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Unfinished - Part One: Love is Like Ghosts

A/N: Happy Spooky Season, friends! This story has been marinating in my brain for the last few months, and I am super excited to share it with you. It's my first stab at something truly spooky, and though this part is mostly set up, the next few should hopefully bring the scares. If anyone is curious about the inspiration for this story, please please please feel free to ask because I have LOADS to say about it! I hope you guys enjoy my ghosties!

*Chapter title comes from Love Like Ghosts by Lord Huron*

Warnings: death, illness, murder, infidelity (not Reader and Marcus) mention of loss of parent, language

Word Count: 4,723

Summary: Maplewood Manor has a long history, not all of it pleasant, and not all of it known. You and Marcus also have a long history, and when you reunite for a few days, both of those long histories become intertwined.

Maplewood Manor - October 30, 1868

Henry Ashford stood at the window of his wife’s sickroom with a decision to make. 

His hands gripped the wood that framed the panes of glass as he watched three bright orange leaves swirl through the chilly autumn air on their way to the ground. Ever since he was a child he had been fascinated by the colorful display of the changing fall foliage, the leaves seemingly celebrating their own impending demise by turning as bright and beautiful as they could before departing from the branches they were born to. Once they’d fallen, he would traipse through the grounds in search of the right one - one with perfectly shaped edges or the most vivid golden hue. Bringing it back inside he would take it to his mother, the woman pressing it under glass to preserve it through the colorless winter. Henry would hang the glass encased leaf in his window like a suncatcher, marveling at the ghost of autumn he’d captured until Spring came again with its buds and blossoms. And then the leaf would be discarded, the glass awaiting its next specimen until he outgrew the childish hobby. 

Or perhaps outgrew was the wrong word for it. The fascination with preserving the beauty of things that had died stuck with him, stoked and fed by his father’s work in the burgeoning field of photographic technology. James Ashford was the owner of the largest camera company on the East coast, and the invention of the daguerreotype took his sales to new levels, solidifying the Ashford fortune for generations to come. At the same time it solidified Henry’s interest in a new method of preservation - postmortem photography. 

It was a strange thing for a young man to be interested in, and as such, Henry himself was regarded as a bit strange. Nevertheless when the time came to marry, a suitable match was made for him in the form of Eliza Cutwright, the daughter of a wealthy banker from Philadelphia. It was not a marriage of romance, nor was it one of shared interests. Though she was wed to one of the most influential men in the photography industry, Eliza preferred the majesty of oil based portraits and pencil sketches to the cold reality of anything caught by a camera lens. It was rendition, interpretation, that she found fascinating - the way an artist would paint their version of the truth, the world as it was through their eyes, with emotion and passion. Not the scientific chemical process of taking and developing photos. 

The Ashfords though, like any respectable family of the time, functioned as they were meant to. They hosted and attended high society events, Eliza playing the role of the ever-devoted wife, always a smile on her face, her arm always linked with Henry’s while they laughed and hobnobbed with investors and socialites. They had two children - a son, Edwin, and a daughter, Josephine - ensuring that their family legacy would live on for future generations. On paper, Henry and Eliza Ashford were an enviable couple. 

Behind closed doors though, they hardly had anything to do with one another. Each year that passed seemed to widen the gap between their mindsets, every bit of growth that Henry’s company saw driving Eliza further into her love of the traditional arts. He spent more and more time in their townhome in the city, giving the excuse that he was busy with running his father’s company and leaving Eliza on her own at Maplewood, only returning when decorum called for it. It kept both of them happier and made it easier for Henry to stomach his wife’s obsession with fighting against modernity. 

In turn, Eliza felt freer in her husband’s absence to commission artwork for their home, to visit galleries and meet with artists. In the Spring of 1868, while at tea with a friend, she was reacquainted with one of the first artists she had ever met - Calvin Harper. 

Cal was the son of the artist that Eliza’s parents had commissioned to create both individual and family portraits of the Cutwrights, and he would tag along with his father when he came for sessions. While the rest of Eliza’s family had their turns sitting for Cal’s father, she and the boy, roughly the same age, would play in the gardens or else in one of the house’s many rooms. The only time Cal would be at his father’s side, watching each painstaking stroke of the brush, was when Eliza was his subject. Mr. Harper would later credit Eliza for Calvin’s interest in art. Their friendship, though not one of equal social status, was allowed to continue even after Cal’s father had completed his work, but it was terminated the minute Eliza was betrothed to Henry. It wasn’t proper for a married woman to keep company with bachelors. 

Especially bachelors that same married woman had always harbored affection for. 

But when she saw a piece hanging in her friend Grace Felton’s parlor, the same movement and light present in every brushstroke and the familiar C.H. signature in the corner, she knew at once that it was Cal’s work. Grace had purchased some of his paintings and had taken his information so that she could hire him to do portrait work. At Eliza’s request, she put the two old friends back in touch, and though it had been nearly a decade since they’d seen each other last, nothing had changed between them. Their friendship was rekindled as though it had never been dampened, Eliza inviting Cal to Maplewood and commissioning him for the same work that her father had hired his for. 

He started with portraits of Edwin and Josephine, the children taking an instant shine to their mother’s childhood friend, running to greet him when he arrived, stuffing little bouquets of wildflowers or interestingly shaped rocks into his hand as gifts. Josephine had even made him a drawing, once, the girl beaming as he heaped praise upon it. He reciprocated with sweets and the occasional small toy. By the time both of their portraits were finished, Cal had himself two little shadows that sat and watched in awe as he painted, just as he used to watch his father. The way that they interacted only made Eliza’s heart grow more fond of him, and he more so of her. She began to imagine what it would have been like had she and Cal never been separated, daydreaming a life where they’d been together the entire time, where Edwin and Josephine were his and the four of them were a family. Where she’d never met Henry Ashford and never had to pretend to be anyone other than who Cal Harper knew her to be. 

The affair seemed inevitable, largely because neither party did anything at all to stop it. It began while Eliza sat for her portrait, the little willpower that either of them had to keep things plutonic vanishing entirely once Cal’s eyes studied every detail of her face, once she watched the lick of his tongue against his lips as he concentrated. They were careful not to let the maid or the butler see, and they never shared more than a brief embrace in front of the children, not wanting to drag any of them into things should Henry arrive home unannounced. But during the week or so that Cal stayed at Maplewood while he worked on a painting of the house and grounds, he and Eliza took every chance they could to slip away to the meadow at the edge of the property, or else up and away into one of the many spare rooms. 

The one that ended up being the last room either of them ever set foot in, actually. The room that eventually became Eliza Ashford’s sickroom. 

Just as the affair itself seemed imminent, so too was Henry catching wise to it. He met Cal on a visit back home, the artist taking the opportunity to start Henry’s individual portrait while he was available, setting Eliza’s aside to finish once he was gone again. Nothing happened then to tip him off about what happened while he was away, the two men saying very little to one another but remaining civil. Despite his affinity for photography, Henry was actually quite pleased with the outcome of Cal’s work, bestowing a handshake on him. It wasn’t until all four Ashfords were sitting as a family that Henry picked up on the attraction humming between the artist and his wife - and between the artist and his children. 

It wasn’t as though he remained loyal to Eliza while he was away. Henry had at least two women in Philadelphia that Eliza knew about. But a man of his stature was almost expected to have a mistress, and so long as there were no bastards involved and no one important caught wind of the man stepping out on his wife, it was like it never happened. 

What enraged Henry about Cal and Eliza’s tryst was the fact that it occurred in their home. It was the fact that Eliza had allowed Cal to become close with the children. It was the idea that Edwin or Josephine might slip and mention their mother’s good friend who spent long weekends at Maplewood while their father was gone. It was the ramifications of a leader in the camera industry’s wife spreading her legs for a common artist. It was pride, more than anything. 

He knew for certain that something existed between the two when Eliza fell ill and Cal still came to Maplewood. He’d given the excuse of needing to refine the painting of the house - more detail in the cornices or better color matching to the stained glass windows - but that hadn’t kept him from making a stop to see her. The final nail in the coffin had been the sketches Cal had brought to show Eliza, hoping that they would lift her spirits - sketches of her, not a stitch of clothing to cover her body, sketches of the two of them together in positions he dreamed of during their ten years without contact. Sketches that included birthmarks that only Henry should know about on Eliza’s body. Sketches that fell out of his bag and that Henry found on the floor of the hallway outside Eliza’s room. 

The doctors said it was consumption, but the medical world would likely later redefine her condition as a type of lung disease, non-infectious, which was why no one else caught what was killing her. She may even have survived her illness given a few more weeks to recover. But those sketches became her true cause of death. Cal’s, too. 

Edwin and Josephine had been sent to stay with their governess at the townhome in the city while their mother was sick since no one knew that it wasn’t contagious. The staff had been pared down to just the housekeeper, who had gone into town to go shopping, so there was no one home to hear the gunshot that tore through Cal’s skull, and there was no one home to stop Henry from aiding Eliza’s death with a pillow over her face. 

Which led Henry to the decision that he needed to make. The way he saw it, he had three options. 

The first was to turn himself in for the murder of his wife and her lover. He would go to prison. His father’s company, his company, would be dragged through the mud, and Edwin and Josephine would likely never speak to him again, let alone have anything of his to carry on which was the whole point of their births. This was the option he gave the least amount of thought to. 

Option number two was to follow Eliza and Cal by swallowing a bullet of his own. In his eyes it was preferable to prison. There was even the possibility that when the three bodies were discovered, authorities would assume it was a murder-suicide committed by Cal. The children would grow up traumatized by the story of their parents’ murders, but Henry figured that would already be the case after losing their mother so young. The company would survive, and nothing of the estate would be liquified. Henry didn’t want to die, though, so he put that one out of his mind, too. 

That left the third and final option - disposing of Cal’s body before anyone returned, and passing Eliza’s murder off as a natural cause. Because he hadn’t shot her, there was no wound. It would be easy to say she’d died in her sleep. Cal had fallen in the center of an area rug, which meant that the mess was contained and would be simple enough to bundle up and drag into the cellar. The floorboards were removable, and there was plenty of space for a 5’11” corpse to never be found. 

Turning from the window pane and back to the gruesome scene in front of him, he made his choice. 

It wasn’t until both bodies had been dealt with that Henry noticed the easel in the corner of the room, Eliza’s half-finished portrait staring through him from an otherwise featureless face. 

–  –  –  

Maplewood Manor - October 30, 2023

You sat at the long elegant dining table going over the notes for your lecture and listening to the murmur of the crowd as people shuffled into the next room to take their seats. 

Sounds like a full house out there. 

As a member of the Society for the Restoration of Maplewood Manor, you were obligated to host one fundraising event that was open to the public a year, and whenever you could, you chose to do something that had a Halloween spin on it. Other members chose things like tea parties, dinner dances, or summer barbeques on the sprawling lawns. People from the area - and even some from further away - would purchase tickets, and then whoever was in charge of the event would round up sponsors to donate whatever was needed so that 100% of the profits could go back into the maintenance and repair of a two hundred year old estate. 

Maplewood had been in rough shape until the fifties, the deed falling into the township’s hands when the last owner had passed and there was no one looking to move in. It was turned temporarily into an art gallery, which had done severe damage to the walls and floors, not to mention the botched job that some electrician had done with the wiring of overhead lights. Eventually the property was purchased by a local university and that’s when the serious repair work had begun and the Society formed. Years later you would end up attending the college, which was how you got involved with the restoration, and though you’d graduated almost twenty years ago, you were still an active member. 

The event that you were hosting was entitled Unfinished Business: Ghosts Caught on Canvas. You’d decided to go with something that combined your interests and skills. You were an artist by trade, but your focus was very atypical. Though you did also create your own original works, you’d made your name in the art world by completing works that had been left incomplete by their creators’ deaths. Sometimes the families of the artists would commission you, other times you were contacted by museums, universities and private collectors. In a way, you felt like you were bringing closure to the people who hired you, and to the actual pieces of art themselves. Your lecture didn’t include any of the pieces that you’d worked on, all of the ones you’d chosen to highlight still unfinished and baring all of the sketchy lines and over-painted areas that showed how their artists were still unsure or undecided about how that portion of the piece would look when it was done. 

To your surprise, the event sold out in under a week when normally tickets for these events would still be available at the door. You were glad that you’d been able to contribute something so beneficial to the restoration society. But an even bigger surprise came in the form of one of the attendees on your guest list - Marcus Pike. 

You smiled to yourself as you recalled the message you’d sent him as soon as you saw that he had purchased a ticket. This really you? You’d sent it along with a screenshot showing his RSVP, and within seconds he had responded. Do you know any other Marcus Pikes? It had made you roll your eyes and snort, but at the same time it filled you with excitement. You hadn’t seen much of Marcus in the past few years while he was in Texas, and hadn’t spent a Halloween with him since the year after the two of you graduated college. 

Which sucks, because he’s so much fun around this time. And… and I miss him. 

Though you’d remained as close as you could from so many states away, nothing beat the few times you’d visited one another when he had time off from work. But none of those visits had been in the month of October. Another smile climbed your cheeks - along with a splash of heat - as you thought back to the first Halloween you spent with him, and the night that the two of you met. You and Kelly, your roommate, were hosting a costume party, and you were meeting her new boyfriend for the first time. Though their relationship wouldn’t last, you had formed a friendship with the cute guy from 2E who showed up in an impromptu sheet-ghost getup that would at times border on something more but never truly solidified into anything official. You’d kissed a few times, even slept together once, and more than a few of both of your friends had assumed that you would end up together. 

But then Marcus had moved south to start his career, and the will they won’t they question seemed to be answered with a won’t. And then he met and married Erin, and even when the marriage quickly came apart, you never really considered that the two of you would shift gears. 

And then there was Teresa. 

You wrinkled your nose at the thought of the woman and the bullshit that you knew she put Marcus through. In a way, you were glad that they hadn’t worked out, because you didn’t think you could stomach being nice to someone who had toyed with your best friend the way that she had. But at the same time, you felt for him, because you knew that when Marcus went in on a relationship, he went all in. He fell hard, which made it hard for himself to get back up sometimes. Moving back East to D.C. was good for him in that regard, and selfishly, it was good for you, too, because him being only two hours away meant that more regular visits were back on the table. 

Your phone chimed on the table next to your notes, and you couldn’t help the way your face broke into a grin as you read the text displayed on the screen. Just got here. Place looks great, can’t wait to hear your lecture! Another text bubble popped up that made you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. And to seeing you. 

Before you could respond, Xander, one of the grad students who was part of the restoration society, poked his head into the room where you sat to let you know that you were all set to start. 

“Thanks, X.” You smiled at him and gathered your note cards before heading into the next room. 

Thanking everyone for coming - and honing in on Marcus as you said it - you launched right into your presentation. 

“Real quick, before I start, how many of you all have been on a supposed haunted tour? Of a house or a city or graveyard?” You paused to let people respond, counting the raised hands in the room. About half of them were in the air. Not surprised. You smirked. “Now keep your hand up if you actually saw a ghost on any of those tours.” A ripple of laughter went through the room as every hand dropped back down. “That’s what I thought. Now, show of hands, how many of you really truly believe in ghosts?” 

This time, only a few people put their hands up. Again, not surprised. But you acted surprised anyway. “Really? Almost everyone in here has paid money to go on a ghost tour, but only four of you actually believe in ghosts?” 

That got another round of chuckles, Marcus’ hitting your ear over the rest. “Well, don’t worry. I’m not asking you to believe in ghosts tonight. The word belief implies that I’m expecting you to put your blind faith in something without being able to prove that it’s true. But I have proof. Solid, physical proof of ghosts that exist here in our world. So I’m not asking you to believe. I’m telling you that ghosts are real. And now I’m going to show them to you.” 

You could feel the rush of anticipation in the room, everyone going from joking and laughing to scooting forward in their seats at your promises. For the next hour and a half, you went over the selected works, pointing things out and connecting each piece with its artist, sharing facts and stories about them when they were relevant or entertaining. 

“You can still see the sketches underneath, right here. In this corner of the image. It’s almost as though the artist hadn’t decided yet - should the wings be unfurled or folded? The pencil lines here and here would indicate that originally they were open, spread wide. But from the beginnings of the brushstrokes over here it seems like maybe he was considering a different pose. And we’ll never know which way it was intended to be, or if the wings would even still be there in the final piece. So in a way, the painting itself is haunted, full of the ghosts of the artist’s original intentions.”

You finished up your talk by briefly explaining how you did your job - how you tried to immerse yourself in the mindset of the artist by gaining access to their journals, letters, photographs or any information about their life at the time that they were working on the piece, and then do your best to match the different styles and color palettes to complete the picture. Wrapping it up by thanking everyone again, you let people know that refreshments were available in the dining room and that you’d be available for any questions for about a half hour. Most people made their way in for snacks, but a few lingered for your informal Q & A. You gave them your undivided attention, which was difficult knowing that Marcus was hovering just beyond the small group that had formed around you and the six easels behind you. 

But there was no urgency, no rush to finish up and spend time with him, because he had four days off and was planning to spend three of them catching up with you. When you were finally done and the last person had thanked you for your time, you turned to Marcus and blew out a huff. “Well that went well I think.” 

He grinned wide, the expression lighting up his eyes. “You think?” Without warning, he moved in to wrap you in a hug, arms winding around you and giving a brief, tight squeeze. “You did great.” 

Returning the hug, you laughed. “Thanks, Marcus.” The scent of his cologne hit your nose and you had to stop yourself from burrowing into his neck to inhale again. Instead, you pulled back to see the smile he was still wearing. “I’m so glad you could make it. Been a while since we’ve been in this building, huh?” 

Marcus glanced around the room and nodded. “It has. Brings back a lot of memories.” He looked back at you and winked. “Good ones.” 

It does. 

Marcus hadn’t been in the restoration society with you while you were in school, but there were a number of campus activities that happened at Maplewood Manor, so you’d both been in the old mansion plenty of times before that night. 

You kissed me in the parlor room junior year. Doesn’t get better than that, Marcus. 

You wondered if that was the memory that came to mind for him, but before you could get too caught up in that thought, he spoke again. “Not to rush you out of here or anything, but I’m starving. You ready to go grab dinner? On the way here I noticed that Michael’s Diner is still open and I’ve been thinking about those disco fries since then.” 

Your eyes widened. “Of course Michael’s is still open, that place is an institution, Marcus. And yes, I’m also very hungry. Let me just check in with Xander and the other student volunteers to  see if they need anything before we head out.” 

“Sounds good. I’ll be here.” 

Verifying that Xander had everything he needed to close up once the remaining guests had cleared out, you thanked the kid and rejoined Marcus. “Alright, all set. Let’s go pig out like we used to.” 

–  –  –  

You’d made it halfway through your meal and most of the way through listening to Marcus tell you about his latest case when your phone rang. Reaching to silence it, you noticed Xander’s name on the I.D. “Sorry, I need to…” You trailed off pointing at your phone and showing him the screen. “Xander probably forgot his key or something.” 

Marcus held up both hands, palms facing you. “Of course, go ahead. No need to apologize.” 

Nodding, you answered. “Xander? Everything o-” 

“You need to get back here. Now.” 

The young man’s voice was thin and shaky and it made your stomach drop. Something was wrong, very wrong. It wasn’t just a forgotten key or a lock he couldn’t figure out, and the fear in his voice made your stomach drop. Your expression must have given you away because Marcus’ eyebrows pinched together in concern as he sat across from you. 

“What happened, X? You okay?” Your pulse pounded in your brain as you asked. 

What could have happened? I haven’t been gone that long. 

“There’s… someone…” He gasped a breath and swallowed, saying your name. “I called the police already, they’re on their way and I’m across the street at the security booth, but… There’s a body - a dead body in one of the bedrooms upstairs. I… I was doing a sweep before I closed up and…” 

“Oh, shit.” You breathed the two words out, ice flooding your veins as the concern on Marcus’ face went full-blown. “Oh, shit, Xander. I…” 

“There’s… s-something else, too.” You heard him swallow again. “When I came back downstairs there was… You only had six paintings in your lecture, right?” 

Blinking quickly, you nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “Yeah, why? Is one missing?” 

“No. No, nothing’s missing. It’s… there are seven now.” He paused. “Where… how are there seven now?” 

“Okay, X. Alright, sit tight until the police show up.” At the mention of the police, Marcus shifted into law enforcement mode, eyes laser focused and hands already moving to pull his wallet out and drop cash on the table. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, okay?” 

