Not Another Teen Movie is a hilarious spoof on classic teen movies. In this wacky high school world, Jake, the popular jock, makes a bet to turn Janey, the quirky artist, into prom queen. As Jake gives Janey a makeover and navigates high school drama, the film playfully mocks the overused cliches of teen comedies. Expect awkward crushes, wild schemes, and outrageous situations, all with a healthy dose of self-aware humor.
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"You gotta know that there's an art to it, Ezra," Hitch said, cutting another piece of duct tape.
The sleeves of his weather-beaten coat were shoved all the way up his arms, to stop the fabric from falling over his knuckles while he was working, and goosebumps lined his skin. He was strapping a rubber chicken to the back of his truck, over the lens of the shattered backup camera, with the legs pointing down so that they hung a couple inches above the ground. There were dents in the hood from the crash last week, and scratches along the door from scraping into a curb. The chicken, hopefully, would keep him from breaking anything else.
"You can't go cheap," Hitch said. "The cheap rubber chickens only make noise when pressure lets go. That's no good. As soon as I back up into something, I want this chicken to be screaming like it’s in the depths of hell."
“Sure thing,” I said in a monotone, leaning against the side of the truck.
There were scrambled electronic parts piled in the back of the truck, the innards of a radio, a broken computer, tangled wires, a couple loose pairs of earbuds. He found the parts in alleyways or bummed them off his friends for a couple bucks or stole them from the vacation homes that were left empty for most of the year. Then he sold them for a profit at the scrapyard. Hitch had bounced between minimum-wage jobs for a while after high school, spending a couple months as a bagger at the grocery store or as a seasonal worker at the farm two hours down the highway. He'd never stuck with it. At the very least, the scrapyard got him enough money to eat and occasionally spend a night in a motel when he got tired of sleeping in his car.
Hitch pressed the last piece of tape in place and grinned up at me. "I've got something for you, duck."
The nickname came from when I’d broken my leg as a child and waddled around in a cast until it was healed. I hated it with a burning passion, and I glared at Hitch with the ease of twenty-one years of practice. He had a duck tattoo at the base of his thumb that he’d gotten in a back-alley shop as a teenager. He said that he’d gotten it to remind him of me, and the fact that I hated the nickname was just a bonus. It was shaky-lined, with an uneven face, but he loved it anyway.
The handle stuck when Hitch tried to open the door, a consequence of the rust collecting in the crevices of the car and running down the sides like blood from a cut. The car groaned when the door finally popped open, a metal against metal screech that had me flinching away. Hitch dug through the cluttered fast food containers in the passenger-side footwell, eventually coming up with a crinkly paper bag. He waved away the flies buzzing around the opening of the bag and held it out to me.
The last time Hitch had brought me food, I’d gotten food poisoning because he’d left it out in the midday sun for two days. The donut was squished slightly, and the icing was stuck to the bag. I still ate it, grimacing at the harsh citrus flavor. Taking Hitch’s food was an instinct engraved from the days when Dad had given us a can of kidney beans for dinner and Hitch had drank the juice, leaving the beans for me.
I rarely went hungry anymore, three mostly square meals a day and granola in my pockets just in case, but habits didn’t die easy.
These days, Hitch only brought me food when he wanted my help, like when he saw a place he wanted to hit but was worried about doing it alone.
I got in the car, like I always did.
We drove past the cluster of seafood-themed restaurants with chipped paint decks, the beachfront park where there were always shifty-eyed men sitting under the slide, the single room library where all the books had been water damaged in the flood last year. The change was quick as we drove across Main Street, heading closer to the beach. The roads were freshly paved, the concrete a smooth black except where the sun had already started to pick away at it. The three-story homes lining the sides of the street were crouched on elegant stilts, with space underneath for a car or three. Most of the garages were empty, with the lights off and curtains drawn in the house. Come summer, the streets would be swarming with tourists and vacationers, but until then, most of the buildings nearest to the beach were unoccupied.
Hitch stopped as the sun started to go down at a house that was leaning precariously out towards the beach, tilted ever so slightly, the edge of its foundation buried in the shifting sand of the beach. It certainly looked deserted, with an overgrown yard and blue paint peeling off the door in sheets.
Hitch took his hammer out of the backseat, hoisting it over his shoulder. It was two feet of solid metal with rags wrapped around the head to muffle the sound of the hits. Hitch squared up, bending his knees and holding the hammer like a baseball bat. Before he could swing, though, the door creaked open on its own, the hinges squeaking. The house beyond was dark enough that I could only make out general shapes, glimpsing the curve of a sofa to the left, what was maybe the shimmer of a chandelier on the other side.
Hitch lowered his hammer, looking vaguely disappointed that he didn’t get to use it. “That’s…weird as hell.”
“Maybe the deadbolt broke, maybe they forgot to lock it, it doesn’t matter,” I hissed, checking our surroundings for other people again. “Just hurry up and get inside before someone calls the cops.”
Hitch flicked the lightswitch on the wall, and the lights flickered on. They were dim, buzzing audibly and blinking off occasionally. The walls were plastered with contrasting swatches of wallpaper and splattered with random colors. There was neon orange behind the dining table, a galaxy swirl in the kitchen, and on the ceiling there was a repeating floral pattern covered in nametag stickers. Each of the stickers was filled out with The Erlking. Chandeliers hung in every room, three or four for each, and rubber ducks sat on every table. A miniature carousel sat in the corner along with a towering model rocket.
Sand was heaped on every surface, at least a couple inches everywhere. It was piled in the corners and stuck to the walls, and it covered the floor in a thick blanket. Our hesitant steps into the house left footprints clearly outlined in the sand.
Hitch took a cursory look around and headed immediately for the TV mounted on the wall. “Look out the windows and tell me if anyone is coming.”
I shook the sand out of the blinds and pulled them open, then had to brush sand off of the window before I could see anything.
Hitch was quick, practiced at finding and appropriating the things that were worth taking. He came back to me with an armful of electronics and chandeliers, dumping it at my feet before turning to head deeper into the house again.
There was a thump, somewhere upstairs, and then footsteps, slow and deliberate. Hitch froze at the threshold of the room, then ran for the door with me just ahead of him, sand flying out from under our feet.
My hand was almost brushing the doorknob, close enough that I could see the light from the streetlamp outside streaming in through the cracks in the door. My fingers touched the wood and it gave under my touch, becoming malleable and warm. I yelped, stumbling backwards, and the door started to melt. The paint ran down in thick drops, pooling at the bottom of the door, and the wood warped like metal being welded. The soft edges of the door ran into the walls until there was no sign of an exit ever being there.
“Well, well, well,” said a cultured voice with just an edge of snooty elitism. “What do we have here?”
The man was well over eight feet tall, with long black hair covering his eyes. He was wearing a yellow raincoat with holes cut out of the hood to accommodate the deer antlers jutting upwards from his head. There was sand settled on his shoulders and hovering around his head like a halo.
“Who the fuck are you?” Hitch said, inching towards a window.
He smiled, just a little bit, and his teeth shone in the dim light. “I am the Erlking.”
Hitch nodded, and seemed about to respond. I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him towards the window. I could feel sand in the wind roaring against my back as the Erlking growled in anger, the grains scraping harshly against my cheeks.
We were almost to the window when Hitch was ripped away from me, and I came to a startled halt. The sand had formed long grasping arms that pressed Hitch against the floral wallpaper. His wrists were held tight, and as I watched, a sandy hand wrapped around his mouth and forced its way between his teeth. He gagged, and sand trickled out of the corners of his mouth.
The Erlking strolled towards him, not seeming to be in any sort of rush. “You know, I’m not very fond of your yapping.”
He made an idle gesture and the sand wrapped around my ankles, tethering me in place.
“I yap all the time,” Hitch said. “Three-time olympic yapper, that’s me. Best to just let me go now and save yourself some trouble.”
The Erlking tapped a manicured nail against Hitch’s mouth, hard enough to hurt, judging by the way he flinched away. “But why would I ever let you go when I’ve gone to this much trouble to catch you and your sister? It’s so hard, these days, to find people that no one will miss.”
Hitch struggled against the sand, trying to escape and failing. “What do you want with us, then? You just said it, we’re nobody.”
“I’m fae, dear one,” the Erlking said. “I get my power from my followers. And I think that you two will make lovely additions to my flock.”

