#tune in for next part for some thrilling action! (more hostility)

[sboochi]

Pretty sure "ease him" doesn't mean anything but I'm NOT rewriting that now >:/

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#good omens #bbc merlin #aziraphale #crowley #arthur pendragon #merlin #magic omens au #crowley stop trying to look cool this is NOT the right moment #this took 16 hours im not even joking #entirely my fault bc i insist on drawing the speech bubbles manually #tune in for next part for some thrilling action! (more hostility) #my art #long post

[bella-caecilia]

Silver 😍

Thank you for the prompt! I tried to include as many symbols as possible but I chose object of all desires as the main theme. It turned fluffier than I intended (maybe too fluffy but… meh idc) and for all the suckers for angst out there, angsty drabbles will come as well 😉 This drabble is set somewhere in series 1.

Silver – Object of all Desires

The remaining hours and minutes of the day trickled by as the family spent the moments after dinner in the drawing room together. Today it was just Robert, Cora, and the girls. That didn’t mean there was more peace in the room than with Mama and Mrs Crawley present because Mary and Edith managed to perform arguments nearly as full of blows as the elder ladies.

Robert leaned his weight more fully against the mantelpiece. With his right hand, he swirled the amber liquid in his tumbler. His eyes only shortly locked with the lulling warm colour of his drink before they sought the enchanting vision across the room again. Cora sat calmly on the edge of a settee, her shoulders and back portraying a straight posture with seemingly effortless grace. Her soft gaze wandered through the room, her expression relaxed, unbothered by the hostile jabs between her daughters. For a moment it seemed to Robert as if Cora didn’t belong in the setting around her. Her sparkling gown reflected the lights from the chandeliers and highlighted her porcelain taint. Her mind was far away, her expression one of tranquil absence. Only her celestial appearance was placed in the room.

Her gaze went to the dark windows. With something like longing, she observed the dark gardens, bathed in the light of the waxing moon. Robert could easily picture how she wandered the grounds in her thoughts as an attempt to escape the disharmonic family evening. He did not begrudge her. Robert knew that Cora’s thoughts were always with her daughters, lately even more so. It occupied her – as it probably should – to ensure them a promising future, to find them cordial matches. But it wasn’t easy he knew, and Cora took this task very serious, in a different way, though, than Mama had done. Cora’s commitment was not mainly based on the obligation to secure the family’s decency (as was Mama’s main driving force) but on a simple power that stood behind nearly all her actions, and it was love. Simply love. Robert had needed a while to understand that her pure kind of love was a heaven-sent gift, not something foreign and improper. It was an unbelievable strength that he wouldn’t underestimate this easily again. But Cora’s love toward all people made matchmaking for their daughters a very absorbing task for her. To see her being able to tune out for a change was reassuring for Robert. She needed that pause once in a while.

“I think everyone might look for something else,” Sybil’s voice reached his ears. “It isn’t wrong if Mary wants something else from marriage than you, Edith,” she tried mediating her sisters’ argument.

Edith turned her face away but Robert could see her annoyed and resigned expression. She wasn’t entirely defeated but it was Edith’s way of miffed and hurt resilience that wasn’t particularly nice to witness. Somehow, it made people look away.

“I think I’ve had enough straining company today,” Mary declared. Her straight shoulders and slightly snobbish look build a tight wall like a Mary-own armour around her. She smoothed her skirts as she got up from the sofa and turned to Cora to nod at her, bidding her good night, but Cora was distracted. Distracted by the tranquillity of the night outside.

“Good night, Mama,” Mary said. Cora’s head turned around slowly, and it took a moment until a soft smile appeared on her features after her daughter’s words had sunken in.

“Good night, my dear.”

Sybil’s look sought Edith who still sat huffily in the corner of the settee.

“Well,” Sybil looked between the three remaining possible conversation partners. Apparently, all not very promising prospects. “I think I’ll call it a night too,” she concluded. “What about you, Edith?”

Edith got up without words, and the girls left the room one after the other.

“Good night!” Robert called after them and sat down his glass on the cold mantelpiece.

When the sound of the departing steps of three pairs of ladies’ heels was swallowed by the closing door, Cora rose from the settee and went to the high windows. She was seeking the direct light of the moon as if she was pulled there by a string. Robert followed her slowly because she exerted the same force on him as the moon did on her. Cora mesmerised him. Somehow, this night in particular. He felt a little silly that he couldn’t take his eyes off his wife. He knew her by heart. How could there be something that he hadn’t seen until now? But here she was, wandering in front of him wordlessly from window to window, in and out of the silvery light, and every time the moon illuminated her again it highlighted another part of her. Once it was the gentle slope of her nose, another time it was the fine hair in the back of her neck. And always, the light was captured and reflected by her glittery gown. Robert wouldn’t have said it was a silver gown when Cora had come down for dinner wearing this dress but it certainly was silver now. He couldn’t even tell if she had worn it already some time, and he wouldn’t even have said that it was a particularly pretty gown. An ideal dress for a simple dinner with family. But in the moonlight, it was transformed, and it shone, and it flowed around Cora’s curves nicely, and it lured him into Cora’s immediate vicinity.

When Cora halted and turned a little, Robert’s thoughts returned to reality, at least a little. He now saw where Cora had guided them. He didn’t know if it was her intention to bring him here as well, maybe she was still as absentminded as he was until now. She stood in front of the double-doored floor level windows that served as an exit to the gardens. Only slowly Cora’s hand found its way onto the brass door handle where it rested for a moment.

“Let’s go outside for a moment,” Robert proposed in a soft tone.

Cora turned to him, ripped from her thoughts. The look on her face showed that it hadn’t been her real intention to leave the house. She really had just been dreaming, wandering in the garden in her mind, just as Robert pictured her doing it several minutes ago.

The surprised look on her face turned into a gleaming smile. The corner of her mouth only twitched ever so slightly but the brimming of her eyes held all the more joy.

“Would you really like to?” Cora asked quietly. She provided him with an inquisitive look. She knew very well that Robert wasn’t up to adventures in the evening when they weren’t up in her room already. Nightly strolls through dark rooms or moonlit gardens were usually put off as hokum by him when it came up as a rare suggestion from her. Going out into the gardens was something they had done on long ball nights when they had been exhausted from all the social interactions and the dancing, and when they sought some time alone. Going out when they were at home was something Robert saw no sense in. ‘We could very well just go upstairs if we want to be alone, Cora,’ he had argued. And enjoying the outdoors, as had been her next argument, could be much better done by daylight, he had said.

So, Cora was all the more astonished when Robert answered without as much hesitation, “Of course, I’d like to.”

He reached out his arm and put his hand on hers on the door handle. Gently he pressed onto the back of her slender hand. Robert could watch Cora hold her breath while he slowly moved their hands to turn the handle and open the door. Her eyes didn’t leave his and her body was tensed in anticipation. At this moment Robert got the thrill of taking night walks. Maybe it was the intense presence of the nearly full moon that bathed everything in a supernal way, maybe it was Cora’s very own radiance. Robert enjoyed it one way or the other.

A fresh breeze met them when the crack of the door grew wider.

“It’s a beautiful night,” Cora whispered as she half-stepped outside with her covered hand still on the handle. Robert followed close behind her.

“It sure is,” he breathed into her ear, being close behind her back. He only shortly saw the silvery leaves of the box hedges in front of them when his gaze was pulled to the bobbing fine curls in the back of her neck. They had adopted a light silver sheen as well. The finest of hairs even seemed to have shining transparency, as if the light of the moon had sucked all its chocolate colour from it and had furnished it with its magical silver essence.

Cora walked into the gardens and her treads got lighter with every single step into the shiny coated green. But as soon as Robert lost her contact, because her hand slipped so easily from his, his heartbeat climbed and the gentle wind made him freeze and shiver. He hurried to follow her. She seemed determined to keep walking but her wandering look revealed that she had no specific plan.

With quick strides, Robert caught up to her. “Give me your hand, Cora,” he said in a hushed voice. He didn’t dare to speak in a louder tone. It seemed unbefitting for the bewitched situation. Cora looked at him over her shoulder, and her hand found his waiting one assuredly. Her soft grin was warm despite the cold light and it seemed to transport gratitude she had when it came to him initiating a display of affection. Whenever he showed his softer side, Cora was grateful, and Robert thought she shouldn’t have to be. She deserved all the affection and loving in the world. She should never think otherwise. Her conscious gratitude showed that it wasn’t self-evident. He squeezed her hand to ban any uncertainty at least for this moment. He hoped he would be able to continue being worthy for her overflowing love and, God, her radiant, seraphic self.

Cora pulled him through hedges here and onto tight paths there, and then they reached a tiny pond. It was a pond Robert regularly forgot existed. It wasn’t exactly spectacular. Only one single fish of the prior population the gardener had placed there had survived. It was a plump and ponderous companion. Its greenish-grey scales seemed dull at day. Now Cora approached the small body of water until her shins touched the edge of the pond so that she could kneel on it if she wanted to.

“Look at him, Robert,” she whispered. They were silent for a while. Only the gentle sounds of the wind caressed their ears. “That is his hour. It’s his time to shine.” She pointed to the fish as if he was a long-known fellow, as if she knew him. And the fish really shone. Like a magical creature, it made its sluggish rounds in the circular pond. It reflected the shimmering light at least as much as the slightly moved surface of the cold water. It was impressive but it was not for long Robert’s focus.

“No,” he replied lowly. “It’s yours. Your time to shine. You’re radiant, Cora.”

“Robert,” she breathed. Her eyes flickered over his face. Her cheeks darkened a little, as much as Robert could tell. “Something has gotten into you tonight.”

“I blame it on you.” His thumb caressed the back of her hand. “You’re charming me tonight with your spell.”

Cora chuckled. She shook her head in adoration. “I hope it isn’t only for tonight,” she teased.

“No, it’s not,” he said, and his free hand encircled her waist. “This spell has been over me for a very long time you have to know,” he explained.

“I see,” she nodded conspiratorially. One of her hands came to rest on the row of buttons on his upper chest. “If Carson gave you something special for a drink tonight, I’ll ask him to do it more often in the future.” Cora tipped her head to the side, and Robert could watch the long expanse of her neck exposed to the smooth light. Slowly he moved his head forward.

