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forthegothicheroine · 3 years

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The King in Yellow, 1949

Much of this story is true. Warnings in the tags.

When I had pneumonia in my early teens, my mother brought home an armful of VHS tapes from the library to alleviate my misery. Knowing my snobbish preferences, she had grabbed copies of whatever she found in black and white. I remember something musical that I suspect was Busby Berkeley, I remember Mildred Pierce (a bad choice, as it turned out- the plot includes a young girl dying of pneumonia), and I remember a period piece called The King. I faded in and out of consciousness while I watched it, but it soothed me while I was awake and filled my fever dreams with sparkling images. I could never find it at the library again, nor at Hollywood Video or even early Netflix (once my father got the subscription service where you could order practically every DVD.) It was a bit odd that it seemed to be so obscure, given that it starred old Hollywood legend Ingrid Bergman (and, although I initially forgot it, Marlene Dietrich.) But even big stars make films that fall by the wayside in public memory, and it seemed that this was one of them. Google was no help, and at the time that was that.

I didn’t see the film again until I was watching Turner Classic Movies at my grandparents’ house. I loved watching that channel with them while filling out the crossword puzzle that came in their little TCM catalogue (all of it based on movie trivia, the only kind of crossword puzzle I’ve ever been any good at.) I recognized a certain scene where Bergman stood on a balcony, looking sadly at the moon. Her face had an expression of unutterable melancholy, and the crescent moon reflected in each of her eyes, giving the impression of two moons in one sky. I had very little time to catch up on what I’d missed before we had to go meet my cousins at the local Italian restaurant. I knew logically that the movie would be long over by the time we returned, but I turned on the channel anyway. Of course it had moved on to the lesser known Alfred Hitchcock film Stage Fright, but then I heard Marlene Dietrich sing before I could reach the remote to turn the tv off in disappointment. I knew that I had heard her sing before, and I knew it had been in The King.

Dietrich’s singing often comes across as somewhat campy today, with its Rs pronounced as Ws and it’s up-and-down tone. Madeline Kahn parodied it brilliantly in Blazing Saddles, such that it was a bit of a disappointment when I finally saw Dietrich’s western Destry Rides Again and found it to be lifeless and inconsistent next to the parody. Still, we remember her voice for a reason, and when I remembered it that night, I knew that its sardonic loneliness had rung through The King and made me shiver in my dreams.

The TCM schedule didn’t list The King in its time slot, but something else. If I had taken down the name, maybe it would have helped me find it. Sometimes the same movie runs under multiple names.

I didn’t see the film all the way through for many years, after I graduated college. I had found a web page that listed public domain film noir, including one called The Masked Guest. The website described it as a costume noir, and I curiously clicked on the link. Once I took in the credits running on the youtube window, my eyes grew wide and I did not move from my place on the bed until the movie had run its course.

The credits did indeed list it as The Masked Guest, but I recognized the strange repeating design on the title cards. They told me that in addition to starring Dietrich and Bergman, it was directed by Fritz Lang, and a character called The King was credited to “???” (I hadn’t seen that kind of credit since the first Karloff Frankenstein.) When the King finally appears on screen, though, it is unmistakably Orson Welles’s voice that booms out from behind his elaborate costume.

Here are the things I understand about The King, or The Masked Guest, or The Man in Yellow, or any other title I’ve found for it on public domain archive searches. Dietrich and Bergman play princesses named Cassilda and Camilla, respectively. Though Dietrich’s accent is German and Bergman’s is Swedish, they blend together to give the film the impression of being set somewhere on the map that I can’t quite find. The scenery and camera angles are very Freudian, with a great deal of archways and pillars.

The first act of The King involves frankly dull romantic plotlines, and the only thing that really saved it was the feeling that the suitors were supposed to be insipid, a suspicion lended credence by the fact that the love interests were listed so low on the credits. Dietrich is the scandalous sister and Bergman is the responsible one, though each takes on aspects of the other as the film goes on. Dietrich sings her song at a party, dressed in a fake 17th century gown and leaning against a piano. Although just a moment ago she had been laughing and joking with her gentleman friends, her song takes an abruptly serious tone (not seductive, not sentimental) as she tells the story of a city lost to time and memory. Bergman slips away from the party and onto the balcony, where we see that wonderful shot of the moon in her eyes. Is she mourning? Is she longing?

Dietrich cuts off the song by abruptly screaming “Not on us, King! Not on us!” She flees the party weeping and shaking, and from there on the film goes mad.

Though uncommon, it is not unknown for movies to switch between black and white and color, done most famously in The Wizard of Oz. The film The King recalls here is the silent Phantom of the Opera, which had a masqued ball scene tinted in shades of red and green that tried to provide a whole spectrum of color. The effect is even odder in the masqued ball scene in The King- the only color that appears is yellow, highlighting things like candlelight, Dietrich’s hair, a passing gown, a vase of tulips. It also highlights one particular masked figure, whose expressionless mask was decorated with a black pattern against a sickening yellow canvas- the same pattern I had seen in the opening credits. The color of his costume causes him to stand out from the crown even when he is far off in the background, just one head among many others. It must have taken long and painstaking hours of work to color in every frame.

Dietrich still seems broken up days after her song, though Bergman tries to coax her into joining the dance. Finally, at midnight, Dietrich goes out to face the party, but only to demand that every guest remove their mask. The yellow man with a voice that once warned America about a Martian invasion tells her that he wears no mask. Bergman reacts with disbelief, but Dietrich starts laughing like a woman unhinged. As she laughs, the yellow hue seeps out of the King’s clothing and face- if that really is his face- and begins to color the entire ballroom crowd. I think that what follows is bloodshed, but if there is any carnage (doubtful under the Production Code censorship), the blood must be tainted yellow and splashed across the camera like daubs of paint. Dietrich’s laughing face is doubled and tripled on screen until it dissipates, but even when it has faded offscreen, it feels as if her ghost continues to watch the proceedings.

By the end of the scene (filled with German Expressionist camera angles and mad violin screeching), only Bergman remains alive, cowering behind a grandfather clock. It does not hide her for long. The King steps towards her and extends his hand. Reluctantly, but with a fatalistic expression, Bergman takes his hand. They walk away together hand in hand. The screen shifts back into black and white, and then the credits roll before we can get a good look at all the bodies in the scene. The credits say it was based on a play called The King in Yellow, although Raymond Chandler of all people apparently had a hand in the screenplay.

As I said, that’s what I think I understand. It’s an oddly experimental art film for the era, and it may be awaiting rediscovery by the film festival crowd. I feel as if I alone know about it, though that obviously isn’t true. It is my little secret; I tell myself that my husband doesn’t need me to show it to him, it would be too odd for his taste. I’ve rewatched it many times, even if it seems like each time I search for it I have to find a different video platform or torrent. Naturally, no subscription site has it available. Maybe I am the last person who will ever watch it. Maybe no one will ever think to look for it again after me, and it will be completely forgotten.

When I was hospitalized, they let me use my laptop at night before I went to sleep (no power cord, though, in case I tried to hang myself.) I found a youtube link for The Man in Yellow, and I watched it every night. It wasn’t a soothing sort of movie, but having it in my mind all day and then watching it in the evening allowed me to think as opposed to crying endlessly while the other patients shot me awkward looks. I clutched the childhood stuffed animals my mother brought me when she visited, and I always held them extra tight when the masquerade scene started.

I watched the movie when I had to move away from my beloved San Francisco. I watched the movie when I lost the last of my grandparents. I watched the movie when a doctor unwisely took me off my medication and I couldn’t manage to eat for a month. I watched the movie when the whole world got sick and we all locked ourselves away from each other. I don’t mind that I don’t entirely know what it means. I don’t mind the nightmares. In the hospital they kept telling us about mindfulness exercises, and maybe the fact that I can focus on every aspect of the film so closely that all else falls away is the reason I keep coming back to it. I’m being mindful. I’m not letting any stray thoughts invade my head. I’m just watching and waiting for the next beat of every scene, leading inexorably to that yellow-stained bloodbath.

Streaming media doesn’t last forever, and each time I find The King, I worry that it will be the last time I ever can find it. My efforts to download it have so far been unsuccessful, odd considering that it is in the public domain.

When I watch The King, I am once again a child in my bedroom being cared for in the throes of agonizing sickness. I am once again sitting on the couch with my grandparents in front of the tv, both of them alive and lucid again. I am once again in the hospital, all alone except for my stuffed animals and the staff trying to keep me alive. The film reflects in my eyes like the crescent moon in Ingrid Bergman’s gaze. It sings to me.

I am determined to find a way to obtain The King under any name so that I never have to worry about losing it. During some of the worst times in my life, it is the only thing that has kept me sane.

#the king in yellow #cw mental illness #cw disordered eating #cw institutionalization #cw suicide

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hunnyuwu · 4 years

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Royal Flour || NCT Jeno

Premise: Y/N is the child of a local baker in a small village within the kingdom's vast circle. While everyone in town is in love with Y/N, the poor child seems to never take notice, committing all of their time to her time to perfecting father's meticulous craft. What happens when the kingdom’s prince first lays his eyes on her?

Pairing: fem! reader x prince! Jeno

WC: 3.5k

Warning: this will be extremely cliche and cringe hehe

__________________________

Y/N hummed to the soft tune that danced into her father's bakery through the open windows. The local string instrument genius was out again like usual, and Y/N was so grateful for the boy who constantly practices out in the courtyard by her house. It gave her so much pleasure to listen to the beautiful tune as she rolled out her millionth dough in her lifetime. Even if it is repetitious, Y/N never saw baking as a chore, the love her father had for it really did transfer straight to her.

"Ah, good morning, Y/N!" Y/N looked up from her pin roller, a gentle smile climbing to her lips.

"Hey, Luna! The usual?"

The girl younger than Y/N by a few years nodded frantically, excited for the steaming, fluffy bread. No one's bread could compete with her father's bakery.

"How has your father been, Y/N?" Luna hummed, looking around the nearly empty shop. It was only the crack of dawn, so it made sense.

"He's recovering, I believe he will be back soon!" Y/N chirped, packaging up five loaves and a few pastries into a large canvas carrier. While Luna used to only get one loaf per two days, the girl now was a daily customer, heaving a whopping five loaves away every day. As a special thanks, Y/N always slipped in extras for Luna, the cute girl had a special place in Y/N's heart.

"That's great to hear. Tell him to get well soon for me, okay!" Luna gave Y/N a sweet look, gratefully accepting the large bag from Y/N.

"Are you sure you will be able to carry those all by yourself, Luna? I can ask a friend to help you. I'd come myself, but I can't leave my father's shop unattended."

Luna waved Y/N's concern off, "Stop worrying, Y/N. I'm capable of this much. I'm off!"

Luna set off to the door, but a question flooded Y/N's mind, "Luna!"

Luna's curly hair spun around, letting the petite girl look back to Y/N.

"I'm just kind of curious. I know all those loaves aren't for your family. Do you give them to someone else?" Y/N was always curious about Luna, she was a complete mystery to her.

Luna winked, "I do give them to someone else. Anyways, I'm late so I really gotta go, see you soon, Y/N!" She gave one last wave before leaving through the large wooden door.

~ ~ ~

Y/N stood over a small stone marking. Nothing within her mind. She set down some flowers, remembering an important person in her life.

"Ah, I see that you're here too." Y/N turned around, not expecting this voice.

"Father? You're not supposed to be out of the infirmary!" The girl chastised, quickly running over to the man who limped her way.

"Ah, you're no fun, Y/N. Besides, those ladies are always so stuck up and nosy. I needed to escape even for a little bit. You have to admit, this is a good reason." Y/N softened, today was her mother's official 20th year passed away. The two always made a point of visiting her mother at least once a year on this day.

