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americxn · 3 years

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I win

Once again, thank you @cleanup-aisle5 for the idea <3 word count - 2470 a/n - I don’t like the way this is written but I’ve changed it so many times and it’s only getting worse soooo here you go.

“Move, asshole.” You muttered to your boyfriend, Tate, from where you were both crouched by the top of the stairs on the landing, peering down at the family of four. The third family to view murder house that week. He shoved his shoulder into yours, making you teeter and almost lose your balance. “I’m getting this one.” You hissed, pushing him back, “you stole the last two from me.” Tate shrugged. “You’re just too slow.” Your mouth turned upwards at the challenge. “Okay,” you whispered, reaching for the heavy pendant around your neck and unclasping it before holding it between the bars of the banister, locking eyes with Tate before letting it slip from your grip. You grinned as the pendant dropped to the foot of the stairs, landing on the wooden floor with a thump, the family of four shrieking, their heads snapping from the pendant on the floor to the top of the stairs, confusion and fear etched onto their faces. You sat back on your heels, grinning in amusement. Tate appeared behind you, his hands finding your waist and squeezing. “You’re on.” He whispered in your ear before vanishing, the air turning cold at his sudden absence.

You watched as the family below took one last fearful glance at the top of the stairs, looking right through you before shuffling after the wary looking estate agent into the kitchen. Standing from your crouch, you followed after them, taking the steps two at a time and rounding the corner into the kitchen, the estate agent rambling about the countertops, a barely concealed desperate look on the woman’s face. This was her fourth time in the house this week, the fourth family she had shown around only for them to be chased away by Tate and your antics. You almost felt bad for the woman. Almost. You stepped around the group of people carefully, who wouldn’t be able to see you until you allowed them to, using the only benefit of being a ghost to your advantage. Tate appeared in the doorway just as you settled yourself next to the family and reached for the cupboard just behind their heads, pulling it open quickly before slamming it shut again. The family jumped, the youngest, a boy, screaming and running to his mother. Tate scowled, disappearing once more only to reappear at the other end of the kitchen before the stove. He looked at you before turned on the stove, the blue flames igniting with a hiss that made everyone in the group start, including the estate agent, who rushed over to the stove and hastily turned it off. The faces of the family blanched and you snuck away, moving down the hallway soundlessly to the living room, where you knew they would go next. You started as Tate appeared behind you, grabbing onto your shoulders and breathing down your neck. “Bit early for all the dramatics, don’t you think?” He hummed in your ear. You turned to face him, your arms lazily reaching to settle behind his neck. “I’m winning this.” You declared, placing a quick kiss onto his lips before vanishing from sight. Tate chuckled before doing the same. You reappeared as you took a seat on one of the couches, crossing one leg over the other and waiting for the entourage to join you in the living room. When they did, you watched silently as they toured the large room, stopping to admire the fireplace and the old ornaments that sat on the hearth. Movement in the corner of your eye caught your attention and you turned to watch as a still invisible Tate pushed the living room doors closed slowly, ensuring that they creaked and squeaked thoroughly before slamming them shut. You chuckled under your breath as the family turned towards the doors, flinching when they rattled harshly, a final touch from Tate. You nodded your head in commendation at the effort before pushing yourself to your feet and picking your way around the family hovering before the fireplace, their faces painted with fear. You lifted a foot up and placed it beyond the grate of the fire, rubbing the bare skin into the ashes and charcoal before doing the same with your other foot, ensuring that both were thoroughly coated in soot before walking around the family once more, heading for the doors and ensuring that you rubbed each foot against the floor slightly before taking another step. You did this until you had reached the closed doors, grinning as the father of the family pointed in terror at the trail of footprints that you had left on the floor. The estate agent gasped and rushed forwards to rub at the trail you had left in vain, her hands coming away covered in soot. You lowered yourself to the floor and pushed yourself away from the doors as you watched the frantic women try to conceal your handiwork, holding in your laughter as the group ran for the door. Brushing the ashes from the soles of your feet, you listened as the family began to question the estate agent, demanding that she tell them that was “all a joke” and huddling closer together as they made their way to the foot of the stairs. Surprised that they hadn’t bolted for the front door already, you swiped the back of your hand over the bottoms of both of your feet once more before standing and joining the group, standing right up close to the mother before letting out a single, harsh breath in her ear. She shrieked, turning around and shielding her ear with her hands, eyes wide. Her face was mere inches from yours but she looked through you, her eyes scanning frantically for any reasonable explanation for what she had just experienced. You stepped back, a hand clamped over your mouth in a vain effort to keep any giggles from slipping out.

Looking up, you saw Tate gazing down at you fondly and you maneuvered around the spooked family to tip toe up the staircase. Grinning wickedly at your boyfriend as you hopped up the last step, you leaned in to whisper, “I think I’m winning. Come on Langdon, give me a challenge.” He rolled his eyes playfully, giving you a light shove before disappearing. You looked around, wondering where he would appear next but you couldn’t see him and so padded down the hallway to the family bathroom.