How the fuck… a dead body? What the… how? When did that happen, I was up there earlier in the day and then the door to the staircase was locked and- 

“Hey.” You looked up at Marcus as you both stood from the table. He shook his head. “What’s going on?” 

“Xander said he… Marcus, there’s a body. At Maplewood. Someone was killed, and… and there’s another painting that I didn’t bring with me now. I… I don’t-” 

“Alright.” He reached for your biceps, taking a deep breath and letting it out to try to get you to do the same. “Okay. Leave your car here. I’ll drive. Let’s go.” 

You nodded and tried to calm yourself down, the task made easier by the fact that Marcus was with you, and then you let him steer you out of the diner and into his car.

-- -- --

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tags: @something-tofightfor @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @alraedesigns @practicalghost @tanzthompson @amb11@harriedandharassed @woodlandmouth @thescarletfang  @trickstersp8 @princessxkenobi @imtryingmybeskar @haylzcyon@wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns  @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @jedi-in-crocs @hannahkatharine @anoverwhelmingdin @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle @spishsstuff @Noisynightmarepoetry

If THG's characters are living in modern world (now), what do you feel would be their profession?

Also, what would they study in university?

PS : For Peeta (baker or painter) and Mrs Everdeen (nurse or doctor), could you list another profession beside those please?

You can include as many characters as you can or want.

Thank you so much 😀

@curiousnonny

Hi @curiousnonny =)

Such a fun ask!

There are so many possibilities, but I've decided to make a list ala "Dirty Jobs" style. Lol. I figured to break off from the usual. I love the series Dirty Jobs hosted by Mike Rowe. Not all the jobs on the list are "dirty"!

Sorry for the weirdness! Feel free to gloss over this post. Not everything makes sense! =D I just had fun!

TW: Mention of death.

Katniss - Scrap Metal Recycler. 

Katniss also does metal sculptures on the side as a hobby. She's excellent with welding machines, angle grinders, chisels, etc. She knows how to operate all the heavy equipment in the shop, and makes wearing a coverall very, very sexy.

Peeta - Bridge Painter. 

Never afraid of heights and dangling in the air while suspended in a harness, Peeta loves having a perspective from above. He does it for the breathtaking sunsets that he can only see from higher elevations. 

On the side, that's how Katniss first saw him. She was collecting metal scraps below for recycling, and he was hanging by Panem Capital bridge, eating a sandwich while still hanging. Without her knowing, Peeta spotted her too!

Haymitch - Outback Treasure Hunter. 

That's how he created his fortune. He found an ancient relic by the edge of a cliff. He trudged on for days, following historical clues and his instincts.

Effie - Celebrity Pet Groomer. 

Effie will groom your pets to the most elevated and loveliest quality. She has a TV show on Capitol One and boasts 15 million followers. Effie practically built an empire with her brand, Trinkett and Mahogany.

Finnick - Shrimper and Oyster Farmer. 

The most handsome and easygoing shrimper and oyster farmer you will ever lay eyes on! Watch our golden boy weave nets and hammocks by the beach in his free time. Want to know his secret to living a carefree life? Come visit his farm and bring him some sugar cubes!

Annie - Mushroom Farmer. 

She's a genius at this. Grows all sorts of mushrooms for restaurants -- she even has medicinal ones!

Johanna - Pathologist. Particularly an after-death one. 

Jo has no qualms about cutting into ribcages and skulls and dissecting organs as long as it solves the mystery of why someone died. She's en route now to the laboratory with Seneca Crane's blood samples that need testing.

Gale - Bell Maker. 

Our boy is super good at blacksmithing and forging. He also does restorations of historical bells. Gale's a history buff, and it's all he talks about. That was how he got Madge Undersee, the Mayor's daughter, as his girlfriend. She's an antique preserver and collector. Her most prized possession is a Mockingjay pin from the Uprising.

Primrose - Sled Dog Breeder. 

She does it with Rory, who takes care of the training. They're all scientific about it, but really they just want to cuddle Alaskan Huskies!

Seneca Crane - Baby Chicken Sexer. 

Someone's gotta do it, right? We have to separate the flock when they're just chicks. Seneca prides himself on being the best sexer there is. He's very serious and methodical in his reaping and does this while sporting an intricate beard. 

Sadly, he was found dead recently.

Cinna - Special Effects Artist. 

Okay, it's not so far off from what he does with the fake fire on Katniss' dress, but I just couldn't stop myself! He would be so good at making special effects!

Plutarch - Doomsday Seed Banker. 

He has to make sure that humanity survives at all costs! We are fickle creatures after all.

Chaff - Deadly Snake Wrangler. 

He collects venom for scientific research. When he was eighteen, he lost his arm from a neon Gaul snake muttation.

Snow - Cabbage Farmer. 

Snow is currently hiding in a backwater town because he is under investigation for murder. He thinks nobody would look for him on a cabbage farm.

"inspiration". | neil perry, dps.

in which a summer is spent with the poets, with a significant feature of neil perry.

✧ title: "inspiration".

✧ pairing: neil perry x fem!reader.

✧ genre: fluff, with slight mentions of angst.

✧ word count: 2,733.

✧ warnings: written in headcanon format, home life mentions, the reader lives in meeks' grandma's house, knox being a simp for chris.

✦ author’s note: requested by @mybabysweetascanbe! it's kinda funky how i wrote this as a headcanon but it still ended up being my longest fic lmao. also i wrote the poem that neil made for the reader myself so i'm sorry if it's kinda cheesy 🗿 but i hope you all enjoy this one !! don't forget to take care of yourselves guys <3

✎ The summer holidays had always been a time for the poets’ relief.

✎ Their academic year was constantly filled with difficulties for the poets, but it was harder for some when they were home for the summer.

✎ Neil felt as though he couldn’t be himself-- he loved reading and writing even more so than he did with accomplishing any of his parents’ wishes, like heading into medical school. He especially loved to act, and it was rough to keep that concealed around his dictatorial father.

✎ Todd’s older brother would be at home as well, and it was worse enough being in his shadow; but it had gotten worse with every one of his parents’ daily proclamations.

“We were quite disappointed with your grades from last semester, son,” His father reprimanded, looking down on him with stern eyes. “I just don’t understand what’s gotten into you. Your mother and I raised you quite well and you have your brother to guide you along. You know that he’s remarkably intelligent and well accomplished. Why can’t you be more like your brother?”

✎ Charlie and Knox had been just like Neil. The constant pressure that their parents put on them about becoming a banker and a lawyer was daunting; and all they wanted was to simply live as regular teenagers without concern for their future.

✎ Fortunately, Meeks’ grandmother was a woman who had a colossal and motherly love for the poets with a sizable residence in which her grandson’s friends could inhabit during their vacation.

✎ Thus, the poets resided in the Meeks household in the summer before their senior year so as to escape the stress and troubles brought to them in their own homes.

✎ Even though the summer was fleeting and their time was short, the poets found their time to be everlasting when they met the student boarder of the house.

✎ She went by the name of Y/N, which was a name that sounded just as sweet as the lady to whom it was attached.

“Hello, everybody! I’m Y/N!” The girl said, reaching out her hand to shake one of the poets’. Truth be told, it had been quite some time since any one of the boys had been in close contact with a woman; so they found themselves to be quite the martians in the situation. It took a few moments before one of the poets-- Neil Perry-- could offer his hand and shake hers. “I’m Neil! We’re friends of Meeks and his classmates from Welton.” The boy swore that he felt a spark as their fingertips touched, but he tossed the feeling aside; along with the apparition that he saw of a faint glimmer in Y/N’s eyes.

✎ The boys instantly took her in to their little group, and they all fell in love with her personality-- which was a platonic statement of course; but Neil Perry found this to be otherwise as he actually began falling into love with the new girl.

✎ He loved the way she cared for her new friends, the way she projected her personality through the clothes she wore, and all of the little smiles she gave him.

✎ With every beam and twinkle that she delivered, Y/N found herself to be falling for Neil as well.

✎ He provided a feeling for her that made the blacks of her eyes expand and butterflies to quiver inside-- which was the very same one Neil had felt when he first laid his eyes on her.

✎ She had been a fantastic addition to the band of poets, and the boys could not have had it any other way.

Despite the summer coming into fruition, the poets did not fail to meet up in their little cave every once in a while to read poetry, discuss girls, and laugh. The first meeting of that summer was simply like any other. “Guys, what do we think of Y/N?” Meeks questioned. A clamor of answers that ranged between “I think she’s great,” and “Do you think Mrs. Meeks has any more people in her house like Y/N?” echoed in the dark cave. Clearly, the boys had favored Y/N; but certainly not to the point where they’d be infatuated with her. “Yeah, I think she’s nice. She’s really pretty too,” Knox added. “Woah there Knoxious,” Charlie replied, expelling out a chortle. “I don’t think Chris would like to hear that. And besides, she looks more like she’s Neil’s type than yours.” Charlie’s words weren’t incorrect, but it was needless to say that Neil had strongly agreed with that statement.

✎ Over the summer, they would all begin to get to know each other better.

✎ The poets eventually introduced Y/N to the intricate realm of poetry, and she wholeheartedly fell in love with every line that was recited.

✎ They enjoyed every moment of their fleeting time together. Of course, there would be times where the boys would get into small fights and bickers.

✎ Pitts would always be yelling at Charlie for taking an ungodly amount of time in the shower, while Charlie would be yelling back about how Pitts always seemed to inhale the food that Mrs. Meeks provided for them before he himself could even take one bite.

✎ Cameron did his best to do some summer reading at night, but he found it quite hard as his room was beside Knox’s room, and Knox would spend hours on end talking to Chris over the phone.

“Oh, Chris. How do I love thee?” Knox sighed, lacing the telephone cords in between his fingers. “That’s the title of a poem we learned in Mr. Keating’s class. It reminds me of how lovely you are. Of course, she’s not as pretty as you are,” Knox’s giggles not only erupted through the phone; but it travelled through the walls as well, disrupting Cameron from the climax of his novel. “We get it, Knox! You’re a romantic poet! Now why don’t you go tell Chris about how you finished with a D minus in English!”

✎ While all of the little squabbles took place, they hadn’t even noticed the slight change in Neil and Y/N’s behavior.

✎ Y/N seemed to be keeping to herself more often, while Neil appeared to have possessed an undying smile on his face around the poets; particularly in the mornings when everyone gets up early except for him and Y/N.

✎ Little did they know, Y/N’s room had been vacant for the past few days since the arguments began-- which was approximately three weeks after the boys had arrived to the Meeks’ residence; and Neil seemed to be giggling in his room every night when the rest were asleep.

✎ In the duration of those three weeks, Neil had become more familiar with Y/N than any of the other poets had been.

✎ They’d walk along the nearby river every morning, discuss poetry in the late afternoons, and eventually fall asleep in each other’s arms at night.

“How long have you been living here?” Neil inquired, peering into Y/N’s eyes. His vision didn’t have to stretch too far as his face had only been a breath away from Y/N’s. The pair laid together under the warm covers of Neil’s bed with their legs entangled in one another’s and their hands interlocked, talking about anything and everything that came to their minds. “It’s been two years since Mrs. Meeks took me in,” She replied, gazing over Neil’s chiseled face. “In the whole time I’ve been here, I think you’re the most interesting thing that’s happened to me,” Y/N added, beaming up at Neil. Hearing her words, Neil slowly leaned his lips onto Y/N’s forehead, giving her an endearing kiss. She too had been the most interesting thing to happen to Neil in a long time.

✎ For each and every day that they were together, Neil wrote love poems.

✎ His poems revolved around his time with Y/N and included detail of all sorts; such as how colors appeared to be more bright and more vivid when he was with her and how lovelier the birds had sounded in the morning during their walks.

"My love,

The luminosity of the golden sun

does not compare to the radiance

of your glowing skin.

In this air full of morning dew,

the most beautiful scent in the air

is still you.

The sounds we hear of the melodious

birds are all because of your presence,

and they sing only for your beauty.

I look into your eyes and I see nature

reflected back at me; but it is much more

pleasant to perceive than if I were to do so

through my own set of eyes.

Though the morning lasts for a mere set of hours,

My fascination for you can go for as long as

this smooth river flows.

✎ Neil felt embarrassed about being so infatuated with Y/N, so he kept his poems hidden for the time being.

✎ Somehow, the boys had failed to notice Neil and Y/N’s constant disappearance.

✎ Although, they’d make little remarks from time to time that ran along the lines of “Ooh, Neil found a muse!” and “Y/N definitely likes somebody here. It’s probably me.”

✎ The last comment came from Charlie, which later earned him a smack on the head from Neil.

✎ So, Neil and Y/N did their best to keep their relationship hidden throughout the summer.

✎ The two were rather domestic in their relationship; they did all of the typical-couple activities that everyone else had done.

✎ To anyone else it would have been rather common to witness, but to them it was simply extraordinary being with one another.

It had been a scenic day at the river that morning. The beauty of the nature surrounding it had been ordinarily pleasing to Y/N; but all of its best qualities were magnified for Neil as his hand was in hers and the only thing he could smell was her fragrance. He had been quite nervous for the entire morning as he promised himself the night before that he would finally gather the courage to say those three magic words he’d been imagining to say for quite some time. Unbeknownst to him, Y/N had been thinking the same and had been visualizing how she would say it at that moment for the past few hours since. Just when the cascading waters began to relax and the chirping of the birds started to quiet down, the pair stopped on their trail and those three words were finally professed by Neil in a sudden manner while Y/N had spoken the same in a clear and gentle tone. They looked into each other’s eyes, recognizing the same look of love and eventually realizing what was said. As it was acknowledged, the two lovers simply smiled at each other and kept walking along; their hearts now beating on the same rhythm and their minds thinking of nothing but one another.

✎ Time to time, they would go up to the attic and listen to the music from Mrs. Meeks’ old gramophone, caressing one another as they slowly dance along to the lyrics of Ella Fitzgerald’s songs.

✎ Neil would always sneak a flower out of Mrs. Meeks’ rose garden and leave it on Y/N’s bedside table for her to wake up to.

✎ One of Y/N’s ways of communicating her love would be recommending books to Neil that she thinks is encompassed with his personality. Since then, Neil’s library had enlarged to a great extent.

✎ There would also be some occasions where one of them-- mostly Neil-- would get a little cheeky and try to express their love for the other out in the open.

“Eat up, boys! You know there’s plenty more of where that came from, so don’t be afraid to dig in!” Mrs. Meeks endorsed, setting down a bowl of mashed potatoes. With a jubilant ‘thank you’, everyone at the table promptly began to tuck into the mouthwatering cuisine. The boys soon found themselves distracted with the heavenly taste of Mrs. Meeks’ cooking; and Neil took this opportunity to covertly sneak his right hand onto Y/N’s thigh under the table. A scarlet blush crept its way up to Y/N’s cheek as she sent Neil a glare. Though her eyes expressed the message of “Not here!”, every other signal in her body sent the message of ‘Yes, Please’ to a very triumphant Neil.

✎ The summer inevitably came to an end and the boys were forced to return to Welton, much to their dismay.

✎ They couldn’t stand ending their summer; and they especially couldn’t stand leaving their new friend behind while the rest of them stayed together.

“Oh God, How are we supposed to leave this beautiful girl all alone in this big house?!” Charlie pleaded, theatrically dropping down to his knees and shouting out loud to the heavens. “It’s all just too emotional for us,” Pitts added as he went along with his friend’s act, his head bowing down to the ground in grief as he placed a comforting hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Just take me with her, God! Let me be with Y/N at her all-girls school!”

✎ Despite all of the inconveniences they put upon Y/N, the poets really did leave a mark on her. These boys showed her a new way of life-- she knows what ‘Carpe Diem’ means, and she knows how to seize her days because of them.

✎ Of course, Neil had a harder time coming into terms with their departure more than anyone else.

✎ Leaving the Meeks’ residence meant that he was leaving Y/N, which was something that he hadn’t prepared himself for.

“I’m not ready to leave you,” Neil confessed. Tears were beginning to form in his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away. After the individual hugs and goodbyes Y/N had given to the rest of the poets, the ill-fated time had come when she had to bid her own farewell to her lover. Neil believed that though their time was short and fleeting, it truly had been something special and something that he��ll never forget. Y/N was his first love, his first muse, his first everything; and no amount of riches could ever sum up to the prominence of that. Y/N placed her hand on Neil’s face, stroking away his tears with her thumb as she felt her eyes begin to swell up as well. “I’ll write to you every day, Neil.” Naturally, Y/N was on the brink of tears as well. She couldn’t bear to leave Neil after everything he’s shown her. It feels like she’s known him forever, yet everything felt so new and exciting with him. She loved him too much, and she knows she’ll continue to love him long after.

✎ Neil was afraid that she would forget about what they had soon after she had left, so he decided to give her all of the poems he had written about her.

✎ As her hands clasped the thick set of parchment, the tears she had been trying so hard to conceal had all poured out, staining the paper and her hands.

“Neil… these are beautiful,” She croaked. Her eyes skimmed over every title and date, realizing that there had been a poem for each and every splendid day that they had been together. “You’re beautiful, Y/N. That’s why I wrote these,” Neil corrected. “Everything I love about you is in these poems, and all of the love I have for you is written in each letter. I just don’t want you to forget about me while we’re apart.” The absurdity of Neil’s words made Y/N chuckle softly before she stepped forward and linked her hands around Neil’s neck, reducing the space between their lips. “I love you, Neil. You’re always going to be in my mind and you’ll always have my heart in the little pocket of your Welton blazer.”

✎ Y/N felt truly fortunate to have met Neil. This summer had come as quite a surprise for her-- she did not expect to fall in love so soon and with such an extraordinary person like Neil Perry. He was everything she’d ever looked for and he gave everything she deserved.

✎ Even though the bright days of the summer had ended and the early falling leaves of the autumn was yet to arrive, the change was of no concern as the only thing that mattered was what had been consistent-- and for Y/N and Neil, the thing that stood still for the two of them despite all odds was each other.

dedicated to these lovely people!! @mybabysweetascanbe @disagreeingpoets @catflowerbean @galaxyrhytm @nananostalgic @ughgclden @towriteabetterlife @neilsemeraldsweater @yourpal @willowestelle

Random Flash Rogue Headcanons

Ideas that pop up a lot in my fanfics and fanart: 

-Mick Rory was a farm kid. 

-Roscoe Neyle Dillon is the son of Reginald Norton Dillon, a well-to-do banker, and Rosa Nicole Dillon, his rather pliant, weak-willed wife. Reginald held his son to punishingly high standards and was quick to criticize, berate, and threaten his son when he failed to live up to them. Rosa never intervened. 

-Roscoe grew up in North Ridge, a suburb of Central City. He is on the autism spectrum, but grew up before it was widely recognized. He was constantly bullied by his peers and was disliked by most of his teachers because of his odd behavior. He had a number of special interests but the most prominent was, of course, tops. 

-Roscoe is one of only three Rogues to attend high school and one of only two to have attended college. Lisa and Hartley also both graduated from high school, and Hartley also went to college. Roscoe studied (possibly has a degree in) physics. 

-Roscoe’s parents currently live in Bridgeville. 

-Mark (Marco) Mardon is the son of Patricia (Paloma) and Matthew (Matias) Mardon, and the younger brother of Clyde (Claudio) Mardon. His parents immigrated from Guatemala when he was a month and a half old and Clyde was about a year old. Both parents were college-educated, which made the process simpler than it otherwise would have been, and the family initially settled in Dunhurst, a suburb of Central City. However, they were never accepted there, and they eventually left the town after persistent harassment from the Clan of the Fiery Cross. 

-They resettled in Bridgeville, and Matias and Paloma went to great pains to hide the fact that they were immigrants, Americanizing their names and refusing to let their sons speak Spanish outside of the home. Patricia became the head of the local library, and Matthew took a job as a teacher of geography at the local high school. The family eventually settled fairly comfortably in the middle class. 

-Clyde was only 11 months older than Mark, so they were always in the same year at school. He was handsome, intelligent, popular, and athletic. Mark, by contrast, was painfully average. He couldn’t live up to the standard set up by his parents’ golden child, and eventually, he stopped trying, knowing that he would never measure up. He and Clyde were very close, but their relationship was often strained by the fact that Mark was so often compared unfavorably to Clyde.