He flicked Hitch's nose and Hitch gasped. Feathers started to form on his arms, popping out from under his skin in a spray of blood.
Hitch pushed off the wall, using his bound hands as a fulcrum, and his knees crashed into the Erlking’s stomach. The Erlking fell backwards, wheezing, and the sand around my ankles loosened.
Hitch made desperate eye contact with me as feathers shot up his neck and jerked his head towards the window. The message was obvious. Run.
The last thing I saw before crashing out the window and into freedom was Hitch’s body twisting, his arms wrenching into wings and feathers covering every inch of his skin. By the time I landed on the concrete outside, he was a small black bird, held tightly in the Erlking’s hands. The whole building was sinking into the ground, burnished-gold sand piling up over top and streaming from the windows.
Thirty years later, I saw Sam’s Supernatural Consultation and Neutralization written in neat, looping handwriting on a piece of paper taped to the door. The tape was peeling at the corners and the paper was yellowed with age, but there was obviously care put into the sign, in its perfectly centered text and looping floral designs drawn over the edges in gold marker.
I knocked, hesitantly, drawing my woolen coat closer around my shoulders. I’d bought it as a fiftieth birthday gift for myself, and I took comfort in the heavy weight of it over my shoulders.
“Coming!” someone called from within the depths of the office.
There were a couple crashes, and the sound of paper shuffling. Eventually, the door was opened by a young woman with ketchup stains on her shirt and pencils stuck through her hair.
“Hi, I’m Sam, I specialize in supernatural consultation and hunting, how may I help you today?” Sam said, customer-service pep in her voice. She stood in the doorway, solidly blocking entry into the office.
“My name is Ezra, I’m for a consultation. I emailed you but you didn’t respond?” I shifted in place, suddenly feeling awkward.
“Oh! Yeah, I lost the password for the email ages ago. Sorry for the bad welcome, I get lots of people thinking I’m crazy or pulling a prank and harassing me.”
She ushered me into the office, clearing papers off one of the chairs to make room for me to sit down. There was a collection of swords along one wall, all of them polished to perfection, several with deep knicks in the metal which indicated that they’d been used heavily.
“So what can I help you with?” Sam asked again, more sincere this time.
“Thirty years ago, my brother was turned into a bird,” I started. I’d told this story so many times that it barely felt ridiculous to say anymore. I was used to the disbelieving looks, the careful pity. But Sam just nodded along, face open and welcoming.
“I’ve almost given up on finding him, at this point,” I said. “But I saw your ad in the newspaper, and…here I am, I suppose.”
“Here you are,” Sam echoed, smiling. She pulled one of the pencils out of her hair and took a bit of paperwork off of one of her stacks, turning it over so that the blank side sat neatly in front of her. “Tell me everything.”
I told Sam everything, and she wrote it all down, pencil scratching along the paper.
The last part of the story was always the hardest to tell. “I left him there. I ran and I didn’t look back.”
I had been to dozens of detectives and investigators over the years, once the police had dropped Hitch’s case. I’d been to professional offices with smartly-dressed secretaries and met scraggly men in coffee shops. All of them had given me the same look, pity and annoyance all mixed up into a humor-the-crazy-lady soup. Sam, though, just seemed thoughtful.
Sam leaned forward and put a hand over mine, carefully, like she thought that I would pull away. “Sometimes you have to leave people behind.”
I tightened her hold on Sam’s hand and drew it towards me, like I could make Sam listen if only I squeezed tight enough. “But that’s why I’m here. I don’t want to leave him behind.”
“Okay then. I’ll do my best to help you.” Sam agreed, finally. Then she paused, and said softly, “You know…I think I met your brother once. He might have saved my life. He’s certainly why I started in this business.”
“Really? What happened?” I asked.
This is the story that Sam told me, related to the best of my abilities:
It was a new moon, so the only illumination came from the stars gazing idly down and distant porch lights shining across the scraggly brush of the dunes. Sam’s neighbors were decent people who cared about baby turtles, so the lights were a low, unobtrusive red, and the ocean sloshed like blood. Sam walked on the beach almost every night, drawing back the gauzy pink curtains and clambering out her bedroom window. She didn’t often bother to be quiet; her mama worked the late shift and came home exhausted. As long as Sam got home before the sun, her mama would never find out that she paced the shoreline and dreamed of inhaling sand until her lungs became their own beach.
The sky was lightening. The sun would come up soon, and that meant Sam’s time on the beach was over. She needed to get back to her real life, go to her fifth grade class and stop that nonsense, as her mother would say. Her mother loved to say things like that, pushing Sam into her proper place by implication alone.
“She’s a good kid, of course, but she’s a bit…” Her mother would trail off there, usually getting a commiserating expression from whoever she was talking to. Sam always wondered how that sentence would have finished. She’s a bit strange, maybe. She’s a bit intense. She’s a bit abrasive. She’s quiet enough but when Jason tried to steal her pencil in math class, she stabbed him in the hand so hard that the lead tattooed him.
Her mother was better, for the most part. The days of her stocking up the fridge, and leaving a post-it note on the counter, and leaving for days at a time were gone. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen tile where her mother had collapsed and caved her head in, even though the bloodstains had been replaced with new tile.
“Your auntie got an abortion, you know,” her mother had said from her place on the couch, slurring her words. “Pill in the mail and then bam, no more baby.”
She had clapped her hands together to illustrate her point. Her mother jerked forward and grabbed Sam by the wrist, then, staring up at her until Sam met her eyes.
“I love you, you know? But sometimes I wonder…” She settled back onto the couch. “Yeah. I wonder.”
She’d gotten up, then, back to the kitchen. She’d been stumbling, a shambling zombie of a woman. The ground in the entryway of the kitchen was raised, ever so slightly, and her mother went down hard. Her head cracked against the tile, chin first, and she didn’t move.
Sam had been the one to call the ambulance. She had stared at the scattering of loose teeth on the ground while she waited, and considered what her life would be like with a dead mom. Not so bad, she thought, and immediately felt guilty for it.
Her mom was better, now, for the most part. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen floor where she had collapsed. There was still a matchbox hidden under her bed with the gleaming shine of her mother’s lost teeth, two canines and a molar. It was nice, having a piece of her mom to keep. Even if she left again, Sam would still have part of her.
Sam sighed, and turned away from the ocean. As she faced towards the low dunes further up the beach, she saw a sandcastle sitting nestled among them. It was such a strange sight that her eyes skipped over it at first, almost automatically, disregarding it because it was so out of place.
Sam found sandcastles out on the beach sometimes, usually half-collapsed and on the verge of being washed away by the waves, but she had never seen anything like the sandcastle in front of her. It was life-sized, something that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Scottish highlands, with spires shooting up above her head and carefully etched out bricks lining each side. The front wall was dominated by an arched set of double doors, twice her height, with a portcullis nestled at the top, ready to be dropped. All of it was lovingly detailed, down to the rust on the tips of the towers and the wood grain of the door. It was made out of wet, densely-packed sand, held together impossibly. It had not been there two hours ago, when she had come to the beach.
There was a bird sitting on the overhang of the door, small and black.
As soon as she took a step towards the sandcastle, the bird shook out its feathers and swooped down towards Sam, landing at her feet with a little stumble.
“Hey, kid, get out of here,” said the bird.
Sam closed her eyes, very deliberately. When she opened them, the bird was still there. Sam considered herself a very reasonable person, so she immediately drew the most logical conclusion. The bird was, she was almost certain, a demon.
“Trust me, you don’t want to run into Mr. Salty, the queen bitch himself,” the bird said.
“Mr. Salty?” Sam inquired, polite as she knew how to be. She edged to the side, trying to get a good angle to kick the bird like a soccer ball.
The bird did something similar to a wince, all its feathers fluffing up then settling back down. “Ah, don’t call him that. He’d turn you into a toad.”
The bird gestured with its head, towards the looming sand structure. “That’s his castle. He’s in there, probably scuttling along the ceiling or some shit because that’s the sort of weirdo he is.”
Sam nodded, encouraging. She pulled back her foot and lined up her shot, the way she’d seen athletes do on TV. She aimed right for its sharp beak and let loose. The bird saw it coming, its beady eyes widening, and it cawed in distress. It flapped away, avoiding her kick only to fall backward into the sand in a scramble of wings.
“What’s your fucking problem?” it squawked. “I was trying to help you!”
“I don’t need the help of a demon,” Sam yelled, trying to remember the exorcism that her mama had taught her once, because her mama believed in being prepared for anything.
“I’m not a demon,” the bird said indignantly.
It was at about that moment that Sam gave up and just decided to roll with it.
“What are you, then?” Sam asked.
The bird shuffled its clawed feet, looking about as awkward as it could, given that it didn’t really have recognizable facial expressions. “Technically I’m a familiar of the Erlking, prince of the fae, but I prefer to be called Hitch.”
“You can’t blame me for assuming, though,” Sam said. “Ravens do tend to be associated with murder.”
“Hey, excuse you,” Hitch said. “I’m a rook, not a raven. Ravens are way bigger.”
“Sure,” Sam said, not really paying attention. Her eyes had caught on the details of the sandcastle, and she was transfixed by the slow spirals of the sand, the strange beauty of it. She found herself stepping towards the great doors, lifting a hand to knock, and as she did, the sand warped in front of her eyes, heaving itself towards her with bulging slowness. The door creaked open before her, revealing a vast, empty room. Just before she stepped inside, she felt a piercing pain in her foot, and she yelped, leaping backwards.
Hitch pecked her again, really digging his beak in. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Sam glared at him, rubbing her foot. About to retort, she finally really took in the room inside the sandcastle, and her words died in her throat.
There was a body just past the threshold of the door, face down and limbs hanging limp at its sides. Long hair splayed out in a halo around its head.
“Don’t,” Hitch warned, suddenly serious. “Just leave, kid, I mean it. I’ve seen too many people go down this road and you don’t want to be one of them.”
Sam ignored him. She made her way across the beach, slipping with every step. The sand felt deeper, piling up around her feet in silent drifts. She picked up the nearest stick and poked the body with it through the door, ready to leap back if anything went wrong, staying firmly outside of the sandcastle.
This close, Sam could tell that it used to be a woman. Her head wasn’t attached to her body. It hadn’t been a clean amputation, either. Her upper body was bruised, with chunks taken out of it, and the bones in her neck hung mangled, not connected to anything.
“Well, I warned you,” Hitch said, defeated. “I did warn you.”
Sam nudged the head with the end of the stick, nudging it over so that she could see the face. Her mother stared back at her, torn to pieces, breath still wheezing from her lungs. She wasn’t blinking, just gazing forward with glazed eyes. Sweat dripped down from her hairline.
Sam screamed and dropped the stick, tripping over herself in her haste to get away.
Her mother’s eyes were wide and pleading, and she was mouthing desperate words at Sam. Her vocal cords were broken to bits, and the only sound that came out was a strained groan.
The head rolled, inching closer to Sam like a grotesque caterpillar.
Her mother gasped for air, torn lips fluttering. Finally, comprehensible words came out. “Help. Help me, daughter.”
“That’s not your mother,” Hitch said, quiet.
Sam knew that. Her mother was sleeping back at home, and anyways her mom had never asked for her help. She had an aversion to accepting charity, as she put it.
“Okay,” Sam said, shaking all over. “Okay.”
She backed away from the sandcastle, not looking away.
“Failure,” her mother hissed as she stepped away. “I never wanted a daughter like you.”
The sun came up over the horizon. The sandcastle, Hitch, and her mom all disintegrated into sand as the light hit them.
The beach, the next night, was almost exactly how I remembered it. The beams of our flashlights sent light bouncing across the dunes, illuminating the waves, and I imagined faces in the foam of the waves.
“I’ve been back here a hundred times. There’s nothing left,” I said.
Sam took the car key out of her purse and pointed it at the sand, adjusting the sword slung over her shoulder in order to do it. The key had belonged to Hitch; Sam had requested an item of his, and it was the only thing I had left. She rested the key on the sand and drew a circle around it, inscribing symbols around the borders.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Sam shrugged. “Not much, really. I’m…I guess you could say that I’m knocking.”
The key laid inert on the sand for long enough that I was just about to give up and go home, admit to myself that Hitch was dead and that I was a fool to believe that Sam could actually help me. Then a building started to take shape, flickering in and out like it was struggling to get away. With a pop of displaced air, the sandcastle settled into existence.
Sam banged on the entryway. Nothing happened. She did it again, harder, and scowled when the door still didn’t open.
“We demand entrance, under your honor,” Sam yelled. There was a hard rush of wind, and I gripped Sam’s arm to keep my balance, but the doors cracked open reluctantly.
The inside of the sandcastle consisted of one enormous hall, the roof arching up out of sight. Rafters crisscrossed from wall to wall, and a cobbled path led further into the building, but other than that, it was completely empty, except for the birds. There were thousands of them, perched on the rafters or hopping along the ground. They parted in front of Sam and I, and reformed behind us, leaving us in a small pocket of open space. They were all black-feathered, with sharp beaks and beady eyes.
The Erlking sat on a throne at the end of the hall, lounging across it with his feet up on the armrest. He watched them as they came forward, the soft caw of the birds the only sound.
“I am here to bargain for the life of my brother,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster, before the Erlking could say anything.
The Erlking ignored her, tilting his head to look at Sam. “I remember you. I almost got you, once.”

