.”

CAPTION: “But I have no doubt that no one is more afraid than he is.”

PAGE 26, PANEL 1

SPLASH: Morning. The air tinted orange by the first hints of sunrise. On the left of the panel is a full profile shot of Jeremiah, stood facing the smoking, charred ruins of the hotel. On the right of the panel Jesse is stood by the Plymouth, and in the background a clean up operation in already underway by the town’s Magic Kind. Written in the ground are the words ‘19 Years Later.’

LADY STARDUST ( O.P ): We searched every inch. She wasn’t there.

PAGE 26, PANEL 2

Two panels on this bottom tier. Head to waist shot of Jeremiah in the foreground, with a full shot of Lady Stardust stood behind him.

JEREMIAH: And no one’s seen her?

LADY STARDUST: Not a flicker. She’s all but disappeared.

PAGE 26, PANEL 3

Similar to the previous panel but now it’s a head to chest shot of Jeremiah with a head to waist shot of Lady Stardust stood behind him.

JEREMIAH: But you believe she’s still alive?

LADY STARDUST: Oh, absolutely. It’ll take more than last night to finish her off. Honestly, I think she just decided to get out of dodge.

LADY STARDUST: And now it’s time for you to do the same.

PAGE 27, PANEL 1

Page width panel. Full profile shot of Jeremiah and Lady Stardust now facing each other, the burnt out ruins of the hotel on the left of the panel. In the background Izzie is approaching the waiting Jesse.

JEREMIAH: Safie, if I’d known what was going to happen.

LADY STARDUST: Save it, I know you have your reasons for whatever it is you’re doing, but at the end of the day I really don’t care.

PAGE 27, PANEL 2

Two panels on this tier. Full shot of Jesse and Izzie by the Plymouth.

IZZIE: So, you’re going, huh?

JESSE: Yeah, probably for the best. I think she’s balling him out, but it’s kind of my fault we ended up here in the first place, not his.

IZZIE: Hey, no point playing the blame game, Jesse Miller, it’s done now. And yeah, she’s balling him out, but guess what, he’s a big boy.

PAGE 27, PANEL 3

Head to waist profile shot of Jeremiah and Lady Stardust facing each other.

LADY STARDUST: However, inadvertently, you brought trouble to my town, and however much I respect you I can’t overlook that. It’s like I’ve always told you, this place has to come first, it always will.

PAGE 27, PANEL 4

Two panels on this bottom tier. Head to waist shot of Jesse and Izzie facing each other with the Plymouth behind in the background.

JESSE: Hey, sorry ‘bout before, when I got up in your face about … well, you know. Ain’t no business of mine what you get up in your spare time.

IZZIE: Ain’t no sorry about it, got kinda pissy myself too.

JESSE: I just didn’t want to go leaving any bad feelings, you know.

PAGE 27, PANEL 5

Similar to panel 3 but now it’s a head to chest shot of Jeremiah facing Lady Stardust. In the background Jesse and Izzie are embracing.

IZZIE: I know.

LADY STARDUST: So, go now, and don’t come back.

PAGE 28, PANEL 1

Full page length panel. Full shot of Jeremiah in the foreground walking toward Jesse, now alone, who’s waiting for him by the Plymouth.

JESSE: Hey, Jeremiah, we going or what? Thought you said first thing.

PAGE 28, PANEL 2

Full page length panel. Head to chest shot of Jeremiah looking at her. There’s something about him that’s changed, something indefinable.

JEREMIAH: Tom, it’s just Tom now.

PAGE 28, PANEL 3

Full page length panel. In the foreground are the ghostly figures of Zoe and Zek from behind, with a full shot of Jeremiah and Jesse getting into the Plymouth, Jeremiah looking back toward them.

JESSE: Fair enough.

ZOE: Well, about time.

ZEK: Yep, took you long enough, Tommy boy.

PAGE 28, PANEL 4

Insert.

A wide shot of the desert. The Plymouth roaring down the road with a trail of dust, the sun beginning its steady ascent on the horizon.

ARTIST NOTE: This insert is positioned in the bottom of panel 3.

CAPTION: “Maybe things are looking up.”

PAGE 29, PANEL 1

Page width panel. In the foreground is the fence Valentyne was fixing in issue # 7, with a full shot of Amaris from behind stood on the sloping prairie fields beside a freshly dug grave, looking down toward the old church and the horizon, and beyond that the early evening sky is streaked with splashes of orange and purple.

AMARIS: Damn you, Abel, why couldn’t you have just trusted me.

PAGE 29, PANEL 2

Two panels on this tier. Full profile shot of her stood beside the grave, with the orange and purple sky in the background of the panel.