-Mark dropped out of high school at 16 and ran away, eventually drifting into petty theft due to his lack of direction. Clyde, meanwhile, graduated high school early and earned a degree in meteorology. He started work on the Weather Wand when he was still in college, but didn’t finish it until he was 23. He died not long after of congenital heart failure, and then his shiftless younger brother strolled in and took the wand for himself. 

-Samuel Joseph Scudder was born to Percival and Martha Scudder. Unfortunately, Percival contracted cancer a few months before Sam was born and died when his son was only 7 months old, leaving his wife with dozens of medical bills. The Scudders had never been particularly well-off, so Martha was forced to move into an apartment complex on Baker Street, colloquially known as Skid Row, where she would raise her young son. 

-Martha was a talented seamstress, so much so that she was eventually hired by the Rathaways. While this provided steady work, the Rathaways were extremely demanding employers, and so Martha wasn’t able to be at home with her son as much as she would’ve liked.

-Young Sam loved cowboy movies and superhero comics. He was especially fond of the JSA and gathered a collection of JSA comics that he still owns (currently, he hides them in the Mirror Realm so the other Rogues won’t find out about them). He was also a boy scout and eventually became an Eagle Scout. He was highly intelligent and generally did well in school, and he was close friends with Jennifer Conners, who lived in the same apartment complex he did. When they entered high school, the two started dating, and even fantasized about getting married. 

-Unfortunately, life on Baker Street was less than ideal. Sam was embarrassed by the shabby state of his clothes and possessions, had to watch as his mother tried to figure out how to pay their bills, and was surrounded by violence. Fights were common in the apartment complex where Sam lived, and, when he was 15 years old, he and Jennifer bore witness to Jennifer’s father being brutally shot as they came home from school. Both were traumatized. Jennifer began a years-long struggle with PTSD, and Sam’s anxiety levels went through the roof. Not wanting to burden his mother and knowing that they didn’t have enough money for therapy, Sam turned to cigarettes, and then alcohol, in the hopes of relieving his anxiety. As he spiraled into addiction, he got mixed up with the school’s party crowd, and dropped out at 17. He drifted into a life of crime and was sent to prison at age 19 for robbing a convenience store. In this prison, he would mostly break his alcohol addiction, but his smoking habit only got worse. More importantly, however, while serving his sentence for this crime, he would discover the Mirror Realm. 

-Sam loves his mother, but he avoids her because he knows his actions disappoint and worry her. His ex-girlfriend, Jennifer Conners, though continually struggling with PTSD, managed to graduate from both high school and college, and currently works as a school counselor. Sam avoids her, too, but still holds a bit of a candle for her. 

-Mrs. McCulloch’s first name is Eva. She is devoutly Catholic, and, as a result, Evan is also devoutly Catholic (albeit a very confused Catholic). He goes to Mass at least once a week, believes priests are basically infallible, and will threaten to kill you if you so much as look at a nun funny. He goes to Confession at least once a month and would probably go more often if each session didn’t last three hours. 

-Giovanni Giuseppi (James Jesse) is the son of Helen and Alessandro Giuseppi, both of whom are the children of Italian immigrants. He has a very, very, very large extended family, most of whom are in the circus with his parents. Many of them speak Italian; while James isn’t fluent in the language, he can understand it quite well and speak it well enough to get by. The whole family is very emotionally demonstrative and physically affectionate, which is part of why James has no concept of personal space. His relatives include his Zia Catalina (who runs an Italian restaurant), his Nonna Gianna, his Nonno Antonio, his Nonno Aberto, his Nonna Lucrezia, his Zio Luca, his Aunt Stella, his Zio Angelo, his Zia Loretta, his Zia Lucia, his Zio Armani, his Aunt Karen, his Zia Bianca, his Zio Rocco, his Zio Romeo, his Aunt Olivia, his Zia Etta, his Zio Dante, his Uncle Fred, his Aunt Susan, his Uncle Harold, his Aunt Lydia, his cousins Bobby and Susie and Maria and Carly and Matthew and Frank and Julia and Freddie and Joseph and Lucy, and his cousins’ kids, Angela and Charlie and Stefano and Gian and Marsha and Rose and Kaitlyn and Steve. He’s not entirely sure how he’s related to most of them. James’ family is all technically Catholic, mainly because they’re all Italian, but only about half of them are practicing Catholics. 

-James invented the airwalker shoes when he was 13 years old. 

-There was a very large age gap between Leonard and Lisa’s parents when they got married. This is because Larry/Lewis Snart was a 40-year-old creeper who got a 15-year-old girl pregnant. Shirley married him because she had nowhere else to go; her parents kicked her out when she got pregnant. She dropped out of high school soon after, and, after several years of abuse, she ran away, leaving Len and Lisa alone with Larry/Lewis.

-Len is about 5 years older than Lisa; he dropped out of high school at 14 so that he could support her and left home at 18. He continued to send money to her after he left, even after she became a professional figure skater. 

-Lisa’s teenaged years were one long nightmare. She was a beautiful young woman, but because of her background, her mother’s reputation as a loose woman, and her father constantly calling her nasty names, she was demonized by the “nice, proper” people of her neighborhood as a temptress, someone who would lead their sons astray. (This in spite of the fact that they were often the ones making advances on her.) Her father also became increasingly abusive towards her, as Leonard had left the home and, as she got older, Lisa started to remind him of his wife. In response, she threw herself into her figure skating and tried to shut the rest of the world out. By the time she was 16, she was already one of the most talented skaters in the Midwest, and when she was 17, she left her father’s house and moved in with another girl on her skating team for the rest of high school. She graduated with a B+ average and was promptly snapped up by a professional figure skating team. Lisa had managed to escape-at least physically. Her teenaged years left her convinced that her beauty was something dangerous; something evil, and it took Roscoe over a year to break down her defenses when they met. However, once he did, she fell deeply in love. Finally, she had found someone who would never abandon her. 

-Roscoe, for his part, was equally in love. After years of being seen as a socially awkward weirdo, he had found someone who thought he was sophisticated and intelligent; someone who didn’t laugh at his tops and who didn’t seem bothered by his quirks. It was intoxicating. 

-Geraldine is 20 years younger than Hartley; she was born to replace him as the heir to the Rathaway fortune. 

-Hartley’s parents were in their thirties when he was born. Both of them came from long-established “old money” families; their marriage was more the result of a business deal between Hartley’s grandparents than any sort of romantic relationship. Prior to her marriage, Rachel was a Kane. Her uncle was the father of Jacob Kane (father to Kathy Kane) and Martha Wayne (nee Kane), making her the first cousin of Bruce Wayne’s mother. Red hair runs in the Kane family, and she passed it on to both of her children. 

-Similarly, Hartley’s paternal grandmother was originally a Queen before marrying into the Rathaway family. And that’s only the tip of the iceberg: Hartley’s at least a distant relative of most of the wealthiest people in the DCU. 

-Geraldine is on the autism spectrum; she’s able to mask her symptoms well enough that her parents haven’t decided to pull the “let’s fix her with expensive surgeries” trick that they used when Hartley was born deaf. 

-Hartley’s parents engaged him to a girl named Kathryn Kendell, the heir to a fast food corporation, when he was 18; nothing came of it because he got himself disowned before the marriage could actually happen. 

-Hartley’s parents are intensely controlling and basically make all the decisions in their children’s lives without actually asking them for their opinions. 

-Len Snart is prone to ulcers.

-Albert and Rita Desmond have an infant son named Alan. He likes to chew on his father’s Philosopher’s Stone. Alvin adores his “astral nephew” and kept showing up at Albert’s house uninvited to see him. Eventually Albert got tired of Alvin breaking in and put him on their baby-sitting list. Rita is less than thrilled by this but is at least pleased that Alan keeps Alvin from trying to ruin Albert’s life. 

-George Harkness has two half-brothers: an older brother named Tom Harkness, the son of Agnes and Ian Harkness, and a much younger brother named Walter Wiggins, the 12-year-old son of W.W. Wiggins and his wife. (All these characters are canonical, but it’s never actually been officially stated that this is the case.) 

-Jai West idolizes Jay Garrick and plans to take up his costume someday. 

-Josh Jackam-Mardon’s weather-controlling abilities are directly tied to his mood. When he’s happy, it’s sunny and he makes rainbows. If he’s cold, the temperature will increase. If he’s hot, the temperature will drop and it might even start snowing. If he’s sad, it rains. If he throws a temper tantrum, it creates a thunderstorm-and if he’s really upset, a tornado will form. 

-When Barry Allen was 13, he paid the admission fee that was required in order to meet the members of the JSA for both himself and a 9-year-old Sam Scudder. It’s one of both men’s fondest memories, and neither realizes that the other was the boy who met the JSA with him on that day. 

-Axel Walker is the son of Alan Walker and Alice Strickland. His father is a used car salesman who left his wife for Axel’s stepmother, Barbie, when Axel was 7 years old. Axel does not like Barbie and isn’t particularly happy with his father, either. Axel’s mother is Jewish. As such, so is Axel (although Axel doesn’t practice his faith much, if at all.) He can read a bit of Hebrew and speak a bit of Yiddish. 

-Eobard Thawne is convinced that he is an expert in 21st-century technology. The result: “This is a historical device called a toaster. It served as a primitive form of climate control!” 

-Abra Kadabra, by contrast, spends most of his time in the 21st century baffled by the devices used by these primitive savages. What sort of communication device doesn’t send a perfect three-dimensional copy of your body to the person you’re talking to? What kind of food-preparation device takes twenty minutes to cook a meal? Why don’t their hygiene devices instantly clean their bodies of dirt and odors instead of requiring water that’s never a comfortable temperature? HOW DO YOU OPERATE THIS ‘REMOTE CONTROL’? This makes him a very annoying house guest. 

-Mick Rory is an accomplished cook, home repairman, and knitter. 

-Albert Desmond is often so lost in thought that he puts his keys in the refrigerator. 

-All of the Rogues are more scared of Iris Allen than they are of Barry. And with good reason. 

-Owen Mercer is good friends with Joan Garrick. 

-Sam is developing the early stages of emphysema but refuses to admit it because it would mean having to try to kick his smoking habit. 

-Mick Rory’s body is covered by third-degree burns, and his voice is unnaturally raspy because of all the smoke inhalation he’s undergone over the years. 

-Mark Mardon is a horrible klutz. If he can trip over something, he will end up doing it. This is part of why he likes being able to fly so much. 

-Len Snart and Sam Scudder are huge fans of Central and Keystone City’s sports teams. Linda Park-West is among the few who can rival their civic pride in this regard. Evan and Digger are both big fans of rugby and cricket. Hartley is solely a baseball fan; the other Rogues don’t much care about sports unless betting is involved. 

-Mark Mardon watches the weather channel solely so he can make sure that the reporter’s predictions are wrong. 

-Digger loves the great outdoors and can hike for hours.

-Mark Mardon is terrible at cards but gambles constantly anyway. He’s lost more money than he’s ever stolen trying to win bets. James, by contrast, is a master cardsharp. 

-Sam and Roscoe spend more money on clothes (and more time in the shower) than the rest of the male Rogues combined.  

-Dexter Miles knows the birthdays of everyone in the Twin Cities. No one knows how he knows this, he just does. When it’s a Rogue’s birthday, the museum opens a exhibit exclusively about them for a few days. The Rogues don’t know this is intentional and it’s really starting to freak them out. 

-When the Rogues found out that the Flash Museum hires people to dress up as them and teach young visitors about science, Sam Scudder waited for a day when the museum’s ‘Mirror Master’ called in sick and showed up in his place. All the visitors to the museum that day were agreed that he was the best “Mirror Master” the museum had ever had. 

-James once went to the Flash Museum in full costume and stood right by one of the statues of him. He even posed in exactly the same way. He was immediately informed by a patron that he was much too blonde to be the real Trickster. James found the whole experience very amusing.

-Roscoe insists that all the statues of him at the Flash Museum make him look fat. Lisa thinks that’s ridiculous and says that they’re almost as handsome as the genuine article. Len agrees that the statues make Roscoe look fat and thinks it’s hilarious. 

-All three of the Flashes have, of course, been to the Flash Museum while in costume. Like James, they are often told that they don’t look anything like the real Flashes. Barry and Jay are baffled by this; Wally thinks it’s funny. 

-Mick Rory donated his chili recipe to the Flash Museum’s diner. It’s one of the more popular dishes amongst people who love spicy food. 

-Wally is trying to convince his wife to get the kids a pet cheetah. “Come on, honey! It’ll be good for the twins to have a pet who can keep up with them!” 

National Examiner, March 22

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson -- his journey from thief to superstar

Page 2: These stars wheely like to bike -- Hugh Jackman, Eva Longoria, Matthew McConaughey, Kurt Russell and Goldie Hawn, Russell Crowe, Arnold Schwarzenegger

Page 3: Jennifer Lopez and Alex Rodriguez, Al Roker, Pierce Brosnan and Keely Shaye Smith, Matt Damon, Justin Theroux, Ethan Hawke

Page 4: Jennifer Aniston's roles and costumes

Page 6: Susan Sarandon is 74 and single now and she admits she likes to date younger men because they have more inquisitive minds than older guys

Page 7: Golden Age of Glamour -- the shocking beauty tips, tricks and secrets of Hollywood's most stunning stars -- Mae West, Marilyn Monroe, Rita Hayworth, Sophia Loren, Elizabeth Taylor, Joan Crawford

Page 8: Listen to Granny -- older media influencers are getting into the act on social media, with women in their 80s and 90s earning huge followings and lots of money on Instagram -- while some are all about their head-turning styles, others go with decorating or fitness to create their granfulencer brands

Page 9: Go ahead and binge that new TV show because it's good for your mental health -- new research shows the lack of social connection we're all feeling now because of COVID-19 restrictions can be filled, at least to some degree, by watching TV, reading books and listening to music

Page 10: Lucia DeClerck has some advice for living a long life, and she knows what she's talking about because she's 105 years old -- not only did Lucia live through the 1918 Spanish Flu, she's the oldest person in her nursing home and she just beat COVID-19 -- how does she do it? Gin-soaked golden raisins

Page 11: 8 ways to prevent back pain

Page 12: Stars Still Strong and Sexy As They Hit Milestone Notorious 90 -- Marla Gibbs, Gavin MacLeod, Angie Dickinson, Barbara Eden

Page 13: William Shatner, Olympia Dukakis, Dan Rather, Rita Moreno, Willie Mays, James Earl Jones

Page 14: Dear Tony, America's Top Psychic Healer -- all marriages need care and attention to flourish

Page 15: There are nicer, more medically accurate ways to describe it, but "dead butt syndrome" says it all, that feeling of numbness or achiness from sitting too long -- it is no joke to the many people who experience the discomfort of DBS, otherwise known as lower cross syndrome, gluteal amnesia, or gluteus medius tendinosis -- people who sit at their desk all day for work are particularly prone to this syndrome, where muscle tightness in the hip flexors and weakness in the gluteus medius muscles in the buttock combine to create hip and lower-back pain, leading to numbness -- luckily there are simple remedies you can try to alleviate symptoms and even reverse the syndrome

Page 16: Princess Diana: little girl lost -- Diana's brother Charles Spencer reveals truth about heartbreaking childhood

Page 18: There are about 100 prepaid food receipts fluttering on the wall of Ruma's Deli in Missouri and if you're hungry and your pockets are empty, you can grab one, bring it to the counter and get a free meal, no strings attached

Page 19: Pixel the cat is so creepy-looking even a professional exorcist crossed himself and ran -- Alyson Kalhagen's cat has giant googly eyes, a Halloween pumpkin smile and oversized bat ears and he's also fond of making funny faces but the two-year-old has racked up a fan base online, where more than 12,000 followers find Pixel's peculiarities precious

Page 20: Cover Story -- Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson is huge in every way -- the muscle-bound ex-wrestler has starred in dozens of blockbuster films, has tons of projects in the works, millions of bucks and a brand new show about his childhood but he hasn't always been on top of the game -- the dynamo has gone through so many tough times and bad decisions they would sink a lesser man but he's an open book about all of them and how he fought to get to the top every step of the way

Page 22: After a long break to raise her children, Michelle Pfeiffer is on the silver screen again and looking better than ever -- the 62-year-old is in a new film called French Exit, in which she plays a tragic widow who packs up and moves to Paris with her son -- the actress says to return and thrive in an industry formerly known as being obsessed with youth is a gift -- although her husband David E. Kelley has been behind dozens of hits like The Undoing and Big Little Lies, Michelle doesn't want to work with him because she's seen a lot of couples where they seem to have a great marriage, and then they work together and next year they're filing for divorce -- next up, Michelle will play Betty Ford in the upcoming series The First Lady

Page 24: A Texas grocery delivery driver got more than just shelter from the storm when her car became stuck in a customer's driveway -- the people who lived there took her in for five days and made her feel like part of the family

Page 26: Deep Focus -- stunning underwater pix from an unseen world

Page 32: Pet Projects -- family portraits get everyone into the picture -- photographer Tasha Hall creates "farmaly" photos, which include each and every one of the household where they've got two feet, four feet, paws, claws, hooves or wings

Page 34: While everyone loves a comfortable, cozy mattress, having a really good becomes more important with age because a bad one may leave you with aches, pains and posture imbalances but the problem is that these specialty mattresses are very expensive -- fortunately, Medicare may cover up to 80 percent of the cost if you go about this purchase the right way and you'll then be responsible for the remaining 20 percent, as well as any deductible

Page 40: Psychic Self-Defense -- many people are born with a psyche that is naturally sensitive -- there has been a modern-day rise in occultism and practicing psychics and the way of the world at this time had made many more people seek help -- this has produced a far greater awareness of the need to protect and defend ourselves when working in a magical or psychic context -- we are all constantly being bombarded with psychic vibrations, not all of them good

Page 42: 20 Things You Never Knew About Tiger Woods

Page 44: Eyes on the Stars -- Jenny McCarthy is in high spirits as she preps to tape a new episode of The Masked Singer in L.A. (picture), Goldie Hawn works out in L.A. (picture), Jane Fonda has given up on getting hitched -- she has three failed marriages and being single means she can watch whatever she wants on TV, Kelly Clarkson admits that since her marriage soured she no longer considers marriage a fairy-tale thing and she can't imagine being married again, Charlize Theron admits she hasn't made the grade when it comes to homeschooling her kids Jackson and August, Patrick Schwarzenegger is looking to follow in the footsteps of his dad Arnold Schwarzenegger but says his dad hasn't offered any pointers when it comes to a career in showbiz, Bindi Irwin is close to welcoming her little wildlife warrior with husband Chandler Powell and her 17-year-old brother Robert Irwin has some opinions about his sister's ever-expanding figure saying she's massive

Page 45: Duchess Kate and Prince William hold video calls with folks shielding at home during the pandemic to discuss the positive impact of the COVID-19 vaccine (picture), Chrissy Teigen goes shopping with daughter Luna (picture), Mary-Kate Olsen finalized her divorce from French banker Olivier Sarkozy and she was spotted in NYC having dinner with businessman John Cooper, Gordon Ramsay is steamed after being diagnosed with arthritis, Jessie J has a new boyfriend with dancer and choreographer Max Pham Nguyen, Alec and Hilaria Baldwin dropped a bombshell -- they've welcomed their sixth child via surrogate

Page 46: We all get a bit snippy at times, but if you tend to fly into a rage, it's not good for your health or friendships -- here are some simple anger-management techniques you can do any time

Page 47: Curious Earthlings have always been hungry for movies about the moon and its mysteries -- Cat-Women of the Moon, A Trip to the Moon, The Right Stuff, First Man, Gravity, Apollo 13, Hidden Figures

Ch 1 of the Logince Princess and the Frog au!!!

This is my biggest fanfic by f a r . Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: voodoo, frogs, brief mention of food

Words: 5049

“Now here I’d like to tell you a story. A story that takes place right where we are, in the Big Easy. Down here in Louisiana, there’s a city you may have heard of, way down by the River. Does New Oreleans ring a bell? The place where jazz is always playin’ and you’re always guaranteed a good time. The lifestyle we live is as slow as the Mississippi. But you’ll have a treat down here in New Orleans. Oh, you haven’t lived if you haven't had a good bowl of gumbo with some grits. Or hear that smooth jazz that just sweeps you off your feet, mm, that’s the good stuff. If you want to truly live, come down to New Orleans to do it. We’ve got magic, sure do. Good and bad in New Orleans. Give ya what ya want but take what ya have. My dream since I was a youngin’ was to see New Orleans. You know, everybody got dreams. Rich people, poor people we all got dreams. This story I’m about to tell you focuses on one boy’s dream and the unusual way it comes true. Oh, this is a story of magic and love, plain and simple. The weird ways fate ties us together. Alright, I’ll stop stalling. You ready?”