Sam glared at him but didn’t respond.
“You want your brother,” The Erlking said to me, and he almost sounded amused. “Then go get him.”
As if by some sort of silent signal, every bird in the room took flight at once, and their cawing made me think of screams. I covered my head against the flapping of their wings, and my vision was quickly obscured by the chaotic movement of them. I found myself on my knees, just trying to escape them.
A hand met my shoulder. Sam urged me to my feet, and together we ran for the edge of the room, where the swarm was the thinnest. We pressed ourselves into the corner and the swarm spiraled tighter and tighter at the center of the room. It went on until there seemed to be no differentiation between the birds, all of them fused together into one creature.
When the chaos died down, the birds had become one mass, with wings and eyes and talons sticking out of its flesh, thrashing and chirping. Human body parts stuck out of it, bulging out from the feathers. It was hands, mostly, with a couple knees or staring eyes. The bird amalgamation had no recognizable facial features, but there was one long beak extending from the front of its head. Most of the body parts were concentrated around the beak, and they peeked out from where the beak connected with muscle, or grew from the tongue, nestled between the two crushing halves of the beak.
It turned its beak down and crawled forward, using the hands to balance. The fingers scrambled over the ground. I was afraid of centipedes as a child, and I felt that same crawling dread when it started moving.
“Holy shit,” Sam whispered, which was rather disappointing, because I had been hoping that at least one of us knew what to do.
The creature turned, a lurching movement that crushed some of the hands underneath it, and started heaving itself slowly towards our corner.
“Better hurry up!” the Erlking called from his throne.
It was blocking the exit, by then. The shifting body of it had moved to block us off. It ambled towards us and I tried to sink further into the corner.
As it approached, getting close enough that I could smell the stink of it, I saw a flash of a tattoo on one of the hands. I leaned in, trying to find it again, like looking for dolphins surfacing in the ocean. And again, I caught a glimpse of a duck tattoo, the tattoo that Hitch had gotten on his hand as a teenager.
I ripped away from Sam’s death grip and ran for the monster.
I fell to my knees in front of it, wincing as I impacted the ground, and reached into the nest of hands. I could feel them tearing at my forearms and ripping into me with their sharp nails, but I kept going. I pressed further in, up to my shoulder in a writhing mass of limbs, aiming for the spot where I had last seen that tattoo.
The hands were tugging at me, wrapping around my back and hair. They were pulling together, trying to draw me completely into the mass of them. I was aware of Sam at my side, anchoring me in place and bashing any hand that got too close with her sword or the sparks that leapt from her hands with muttered words. But I didn’t think it would be enough. They were too strong, and there were too many of them.
I was up to my waist in the hands when something grabbed my palm. I felt the way it clung to me, and the calluses on its palm, and I knew that I had found my brother.
I flung herself back. The hands didn’t want to let me go, and they fought the whole way, but slowly, I made progress. I kept hold of Hitch’s hand in mine the whole time, gripping it as hard as I could. I finally broke free, Hitch with me, and Sam was immediately charging the creature, able to use her sword with much greater strength without being worried about injuring Hitch. She swung it forward, and it sliced through the wrist of one of the hands. It fell without a sound, red sand flowing out of it. It deflated until it looked like dirty laundry, just a piece of limp flesh. The creature shrieked, scuttling away enough that the door was finally accessible. The three of us ran for it, Sam and I supporting Hitch between us.
I looked back as I left and found the Erlking staring right at me.
“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice carrying impossibly across the vast space between us.
The sandcastle collapsed behind us, the great walls falling in on themselves. We were out in the morning sun, the sandcastle disappearing as we watched. Hitch was on the ground in front of me, as young as he’d been thirty years ago, when he was captured. He started laughing, feathers puffing out of his mouth. He laughed until he cried and I hugged him in the way that he’d held me when I was young, in the times when my life had been defined by hunger and fear.
Hitch left, afterwards. He scratched at the pinhole scars covering his body, where feathers burst through his skin, and pulled his long sleeves down around his wrists. He didn’t know where he was going but he told me that he needed time
I had spent thirty years worth of time without him. I wanted to grab my brother by the shoulders and beg him to stay. But he flinched when I hugged him goodbye and he refused to go near sand and he stared distrustfully at the birds chirping in the trees. Hitch needed to go away and I loved him too much to stop him.
I sat out on the beach every morning. I felt the sun on my face and I waited for Hitch to come home.