AMARIS: What the hell am I gonna do without you.

PAGE 29, PANEL 3

Head to chest profile shot of her, head bowed, looking at the grave, the grief and the loss kept firmly hidden under a numb mask.

AMARIS: Damn.

PAGE 29, PANEL 4

Two panels on this bottom tier. Head and shoulders semi-profile shot of Amaris, half turned as she hears the familiar voice behind her.

VALENTYNE ( O.P ): I thought I’d find you up here.

AMARIS: Where else would I be.

PAGE 29, PANEL 5

Full profile shot of them facing each other with the grave separating them and the orange tinted evening sky in the background.

VALENTYNE: Amaris, I know this has hurt you greatly, but you can’t let this destroy you. Too many good people have fallen on that path.

AMARIS: I don’t intend to be one of them, so go ahead ask your question.

PAGE 30, PANEL 1

Two panels on this top tier. This is a similar shot to page 29, panel 5.

VALENTYNE: I know this isn’t the time…

AMARIS: Just ask it, damn you.

VALENTYNE: Okay, are you planning on taking revenge, Amaris?

PAGE 30, PANEL 2

Forehead to chin semi-profile shot of Amaris, her face filling the panel.

AMARIS: At first I wanted to rip his heart out, I wanted him to suffer, to feel even a taste of what I was feeling, but I was angry then.

AMARIS: Now I’m just numb.

PAGE 30, PANEL 3

Two panels on this tier. This is similar to the previous panel but a closer shot of her, perhaps from her forehead to the bridge of her nose.

AMARIS: Abel made his choices. He had a chance to turn things around.

AMARIS: He didn’t.

PAGE 30, PANEL 4

Over the shoulder shot of Valentyne from behind, Amaris facing him.

AMARIS: He put all his faith in you, Michael, but that faith was always unrealistic, something not even you could have lived up to.

PAGE 30, PANEL 5

Two panels on this bottom tier. This panel is a similar shot to panel 2.

AMARIS: My faith is different. I’m not looking for miracles, not anymore. I just want to know we’ll do everything we can to stop Tom from robbing this world of the one thing that still makes it good.

PAGE 30, PANEL 6

Full shot of Amaris stood by the graveside, now alone again, her figure silhouetted against the burnt sunset orange of the evening sky.

CAPTION: “Show me that and I’m with you all the way.”

PAGE 31, PANEL 1

Page width panel. A ground level shot of the Plymouth on a highway road, heading toward us, an evening sky of low cloud behind.

CAPTION: “For a long time I thought I knew where my life was going.”

PAGE 31, PANEL 2

Page width panel. This is a mid shot of the Plymouth with the bonnet in the foreground, both Jesse and Jeremiah seen through the windscreen, the desert reflected on the glass. Jeremiah is driving.

CAPTION: “I’d gotten used to every day being pretty much the same.”

CAPTION: “But in the space of a few days all of that changed.”

PAGE 31, PANEL 3

Head to chest semi-profile close shot of Jesse, looking out the rolled down passenger window to the desert, clearly deep in thought.

CAPTION: “Suddenly life wasn’t so predictable anymore.”

PAGE 31, PANEL 4

In the foreground are the ruins of the Mexican style town seen in issue # 9, the book Jobe found lying on the sand, next to it the blood stained baseball cap of the man who threatened him in that issue. In the background is a full shot of him and Matilda from behind, the Plymouth nearby, Jesse and Jeremiah stood outside.

CAPTION: “Every day I’d hoped something would change. And it did.”

CAPTION: “In ways I could never have imagined.”

PAGE 31, PANEL 5

Page width panel. Head to waist shot of Jeremiah and Jobe facing each other, with Jesse and Matilda nearby in the background. Jobe has the Octagon in the palm of his hand, showing it to Jeremiah.

CAPTION: “And that was only the only the beginning of it.”

CAPTION: “I had no idea what was coming next.”

PAGE 32, PANEL 1

SPLASH: High view of both the Plymouth and the camper van pulling away from the ruins, the four of them now on this journey together, moving off toward the desert highway and the low sun on the horizon, the sky a splash of pink and purple and burnt orange.

CAPTION: “Maybe if I had I’d have never gone with him that day, I’d never have seen the things I’d seen, never have done the things I did.”

CAPTION: “But maybe that’s the point. Maybe it’s better that way.”

CAPTION: “Not seeing the whole picture.”

PAGE 32, PANEL 2

Insert.

Similar head to chest semi-profile close up shot of Jesse to page 31, panel 3.

ARTIST NOTE: Insert is in the bottom right hand corner of panel 1.

CAPTION: “Because if we did maybe we’d never go in the first place.”

~ END OF VOLUME ONE ~

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