“That won’t be necessary. I have no doubt I’ll stay intoxicated long enough…” he whispered against the sensitive skin of her neck. His lips slowly descended onto the warm skin. He gave it a very light kiss before he exerted the ever so gentle suck on her skin. “… if you allow me to drink the alluring scent of your skin, my darling.” Cora sighed and closed her eyes. This was answer enough for Robert. He buried his face in the crook of her neck. He started planting a few kisses there but soon he found himself just breathing in her sweet warmth. Their joined hands were pressed between their bodies, Cora’s other hand hold onto Robert’s dress shirt and her head rested against his temple. The couple took their time relishing their nearness. And Robert didn’t exactly feel like doing more. Not out here in the light of the observant celestial body above them. In the warmth of her room, Robert could show Cora more of his affection, other aspects of it. But now their close embrace was enough.

A low splash reminded them of the presence of the fish and of their surroundings.

“I don’t want it to be over,” Cora whispered as quietly as the wind. Robert could only catch her words because his head was just beside her lips.

“Shh,” he tried to soothe her.

Even if this moment of pure magic was momentary – it had been their young years that had consisted of so much of this magic – and if tomorrow the daily life with its struggles and triviality would return, this moment right now would be relished fully. Robert felt that it wasn’t a temporary glare, it was real magic. He just had to look at Cora to know.

#idk know how i feel about this drabble #cobert fanfiction #cobert drabble #cobert #robert crawley #cora crawley #s1 #downton abbey fanfiction

[twentiethcenturymoviesandtv]

Casablanca: The Story

Whether you enjoy a timeless love story, heart-wrenching interpersonal drama, gritty film-noir, thrilling spy action, edge-of-your-seat suspense, or war stories, Casablanca has it all, and in spades.  Everything from classic lines to familiar story beats comes together to tell this story of a tragic romance embroiled in the midst of an oncoming war, and what a ride it is.  Let’s take a look.

So what’s the setup?

It’s December of 1941, and War is coming.  The Nazis have already taken most of Europe, and are looking to march on what’s left, with no signs of stopping.  The refugees, fleeing the Nazi forces, search for transportation to America, and most end up in the city of Casablanca.

The problem is, then they can’t get out of Casablanca.  As a result, the city becomes somewhat of a way station, full of people waiting for visas to enable them to cross the Atlantic, and the officials profiting from the people’s desperation.  As it turns out, a few German officials, carrying important documents, have just been murdered, and their documents stolen.  Casablanca is on the alert, and the German forces in the city are taking it quite seriously, rounding up suspects and marching them into custody.  

In short, Casablanca is not an easy place to live.

A plane full of Nazi officials arrives in the city, bringing with it Major Strasser, who is introduced to Casablanca’s Police Prefect, Captain Louis Renault. (Claude Rains)

Renault assures Strasser that they are doing everything in their power to solve the murder case, and explains that he knows who the murderer is, and expects to arrest him tonight.  You see, Renault believes that the killer will be at Rick’s.

How does he know this, you may ask?  Simple.  Everyone comes to Rick’s.

Thus we are introduced to the hub of activity both in the city, and in the film, Rick’s Café Americain, a popular nightclub and gambling den.  It’s a busy place, full of people who want to leave the country and their hushed conversations, all set against the soothing background noise of piano player Sam.

It is here that we are introduced to the owner of Rick’s Café Americain, Rick Blaine (Humphrey Bogart).

Right off, we learn a few things about him: He never drinks with customers, and he’s got a dry wit that’s sharper than a brand-new razor.

Rick sits, playing chess by himself (an element inspired by Bogart) at his own private table when he is interrupted by a man named Ugarte (Peter Lorre).

Ugarte tells Rick that his specialty is helping refugees (for a price), and that he himself intends to clear out of Casablanca that very night.  He gives Rick something for safekeeping: an envelope that contains valuable letters of transit.  An interesting choice, since it’s rather obvious that Rick doesn’t exactly like him very much, but Ugarte seems to trust him quite a bit, even if there isn’t any friendship between them.

“You know, Rick, I have many a friend in Casablanca, but somehow, just because you despise me, you are the only one I trust.”

Interestingly enough, as Rick points out, letters of transit are what was stolen from the murdered German couriers.  He tells Ugarte that he’s ‘a little more impressed’ with him, and leaves it at that, hiding the papers inside the piano.  A few moments later, he is approached by Signor Ferarri, the ‘head of all illegal activities in Casablanca’ and the owner of another nearby club, The Blue Parrot, who wants to buy Rick’s, or at the very least the piano player, Sam.

Rick’s having none of it, and tells Ferarri that he’s not selling the club, nor does he sell human beings, period.  After this discussion and a brief incident ending with Rick calling a cab for a lady patron, the stoic club owner ends up in a conversation with none other than Captain Renault, who, ironically, seems to be on almost friendly terms with him.

The pair exchange witty banter, with Renault guessing reasons Rick has not returned to his home country, America.  Rather than provide the true reason, Rick is content to let his Friendly Enemy guess, remaining very closed-mouthed on the reasons he remains in Casablanca.  

Eventually, Renault gets to the point of his visit: He intends to make an arrest in Rick’s club tonight, and that Major Strasser of the Third Reich will be there to watch.  Renault also mentions that there is a certain individual who has just come to Casablanca who will likely be in search for an exit visa much like the ones that were recently stolen.  This individual’s name is Victor Lazlo, and the German army is quite keen on catching him before he gets overseas, and of course, Rick can’t, and won’t do anything about it, right?

After all, Rick sticks his neck out for no one.

Rick and Renault decide to make a bet on the outcome of Victor Lazlo’s stay in Casablanca.  Renault wagers that he shall be captured, Rick that he shall escape.  There’s a catch though, as Renault explains to Rick; Lazlo will probably be looking for two exit visas, as he’s traveling with a woman that he’s quite fond of.

Moments later, Major Strausser arrives, and Renault commences the arrest operation.  His men move in on the suspect: Ugarte, the man who entrusted the important papers to Rick earlier.  Ugarte, makes a pretense of going quietly before making a run for the door, firing a few shots behind him.  He spots Rick on his way, pleading with him to help him hide, but it’s no good: he’s caught and dragged away, to the satisfaction of both Renault and Strasser.

Strasser isn’t completely satisfied, however.  He wants to ask Rick a few questions.

He asks, all right, but doesn’t get much by way of answers.  Rick’s just as tight-lipped with Strasser as he was with Renault, and the only information anyone comes away with is that Rick is from New York, and has brown eyes (apparently).

“Richard Blaine, American. Age, 37. Cannot return to his country. The reason is a little vague.”

Strasser is concerned that Rick might help Victor Lazlo, the man previously mentioned by Renault.  Apparently Lazlo has been getting the word out on some of the nasty things that the Third Reich is responsible for, and as a result, the German military really want him arrested.

Why bring this to Rick?  After all, he sticks his neck out for no one.

As it turns out, Rick has a history with lost causes.  And speaking of history, it’s about to come back and bite him.  Hard.

You see, Victor Lazlo (Paul Henreid) has just walked into Rick’s Cafe, with a woman on his arm.  This woman is named Ilsa (Ingrid Bergman), and Sam (Dooley Wilson), the pianist, recognizes her immediately.

Victor and Ilsa get a table, and are apparently going to meet with someone to help them, when they are interrupted by none other than Captain Renault, who cordially sits down to share a drink with them rather than arrest them.  How nice.

Ilsa, for her part, is returning Sam’s recognition, and asks Renault about him.  The captain informs her that Sam came from Paris, traveling with the owner of the establishment, Rick.  Ilsa seems interested in this ‘Rick’ character, but before she can really start asking questions, Strasser sits down at the table as well, clearly hostile towards Victor, but unwilling to do anything just yet, with Victor on French soil.  Strasser arranges to meet with Victor the following day in Renault’s office to discuss why Victor’s here, and with that, leaves him to his drink.

No sooner are Victor and Ilsa alone than Victor immediately heads to the bar to inquire about his contact.  You see, he and Ilsa were supposed to meet with someone who would provide him with the letters of transit to get out of Casablanca.  They were, in fact, to meet with the recently-arrested Ugarte.

Left alone at their table, Ilsa begins a conversation with Sam, the piano player, and it’s obvious they know each other.  Ilsa has a song request: she wants Sam to play ‘As Time Goes By’.  Sam, while reluctant to at first, eventually gives in and begins playing the tune just in time for Rick to barge in, shouting at Sam for playing that song.  Before he can really lay into him, Rick and Ilsa spot one another, and Rick recognizes her, instantly.

Sam grabs the piano bench and gets the heck out of Dodge.

Renault and Victor arrive at Ilsa’s table again, meaning that whatever history is between the pair will have to be ignored for now.  Rick, breaking his own rule, joins them for a drink, to Renault’s surprise.

After an evening of small talk, Victor and Ilsa leave in a cab and Rick heads to a private room in his club to recover.

Later that night, Rick is sitting by himself in his club, drinking and remembering old times, and not in a fond way.  

“Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.”

As he sits, hoping Ilsa comes back, Sam comes in, trying to get him to leave.  Rick isn’t budging, instead making a song request, the same song that Ilsa requested earlier.

“Play it, Sam. Play ‘As Time Goes By.'”

And so Sam does, albeit reluctantly.  As he plays, Rick continues remembering, an entire relationships worth of remembering of he and Ilsa in Paris.  Apparently the two were an item, and Rick was a considerably happier looking guy.  During this time, the pair knew very little about each other, except that there had been another man in Ilsa’s life who was now dead.

Despite this, the two seem quite happy together, until something interrupts it.  The War.

The German army is moving in on Paris.

The night before the Gestapo are to invade, Sam plays ‘As Time Goes By’ on the piano as Rick and Ilsa plan to escape Paris the following morning together by train.

The next morning, Rick stands at the train station, alone, waiting for Ilsa, who never shows.  Sam approaches with a note from Ilsa, a note which explains that, while she loves Rick, she can’t go with him, and she can never see him again.  Rick is left on the train station with a broken heart and a new cynical edge as Sam pulls him onto the train that will eventually take him to Casablanca.  

In the present, Rick looks up to see Ilsa in the doorway.  By this time, he is good and drunk, and isn’t really interested in hearing her explanation of what happened in Paris.  Eventually, his snark and hard edge, reinforced by the alcohol, drive her off before she has a chance to tell him her side of the story.  

So, before we get any further, let’s take a look at where we’re at.

Right now, we’ve got a handful of major players that we’re getting to know pretty well, all wrapped up in the affairs of Casablanca.  First, there’s Rick.