List of shows with teens and young adults that I have seen. Any genre (romance, drama, thriller, sci-fi, horror, suspense, etc) I know there are more. If your fave isn’t on the list, comment it below so I can watch it and then add it.
-Mixte 1963 -Baby -Skins -Rebelde (2004) -The summer I turned pretty -Gossip girl -Skam -Derry girls -Euphoria -Freaks and geeks -That 70s show -Heartbreak high -chilling adventures of Sabrina -Riverdale -Teen wolf -H2O -Yellow jackets -Outer banks -13 reasons why -Looking for Alaska -On my block -The vampire diaries -Degrassi -Pretty little liars -Shadow and bone -Ginny and Georgia -Gen V -School spirits -The 100 -Z nation -Dead boy detective -Hilda furacão -Stranger things -Young Sheldon -Shameless -The umbrella academy -Legacies -The originals -The Witcher -Santa Clarita diet -Cobra Kai -Locke and key -Breaking bad -One piece -Alice in borderland -All of us are dead -The queens gambit -Wednesday -Sweet home -My name -The end of the fucking world -Half bad the bastard son & the devil himself (only one season) -Alchemy of souls -Reply 1988 -It’s okay to not be okay -Hello my twenties -Twin peaks -Girl from nowhere -Good bye earth -the girl in the mirror -the glory -marianne -maid -all the light we cannot see -juvenile Justice -devil in Ohio -From -cherry -ms marvel -Hawkeye -game of thrones -house of the dragon
I’ll update the list when I watch something new or remember more.