Shutting the bathroom door behind you, you made sure to leave it open a crack before turning to the bath and turning on the faucet. Making your way back over to the door, you took the key from its keyhole. Another disguised blessing about this house was its outdated locks. The estate agent’s conversation with the family faded out as they halted their climb on the stairs at the faint sound of running water and you hurried out of the room just as the estate agent hurried down the hall, muttering curses under her breath as she pushed open the door to the bathroom and turned the faucet off. You smiled. She had walked right into it, just as you had planned. Just as the family reached the top step of the stairs down the hall you slammed the bathroom door shut behind the poor woman, locking the door from the outside and stuffing the key in your pocket before turning to the terrified group as they huddled together at the top of the stairs. They flinched visibly in unison each time the estate agent slammed her fists against the door, yelling for Constance Langdon, the next door neighbour, who had come to her rescue several times. Not today though. Constance had left that morning; you had watched as she had emerged from the house next door dressed in her usual finery, getting into her car and driving away. The family went utterly still for a moment, glancing between the door behind which the estate agent yelled and clawed at the wood in fury, and the bottom of the stairs which would take them to the front door and the safety of the street beyond. You grinned as they all turned in unison, clinging onto each other as they thundered down the stairs. Cowards. You knew that Tate was already at the front door, readying to slam it shut it their faces and you hurried over to the top of the stairs to watch as the door swung open when the family were only a few feet away from reaching it, before it slammed shut. A cacophony of terrified screeches echoed through the house, meeting you at the top of the stairs and you laughed openly, the sound drowned out by their screams. Taking this as your queue to make your next move, you apparated from the top of the stairs to the small door set into the side wall by the bottom of the stair case, ensuring that the family saw as you pulled the door open slowly, praying that they took this invitation. Which of course they didn’t. They froze once more, one of them stepping forwards to pull desperately at the front door like a frightened animal. Tate appeared beside them and glanced at you before he began to morph before your eyes. He was still Tate, but not the Tate you knew. He became the Tate before you had met him. Tate as he had died. A small part of you cracked as his shirt became peppered with bullet holes, thick blood dripping down the front of his shirt. You knew that he had revealed this form of himself to the family when he turned to them, a truly wicked grin on his face, causing them to howl and scamper desperately down the hall. He was herding them towards you. You stepped back from the open doorway, blocking the path of the terrified family as they barrelled towards you, falling over each other in their panic, their eyes wide and complexion as white as snow. You winced as you willed your body to change as Tate’s had, cringing at the sharp burning pain that sliced across your throat as the deep wound appeared, blood spilling down your front in hot torrents. Water began to drip from your fingertips, your hair becoming soaked and hanging about your face in limp strands, your clothes turned heavy with the weight of water. A perfect reflection of how you looked when you had died. When you had been drowned in the bathtub a floor above, your attacker slitting your throat as one last measure before leaving your body submerged in the scarlet water of the bath. The blood drained from their faces as you appeared before them, skidding to a halt and bumping into each other comically. They seemed to realise their predicament in the midst of their panic, that they were now trapped between you and Tate, the darkness beyond the door to the basement whispering to them. You saw the quick calculations in their wide eyes as you stood perfectly still, a puddle of water and blood gathering at your feet. The family, led by the father, hurtled to the side, plunging into the darkness of the basement, their cries getting quieter and quieter as they charged down the stairway beyond the door. You nudged the door closed with your foot, grimacing as Tate appeared before you. “I hate that.” You gestured to him, cringing as he pulled you closer to him. “I know. Likewise.” He said, looking you up and down, the tips of his shoes getting wet as he stood in your little puddle of water diluted blood. With a blink, you willed your body back to normal, Tate doing the same before looking at the door, the thin wood barely enough to muffle the screams coming from within, a sign that the other spirits trapped in the house had decided to make themselves known. You braced your hands on the door, Tate joining you as the pounding of several sets of footsteps thundering up the basement stairs sounded beyond the door. A massive weight slammed into the door from the inside and you gritted your teeth in effort as you pushed all of your weight against the door, the old wood groaning and shuddering. Four sets of fists began to pound on the other side of the door but you and Tate held fast, looking to each other and laughing breathlessly. “Poor bastards.” Tate muttered, his voice almost drowned out completely by the mix of shrieks and bangs emanating from the basement. Shrugging, you replied, “it’s their own fault for coming to view the house. I’m sure they knew of the history.” Tate nodded in agreement, his large hands spread out on the surface of the door. “Have you had enough fun yet?” He gritted out, bracing himself as a tremendous weight threw itself at the door. “Eh, I think so. They won’t be coming back for a second viewing, that’s for sure.” Tate chuckled beside you. “Cruel, wicked thing.” You grinned, stepping back and allowing the door to slam open, ricocheting off the wall beside the doorway, the horrified family not wasting a second before thundering down the hall in blind terror. You spied several spots of blood on their clothes and cringed, peering into the once again silent basement. The front door was wrenched open, slamming shut behind the family as they hurried from the property. “I thought we had a deal.” You shouted down into the gloom of the basement. “Don’t touch the visitors!” You could still make out the family’s terrified squawks as they stumbled down the front steps and out of the front gate, herding each other into their car. A lazy voice echoed from the darkness beyond the basement door, deep and gravelly. “Oh come on. You have your fun, let us have ours.”