“Please, I’m going to get the funds, I swear-” Logan begged to the bankers. 

“I’m sorry, where do you expect to get all this money? We can’t offer you a loan until we believe you can get the money to pay us back” They said, not budging a bit. 

“But-”

“We have made our decision.” An attendant escorted him to the door.  He gruffed and walked out. 

He had been saving up for so long for this library and a building finally opened up that he could buy, only for some big wigs to come in and make an offer higher than he could bid. This was his mother’s legacy, his dream. He just had to get this library, he didn't know what he’d do if he didn’t. He sighed, walking to his work at the school. He picked up a paper on his way to teach science at the Middle School in the area. It didn’t pay much, but it was the best job he could get. The paper’s headline was 

“Prince Roman of the Carnacty family coming to New Oreleans!” Logan sighed. Always ex-celebs who run out of luck coming to all the big cities to get their name in the headlines. He walked in the front door, greeting the attendant lady. His kids were already in the classroom, patiently waiting. Their mouths were going a mile a minute, he was trying to just get a snippet of the conversation. One kid said kind of loudly,

“I can’t believe he’s coming to New Oreleans! A real prince!!!” 

“Well he’s gonna marry me, I can already tell” One of the girls scoffed. He tried his best to stifle a laugh. It was well known the prince wasn't exactly into the princesses. Well, neither was he for that matter. Women were just so… dramatic. They all stopped talking as the bell rang, piercing through the room. Announcements crackled over the intercom, telling the kids that Math Club had been postponed and the basketball game tonight. He stood up from his desk, highly caffeinated and began teaching the kids. Amelia and Lucas raised their hands several times to ask questions during the lecture as expected. He let out a sigh of relief as the bell rang once again, signaling the end of school. He filed out quickly after the kids. He was supposed to meet with his dad today, one wednesday a month they got together to talk. God bless his father, when Logan was a child, he tried so hard to support Logan financially he rarely got a chance to spend with his son. But now that Logan was off on his own he and his father had some more time to spend together.  

He met his father on the block they’d agree they’d meet. He wanted to show his father the building he had his eye on for awhile. Technically they weren’t supposed to be there but oh well. He walked up the dusty stairs and pushed open two heavy dark oak doors to reveal an empty building with a staircase leading up to a second story. There were big french-style windows on the walls, illuminating the dusty room with a beautiful golden-white light. The building itself was made of bricks that were painted over a creamy tan color. Logan’s mind flooded with images of neat rows of bookshelves, with fluffy pillows and seating arrangements scattered around. The floors, polished to a shine and half of the upper floor dedicated to an information area and classes, taught by anyone who wanted to volunteer. But best of all, there would be a plaque on the back wall, visible right when you entered, saying “Dedicated to Mary L. Berry”. He would make his mother proud, do something right for once. He snapped out of his thoughts as his father said, 

“Sure is a fixer-upper” His dad chuckled a bit. 

“Well of course. I would rather add my own furnishings and make it my library than buy a dollhouse. There is so much room for improvement!” He walked towards the center of the building, getting bathed in light. 

“Isn’t it just astounding?” There were stars in his eyes. 

“Well, sure is… something.” HIs father tentatively walked towards Logan. The light died in his eyes. 

“...what? Is it not adequate?” The light died in his eyes as he turned towards his father. “If there’s anything you don’t like about, we can fix it” Logan’s father sighed and put a hand on his son’s shoulder. 

“Bub-” Oh no. His father only called him bub when something was wrong. “You don’t get money like this from teaching- or for waitering for that matter, either. Maybe something a bit smaller?” 

“It’s for mom though- it’s what she would have wanted” 

“First of all, she only wanted you to be healthy and safe. Second of all, you should be doing this for you, not to rekindle the embers of your mother’s dying dream.” Logan sighed. 

“I want to be a librarian though- It’s my dream, too” His father looked at him worriedly.

“If your heart’s in the right place, bub… either way, how are you going to get the money? People like us can’t afford such a lovely place.” 

“You like it?” Logan said excitedly. HIs father shot him a pointed look. 

“I’ve been saving up. I have enough to meet the market price” His father knew he wasn’t telling him something but he let it go. “I have been waiting so long for this, and it’s finally in my grasp. I just have to work a few more overtimes and I’ll-” His father cut him off. 

“Woah woah woah. I asked you before if you had the money. Do you or not?” Logan looked to the side. 

“There’s a higher bidder” 

“Oh…” 

Logan sighed and walked over to the door and opened it, rising up a cloud of dust. 

“We should go, we’re not supposed to be here anyway…” Logan’s dad gave a curt nod and tipped his hat. His father hailed a cab and hopped in. 

“See you soon!” He hollered as the driver took off. Logan nodded and waved as his father disappeared down the street. He sighed and let the tears that he was holding back roll down his cheeks as he looked to the building. 

“I was almost there…”   

(------)

One of his coworkers taunted him. “C’mon, the Mardi Gras party held by Charlotte every year is tonight. You guys grew up together, you should go!” He rolled his eyes and straightened his tie. 

“Mardi Gras parties are frivolous events where people get dressed up like little kids and get drunk on mimosas. Does that sound like something I would enjoy?” 

“Aww, you’re no fun.” His coworker whined.

“I am plenty of fun!” He huffed and put his hands on his hips. 

“Well if you were really fun you’d join us.” 

“Fine… I’ll go to your little party or whatever.” His coworker smiled.

“I knew I could convince you! It's a costume party, so dress up!” His coworker hollered from down the hall. He sighed. What had he gotten himself into? 

(~~~~) 

“C’mon Remus! We’re finally here! There are places to go, people to meet! Hurry up!” Roman hollered from up the street. Remus huffed as he adjusted to the bags he was holding. Roman’s bags. While his brother was what, talking to one of the locals? His brother never helped with anything. It was always up to Remus. 

“If you could maybe help I wouldn’t be so far behind” 

“ALL I HEAR IS EXCUSES, BROTHER! LET’S GO!” He didn’t know why Roman insisted on calling him ‘brother’. The way he treated Remus was as if he was a servant, not a royal. But of course, because Roman was first in line for the throne, nobody really cared about Remus. Was his name in the papers? Nope. It was just Roman’s. Everything was Roman, Roman, Roman. Remus grudgingly quickened his pace as he followed his brother. 

“Isn’t this a lovely city?” Roman stretched out his arms. 

“Yeah…” Remus mumbled. 

“...is there a problem, brother?” Remus rolled his eyes. 

“No, everything’s a-ok” Roman sighed. 

“What is it, and let’s not let your terrible mood leave a stain on this vacation” Remus did his best not to punch his brother in the face. He sighed. 

“Nothing…” Roman smiled. 

“Then let’s go, see the sights, eat the food!” He sped ahead and Remus sighed. He watched his brother talk to another shop owner. He looked up and Roman was being escorted into the man’s shop. 

“WAIT-” Remus rushed in behind him. He turned a corner into the entranceway for the shop his brother went into. He looked up as he left the bags outside. The sign on the top of the door read 

“Dr.Janus’s Fortune Tellings and Palm Readings” This was insane. Stick it to his brother to get his fortune read. You stay rich and Mom and Dad make you marry. You inherit the crown and you live happily ever after. It didn’t take a genius to know that was what would happen. Well, he had the money to spend. He sighed and walked into the building. The ‘shop’ had a high ceiling and dust coated the floors. The place was very poorly-lit, the only light in the building coming from a few lamps hung from the walls. Speaking of the walls, they were a dark mauve. They were ordained with intricate-looking masks, of every color and shape. 

“SSSit down, gentlemen.” The lean man ushered them to a dusty and old looking circular brown table. As the man turned to them, he saw half of the man’s face appeared to be covered with scales. 

“Welcome, you’re in my world now, not your world. I’ve got friendss on the other sside.” The man’s voice was slippery and he was drawing out his s’s. Roman faked a smile and nodded. He didn’t want to be rude but this was creeping him out. 

“Sit down at my table, Put your minds at ease, if you relax it will enable me to do anything I please.” The man’s long tailcoat swished behind him as he turned and smirked. 

“I can read your future, I can change it ‘round some, too” Roman’s disgust soon turned to awe.

“Really?”

“Really, yes.” He smirked and grabbed a black top hat from one of the hooks on the wall. 

“I'll look deep into your heart and soul,” he looked to Remus and nudged him. “You do have a soul, don’t you, Remus?” Remus sat back in his chair and raised an eyebrow. 

“How do you know my name?” 

The man, who he assumed to be Dr.Janus, turned over his shoulder. His light brown eye almost seemed to glow yellow as sunlight caught it. 

“I have my wayss…” He glanced over at his brother and his brother was wiggling in his seat, Roman looked as if he was about to watch a magic show. Dr.Janus pulled a deck of cards out of his sleeve and placed them on the table. He pulled out some other things, a ragdoll and a pendant.

“I’ve got voodoo, I’ve got hoodoo, I’ve got things I ain’t even tried,” He ran a gloved finger over the designs that were etched into the wood pendant. 

“And I’ve got friends on the other side.” Roman looked worried. 

“Hey, Remus, maybe we should go, we have that um, royal thing we have to attend. Remus caught his arm and pulled him down back into the chair. 

“C’mon, brother, right when things get interesting you wanna scatter?” This act had piqued Remus’ interest. “You always tell me to be brave, why not take some of your own medicine?” Roman looked to his brother and sighed. Dr.Janus swallowed and began shuffling the cards. 

“The cards, the cards, the cards will tell, the past, the present and the future as well.” He laid down three cards to demonstrate. 

“Thesse are Tarot cards, cards that have a deep connection with the other side” Remus thought he was seeing things as a red light flickered in the ‘eyes’ of one of the large masks on the back wall. “The cards, the cards, just take three. Take a look into your future with me” He fanned out the cards face-down and displayed them in front of them. Remus eagerly grabbed three cards and Roman tentatively followed suit after. Dr.Janus motioned for the boys to flip the cards over, grinning.  Roman flipped the first one over, first. It read ‘the sun’ and had a very detailed gold inking of the sun in the center. 

“You, young man, are from across the sea,” Dr.Janus began. “You come from two longs lines of royalty.” Roman flipped the other card over. It read ‘the hermit’; with another gold design on its ‘face’. “Your lifestyle’s high,” Dr.Janus turned the card upside down. “But your funds are low. You’ve got to marry a little sonny who’s daddy’s got dough” Roman raised an eyebrow and Remus laughed.

“Really? Ol’ Mommsies and Popsicle cut you off?” Remus laughed and clutched his stomach. Roman elbowed his brother. 

“I understand. You just wanna enjoy life, be free. Hop from place to place. But freedom takes green.” Dr.Janus rubbed his fingers. “It’s the green, it’s the green, it’s the green you need.” Dr.Janus flipped over the next card. “And in your future it’s the green that I see” The card read ‘ten of pentacles’ on the top of it and a gleam flashed in Roman’s eye as he grinned. Dr.Janus turned to Remus. 

“On you, young man, I don’t want to waste much time, you’ve been pushed around all your life,” Remus scowled and Dr.Janus flipped over the first card. The card read ‘justice’ on the top and was upside down. “You’ve been pushed around by your mother and your father and your brother,” Remus knitted his brows. “And even if you were the best you can be, you’d still be pushed around” Dr.Janus turned over the next card and it read ‘the fool’, also upside down. Remus glared at Dr.Janus and Roman held Remus back from lunging at Dr.Janus. Dr.Janus, however, was unmoved. 

“But in your future, the you I see,” He turned over the final card. “Is the man you’ve always wanted to be” This card read ‘chariot’ and was upright. 

Dr.Janus took off his gold gloves to reveal scaly hands. He extended a hand out to each of them. 

“Shake my hand, c’mon boys, won’t you shake a poor sinner’s hand?” 

Remus eagerly shook his hand quickly and Roman hesitated before giving a strong shake of Dr.Janus’s hand. 

“Yessss,” The man hissed and his right eye glowed yellow. Smoke filled the room. 

“Are you ready? Are you ready?” There was a strong beating noise, almost sounding like footsteps or a heartbeat. Roman felt his forearms tighten and he looked down as two golden pythons twisted themselves around his arms, pinning him to the chair. Weird shadows danced across the walls and Remus thought he could almost hear other voices. 

“Transformation central,” Dr.Janus hissed as he held up the wooden pendant.”Transformation central,” He walked over to Roman, unfazed by what was occurring around them. His scales on his face and hands glowed yellow in the shift of lighting and the smoke.

“Transformafication central, can you feel it?” Roman yelped as something pricked his finger. Smoke filled the room up to their heads and the boys’ vision was obscured. 

“You’re changing, you’re changing, you’re changing, all right,” The man’s yellow eye and scales were the only things visible to the thick fog encompassing them. The beating grew steadily louder as Remus felt a pendant slip around his neck.

“I hope you’re satisfied. But if you ain’t, don’t blame me,” His eye and scales glowed bright yellow, almost blinding them.  “you can blame my friends on the other side” And as Dr.Janus uttered that last word, the beating stopped and everything became encompassed in darkness. They could still see the aftershine of the man’s eye and scales long after it faded out. 

(~~~~)

Logan hovered by the snack table, not wanting to get dragged onto the dance floor and be made a fool of. Patton hurried over to him, in a baby blue dress. 

“Isn’t this just amazing? And rumor is Prince Roman’s supposed to get here soon! Imagine us! Meeting a real prince!” Patton’s golden curly hair flew up as he jumped in excitement. Logan smiled and toasted a glass. “By the way I love your prince costume You see, Larry and his wife are a horse over there, lovely costume. And your coworker, Daisy is dressed as a- I’m not quite sure. Anyway, I’m going to go see if the prince is here yet!”

“Knock yourself out, Pat” Logan forced a smile and watched as Patton hurried out to the dance floor. 

(~~~~) 

Remus awoke groggily. He sat up slowly and looked down. 

“Wha-” He sat up and looked at his hands. They didn’t look like his. These weren’t his clothes, either. No- he couldn’t- He rolled up his sleeve and his suspicions were confirmed. His brother had a scar on his bicep, from when they got in a swordfight as kids. 

“Who did this?” He yelled. 

“I see you’re up,” Dr.Janus hissed from another room. 

“What did you do to me?” He shakily stood up and gripped the side of the chair. He felt like he was walking in too-big shoes. Dr.Janus walked out of his office and stood beside Remus.

“Now, what you’re going to do is you’re going to go to the party tonight. There’s a boy, Patton Hudson. His father is the richest person in New Orleans. If you’re able to woo him, you’ll be rolling in the dough. You’ll be more famous than even your brother. Doesn’t sound spectacular?” Remus nodded and Dr.Janus placed two firm hands on Remus’ shoulders.

“I can do that,” Remus nodded, now sure of what he had to do. 

“Good boy. One thing, however.” Dr.Janus placed his hands on the necklace and lifted it up. Remus shuddered as he looked down at his hands again. Callused and worn, unlike his brother’s smooth ones. 

“Don’t take this necklace off or the illusion will fail. Alright?” He slipped the necklace back around Remus’ neck and he nodded. He smirked and ran a hand through his brother’s soft, brown hair. 

“Let’s do this.” 

(~~~~) 

Logan sighed as he rested his hands on the balcony railing. He watched as a glowing prince made his way down the stairs to the partygoers. Of course, once he did, Patton was the first to greet him. Logan sighed. He didn’t get the obsession people had with this prince. 

“I know. I look absolutely hideous in that outfit.” Logan jumped back as he looked to his left where the voice came from. 

“Who said that??” he looked around worriedly. All he saw was a frog sitting on the balcony railing. 

“Over here, monsieur.” Logan looked at the frog. 

“I need to sit down. I think there was something in that drink. There is NO WAY a frog is talking to me” Logan gripped the railing as he appeared to turn a bit pale. 

“Well think again. It is I, Prince Roman” The frog hopped closer to Logan. 

“No- the great Prince Roman is out there dancing with Patton Hudson.” 

“Pfft! That is not I! That must be someone else.” Logan scoffed. 

“Well then who is it?” 

“I’m not sure. I should have never talked to that man. Now I am a slimy frog while someone is using my body. And they say fairy tales aren’t real-” Logan turned to Roman. 

“Wait what man?” He raised an eyebrow. 

“It was Dr.- something. He had a black hat and yellow gloves-” Logan’s eyes widened. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve been messing with Dr.Janus. Nobody messes with the snake man- everyone knows that.” Dr.Janus had dark magic. You didn’t mess with him. Of course Logan had heard the rumors of strange and unworldly things happening to people that talked to him. 

“Well I just got here 2 days ago and I guess I must have missed that on the brochure.” Roman snapped and  Logan sighed. 

“I feel bad for you, but what can I do about that?” Roman looked down and Logan raised an eyebrow. 

“... you could kiss me. I know it sounds insane, but if this is anything like that children’s story, I need to be kissed to be turned human.” Logan jumped back. 

“You mean that fairytale, the Princess and the Frog? Those are fiction books for children!” 

“Well then do you have a book detailing what to do if you get miraculously turned into a frog by any chance?” Logan sighed. 

“Either way, I’m not kissing a frog. No way Even if you weren’t a frog I wouldn’t kiss you. I just met you.” Roman let out a scoff. 

“I am not that ugly!” 

“I never said you were ugly.” Logan said flaty. 

“So you think I’m cute?” Roman wiggled his eyebrows and Logan felt a heat rise to his cheeks. 

“No-NO- I never said you were cute either-” 

“But you think it,” Roman smirked. 

“You are really arrogant, you know that?” Roman blinked. “And stupid, too. It means self-centered.” Roman mouthed an ‘oh’. 

“I am not arrogant! I am gorgeous!”

“Well if not that then you sure are stupid. I’m not the one that got myself turned into a frog.”

“Speaking of that-” Roman cleared his throat. 

“No, for the last time I am not kissing you.” 

@subtlereferencetomyinterests

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Bi-Monthly Reading Round-Up (September/October)

Playlist

“Mrs. Robinson” by Simon and Garfunkel (Easy Riders, Raging Bulls)

“Gone to Oregon” from The Trail to Oregon! (St. Lucy’s Home for Girls Raised by Wolves)

“Fly Me to the Moon” by Julie London (The Lady’s Guide to Celestial Mechanics)

“Father and Son” by Cat Stevens (Leah on the Offbeat)

“One of Us” by ABBA (Dunbar)

“Honesty” by Billy Joel (Project Duchess)

“The Man on the Flying Trapeze” by Henry Hall (Frog Music)

“Big News” from Parade (Girl Reporter Blows Lid off Town!)

“Tell Her What She Wants to Know” by Sam Phillips (My One and Only Duke)

“Down in the Willow Garden” by the Everly Brothers (The Art of the English Murder)

“Keep on Pushing” by the Impressions (Copper Sun)

“He’s a Rebel” by the Crystals (The Crimson Outlaw)

“Rebel Rebel” by David Bowie (Labyrinth)

“Lucky Now” by Ryan Adams (The Prodigal Duke)

Best of the Bi-Month

The Lady’s Guide to Celestial Mechanics by Olivia Waite (2019): With her ex-girlfriend just married to a man and her wastrel brother threatening to sell her telescope, Lucy Muchelney takes up Catherine St. Day, the recently widowed Countess of Moth, on an offer to translate a French astronomy text. Instead of the simple job she expected, Lucy finds a staunch (and distressingly attractive) ally in Catherine, as well as a path to success and notoriety. This Regency is the historical f/f romance I’ve always dreamed of: charming, funny, moving, well-plotted, and sensual. Also, because Catherine is bisexual, it truly is the best of the BI-month, LOL.

Worst of the Bi-Month

Easy Riders, Raging Bulls by Peter Biskind (1998): Biskind chronicles the rise and fall of the American New Wave in Hollywood, starting with the release of The Graduate and Bonnie and Clyde in the late sixties, and ending with the last gasps of the early 1980s. This book was just miserable to read, mostly because of Biskind’s embarrassingly disorganized style. He jumps around from subject to subject with no transitions, sometimes within a single paragraph. Instead of finding consistent ways to identify his subjects, he’ll let you spend half a paragraph trying to figure out whether he’s talking about Robert Altman, Robert Towne, or Robert Evans. He also has a nasty way of talking about women, inviting you to boo at the misogyny of various directors, writers, actors, and producers while downplaying the talent and basic humanity of the women involved. 