Hi everyone,
I’m a queens class of 2022 grad and currently in the process of applying to med schools in Canada and in the States.
As AMCAS only accept electronic transcripts from either accredited registrars or through 3rd parties (Parchment or National Student Clearinghouse), do we know if Queens is an accredited registrar or use the 3rd party softwares.
Thanks a ton

Hi everyone! After receiving offers of admissions this past week and going through each school I have narrowed my decision down to Queen’s or UofT! I completed my undergrad at Queen’s and am thus familiar with the school itself but was wondering if anyone had any insights in each of the programs and any recommendations!

Okay this is old af and irrelevant tbh but, i know a highschool friend of addison rae and she said addison used to be the most wanna be popular girl, like the kind you see in movies who is popular and just lives for it. And apparently during prom coronation she was one of the people who could be prom queen, so when they announced it, she started walking up and smiling…. But they called someone elses name. Like she didnt even listen she just assumed it was her. Said the school had second hand embarrassment. Idk just thought it was funny cause its like a scene in a coming of age movie lol

Proof Picture
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Howdy! Before getting into todays sale, I want to briefly address the ongoing security concerns with the current scam.

1. I will never disclose my password to anyone.
2. Not only does my reddit account have 2FA, all my emails associated have 2FA. In general, every account I possess, has 2FA.
3. I will never accept Crypto for any reason.
4. And lastly, just take precaution. Always ask for proof pictures, check the Ban List, middlemen are worth every penny for the protection it provides to both parties.