Y/N supported her father to her mother's grave, his dear wife's grave. Y/N always felt so bad, her mother passed away while she was in labor with her. The doctors and nurses simply couldn't do anything for her. She only hung on long enough to make sure that her baby was alive and sat before she tragically drew her last breath. A tear flooded into Y/N's eye, it was her fault that such a lovely woman passed away.

"Come on, Y/N. I know exactly what you're thinking right now. The last thing your mother would want you to do is believe that it was all your fault, that you were a mistake. It was a risk that your mother was willing to take, you have no idea how much she loved and cared for you when you were in her belly. Want to know something that she told me, right after she was told that she could either save herself or her baby?" Y/N was silent, tears slowly streaming down her face. She solemnly stared at the tiny stone, the only marking remembering her beautiful mother.

"Yes."

"She told me that you were her greatest accomplishment in life. You were the masterpiece in her life, the only regret your mother had was not being able to see you grow up into the fine woman you have become. You bet your persistent mom is surely watching you from above, smiling and guiding you, just in another form."

Y/N, not able to form a word, simply wrapped her arms around her father. She didn't deserve such amazing parents, even if one wasn't there for her life. She knew her mother was always looking over her.

"Let's get out of here, hm? Mom must be happy that we visited her, but she would be even happier if the two of us stayed safe and happy, right?"

Y/N smiled up at her father's sweet look, "Of course, father. I'll take you back to the infirmary."

Y/N's father grumbled sassily, saying something about those rotten nurses, which Y/N's quickly laughed at.

"They're there to help you, father. Not make your life miserable."

"Says the one who doesn't have to deal with those nagging ladies all day."

(Hmm, why are my eyes sweating?)

~~~

"Breakfast really is the best meal of the day." A male sighed, eating his usual. One hard-boiled egg, a glass of orange juice, and two slices of bread with strawberry jam. He gave a satisfied look to the two ladies in the corner of the room.

"You know, the bread has been amazing lately. Was there a change in the royal baker?" The Prince asked, the two ladies shifted uncomfortably, looking at one another for help. The prince shot a look at the two, weirded out by their odd behavior.

"Yoona, I would also like to know about the baker." The King said, voicing out his son's thoughts.

"U-Uh, well, I don't know the baker personally, may I go figure out for you, your majesty?" Yoona curtseyed to the King quickly rushing out of the room, leaving behind the other maid.

Yoona busted into the kitchen, panic written all over her form.

"WE HAVE A PROBLEM." Yoona screamed, bringing the whole cooking staff to a halt, alarmed by Yoona's exclamation.

"What's wrong, Yoona?" A cute looking girl walked over to the older girl, waiting for her response.

"Who's that baker you always buy from?"

Luna's eyebrows shot up, not expecting this, "From a father, now his daughter, that sell bread in the middle of my village. Her bread is the best, right? I bet the royals love it!" Luna gave Yoona a thumbs up, clearly excited. Yoona, on the other hand was a lot less impressed.

"Yeah, they love it. A little too much I dare say. They want to know who the royal baker is!" Yoona exclaimed once again, leaving everyone a little more nervous than before.

"Huh, yeah we don't have one of those." Luna said, rubbing her chin with her fingers. Yoona desperately wanted to slap her forehead at the girl's innocence.

"Yeah, no duh. What do we do?" Yoona hissed. Another cook came forward, being the head of the staff.

"Well, we have two options. We either tell the truth that we have just been buying from a village baker for a little while, or we fake it till we make it."

"So, it's either that we piss them off now, or we piss them off later..."

Yoona, Luna, and the head cook all looked at one another, making a clear decision. Luna sighed, "Huhh, fine. I'll come clean..."

~~~

It was now later in the day and Luna was nervously twiddling her fingers behind her back. She looked down at her maid's uniform, waiting for her demise.

"Luna, I don't remember you being a baker?" The Queen remarked, hearing that Luna came to announce the arrival of the royal baker.

Luna hummed, ready to make the big reveal, "Well, your Majesties, there is actually not currently a royal baker." Silence effectively ensued. The King and Queen that were both sitting on their thrones were utterly confused.

"And how could that be, Luna? Who supplies that bakery items then?" The King said gently. Luna sighed.

"I've been buying from a small baker from my home village. It's the Heights District your majesties."

"Why didn't you just hire that baker, Luna? It's much easier than buying from this baker every day?"

The king and queen were taking this a lot better than Luna expected. She didn't want to even think about trying to persuade Y/N from leaving her father's bakery for the royal's kitchen. That task is virtually impossible, and that was Luna's specialty.

"Ah, well the bakers consist of only a father, who is currently in the hospital with a leg injury, and a daughter who has taken over. So-"

"How lovely! We can pay a lot more for her services here I bet. Miss Luna, please convince this amazing baker to come work for us!" The queen gleamed, Luna deadpanned inwardly. The queen was always... a bit of a ditz.

"She will be a bit hard to convince, though, you're majesties."

"Hmm, then bring my son. He is a very good persuader as you know. Now, run along. Hopefully I have good news by tomorrow." The king gave her a look, basically saying that this decision was final. Luna bit her bottom lip, but nodded nonetheless, waltzing out of the room.

She ran down the hallways, out to the expansive pastures behind the royal's castle.

"Your Highness!" Luna yelled, flailing her arms around like a mad man.

The prince, who was on horseback with his companion, quickly trotted over to the small girl, slightly frightening her.

"Is something wrong, Luna?" The prince questioned the girl who seemed like a little ant compared to him on horseback.

"Your parents ordered for me to take to you to my village to hire a baker."

The princes eyebrows raised, why was this his job to complete with a maid?

"It's a hopeless task for me. Your parents said to bring you along to maybe make the baker a part of the royal staff."

The prince sighed, the baker did bake some hella good bread. While he had a lot of questions, he shoved them down for now, trotting back over to his partner from before.

"Princess Mina, I have to depart early today. Sorry for the sudden interruption."

"But Prince-"

"Sorry." He said louder, stopping the princess who yaps like a chihuahua before she could even start. How could his parents even make him attempt to love this... desperate creature.

He quickly departed with Luna as soon as he could.

~~~

"Would you like to take the carriage your-"

"Let's walk, Luna. And besides, how many times do I have to tell you to address me by my name when we are in private?" The prince questioned with a playful smirk as the two finally set out on foot.

"But-"

"Luna." The prince growled.

"Fine... Jeno..."

The crowned prince, Jeno, gave her a fluffy smile, ruffling his hand through her hair. The two were close from a young age, but they also had to hide their close friendship from a young age as well. Once upon a time, Jeno had a large crush on the girl, but she viciously rejected it, saying that she only saw him as an older brother. While he thought he could win her over, he quickly gave in to her wishes as she was quite the stubborn girl.

"So, tell me about this baker, Luna."

Luna smirked, knowing how Jeno would react when he met the girl.

"Mmm, I'm not going to tell you." She said, causing Jeno to give her a deadly glare.

"You know who you're talking to, right?"

Luna shrugged, giving the boy an innocent look, "I thought you said we were friends when we were in private?"

Jeno quietly huffed, looking away, "Fair enough."

The two talked for their decently long journey, about this or that, about their childhood, anything.

"Man, you walk a long journey every day... Why don't you just live in the headquarters?" Jeno asked as they entered Luna's village.

"Ever heard of having a family?" She said, sarcasm dripping from her tone. Jeno rolled his eyes, "Hmm, okay then."

Luna saw Y/N's bakery sign up ahead, it's go time.

"Alright, we are here, Prince."

"I thought I told you-"

Luna ignored him, swinging the bakery's door open, the smell of bread smacking the prince in the face.

"Hello, Y/N! Are you here?" Luna called out as Jeno stepped into the small, but cozy shop behind the girl. He looked around, kind of confused why Luna called out a girl's name. He thought that the baker was supposed to be an older man, according to Luna at least.

"Ah, hello, Luna! You're never here around this time!" A beautiful voice called out, a youthful girl came out of nowhere, surprising Jeno.

Wow...

She's absolutely gorgeous...

Jeno's jaw dropped as he saw the girl fiddle around quickly with some equipment, taking pastries and bread out of a stone oven. Luna smirked, she knew this would happen. Y/N wasn't the village sweetheart for nothing.

Y/N finally turned around, swipping her hands over her floury apron. Her eyes widened when she saw the male standing next to Luna.

"You never told me that you had a boyfriend!" Y/N said joyfully, going on about how Luna was such a mystery. Jeno was so taken aback by her sheer beauty that he couldn't even say anything at the moment.

"Nice to meet you! I'm Y/N, the daughter of the baker who owns this place. He's currently unable to work, so I've been handling the place." Y/N offered her hand for a handshake, completely oblivious as to who Jeno was.

Luna paled as Jeno simply looked down at the baker's outstretched hand.

"A-Ah! No, Y/N!" Luna yanked the confused girl's hand away, giving a nervous glance toward Jeno.

"Well, we have come to explain something to you."

Y/N tilted her head, but complied.

"I just pulled out a batch of pastries, so why don't you two sit down for a little?"

Y/N brought the two to a small wooden table among the few that they had there. There really wasn't enough space...

Jeno gave Luna a glare immediately after Y/N left.

"You didn't plan on telling me that the baker was a girl my age?" He hissed, keeping his eyes on Y/N to make sure that she wasn't close.

Luna smirked, sipping on the water that Y/N provided to the both of them, "What's the big deal? I thought you were courting Princess Mina right now?" Luna smiled, knowing she was getting on the boys nerves. He was about to retort when some pastries were set in front of the two.

The both looked up to see Y/N standing, staring at the two, probably waiting from them to start.

"Aren't you going to sit with us, Y/N?" Luna said, her features scrunching up.

"No, you two are my honorary customers, so I couldn't possibly sit with you."

Jeno's eyes widened, Luna nor Jeno brought money with them. He heard Y/N chuckle.

"You two aren't paying today, it's on me."

Jeno's heart melted, everything about her...

"Ahem." Luna interjected between Jeno and Y/N's little staring contest.

"So, first of all, bring a darn seat to sit in, Y/N." Luna said with full authority. Y/N sighed, giving in.

"I've noticed that you have been wondering what I do, right Y/N?"

Y/N nodded, full of enthusiasm.

"I work for the royal palace."

Y/N's eyes widened, "Wow, that's so cool, Luna!"

"But, I've been kind of feeding your bread and pastries to the royal family... without telling them it was yours.”

Y/N nodded, a frown forming on her lips, "Did they think it was good?" Luna gasped, thinking that Y/N was going to be furious after hearing the news. But she took it in the most ideal way possible.

Jeno was surprised by her lack of enthusiasm after hearing the news, it's not every day that someone in their kingdom had the honor of having their items or goods used by the royals. There were lines ready to get the royal's approval to gain attraction to their businesses.

Luna nodded, "Y-Yeah, so much in fact that the cooking staff had a panic attack because you are sorta technically the royal baker at this moment..."

Y/N's eyes widened, "You guys don't have a royal baker? How unfortunate... I'd be willing to continue to send my products to their highnesses." Y/N then smiled, directing her smile to Jeno.

Jeno blushed, he'd much rather she become his future wife instead...

"Hmm, the thing is that the king and queen personally requested that you become the royal baker, though..." Luna said, tentatively. Y/N was silent for a moment, Jeno nervously awaited her answer.

"It's an honor, but I'm going to have to politely decline.

~~~

Jeno sighed as he sat down for breakfast the very next morning. He saw that very same loaf of bread from the pretty baker in Luna's village.

Y/N.

Everything about her made Jeno's mind go crazy. She was polite, hard-working, kind, slightly quirky, and had a sweet personality. He so desperately wanted to get to know her, but that would be difficult as she was too difficult to sway when it came down to the decision. He wanted her here, but he also understood why she wanted to stay at her bakery.

Jeno sighed once again, chomping down on the bread freshly made this morning, oh how much he would rather see her face than the product from her hands.

"Son, is something bothering you?"