Rick is a cynic, a bitter man who’s been kicked around by life a bit too much.  While having a history of fighting for the underdog and being a romantic, something happened to him along the way that changed his way of thinking to: “I stick my neck out for no one.”

That event was, of course, Ilsa’s leaving, and the heartbreak that ensued.

As a result, Rick is a changed man, a hard man who now claims that he never gets involved, and who certainly wants no part of his sentimental roots.  He’s really an interesting choice as a protagonist, as the audience does like him and root for him, but he’s not the heroic type.  No, that’d seem to be Victor Lazlo, wouldn’t it?

Victor is the opposite of Rick in just about every way.  He’s a good, honest and upright man, idealistic, brave, and patriotic to a fault, and wanted by the Nazis (which is a recommendation in and of itself).  In any other movie, he’d seem to be the obvious choice for the hero of the story.  Not in Casablanca.

Between the two is Ilsa.  She’s with Victor, and was in love with Rick, and is the one person Rick ever truly loved.  She is currently stuck in the middle, the balancing act between the idealism and the cynicism, and the bridge between the characters.  She’s a strong woman who’s been through a lot of pain that she keeps under wraps, and it shows in her interactions with both Rick and Victor.

Three different characters, all stuck in Casablanca for their own very good reasons, and of course, all end up in each other’s lives, under the pressure of the Gestapo.  This leaves very little room for coincidence, and serves as an excellent setup for the situation and the characters involved.  Even more showcased are the contrasting characters, all falling on different sides of a moral chart ranging from the upright Victor to the neutral Rick, to the corrupt Renault, to the evil Strasser.

Speaking of which, let’s get back to the story.

Victor and Ilsa arrive in Captain Renault’s office the next morning for their appointment, just moments after Strasser informs Renault that he believes that Ugarte left those important letters of transit with Rick.  Strasser, upon seeing the couple, informs Victor that there is exactly one way he can get out of Casablanca: if Victor gives up the names and locations of the leaders of the underground movement rising against the Third Reich.

Victor, being the stone-cold patriot that he is, doesn’t talk, and he and Ilsa leave Renault’s office, but not before being told that Ugarte is dead.

Meanwhile, Rick decides to pay Signor Ferarri a visit at Ferarri’s club, The Blue Parrot, to pick up a shipment that’s due.  Ferarri tells Rick that he’ll send the shipment to him when it comes in, and knowingly remarks that he’d pay a lot of money for the missing letters of transit.  Rick lets on that he definitely knows something, but leaves it at that, and goes on his way, meeting Ilsa in the market on his way out.

Now in a sober state of mind, Rick tries to persuade Ilsa to explain to him what happened in Paris, but Ilsa refuses, preferring to think of older, happier times than the recent barbed encounter.  She does however, impart a very large bombshell:

Victor Lazlo is her husband.  Not only that, he has been her husband, and she was married to him during her romance with Rick in Paris.

She leaves him with that information and leaves, with her husband, for the place Rick just left: The Blue Parrot.

Once inside, the two attempt to bargain with Ferarri to get them out of Casablanca.  Ferarri explains that he can’t get Victor out, but he might be able to arrange for a way to get Ilsa out.  Ilsa, unwilling to leave her husband, turns him down.  Rejected but not bitter, Ferarri tells the couple that the missing letters of transit were not with Ugarte during his arrest, and that they are probably with Rick.

It doesn’t exactly seem to be a secret.

Back at Rick’s Café Americain, Renault still hasn’t found the transit papers, even after searching Rick’s place.  The Captain has a conversation with Strasser, who is worried about the level of influence Victor Lazlo might have on the people.

“It is too dangerous if we let him go. It may be too dangerous if we let him stay.”

Just then, Victor approaches Rick and says that he wants to talk to him, in private.  Rick agrees, and they move to his office, where Victor tries to convince Rick to give him the letters of transit.  Rick refuses, flat-out stating he won’t let them have them at any price.  When Victor asks why, Rick tells him to ask his wife.

Confused, Victor heads back to the main room, where a bunch of German officers are exuberant playing and singing a patriotic German song.  Victor springs into action, getting the club’s band to play the “Marseillaise” over them.  Around the room, the refugees in Rick’s Café Americain stand, singing the French National Anthem as loudly as they can.  It’s a powerful moment, but unfortunately, it catches Strasser’s attention.

Now certain that Victor’s presence is a disturbance, inspiring the populace against the Third Reich, Strasser orders Renault to close down Rick’s, and get everyone out.  As the place is clearing, Strasser tells Ilsa that she and her husband are in danger, and will be until they allow Strasser to take them back to German-occupied France.

Back in Victor and Ilsa’s hotel room, Victor confronts Ilsa, telling her about Rick’s response to his attempt to get the letters.  Ilsa doesn’t really tell him anything, but he pieces it together anyway, and forgives her for drifting away while he was in a concentration camp, before leaving to attend an underground resistance meeting.

Meanwhile, Rick heads home to his apartment above his club, and realizes he’s not alone.  Ilsa snuck in the back, and has been waiting for him.  She pleads with him to get over his bitterness towards her, and think about the bigger picture.  Rick, however, doesn’t really want to.

Ilsa isn’t willing to let it go at that, and pulls a gun on him.  Rick calls her bluff, knowing she won’t actually shoot him, and Ilsa tells him that he has no idea what she’s been through, and that she did love him, and still does.  After a brief reconciliation, Ilsa begins to explain what happened in Paris.

Before she met Rick, Ilsa had been married to Victor, who, she was told, had been shot and killed.  She wasn’t lying when she said the other man in her life was dead, she’d legitimately thought that, and that’s why she let herself fall in love with Rick.  As it turns out, Victor wasn’t dead (obviously) but in a concentration camp.  The day he escaped was the day Ilsa was to meet Rick on the train station platform to escape Paris.  Ilsa, finding this out, stayed with her husband, and sent the note to Rick, explaining that they couldn’t be together.

Ilsa in the present says that she can’t bring herself to leave Rick again, but pleads with him to at least get Victor out of Casablanca, telling him to do the thinking for all of them.

As it happens, Victor enters the club downstairs, led by one of Rick’s employees who was at the same underground resistance meeting with him.  Rick calls his employee upstairs, has him sneak Ilsa back home out the back, while he goes downstairs to talk to Victor.

No sooner does Rick join Victor at the bar that Victor begins to try to get the letters of transit from Rick again, this time saying that, if he won’t give Victor one, at least give Ilsa one so she can get out.  Rick seems impressed by this show of love, but before he can give a definitive answer, a group of French officers barge in and arrest Victor.

The next morning, Rick enters Captain Renault’s office, and tells him that he and Ilsa are running away to America, and that the last person they would want to run into would be Victor.  Rick explains that, instead of holding Victor on a flimsy, fictional charge, it would be a better idea of Renault released Victor, and catch him in the act of trying to get the letters of transit off of Rick.  This way, Renault can put Victor away as accessory to the murder of the German couriers, for good.  Renault, liking the sound of this, agrees.  After this, Rick drops by The Blue Parrot to sell Rick’s Café Americain to Signor Ferarri, on the condition that all of his employees keep their jobs.

That night, at Rick’s club, Renault shows up to help with the plan to get Victor arrested, and hides as Ilsa rushes in, worriedly telling Rick that Victor thinks that Ilsa’s going with him, not Rick.  Rick assures her that everything’s going to be fine, and Victor enters.  Rick hands over the letters of transit, and Renault springs from hiding, arresting Victor.

A lot happens at once.

Ilsa rushes to Victor, and all of a sudden, Rick has a gun out and trained on Renault.  He orders Renault to sit down (hands where he can see them) and call the airport to tell them that two people are leaving for Casablanca for Lisbon, and to not give them any trouble.

Renault pulls a fast one on Rick’s fast one, though, and calls Strasser instead, unbeknownst to Rick.

Strasser, being unfortunately intelligent, figures out what’s going on and orders a police squad to meet him at the airport, and heads out to stop them before they can get out.

Rick, Renault, Ilsa and Victor arrive at the airport, and Rick tells one of the orderlies to put Victor and Ilsa’s baggage on the plane.  Ilsa, realizing that Rick is planning to stay behind, is heartbroken, reluctant to leave him again.  

“You’re saying this only to make me go.”

“I’m saying it because it’s true. Inside of us, we both know you belong with Victor. You’re part of his work, the thing that keeps him going. If that plane leaves the ground and you’re not with him, you’ll regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life.”

“But what about us?”

“We’ll always have Paris. We didn’t have, we, we lost it until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night.”

“When I said I would never leave you.

“And you never will. But I’ve got a job to do, too. Where I’m going, you can’t follow. What I’ve got to do, you can’t be any part of. Ilsa, I’m no good at being noble, but it doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you’ll understand that.”

Rick finally puts the big picture ahead of his own little one, and does the right thing.  Knowing Ilsa belongs with Victor, he lets her go, and rushes them both onto the plane, which starts down the runway at the exact second Strasser pulls in.

Strasser tries to put in a call to the radio tower to stop that plane, but is abruptly interrupted by Rick shooting him in the chest.  Strasser falls, dead, as all of the cops show up.

It looks like it’s curtains for our hero.  Renault tells the officers that Strasser has been shot, and after a tense moment, the corrupt Captain decides not to turn Rick in.

“Major Strasser has been shot…..Round up the usual suspects.”

The plane takes off, and Renault advises Rick to leave Casablanca for a while.  He also suggests that perhaps they could leave together and do some good.  The pair walk off into the fog, as Rick drops the final, iconic line:

“Louie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Thus ends one of the most beloved films of all time.

At first, the end of this movie can seem a little abrupt.  After spending so much time building up the story, it almost seems like the ending comes rushing in, changing everything in the last twenty minutes.  Rick’s last-minute gambit can seem almost as though all of his development was done in the last third of the film.  It’s clear that he’s a changed man, alright, but it can seem kind of rushed, if you don’t look carefully at the entire film.

You see, throughout the movie, Rick regularly declares: ‘I stick my neck out for no one,’ but the fact is, that isn’t really true.

While Rick presents a bitter and cold demeanor, the fact is, throughout the entire film, he does little else than stick his neck out for other people.  If all he cared about was his own security and success, he’s doing a terrible job at it.

From refusing to sell his club to rigging the roulette tables for a refugee couple, Rick’s tendency to fight for the underdog never really dies down.  His most selfish actions are as a direct result of a broken heart, a bitter edge grown after the only woman he’s ever loved left him without explanation.