Now for todays sale, finally back for another sale. Most groups have a picture with all the items together to better organize my post. I apologize for the lengthy post.
Buy with Confidence! Every applicable item is Sigma Verified!
Prices are based on Kitco Ask.
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Gold (Items in this lot)
Pending 10 Gram Gold Bar Koi Fish Imperfect - $776 SPOT
5 Gram Gold PAMP Lakshmi - $650
5 Gram Gold PAMP in Assay - $395 Each (6 available)
5 Gram Gold Engelhard #1 - $465
5 Gram Gold Engelhard #2 (Small Copper Spot) - $460
Pending 2.5 Gram Gold PAMP in Assay (Protective film is off) - $202
2.5 Gram Gold Credit Suisse in Assay - $215
2020 1/4 OZ Gold Australia Marlin - $610
Pending 1984 1/10 Oz Gold Krugerrand - $250
Pending 1988 1/10 Oz Proof American Gold Eagle (Coin in capsule only) - $270
2020 1/10 Oz Gold Canada Bald Eagle Sealed - $251 Each (7 available)
2014 1/10 Oz Proof American Gold Eagle NGC PF 70 Ultra Cameo Angela M. Buchanan SIgned - $350
2018 1/10 Oz Proof American Gold Eagle NGC PF 70 Ultra Cameo John M. Mercanti Signed - $350
1989 1/4 Gold Panda in Black Onyx,14K Gold Bezel at Below MELT - $719 (1/4 Oz Gold Panda. Bezel is about 3.3 Grams of 14k Gold)(Melt is around $752)
1985 1/20 Oz Gold Panda - $129 Each (15 available)
1993 Australian Nugget (Kangaroo) 1/20 Oz Gold - $128
2023 1/20 Oz Gold Year of the Rabbit - $150
1990 1/20 Oz Gold Kangaroo - $126
Pending Mexico Dos Pesos Gold - $129
1911 $5 Gold Indian - $615
Geiger Club Set (1 Gram Gold and 1/2 Oz Silver) Set Number 234 - $145
World's Smallest Gold Coins, Statue of Liberty (.5 Grams of 14k Gold) - $37
World's Smallest Gold Coins, Krugerrand toned (.5 Grams of 14k Gold) - $37 Each (2 available)
World's Smallest Gold Coins, Abraham Lincoln (.5 Grams of 14k Gold) - $37
Pending World's Smallest Gold Coins, Rembrandt van Rijn (.5 Grams of 14k Gold) - $37
Pending .10 Gram Gold KaratPay - $15 Each (11 available)
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Bullion Silver (Items in this lot)
Silver Dragon Laser Engraved .999 Fine (898 Grams) (Unmarked but Sigma Tested) #1 Under Spot! - $880 ($30.50/Ozt)
Silver Dragon Laser Engraved .999 Fine (981 Grams) (Unmarked but Sigma Tested) #2 Under Spot! - $961 ($30.50/Ozt)
4 Ozt Silver Gilded Round in Capsule - $122 (SPOT)
5 Oz Silver Alexander the Great - $156 Each (Below Spot!) (8 available)(Some have had their plastic broken)
22 Troy Ounce Ironman Silver Helmet by Pit Bullion Bellow Melt - $682 ($31/Ozt)(Below Spot)
2018 5 Oz Proof Libertad (Capsule is scruffy) - $235
2 Oz Silver Privateer High Relief "The Captain" - $68
Pending 2009 5 Oz BU Silver Libertad - $195
Generic Silver Pours (Unmarked but Sigma Tested) Below Spot at $30.50/Ozt - $96.25 for the 3.16 Ozt one and $102 for the 3.345 Ozt one.
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Poured Silver (Items in this lot)
5 Ozt Hayleybug Silver Puck - $165
3.92 Ozt Silver Gun Pour - $$119.50 ($30/Ozt)(Under Spot)
Wild Pig 2 Ozt Silver Octopus - $68
Hayleybug 1 Ozt Silver Pour Design #1 - $36
Hayleybug 1 Ozt Silver Pour Design #2 - $36
Hayleybug 1 Ozt Silver Pour Design #3 - $36
Hayleybug 1/2 Oz Silver Pour - $18
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Government/Sovereign Minted Silver Rounds (Items in this lot)
2022 1 Oz Libertad in Fabulous 15 Holder (Milky) - $35 Each (3 available)
Pending 2016 1 Oz Silver Kookaburra Monkey Privy - $33
Pending 2022 1 Ozt Silver Phoenix (Cracked Capsule) - $32
Pending 1986 Proof Silver Eagle Capsule and Velvet Case only - $52
2019 1 Oz Proof Krugerrand - $44 (Milky)
All Pending Proof Silver Eagles all with Box and COA - $49 Each
Years available (1) 2001, (2) 2002, (2) 2003, (2) 2004, (1) 2005, (1) 2006, (1) 2014
2021 1 Oz Silver Swan - $33
2012 1 OZ Year of the Dragon (minor toning) - $48
2020 1 OZ Australia 1 Dollar - $32
2001 Silver Eagle "9/11" Colorized - $31.50
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Silver Bars (Items in this lot)
1 Oz Silver Shitters Full - $44
2022 3 Oz 40th Anniversary Libertad Bar - $225 (2 Oz Silver Bar with a 1 Oz Libertad inside)
10 Gram Silver Geiger in Assay - $17 Each (2 available)
1 Oz PAMP "Am Yisrael Chai!" - $95
5 Gram Geiger Silver in Assay - $11
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Fractional Silver
All Pending 1 Gram Silver MPM Fish - $1.50 Each (70 available)
1/10 Silver Medjugorje Queen of Peace - $3.50 Each (69 available)
1 Gram Silver - $1.50 Each (500 available)
1/10 Oz Silver Morgan Rounds (Milky) - $3.50 Each (3 avaialble)
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1 Oz Silver Rounds (Items in this lot)
Pending Worlds Wildlife "The Bear" 1 Oz - $32
1 Oz Silver Vikings in Capsule - $31.50 Each (1 available)
2024 Samoa Year of the Dragon with Black Rhodium Plating Coin - $55
1 Oz Generics - $31 Each (9 available)(Under Spot)
2 Pending 1 Oz Engelhard Rounds - $33 Each (5 available)
1 Oz New Aztec Calendar Design #1 - $32 Each (6 available)
1 Oz New Aztec Calendar Design #2 - $32 Each (10 available)
2022 Liberty 1 Oz (Norfed Type)(Milky) - $32.50 Each (7 available)
1 Oz Silver John Wick Round - $31.50
Pending 1 Oz African Wildlife "The Giraffe" Proof - $32 (Minor Milk)
1 Oz Silver "Connect #6" - $32
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90% Silver (Items in this lot)
1999-2020 Silver Proof Quarter Sets - $695 about $25 Per FV (22 individual lenses, 111 silver proof quarters. Includes 1999-2009 Statehood and US Territories, 2010-2020 America the Beautiful. (2019/2020 quarters are .999 fine and 1999-2018 are .90 fine)
90% Silver Proof Quarters in Lenses (Some toned) - $29 Each Lens (8 available)
$3 FV Lot of 90% Silver - $70 for the Lot
90% Silver Proof Dimes (Slight Milk) - $2.30 Each (4 available)
90% Silver Roosevelt Dimes - $2.15 Each ($20 FV available)(Slightly under melt)
90% Silver Proof Quarters (Slight Milk) - $5.75 Each (3 available)
.999 2022 Silver Proof Quarters - $9 Each (2 available)
90% Silver Proof Kennedy (Slight Milk) - $11.50 Each (2 available)
90% Silver Kennedy Half Dollars - $11.37 Each (10 available)
40% Silver Kennedy Half Dollars Under Melt - $4.25 Each (24 available)
3 Pending Peace Dollars - $25.50 Each (6 available)
Pending Peace Dollar Key Chain - $27
1934 S Peace Dollar #1 - $29
1934 S Peace Dollar #2 - $29
Pending 1926 S Peace Dollar - $29
Pending 1904 O Morgan Silver Dollar - $33
1991 USO 90% Silver Dollar Proof with Box and COA (Slight Milk) - $24 Each (2 available)
2001 US Capital Silver Dollar Proof with Box and COA - $24
1995 Civil War Battlefield Silver Dollar and Clad Half Dollar - $26
1991 Mount Rushmore 90% Silver Dollar and Clad Half Dollar (Milky) - $24
1990 Prestige Proof Set - $27
1999 Silver Proof Set With Box and COA (Slight Milk) - $44 Each (2 avaialble)
1962 Proof Set (Some are loose) - $22
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Slabs (Items in this lot)
1986-2005 Proof Silver Eagle Set (20 Coins/Slabs) All Graded by NGC as PF 69 Ultra Cameo! - $1,325 for set, includes NGC Slab Box.
2018 Australia 1 Oz Kookaburra Dog Privy PCGS MS 70 - $69
2021 S PCGS MS 70 Silver Eagle - $44
2021 PCGS MS 70 Silver Eagle (Last Production) - $44
2006 W Proof Silver Eagle NGC PF 69 Imperfect - $54
2023 Dragons of the World 1 Oz Egyptian Dragon NGC MS 70 Antiqued - $110 (Thick Slab)
2021 The Red Flag Fleet Ching Shih NGC MS 70 - $50
2019 South Korea Silver Proof Medal NGC PF 70 Ultra Cameo - $78 (Minor Milk on reverse)
2018 W Silver Eagle NGC MS 70 Mercanti - $
1995 1 Oz American Silver Eagle MS 69 ANACS - $37
2011 Great Britain S5PND Olympics Countdown NGC PF 69 Ultra Cameo - $39
1986 S Proof Silver Eagle PCGS PR 69 DCAM - $75
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Copper
1 Oz Copper Will Myers - $2
5 Ozt WildPig Copper Poured Bar - $14 Each
2.21 Ozt WildPig Copper Poured Bar - $10 Each
WildPig Copper Fossil Round - $8.5 Each (4 available)(Weights Range from 45-49 Grams Each)
WildPig Copper Frankenstein Round - $6 Each (7 available)(Weights Range from 24-29 Grams Each)
1 Oz Copper Bar - $1.50
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Random Items (Last 4 are NSFW)(Items in this lot)
2022 1 Gram Platinum Panda in OGP - $77
1 Gram PAMP Platinum - $42
Sterling Silver, "The Virgin of the Rocks" Gold Gilded - $61 (Melt, 65.60 Grams)
2 Oz Silver Revolver - $195
Pending 2 Oz Silver Doggaebi - $74
Pending 2 Oz Silver Doggaebi (Cracked Capsule) - $68
Pending 2 Oz Silver Michelangelo's Eyes - $75
Both Pending 2 Oz Silver South Korea Shield of St Michael - $88 Each (2 available)
Sterling Silver - Wild Pig Pours Modern Solid Cuff Bracelet - 77.7 Grams - $85 (Melt is around $72)
Lockermint 1 Oz Holiday Wenches Colorized Sealed - $85
Lockermint 1 Oz Locker Wenches - $
CMG Mint 1/10 Oz Silver Bar "Happy Birthday" NSFW - $10 Each (3 available)
St Louis Mint 1/10 Oz Silver Bar "Jasmine" NSFW - $10 Each (3 available)
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Shipping
Shipping ranges from $5-$6.50 for Ground Advantage. Heavier packages can ship ground advantage or Priority Mail for $9. Insurance can be added upon buyer request. I pack securely with bubble wrap and other packing materials. Packages go out within two days, Monday through Sunday. It usually takes 1-2 days for USPS to scan packages.
Priority Mail Express/UPS are also available.
Payment
I accept PPFF, Venmo, Cash App and Zelle to a certain extent.
Miscellaneous
Feel free to let me know if you have any questions. And as always, I try my best to be competitive on prices. Thats the point of buying from the community. So if any of my prices are off, please let me know.
Best, Gabe