Jeno looked up to his father giving him a stern look, he straightened up from his slumped position by his food. He gave his father a look, "I'm fine, your highness."

"You look unwell, dear." His mother cooed, concerned for his well being. He was being so difficult just at the thought of the girl.

"You have an engagement with Princess Yeeun today, Son. You better freshen up so that she doesn't see you in your miserable state."

Jeno huffed, while he was fine with Yeeun, he really didn't see her as someone he would spend the rest of his life with. He hated the tradition of engagements and decided who would be best to continue the royal lineage. There were so many girls that wanted to marry him, but just did not take a liking to any of them.

Later in the day, after his 'date' with Yeeun, Jeno walked out into the rose garden, looking around at the blooming flowers. Y/N reminded him of these flowers, maybe if he ever saw her again he could escort her through the gardens one day.

"Prince."

Jeno looked up from his place in the garden, watching a smirking Luna walking his direction.

"What is it, Luna?" He said as she neared him.

"Thinking about a certain someone?" She said, poking some fun at him. He choked, not quite understanding what she could be on about.

"Luna, the only people I think about are my parents and my horse."

Luna rolled her eyes, looking down at the flower that Jeno was cupping in his hand. A gentle smile rose to her thin lips, "First of all, a horse is not a human. Secondly, I saw the way you oogled at Y/N, Jeno. You can't fool me."

"And so what, I'm never going to have her, so why even think about it?"

Luna sighed as she saw Jeno's face gradually go sour. A thought popped up in her mind.

"Why don't you invite her to the King's birthday party?"

Jeno shot his head up, eyes wide. He looked down at his petite friend.

"A-Ah well, I'm going to have to deal with all of my potential suitors, though..."

"So what? I know you could give her a dance. Besides, I'll take her for the rest of the night. You can mingle with all you're girls you want, but her presence will show you how dumb you are."

"How dumb I am?" He barked, causing Luna to chuckle, "Yeah, how dumb you are for not trying to get her. I know your parents are strict, but why not try to court her? At least get to know her. Your dumb face showed me that you fell in love with her immediately after she opened her mouth."

Jeno blushed, why could Luna always read him like a damn book. He thought he was so sly about it.

"I don't know, Luna."

"Well, I'll invite her then."

Jeno gave her a look, "You little snot..."

"All in your best interest, Prince. Besides, every single guy in town wants to court her, and she's coming to an age where her father is starting to ask her about marriage. I'd stomp out your competition before someone does actually whisk her feet off the ground. Just a fruit for thought, though. See you later, Jeno."

Luna turned around, waving to him lazily before departing. Jeno looked down, Luna always had these crazy ideas in her head, but maybe this time it would actually work out? Or it could cause a war between the neighboring kingdoms...

Just a fruit for thought, huh?

_____________________________________

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

Hunnyuwu

^Jeno is a prince and no one can tell me otherwise:)

#lee jeno #nct imagines #nct x y/n #nct dream #nct jeno #jeno #jeno imagines #nct 127 #neowritingsnet #jaemin #na jaemin #nct x reader #jeno x y/n #nct jaemin

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fuckyeahkosukeniwa · 3 years

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"People like you are rare."

Kosuke's eyes remained locked on the backs of his wife and father as they carried Daisuke and Satoshi up the winding stairs. The calm voice on the ground continued speaking, ignoring his efforts to watch his family even after the glow of their flashlights disappeared. Only the dim cinders of ancient canvas and the stench of burnt oil kept the two men company.

"Are you satisfied?" he didn't need to look down to see the smile in those words. Kosuke's hand gripped the metal bracelet harder; he would not be taunted into distraction, would not let everyone down. The bracelet dug hard into the soft flesh of his palm and fingers, but he had to keep it on Hiwatari's wrist. Had to...

"Well," the other man began again. Kosuke sucked in a breath, unable to bear another word from this... whatever it was... "are yo-"

"No!" Kosuke shouted, finally turning to look Hiwatari in the eye - what little he could make out in the dark orange light emanating from Kokuyoku's burnt remains. "This wasn't- How could you-"

"I might as well be honest now. It was not easy," Hiwatari tilted his head in the direction of the cinders, his black hair falling against smooth skin, smile even wider.

Kosuke held the bracelet with as much force as his aching hand could muster. His opposite hand likewise tightened around Hiwatari's other, limp wrist. And there they would stay.

"It was inevitable the Niwa clan would attempt to interfere, but," grey eyes locked onto Kosuke's wide brown ones. "usually you outsiders keep your distance. For obvious reasons."

For a brief moment, he imagined he could feel the hum of magic working under his fingers, holding his target in place, locking Hiwatari into the familiar form he'd worn for... longer than Kosuke could imagine. Through it all he had heard none of Dark's last words, none of the roar of Kokuyoku brought to life, or the supposedly deafening scream as it was brought to an end. Emiko would tell him after... after the boys were safe.

Still after all this time, artworks took no interest in this regular, weak human who was so interested in them.

It was a miracle then, Kosuke thought sluggishly, willing the bracelet to use any strength within him, to do his bidding despite their unpassable barrier of "language". Yes, it was a miracle this backup of a backup plan had worked. He might have reacted too slowly to stop the ritual and save-- too slowly to stop the ritual, but he still managed to lock the remaining threat within Kokuyoku's dark, smoky chamber.

"Do you know the origins of this artwork?" Hiwatari broke through his thoughts. Kosuke's brows furrowed and teeth clenched, turning the strange question over in his mind. He'd found it in an abandoned temple, along with one of the magic rings he'd given to help the cursed children.

"I suppose not," the other continued, "Niwas prefer to grab whatever catches their eye, don't they?"

"I'm-" Kosuke cut his denial short. Sure, he was a Niwa, but... He was also a researcher, and he had nothing but time until Kokuyoku turned to ashes and darkness completely filled his vision. Getting out again was no longer a concern. All that matter was containing the threat to his family. The threat in the skin of a casual, well-spoken young man. Noting his grip hadn't loosened, Kosuke made his first mistake: "I don't know. But you do?"

"I do." The other said, most pleasantly.

Kosuke huffed out a shaky laugh. Using this magic was driving him mad, surely. Why else would he- "I'd like to know, if you don't mind... Hiwatari-san."

"Very well, why not." He cleared his throat and rolled his wrists as if settling down for a comfortable tale. "It was created during the late Edo period, using iron sand and silver, smelted and woven together. Cheaper materials than the Hikari's usual elegance. Care to tell the class why, Niwa-san?"

The smoke stung his nose and throat. "It's not Hikari-made." Kosuke already knew that much the moment he found it.

"Correct! Though it was made to serve the Hikari, obviously. The magic-sealing and unsealing properties within don't decay over time, unlike seals on artworks. Instead they rely upon the user's own will. Hikari magic isn't effective against themselves, but with a tool created by an outsider..." Hiwatari trailed off, implication obvious. If they couldn't suppress Krad on their own, much like Daisuke in his struggle with Dark, then they could channel their energy more effectively this way.

The light from the cinders was fading fast but the grey eyes were still clear when Kosuke made his second mistake: "How did it end up in Hokkaido if it was made for Hikari? I don't know of any who lived in that region."

"Hokkaido, huh? It did travel far from Azumano." Hiwatari hummed appreciatively, stretching his fingers and looking towards the burnt Kokuyoku once more before continuing. "The Cultural Revolution scattered many in the Hikari household. Before the flames reached the manor, I ordered the servants to grab whichever works had not yet been hidden. What a shame to lose so many priceless works. Better than letting them burn. Or rot in the basement of thieves."

Kosuke ignored the jab. "So a servant took the bracelet?"

Hiwatari's shoulders shifted as much as they could in a shrug. Kosuke pressed the other man's wrists further into the ground in warning. His knees were starting to ache as they supported him on the stone floor.

"Tsk, so tense... And most likely. I was preoccupied with more important matters at the time. But the Hikari of that generation liked to have at least one in the set laying around."

How much could Kosuke learn from this man, an eye witness to the historical event that he'd dedicated over a decade to studying. The regret sank deep in his chest, heavy like a rock. If only things had been different. If only Hiwatari had been different, he corrected in his mind bitterly.

Despite the silent, cavernous chamber, their breathing sounded muted to Kosuke's ears. Clearing his dry throat, he reached for the piece of knowledge that Hiwatari had withheld. "Since a Hikari didn't make it, who did?"

"I'm disappointed. Are you perhaps in denial? Or less clever than I give you credit for? Here I thought you were an interesting one," Hiwatari let out an exaggerated sigh.

"Who?" Kosuke retorted, eyes squinting to see the outline of the familar face. Had he been arrogant to say he could handle this man alone? He prayed Daiki or Emiko would bring backup soon. And an extra light.

"Me, of course. The ever-helpful "outsider" of the clan, not so different from you, don't you think? You know I was Hikari's favorite disciple too." As if Kosuke had any way of knowing that. Knowing...

"You're lying. If Hikari can't use their own magic on themselves," He panted, arm shaking while tightening pressure on the bracelet to prove his point, "then how could I be using yours against you!"

"I can see that you've felt the effects of using this artwork. The strain of magic isn't just physical, but mental as well."

Kosuke closed his eyes, useless in the pure darkness that had finally fallen, and struggled to make sense. He should have never spoken...

"The human mind instinctively rejects magic. We weren't meant to meddle with such things. Most refuse to hear the voices of artworks altogether. Every artwork has a unique voice though. It's quite beautiful."

"You're not making any sense!" His shoulders shook harder under his own weight. Or with stress. Kosuke didn't know anymore.

"Hikari carry intimate knowledge of every one of their family's creations so their minds can reject the magic more effectively, whether they want to or not."

"Myself, on the other hand... How old is this piece. How many creations came before, came after." The lilting voice spoke from the darkness below him, "It's like when you meet an old acquaintance on the street. Through the conversation of pleasant inanities, your thoughts are actually turned inward, trying to match that face and voice with an ephemeral name."

So that was Kosuke's final mistake.

"I simply needed to jog my memory. Thank you, Niwa-san."

Hiwatari's arms jerked out of the grip and shook off the bracelet while a blinding light of magic filled Kosuke's vision.

#rival #mine #long post #writing #written may 2020 #dnangel spoilers #too lazy to do my full formatting anymore sorry~

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ladylillianrose · 4 years

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Extraordinarily Star-Crossed a Max Richman/Zoey Clarke Fanfiction

A/N: Thank you all for your responses to our work! @clarkemanotp and I appreciate all your comments and kudos! This is the second to last chapter in Italy, and then on to new and exciting places....

Florence, Italy 1485 Chapter 5

Florence, Italy 1485 Chapter 4

Florence, Italy 1485 Chapter 3

Florence, Italy 1485 Chapter 2

Florence, Italy 1485 Chapter 1

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 6

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 5

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 4

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 3

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 2

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 1

Florence, Italy 1485 Chapter 5

"Imagine my surprise at the letter I received, offering me congratulations for my impending fatherhood," Pietro looked at her coldly. "Your duty was to me and our house, but now you would bring shame to us. Give me the name of the father and I won't throw you out into the street."

Elena's heart raced, but she stubbornly lifted her chin, "I myself shall bear the blame.*"

Pietro narrowed his eyes at her defiance, "You've brought this upon yourself." He stalked down the hall to Elena's chamber and began tearing through her belongings, searching for any information about her lover.

Elena ran after him, Magdalena at her side. "Pietro, stop this madness!" she cried.

"Then give me his name!" Pietro yelled.

Elena remained silent, Pietro could do what he wanted but she would not betray her love.

Pietro walked from the room, pausing at the door, "I will find him. Then his blood will be on your hands, Elena."

Elena collapsed into a heap on the floor shaking with sobs. Magdalena wrapped her arms around her, stroking her hair and murmuring words of comfort.

"We must get word to him," Elena whispered. "Somehow, without Pietro finding out."

"I will talk to Nunzio, we can walk through the market so as not to be overheard. We have been there often enough that it will not cause any gossip."