Rest of the Bi-Month

Frog Music by Emma Donoghue (2014): In 1876 San Francisco, French-born burlesque dancer Blanche Beunon loses her friend Jenny Bonnet, a cross-dressing frog-catcher, to an unknown gunman. The next few days find her racing around the city, trying to solve Jenny’s murder, recover her missing baby, avoid her vengeful (possibly murderous) ex and his sort-of boyfriend, and not get killed by smallpox or angry mobs. A series of flashbacks also show her budding friendship with Jenny and crumbling relationship with her former-trapeze-artist lover. This is a wonder of historical fiction, incredibly vibrant and operatic in scale. Blanche is a beautifully complicated heroine, and the real-life-based Jenny is amazing, too.

My One and Only Duke by Grace Burrowes (2018): Framed for murder and facing a hanging in Newgate, footman-turned-banker Quinton Wentworth performs one last good deed: marrying Jane McGowan, a poor pregnant widow, so she and her unborn child can live on part of his fortune. Then he gets a last-minute pardon and learns that he’s inherited a dukedom, making the wife he barely knows a duchess. Plus, the person who framed him is very much still trying to ruin his life. This Regency winningly combines an enjoyably high-concept plot with a pair of protagonists who are endlessly kind and supportive to each other. The historical details, especially the descriptions of Newgate, are also fun. (My edition also came with a Georgian-set novella by Elizabeth Hoyt, Once Upon a Christmas Eve, which was cute but not remarkable.)

Copper Sun by Sharon M. Draper (2006): In the mid-eighteenth century, Amari, a fifteen-year-old girl in Ghana, is kidnapped from her home and sold into slavery in South Carolina. She finds allies in a kind enslaved cook, her sweet little boy, and even a sullen white indentured servant girl, but the cruelty of her owners proves bottomless, eventually forcing her and her new friends to flee to possible freedom in Florida. Draper offers a powerful story about survival in the face of great physical danger and crushing psychological trauma, as well as a thorough yet easy-to-understand examination of the social structure of the colonial South. The evolution of Polly, the self-centered and resentful indentured servant, is also fascinating. 

Leah on the Offbeat by Becky Albertalli (2018): High school senior Leah Burke keeps her non-anger feelings to herself and hides her vulnerabilities with sarcastic humor, a strategy that proves increasingly ineffective as her friend group implodes and she finds herself falling in love with an (apparently!) straight golden-girl classmate. I read the first book in this universe, Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda, earlier this summer, and I found it utterly charming. Leah, however, hit home. Deeply insecure, principled to the point of judgmental harshness, and anxious about everything from her body to her mom’s finances, Leah reminded me a lot of my high-school self, and it was moving to see her adjust her perspective. I was also a fool and did not see the Abby romance coming, much to my delight.

The Prodigal Duke by Theresa Romain (2017): Years ago, Leo Billingsley left home to make his fortune at the request of his titled older brother, leaving his childhood friend Poppy Hayworth behind. Now that his brother is dead, he’s come to take responsibility for the dukedom, but his judgmental elderly uncle is making that difficult because it’s 1815 and he doesn’t get that Leo is doing his best to work around what we would now call ADHD. Leo goes to Poppy for help gaining his uncle’s support, only to find that she’s dealing with her own problems by working as a rope dancer at Vauxhall Gardens. This is an adorable romance; Poppy and Leo have a great old-friends dynamic, sharing inside jokes and easily emphasizing with each other’s predicaments. Romain makes great use of quirky historical details, too.

Labyrinth by Alex Beecroft (2016): Kikeru, the child of a priestess at the Temple of Knossos, is being pressured to choose between marrying a woman (as a man) and becoming a celibate priestess (as a woman). Kikeru doesn’t want to do either of those things; they just want to invent stuff, find love with a dude, and be nonbinary. Rusa, a merchant captain and a total DILF, appreciates Kikeru for who they are, but will society let them be together? Also, the mainland Greeks have plans to attack the temple, so that’s a whole thing. Beecroft’s reconstruction of Ancient Crete is fun and creative, reminding me of my childhood fascination with D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths. The romance between Kikeru and Rusa is endearing, plus I liked Kikeru’s relationship with their overbearing but well-meaning mom and Rusa’s relationship with his daring pregnant daughter.

Girl Reporter Blows Lid Off Town! by Linda Ellerbee (2000): Small-town sixth-grader Casey Smith has big dreams of being a journalist, so she’s crushed to find out that her middle school’s newspaper has been defunct for years. When she proposes a revival to her English teacher, she learns that peppy type-A Megan O’Connor has beaten her to the punch. A war for the editor-in-chief position ensues, but Casey also has to help recruit other staff and write an exposé on pollution at the local paper mill. This book is the first in the eight-book Get Real series, which absolutely should’ve been wronger. Ellerbee, a pioneering journalist, also writes one hell of a series debut. Casey, insecure and loud-mouthed and a total loose cannon, is a great protagonist, like a perfect combination of Liz Lemon and Leslie Knope. Megan is a worthy opponent, whose perky demeanor belies a core of steel and a lot of professionalism. The other staff--spacey cartoonist Ringo, intellectual sports writer Gary, and prickly photographer Toni--are also amazingly well-rounded, given the brevity of the novel. The style is pretty dated--it’s practically written in gel pen in a Limited Too diary--but that has its charms.

The Art of the English Murder by Lucy Worsley (2013): Worsley details the evolution of British crime fiction throughout the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, starting with the growing fascination with real-life murders in the 1800′s and ending with the decline of genteel detective fiction. I’ve had not-great experiences with Worsley, but this is an enjoyable, if not particularly deep overview.

The Crimson Outlaw by Alex Beecroft (2013): After angering his boyar father and suffering harsh punishment, callow young Vali Florescu flees his home and hides among the local peasants. While there, he makes the acquaintance of Mihai Roscat, a dispossessed warrior who now lives as the Crimson Outlaw. Once he realizes that his father is an even worse ruler than he is a parent, Vali enlists the help of Mihai to overthrow him. This is a pretty but rather slight novella with a unique setting (1720s Romania). 

Project Duchess by Sabrina Jeffries (2019): Fletcher Pryde, the Duke of Greycourt, returns home for his stepfather’s funeral. It’s an already-stressful occasion, thanks to his loving but strained relationships with his mother and step-siblings, but then his stepbrother shares his suspicions that the standoffish war-veteran gamekeeper, a distant cousin, was responsible for the death. Fletcher is tasked with getting to know Beatrice, the gamekeeper’s sister, to see if she knows anything. Worried for her brother and burdened with her own secrets, Beatrice is as wary of Fletcher as he is of her, yet they have a connection. This is a cute, readable little Regency that never quite lives up to its premise, although I liked both protagonists a lot.

St. Lucy’s Home for Girls Raised by Wolves by Karen Russell (2006): In this collection of short stories, we hear from teenage boys who have “prophetic” dreams about historical tragedies, girls living in abandoned gator-wrestling theme parks, and the marital difficulties of old-timey Minotaurs who marry human women. I was prepared to love this surreal collection after reading Russell’s sublime Vampires in the Lemon Grove this past summer, and I don’t know why I didn’t. The best stories are good, but I didn’t really connect with or remember them afterwards. I think there’s too much weird machinery without enough grounding in real emotional conflicts.

Dunbar by Edward St. Aubyn (2017): Dunbar, a retired Canadian media mogul, is sabotaged and railroaded into a nursing home by his two scheming eldest daughters. As he tries to escape the home with the help of an alcoholic comedian, his disinherited youngest daughter and his well-meaning lawyer try to find out where he’s been institutionalized. This modern retelling of King Lear is fairly interesting but never really gets off the ground; it feels more like St. Aubyn is playing with dolls than writing a novel.

Partners (4) | Tommy Akhtar x Reader

Words: 2392

Warning: Not much… please let me know if there are

A/N: Reader and Tommy finally acting into the case and reader finally meets Shelly. More talk about Bond.

-

You and Tommy had a new arrangement, different than what you had originally planned, but given your current situation, it was for the best. The clouds were letting up that day, so the sky didn’t look as dreary as the day before. Tommy didn’t talk about what happened at the cemetery besides what Shelly had told them about the banker and you didn’t push it. In the four days you’ve known each other, you were slowly getting in tune to each other’s thoughts and personalities. Tommy was more considerate with you and cigarettes by smoking while he’s outside the car and facing away when you’re outside together. So far, you fortunately hadn’t run into your dreaded uncle and you seemed to be more stable than the past two or three days.

After your discussion at the cemetery parking lot, you decided to quit the diner. The manager was sad to see you go, as well as some of the regulars that you helped serve, but it had to be done. Tommy told you about his dad’s health conditions and agreed to help remind him about taking his medication and lay off the booze. Meanwhile, you continue your search for the art collector and the connections with Davenport, trying to find their motive behind all those cases.

No one had contacted you yet, which somewhat surprised you. Your family wasn’t the type to just talk and check in with each other unless they need something. They were aware about what you’ve been investigating, although they don’t know about your investigation partner. You thought they would have at least checked in the progress of the investigation. It should be a relief that you were allowed breathing space and you try to shrug off the feeling that they were slightly behind the predicted schedule.

You were currently seated in the car, parked across of your targeted bank. From the logo that Davenport carries around, this should be the one that he worked at. You made note of the people walking in and out, checking for anyone that looked remotely like the mysterious art collector or any of the art collectors that Davenport was associated with. So far, you got nothing.

“One six-inch onion chicken sub,” Tommy announced, suddenly appearing near your car window.

You rolled down the window and grabbed the sandwich and drink from him, so he could climb into the passenger’s seat with more ease. You sipped on the soda as you scanned the streets out of growing habit. Tommy watched as you forced yourself to relax, rolling the window back up and taking a bite of your sandwich.

“So,” he said, swallowing down a bite, “have you come up with a Bond girl name, yet?”

You coughed to hide a laugh, having initially thought he was going to bring up something serious like the case. “Well, Lotus is definitely going to be in there somewhere,” you said.

“The color and the word lotus? Golden Lotus? Crimson Lotus? What’s your favorite color anyways?”

“(Y/f/c),” you answered.

“Tommy Bond and (Y/f/c) Lotus,” he said dramatically, spreading his hands as if reading off a wide movie sign.

“That sounds lame.”

“It’ll catch on,” he insisted, biting into his own sandwich. He let out a loud moan, making a point to face you and chew slowly. You suppressed another laugh, turning away to take another sip of your soda. “Listen. You need to lighten up. I’m the detective here, alright? I need to be the scruffy, cynical, and brooding one in this dynamic, okay?”

“I don’t want to let my guard down,” you said.

Tommy nodded. “Fair enough. Maybe you can be Bond. I can be… your Bond boy,” he joked, pausing mid-bite as the suspected banker strolled up to the building. “At least we know we’ve got the right place.”

“Anything from the network?” you asked.

Since quitting the diner, you had to find other ways to keep in contact with your network. Before, it wouldn’t have been so bad, and you could have simply walk up to a beggar and pay them off for information. Now, you were paranoid. If your uncle could somehow find out your address, who knows what method he had used to track you down. So, instead, Tommy volunteered to check up on your network and you made sure they knew that he was an ally, adding your uncle on their watchlist.

“The London Museum is getting all hyped up for their new exhibit. It’s just flyers everywhere. Two of the art collectors that Davenport is associated with had visited the museum recently. I didn’t want our trackers to get too close, so they followed them and found the general area where they live,” Tommy said, pulling out a zoomed up printed London map from the glove compartment. There was a red circle around two areas in the East and the South-West, marking where the art collectors reside.

Your eyes briefly left the bank’s entrance to look at the map, leaning in closer. “Those are high-end suburban areas in London. It’s a good thing they didn’t get any closer,” you noted.

Tommy hummed in agreement. “We just need to find a way to get closer.”

“Follow them ourselves? Break into their house or sneak our way into a private party?”

He nodded. “We might have to. Which one are you more confident in, breaking into their house or sneaking into a party?” he asked with a straight face. “I, personally, would rather break in than attend a snobby party, but there’s free drinks, too.”

“Don’t want to wear a tux, Mr. Bond?” you played along.

“Do you want to see me in a tux, Miss Lotus?”

“I rather you in a tux than me in a dress. But, I also rather us in shady garb sneaking around suburban houses than either of us fancily dressed mingling with high-noses.” You thought for a moment, taking the time to finish up your sandwich. After swallowing, you said, “Do we have to break into their house, though? Can’t we just hack them or figure out how to steal Davenport’s bank statements for any money transference linked to the art collectors within our timeline?”

“You know how to do that stuff?”

You shrugged. “How hard can it be?” Tommy raised an eyebrow, as if saying “Are you serious?” You snorted, pushing his arm. “I’m kidding. I was the secretary in the family business, remember? I had to do a lot computer and paperwork, so I’ve hacked before. Besides, we could also sneak into his hotel room, rifle through his stuff, then pop back out.”

“That sounds easiest. Why didn’t you say so in the first place? We’ve wasted so much time because of you,” Tommy accused, crumpling his sandwich rap.

You threw your own rubbish at him and poised your hand above the car key. “Should we start heading out?” you asked.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

You started the car and followed Tommy’s instructions towards the hotel that the banker had been staying at. Businessmen usually reserve a room at a nearby hotel when conducting shady meetings, often reserving the same room every time. Humans were creatures of habit after all. The hotel itself was away from the industrial and business area of the city, making it less likely for them to run into familiar faces. Luckily, Shelly worked at that hotel and had kept track of Davenport for the past few days, under the request of Tommy. He still hadn’t spoke to you about her much, and it really wasn’t your business. Although, you’ve shared a fair amount of your history, the fact that Tommy and his father offered their apartment to you was a fair enough trade in your opinion.

Tommy shifted around his seat as you drove, digging through his pockets. “What are you doing?” you asked him.

“Looking for my cigs,” he muttered, “Must’ve used them up already.”

“Want gum?” You held up the pack towards him without taking your eyes off the road.

“Thanks.”

He took the pack and pulled out a stick of gum, tossing the pack back after shoving the gum in his mouth. He leaned closer to the dashboard, peering through the windshield and pointed the next direction. You signaled left and turned. As the hotel came into view, Tommy leaned back in his seat with a sigh.

“Want to follow me inside?” he suddenly asked without looking at you.

“Thought you’d want me in the car so we could book it once you’ve got the information we needed?” you said.

Tommy shrugged. “We just saw him arrived at work. He won’t be back for a while. According to my friend, he doesn’t come around the hotel until nine or ten in the evening to meet his clients. Could use more eyes. Given the number of clients he meets, especially the nature of those meetings, he may keep some documents in the hotel’s safe. We can search around for more clues that involves your family or at least where he keeps his other documents or where he lives.

You didn’t push him and decided to follow along. If you couldn’t tell by the architecture or the size of the building, the interior of the hotel screamed expensive. This was the type of place where the rich come to stay either for a business trip, a get-away, or an affair. You felt out of place in your casual attire as you stepped into the chandelier lit lobby. Dusty rose drapes hung from the windows and parts of the ceiling, the walls were creme and the floors were marble, and the lights seemed to dim the further you walked in. Tommy led you to the side where the front desk was.

“Tommy,” a woman’s voice called out, causing the both of you to turn.

The same blonde woman from the cemetery walked up to Tommy with a big grin, wearing an elegant off the shoulder crème dress. She was gorgeous with her wavy shoulder length blonde hair, brown eyes, and bright contagious smile. Tommy greeted her, giving her a quick hug that you felt would have been longer if you weren’t here. He turned to you and held out a hand.

“Shelly, this is (Y/n). (Y/n), Shelly,” he introduced you.

“Hi,” you said, sticking a hand out to her.

“It’s nice to meet you. Tommy’s mentioned you before the other day,” Shelly said, taking your hand in a firm shake.

You released her hand and stuffed your hands in your coat. “Has he? I’m sure there wasn’t much to mention about me.”

“Well, he said you’re his new partner for the case he’s working on,” she said, glancing between you two. “Tommy usually works alone, so it was kind of surprising that he’s actually having someone help him for once.

“Really? Was he always this stubborn?”

Of course, they knew each other in school. You thought back to Tommy’s conversation with his dad the other day and how he mentioned that she was his friend’s girl. You tried to put the pieces together, although you’ve continued to remind yourself it shouldn’t be any of your business, but you couldn’t help it. It was a habit of yours to figure out someone with the clues you’re given. His friend must’ve been the one that passed away, hence meeting up at the cemetery and there was something going on between Tommy and Shelly.

“Yes! Ever since I can remember he- “

“Okay, if you ladies are done gossiping about me,” Tommy interrupted, stepping in between you and Shelly. “We need to continue on with some business.”

“I haven’t even reached the good part,” Shelly teased. Tommy gave her a warning look, which responded with a playful roll of her eyes. “Okay, come on. I have his room number and the housekeeping keys.”

“Stay close, alright,” Tommy whispered to you, his arm brushing yours as you set off to follow Shelly.

“Well, where else am I going to go?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at his orders.

“There’s a few nosy people at this hotel. In case we get caught, at least we’d be together and think of a cover story,” he said.

“We came to bang,” you quipped with a firm nod of your head, as if he had agreed to use that cover story.

Tommy aggressively wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “That seems to be the running theme when it comes to lying about our relationship, hasn’t it? Didn’t realize you were that eager,” he said, referring to the time you messed with the other waitress back at the diner.

You pushed his arm off. “Have you been here before?” you wondered.

He stiffened, his eyes shifting away from you, briefly hovering over Shelly who continued to walk ahead of the two of you and not paying attention to your conversation. “And what makes you think that?”

You shrugged. “Nothing,” you said.

It wasn’t just the fact that he knew exactly how to find the hotel, his body language seemed that he was familiar with the stifling atmosphere of the fancy place. With his personality and line of work, he wouldn’t have chosen a hotel like this to stay in. He had headed straight for the front desk, he didn’t look around for it. He, at least, was familiar with the type of people that would visit the hotel and their behavior. Maybe it was just an assumption on his part with being familiar with high- and middle-class people in general. In the end, it was all speculation in your head.

Shelly lead the two of you towards the elevator and up to the upper floors before heading down the corridors to Davenport’s room. She handed Tommy the key, a silent exchange between them as they looked at each other. You busied yourself with memorizing the interior designs and the number of doors down the hallways. You jolted when Shelly laid a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Sorry. It really was nice meeting you. Keep Tommy out of trouble, yeah?” she said with a small smile.

“I can’t promise that. You know him better than I do.” You were breaking into a banker’s private hotel room and about to rifle through and possibly steal confidential information. If anything, you were aiding him in trouble and Shelly was enabling it.

-

A/N: I actually liked Shelly in the movie and thought they were cute together, but this is a Tommy Akhtar x reader story and I liked the idea that reader and Shelly would quickly get along.

It’s a shame that Merwin K. Hart’s life has drifted into obscurity, because in his prime he was a real dazzler, one of the brightest stars from the Golden Age of American Paranoia.

In the 1940s and 1950s, Hart ran an organization called The National Economic Council. Neither a government agency nor a laboratory for research, the NEC served as a propaganda funnel for the anxieties of the postwar corporate elite. Men of fortune, like the du Ponts (chemical magnates) and the Pews (of Charitable Trust fanfare) would turn over large sums of money to Hart, who would in turn blast out warnings about the “three million” immigrants who had entered the country “illegally” at the close of World War II, causing a “housing shortage.” Or the “deceit” of international Jewry. Or the hidden subversive content in certain college textbooks.

Hart’s favorite freakout was socialism, and how terrifyingly close the United States was to a socialist dystopia. “Our country grew great through freedom,” he warned hundreds of university trustees in 1948. “Do we want the United States to drift into a Socialism like that of Britain ― which many of us feel is only a transitory stop on the road to State Absolutism such as that of Russia?” Once upon a time, England and the Soviet Union were considered comparable evils on the American right.

The Baby Boomers are the worst American generation since Reconstruction, but they had many reasons to turn out this way. The Boomers were raised in a political culture dominated by madmen, their minds warped at an early age. For decades, Boomers saw the term “socialism” deployed not to denote a set of economic policies, but to conjure a vague, foreign horror. Accustomed to this nomenclature, Boomers have reacted with fright or at least confusion to the terminology of today’s American left, which has embraced the “socialist” label more widely than any domestic political movement in living memory. But the Boomers need to relax. Socialism is good now.