<>
/uw hi! this is my first (and probably not only?) lorepost as Monarch! this is mainly gonna be written in the third person, so out of character, and with bits of dialogue. enjoy! /rw
Monarch was born into royalty. The royal family of Cascadia, to be exact. His mother and father were kind people, and harsh but fair rulers. Together, they ruled over all of Cascadia, commanding armies, ruling their people, and taking care of Monarch, their only son. For 17 years, all was peaceful.
Until the Federation, a global superpower, began using Cascadian resources to wage war on their enemies. The rulers didn't like this, so they attempted to withdraw from the Federation, rescinding their membership. And when the people heard of this....
Suddenly, Monarch, a young adult, still technically a child, was escorted from the castle, the place he had been all his life, to go to an unknown, secure place. As he was rushed from the castle, an explosion went off behind as planes had begun to fly overhead. One message was clear; The monarchy was dead. A civil war had begun.
Monarch was thrust into a world he knew nothing about: a war he knew nothing about. So he ran. Ran like hell, until the world stopped spinning and he was away from the chaos. He ran from the people meant to protect him, trusting nobody. All he knew was that he was in danger, his parents were dead; and he. wanted. vengance.
The war waged on for several years, but only quietly. The anti-Federation forces struggled against the global superpower, and their pro-Federation forces: people who used to be part of Cascadia. The traitors. Monarch, in the meantime, was training. He was going to be a pilot. A fighter. However, he failed out of flight school, for "taking too many unnecessary risks". He, personally, disagreed. He thought it was funny.
However, in his time at the flight school, he was noticed by someone. A man named Arnold Frenken, going by the callsign Kaiser. He was the leader of a mercenary group, and he liked how Monarch flew. Monarch agreed to join this merc group, one named Sicario. In the beginning of his time at Sicario, he proved himself to everyone by out-killing them on his FIRST CONTRACT.
After this contract, he was put in a group with three others: A girl with the callsign Prez; real name Robin; who was assigned as Monarch's co-pilot. She was the only co-pilot able to keep up with the insane g-forces Monarch consistently put himself through. A boy, callsign Diplomat, more often called Dip; real name Peter. He was assigned as one of Monarch's wingmen, Hitman 2. He was the son of a political ally of the king and queen; one who died in the same castle bombing as Monarch's parents. He was a good pilot, and was in the Cascadian Air Force before deserting at the same time as the next member of Hitman Squad. Another girl, callsign Comic; real name Evelyn. Another former Air Force member, having been discharged, then picked up by Kaiser at the same time as Monarch and Dip. All together, they were known as Hitman Squadron. They were the best that the Sicario group had, and sent on high-value missions.
During all this, Monarch slowly began being referred to by others as "the King of the Sky." This all culminated in his callsign being given to him, not created by him: "Monarch." It helped that he had.... somewhat of a collection of butterflies. He had always liked them... so had his mother.
One day, after a contract, Sicario was contacted by the anti-Federation forces. They needed help, and they were willing to pay. The war had settled for around 2 years, each side seemingly building up resources for a large clash that hadn't come. But the message was clear. It was time.
The war began. Sicario was sent first to reclaim parts of the country, then destroy certain parts of Federation infrastructure. Until their sixth mission. It seemed like a normal mission, and the objectives were completed by Hitman Squadron. Until the Peacekeepers arrived. The Peacekeepers were the Federation's best air fighters, only deployed to contain major threats. The squadron was the infamous Crimson squad: the best pilots that the Federation had. As all the other Cascadian forces retreated in a panic, Monarch realized something. This was the squadron that bombed the castle. This was the squadron that killed his parents.
Monarch, despite the warnings from his squad members, Sicario's leader, and even his co-pilot Prez, charged them. Despite taking some hits, and flying slightly sloppily due to the pure rage he was in, managed to shoot down one of the Crimson members, leading to their hasty retreat. As Monarch and Prez landed at the base and stepped out of the plane, they were met with nothing but silent, incredulous looks.
The war waged on. Monarch knew his target. He just waited. Kept carrying out missions. Until they got their biggest one yet. Over the Bering Strait, the biggest air battle in history was about to take place. A purely air-to-air combat scenario. This was to decide who had the best air force, and who won the war by extension. Hitman flew into the area, seeing nothing but planes, missiles, and smoke. They flew into combat, and the communications array lit up as both enemy and friendly comms could be heard.
Allied Pilot: We got new mercenary IFFs in the area, who do we got? Allied Pilot: Positive contact, looks like Sicario's here! Allied Pilot: Yeah, well, the only team worth a damn is Hitman! Federation Pilot: Watch it, those pilots that the Peacekeepers keep talking about are here. Federation Pilot: That asshole with the Crown with them? Allied Pilot: Their flight lead is worth every cent we’re paying him, look at him. Allied Pilot: I didn’t think mercenaries like that were around anymore, not after Oceania. Federation Pilot: Taking on a king in a battle royale, just our luck.
They knew who he was. They ALL knew who he was. Or at least... they knew his callsign. They didn't know that behind that visor, that pilot's helmet, was the rightful prince of Cascadia. More chatter was heard.
Allied Pilot: “Monarch?” Hell of a TAC name. Allied Pilot: Self-proclaimed? Sicario Pilot: Entire kingdoms are founded by people like him. Allied Pilot: He’s still a merc. Mercenary Pilot: Not every king is just.
They couldn't know. He could trust nobody but those who already knew.
Federation Pilot: Put a crosshair on that Crown, we take out the king and the rest will fall!
Federation Pilot: That flight being led by the Crown, those are the ones who got away from Crimson. Federation Pilot: We’ll show those blowhards what a salt-of-the-earth pilot can do.
They... They thought he was the leader of the rebellion. The figurehead. The king. As he shot more and more down, he smiled. In the midst of the pure chaos that was this air combat, he felt calm.
AWACS Galaxy: We’ve got inbound, pop-up bandit group at bearing 230, looks like they pulled back for one last push, there's a lot of them. AWACS Galaxy: IFF confirmed, Federation Peacekeeping Squadron Crimson identified with more reinforcements, this is it! Hitman 2 Diplomat: Ah shit...
Crimson 1: Crimson Squadron, ready the MLAAs, we’re putting an end to this party. Crimson Pilot: Looks like it’s those mercenaries, think they might turn tail and run again? Crimson 1: Not this time, open fire.
And as he heard Crimson Team arrive, he was enraged as before. And he did something he never had before, at least while flying; he spoke. Just one word.
Monarch: <>
And combat began. Monarch ended up shooting down half of Crimson team before they retreated, and he was still tempted to follow them. He was only calmed down when he noticed something: All of the friendly pilots had formed up on him. They were all following him. It was a sign of... respect.
Perhaps he was more of a leader than he thought.
The war waged on.
And then the capitol of Cascadia, it's pride and joy, Presidia, was hit with a nuclear bomb that set off cordium in the ground, causing a cataclysmic event and turning the land into a fiery hellscape. Despite this, Monarch and the rest of Sicario survived, shooting down many along the way. Encountering Crimson Team one final time. Shooting them all down. Until it was time for one final battle. And in the middle of this final battle, this climax to the war...
A ceasefire. The war was over. Cascadia and the Federation were.... stopping? Just like that? Monarch was... angry. His parents died for THIS? Despite this boiling rage.... Monarch accepted it. But someone else... someone else had not.
A sudden explosion. Presidia was turned into a fiery crater in an instant. A bomb, a nuclear bomb, had gone off. No. It had been set off. By HIM. Crimson 1. Monarch's rival, his Federation counterpart. One final duel. No wingmen, no reinforcements, nothing. Just Monarch, his trusted co-pilot Prez, and Crimson.
Hitman 1 WSO Prez: I don't know if I can do this, Monarch...I'm braced...
Prez was scared. Monarch knew that. But this was no time to run. He needed this fight.
<>
Crimson 1: You're a slave to history, Crimson 1: even after Calamity, you fight against the only order that can guarantee the safety of your people, Crimson 1: you solely are responsible for this.
Monarch absorbed every word Crimson said. But he didn't care. It was time to gun down the man who caused this. Who destroyed his country. Who killed his parents.
Crimson 1: What do you have to show for yourself, merc, blood? Gold? A broken throne?^\note 1]) Crimson 1: I will bury you so completely, the earth will turn over a thousand times before your body is dug up.
Shut up.
Crimson 1: You can't run, you can't hide, you made this decision long ago, you can't back out of this deal!
Shut up.
Crimson 1: I'm Cascadian, you think I take joy fighting over my homeland, killing my own countrymen?![^\note 2])](https://projectwingman.fandom.com/wiki/Transcript:Kings#cite_note-note2-2) Crimson 1: If you never showed up, I never would have lost all that I have!