Elena nodded, "We must be extra cautious, do nothing to raise suspicion."

________________________________________________________________

"I must say, I am quite flattered that you are seeking my attentions so frequently," Nunzio smiled.

Magdalene rolled her eyes, "You should be so lucky. You are merely a convenient means of conveying a message."

"It's been many a century since someone tried to woo me, but I'm fairly certain insulting one's love is not how it works," Nunzio teased.

"Must you be so insufferable. Time is of the utmost importance," she hissed at him.

"What has happened?" all trace of humor was gone from Nunzio's face.

"Pietro had returned and is aware of Elena's condition. Even as we speak, he is trying to find out who the father is."

Nunzio's face grew white, "Then, they need to leave as soon as possible."

"He must not do anything to raise suspicion. Pietro has eyes throughout the city," Magdalena warned.

"There should be a ship leaving in the morning. I'll book their passage on it, meet us at the docks tomorrow at first light," Nunzio told her.

She nodded as they took their leave of one another.

________________________________________________________________

"Master?" Nunzio called had he raced through the door and into the studio.

Lucian looked up from his packing startled. "What is it? Is it Elena?"

"Her husband has returned, and he is aware of her condition."

"Then she is not safe, we must leave immediately," Lucian began pacing frantically.

"I've arranged passage for you both on a ship leaving in the morning. It is headed for Spain, but it was the one leaving earliest," Nunzio explained.

"I don't care where it is headed, as long as it gets Elena out of here!"

"She sent her nurse to warn you that Pietro is searching the city for you. He doesn't know your identity, yet. But he is out for blood. Elena begs you to be discreet."

Lucian nodded, "Come, we must pack quickly. Take that package and arrange to have it delivered tomorrow evening," he gestured to a wrapped canvas addressed to Pietro de' Barbari.

Nunzio took the package and headed back out into the marketplace.

Finding a courier, he gave explicit instructions that the parcel was to be delivered to the house tomorrow evening.

The courier nodded and took the parcel and his fee.

Satisfied that his duty was discharged, Nunzio returned home.

________________________________________________________________

Magdalena returned with the news that they would be departing in the morning.

Elena was relieved, soon she and Lucian would be far away.

She packed only the essentials, as well as some of her jewels that they could sell if needed.

"It has been an exhausting day for you. It's best if you get some rest now," Magdalena told her.

Elena nodded, knowing that she needed to rest for both herself and the babe.

Magdalena gathered their bags and slipped them into her chamber. Thinking ahead she headed to the kitchen and packed some food for their journey. Satisfied that everything was in hand, she retired for the evening.

________________________________________________________________

Early Morning

Elena crept out of her room and down the hall to Magdalena's chambers, where she tapped quietly on the door.

Magdalena opened the door, handed her a woolen cloak, and stepped out of the room.

The house was quiet and still as they made their way to the door.

On the table nearest the door was a parcel that was torn open.

Elena looked down and gasped, it was her portrait. And crumpled on top was the note she had written to Pietro.

She turned quickly and headed towards her husband's chamber and threw open the door. It was empty.

Running out of the room she yelled to Magdalena, "He knows! Oh God, he knows!"

They ran out the door and onto the street just as Nunzio arrived in a carriage.

"Where is he?!" Elena cried.

Nunzio shook his head, "Your husband arrived not an hour ago with some men and dragged him from the house. He challenged Master Lucian to a duel and then they threw him in a carriage. I heard the other men mention something about the clearing outside of town."

Elena gasped, "No! Where is this clearing? Nunzio, take me there at once!"

Nunzio looked at Magdalena who nodded. "We have no time to lose. Get in the carriage."

The three of them quickly jumped into the carriage, speeding away.

Elena held her hand to her swollen belly as a twinge ran through it, "Please, let him be okay. I need him….we need him…"

As soon as the carriage arrived at the clearing, Elena jumped out, not wasting a moment. She raced towards the two figures she spotted in the distance, circling one another almost as if they were dancing until she saw the glint of the sun on polished metal. She couldn’t tell the figures apart at first, but as she drew closer to them, she recognized the bronzed skin of her husband as he faced her. Her attention, however, was focused on the other man, the man she needed to save. Lucian.

She drew closer, unable to take her eyes off of them, as their weapons clashed. Lucian parried each blow expertly, moving quickly out of his opponents’ reach. Pietro was not nearly as adept as Lucian, his life of leisure had not prepared him for the strain of this fight.

The moment she was close enough to see them clearly, she cried out, attempting to get their attention. “STOP!”

Lucian’s blade stilled and he turned towards her, she smiled relieved at her success. She lifted her skirts, moving towards Lucian, just as Pietro’s sword continued its arc. Pietro’s blade drew across his neck as Lucian turned distracted by Elena's arrival. He now faced her, a look of concern on his face that quickly morphed into pain as blood began dripping from his mouth. She watched in horror as blood began to pour from the gash in his throat.

Letting out a wordless scream, she ran towards him, reaching him just as he hit the ground. He lay there, pressing his hand against his throat, as he coughed and choked, gasping for air as his blood pooled on the ground around him. She fell to the ground, mindful of her swollen belly as she gently pulled the bleeding man into her lap. She cradled his head with her left hand as she pressed her right hand to the wound, attempting to staunch the flow of blood, knowing it was hopeless.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she cried, tears pouring down her cheeks.

He coughed, desperately trying to speak as more blood expelled from his mouth. He reached his hand up and tenderly traced her cheek. She leaned into his touch, feeling the sticky warm substance his fingers left behind, as more tears escaped from her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” she whispered, running her fingers softly through his hair. He choked, trying to breathe again, but could not draw in any air. Then suddenly, smiling softly, he relaxed as his rich brown eyes met hers, as his body became still. His head fell to the side leaning towards her abdomen, his glazed eyes unknowingly staring at the child he would never meet.

Elena looked down at the shell of the man she loved and let out a heart-wrenching wail. She gripped his shoulder, bending over him as if to shelter him from the world. She knew that it was her desire to protect him that had cost him his life, she distracted him and at that moment she lost everything. He could have survived if she had just stayed away if she hadn’t fallen in love with him in the first place, but now, she would never know. Lucian was gone, and she was alone. All she had left of him was their child that she carried inside her, and the crimson stains of his blood on the cream fabric of her dress.

A/N: * “Tam Lin”- Fairport Convention

#Clarkeman #clarkeman fanfiction #max x zoey #zoey x max #max x zoey fanfiction #zoey x max fanfiction #max richman #zoey clarke #Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist #zoey's extraordinary playlist fanfiction #Zoeysplaylist fanfiction #ZoeysPlaylist #Zoeys playlist fanfiction #zoeys playlist #fanfiction #Extraordinarily Star Crossed

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callioope · 4 years

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A couple weeks ago, I posted a recap of my last D&D session for the Tomb of Annihilation campaign that I’m in. You may recall, I ended on a bit of a cliffhanger! Well, our adventures continue...

From the Diary of Maritsa Stormwind, Level 4 Cleric Camp Vengeance, Deep in the Chultan jungle, along the Soshenstar, far upriver from Port Nyanzaru

Battle of the Undead (cont’d)

Peeking through the front gates, I could see, far across the camp, by the southwestern corner that the undead had blown through the night before: two horrible beasts ravaging among the soldiers. One, a wight riding a skeletal warhorse, the other a zombie ogre.

Could I get there in time? My heart raced. Behind me, my Spiritual Weapon was still engaged with the last remaining skeleton on the bank of the river. I swung it at the skeleton, but missed.

I had to make a decision, and fast: my Spiritual Weapon moves much slower than me, and was already 20 feet behind me, in the wrong direction of the remaining battle. If I ran beyond the 60-foot range, it’d dissipate anyways. And I knew it only had 30 seconds left. Given my options of what I could do, was it worth it?

I decided to keep it. I moved it as far as I could, and dashed through the gates in time to see Gotem engaged in combat with the zombie ogre.

Perne and Durth dashed inside towards the northwest section of camp to assist the soldiers there, while Arannis dashed past me towards Gotem. Everything was so far away!

In the distance, I could see Commander Breakbone utter a command¹. Feeling encouraged, I knew I could do some damage if I could fight by his side.

The battle raged around us. The wight on the warhorse used some kind of spell that looked sort of like Onks’ Eldritch Blast, but wasn’t quite the same. He hit Gotem and Whisper. Whisper threw a javelin. The ogre hit Ord (one of the soldiers at the camp) and Gotem with his club.

This was my chance, I knew. I quickly glanced around the battlefield. Several of my compatriots looked like they could use some healing, but -- as I “dragged” my Spiritual Weapon a little closer -- I only had healing options that would take too long to administer.

And to be honest, I wanted a piece of that ogre.

Still a good distance away, I’d need a range attack to be effective. I muttered a quick prayer to Ilmater under my breath. I’ve had trouble staying on target with this spell. But this zombie ogre was huge, and that wight looked dangerous. We needed to do a lot of damage.

I cast Guiding Bolt.

I held my breath as light streaked towards the ogre. A solid hit! In the dim light glittering around the ogre, I could see it wince in pain. And the ogre turned to face me.

Again the battle ranged around us. I lost sight of Durth and Perne. Onks cast Vicios Mockery on the ogre. Commander Breakbone slashed at it with his great sword -- and then a peculiar thing happened. He fell to his knees, clutching his head. It was only for a moment, and then he was up again.

Before I could understand what was happening, the wight raised some thing over his head and cast a spell across the camp². Whatever it was, I shook it off.

My attention then fell on Whisper, battling the Ogre. The ogre turned towards me, but had to walk past several us -- I can’t even remember who -- who all took the opportunity to attack him. It swung at me, but missed.

Then, Gotem fell.

Oh, there’s no excuse for the dilemma this caused. I don’t know why we never noticed his vampiric nature until he drank from that strange grog Whisper shared with us. But at any rate, it’s been long enough, since then, that we ought to have come to a good strategy for healing him. Most of my spells would have no effect on Undead.

But there was one thing I could do, and given the state of my peers, it was overdue.

I cast Aid on Gotem, Ord, and Whisper. Gotem rose up, a little shaky but stable.

Arannis struck the ogre with his daggers, and finally it seems we are making a difference against this monster. I could hear sounds of battle at the north end of camp, and in the distance could just make out Durth’s form as a bear. No sight of Perne. Ord shot at the ogre, Onks used Toll the Dead, and Breakbone slashed at the wight.

And then it happened again. Breakbone fell to the ground, clutching his head, but this time, he did not rise, and began to spasm on the ground. He was too far for me to reach, way too far. That feeling I had, that encouragement that I could do a little extra damage, vanished as I saw the commander fall, and fear took its place.

The wight moved towards Gotem, and I feared this battle was about to take a turn for the worst. The creature jumped off his horse, hand glowing and raised above his head. He grabbed Gotem’s neck and shook him, and Gotem began to spasm. And yes -- Gotem fell to the ground once more.

Before I could do anything, that dread skeletal warhorse trotted towards me, kicking like mad, but it didn’t hit me.

I couldn’t reach Gotem, but I knew I had to get these monsters away if we had any chance of saving him. And he was unconscious, so he wouldn’t hear or see what I was about to do: play the card I’d been holding all along.

I raised my shield, the emblem of my Holy Symbol pointed towards these foul creatures, and prayed.³

I could see it take effect on the skeletal warhorse and the ogre, but the wight and a nearby skeleton seemed unperturbed. Still, two of the close creatures threatening Gotem would be gone.

I moved that darn Spiritual Weapon a little closer, feeling tethered to this object and wondering if I’d really made the right decision, spending so much time moving it along.

Just then, my heart lifted as I saw Perne run around the corner of the commander’s tent and swing her long sword at that forsaken wight! Arannis, meanwhile, fed Gotem a potion and hid. Durth, still a bear, tried to attack the wight, but missed. Ord tried to shoot the wight, too, and also missed. I knew this wight would be our toughest foe yet.