Rick is obviously a changed man by the end, but it has less to do with his morals, and more to do with his duty.

You see, Rick serves as both a character and a picture of America.  With a story set during December of 1941, a ‘neutral’ American character who must decide whether or not to take a stand in the war.  It’s no coincidence that his ending comes about when he lets go of his own selfish desires and looks at the big picture, and puts the world first, over what would make him happiest.  For Rick to grow into a better person, he has to let Ilsa go.

He’s not the only one sacrificing, though.

Throughout the film, the number of sacrifices characters are willing to make are staggering, and it’s quickly obvious that the ones who are willing are heroic, the ones who aren’t are villains.  Strasser is very concerned about the risks of having Victor around, but plays it safe.  Renault, originally content to do anything to save his own skin, eventually sacrifices his safety in Casablanca for the greater good.

The character who is willing to sacrifice the most is, of course, the most heroic character.  Victor Lazlo, having escaped a concentration camp and been pursued by the Third Reich, is willing to give up his wife and his freedom, safety, and life to make sure that Ilsa is safe.  He is unaware of Ilsa’s past, and doesn’t feel the need to be.  His love and his duty mix together, his goals blend, and therefore, as the most heroic character, the character that might traditionally be the protagonist, he is also the least conflicted character.  As a matter of fact, the honor of most conflicted character goes to his wife.

Ilsa’s sacrifice is on both sides.  Torn between her husband and the man she fell in love with years prior, Ilsa has little choice in who she boards that plane with, and is uncertain of which man is going with her until the very end.  She is willing to sacrifice her life of freedom with her husband to stay with Rick, initially choosing gratification over duty, but in the end, comes to the same conclusion that Rick does: The right thing for her to do is to go with her husband, to freedom.

It’s a bittersweet ending, but it’s also one that ties up all the loose ends, and the only possible satisfactory ending for the characters.  The audience feels the same pull as the characters, the same division between duty and desire, but we know, as does Rick, that in the end, he has to look at the big picture.  That’s the genius of Casablanca.  It asks the audience to consider the same moral questions it asks of its characters:

Are you willing to sacrifice for the greater good?

Rick, like America, is waking up and realizing that he has to do something to fight injustice, and that to do that, he has to be willing to give up his personal happiness, to allow himself to be an idealist, and to keep fighting for lost causes.

The ending is heartbreaking, yes.  But unlike heartbreaking endings where we rage against the disservice done the characters, this bittersweet ending is the only possible ending for all of the characters to maintain their integrity, the only way they can all do the right thing.  

And we applaud them for it.  It’s a perfect ending to what’s pretty darn close to a perfect story.  But of course, there’s more to a movie than a story.

In the articles ahead, we’re going to be taking a look at some of the other important elements to the story of Casablanca, so if you enjoyed this one, stick around and join us!  Don’t forget that my ask box is always open for questions, requests, comments, or just a conversation.  Thanks so much for reading, and I hope to see you in the next article.

#Casablanca #Casablanca 1942 #1942 #40s #Film #Movies #War #Drama #Romance #PG #Humphrey Bogart #Ingrid Bergman #Paul Henreid #Claude Rains #Dooley Wilson #Sydney Greenstreet #Conrad Viedt #Michael Curtiz

[halorocks1214]

the law of rhythm

AO3 Link

Word Count: 5366

Summary: The Law of Rhythm states that everything vibrates and moves to certain rhythms. These rhythms establish seasons, cycles, stages of development, and patterns. Each cycle reflects the regularity of God’s universe. Masters know how to rise above negative parts of a cycle by never getting too excited or allowing negative things to penetrate their consciousness

Previous Parts (in order): Alan | You Are Here! | Gordon

just trucking along, toot de too de toooooo. ive also been sick for the past couple of days so thats been grEAT. thanks again to @gumnut-logic for the prompts. its giving me a challenge to write the stories i want to write but with a twist. that being using required words. its been fun. this time i used "I'm trying!" and hard

Warning for mentions of torture I guess

His mom used to say he needed to think of his emotions like playing the piano.

6-year-old Virgil just yelled at 5-year-old Gordon for breaking one of his favorite toys, leaving the strawberry blonde in a state of utter sorrow. While Jeff took the youngest to be consoled in another room, Lucy, nearly due with their surprise bundle, gently led Virgil over to their baby grand.

“You mentioned you wanted to know what this did, correct?”

Anger simmering below the surface, Virgil curtly nodded his head.

Lucy patted the place on the bench next to her, motherly smile working wonders on calming Virgil down. The black-haired boy reluctantly sat down next to his mom, staring at the white keys of the device he heard his mother sit at over the past couple of months. For a couple of seconds, she didn’t say anything, which prompted Virgil to look up at her face. Once she saw the chocolate eyes of her boy, she tilted her head toward the piano indicating that Virgil could touch it if he wanted to. Looking back at the mysterious object, Virgil lifted a finger and pressed down on a random place.

A ding came from the piano. Virgil would come to learn that it was Middle C.

Virgil jumped in shock while Lucy couldn’t stop her laughter. She remembered her reaction being very similar when she first touched a piano. Bringing her second-youngest child into her side, she brought her right arm around his shoulders and placed her right hand on the piano, “Here, watch this.”

Virgil’s eyes widened as his mommy pressed three keys in succession, the pitch on each going higher and higher. An arpeggio in the key of C major. Mouth open, Virgil tried repeating his mother’s actions. While he got the same pitches, the way he played the keys were much more jagged and jumpy, a slight pause in between each note signifying that the player double-checked to make sure their finger was in the right spot.

Crinkling his eyebrows in confusion, Virgil tried again more aggressively. It was the same notes, but it didn’t sound right. It didn’t sound like Mommy. Trying one more time with even more force, he was interrupted halfway through by mom’s hand gently gripping his with her whispering in his ear, “Shhh, sweetie, don’t play so hard. Just press, then let the piano do the rest.”

Nodding his head along to his mother’s words, Virgil looked back at the keys with newfound determination. With Mommy’s hand still laying over his, he took her advice to heart and let the piano do the rest. That time, the arpeggio that filled the room, while still not as polished, was much more legato than what Virgil was playing before.

Virgil was proud except for one thing, “But it’s…”

Lucille finished for him, “Quiet? That’s okay, just press a little harder.”

Virgil enthusiastically nodded his head and did as told. Once again he found himself aggressively pounding the keys with a little more force than necessary.

Lucy stopped him once more, “Virg, no--” she had to giggle a little bit, “It doesn’t take that much for a piano to be loud, honey, I promise.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. How could you be loud without being forceful? Regardless, his mommy was usually right, so he listened to her again. He played with only a little more force, but it still created a drastic change in volume. Virgil widened his eyes at the revelation.

Placing her hands on his sides and receiving childish giggles, Lucy explained in-depth what she was trying to get at, “See, Virg, think of life like playing the piano. More often than not you want to be “piano”, and while there will be times you need to be “forte,” even then, you don’t need to be so… hostile about it. The hardest blows are always delivered the softest. Soft but hard. You hear what I’m saying?”

Virgil was listening, he was, but… “How can I be the piano?”

Blinking, Lucy had to laugh once more. She was so caught up in the euphoria of her comparison, she forgot tiny Virgil didn’t know piano terminology just yet, “Oh no, sweetheart, “piano” is a term that means “quiet”, and “forte” means "loud". Those two come up a lot when learning how to play. It’s important in making your song sound even cooler.”

The stars were back in Virgil’s eyes, “Ooooooh, can I learn to play? How do I learn?”

Lucy looked at him with all the fondness she could muster, “Of course, my little black bean.”

She promptly tickled him into submission, followed quickly by happy tears. Later in the night, she would find her two youngest cuddling each other at the base of the bench, small grins indicating that there were no hard feelings leftover, and all was forgiven.

Virgil went to his first piano lesson two weeks after Alan Tracy was born.

---

Jeff was certain piano playing shouldn’t be happening at three in the morning.

Yet ringing throughout the house was the familiar Canon in D. Jeff couldn’t help but flinch at how the fast part got a little more aggressive than it probably should have. Virgil was always hit the hardest when something bad happened, yet he was always the calmest during the aftermath. Even more than Scott sometimes, which Jeff was pretty sure the eldest regretted a lot.

Around five notes were hit out of tune one after the other, followed by a groan of frustration and two hard objects hitting the keys. At the familiar clashy sound of, well, smacking the keys of a piano, Jeff went against his judgment and walked out to see his third eldest son. The engineer in question had his elbows on the piano and his head in his hands.

Stomping his feet in a way that would let Virgil know of his presence beforehand without scaring him, Jeff meandered up to the black-haired man and gently placed his hand on his shoulder, “Hey, Virg. Piano messing with you again?”

The watery chuckle from behind Virgil’s hands was a win in Jeff’s book. Virgil brought his hands away to look his father in the eyes, “You know it always does…” Virgil looked forlornly back at the shiny black of the grand.

The two men stood and sat in silence, both deep in thought and unsure of how to talk to one another. Clearly, any topic of conversation that wasn’t the obvious elephant in the room would sting, but even if they talked about the elephant all day and night, there still wouldn’t be anything for them to do about it.

Jeff needed to start somewhere, though, otherwise, he would scream, and he knew that would be bad for his body right now, “The power rack in the gym… you upgraded it?”

Virgil flinched before absorbing the question, “Oh, yeah, I decided to add some stability stuff and give it some colors. I use it the most, so I thought I could make it a little more personal. I can change it back if you--”

Jeff squeezed his son’s shoulder with a little bit of force, shutting him up, “Virg, no, that’s not why I brought it up. It’s just… why? You hated weight lifting. You were pretty determined to stay the beanpole of the family, and that’s saying something when you have a sibling like John.”

Virgil’s chuckles were more hearty that time, which meant Jeff still got it. Virgil sighed, “Yeah, you’re right, I originally wasn’t that thrilled at the prospect of getting beefy, but something happened, and I was more inclined towards the culture, in a way.”

Thinning his lips, Jeff thought he connected the dots. His son hated heavy-lifting, then, Jeff disappeared and came home to what was easily the strongest member of their family. At least it was a healthy way of dealing with grief, as long as Virgil didn’t strain himself in the process.

Virgil read his father’s thoughts loud and clear, “Dad, it wasn’t because of you going missing.” Jeff raised an eyebrow and Virgil cleared his throat, “Well, I guess a little bit of it was, but there was a different reason. It happened a couple of months after the Zero-X, I swear.”