SHUT UP.

They flew, firing at each other, Monarch putting himself and Prez through extreme g-forces to keep up with the former Peacekeeper, who was in some sort of experimental aircraft. But eventually, he landed enough hits to make Crimson speak again.
Hitman 1 WSO Prez: [grunts] God-[grunts] Monarch...I can't keep up...I can't...I can't...
Hitman 1 WSO Prez: I'm...sorry... [thud]
Prez was down. Monarch knew that. Whether she was passed out from the g-forces, or.....
Best not to think the worst. He would win this. For her.
Crimson 1: Me and you now. No distractions, no wingmen, no war, just me and you, whoever wins is the best pilot. Crimson 1: Every safety's coming off, no second chances.
No second chances. Kill him.
Crimson 1: "Monarch," you use the name of a king, but what do you rule over, the dead?! The Federation fought for peace in this war and you denied them that! Crimson 1: The people of Cascadia, do you know what you've taken from them?! Their homes! And for what, to secede from the world?! What, you think you can fight this war again in 50 years' time, do you really think history will see it your way?! Crimson 1: You don't even care why you're here!
To avenge him. Her. His people.
Crimson 1: How does it feel to not have a country, to not have borders to define yourself against the world?
This WAS his country. His borders. His people.
Crimson 1: The Calamity erased mankind once, our chance to start again, this is how you've dealt with it?!
Silence. Monarch still offered no response. Crimson was getting angrier and angrier. Let him slip up. Then strike.
Crimson 1: You drove me to this...this death and destruction over the Federation, millions of lives lost... [sighs] So many ghosts... Kill me...or be killed!

Kill. Kill. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. Kill.

Monarch kept flying. He needed to do this. End this. Reclaim his country.
Crimson 1: This is my home!
His as well.
Crimson 1: Here we are, fighting for Cascadia's soul. Crimson 1: That's the deal you made, right?
Cascadia's soul was rightfully his. He was the pri- no. Monarch was the king. It's just that nobody knew it yet.
Crimson 1: What happens when you shoot me down?! Can you even think?! What will you return to?! Where will you go?! We both know how this ends!
What... would happen? Would he rule? Reclaim? or simply... fade away?
Crimson 1: Kill me, kill me and see what happens to this world! Crimson 1: Either way, your life ends today! Crimson 1: And my squadron, do you think they deserved it?!
And Monarch spoke his first, and only words of the fight. Not to Crimson, but to himself: <>
Crimson 1: The Federation might try to forget about you, but I won't, this is for the good of the world, Crimson 1: die, mercenary!
But it wouldn't be Monarch dying that day.
Crimson 1: No...no, not yet!
It was time.
Crimson 1: God damn it, Crimson 1: come on, I've almost got him!
The truth was there.
Crimson 1: [panting and angry screaming]
They were both incredible pilots, fighting until the bitter end.
Crimson 1: Come on, come in for that kill, you dog!
But Monarch was simply....
Crimson 1: God damn! [coughs]
Better.
System: Hostile Eliminated.

Crimson 1 was shot down.

Crimson 1: Monarch, when you hear the thunder...
<<...?>> Crimson 1: ...when the storm...comes for you...
<<...>> Crimson 1: ...remember me.
<<....I will.>>
And as Crimson went down, Monarch flew away, towards the others. And as he landed, he got Prez out of her seat, praying she woke up. And as she did, they hugged tight.
Both of them sat for a moment, before the plane's communication systems crackled back to life.
Hitman 3 Comic: Transmitting a beacon. Dust Mother, he better pick this up...
Assassin 1 Kaiser: They had to take this from us! We'll burn them all, we’ll burn down the Federation!
Hitman 2 Diplomat: Eve? Eve!
Hitman 3 Comic: [gasps] Hey, I’m over here! Hell's bells, I was about three seconds away from putting a bullet in you!
Hitman 2 Diplomat: It's alright, I probably deserved it at some point, are you good to move?
Hitman 3 Comic: Yeah, yeah. It's all gone to hell, the world is about to be remade.
Hitman 2 Diplomat: We're finished here, we gotta disappear for a bit, I don't want to get caught up in what's coming.
Hitman 3 Comic: What about what we're owed?
Hitman 2 Diplomat: Monarch will collect.
Monarch: <>
They traced Monarch and Prez to the plane, and all of Hitman squad simply.... sat.
Monarch: <>

Later....

Cascadia was whole again. As the world worked together to rebuild the destroyed lands, they all promised that never again would another war of this scale be allowed to happen. Of course, there were still rebellious groups. Groups that needed mercenaries to clear those rebellious groups out. And Monarch was thrust into the world's light, as not only the son of the former King and Queen of Cascadia, but the killer of Crimson 1.
However, instead of becoming a king, he created a council. A council of those he trusted, his "family". The ones who would hold power over certain parts of the country. But he never truly lost his lust for the air, for adrenaline. So he gave power of the country to them, and.... simply went back to being the best mercenary the world had ever seen.
Until the Pilot rolled around. Or, more aptly: flew around. He was from another universe, one that supposedly had... wizards? Magic? Of course, Monarch was intrigued. This "Pilot" man also seemed to... know who Monarch and Prez were, and specifically asked for them. So he followed.
<>
*Monarch stands, and walks away.*
/uw HOLY SHIT! This might be the longest thing i've ever written, at more than 8 PAGES. This took me like 2 and a half hours. hope you enjoyed!

Saint young men HC vol 1-3 36$ 

Uzumaki Junji ito singles vol 1-3 (Complete) 50$ (Check condition)