Then Onks finally got a hit in with Chill Touch.

And, it seemed, the tide was turning in our favor. The wight, looking severely hurt now, raised its arms again and cast two bolts from its hands. It missed Gotem -- thank goodness -- but hit Ord. Ord remained steady on his feet though, and after taking the blast, he looked at me and nodded his thanks for the AID I’d provided earlier.

And then the wight stepped forward and vanished in a mist.

We had other foes, in the meantime! The horse galloped away towards the north end of camp. The ogre charged around the southern medical tent, towards the main entrance where we’d fought earlier. I watched as the archers above the gate shot a volley of arrows. It ruined the effect of the ogre’s fear, but I felt sure we were near the end. Gotem threw a javelin at the ogre before hiding.

And I could see my Spiritual Weapon shining just within range of that ogre. I moved it towards him and swung. He flinched, really feeling it now. Whisper shouted from somewhere -- I’d lost track in the chaos -- reminding me of my Sacred Flame.

I didn’t blink twice. Flame-like radiance fell upon that ogre.

And it fell.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Perne finish off that nearby skeleton and rush towards the Commander. Ord followed. Arannis, meanwhile, darted up the closest tower to see what he could spot.

I planned to cast Detect Evil and Good to see if I could locate our final threat, but then I saw Bear!Durth sniff the air and turn around, back towards the north side of camp. Onks, Whisper, and Gotem all followed.

I followed as well, still moving my Spiritual Weapon with me, though I could quickly feel it’s time coming to an end. There was, at any rate, nothing left to do for the moment. Perne came up behind me and Arannis darted in front of us.

We all gathered at the entrance of the northern medical tent, where we could hear screams of fear. Several soldiers -- those who had been wounded in the battle the night previous -- limped out around us as fast as they could, horror on their faces.

Anger surged through me then -- surely nothing compared to the rage that surges in Gotem’s blows, but I could understand it a little bit then, I thought. How dare this monster attack this camp, nearly kill my friends, and THEN, of all things, descend upon a camp of wounded. I could imagine what it might have planned for them, and I would have none of it!

I pushed past my friends, slipped inside past a strange statue of a tiger, and as if I could burn this creature down with the rage in my eyes, cast Sacred Flame once more towards its skull.⁴

Light flashed in it’s eyes and then it crumbled to pieces, nothing left but a pile of ash and bone.

Beside me, the tiger statue turned back into Whisper. I let out a long, heavy breath. The heavy rain we’d fought in spattered against the canvas of the tent and then petered off.

We stepped back out into a low fog. I very much wanted to attend to my friends and make sure they were alright -- I still had two spell slots left -- but then we heard a great commotion in the southern medical tent and rushed over.

There we discovered a crowd around Commander Breakbone. Eku motioned us forward towards his cot, where he writhed and spasmed as if in some horrible nightmare. Black tendrils like a spider web crept us his neck.

“Something is siphoning his life,” Eku told us. “There is only one thing we can do to save him: we must go to Mbala and stop her.”

She explained he has only three or four days, but we could get to Mbala in two. Arannis crudely suggested we cut off his head. I reminded myself, he is only just out of his elvish childhood years and has known a rough, roguish life and is exceedingly paranoid. That did not ease my mind. I had to content myself with the hope that he intended to protect the other villagers, however misguided his judgment.

Between Durth and I, we healed as many of the soldiers as we could, including Perne and Ord. I cast my remaining spells, Prayer of Healing and a Healing Word. I thought, perhaps, I would be sorry to say goodbye to Perne.

And then I passed out in -- well, one of the tents that wasn’t trampled by the battle.

Setting out for Mbala

There is hardly a moment for rest in this forsaken jungle, so it seems. We set out as early as we could, after a long night’s rest. After the events of last night, I hardly noticed the unpleasantness of our accommodations.

The soldiers had been hard at work while we slept, and had gathered the Undead skeletons, zombies, and horse in a great mound at the northwestern corner, near the abandoned outhouses. A group of soldiers, including Ord, solemnly saw us off.

And then -- what do you know -- Perne follows us out the front entrance, a knapsack over her shoulder.

“For saving my life, and the lives of all my fellow soldiers, I’d like to join you all in the fight against Nanny Pu’Pu.”

Eku leads us into the jungle.

Oddly, it felt colder than normal, and the wind blew especially fierce, blowing from behind us towards the south, in the direction we needed to go. It seemed to carry us along with it, and our pace quickened. Never had we traveled so fast. Whisper and Arannis raced along, but Whisper quickly outpaced him, and flew through the trees, delighted. It was good to see some humor about our party again.

We stopped to forage about midday, and Onks and I discovered a good deal’s worth of coconuts, which we brought back to share.

A Chilling Encounter

I must admit, I found it quite difficult to sleep that night. The ordeal with that hag vexes me. I wish I could find some way to lift this awful dread about me. I know I feel just a little off, and not my full self. That hag has done something to me -- not Nanny Pu’pu, that other one. I tossed and turned and just went I had settled into a deep sleep, Arannis woke us up to the sound of rumbling footsteps of some incredibly large creature.

As we were sleeping, I’d changed into my pajama armor (the studded leather), and felt incredibly vulnerable. Around me, my compatriots darted to hide in the trees, but I only had time to grab my shield.

And then two giant hands parted the trees above us like a curtain, and a giant woman’s blue head peered down at us.

A Frost Giant!

But here?

“Which one of you is Artus Cimber, bearer of the ring of winter?” it said to us, it’s low, slow voice. So, this must be that man we met along the river, the one that had turned it to ice, had saved us, and darted away without any polite words or even a name.

Whisper dropped to the ground to answer. “None of us, but we met him upriver.”

The giant conceded that it would be able to sense the ring, if it were close. She settled down into our camp, declaring she’d stay here -- no, I didn’t like that, but what could any of us do against a Frost Giant?!

Of course, Arannis seemed to think there was something he could do. “Do you have dark vision?” he asked. I’d have hid my face in my hands if I’d had the courage to so much as twitch.

“Whyyy?” the giant asked.

Arannis began to explain our complicated watch schedule, then waved his hand. “You know what, you’re enormous, you do you.”

Perhaps, in other circumstances, it would have been amusing.

The giant offered us all a drink from her huge flagon of ale. She then said, “I pray to one god, and it is not this... Bill.” Well, we are all used to this by now, familiar with Onks’ unusual method of communicating. He must have spoken to her mind directly, without sharing it with us. And of course, his vigilant efforts to spread the word of Bill continue. From the fishermen’s taverns in the port of Baldur’s Gate to deep within the jungles of Chult, the word of Bill continues to grow.

I must admit, as strange as my fellows are, they are rather entertaining -- for all the trouble they cause. I wonder what Perne will think. I hope she is not too off-put by them. But she will see how good they can be.

Gotem managed alright with a sip of that giant’s drink, which is very good because the giant found this amusing. It clapped him on the back and Gotem fell face forward into the dust.

“So you’re a Frost Giant,” Gotem said, standing up. “That’s out of season here.”

“Twenty of us made the joruney from the sea of moving ice. After this ring of winter,” she explained, in her slow way.

“What do we call you?” I asked.

“I’m Thyra Permafrost.”

This was going rather well, I thought, and I relaxed a little. The giant seemed somewhat appeased by our company. Though I don’t think I could sleep well, between the hag and this giant.

This was when Arannis entered into a tense negotiation with her. He attempted to make a trade, “if you help us in the direction we’re going and we’ll help you in the direction you’re going.”

This did NOT bode well. Arannis babbled a little bit more, and the giant did not like this. She took some threatening steps towards him.

Thank Ilmater, Whisper intervened. Fast on his feet and fast on his wits! “What he means to say is it was up the river to the northeast.”

He gave him further details on what had happened, and at last, the giant left. Feeling faint, I retired, with just a little concern over whatever consequences may fall out, between this Frost Giant and this man with the ring of winter. I am not sure who might be more fearsome.

Hotspring Hijinks

The next day passed without too much eventfulness. We did not travel as quickly, especially with the rain started coming down in sheets and we had to make camp quickly.

Someone discovered a hot spring, wild grapes growing nearby. It was a great improvement for morale, what with the rain, but I do not trust this jungle. I tossed a rock into the spring to see if it disturbed anything. No. Arannis poked his finger in; it didn’t seem acidic, so he stripped and dived in. Whisper hesitated only slightly and then followed suit. Onks started to enter, but that little smoke monster he keeps on his shoulder warned him off. Gotem fell in face first.

They beckoned me in, but I saw Perne talking with Eku, so I joined them and ignored the general hijinks that ensued. After about an hour, Arannis called out, “Maritsa, do Undead breathe?” No, I told him. “Okay, he’s probably fine then.” I looked over to see Gotem floating facedown in the water.

Onks and I then set out making camp and we all settled in for our nightly routine. Around that time, Whisper and Gotem started coughing and looking uncomfortable.

You see, this jungle cannot be trusted.

Eku and I went over to look. Throat leeches. Disgusting, horrifying. I debated using Lesser Restoration, but it is a second level spell, and we will have no opportunities for a long rest before facing Nanny Pu’pu.

Arannis, ever resourceful these days, suggested drinking acid from that jug we found in the booby-trapped temple. Surprisingly, Whisper took him up on the idea. Well, at least I could heal damage... At this point, I more vocally offered Lesser Restoration for Gotem, but he shook his head and decided to risk the acid. It did not seem to hurt him quite so much.

And so their antics continue.

Approaching Mbala

After several hours of hiking in the morning, we reached an 1,800-foot high plateau. Sheer cliffs rose above heaps of boulders as high as ships. We could see a narrow path cut into the cliff face, switching back here and there. Eku said we might be able to scale, but the path would be better. Surely climbing such a cliff face would be insanity. The path would suffice.

It took several hours to climb, but what stunning views! The Chult wilderness spread out before us, picturesque, lush, and green. Of course we know what nightmares lurk beneath this peaceful facade, but it was really nice to look at.

We could see, in the distance, far to the southeast, a massive chunk of earth hovering midair, about several hundred feet off the ground. Eku explained this was an earthmote called the Heart of Ubtao, the last remaining of what was once many. Rumor has it, she said, it is occupied, but she hasn’t been to that area to confirm the truth. I wonder if our travel to find the source of this Death Curse will lead us there.

To the west, we could see the top of a ziggurat, barely poking out above the trees. Eku noted, in awe, that this was the ancient ziggurat of Orolunga and inside lives a great seer, Saja N’Baza, who she said has lived for thousands fo years.

About one hundred feet below the top of the plateau, we came upon a fifteen-foot wide crevice. Into the sides were carved scenes of jungle predators, flying lizards, and erupting volcanos, and above all this, a massive fireball plummeting to the earth. Before us: gates rotted away, rusting on iron hinges. And human skulls grinning up from the roadway and above.

Notes:

1. He did some kind of Leadership ability that I’m not familiar with, but it gave us 1d4 on top of attack roles or saving throws

2. The wight cast Fear, causing us to each make Wisdom Saving Throw (Maritsa passed because her WIS modifier is stellar)

3. Channel Divinity: Turn Undead

4. HOW DO YOU WANT TO DO THIS?! YAAS.

Also, DM told us to LEVEL UP !!! at the very end. Now Level 5 B) cannot WAIT to rock these new cleric moves.

#the latest with liz #liz plays dungeons and dragons #from the diary of maritsa stormwind #I HAD A BLAST YO #i fucking love d&d #that battle was intense #as is everything in this damn dinosaur jungle #i did not proof this #it took a long time to write #maybe i'll copyedit it in the am #liz plays toa #maritsa stormwind

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lezliefaithwade · 4 years

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David & Goliath

My grandfather, on my Mother's side, immigrated to Canada from Italy in the 1950's. For years I thought I was Italian until one day my Mother explained that her real father (who was Danish) had died when she was seven and that Ralph was actually my grandmother's “companion”. At seven I had no idea what a "companion" was, nor did I care. All that mattered was whether I would inherit his talent for cooking and gardening. As a child, Italy seemed like a mythical land filled with beautiful palaces and amazing desserts.