Jeff sat down on the bench like Lucy used to and confidently spoke, “Believe me, Virgil, I have time.”

Virgil gritted his teeth. At least this was the conversation his dad was deadset on having, not anything else, “... Promise not to tell Scott or John?”

Oh no, “Uh, maybe?”

Virgil bit the bullet, “Weeelll, Scott and John weren’t taking it very well, none of us were, but they especially. Their reactions kind of hurt even more when I thought about you and how you, uh, reacted to grief… sorry.”

Jeff flinched but paid no mind. Virgil was shutting down and that’s the last thing Jeff wanted, “It’s okay, Virg, you’re not wrong. None of you boys can be wrong about those years after Luce left us.”

Taking a deep breath at the okay, Virgil started up again, “Scott had just left for the Air Force and also decided to stop calling, probably so he didn’t have to think about it, John was, actually, John was focusing on graduating high school early-- which he did, don’t let him downplay it when you talk to him about it.”

Jeff nodded and put the reminder in his back pocket.

Virgil continued to truck along, “And Grandma was out shopping, so that left me, a slightly depressed 15-year-old with a 14-year-old that didn’t want to swim anymore and a 9-year-old that stopped talking. Again.”

Jeff sharply inhaled. He would have to know more about his sons’ lives after the Zero-X, of course, but that didn’t make it easier to listen to how his sons essentially slowly self-destructed because of the man that was also causing them to self-destruct once more in the present.

Damn The Hood. When Jeff got his hands on him--

Virgil didn’t hear or sense his father’s wild emotions, too lost in his memories, “Gordon, who wanted something of yours because of obvious reasons, got Alan roped into it. Alan probably wanted something of yours too, especially since the three of us weren’t doing any comforting ourselves.”

Jeff was familiar with self-recrimination. This was slowly delving into self-hate, which was happening way more than the old father liked at the moment, “Son, from what it looks like, Scott and John and you eventually picked up the slack when you shouldn’t have needed to in the first place. Hell, you’re only a year older than Gordon! If you didn’t hold it against me, don’t hold it against yourself.”

A dark laugh came from Virgil like he didn’t believe his father. However, the way he held his eyebrows indicated he was more or less joking (hopefully), “Who says we don’t hold it against you, old man?”

Alright, Jeff had to laugh at that one. It hurt to see his boys so grown up without his help, but he couldn’t have been any more proud all the same.

Virgil then promptly soured the mood, “So, anyway, Gordon tried climbing to the top of your dresser in your study while Alan just stood right next to him. Two plus two equals two screaming brothers stuck under a dresser with only me as their savior.”

Jeff couldn’t quite stop the jump he made. Well damn, that wasn’t what he was expecting. Virgil clearly handled the situation, however, as both Gordon and Alan are-- well, were fine, plus, Scott and John apparently didn’t even know about it so there was that too.

Virgil had a grin on his face as he recounted the dark experience, “It was scary, but looking back, I can’t help but chuckle, just a little bit. Gordon full-on breaks down laughing at the memory anyway. His face had more annoyance on it than pain, really, and the squawks he let out, man, here I thought I was the potty mouth of the family.”

“Could you be any slower than a wheel-chair lift up a stairwell?!”

“I’m trying, asshole!”

Suddenly, Virgil’s laughter was dark again, “God, Alan’s account of it though, he was trapped underneath it in the other direction. His legs were incredibly still as I desperately tried getting the furniture off... I know he laughs about it now in his own, Alan-way, but… I’m pretty sure the kid experienced a pretty bad PTSD attack of... you know.”

Jeff inhaled slowly for a change. From what he’s albeit briefly heard, Alan loved snow nowadays, but for a while, the poor kid could barely go outside during the winter months. Jeff remembered finding out about it from a phone call from the school. Alan had thrown one hell of a tantrum when he refused to go outside with his peers. Jeff came and Alan jumped right from fury straight to panic and hastily explained how ”he just didn’t like it anymore.” He was worried Jeff would be disappointed in him for being scared.

Virgil’s grin was back to being cheerful, easing Jeff’s dark thoughts for the time being, “The kid wouldn’t let go of me all night, kind of how like we couldn’t get him to release Scott when we found them after the avalanche. Gordon joined in the fun just because Gordon,” Jeff snorted, “We all camped out in my room, blanket fort and all. Halfway through Back to the Future with Gordon snoring up a storm against my back and little Allie still snuggled into my “teddy bear arms” as he calls it, I realized… I wanted to protect them. I wanted to be a 'Scott' or a 'John' to the only two little brothers I had.”

Jeff felt his chest swell at the soft-spoken confession. Virgil continued with growing enthusiasm, “But I realized if I could barely lift a dresser off of them, how could I protect them from anything else? So, I worked on that and focused on more, er, “productive” means of helping someone, you know? I continued to study medical information, worked on becoming an engineer so I could fix things, getting physically stronger, et cetera. It made sense to me.”

Jeff just mindlessly nodded his head, proud of his son’s mature decision. He briefly closed his eyes to think about other eventualities, but then he abruptly opened them at the sound of Virgil starting to cry. Jeff could only keep his eyes wide as Virgil tried wiping away the damned liquid and chuckled in that way that stabbed a metaphorical knife through your heart, “I don’t think I did a good job of that recently.”

Jeff was verging on speechlessness, but not enough to where he couldn’t comfort his child, “Virg--”

It didn’t matter when the engineer didn’t even listen, “Why can’t we ever just be a full family again? Why does life hate us?”

Oh, this really was a mess.

One the father was determined to make right.

Jeff, with the sounds of cricks and cracks in his joints, stood up and firmly planted his hands on his son’s shoulders to get him to focus on his fatherly words. Pressing their foreheads together, Jeff stared intensely into those beautiful, brown eyes, “Virgil, I don’t care what that maniac said. I don't care if we have zero information to go on. We’re International Rescue. We’re getting him back.”

Virgil sighed, his breath shaky as he continued to wipe away tears, “I want to believe you, Dad, I do, but--”

Suddenly, a non-holographic voice spoke from the middle of the room gaining the two men’s attention. Looking over to where the couches were, both Jeff and Virgil full-bodily flinched at the sight.

John was anxiously standing in the living room.

Right next to an even more anxious Fuse.

“International Rescue, we… I’m not sure what I’m doing.”

---

John was fucking crazy.

On certain days when he was tired or exceptionally cranky, Virgil wondered why they put him up on ‘Five in the first place. Sure, John blew his temper the least out of all of them, and he knew how to calculate and strategize more than most computers Virgil came across, but that didn’t make him any less fucking crazy. Did Virgil even need to mention all of his insane plans before now? Sure, the man could pull them off, and he did it well, but trusting the Chaos Crew? Right now?

However, despite how much his brother could be stupid, Virgil was seeing the appeal as he hauled ass through this rickety compound containing a heat signal half the Chaos Crew gave them that was just the right kind of small to be their baby brother.

John was fucking crazy, crazy genius, and Virgil couldn’t physically love his older brother anymore right now without fear of bursting into a giant pile of pride confetti.

Scott and Gordon also were running through the compound somewhere. They knew that splitting up was the first thing the Scooby Gang did whenever they got into trouble, but they were already running on borrowed time. It was like a maze, no brother knew which route would be the fastest, and not even EOS could map it out for them. As soon as The Hood knew they were there, well, they didn’t even want to take the time to think about what Alan might have already gone through, God knows what could happen if The Hood realized he had been betrayed.

The Hood was a crime boss: crime bosses don’t take kindly to mutiny.

Frankly, that’s the least he deserved, Virgil thought darkly. The only sliver of luck the bald creep could potentially get is if the rest of the Tracys found Alan first. Soft but hard. If Virgil were to come across The Hood there were no promises to be made for what the plaid-wearing brother might d--

“---gil, Jesus, stop! You’re right next to the damn signal!”

Screeeech! Squeak! Bang! Pop! Smack-a-doodle-doo!

Surely one of those noises happened when Virgil dug his heels into the ground and smeared the bottom of his feet to stop running, but he wasn’t listening. He really couldn’t, not over the sound of the blood rushing to his ears after nothing but pure sprinting. He was right next to a doorway, some kind of storage closet with locks hastily added as an afterthought.

Leaning one arm against the wall and having one of his hands on his hips as he tried to catch his breath, Virgil had all the time in the world to examine the makeshift cage. He knew it was kind of unhealthy, but dammit, he needed his adrenaline back. What better way to rebuild his levels than to aggressively glare at an inanimate object that made his blood boil more and more every second?

If anyone deserved to be treated like an animal, it was The Damn Hood.

“--ou be able to do this by yourself? If you want us there, we can pick up the pace.”

“Yeah, we’re all in this together!” Despite the severity, the aggressive humming of a familiar High School Musical song could be heard. Everyone knew who that had to be. They still let it go. Jokes were how Gordon got through negative emotion.

An example being violent anger.

Right, the problem at hand. Shit, Virgil was usually so good at listening to everything that happened over the comms. He was really dropping the ball tonight, “N-No, I’m fine. Sorry, I just needed to catch my breath. You two should keep mapping, actually, I don’t think either John or EOS have found a way to scan the entire place just yet.”

Virgil could feel the disappointment from two different comm lines. Not that he blamed them, but he was sure his brothers didn’t blame him either. Gordon still wanted to get something in, “Right, be sure to keep us updated. We’ll be listening carefully.”

Standing up straight, Virgil stood directly in front of the door, “Actually, I think I’m going to go dark for a while.”

Gordon objected, “WH--”

Scott interrupted, “Okay.”

Gordon double objected, “--AT?”

Virgil imagined Scott’s flinch as if the older brother were in front of him right now. Regardless, the field commander spoke confidently, “We don’t know what’s in that room. The comms could be more of a hindrance than not.”

John chimed in abruptly and out of nowhere like he always does. It was graciously welcomed just as usual, “Besides, it’s not like Virgil’s going off the radar. I may only be able to see parts of the compound you mapped, but I can still see you. I can always tell when my brothers are in trouble.”

The elder brothers spoke logic and safety, and Gordon’s heavy breathing calmed considerably, “Yeah, okay. Good luck, Virge. Bring our baby home.”

Despite its redundancy, Virgil nodded, “Of course.”