Socialism is not a static, concrete ideology. It is a word whose meaning has long been rendered flexible by decades of political bombardment. It was even hard to pin down Karl Marx on a practical definition. For libertarian economist Milton Friedman, progressive taxation was synonymous with socialism. For Hart, socialism was the British National Health Service. The late Sen. Jesse Helms (R-N.C.), saw socialism and racial integration as inseparable, and denounced the Martin Luther King Jr. holiday as a celebration of “communism, socialism and sex perversion.”

You get the idea: much of what conservatives decried as “socialist” in the 20th century today enjoys broad support among liberals, leftists and even many conservatives.

This is because conservative thinkers of the time chiefly used the word “socialism” not to prosecute the Cold War, but to attack the Democratic Party. Something Democrats said was good was actually very bad, because it was socialist ― and “socialist” was the second “S” in U.S.S.R., after all. This simple rhetorical trick diverted arguments about popular ideas into a referendum on gulags, thought police and nuclear annihilation.

But socialism lost its sting at the end of the Cold War. In 2009, when Rep. Spencer Bachus (R-Ala.) told a reporter he had a secret list of 17 “socialists” then working in Congress, the Beltway press and Sen. Bernie Sanders (I-Vt.) responded not with McCarthy-era outrage but gentle amusement. When Rep. Steve King (R-Iowa) called same-sex marriage a socialist plot that same year, he couldn’t even convince conservative Supreme Court Justice Anthony Kennedy.

Millennials are the first generation to come of age without all of this Cold War brain baggage. They also entered adulthood around the 2008 financial crisis, a period in which the word “capitalism” was having a rough go: double-digit unemployment, mass foreclosures, unaffordable rent, crushing student debt, deepening economic inequality, bailed-out bankers swallowing six-figure bonuses, tech billionaires who literally can’t figure out how to give away their money. 

(Continue Reading)

Gilded Viper

They say among the masquerades held in Quel’thalas, few matched the opulent splendor of those hosted by House Indaris. Only those of Silvermoon proper were equal, though such had always been vehemently denied by the lords and ladies of Indaris. Though this particular masquerade was smaller, featuring only the wealthy and elite among the Crescent Hills, it still would be a night to remember. Here, the socialites and nobility could forget the problems and worries of the world.

It was precisely what Aurelian was hoping for.

He had thrown the masquerade in an attempt to distract the nobility from the threat of demons, unrest among civilians and other ‘minute’ problems. So far, as the night had proven, it was working. Here there were new foes to focus on and alliances to forge, where no claws of demon kind could threaten. And if they could not threaten here, were they truly a threat? The world continued as normal for the elite of the elves despite the Legion’s best efforts.

Had it cost the coffers of House Indaris a small fortune? Absolutely. Aurelian had spent the better part of a week arguing with the house treasurer Solidus, who had viewed such displays as ‘frivolous wastes of gold.’ Spirits from across the world were shipped in, including rare rice wines from the breweries of Pandaria while exotic foods ranging from the northern end of the known world to its southern tip were served for the attendees to feast upon. Such was the display of wealth and vanity that Aurelian provided.

Such an aristocratic event of course meant anyone who was anyone was there. Burgeoning merchant lords rubbed shoulder to shoulder with minor nobles of a dozen houses. Sons and daughters of exquisite beauty and of various titles strived to meet, dance and socialize while parents watched with keen interest, hoping to barter some alliance from these arrangements. They were even thrust upon Aurelian and, much to his amusement, his guest.

True to his word, Aurelian had taken the elven woman as his guest of honor. It would have been a scandalous affair had Sare’wen not been one of the most beautiful women of the evening. Even Aurelian was surprised at what he had accomplished in his self-proclaimed makeover of the woman. She was a commoner, but Aurelian had disguised that with highborne beauty and grace. Her dress and jewels had been handpicked by Aurelian himself, though she had removed some of the most ostentatious displays of vanity to his annoyance. Even with her interference, she looked as if starlight descended from the heavens.

They had asked who the woman was, and why Aurelian had taken her as guest. He had left Sare’wen to explain in order to give the first dance of the evening with his betrothed. A hundred eyes had fallen on Aurelian and Calithielwen as they took central stage upon the dance floor, their own reflections visible beneath them among the pristine marble. The lord, in his purple and gold embroidered vest and black furred cloak, moved alongside the cerulean dressed form of his betrothed, becoming a maelstrom of colors. The golden falcon danced with the fox, and the world watched.

She had barely looked at Aurelian as they danced, something he was certain a few among those attendant would notice. For her, the dance was a formality, an importance stressed by Aurelian just several days previous. Nearly a year and there had been little sign of any affection from her, save fleeting fragments of love and of course lust of the flesh. As soon as the music had stopped and the applauds echoed in their wake, the two had bowed to one another before Calithielwen abandoned Aurelian on the dance floor.

That had been an hour ago, and since then Aurelian had meandered among the crowd. Dozens sought to speak with him to bribe, flirt and otherwise gain his attention. He was the undisputed lord of the Crescent Hills, and his position brought popularity. Minor nobles begged for him to dance with their daughters, to pay them some special attention in the hopes he might fancy them. In the past, he had been callous enough to simply switch his attentions on a whim, breaking many a heart. But those days had passed, and so he politely declined. He had even been forced to defuse tension between the Salas and Arrowmere families of Rivervale, the two having been rivals over the town.

Occasionally Aurelian had glanced around, searching for either his betrothed or Sare’wen. At times he glimpsed both, having some small amusement at their disinterest with the men who tried to court their attention. He made a mental note to remember the rats who had tried in vain to sway his betrothed’s attention away from him. As he took another glance, he noted an elderly man moving through the crowd towards him with an awkward gait. Interestingly, the crowd parted for this man Aurelian did not recognize, allowing him to see him fully.

Aurelian assumed the man had once been some soldier, judging from the scars that he could see. Upon his greying features he wore a mask shaped in the hissing jaws of a viper, emerald eyes illuminating the crimson scales. Aurelian realized the man favored heavily his right leg, gripping and leaning upon a bejeweled cane as he walked. Despite the infirm nature of the man marking him as physically weak, Aurelian noted several of the lords seemed to shy away in fear. Interesting.

“Lord Aurelian Indaris.” The man gave a low bow of respect, head dipping low. At this time Aurelian noticed the young woman beside him, azure of hair and dress. Whereas the man was infirm and feeble in appearance, she held a strong confidence, meeting and matching Aurelian’s gaze as if challenging him to speak. Aurelian realized then who the two were, giving a bow in return.

“Lord Scipia. At last I finally have the pleasure of properly meeting you.” Aurelian had heard for months the rising star that was the Scipia family. They were bankers from the Crescent Hills, yet recently profited from a meteoric rise of ascension thanks to its cunning patriarch Rannigan Scipia. Branches of his bank had opened in Silvermoon, opening up dozens of new possibilities. Wealth brought them power and gold a title. Despite this Aurelian had never actually met the Scipia family, or at least that he could recall. He had only heard of the crippled banker, and the alluring beauty of his daughter.

“Indeed! A travesty I say it has taken so long, though I cannot argue against meeting on such an occasion. My thanks for your invitation to this event.” Rannigan pulled himself up with some effort upon his cane, offering a smile that matched the serpentine nature of his mask. “Allow me to introduce my daughter, Andrea Scipia.” The woman gave a curtsy to Aurelian, though did not break her stare. It was enchanting in a way, and Aurelian had to force himself to look away.

“The pleasure is mine, my lady. I hope you both are enjoying yourself tonight?”

“Indeed, Lord Aurelian. My daughter had for years dreamed of dancing amid the golden halls of House Indaris, socializing with its lords and ladies. Ah, the youth.” Andrea shot her father a glare, nearly forcing Aurelian to laugh.

“Unfortunately not all of our halls are golden, though I am pleased to see such dreams come to fruition.”

“Yes, it has been quite enjoyable.” Her voice was as cold as Northrend, both icy and fierce. Aurelian mused in amusement over the suitors she had scared off, undoubtedly holding as cold a temperament as her tone held. A servant moved by them holding a tray of wine, Andrea grabbing a glass which Aurelian matched. He had broken out several barrels of the Illurian Red, receiving plenty of compliments for the delicious wine.

“I hear she is not the only one here however to be living her dreams, of course.”

“Oh?” Aurelian raised a brow, motioning for Rannigan to continue as he sipped from his glass.

“Your guest, of course. She is a commoner, is she not?” Aurelian blinked at that, surprise evident.

“Yes. I was not aware it was so well known.”

“It’s not, I don’t believe. But you know how lords like to gossip, and when they heard that the Lord Indaris was bringing a guest, ah they simply had to know. A good move I say to bring in one of the common folk.”

“Well, I must confess it wasn’t fully by choice. She had beaten me in a sparring match and being victorious she requested to attend an Indaris ball. I, being the humble and generous sort, agreed.”

“A common woman beat you?” Aurelian coughed awkwardly, taking another, longer sip of his wine.

“I was using my bad hand. Overconfidence, I am afraid. Besides, she trained with a master swordsman in her youth.”

“Really? Who?”

“No idea…” Aurelian muttered.

“Ah, I see.” Rannigan’s disbelief was evident on his tone and from the curl of his lip, though he visibly shook it away with a wave of his hand. “Still, it is good to have one of the common folk here, I imagine. Have to keep them placated as well.”

“Indeed. Now, Lord Scipia,” Aurelian began in an effort to change the topic from his embarrassment, “are the rumors of your takeover of the Silverstone bank true? I had heard such but could scarcely believe it.”

“It is true, my lord. I bought them out three weeks ago.”

“Consider me impressed. The Silverstone’s are…err were one of the oldest banks in Quel’thalas.”

“Time comes for even the oldest of institutes, and they could not adapt with the world. Traditions sometimes must give way to the future. I am, however, now the largest banker in the combined Gilded Lands and undoubtedly several holdings beyond.”

“Now I really am impressed. Perhaps I need to pay one of your banks a visit. I have a vast fortune, and I am sure I could deposit some of it away.”

“I would be honored, my lord, to have the Indaris family use one of my banks. Speaking of your family, how fares your siblings? I noticed both are still absent.”

“My brother remains comatose, and my sister remains…unwell.” He didn’t know how to describe what was wrong with his sister. She had been asleep for almost a year now, and despite the death of her enchanter she still had not awoken.

“A shame. I am sure their presence is sorely missed in both your court and among the nobility.”

“I am sure of that. I- “Aurelian paused mid-sentence, eyes having wandered away from the two and spotting a familiar figure leaning upon a nearby wall. Unlike the rest of the attendants he was heavily armored, the guests keeping a wide birth of the hulking figure. What on Azeroth was he doing here. “You must excuse me, Lord Scipia. I am afraid I must find out why a certain guest is here.” Both turned to where Aurelian was looking, spotting the armored man.

“Isn’t he from Silvermoon?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Aurelian grumbled, giving a bow. “Lord Scipia, Lady Scipia; a pleasure.”

“Perhaps, before the evening is over my lord, you may honor me with a dance?” Andrea asked. Her chilling beauty unnerved Aurelian, but he could not figure out why.

“If the stars so align, I would be honored my lady. But, you both must excuse me.”

“Of course, of course.” Rannigan slowly moved away as Aurelian walked by, picking his way through the crowd towards the armored figure while placing his now empty glass on a servant’s tray as they passed by. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and pole-axe slung across his back despite there being no weapons allowed. Steel grinded against stone as the figure turned to look at Aurelian, though failing to acknowledge the lord’s arrival.

“To what do I owe the displeasure, Veridan.” Veridan Koss finally pushed himself off the wall, standing eye level with Aurelian.

“Heard you were throwing a ball. Figured I’d show up and see what the fuss was about. Even Silvermoon was talking about it.”

“Really?”

“No. But Magister Craw desired I attend, and so here I am.”

“To spy, I presume?”

“Yep.” Aurelian blinked at how forthcoming Veridan was.

“Well there’s nothing here worth spying over.”

“Everything here is worth spying over, Indaris. Don’t play stupid, we both know in a time like this you have to watch everyone. Our prince was a reminder we have to watch the citizens during a time of crisis. See whose playing power games, who’s trying to kill who.”

“And how Silvermoon can benefit.” Aurelian finished.

“Precisely. See, I told Craw you weren’t that stupid.” Aurelian curled his lip in annoyance.

“Thanks, I suppose. Why the weapon, though. Expecting trouble? I ensured all of my guests were unarmed. You should be too.”

“Oh they tried. They stopped when I explained politely my business, followed by reminding them that as an enforcer of Silvermoon I can crush their skull like a melon and no one would care. They stopped trying then. Anyways, elves cast magic no? I don’t see any inhibitors here. One angry lord and there could be a loose fireball. Speaking of, looks like you got one coming.”

“What?”

“Lord Indaris!” Aurelian blinked, turning around as his name was called. “I must protest your guest.”

“Oh good, not a fireball.”

“What?”

“Nevermind. Now, why are you protesting my guest?” He was younger than Aurelian, hot blooded and undoubtedly easily offended.

“I asked to dance with her, and she refused me. Me! Such disrespect.” For the life of him, Aurelian had no clue who the man was.

“I see. Where is she now?”

“Light knows where. I’ve been looking for you for the last thirty minutes.” Aurelian merely gave the man a deadpanned expression, ears perking as he swore he heard Veridan chuckle.

“Right then. I suppose I shall go talk with her. My apologies if you were offended in any way.” The man gave an undignified huff as Aurelian walked away. Light the man was undoubtedly an ass and realized immediately why Sare’wen would have said no. No humility or sense of recognition of who was important.

Aurelian moved his way through the crowd, asking if anyone had seen Sare’wen. None of them had, though nearly a score of young lords had voiced displeasure over being turned down. She was proving to be very popular amidst the young men, no doubt thinking her some vaunted lady. Of course their fathers would never permit their sons to marry a commoner, but a dance and possibly more with a beautiful woman would never be ignored by the hot blooded.

Realizing she was not on the dance floor, Aurelian moved up the stairs to the exit, turning to his servants. Here he found more success, being pointed in a general direction. As he moved past a statue of his father, he heard the strange sound of paper being turned. He paused, listening for it. A short time later, he heard it again. Slowly he moved to the statue, looking behind it.

Sare’wen sat undignified on the floor, a book in her hands and her back turned away from Aurelian. She had taken off several of the jewelry pieces, the glittering gems and gold lying on the floor neatly beside her as well as the fawn mask she wore. Aurelian blinked in surprise, narrowing his eyes to try and see what she was reading. Behind the statue it was too dark for him to properly see it, so he took a step around. Loudly, he coughed to try and get her attention. Nothing.

“Sare’wen.” No response. “Sare’wen.” He repeated, louder this time. For answer, she flipped another page of her book. Was she ignoring him? “Sare’wen!” She gasped in surprise, closing her book shut.

“What! Oh, yes, hello Lord Indaris.” She awkwardly rose, turning to face Aurelian with a smile. Her blonde hair had been pulled back as was proper, gemstones hiding between the strands. Her smile reached her eyes, the woman holding the book with both hands.

“I called for you three times.”

“Oh!” She placed a hand to her lips in embarrassment. “I am so sorry. I was just so engrossed with this book.”

“I can see that…what are you reading, anyways?”

“Nevermind that.” She quickly placed the book behind her, tilting her head. “Is everything okay?”

“Sort of. Have you had fun?” Aurelian leaned against the statue, arms crossing as he spoke. No doubt his father would have disapproved of his casual nature, and Aurelian could almost feel the glare from the statue’s eyes above him.

“Oh, lots! This place is so beautiful. I had dreamed of seeing the castle since I was a little girl. To finally be in it…it’s breathtaking. I could see my reflection in the marble!” Aurelian laughed at that, nodding.

“Yes, I ensured they be polished to such a standard.”

“And the flowers are gorgeous! I don’t recognize a lot of them.”

“I had some brought in from Suramar, as well as a rare bloom of desert flower found only in Uldum. They say the titan influence of the land also affected the plants.”

“It’s all so beautiful.”

“Beautiful enough to hide away from the ball? I hear you’ve been proving quite the heartbreaker tonight.” She smiled sheepishly at that, shrugging her shoulders innocently.

“They were all so…snobbish and boring. Oh, and full of themselves. They just wanted to dance with me like I’m a prize to be won. Besides, they’re all lords, and I’m just a commoner. It wouldn’t lead anywhere.”

“True, but you’re at least more bearable company then most of them. Ugh, you should have seen this one, well you probably did. He came to me to complain you wouldn’t dance with him.”

“Really? Who?”

“Some blonde-haired little twerp with an atrocious beard. He was wearing this gaudy red outfit.”

“Oh lord Hask’s son.” Aurelian stared at Sare’wen. “What?”

“That was Lord Hask’s son? Poor man. I once had dinner at the Hask estate. Terrible food, but Lord Hask was pleasant enough company. His son was away, I think. That or he was just so uninteresting I completely forgot about him. Huh…” Aurelian tapped his chin with a finger in thought. “Anyways, he was very offended you wouldn’t dance with him.”

“Did it dishonor you that I did not?”

“No. But, I can’t have my guest hiding away reading during a ball. Not for the whole time, anyways. The second dance of the evening needs to happen, and I am in need of a dance partner. Will you join me?” Sare’wen paused, looking as Aurelian stretched out his hand for her to take.

“I…”

“Come on, it’ll be fun.” She remained there for a moment, before bending down to both put down the book, and pick up her jewelry and mask. Amusingly she leaned back down, positioning the book behind the statue and fiddling with it before rising quickly. She took his hand, offering him a smile as she placed back on her mask.

“Very well lord Indaris. Let us dance.”

  “So what happened next.”

“This may surprise you magister, but we danced.” Balasar did not seem amused as he stared at Aurelian.

“Amusing, Lord Indaris.” He said unamused.

“Honestly, that’s all that happened. We danced, and everyone watched. I am sure it upset some of the lords that I was able to dance with Sare’wen. I will confess I was surprised at how well she danced, considering she is a commoner and all. When that was done, the masquerade continued as normal. I am sure Veridan here will confirm that.”

“Yes, he has. How many lords do you think were in attendance?”

“Oh at least a hundred lords and ladies. Anyone who was anyone was there. I can procure the guest list for you, if you’re interested.”

“That won’t be necessary. Now, you said you spoke with the Salas and Arrowmere families, as well as the Scipias?”

“Indeed. At the time, I was not aware the three would prove to be so important, but here we are.”

“What was your impressions of lord Scipia and his daughter.”

“Rannigan fit his mask, that’s for sure. I could tell immediately he was a snake. As for his daughter? She was beautiful, but cold. I didn’t dance with her like she had asked but looking back I doubt she expected it. I did however speak on depositing some money in Rannigan’s bank; polite gesture in all. Never hurts to be friends with one of the wealthiest lords of the lands.”

“Mhmm…And was the tension between the Salas and Arrowmere families worse than usual?”

“Not particularly no, though I defused it before it would explode, pardon the ironic word choice.”

“Yes. Tell me of the aftermath, and what happened to the Arrowmeres.”

Pyke

A renowned harpooner from the slaughter docks of Bilgewater, Pyke should have met his death in the belly of a gigantic jaull-fish; and yet, he returned. Now, stalking the dank alleys and backways of his former hometown, he uses his new supernatural gifts to bring a swift and gruesome end to those who make their fortune by exploiting others-- and a city that prides itself on hunting monsters now finds a monster hunting them.

As a youth, Pyke started out like many in Bilgewater: on the slaughter docks. All day, every day, monstrous creatures of the deep were hauled in for rendering in the butcheries that lined the waterfront. He found employment in a district known as Bloodharbor, as even the tide itself was not strong enough to wash away the red slick that ran constantly down its wooden slips.

He became well acquainted with the trade—both the gruesome work and meager paychecks. Over and over, Pyke watched heavy purses of gold being handed to captains and crews in exchange for the daunting carcasses that he and his fellows would hack into salable chunks. He became hungry for more than a few copper sprats in his pocket, and managed to talk his way onto a ship’s crew. Few individuals dared to hunt in the traditional Serpent Isles manner: launching themselves at their targets to secure tow-hooks with their bare hands, and beginning to butcher the creatures while they yet lived. Fearless and highly skilled in this regard, Pyke soon cut a name for himself as the best harpooner a golden kraken could buy. He knew meat was worth pennies compared to certain organs from the larger, more dangerous beasts… organs that needed to be harvested fresh.