When I finally had the opportunity to visit the land of my grandfather's birth, I made it a point to seek out all the places I'd heard about as a child. So, it was, that while I was in Florence, standing in front of the statue of David I was suddenly reminded of an episode in grade 9 when for three solid weeks I was bullied by a fellow student three times my size who I believed would destroy me.

In the Old Testament, the story goes that David, who is just a boy, takes down the 6'9" Goliath with nothing but a sling shot after King Saul, supposedly over 6' himself, is too afraid to challenge the giant on his own.

As I stood there examining the statue, I couldn't help wondering why Michelangelo had sculpted the boy to be so huge when Goliath was the giant? At 17 feet, David stands three times larger than an average man. Is his size a metaphor for his bravery?

Growing up, I never considered whether I was brave or not until the summer before my thirteenth birthday when my parent's separation marked me (at least in my mind) as an oddity. I was the first one I knew of to come from a broken home, and to me, this was a truly embarrassing fact. I was ashamed of what I perceived to be a major failure on the part of my parents, and worried that everyone would think less of me because of it. I wanted my family to be idyllic and though they were far from that, at least while we were all under the same roof, I could pretend. To save myself the embarrassment and shame of having to explain to kids I knew why I was no longer living at my old house on Belmont, and instead in an ugly apartment building across town, I opted to attend an all girl’s Catholic high school where no one knew me. For almost three months, I lied about where I lived. I pretended the apartment building I walked to every evening after school was where I babysat someone's kid. I never let on that my parents weren't together or that I was struggling with the reality that they were headed for divorce.

Catholic girl's schools, I soon discovered, harboured two types of young women. Those who longed for small classroom education among a female community of likeminded individuals, and those whose parents were forcing them to attend a school they hoped would reform them. Possibly attending Catholic school was a last resort ordered by the court. In any case, I was soon the target of gang terrorism brought about by answering questions in class – namely in English where I seemed to excel in understanding Shakespeare. Somewhere between The Merchant of Venice and Romeo and Juliet I became the object of abuse. Short and obnoxious, I was an easy target for a small but imposing group of girls who were significantly bigger and louder. The leader of this particular gang of delinquents was an overbearing, unusually tall girl named Susan Podansky. Susan had thick brown curly hair and a large set of yellow teeth that filled her face when she smiled. Not that her smiles were warm and generous. When Susan smiled, there was foreboding in the air. She reminded me of the witch in Hansel and Gretel licking her chops as she prepared to eat everything in her wake. Her neck was thick, her hands were large and her voice was low. “Guess who’s going to die tonight?” she’d whisper in my ear as I scurried from Math class to Science. The whole time I was dissecting my frog I imagined my innards splayed across the grass beyond the school.

It occurs to me now, many years later and infinitely wiser, that there was nowhere for Susan and her gang to actually pommel me. The school was small and well supervised and the yard was too. Unless their aim was to be caught, there was no way they could beat me up and get away with it. At the time, this logic escaped me. Instead I cowered in classrooms, stayed late for extra help in things I was already excelling at, and volunteered for everything from library duty to bible study. If something needed to be scrubbed, painted, sorted or filed, I signed myself up.

There were rumours going around about Susan and her gang. They set fire to garbage cans. They stole from variety stores. One of them had a friend who’d been decapitated on the roller coaster at Crystal Beach. Each story was more shocking than the one before. What started out as careful avoidance, turned into full blown terror.

Ironically, I’d known Susan in grades 3 and 4 when I had attended Holy Family elementary. I was not Catholic, but the school was close to our house and my mother deemed it more convenient than the public school that was a good deal further away. My parents were never concerned about what rubbed off on us. During the day I learned about the Virgin Mary and the Holy Ghost and after school my mother played Rock and Roll albums and allowed me to read, Mad Magazine, and Creepy comics. Susan had been in my class back then. She was already bigger than the rest of us, but harmless. Once she even invited me to her house. I remember her mother was pleasant enough as she cooked something in the kitchen that smelled foreign and delicious. Most of the kids at Holy Family were Irish or Italian, but Susan was Polish. To me that made her exotic. But then again, I was the daughter of Wasps attending a Catholic school. Everything was exotic to me. In the two years we shared a classroom at elementary school, we’d never clashed. In fact, in a childish act of solidarity, we both called Mrs. Flint, a substitute teacher, Mrs. Flintstone and were called to the office. We were equally contrite and that was the end of that. What prompted this new vitriol, aside from a seemingly innocent love for Shakespeare, I’ll never know. Whatever it was, her threatening demeanour was scary and all consuming.

At home, my mother couldn’t help but notice that I was at school later than usual. I’d enter the hallway out of breath, eat dinner, then retreat to bed. After a week of this she coaxed the truth out of me with cupcakes and before I knew what I’d said, she was on the warpath. This was exactly what I didn’t want. I’d been warned by Susan that if I snitched on her, she’d make my life even more miserable. I begged my mother to leave it alone, but she was determined. My mother had lived with an abusive step-father for a time before Ralph, and bullying wasn’t something she tolerated.

The next day I was called down to Sister Rita Mary’s office where two seats were arranged in front of her desk. I could see from half a mile away that large head of messy hair belonging to Susan. I timidly entered and sat down next to her. Sister Rita Mary smiled, “It’s come to my attention that there has been some nuisance between the two of you.”

Nuisance? Between the two of us? I could see where this was heading.

“It’s my belief that you just don’t know each other well enough, so my solution to this misunderstanding is to arrange for you to sit next to each other in all of your classes from now on.” Then, with a smile on her face she dismissed us from her office and closed the door.

Susan grinned, “This oughta be fun,” she announced. “Guess who’s gonna have a funeral?” And then she galumphed off to class.

Sitting beside Susan was excruciating. In math she broke my pencils. In English she poured ink on my assignment. But it was art class where she really crossed the line. I’d been working on a painting for several weeks and had almost completed my masterpiece when she and her gang “accidentally” spilled paint all over the canvas. “Oh, sorry!” she feigned, and then left me to absorb what had just happened while the teacher insisted I stay and clean up the mess.

Two other girls in my class – Vicki and Sarah shook their heads in disgust. “This can’t continue.” they stated. “That girl has to be stopped.”

“I agree,” I muttered as I crawled about the class on my knees cleaning tempra paint off the floor, “But how?”

That afternoon at lunchtime the three of us hunkered down at a table in the cafeteria to eat. No sooner had we settled when Susan came bounding over, knocked my tray off the table proclaiming me a moron and warning, “Better watch yourself tonight.”

I could feel my face flush and the bile rise in my mouth. I’d learned one thing from comic books, and that was how things were never what they seemed. The meek were often strong. The strong were often scared and bullies could be undermined. Before I knew it, Sarah was standing.

“What did you say?” she asked her.

For a moment I saw Susan blanch. She was shocked. This was unexpected. All she could manage to say was, “What?”

“You heard her, " Vicki demanded, also now standing. They looked like two Davids' to Susan's Goliath.

"What's wrong with the baby?" Susan taunted, "Needs other people to stand up for her?"

"No," I said rising to my feet, "I can stand up for myself."

She hesitated. Everyone was looking at us. Even the lunchroom nun was staring in disbelief.

“You'd better watch yourself.” Susan growled just low enough for my table to hear.

“Or what?” I asked

Susan just stared at me.

“Or what?” I repeated, “You’ll kill me? Beat me up? Hit me? Bury me? Why wait until tonight? Come on. Get it over with. Do it. Come on. You want to hit me? Hit me.” I was on a roll. Words were ammunition from my slingshot and I was on the attack. Next thing I knew, Vicki and Sarah chimed in.

“Yeah,” they echoed, “You wanna fight? Let’s fight.”

Susan blinked. The cafeteria was eerily quiet. All eyes were on us.

“You’re not worth it,” Susan grunted, as she backed out of the lunchroom alone. And that, was the end of that.

For a moment, I felt 6' tall knowing that I had faced my biggest fear and somehow come out the better for it.

Vicki turned to me, "One Goliath down." she smiled. "Listen, I'm having a sleep-over this Friday. Ask your parents if you can come?"

This was the moment. If I could stand up to Susan, I would finally have the courage to say, "Just have to ask my Mom. My folks are separated."

I waited for the judgement that never came. Instead she simply said, "Cool. I'm adopted. Come by at 7:00."

#bullying #girl power #catholic school

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reylo-solo · 6 years

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Rey is unable to sleep and so she tosses and turns before glancing at the broken saber on the old hologram game table. As if her sudden anger summoned him, he's suddenly there next to it, and asks rey what happened. For some reason, they can't block out the connection and so they're "forced" to either stare at each other or chat. Perhaps smut ensues?

Good prompt! I confess, I got kind of carried away with “the feels” on this one, so it’s not very smutty…but I hope you like it anyway! ~~~

The blankets tangled around my feetas I flipped over onto my left side for the trillionth time in an hour.Frustrated and tired, I viciously kicked them off, successfully losing theblanket onto the floor in the process. I glared up at the ceiling of theFalcon, cursing my own brain for not shutting up and letting me sleep in peace.

Sans blanket, I drew my knees up andsquished the pillow under my head. I tried, I really did, but my eyes would notstay closed. The black canvas of my eyelids did not once fade intounconsciousness. I gave up, then. I knew I was not getting to sleep tonight.

I was being harassed by my ownthoughts! Well, one thought in particular. And it wasn’t so much of a true thoughtas it was a name, a face. Ben Solo. Kylo Ren. My enemy, or so I thought. Now Iwasn’t so sure. I often found myself wishing things could be so black andwhite. Wishing that I lived in a world where an enemy is only an enemy; aone-dimensional, static villain. Things would certainly be easier. I couldbypass the whole moral, emotional crisis part. But, that is not the way of thisworld. That is not the way of the Force. If it was meant to be easy, it wouldbe. The fact that it wasn’t warranted extra attention on my behalf.

My eyes opened to a very physicalreminder of this inner conflict of mine. Anakin Skywalker’s lightsaber, brokenclean in two, sitting atop the Dejarik game table. It glinted in the soft blueglow of lights in the cabin. Staring at it made me nervous for some reason. Ithink because now it wasn’t just a broken lightsaber. It was a symbol of hopeas much as it was a symbol of Ben and I. We were each other’s equals. Somatched in power that instead of pulling the lightsaber one way or another webroke it in half. I hated that. I hated the physical manifestation of thattruth. It forced me to stare it in the eye, to face it rather than go onignoring what I felt in my heart.

I don’t know how many times I hadtried to convince myself to give up on Ben Solo over the last couple of days.How hard I worked to tarnish any good, decent thought I had ever allowed myselfto have about him. It had worked, for a short while. But then I remembered the desperationin his words; his pained expression as he asked me to join him. And Iremembered how, for only a second, I had nearly accepted. I had been about totake his hand, to sacrifice everything I stood for now, just because he askedit. My near mistake angered me even more. How could I be so weak? So foolish?

Ben Solo was important, and he couldstill be saved. I was just on the fence about whether or not it had to be mewho saved him. I really didn’t think I was capable of it, not after he refusedto come with me. To me, that demonstrated his unwillingness to be saved. And Ithought, foolish as it is, that by literally closing a door in his face hewould take the hint that his chance at a future where he could maybe be happywas getting smaller, fast. But then I didn’t see him again right away. I didn’teven feel him out there in the vast reaches of space. I can’t lie, especiallynot to myself. I was disappointed that he didn’t come back to me. He didn’tfight for his own salvation. I found myself thinking about him, wondering whathe was doing out there. Even now, he plagued me. And I wanted so badly to bemad at him, nothing but angry, but I couldn’t.