Virgil felt a little selfish, but the danger of having an open comm line was only partially why he wanted to go dark. He felt bad, but in reality, he wanted a little bit of Alan to himself. Virgil knew it would be smothering from all angles when they got Alan home (which they will get), and he could easily be patient and wait for his turn to be alone with the littlest when the time came, but…

He wanted it now. It felt like water slipping through his fingers, but if he gripped hard enough, he could save just a little bit that, with love and care, could become part of a giant puddle once more. Besides… Virgil could count on one hand the similarities he and Alan had. That wasn’t bad in any capacity, and if anything, it made their bond stronger in ways the bonds they had with the others would never understand, but it did make the time they hung out considerably smaller than time with, again, the others.

Virgil and Gordon were wingmen. Virgil and Scott were each others’ best friends. Virgil and John were the voices of reason. Alan and Gordon were partners in crime. Alan and Scott were the bread of the Tracy family. Alan and John were the space bros. Virgil and Alan?...

Were endlessly supportive of each other, sure, and Alan understood that Virgil was just as viable of an option to go to for help as the rest of his brothers, but they didn’t have anything special. They had love, laughter, and memories, but other than that, they were simply brothers. That was enough, yes, of course, but Virgil wanted more, to be more.

He wanted to help plan (even more) pranks, he wanted to help with college applications (geez, when did their little bro get so old?), he wanted to sign permission slips, he wanted to be more than just ‘one of Alan’s brothers’. He wanted to hold the world in his hands for Alan too, but he couldn’t do that without Alan there.

Virgil knew Alan also wanted more for his own, youngest-related reasons. Thank fuck the world granted them a second chance. Now Virgil just had to make sure he didn’t screw this up. Taking a deep breath, Virgil used his body mass to forcibly break open the door. That was iffy. Why was it so easy to break open? The Hood clearly didn’t want to give Alan back to them. Virgil was now on high alert, which did not help the rage building in his gut in the slightest.

His heightened senses allowed him to over-examine every detail in the room. It wasn’t the worst in terms of space, but it sure as hell wasn’t the best. The bed in the corner of the room was something akin to a wooden board nailed to the wall to be lying horizontal, and, Jesus, that wasn’t a blanket, that was a bunch of paper taped together to be a big sheet! Plus, there was no pillow, and even worse, no indication of how food got in and out--

Virgil choked on the air.

On the opposite side of the cage, not that far away from the bed (tiny space, soft but hard), sat a blonde-haired boy. Those freckles nearly made Virgil fall to his knees and cry from joy alone, but those precious, blue-eyes had something in them that kept Virgil vigilant. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it wasn’t happiness. Shit, did Alan not think this was real?

Well, that response made sense. The kid looked like he had a hellish couple of weeks. There were no bruises or marks to indicate The Hood did anything physical, at least, none the family doctor could see (if The Hood did try and hide something though, hoo boy), but the eye bags he sported were veering off the edge of a cliff right into ‘Are those actually black eyes?’ Ville. Alan’s complexion had seen better days too with how closely he resembled a piece of printer paper. Trembles vaguely shook down the kid’s spine indicating a loose grip on reality. Alan was trying to hold it together, trying to convince himself not to get his hopes up.

Alright, Virgil could handle that. Time to step up and reassure the younger ones that everything was okay like the older ones always do.

Virgil moved forward.

Alan flinched because of it.

And time simply stopped.

Virgil heard his heart tear in half.

Alan.

Flinched.

The kid didn’t think this wasn’t real.

No, he knew it was real.

But he was scared because of it.

Virgil was going to throw up.

He was called “The Hood” because of his endless disguises…

No, the bastard wouldn’t-- didn’t--

Oh, he definitely did. Virgil bet ‘Two on it, pods and everything. There was no way The Fucking Hood, who had what could’ve been considered one of the most important things to the Tracy family, didn’t do something. He was an angry man out for revenge, a venomous snake, and what better way to poison Jeff than to sink his fangs into the one thing that shouldn’t have been near him in the first place.

Holy fuck.

Virgil put his hands together, placed them against his lips and inhaled sharply. Hokay, he needed to rationalize this. He wasn’t sure there was a way to logically think about a man torturing your teenage brother, but the way Virgil was originally clenching his fists at his sides in red hot, fiery anger was bringing said teenager to hysterics, so he needed a different approach.

Hands still against his mouth, Virgil slowly sunk to the floor to sit criss-cross-apple-sauce, his back stiff as a piece of metal. He was still taking calming deep breaths, but at this point, his eyes were closed and his eyebrows were scrunched together. Think, Virgil, think. Soft but hard.

With an exhale as gentle as the breeze, Virgil brought his hands to his lap and opened his eyes, both motions equally as lethargic. His grin was small and light. He remembered that one rescue in the Amazon where a rather frightened panther made its way onto ‘Two. Virgil was the only one who could calm it down before it attacked the families he was saving. It was funny in hindsight. Gordon asked if they could keep it.

Right now, Virgil really hated the irony in comparing Alan’s situation to being caged like an animal. It was poor foreshadowing on Virgil’s part. Remember the panther. Soft but hard, “You remember what you asked me for your 13th birthday? We haven’t used that racetrack in ages. You wanna help me clean it up? I worked hard on it, I’d hate for it to continue to go to waste.”

Once again, Alan flinched, but following the very well hidden swallowing of his anger, Virgil watched as the boy raised his eyebrows. It was half-confusion-half-’what kind of question was that?’ Of course, he remembered! After a grueling day of Virgil helping him with his math homework, the kid mentioned how he wanted a racecar. For his 13th birthday.

“Like, a toy?”

“No! I want a racecar!”

“So, a full-on car? One you can sit in the driver's seat and move around?”

“I want it bright red with shiny wheels and, ooh! I--”

Of course, everyone said no. Mainly because they had no place to put it, Alan’s age notwithstanding. But Virgil, who had seen John’s gift for the year, was determined to win for once. The 19-year-old had been meaning to test his engineering skills out anyway. He couldn’t make an actual car, but a go-kart, on the other hand…

The only problem, however, was that he literally had to do everything alone. Gordon was on the mainland for Olympics training, Virgil would’ve rather died than told John his plans, and he knew Scott would have said no, so, there was only uno.

He spent a week building the car, then the entire day beforehand carving out a makeshift racetrack in a part of the beach they never really went to. They never used it again after Alan’s birthday, but the look on all of his Virgil’s brothers’ faces that day was worth the exhaustion. They ranged from awe to disbelief to disproval with a hint of pride. At least Scooter gave him a hair ruffle later in the night.

Alan was so touched by it he started crying. Virgil apologized to a sobbing Alan at the same time the kid apologized from Scott’s arms. Virgil asked why. Alan just replied, “You wasted an entire day!”

Oh, Allie.

Virgil didn’t let Alan go from his arms for the rest of the day. Octopus hold was engaged, and Alan would never admit that those hugs were better than any physical gift he received.

They still are. Dammit, Alan wanted nothing more than one of Virgil’s hugs right now. Those broad shoulders could fix any problem in the world. The realization he would never get one again allowed Alan to shamelessly release one tear down his cheek.

Alan blinked a few times before realizing there was still someone else in the room. Oh shit, he was still with The Hood. Jumping out of his pants, Alan shoved himself against the wall, eyes wide and staring at the man. Alan felt sick looking at the asshole’s fake worry and concern.

Wait, it hit Alan… The Hood couldn’t have known about that story. Part of Alan’s paranoid mind was trying to convince him that the man could to prevent false hope (again), but… there was just no way. If there was anything his brothers were deadset on, it was making sure The Hood couldn’t ruin anything familial outside of the ‘Birds. Even the ‘Birds were aggressively protected as much as they physically could.

The Hood couldn’t steal memories, which meant that the person in front of him...

Virgil’s chest swelled at the recognition in his baby brother’s eyes, which were slowly getting wider and wider. Talk about holding the world in his hands. Letting out a watery chuckle, Virgil spoke at his normal volume, “Hey, bro, sight for sore eyes, much?”

Well, there was no holding back those tears now. Shakily getting up to his knees (Alan would’ve completely stood up if he could, but he was still a little weak), Alan leaped off of them into Virgil's waiting arms. Without even blinking, Virgil wrapped his muscular build all around Alan like a giant shield, shoving his face into that mop of blonde hair. Virgil inhaled the strands and trembled as he exhaled. He never thought he could do this again.

Neither could Alan, who shoved his nose into that broad shoulder and tried desperately to grab one of his wrists with his arms still around Virgil’s shoulders and failing because the middle child was just that wide. That got a laugh out of the youngest, who settled for just grabbing fistfuls of the IR uniform instead. The blue parts couldn’t be stained by tears, right?

Yeah, Virgil wasn’t sure how he could describe his and Alan’s relationship.

But whatever it was, it allowed tiny Alan to sit right in his big, teddy bear arms, and that was enough.

Soft but hard. Thanks, Mom.

#fabfivefeb #fabfivefeb2020 #thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #virgil tracy #lucille tracy #lucy tracy #jeff tracy #alan tracy #my post #my fic #series: rules of alchemy

[segovia-trazyx]

Chapter Three

Trigger Warnings: Violence, Spiders, Discrimination, Racism

After a long day, Segovia began to turn back from his mission of finding a hint of work and began to wander around as a lame attempt to search for his companion. Sheilo would want to meet up to find a place to rest for the night at some point. That is if she hadn’t already found one. The woman hated sleeping in hotels due to the mess her spiders make when they congregate. It has caused unnecessary hassle for the two of them so they avoid inns whenever possible. Segovia knew that the past instances greatly hurt her self esteem and her mental image-- he didn’t want to force her to go through that every night.

Besides, outside in the nature was where he prefered to sleep anyway. High in the trees where he could watch Elune from her vigil was the most comforting place he could rest.

It was unsurprising when Segovia found Sheilo in the local tavern with a couple of arcane-infused drinks in front of her. She chatted with a worgen who seemed particularly friendly (and drunk) while others looked on in interest. The worgen was very enthusiastic about whatever it was he so frantically spoke of, his hands waving around and his head nearly thrashing from side to side. It must have been a wild tale because Sheilo was leaning in close to hear every word of the worgen’s, the drink in her hand momentarily forgotten.