Depending on the difficulty of the hunt, each sea monster commanded its own price, and the most desired by Bilgewater traders was the jaull-fish. From its razor-toothed maw, priceless sacs of sapphilite were coveted across Runeterra for various sorcerous distillations, and a small flask of the glowing blue oil could pay for a ship and its crew ten times over. But it was while hunting with an untested captain that Pyke learned where a life of blood and guts would land him.

Days into their journey, a huge jaull-fish breached, opening its maw wide to reveal rows of sapphilite sacs. Several harpoon lines secured the beast, and though it was far bigger and older than any he had encountered before, Pyke leapt into its mouth without hesitation.

As he set about his work, a deep vibration began to stir in the creature’s cavernous gullet. Roiling bubbles broke the ocean’s surface, and an entire pod of jaulls began to push against the tethered ship’s hull. The captain lost his nerve, and cut Pyke’s lifeline. The last thing the doomed harpooner saw before the beast’s jaws snapped shut was the look of horror on his crewmates’ faces, as they watched him being swallowed alive.

But this was not the end for Pyke.

In the deepest fathoms of the unknowable ocean, crushed by the titanic pressure, and still firmly trapped within the jaull’s mouth, he opened his eyes once more. There were blue lights everywhere, thousands of them, seemingly watching him. Tremulous echoes of something ancient and mysterious filled his brain, crushing his mind, showing him visions of all he had lost whilst others grew fat.

A new hunger overtook Pyke, one for vengeance and retribution. He would fill the depths with the corpses of those who had wronged him.

Back in Bilgewater, no one thought much of the killings at first—for so dangerous a place, the occasional red tide was nothing new. But weeks became months, and a pattern began to emerge. Captains from many ships were found carved up and left out for the dawn. Bar-room patrons whispered it was a supernatural killer, wronged at sea, gutting his way through the crew manifest of some damned ship called the Terror. Once a mark of respect and celebrity, the question “You a captain?” became a cause for alarm.

Soon it was the caulkers, too, and the first mates, merchant officers, bankers… indeed, anyone associated with the bloody business of the slaughter docks. A new name went up on the bounty boards: a thousand krakens for the infamous Bloodharbor Ripper.

Driven by memories twisted by the deep, Pyke has succeeded where many have failed—striking fear into the hearts of unscrupulous businessmen, killers, and seafaring scoundrels alike, even though no one can find any mention of a ship named the Terror ever docking in Bilgewater.

A city that prides itself on hunting monsters now finds a monster hunting them, and Pyke has no intention of stopping.

Powers/Abilities: 1. Gift of the Drowned Ones 2. Bone Skewer 3. Ghostwater Dive 4. Phantom Undertow 5. Death from Below

Ben Ful Links | August 2/2021:

Source: benjaminfulford.net

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Getting To Know The North Koreans

Notice to readers.  So that I may take my annual sabbatical in the Canadian wilderness, the next several reports will be pre-written.  They will focus on the history of how I got involved in fighting the Khazarian Mafia.  Hopefully, this will help readers get a better understanding of what is happening now. Of course, if something really big happens, we will issue an emergency report.

The assassination attempts against me and the murder of many of my colleagues were part of a Nazi coup d’etat that took place in the U.S. after 9.11.2001.  This Nazi faction, led by Fuhrer George Bush Sr., was a sub-group of the Khazarian Mafia.  They were killing journalists as a part of an attempt to control the narrative, the story by which Western society was led.  However, I did not figure that out until a North Korean princess showed me the evidence.

Here is how it happened.  I was running into serious censorship at Forbes.  This started after I had run the story about the murder of the banker, that I detailed in last week’s report, brought me to the attention of the people who gave orders to the Forbes family.

For example, a story about Citibank (a Rockefeller company) being kicked out of Japan because it was money laundering for gangsters was killed even though my source was the Japanese Finance Ministry speaking on the record.  The last straw for me came when I found out that an anti-virus software company was making viruses.  Forbes killed the story, telling me I was “unreliable,” when in fact the story was killed because Steve Forbes had been given $500,000 by the anti-virus company, according to a Forbes whistleblower.

In any case, I was sick of writing business pornography and decided my next career move was to shift to writing books.  The hope was to have them made into Hollywood movies.  So, I sent two chapters and an outline of a planned book to my agent in the U.S.  The book would have described a systematic pattern of the murder of politicians, journalists, industrialists, etc. by politicians and gangsters who were part of the corrupt secret government that really ran Japan.

The day after I sent the book proposal, I got a call from Kaoru Nakamaru, who said she was a princess and a first cousin of Emperor Hirohito.  She told me it would be a bad idea to publish the book.  Obviously she was connected to people who were reading my mail, so I decided to meet her.  When I asked her how she knew what was in my book proposal she said, “A Goddess told me.”  (That Goddess would be Amaterasu the reigning deity of the Japanese security police).

When I met Nakamaru she said, “You understand all about the corruption in Japan but you know nothing about the real source, which is in the West.”  She then gave me a 9.11 truth video.  At the time, I thought “Oh my God, this is one of those anti-Semitic movies about 9.11 that I read about in the New York Times.”  I had no intention of watching it but she kept pestering me until I did.  That was the real red pill for me.  It did not take a lot of fact-checking to realize 9.11 was an inside job.  From a missile hitting the Pentagon without breaking the second-floor windows and leaving no plane debris, to a BBC reporter with Building #7 visible in the background saying it had already collapsed, 20 minutes before it actually did at freefall speed, the evidence was undeniable.

The real problem was wrapping my mind around how incredibly large a group would be needed to carry out a campaign like this.  The implications were truly mind-boggling.  It was only by looking at historical events that I realized such false flags were being commonly used as excuses to start wars.

For example, the sinking of the “innocent passenger vessel” Lusitania in 1914 was used as an excuse to demonize the Germans and get the Americans to join the British in World War I.  It was not until a hundred years later in 2014 that the British admitted publicly the Lusitania was transporting arms and was, therefore, a legitimate military target.  Historians note that ads in newspapers warned passengers prior to the ship being sent into the vicinity of German U-boats as a sacrifice.

In 2001, the people who controlled the U.S. were using 9.11 as an excuse to invade the Middle East (yet again).

In my still naïve worldview I figured that if people found out the truth, there would be a revolution.  After I published front-page articles for major Japanese magazines listing evidence that 9.11 was an inside job, I held a press conference at the Foreign Correspondent’s Club of Japan to present the evidence to the international media.

It was only when none of them (with a few minor exceptions like rural Australian newspapers) reported the evidence did I realize that freedom of the press had been extinguished from the Western media.

Nobody at the FCCJ or in the Western press debated me or presented evidence showing I was wrong.  Instead, all sorts of people I never knew suddenly started a systematic campaign of character assassination against me.  The general story was that I was taking drugs, believed in UFOs, and had lost my mind.  I was put on a black list and nobody in the English language press would work with me.  Many editors told me they had been ordered by their bosses not to publish my stories.

Fortunately, I had published books in Japanese that sold well and provided me with an income.  I was also introduced to a Japanese author by the name of Ohta Ryu.  He explained to me that he had been approached by a group of Japanese who had studied Western power structures before and during World War II.  He used the material they had provided to publish his books.

What Ohta said was mind-boggling at the time.  It was talking about how the West had a secret government run by families like the Rothschilds and the Rockefellers.  This may be common knowledge now but, at the time (around 2005-6) when I did an internet search about the Rothschilds, I found exactly one sentence about them on the entire web.  It was from an Israeli chat room where one participant mentioned a rumor that the Rothschilds were involved in the formation of Israel.

As far as our reputed overlord David Rockefeller was concerned, he was number 300 or so on the Forbes richest list and considered to be a person of the past.  I had to go back to the 1918 edition of Forbes to find out the real story.  It turns out John Rockefeller the first had suddenly become poor overnight by donating all of his fortune (around $300 billion in today’s money) to a foundation.  Once the money was in a foundation, the owners did not pay inheritance tax and did not have to disclose much information.

A paper trail led to over 200 foundations controlled by the Rockefellers that in turn controlled most of the Fortune 500 companies.

What I started to realize was that all the murders of Japanese politicians etc. were part of a Rockefeller & Co. hostile take-over of Japan Inc.  One key man they used to carry out this operation was Heizo Takenaka, who was the Finance and Economy Minister from 2002-2005.  While he was in this job, he dismantled the system of cross-shareholding where banks and companies owned each others’ shares.  Takenaka forced all the banks to sell off their shares in Japan’s listed companies to foreign funds such as Vanguard, Blackrock, and State Street & Banking.  When I confronted him about handing over all of Japan’s listed companies to the Rockefellers etc., he squirmed visibly in his chair and was evasive.

However, the day after the interview, I got a phone call from an official at the Japan development bank who told me there was someone Heizo Takenaka wanted me to meet.  So, I went to a downtown Tokyo hotel room where I met a person by the name of Shiramine who called himself a Ninja.

I recorded with his permission a conversation in which he offered me the job of Finance Minister of Japan as long as I went along with a plan to kill 90% of humanity.  He said it was necessary in order to “save the environment.”  Since war did not kill enough people the plan was to use disease and starvation to kill everyone off, he said.  Shiramine added that if I refused the offer I would be killed.

To his credit when Shiramine met me and gave me this proposal, he also handed me a tape and told me to listen to it somewhere private.  In this tape, he said the problem was the “elders of Zion.”  I was also told by another Takenaka envoy that he handed over control of all the country’s corporations because Japan had been “threatened with an earthquake machine.”

The next day another person called me and said he wanted to meet me.  Again, the meeting took place inside a downtown hotel room.  This time it was someone from an Asian secret society known as The Red and The Green.  He said they had 8 million members including 200,000 assassins who could help.  This group also knew about the plan to kill 90% of humanity because they had secretly recorded a meeting at the Bohemian Grove where they discussed all of this.

Members of this group had long worked with Western secret societies, for example by supplying them with heroin from the golden triangle.  However, it was the attempt to kill them off with SARS, a bio-weapon designed to kill Asians, that finally put them on a war footing.

You can imagine my shock and disorientation in running into all of this over the space of just a week.  As someone who had lived his whole life in the official open world as seen in the public record, this was mind-boggling, to say the least.  In any case, since I could not agree with a plan to kill 90% of humanity, I decided to go along with the Asian secret society.

At first, being a peace-loving journalist, I thought of ideas like maybe the Asian secret society could show 9.11 truth movies in Chinatown movie theaters.  However, eventually, I had what I call my “Kill Bill” moment.  In the movie Kill Bill, there is a scene where a female assassin (played by Uma Thurman) is in a desperate fight for her life with a one-eyed opponent.  When Thurman plucks out her opponent’s eye, suddenly the fight is over.

What I realized was that most Westerners (like me) had no idea what their secret leaders were up to and would be appalled if they found out.  The flaw of the secret Western government was that it was highly centralized.  So, I advised the Asian secret society to “pluck out the eye.”  I gave them a list of all the people who were members of the Bilderberg, the Council on Foreign Relations, and the Trilateral Commission.  I said if you target them, you can stop the planned genocide.

Later when the earthquake machine threat was made directly to me I responded that “you can’t stop assassinations with an earthquake machine.”

The other thing I suggested to the Asian Secret Society was that buying U.S. government bonds was worse than buying opium. “At least opium gives you pleasure but now you are paying them to kill you,” is what I told a top adviser to the Chinese Politburo.

In any case, the Asian Secret Society became mobilized.  They threatened to kill the Western elite and also stopped buying U.S. government bonds.  Thus the attempt to kill off 90% of humanity was stalled.  This was the real background to the so-called “Lehman shock,” financial crisis of 2008, and the birth of the Obama administration.

However, the secret war had only begun.  A lot of new players emerged from the shadows following these events.

Next week I will talk about how I met David Rockefeller.  I will also discuss meeting such groups as the Black Sun, the Illuminati (in two flavors), the secret space program Nazis, the Russian FSB, and former MI6 head Dr. Michael Van de Meer.

Please stay tuned…

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Chapter 10: Feast of Fortunes

Argibold sat with the party in the basement of their tavern. The party provided with Argibold with a brief synopsis of the adventure they had been sent on. The town called Tammel was now safe from goblin threats thanks to a wizard who had made an enchanted orb to keep evil at bay. Argibold held a blank stare while they relayed this information. He didn’t give much of an indication he was really listening, but he seemed to be absorbing the information all the same. After the briefing of the mission itself, Niama concluded by, “There were also mentions of a war currently happening to the north in a city called Storm Hold. We were wondering if you might want us to check into it.” Argibold’s eyes widened only slightly at the sound of the name of the city, Storm Hold. “Yes. I’ll look into it an see if you should go and help or not.” He looked to be lost in thought. Something clearly bothered him, which was odd. Pumpeck was the one that picked up on his unease the most. She leaned in on her seat and asked, “Is there something you want to tell us about this place?” Argibold blinked a few times and his face returned to its usual neutral position. “Anything I want to tell you? No. Though I suppose there are a few things I should tell you.” He hopped down from his seat and walked slowly to the back of the basement where the suit of armor was held. “Storm Hold is a city that is familiar to me. I lived there for a short while. My best friend, Tungdil Silverbeard, was from there. He and I were a two-person adventuring party. Him, with his raw physical prowess, and me, with my knowledge of the arcane. There wasn’t a single task the two of us couldn’t accomplish when we worked together.” Argibold now stood in front of the armor. The party couldn’t see the sorrow in his eyes with his back turned to them. “He died on our last quest. His home city, Storm Hold was attacked by a dragon ten years ago. It was in that battle I lost my arm, and Tungdil sacrificed himself so that I may live.” He lifted his viscous purple arm to gesture to the golden suit of armor emblazoned with red flames. “This armor is now all I have to remember him by. His weapons were buried with him, as is customary for the warriors of Storm Hold.” Thorfreyer shook his head. “You had us fight a suit of armor that belongs to your dead friend?” Argibold shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose I missed watching him fight. Watching the armor move like he did brings me back to better times.” Thorfreyer walked towards Argibold. “Was there” he paused. Not sure if he wanted to ask. “Was there something romantic going on there?” There was a brief silence until they heard a small sniff come from Argibold. He turned around and said, “I tell you this, so you know Storm Hold holds a special place in my heart. Though, I fear I may not be able to return there myself. Storm Hold resents me, believing I was not worth the sacrifice of their hero. They all believe I should be dead while Tungdil should be alive. If they could kill me and bring him back, they would.” His head lowered and he said to himself. “And I don’t entirely disagree.” Niama stood now and said, “Would you like us to make our way to Storm Hold to help?” Argibold shook his head. “Not yet. We need more information on what’s happening before I send you there. For now, go do as you will while Faelyn and I do what we can to discover more about what is happening.” The party broke off and wet upstairs to leave Argibold to his research. Pumpeck lingered and watched Argibold begin to scurry through various books. He quickly seemed to be back to his regular self. Pumpeck walked over to him as he grabbed several books from a nearby bookshelf. “Argibold?” “Yes, Pumpeck?” “What exactly are you going to do to learn about the situation if you can’t go there yourself?” Argibold held up some of the books he grabbed. “Divination magic, mostly. I admit it’s not my specialty, but I should be able to learn a great deal. If push comes to shove, I’ll send Faelyn there physically to do recon in the city.” Pumpeck nodded. “I see.” She waited a moment. “Argibold?” “Yes, Pumpeck?” Pumpeck held her eyes to the floor, unsure of what to say. “Are you okay? Do you need to talk about what happened to your friend?” Argibold stopped what he was doing and froze where he stood. It wasn’t something he had ever really talked about with anyone. The only people that knew were the people of Storm Hold, and they all thought it was his fault. Argibold turned his head to look at Pumpeck. She could see his eyes had a peculiar sheen to them. “Talking about it won’t bring him back.” Pumpeck realized that this was something he didn’t want to talk about. It did happen a decade ago after all. He probably already came to terms with it. But, there still seemed to be lingering problems in his head that Pumpeck couldn’t quite figure out. She decided to leave the topic alone for now and head up to bed. On her way up, she looked into the tap room to see the jovial crowd. Niama and Thorfreyer had joined in at this point and had their own drinks. Pumpeck went over in sat with them as they watched Willow perform. She hopped up and sat on a stool next to them. “How is he?” She asked the table. Niama shrugged her shoulders. “He’s actually not that bad, considering how much of a pompous prick he is.” Thorfreyer laughed. “You’re actually just in time. We just ordered some tomatoes.” Pumpeck perked up a little. “Oh, I love tomatoes!” Right on cue, a hand full of tomatoes floated on to the table, held by an unseen servant that now enchanted the tavern. Thorfreyer shook his head. “I’ll never get used to that.” Niama picked up a tomato and tossed it a few times, testing its weight. “Get over it. Just get a few and start throwing.” Niama and Thorfreyer started throwing the tomatoes at Willow while he preformed on the small stage. Laughter erupted as his white leathers were slowly but surely stained red. Pumpeck reached and grabbed a tomato and started eating it like an apple, sucking out the juices with each bite. Willow, humiliated by the display ran off the stage and upstairs, presumably to his room. On his way up the stairs, Thorfreyer threw one last fruit at the musician with such force, that when it hit him in the ankle, his legs were thrown out from under him. He tumbled back down to the bottom of the stairs and lay still for a while. The whole crowd laughing at his misfortune. Pumpeck looked at Niama and Thorfreyer. “Why did you do that to him?” Niama scoffed. “He got in the way of our last mission. He made it significantly more difficult than it needed to be, so now I’m making his life more difficult than it needs to be, at least for a while.” Pumpeck shook her head and looked to Thorfreyer who shrugged his shoulders at her. “I just thought it would be funny.” He smirked. Pumpeck shook her head and sighed. She felt bad for Willow deep down. She knows that he was in the way when they tried to save Nariel, but he wasn’t a bad guy. When he stepped between Nariel and the party, he truly believed that he was protecting her from kidnappers. He showed courage and loyalty towards Nariel, even if it was an arranged marriage. He didn’t deserve the treatment he was getting now. Pumpeck hopped off her chair and walked to wear Willow ad fallen, he wasn’t horribly injured, but a fall like that wouldn’t feel good. She placed her hands on his back and healed the wounds he received. Upon being healed, Willow looked up to Pumpeck and quickly shoved her hands off of him. He stood and said “You’re the one who cut off my hand aren’t you? I don’t want any help from you, you’ve done enough to me.” He bolted up the stairs so fast, he didn’t get a chance to hear Pumpeck say, “I’m sorry.”