I sighed deeply and shut my eyestight, blocking out the saber and trying to block out any thought of Kylo alongwith it. It didn’t work. Minutes later I was still lying there on my side, myeyes squeezed shut, when a voice startled me into sitting up.

“Rey?”

Kylo stood, partially shrouded bydarkness, on the other side of the hologame table. I watched as his confusedeyes fell from me to the remnants of his grandfather’s lightsaber.

“What are you doing here?” Isnapped, a little louder than I had intended.

Kylo didn’t answer right away. Hepicked up half of the lightsaber as gently as if it was a baby bird, cradlingit in his gloved palm and appraising it with soft remorse.

“You summoned me here,” he replieddistractedly. “Your anger called me.”

I wanted to call him a liar, to tellhim he was making it up. But I knew it was true. The look on his face when hearrived was not the look of someone who meant to show up in my sleepingquarters. So I bit back my hurt feelings and stood up, taking a firm stancewith my feet spread apart and planted on the ground. He looked at me then,peering up from behind his messy dark hair. Slowly, he replaced the lightsaberon the table and straightened.

“You’re mad at me.” He observedcoolly.

The passivity in his voice lit afire within me. Of course I was mad at him! After all the horrible things hehad done, how could I not be? How did he even think it prudent to have to ask?

“Good guess,” I grumbled, folding myarms across my chest.

“Do you want to talk about it?” heasked, clearly poking fun at me. His eyes glinted with malicious humour.

“Talking doesn’t seem to do any goodwith you,” I retorted. “Maybe I should give you another scar instead?”

His lips toyed with a smirk. Onefinger traced the scar from his cheekbone to his jaw.

“Would you?” he asked.

I quirked an eyebrow, confused byhis silky tone. I could see in his face that he was trying to disarm me byusing some semblance of charm, but it wouldn’t work. I wouldn’t allow it. “Stop this,” I demanded. “I don’t want youhere. Just go.”

“Can’t,” he responded simply. “OtherwiseI would.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“You try to break the connection. Goon, try it out.”

I huffed but did as he suggested,working on closing the doors to my mind and shutting him out, like I had doneon the Falcon before. But when I opened my eyes after putting in what Iconsidered to be a firm effort, he was still there, looking at me with abemused expression.

“What…?” I stammered, faltering atthe failure.

“See? Told you. Can’t.”

“That’s impossible…”

“Is it? Think about it. You haven’tbeen able to sleep because you’ve had such a one-track mind. You toss and turnand still can’t get me out of your head…”

“Literally or figuratively, it seems…”

He strolled towards me, casual inhis approach, still choosing to keep a respectful distance. A smart move on hispart. One step closer and I may just stick a foot out and trip him. Just to bepetty. Just to watch his stupid face hit the floor.

“You’re mad at me,” he repeated. “Why,exactly?”

“Are you kidding me? Why not? Andwhy are you incessantly asking that? What is it you want to hear?”

“Nothing in particular. But maybediscussing why I’m here will help end this torture. You can go back to sleepingand I can get on with business of my own.”

“You’re suggesting an impromptutherapy session?”

“If that’s how you want to look atit.”

“Alright, fine.” I tapped my foot incessantlyas I spoke. “You killed your father. Your own father. Killed him like he wasnothing to you.”

“He was nothing to me.”

“Stop it. You know that’s a lie. Ican sense it in you. Killing your father only made things worse for you, didn’tit? You thought it would be some magical fix; a final act to cement yourposition on the Dark Side. But it wasn’t either of those things. It waspatricide, and it hurt you too.”

Ben’s face was a clean, empty slate.He didn’t frown or smile. There was no twitch in his jaw or his eyes. He juststared at me and listened as I spoke, taking my verbal lashes in an annoyinglystoic fashion. Despite his calm façade, though, I saw the ring of truth withinhim. He knew I was right, and of course I was. I had seen it in him when we metin the hut on Ahch-To.

“You were too stubborn to just comewith me,” I continued, a touch of personal bitterness seeping into my tone. “Youknew it was the right thing to do but you didn’t do it. You confused things.You’re not meant to be on the Dark Side, Ben. You’re meant to be here, with me.With your mother. I know it, and so do you. Yet you continue to deny it, goingso far as to ask me to join you. You think I would want to rule the galaxy withsomeone like you? Someone as spiteful and callous and childish as you…”

“You see those traits in me becauseyou see them in yourself,” he commented. “You are not as pure and warm as youthink. I can see that little bit of darkness in you. And great potential, too…”

“And I can see the light in you.More of it than you think. The difference between you and I is that I will notlet the darkness win over the light. I know which side is right for me becauseI’ve been allowed to make that decision for myself. You weren’t able to dothat. Don’t you see, Ben? Snoke twisted you up, made you think you’d never beanything if you weren’t his apprentice; if you didn’t have the Dark Side. Hemade you expect the worst in your family, and so that’s all you saw. He madeyour decision for you, but it’s not too late to reclaim that for yourself.”

“Yes, it is. I’ve made my choice.”Ben hissed.

“No! You’re not getting it! If you’djust come with me—”

“But I didn’t!” he snapped. Hisvoice was harsh and loud in my ears. I flinched involuntarily. “Are you sofoolish as to think that things are so easy? That I could just come with you onmy father’s ship and everything would be okay again?”

“No…but that’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

“You didn’t chase after me when Ileft. You knew I was in the Falcon, of course you did. But you didn’t send TIEfighters after us or try and stop me. You let me go. Why would you do that ifyou didn’t stand a chance at being saved?”

Kylo was quiet, his lips tighteninginto a firm line. I could tell he didn’t want to hear what I was saying to him,because it was true. Facing a long-denied truth can be extremely painful,especially for someone as closed-off as Kylo Ren. I know the pain, and I knewit well. I had long denied the truth about my parents being nobodies, and thetruth that they were never going to come back for me. It had harmed me ininvisible ways that I had not anticipated. It had left wounds that were stilltrying to heal. To think about them stung, but it also helped me move on.

“That hesitation, that unwillingnessto hurt me…that is the point. That isyou showing your true colours; proving that you’re not completely gone. Ben,please…you know I can help you. There’s something here, between us. Somethingnew. You said it yourself: I’m a nobody, but not to you. I will not turn to theDark Side for you, but if you’d meet me in the middle of it all, we could putan end to this whole dreadful thing.”

I extended a hand towards him. Itwas my turn to offer him a lifeline. He eyed it with a certain degree oflonging, watching as my fingers stretched closer to his. His gloved handwrapped around my wrist and pulled until the space between us was minimal. Icould feel the heat coming off of his body as if he was actually there. I couldsee his inner struggle in the way his jaw clenched and his lower lip trembled.Even his grip on my arm wasn’t as firm as it could have been.

“Ben.”

I used my other hand to touch hischeek. Perhaps he hadn’t meant to, but he instinctively leaned his face into mypalm. He shut his eyes tight and when he opened them again they were glassy andwet.

Shaking his head, he begged me, “Don’t.Don’t do this to me…”

I did not relent. He needed to feelthis pain. I needed his inner turmoil to break him completely, shattering thehard outer casing that was Kylo Ren to reveal Ben Solo within. I would do anythingto have him by my side. If it meant the fall of the First Order and a chance athappiness for all of us, I wanted it. It was this desire, this certainty that BenSolo was our only hope, which led me to do something so unlike anything I haveever done before. I reached up and kissed him gently, an impulse neither of ushad been counting on. I could feel him stiffen up at my touch, barely kissingme back. Just when I was about to step away, embarrassed, I felt the gentlepressure of him returning the gesture with unprecedented affection.

I could almost hear it, the crack inhis dark and villainous façade. It echoed like ice breaking over a full body ofwater, fading into the very depths of his soul and awakening things that hadlong sat dormant within him.

“Feel it,” I whisperedencouragingly. “Let yourself feel this pain. I know it hurts. I know you justwant it to stop, but you need toacknowledge it. I’m here, Ben. I’m going to help you.”

Suddenly he was latching onto melike the world was ending, holding me closer than anyone has ever held mebefore. I could hear his heart beating rapidly in his chest; his breaths cameout in sharp, gasping bursts. His panic and confusion were almost overwhelming.But I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, and I found the scared little boythat resided within him, and I extended my hand. I let my energy flow throughKylo until he stopped shaking so much. I looked up into his wide, frightenedeyes. The eyes of a boy, in the face of a man.

“What is happening to me…?” he askedhelplessly, staring down at himself with a mixture of confusion and disgust.

“You’re turning,” I said quietly,fascinated by the thought. “The Light is calling to you, bringing you homepiece by broken piece…”

“No,” Kylo shook his head, directinghis pointed stare right at me now. “It’s you, doing this. It’s always been you.”

“I wish I knew why,” I murmured,watching him carefully. “I think I’m beginning to understand but…I still havequestions.”

He was looking at me the same way hedid back on Starkiller Base, when his grandfather’s lightsaber came to me, andagain when our fingers touched on Ahch-To. Wonder and curiosity, wrapped inconfusion. Heat rose to my face.

“So do I,” he confessed.

“Then we can answer them together!It’s just us, Ben. We’re meant to figure this out side-by-side, not lightyearsand a war apart. Just, come to me. Please. Come find me, Ben Solo, and you won’tever have to feel lost again.”

My eyes fluttered closed, eager nowto kiss him again after doing it once. But when I leaned into him, his lipsweren’t there. I barely caught myself before falling into the empty spacebefore me. A shiver rattled my body. He was gone. My fingers delicately brushedagainst my lips in remembrance. I wasn’t disappointed by our separation thistime. I knew there was more to it.

This was not the ending of ourstory, but rather the very beginning.

#ask #reylo #reylo fanfic #reylo prompt #IS IT WEIRD I DID IT FROM REY'S PERSPECTIVE #idk i just wanted to try something different

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gothamsforgottenchildren · 3 years

Text

The Forgotten Children Chapter 1

Kat

It’s cold. I can feel the wind cutting straight down through my soaked suit. I’m not quite sure what is worse though, the wind, or the pelting rain that feels like golf balls hitting me. The rain makes the roof that I’m perching on slick. Just one more thing that makes this more difficult than it should be.

Thank you, Riddle, for the redesign of my suit. More specifically, the boots, that make this job a thousand times easier. They’re less slick and have more grip on them.

Despite all of this, the wind and rain, it’s worth it for the view. The roof I’m perching on is the roof of my Mother’s apartment building in the Narrows. From here I have the perfect view of my target and my sister. I just hope I’m wrong, even though I know I’m right.

I catch movement from the corner of my eye. Turning, I lunge, claws releasing themselves from my fingertips sharp enough to cut steel. I tackle my unknown visitor. We go falling off the roof. I glance down. I’ve dropped over twenty stories. At this moment I spare a glance to catalog who I’ve attacked. It’s my Mom.

I feel my eyes go wide under their goggles, while I watch hers narrow. We separate. Both of us reach for our respective whips, using them as grappling hooks to swing onto a nearby roof.

When I land, she’s standing there staring at me with her hand on her hip. Being in her forties, she looks good. She still wears her signature skintight catsuit that mine is modeled after. When I finally look up at her face, I see she’s glowering at me.

“Sorry Mom,” I start, while walking up to her, “I attacked first before I looked to see who you were.” Once I reach her, I pull down my cowl, running a hand through my hair.

She steps forward, closing the space between us. I watch as her hands raise to caress my face, pulling my goggles off my eyes and placing them on my hairline. “Oh, I’m not mad about that. I’m more upset that I wasn’t fast enough to avoid the hit,” she said, waving her hand dismissively while taking a step back she continues “I just came by to see if you needed anything for your stakeout. Maybe some snacks or something?”

“I’d take something warm”

“Okay, coming right up.”

Before she could walk off, I ask, “What are you doing home anyway? I thought you were out patrolling. You were covering for Red Robin, since he got the flu, right?”