Segovia took a place next to his companion and gently tapped her with his wing, an action she noticed but didn’t acknowledge. He rose an eyebrow at the wild story that the worgen told of risen dead storming the coastline of his home, a fierce battle that happened between man, forsaken and newly-turned worgen. As the worgen spoke fiercely of a turn in the tide of war that did not favor his kind, Segovia ordered a drink and tuned him out, listening to others talk around him. However, there was a lot of chatter and it was hard to hear around the man that spoke so enthusiastically to his companion. He couldn’t nonchalantly walk around the tavern to attempt to hear stories, as amusing as Sheilo would find that.

“I thought us the last Gilneans until I arrived here in Val’Sharah,” The worgen commented as he took a large drink. “But it seems the plague of the undead follows us everywhere…” He looked around, getting several unfriendly looks from the Horde patrons sitting further away from him. Sheilo, on the other hand, burst out laughing from the unintentional pun that the drunk worgen didn’t realize he had made. She continued to lose her mind even as the man continued. “I’ve heard they’ve made a right mess of the shore town just north east of here. The undead ain’t the problem anymore, though; it’s repairing everything they broke. It’s surely gonna cost a pretty penny that I’m not sure such a small town has. Gonna be awhile before they’re back on their feet.” The worgen tsked as he shook his head, deviated from the story he told before. Segovia took slight interest but he wasn’t thrilled at the idea of volunteer work for building houses and fences so he kept it on the back burner for now. Not so much as a hint of the Nightmare corruption that should still be seeping back beneath the layer of Azeroth and disappearing for hopefully a few centuries yet.

Segovia busied himself with contemplating obscure plans and ideas on how to find work (and in some cases literally go looking for it) that Trazyx butted into every now and then to tell him how ridiculous a thought was. He pushed the demon back as much as he cared to which admittedly wasn’t very much. He didn’t mind the incubus floating in his mind every now and then; the presence of Trazyx was actually quite comforting now that the two had gotten used to each other after centuries of disagreements and bickering. Having the incubus around after the two sorted themselves out and came to terms that they were coexisting in one body instead of eventually having one consume the other became part of Segovia’s daily enjoyment. He’d begun to detest the idea of losing his incubus… having a single mind within his thoughts sounded like too little. Who would make snarky comments at him if Trazyx wasn’t there to read his thoughts and mock him for the silly and sometimes immature expression that popped into his head?

At first, it wasn’t like that. After he saw his parents die, Segovia wanted nothing more than to consume and enslave the demon who had done the deed and tarnished his village. After Trayzx had bound with Segovia, however, the demon hunter seemed to mellow out. He and his demon were at each other’s throats for the first few years, playing the other and attempting to consume the power and destroy their counterpart. It became bland, though. Segovia had a moment of weakness but instead of his demon attempting to devour Segovia and destroy him, they had a moment together. What Segovia felt, Trazyx felt. The demon could decide to brush it off just as his flesh-prison could brush off the comments Trazyx made, but the demon found himself wanting to help the man bound to him. He’d lived a long life; what was the point of causing so much pain and misery if there was more to life than just that? It was fun, Trazyx believed, to watch people suffer. But after thousands of years of doing that, he wanted to know more. He didn’t want to conquer— he wanted to learn. Segovia made him that way, he’s quite sure of it. Something about the demon hunter sparked the desire for knowledge about mortals and mortal ways.

“I’m headin’ down there to help with my distant kin in their process of rebuilding. I’m more of a fighter but if I can keep the Gilnean spirit alive-- even if it’s not in Gilneas-- I’m damned to do so. We’re few an’ far between anymore an’ I gotta have somethin’ to do.” The worgen shrugged as he snapped Segovia out from his revere. Trazyx chuckles deep within his mind making the demon hunter roll his eyes. He ordered a wine from the bartender as the worgen continued, much to Sheilo’s amusement.

“With the Legion gone and the Nightmare pushed back, the satyrs and harpies have calmed down.” The worgen murmured, almost as if he was lost in a past memory that he couldn’t be followed into. “They’re organizing, though.” He whispered. “They’re always organizing. Harpies and satyrs have always been hostile group-- reminders that while the Nightmare may be pushed back, it will always be there as long as the Dream remains. They cannot exist without each other, much to the druids’ chagrin.”

Segovia had been dreaming. Segovia had been trapped in the dream along with his brothers and sisters when the demon had attacked his village. He had been oblivious, unable to help his people as he explored the world of growth and life. Many of his brothers and sisters had died within the dream, unaware of their fate in the real world until they tried to return to their bodies.

The Dream, as beautiful as it was, was also a prison.

“I wouldn’t want to be a druid right now,” The worgen pressed on, his eyes downcast to his empty mug before him. “Their organization is in shambles, starting with the Nightmare’s reign and still continuing at the death of the world tree.” He snarled and slammed his furry fist down onto the bar, growling out violently. “Damn those undead bastards!”

“You should hold your tongue, dog.” A gravelly voice warns from a dark corner of the room. The worgen whips around to face the offender, Sheilo and Segovia not following the man’s actions. They didn’t have to face the offending speaker to know that the decaying life force behind them belonged to that of a forsaken.

“You wanna run that by me again, mate?” The worgen challenged, standing and snarling at the two. Segovia bites back a sigh, his tail flicking without amusement as he prepares to leave. The two of them don’t need to be caught in the middle of a faction war; they’ve escaped that by not following the adventurers to Krul Tiris. Being labeled as a possible enabler to the faction dispute that’s bound to happen between worgen and forsaken could damage their reputation before they had been in Lorlathil a single night. Finding work would be complicated if people thought that the two companions were biased.

“Your people should have been killed off long ago; the Forsaken merely did you a favor by finally breaking down your wall.” The undead gargled. Segovia realized a moment later that that noise was supposed to be a laugh. He held his tongue.

“An’ you should’ve stayed in the ground instead of comin’ out here and acting like you were a real person still. Your Queen is a monster, just like the bastard who killed her!” There was a chorus of agreements among the Alliance members sitting among the tavern. Segovia grabbed Sheilo’s arm and pulled her away from the bar, wanting to get out.

The undead let out some sort of hissing noise that made Segovia too scared to look in the direction of the creature. “Sylvanas is a savior!”

“She is a traitor!”

“Enough!” Sheilo roared in her drunken stupor. She hadn’t been fighting Segovia’s hold on her but she easily pulled out if it now, fury raging through her. The tavern got quiet as Sheilo raised her voice once more, anger dripping from every word. “Neither of your factions are innocent so stop playing like one is better than the other! The Horde has gone through miserable leadership changes and the Alliance has sat back and done nothing when they could have done something. You have your qualms with each other simply because of what you see on the outside, not who the person is, living or dead, human or worgen. Just because you both have traumatic pasts does not mean you get to take it out on every single person of that race that you supposedly hate. The worgen that lived in Gilneas have reason to hate Sylvanas just has the Forsaken of Lordearon have reason to praise her. Stop acting so damn blind when you have functioning eyes! You’re blinded by anger.”

The silent tavern stared at her, each patron considering Sheilo’s words. She spoke truth whether or not anyone wanted to accept her words. Segovia mentally sighed, however. He had wanted to drag his companion out before this happened; this is not the first time Sheilo had blown up about faction war and it certainly wasn’t going to be the last. However, it was the outcome that worried him most. Many people don’t like hearing the truth and tend to…

“Alliance pest,” A goblin growled. “How would you know of the Horde struggles?” There were murmurs of agreements that set Sheilo’s blood aflame.

“How dare you think I so ignorant? Before you stands a demon hunter-- a woman who has been traveling with Alliance and Horde brethren alike for centuries! If you think that I do not know the Horde’s struggles from my elven comrades, you are more blind than I am.” Sheilo bore her fangs at the Goblin, ready to defend herself and the path she chose even if the others within the tavern did not agree. It was not their fate; they have no right to speak of their opinion or of their views when it is not their life. Segovia set his jaw and took Sheilo’s wrist. She fought him at first but when he held fast this time, she relented. The two shutout any more comments that flew at the demon hunter companions as they left the tavern. Segovia focused solely on gaining distance so that they couldn’t be found by anyone who wanted to fight them.

Half an hour past and the moon rose high into the sky when Segovia stopped. They were near a cave that had been dug out of the side of a small overhang. In the time they had been walking, Sheilo had managed to calm herself, however Segovia could still feel her irritation while she slumped herself in a corner and began to brood.

“You can’t--”

“Don’t start with me, Segovia,” Sheilo growled warningly, cutting him off from the lecture he was about to go into. “I know what I did was stupid and I know I shouldn’t have found myself in the tavern, but I can’t sit idly by while the Horde and the Alliance tear at each other’s throats! I mean, I’d rather be out here doing busy work than finding myself in the middle of a battlefield between the two but it still infuriates me. Mortals are so blind! I don’t even have eyes anymore and yet I can see that the battle that has been going on for far too long is fruitless. The only outcome of such bloodshed is annihilation and conquest; the victory of one faction over another will not be satisfying for the winner and too many sympathizers and survivors will be exiled and then hunted. It will end in tyranny no matter what any racial leader tells their subordinates.” Sheilo ended with a winded huff only for it to turn into a snarl of annoyance. Segovia let the woman let off steam, deciding that it was best not to remind her of what they agreed on. He understood the struggles of staying silent far too well.

Segovia turned away from the woman and pulled his backpack off. He pulled out the last of their supplies-- he had forgotten to get food while they were in Lorlathil-- and threw the brooding demon hunter her half of the share. She caught it without looking up but didn’t begin eating. Segovia suspected that she wouldn’t touch it until she cooled down.

So he ate in silence. He thought over the last few days of their travels and contemplated their struggles as well as their mistakes. It was a short list since they had been traveling for a long time. However, he needed something to do and he didn’t want to leave the fuming demon hunter alone.

Do you want to talk? A voice questioned him from the back of his mind. Segovia swallowed the bite he had taken of the leftover jerky the two of them had bought a town ago before answering so that he may stall the curious incubi inside of him

I know not what to talk about to the voice who knows more about me than I know of myself, he thought back to Trazyx. The incubi snorted and invaded more of his conscious mind.

This may be true but mortals find it helpful to speak of their troubles even if the listeners knows about them already. You may find it helpful as well.

Segovia’s eyelids fluttered in irritation and he sat down the jerky as if he needed his mouth to speak to the demon who occupied his body. I know not what to discuss, Trazyx. I am worried for Sheilo but she is a grown woman and can handle herself. She knows of the consequences of her actions so my berating her would only prove to irritate her further. He looked over his shoulder to the demon hunter who had begun to call to the spiders of Val’sharah. He repressed a shudder. She has always dealt with her problems alone and I’m sure this will pass by tomorrow like it always does. Sheilo does not need me to guide her in her troubles.