The next morning the party gathered downstairs to discuss their plans for the day. They didn’t have a mission ready to go, and Argibold was still looking into the war in the north. Niama posed an idea to them all. “Since we don’t have a job, why don’t we take Argus up on that dinner offer?” “Who?” Said Pumpeck. “Argus.” Niama responded. “The banker we saved in the forest when we were on our way to save Nariel. He said he would treat us to a feast as gratitude.” Thorfreyer stood up and clapped his hands together. “Well, if it’s free food we get, I’m in.” Niama recalled that Argus wanted to be informed no later than the morning of their arrival. She set about writing a missive to send to the Baramore estate. With the letter sent, all that was left was to make preparations, and wait until dinner time. Rum looked Thorfreyer up and down and said, “Maybe we should go out and get you some clothes. I don’t think showing up in a ratty pants and no shirt would reflect well on our group.” Thorfreyer looked down to his minimal clothing and shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is what all the warriors in my home village wear.” Nariel had been holding her tongue on the matter, but the way Thorfreyer dressed had bothered her for quite some time now. Though, she did grow up in a castle where everyone was always properly dressed. She supposed she might have some bias on the matter. She walked over to Thorfreyer and pointed a finger at him. “That doesn’t matter. We aren’t in your village and the way you dress isn’t fit for dinner at a mansion.” Thorfreyer rolled his eyes. “What do you want from me, pointy ears?” Nariel’s face turned red. “I want you to put some damn clothes on!” “Seconded.” Said Niama, nodding her head. Thorfreyer sighed. “I don’t get what the big deal is. I’m covered in fur. It’s not like I’m naked.” Nariel pinched the bridge of her nose. “That’s not the point.” Her eyes widened and she looked to Niama. “Is Faelyn here?” Niama squinted. “Why would I know that?” Nariel, without saying another word, ran upstairs. The rest of the party watched in bewilderment as she did so, unsure of what to make of the elves’ actions. They were lost in such confusion, that as quickly as she had left, she returned and was pulling Faelyn by the wrist, saying “Just come on, I think you can help us out here.” They reached the bottom of the stairs and Faelyn said, “Yeah, no, that’s great. Love being man handled in the morning. What can I do you for?” Nariel gestured to Thorfreyer. “You’re a wizard, right? Can you conjure clothes for him to wear?” “Well” Said Faelyn. “I am an illusionist. Conjuration magic isn’t exactly my major. I can make it look like he is wearing clothes.” “That might work.” “For an hour.” “Yeah, I don’t think that will work.” Nariel scratched her chin a moment. “I would really like to do this without spending money, but we may not have a choice. Could you illusion some clothes onto him just so we know what to buy him?” Faelyn blinked a couple times. This, typically, was not the sort of task his magic was used for, but practice was practice he supposed. He unlatched his staff from a strap around his back and pointed it at Thorfreyer. The minotaur’s eyes narrowed ad he said, “Better not try any funny business.” “Relax. Even if I wanted to hurt you, worst I could do is throw a mote of fire at you, and honestly, I don’t want the tap room to smell like burnt hair. Now hold still. At worst, this may tickle a little.” Faelyn drew a sigil in the air that glowed a sky blue. Within a second, the party saw that Thorfreyer was now wearing a full suit, complete with a vest and bow tie. They stared, stunned that Thorfreyer could pull off a suit surprisingly well.   “Want me to play with the colors a bit?” asked Faelyn. Thorfreyer looked down and saw that the whole suit was black, but the vest and tie were blue. “Change it to green.”  At his request, Faelyn snapped his fingers and the blue changed to green. Nariel clapped her hands together and had a big grin on her face. “Oh, it looks perfect. Let’s go into the city and find something just like that.” Thorfreyer stepped forward, dispelling the illusion. “I don’t think there is anywhere in this city that makes suits for minotaurs.” Faelyn shrugged. “Minotaurs, no. But there is a tailor that specializes in making clothes for monsters. She is a goblin who operated in the south part of the market district.” “A goblin is living in the city and has a clothes store?” Asked Thorfreyer. “Just because she’s a goblin, doesn’t mean she’s evil. I pass by the shop on my way to black staff tower. She seems nice enough.” Said Faelyn Thorfreyer looked to the rest of the party who were giving him disapproving looks. He wanted to fight them on it, but he figured it wasn’t a fight worth having. He would go along with it and wear the suit for dinner and go back to being himself once it had concluded. He didn’t like the idea of playing along, but some battles were not worth having. The group left the Dusty Dunes to search of the tailor Faelyn had mentioned. Faelyn remained at the tavern, explaining that he has a report due at the end of the week. The party enjoyed their walk through the cobble stone streets of Waterdeep. Despite it being their home, it wasn’t too often that they got out and experienced the city itself. Every street had citizens roaming about, each one intent on living their lives. It did always baffle them as well how diverse the people of the city were. Within a single minute it was possible to see dwarves, elves, humans, and races of all shapes and sizes, all agreeing to live together in peace and harmony despite their differences. This high threshold for the odd is what led Thorfreyer to this city in the first place. He loved to fight, but he wasn’t a trouble maker and if one did not cause trouble in Waterdeep, you were left alone for the most part. Being turned into a minotaur had been hard on him at first. Every town he went to greeted him with torches and pitchforks and living in isolation in the wilderness would be enough to ware down anyone’s psyche given enough time. He was glad to have found a home in Waterdeep after years of wandering. At the corner of Dagger Run Road, the party saw a sign hanging above a building, which read, “Taylor’s Tailor.” And the sign was cut to look like the head of a goblin. As they got closer, they could see in through the window various clothes of all sorts of sizes. Even a jacket that could fit a troll if it were so inclined. They nodded at each other and walked in, figuring they had the right location. As they passed through the threshold of the door, a small bell rang above their head and they heard a small voice yell from the back of the store, “I’ll be with you in just a moment. Fell free to browse while you wait.” The party started wondering, hoping to find something that could fit Thorfreyer’s build, and by fortune, the sections were labelled by creature type. They started to look through the variety of creatures this goblin made clothes for. Goblin (obviously), Troll, Ogre, Hill Giant, Orc. This place really did have something for everyone. After a bit of browsing, a tiny goblin made her way from the back of the room. She was immaculately dressed, wearing a gorgeous red dress and a hat topped with feathers. “Greetings,” She said with a curtsy. “My name is Taylor. How can I help you today?” Nariel curtsied in response and said, “We have an important dinner tonight and was wondering if you made anything that could fit a minotaur.” Gesturing to Thorfreyer. Taylor smiled and gave a nod. “Absolutely. Making clothes for minotaur is easy enough. Just a muscular human type fit, then size it up a lot. Looking for anything specific?” The party described the illusory suit Thorfreyer had worn back at the tavern while Taylor listened intently. She nodded and said, “I believe I have just the thing for you.” she walked over to a section labelled “Minotaur” and started sifting through the clothes. It was odd for the rest of the party to see the proportions. The pants being far too small to match the size of the torso. And, were those horn warmers they just saw? Taylor finally settled on a suit and brought it to Thorfreyer. She urged him to go to the changing room to try it on and he did just that, not understanding why he couldn’t change where he stood. After a few moments, he emerged and looked just as sharp and dashing as the illusion had advertised it would make him. The party decided to purchase the suit for Thorfreyer so that they would be sure he would be appropriately dress for dinner. After a brief exchange and a transfer of 30 gold pieces, the party was ready to depart. Before they left, Niama approached the small goblin and asked “If you don’t me asking, why are you doing this? Making clothes for monsters in a city like Waterdeep seems odd.” Taylor responded with a smile. Her head turned, scanning her inventory. With a soft sigh, she looked back to Niama. “Those who are considered monsters like me don’t have much of a place in this city. They say it’s a city for all, but those like me and my friends are still seen for what we’ve always been seen: monsters. I wanted to create a place where those like me don’t have to worry about being treated unfairly for who they are. This is a place where anyone can come and feel welcome and feel like they are a part of this society.” Niama stopped to consider. Since coming to Waterdeep, she had seen tremendous acts of kindness that she didn’t know could be possible. Pumpeck, who was so pure of heart, this goblin going out of her way to make the disenfranchised feel welcome, and even Thorfreyer who always stood up for his friends when they needed him. Back home, these acts were not common place. Ever even heard of, really. Though, looking back, she never gave the people from her home much of a chance. Growing up with her mother was difficult. The people believed her mother a witch and that Niama herself was a monster. Maybe, if her home had a place like this, things would have turned out differently. She looked to Taylor and said, “What you’re doing here is admirable. I wish you luck.” Taylor nodded and said “Thank you” With that, Niama left with the party to make preparations for dinner. The day of shopping itself lasted most of the day. The party only had a brief amount of time back at the tavern. They quickly got dressed and made their way out of the tavern on the road to the Baramore estate. As they approached their destination, the buildings became steadily larger and more spread out, even the materials changing from wood work to more stone work houses. Noticing this, they presumed that the rich enjoyed their space. While walking, a bird fluttered down to land on Niama’s shoulder. It was a small bird that looked like a finch. The only oddity being that it had four legs, instead of the standard two. Niama stared for a moment and the bird stared back. She knew that there were spells that allowed people to converse with animals. She decided to see if she could pull it off, knowing now that she could create some form of magical influence on the world. She focused her intent on the bird and tried to understand what it was saying, and an incantation came from within her. She spoke aloud an incantation and could suddenly hear words from the bird. It looked at her and said. “You, are not a tree. You smelled of trees.” Niama opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “No. No, I am not a tree.” “Why do you carry the essence of trees?” “Well, I grew up in a forest and lived in a tree.” “You are wise to do so. Trees are wonderful homes.” While this exchange happened, the party looked at Niama, who was currently tweeting at a strange bird on her shoulder. “Do you want to stay on my shoulder?” She asked, hoping she could make friends with this creature. The bird pondered a moment. “Hmm. I do like trees. You are like a tree. And like trees as well. This arrangement is acceptable.” “Uhh.  Right.” Niama looked to her party and started to tweet at them. When she realized they couldn’t understand her, she shook her head in embarrassment and reverted to the common tongue. “So, this is my new best friend. I’m naming him Peck, and he thinks I’m a tree.” They party looked on in confusion, not entirely sure what to make of what she was saying. Before anyone could ask a question, she said “Alright, let’s go to dinner.” The party shrugged their shoulders, accepting that they would now have a bird along for the ride. They arrived at the Baramore estate with no issue. The building was a small mansion surrounded by a large yard with a metal fence surrounding it. Two guards stood at the entrance gate and straightened as they saw the party approaching. Getting closer, each member of the party pulled out their coin that Niama had received from Argus that would allow them entry to the estate. Without a word, they handed the coins to the guards who allowed them entry with no issues. They walked along the stone pathway to the mansion and saw a young girl playing with a large dog in the yard. She couldn’t have been any older than ten and they had assumed that she was the child of Argus. She was enraptured with the dog to the point where she didn’t seem to notice the guests. They reached the front door and grabbed the knocker, which had the face of a devil with emerald eyes.  A few moments pass and the door opened, revealing a tiefling with gray skin and black hair. He gestured for the party to enter and said, “Welcome to the Baramore estate. I am Sebastian, butler of the house.” The party entered in the foyer and waited for directions from Sebastian. The tiefling walked past them and said, “Allow me to direct you to your hosts.” He led them down a hallway and opened a large double door, revealing a large study that had a few book shelves and desks. In the center of the room was Argus and his wife, who were in the middle of a game of chess, though it was not a form of chess any members of the party were familiar with. The board itself was comprised of three separate boards that were held in three different locations vertically. They were seated close to a fire place that had a large banner hanging above it. Niama looked at the banner which was a deep burgundy. Its white symbol was that of a whip with nine strands. The symbol was exactly like the birth mark she had, and exactly the same as the symbol that now adorned her bow. Argus rose from his seat and clapped his hands. “Ah, our esteemed guests. Welcome to our home.” He said with a bow. Recela Baramore stood as well and dipped into a shallow curtsy and wore an easy smile. Argus greeted each member and shook their hands individually. He stopped at Nariel. “I don’t believe we have had the pleasure of meeting before.” Nariel nodded. “I’m afraid we have not. To my understanding, my friends here met you on their way to rescue me.” “Ah, yes.” Said Argus. “To my understanding, that mission was a flaming success.” Nariel’s mind flashbacked to the image of her home kingdom going up in flames as the she fled the scene via teleportation. Her face turned a little red realizing she hadn’t spoken in a while. She blinked once and said “Yup” and turned away to look at the odd version of chess in the room. Argus beckoned them all out of the study and made their way to the dining room. The dining room had another banner in it that bore the same symbol of the whip and gave Niama steadily greater concerns. They all took their seats and waited for the food to arrive on the table. Niama decided to ask about the symbol adorning the house. “That is a lovely banner.” She said. “What is the symbol on it? If you don’t mind me asking.” Argus shifted his gaze to the banner. “Ah yes, this is the symbol-“ “Of Loviatar.” Pumpeck said, cutting him off, looking him directly in the eyes. “The goddess of pain and suffering. Referred to as the willing whip.” Argus smiled. “I see you know your theology.” Pumpeck made no indication she was just spoken to. “She is in direct opposition to my goddess, Liira, the lady of joy.”   “Now, now.” Said Argus. “No need for a discussion of religion at this meal. This is a simple get together to show our gratitude.” Niama rested a hand on Pumpeck’s shoulder, a silent gesture in an attempt to convince her to let it go. Pumpeck let out a soft sigh and decided to drop it for now. Veldora on the other hand wasn’t as amenable as Pumpeck. He closed his eyes and concentrated, attempting to detect any evil presence in the area. His eyes opened with a start when he detected the amount of evil radiating from below them. He did not know what, but something was down there. He nudged Rum and Thorfreyer sitting next to him and whispered. “Guys, we should make ourselves brief. There is a lot of evil coming from the basement.” “What do you mean evil?” said Thorfreyer. Rum shook his head. “We literally just learned this guy worships some goddess of torture. What do you think he means?” The door to the dining hall opened to reveal the butler, Sebastian, rolling in a cart full of food, the aroma of freshly cooked meats and vegetables began to fill the room. Sebastian placed the spread on the table. Argus said, “Thank you, Sebastian. That shall be all for now.” The Tiefling butler nodded and said. “No need to thank me sir. I am simply one hell of a butler.” The dinner began and the party started stuffing their faces with food. They figured that even if they were devil worshippers, they were still indebted to their heroes. No reason could be thought of for any kind of underhanded attack by Argus and Recela. Nariel leaned over to Pumpeck and Niama who were sitting next to her and whispered. “I overheard the guys talking. There is something evil coming from the basement.” Niama looked at her and said. “How did you overhear them?” Nariel simply pointed to her ears. Niama nodded and said. “What do you want us to do about it?” They heard Pumpeck say. “Well, I know what I’m going to do about it.” She spoke now at a volume that the whole table could hear. “So, Argus, how did you come to be a follower of Loviatar?” Argus swallowed his mouthful of food and responded. “Well, when we moved here, we fell on rather hard times. None of the businesses we had attempted got off the ground.” His gaze shifted downward. “We slowly but surely became desperate. Desperate to survive. We saw no other choice but to throw our fate into the hands of the gods, and Loviatar responded. She had told us to become bankers and do her work in this world, and we would have no more troubles. So that is what we did.” “Any particular reason for a banker?” Pumpeck asked. “We essentially provide loans to anyone in need of money. Most can pay them back, however, it is written into our contracts that upon the loan going default, payments must be made to Loviatar. We are essentially recruiters.” The party took a moment to sink that in. These were people who made others join the cause of an evil goddess if they did not have the funds to survive. It was hard for most of them to wrap their heads around it. Except for Pumpeck. Being taught about the atrocities of Loviatar made it all too easy to believe that this was another one of her schemes. She would not, could not allow it to continue. “Interesting.” She said. “I’m sorry, could you tell me where the restrooms are located?” “Of course.” Said Argus, relaying the directions to the restroom. Pumpeck smiled and said “Thank you. Niama, Nariel, care to join me? You know how I am with directions, I’ll probably get lost.” Niama and Nariel looked at each other with a confused look. Niama looked to Pumpeck and said “Sure.” The three of them left the dining room and entered the hallway. Pumpeck dropped her smile and focused her own divine sense to sense what Veldora had felt. She moved with intent down the hallway, not going the way Argus had said to go for restrooms. “Where are you going?” asked Nariel. “To smite evil.” Pumpeck said. She continued down the hallway, tailed by Niama and Nariel, eventually making her way to a library. She looked around and said. “We can get downstairs from here. Somehow.” The three started searching for the usual hidden pathway devices. A book out of place. A crooked candle holder. Anything that seemed unusual. Niama walked to the lit fireplace and tested the bricks. She found a loose brick on one side and found that it could be pushed in an inch before making a click sound. Nothing happened. She kept it held in and told Nariel to search the other side of the fire for a similar one. Within a few seconds, Nariel found the loose stone and pushed it until it clicked. At that moment, the fireplace dimmed until the fire went out, and the ground shifted to the side, revealing a stone stairway. They looked down and before a discussion could be had, Pumpeck began to trudge down the stairs. Nariel and Niama chased after her until they reached a metal door. From the other side, they could hear the sounds of chains rattling and screams of agony. A faint chanting could be heard, but only understood by Niama, who understood the demonic tongue. The chants were prayers to Loviatar. Pumpeck made a move to open the door and Niama grabbed her hand. “Look,” said Niama. “I understand that this goddess and her followers are supposed to be your mortal enemies, or whatever. But, now is not the time. We cannot fight demons and win. We need to notate this, put it in the mental bank, and get back to dinner so we don’t risk pissing off the devil worshipper.” Pumpeck sighed. “I cannot allow this evil to exist.” “And we will defeat it. Eventually. But not here, not now.” Pumpeck held eye contact during a pregnant pause. “Fine.” She said eventually. They ran back up the stairs and returned to the dining room. Fortunately, no one thought that the time that they were away was suspicious and dinner continued normally. It had seemed that little conversation had happened since the discover of the family’s loyalty to Loviatar. In the silence, Niama had a burning question that she could not put to rest. She looked to Argus and asked, “Since you know of Loviatar and her symbol. Would you be able to look at my bow?” Argus stood and walked over to her and held the bow she handed to him. He scanned it over and saw that the symbol of Loviatar was etched into the wood above the handle. He hummed lightly to himself as his eyes squinted in contemplation. “This,” he finally said. “does remind me of a story.” He handed the bow back to her and returned to his seat. “There is a saying that a herald of Loviatar will arrive to reap the souls of the living. You see, in Avernus, they use souls for currency. The herald will use the bow gifted to them to harvest souls to provide wealth to Loviatar in her realm.” “And you think I have that bow?” “Oh, certainly not. The bow of Loviatar is said to be far more intricate than that. Tipped with horns and embedded with emeralds. Just having her symbol does not make it her bow.” It put Niama’s mind at ease to find out she had little to worry about. But that didn’t help her relax about the fact that her birth mark was the same as the symbol. She decided that was ultimately a question she was not ready to confront. Dinner continued as normal and eventually dessert was served. No further discussions were had. After dessert was finished, Argus looked to the party and said, “How would you all like a tour?” Niama and Nariel’s eyes widened slightly, afraid they left behind any traces that they had been snooping. Thorfreyer, Rum, and Veldora not knowing that the women went snooping agreed to the tour. Recela excused herself, saying that she was ready to retire for the night and wished to do some reading before bed in the study. Argus led them through the halls and were making their way directly to the library. Niama leaned over Nariel and whispered, “Did we close the entrance to the basement?” “No.” Said Nariel. “Are we about to die?” “Probably.” Argus opened the door to the library and led the party inside. Gesturing to the tall shelves lining the walls filled with books. He swung his arms in a wide gesture. As he spun, he saw that the fireplace no longer had a fire in it, and the stairway was fully exposed. He ran to it and pushed the loose bricks which returned to their original position. He turned back to the party, his face red and contorted in rage. “I invite you to my home to thank you for saving me. And you snoop around my home in return. Sneak around without permission? What is wrong with you?” Pumpeck stepped forward. “The true question is what’s wrong with you. One who worships pain.” “Pain is necessary. Suffering is required. Without it, none would know joy.” “Bull.” Said Pumpeck, drawing her sword. The rest of the party didn’t want to get involved in a religious feud, but they had to back their teammate. They drew their weapons as well. Argus cocked his head and snapped his fingers. In an eruption of three plumes of green flame, three barbed devils manifested. Green scaly devils covered in spikes. Argus said, “I give you a choice. Stay and die or leave and never come back. I do want you to know that if I were not indebted to you, you would already be dead for what you’ve done.” It did not take long for the party to realize they were woefully outmatched and ran from the mansion as quickly as they could. True to his word, Argus made no move to attack them as they ran. Running to the entrance of the building, they saw Sebastian waiting at the door, he opened it and gave them a subtle bow as they bolted from the estate. Night had now fallen on Waterdeep and despite their fear, they slowed down and walked the rest of the way home, hoping to not cause unwanted attention or suspicion. They returned to the tavern and ran downstairs. “Argibold, we have a problem.” Yelled Niama. Argibold was sifting through pages and books. He lifted his head and turned to the party. “What’s up?” Niama relayed the events of the evening to Argibold who listened without interrupting. Once Niama was finished, he gave a single nod and said, “Well, freedom of religion, they can worship whoever they want. Seems like they only bring in people who sign their contracts, so it’s completely legal. And we seem to be at a point where as long as we don’t bother them, they won’t bother us. I don’t see any problems.” The party realized they wouldn’t get anywhere with Argibold. Realizing they could not do anything, they did the only thing they could. They packed it in for the night and went to sleep. Argibold was right, The Baramore’s would more than likely leave them alone as long as they didn’t do anything. But they also knew Pumpeck would more than likely not let this go easily. As long as there were those who would cause pain and suffering, she could never rest easy. She would let it go for now, but she knew one day, she needed to return to the Baramore estate, and end their evil business.

Wednesday Ghana Lotto Prediction For Today

Wednesday Ghana Lotto Prediction For Today

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