Her eyebrows furrow, “I’ve already finished up for the night. It’s nearly five in the morning, kitten.” I catch her eyes scanning me.

“I’ll be in my lookout spot,” I say, going to turn to leave.

She stops me, taking my face in her hands again, bringing my head down to hers. “I know you love Alice, but you can’t kill yourself to save her,” her lip quivers and her voice shakes as she whispers, “I can’t lose you, my son. Please be smart. Be safe. Stay Alive.”

“I will Mom. I’ll stay as safe as I can, but she’s the only innocent left. I’m not going to let him take that from her,” I grip her wrists, “You know what he’ll do to her. She’ll never be the same. If I can prevent that, I have to try,” I said, my voice pleading for her to understand. I pull her into my arms, I just want to soothe her fears, even if they’re rightfully there.

“Sometimes you’re so much like your father it shocks me,” she whispers.

I stiffen around her, trying to keep the pain and anger out of my voice, “Please don’t compare me to him. Please.”

She nods into my shoulder and pulls away. “One cup of Hot Chocolate with extra cinnamon coming right up,” she says, turning and leaping off the roof to the neighboring one. I watch her run back to her apartment. She moves as gracefully as the animal she named me after. She scales the side of the building and slips in through the kitchen window. Once she’s inside, I start to make my way back.

I was back in my original position when Mom came back. Now in her pajamas, with her fluffy pants tucked inside her climbing boots. She honestly looked ridiculous between that and her cowl hair. Which is way worse than hat or helmet hair. She has her raincoat on, zipped up over her tank top, leaning against the brick nursing two cups of Hot Chocolate.

“ I brought you those chocolate-covered pretzels that you like,” she says, handing me the items.

I nod in thanks, turning back to look at Hatter’s hideout.

“Is there any way I can convince you to come inside for a while and take a nap or something?” she asks, not sounding very hopeful.

“No Mom, I’m okay though, and yes I’m aware that even though I don’t live here anymore I’m still always welcome,” I tell her, anticipating her reaction.

I left home about a year ago when us Second Borns decided that we wanted to try to get out from under our parents' shadow. Well more like accomplish what they’ve never been able to do, and with Riddle’s crazy plans, we might just be able to do it.

Mom nods, taking a seat next to where I’m crouching. I take a drink of my Hot Chocolate. It’s perfect as always. I’ve honestly forgotten how hungry I am until I’m halfway through inhaling my food. Mom chuckles at me, running her hand through my now-soaked hair, where I had taken my cowl off. My food’s getting wet, but I don’t care.

“Can you actually see inside those windows from here without binoculars?” she asks, always astonished by my abilities.

I look over at his hideout. It’s normal. Alice is sitting in her room painting her nails, while a guard stands at her doorway. I glance at Mom, “Yeah I can see inside. Alice is painting her nails,” I look back at Alice to take a second look, “Pink I think.”

She shakes her head in disbelief, grinning the whole time. “ I always knew you were special, but I didn’t realize how much when you were born,” she said. Getting up, she walks to the ledge she’d come from. “I love you,” she whispers, her back to me, knowing I’ll hear her.

I turn my gaze back and watch the house for another hour. I watch Alice waltz around her room, which is still princess-themed even though she is fifteen. She then paints a canvas and cleans her room and reorganizes her wardrobe and starts a book.

Then, I notice a car pull up. It’s him. It’s Hatter, he came home. He has a bag in his hand as he enters the building. I watch him very carefully until he disappears. I see him again when he opens the door to Alice’s room. She whips around and sprints into his arms, hugging him. I watch as he buries his head in her hair, smelling her. When she pulls back, he pulls a bag out from behind his back. She jumps up and down excitedly. She’s just a ball of energy. Grabbing the bag, she runs over to her bed to open it. Her Dad follows and sits next to her on the bed. He places a hand on her thigh while she opens the bag. Once it's open she pulls out the classic blue dress, with the white apron. The Alice dress. A death sentence. I watch as he leans across her and gestures to her blonde curls, pulling one perfect ringlet straight. Then he pulls out the matching bowed headband, placing it on her head.

I know what this means. She may not yet, and I hope she never does. If I can do anything about it, she won’t. Standing up, I run over to the edge of the roof and fling myself off of it. I glide over the rooftops like the animal my mother named me after. Pushing myself to go faster than I ever have before because I have to. I can’t waste any time. I have to get to Riddle. He has to come up with a plan. We have to save her.

Let me know what you think! Feel free to leave constructive critics.

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itsadvocatesimranjeetsingh-blog · 5 years

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Areas To think about When Researching Gang Stalking

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kickstarter-promotion · 7 years

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Another Amazing Kickstarter (TREJUR – a Stop Motion Animated Short Film by Thomas Kim —Kickstarter) has been published on http://crowdmonsters.com/new-kickstarters/trejur-a-stop-motion-animated-short-film-by-thomas-kim-kickstarter/

A NEW KICKSTARTER IS LAUNCHED:

1 SENTENCE OVERVIEW:

This crowdfunding campaign will let me finish my film until it can be seen by you. Thank you.

THE FILM: Trejur (pronounced “treasure”) is a hand-made, fantasy, stop motion animated short film by the filmmaker, Thomas Kim. The story questions how desperation can transform us into something we never thought ourselves to be. We see this though a real life woman mourning the death of her grandmother. Transitioning through the medium of stop motion, she shows us the time when her grandmother gave her a toy in hopes of making her happier after their loved grandfather had passed. Her grandmother, with no means of support for her grandchild, had begun to leave the house every day and return with more and more toys to make her happy. Of course, this “over-accretion” made her resent what her grandmother brought, but it was too late; her grandmother had fallen into obsession. She now collected lost toys because it made herself happy, and soon their house was quite literally buried under a mountain of toys…

SO… Backing me on Kickstarter will provide for costly things like a 3D printer to quickly mass produce miniature toys, an amazing film composer to accompany the emotional performance of the puppets, festival fees to launch my career, and MANY MANY MORE. (The full budget outline can be found later in the page.)

HISTORY: The medium of Stop Motion is incredibly labor intensive. Every prop, every color, every decision needs to be made by my hand. Everything in the visuals need to reinforce and drive the story because nothing is “free” as it is in live action. The puppets are moved frame by frame, 15-30 frames a second. For around ten minutes of footage, you’re looking at a few thousand hours. And all of this I have done myself so far. 2 hours a school day, 8 hours a weekend, for over 400 days now.

WHY: This life-consuming project was initiated well over a year ago when I decided to take out $2000 from my pockets to tell this story. I do what I do because to me, storytelling is an instrument I use to explore the human condition. Film is my canvas, and a story is my paintbrush. Yes it might sound somewhat cliche, but this idea is something we all have wrestled with no matter the kind of career. It is universal. And so, your pledges will provide me with the opportunity to continue that exploration of psychology of emotions and the different perspectives of truth. (that, and it’ll help kickstart my career) 🙂

Below are SOME of the behind-the-scene documentations over the past year.

The blanket has wires inside so that it can hold its position and be animatable.

I had to get creative! Those colored pencils are actually cut toothpicks, and the wooden plank floor are popsicle sticks with their ends sawed off. Due to the lack of money, I am held back by what I can’t do. I even made my slider out of Ikea door handles and a few dishwasher cart wheels!

1/6th scale miniature toys

The story calls for thousands of these toys. I’ve made about a hundred so far, but due to time constrains I’ve decided to 3D print the rest. HOWEVER, they’ll be hand-painted to match closer to the raw aesthetic of the film. Part of the budget is for a 3D printer + supplies to mass produce these miniature props.

Above is the progression from concept designs to wood-carved stop motion puppets.

THE EYES: THE EYES ARE JUST TRACKING POINTS. You may have seen in the video above freaky, Coraline-esque eyes and mouths. They’re just tracking points to be REPLACED INTO REAL HUMAN eyes and mouths. Eyes are the windows to the soul! Not only will this add a more “emotional” quality to the puppets, it’ll allow for a coherent transition from live action real actors to stop motion puppets since they are supposed to be the same individual. The other short film, “Madame Tutli-Putli” is a fantastic example of what it’ll look like (Go on, I’ll give you permission you to leave this page and look up “Madame Tutli-Putli images” if you promise to come back). The eyes will be pinpoint seamless. All the while, they’ll have that slightly unsettling eerie feeling from being so cussing realistic!

THE RIGS: All the little metal arms holding the puppets in the video will be cleaned up and removed. They are used to support the puppets when they cannot support their weight such as when they jump.

All the walls and floors can be broken down by quadrants so I can pop up inside and animate.

STORY STYLE: The film is combination of some live action but mostly stop motion animation in a ~12 minute runtime. Imagine a combination of Miyazaki’s elements of mysterious fantasy blended with the more dark, heavy, and human themes of modern live action films. Interesting!

Most of the film takes place inside this old house. The walls are built from insulation foam, the staircase from foam board, and the door hinges from hot wheel toy car axles. Everything will be shot in camera to achieve the most realistic and “texturized” environment.

These few set pieces are ready to be primed, painted, and weathered!

TIME VS MONEY (AN EXPLANATION): In the film industry, there is a direct correlation between time and money. Time IS money. The more money, the less time it’ll take to complete a film and vice versa. That’s why huge blockbuster movies are able to finish within a year; their budget is insurmountable. However on the other hand, the more time you have, the less money you need. I’ve been spending the past year working to make this film look expensive, but with almost no budget. At this rate, without funding, I expect to finish by the time I graduate school in 3 years. But if this campaign is successful, if the level of money increases, then the level of time needed will decrease exponentially.

WHERE THE MONEY WILL GO:

You might’ve noticed in the video that my lights are on top of stacked boxes… I have only one borrowed light stand so I have to carefully balance things like lights, reflectors, or bounce cards on boxes, chairs, and books. All the “sliding” shots in the video were made by ikea door handles and dishwasher cart wheels. Having the budget to acquire “luxuries” like light stands or sliders would save massive amounts of time.

I’m asking for $4000 to finish the film with a bang, and every dollar will have its purpose. The money will be specifically dedicated to this film only; none of it will fund my morning coffee. The completion of this project is my sole objective, and whatever you can give will be appreciatively used to breathe life into that ambition.

Final storyboards and set layouts and designs

STORYBOARDS: Last Summer, I spent 8 hours a day everyday for a month at a storyboarding class. (Storyboarding is pre-visualizing a film by drawing out every shot) It’s impossible to “master” the craft of storyboarding in that little time, but those classes did help me “free up” my hand. They taught me how to swiftly transfer my thoughts to paper without the barrier of a “slow” hand. From there, I locked myself up in my room for another month. I storyboarded and sto-RE-boarded over 30 times until I landed on my final boards as you see in the first picture above. Because there is no dialogue in the short film, I opted to build the story without a script and only a set of storyboards on flashcards. Each flashcard on my wall has a description on the back explaining the emotional performance needed in the puppet characters so that I can bring that into my animation.

Second takes are rare in stop motion because each second of footage takes days if you account pre-production. Therefore, all the shots need to be timed and locked down through storyboards before production begins.

PAST, PRESENT, FUTURE SCHEDULE:

Above is the proposed schedule. There’s one common mistake in filmmaking; we always seem to underestimate the time it’ll take to produce something. With so many possibilities for accidents, reaching a perfect deadline is madness. Despite the risks, I’m willing to put in the extra hours and the extra money from my own pocket if it means finishing this project by the projected schedule. Have no fear!

The film will be complete nearing the end of this year IF this campaign is successful from YOUR help. I can’t wait to share this film with you: check out the rewards, ask any questions, and back the project on Kickstarter!

INFORMATION PROVIDED BY Kickstarter.com and Kicktraq.com VISIT PAGE SOURCE

#animated #Film #Kickstarter #Kim #Motion #Short #stop #Thomas #TREJUR

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