And yet? Trazyx inquired with an audible smirk.

There is no ‘and yet’, Segovia scoffed. That is it.

Trazyx remained quiet afterwards but the demon hunter could feel his incubi digging around inside of his head for more answers. He brought up memories, thoughts, and emotions, trying to spark something within his host besides the growing annoyance of Trazyx delving into places Segovia didn’t want him rooting around in at the moment. He knew his incubi was trying to get him to come forth about his feelings but the urge to repress them all was stronger than Trazyx’s will. Besides, Segovia could feel the demon’s playful attitude hiding behind the mild concern.

He went back to eating instead of trying to repress whatever junk Trazyx brought up. Sheilo was quiet as well but he could hear the skittering of her spiders as they tunneled through the soil and crawled swiftly across the rocky cave floor. After so many years of being by his side he would have thought that he would get used to it by now. It wasn’t so much the individual spiders that made his skin crawl but the picture of them congregated upon his companion’s skins as she was wrapped in their webbing, her own extra four limbs creaking and joining in the horrifying song. That was enough to give anyone nightmares, no matter how much they loved the arachnids.  

With his share of the rations gone, Segovia situated his wings so that he could create a warm barrier between himself and the world around him. His scaly tail laid in his lap so he could clean it while forcing his body to relax for the night. The Nightmare waited for him so deep within Val’Sharah’s lands. He could feel the lingering tendrils even if he no longer held druidic powers. Fear gripped him as he thought of the torture and ruin the druids and the land had gone through because of Xavius’s desire for power. While he knew the Satyr Lord was gone, the Nightmare still lingered. It could harm him if he was unsuspecting. It could corrupt him as it had so many druids before.

Segovia took a deep breath and pushed the lingering fears away as he let himself fall into the Dream’s embrace. He should not fear the Dream when it has grown so strong and welcoming. This was the land of his birth-- this was the place that even he could connect with the land he had once known so well. It may be scarred as well as the occupants within it, but it was unchanged otherwise.

When he was just on the edge of sleep, a piercing shriek cut through the air and jolted Segovia from his thoughts. He lurched upright, hand on his whip and Trazyx on high alert. His ears were straight up and searching for the source of the sound. Was it just his imagination? Was the Nightmare playing tricks on him? He turned to look at Sheilo who was beginning to part from her cocoon, the spiders receding back into the earth. The panic that coursed through her aura told him that, no, she had heard the scream too. The two waited soundlessly for another clue.

The second scream had the two of them bolting from the cave, weapons on the ready and blood boiling with anticipation. Trazyx screamed for death and pushed him forward, lending his energy to his host. They were not too far away from the borders of Lorlathil and still, the run there seemed to take a lifetime with the urgency the two demon hunters felt.

At first, the cause of the scream was not evident. There was no source of struggling, there was not a scent in the air, and the Lorlathian houses stayed silent. This was no doubt the direction the scream had come from, however. Segovia’s eyebrows furrowed as he listened long and hard. A strange noise came from the west but it was but a whisper. It was too far for the source to have been there.

And then the wind changed and Segovia felt his heart skip a beat. He turned around just in time to see felhounds stalking towards them, their footsteps lighter than a feather. They charged, realizing they had been seen. That’s when he felt the heat.

The town below them violently burst into flames, the shrieks of people growing louder. He didn’t have time to stare at the destruction below as the felhounds lunged. He kicked the felhound focused on him from the air and stepped hard on the ribcage that cracked beneath him. The felhound attempted to snap at him but Segovia’s claws were buried too deep within it’s chest for it to move too much. The beating felheart fell to the ground at Segovia’s feet, however the demon hunter was too busy racing towards the village.

No, a voice screamed in his head. It took him too long to realize it was not his own. The incubi screaming inside of him was the last thing he remembered before he was shoved into the backseat and forced to watch as Trazyx’s fury charged forth.

#Chapter Three #Main Story

[jugandbettsdetectiveagency]

Some of my thoughts on episode four:

(disclaimer: this is not supposed to be eloquent or cohesive or whatever, I just kept seeing posts that ground my gears and I had to just write something out)

I wish Kevin’s reconciliation statement hadn’t come just before Betty told him all about the letter. I’m not saying she didn’t have a right to be shook and spaced out but it meant she ignored Kevin and we were kinda back where we started. Not a character thing, just a scene organisation thing.

Hiram and Hermione are up to some super shady shit and I am living for all these cryptic conversations between the two of them. I feel like they are marionettists pulling the strings of the whole town - north side, south side, you name it, they don’t discriminate. I feel like a lot of the hinting was to them playing a part forcing a town-wide self-destruct, caused by this civil war. Encouraging Archie’s vigilante group, wanting Alice to speak out about taking about south side resources, throwing it back to wanting to take out Fred... I don’t know what the extent of their involvement in specific events, or what their endgame is, yet but I’m so excited to see.

I friggin knew Veronica didn’t throw that gun. She’s just as much into the power trip high as Archie is - we can see that when she stands up to her parents. I think seeing the fight made her realise Archie’s motivations in a less superficial way than she did with kitting out the whole of RH in some cheap-ass looking t-shirts, but the actual feeling of firing the gun caused her to take a step back and be like whoa ok, this is real. And there was a sense of this throughout for Archie too - pre-episode he’d already tried to delete the video. He’s a bit caught up in wanted to seek justice (it’s not justice, it never was, it’s plain revenge that he’s trying to shove into some haphazard disguise) and being in way over his head. I found it funny that I couldn’t work out whether he was proud or embarrassed during his slow mo hallway march to his remixed red circle tune. Were the kids in awe or just plain mocking him? I think that sums up Archie’s character pretty well. It’s not football or music, but it’s the same set up with different choices.  

Ahh, Bughead. My sweet, sweet Bughead. Yes, Juggie was a bit of a twat. But I can see his motivations (not excusing his actions, just as an aside). He seemed so shifty about the code cracking when literally all he had to say was yeah Toni and I are already talking about this. Did he know that Betty was the one who gave the letter to the register at this point? At least, he didn’t know it was personally addressed to her yet. He didn’t know how involved she already was with wanting to crack it. His frankly bloody annoying need to ‘protect and save’ Betty reared its ugly head again and it just made him seem like a bit of a shitty boyfriend. We all have those days though, who are we kidding? This whole self-deprecating, ‘you only hurt the ones you love’ spiel was cute as a character introduction, but dude, get your act together! Also I find it ironic that his whole speech to Betty during that first s1 argument of theirs was about not fitting in to the respective, societal roles of ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’, at least on his part. It’s a little bit insulting that he’s basically squishing Betty - head strong, brave, stubborn, ‘nancy drew meets girl with the dragon tattoo’ Betty Cooper - into the mold of sweet little girlfriend that can’t handle it. ‘She’s into the darker things’, he said about Toni. Pfft, that was a lame justification even for you, Jug. BUT he’s a kid trying to balance the weight of two worlds on his shoulders, and I also wanna cut him some slack. I love this boy dearly and his distress is my distress. ALSO, it’s not really OOC, idk why I keep seeing this. This is what Jughead does, do you not remember him not telling anyone he was homeless. He carries all the burden. Plus, a couple of months ago this dude had never been a boyfriend, practically told Archie and Betty that the concept of that label was foreign/didn’t sit well with him. He’s navigating a pretty big learning curve and while he was doing well it won’t be smooth sailing, that’s just unrealistic. All in all, I was fine with the way Bughead played out this episode. “I’ve been gone two days” I mean I’m crying, come on, Betty.

Side notes: I want like a billion code cracking party episodes. That shit is my jam. Maybe with a bit less hostility next time, just a thought. Definitely the same amount of Kevin though (although perhaps not used as a counter to Jughead bringing Toni next time please).

This episode definitely tried to show the strain on the difficulties of communication because of the distance between them now (but I think Alice just revealed how they will once again be reunited - thanks, girl. Your classism was real telling there). While it was frustrating and annoying it was also expected and we saw how they came back together ever time. It’s gonna take more than that to break these two. I mean they literally woke up snuggling. I think at this point most of it is just pure frustrations at their situation and the need of an adjustment period. I think too many people built up too many expectations about the milestones that are supposedly coming in their relationship and keep placing them on every episode, only to be like well this episode sucked when they don’t happen. Frankly, I think we were so thrilled with the ep.13 that we never really stopped to think that it might be a little bit OOC for these two. It was a big leap from where we’d seen them at in the rest of the season, and while it was by no means unreasonable that that’s where they ended up after a mutual confession of love, and I’m not saying that I didn’t flippin’ love that scene (cus y’all know I DID) I don’t think we can expect a pick up this soon in the season, especially with this new wave of life or death drama. 

Speaking of adjustments, let’s talk about Toni. Toni seemed to straight up want to cause drama this episode. She was literally whacked in as drama-starter extraordinaire, with nothing spared to develop her character - girl was shortchanged. But what that also means is that we literally have no clue as to what her motivations are yet and, contrary to some rather hasty beliefs, I don’t think those motivations are just to get into Jughead’s pants - give a girl some credit. For one, she got some of that classic Bughead communication that we all know, love, and miss going again. She forced some issues out into the open and while it was by no means enough it was a start. She’s got her own reasons for doing whatever it is that she’s doing - this much we’ve been told - but until we know what they are, I’m holding all judgement. I mean, yeah I don’t like her right now, but she’s not blacklisted just yet. 

That brings me to the tone. THE TONE OF THIS EPISODE. I loved the direction they seemed to be taking in the first episode of the season and, for me at least, it is just getting better and better. We all joked that the only teaser we kept getting is that s2 would be darker, but boy was that the truth. The end of this episode and from the looks of it the majority of the next one is literally paying homage to one of the most used tropes in horror cinema - the phone call. And I love it. I freaking love it. Yeah, we would love it to be sunshine and rainbows all the time for our fave couple(s) but honey, if that’s what you’re legitimately looking for then this is not the show for you. Boy, it isn’t. The angst is getting ramped up, the horror is getting ramped up, the not quite supernatural in terms of there being no supernatural elements but it still feels that way tone is getting ramped up - the fog machine is working overtime! I love it all, and I just can’t wait to watch more pieces of the story and the secrets unravel as the season continues. 

#riverdale #riverdale spoilers #have a word vomit #edit: I keep adding more about jughead lol I can't stop #won't stop