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You skipped down the hall towards the bathroom door, fishing the old brass key from your pocket, smirking at the silence of the estate agent locked in the room beyond. Fitting the key into its lock, you opened the door, plastering a pleasant smile on your face as the furious lady emerged from the bathroom. “I told you earlier this week, no more visitors.” You said breezily as she stormed past you, heading for the stairs. You trailed after her, anger rippling off the woman in waves as she stomped down the stairs, reaching for the front door and wrenching it open. She turned to you, her hand braced on the door handle. “It’s my job.” She spat. “I have no choice in who I bring here and when.” “Bullshit.” You snapped. “Get this house taken off the market. It’s occupied.” The woman stared coldly at you, her jaw working as she searched for an argument. Her eyes hardened as she came up short and an easy smile appeared on your face, the estate agent bristling at your stubbornness before she turned to leave. You locked the door behind her before turning to bound back up the stairs, smiling triumphantly. Tate was waiting for you in your room, sprawled out across the bed on his back. You lunged for him, settling yourself atop of him. You grinned down at him. “I think I take the win for that.” You leaned forwards, bracing your hands on his chest and cutting off his protest with your lips. His hands found your hips as you deepened the kiss, breaking away only to whisper in his ear: “hopefully we’ll be getting a lot more time to ourselves.” Tate’s hips moved ever-so-slightly beneath you at your suggestive tone, his hands at your hips pulling you down onto him, pressing himself into you. You refrained from gasping and pulled away, smirking. “Thanks to me.” Tate groaned lowly at your cockiness, his head falling back against the pillows. “You’re welcome.” You chirped, leaning in to capture his lips once more.

#american horror story #ahs #ahs murder house #tate langdon #tate x reader #tate #reader #fanfic #oneshot

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romantic-barnes · 4 years

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strawberry & tape | part three

| part three - sweet like cinnamon |

Pairings: dark!biker!bucky x reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes has the town in his hands and a lot Blood. All you have is a cafe your mother left you after her passing. But as Bucky’s attention moves to you, do you have the strength to pay revenge for his wrongdoings? Does your push into the dark paradise end in love or blood?

Warnings: non-con, fingering ( kinda public), choking, blood, humiliation, possessiveness, gang violence, mention of animal abuse. This is dark bucky! please don’t read if you are uncomfortable with any of the topics mentioned above!

A/N: please don’t read if you are under 18! Thank you for the continued support on this fic! Things are really kicking off lol

Dividers by @whimsicalrogers

With your tears dried and body trembling, Bucky and the other two men came to a stop. You climbed off the bike, taking your helmet off. Your gaze wandered up the house. The black painted mansion you’ve only ever seen from afar, too dangerous for a girl like you, your mother had always said. The magnificent size marking their immeasurable wealth stolen from the innocent left in a ditch.

You swallowed, eyes roaming the front of the house, looking into the windows seeing figures walking by, shadows like ghosts. Gloomy, sunless orange light flowed through the windows. A deep orange, almost red, glaring at you like a warning sign. You took your bag from the bike, following behind Bucky up the few steps to the front door

The door opened, behind it a grand entrance. Double staircase, chandelier on the ceiling. Regardless of the extravagant look of the clubhouse, the grim lighting shone bright on the tainted past behind the polished floors, blood seeping through the cracks, covered by oak.

The doors to the room opposite you were wide open, a few people sitting on a couch and right when the doors behind you closed, their heads turned to you with curious eyes.

Bucky walked up the stairs and motioned for you to follow. At the top of the stairs, a painted face stared at you, red and dangerous. You knew who it is, but you’ve never seen his face. Bucky ushered you to walk and you obeyed. Another set of stairs and another. There was yelling, maybe, but your brain couldn’t focus, placing one foot in front of the other.

Bucky stopped at a set of doors, fishing a key out of his pocket. He placed a hand on your back, pushing you to go in. You clenched your jaw from his hand on your body.

Once inside the room, you noticed that it was a small apartment, standing in what seems to be the living room. Bucky pushed past you, pointing to the door to the left, “that’s your bedroom.” Turning, he pointed to the door on the opposite wall, “the bathroom.” He looked at you, but you couldn’t find a particular emotion. “There’s everything you need here.”

You didn’t know what to do, just looking at him, afraid to move. Bucky clenched his jaw, nodding, like he expected a response from you. He walked around you holding the door handle. “The door will stay open, so don’t think about doing anything stupid.”

As soon as the door behind you clicked shut, your shoulders relaxed. You walked over to your bedroom, frowning. Like the rest of the small apartment it’s blandness mirrored the rest of town. The air misty from what you presumed was most likely dust.

Your windows looked over Dawn, the lack of curtains concerned you. You’re like an animal for everyone to see, the whole town can see you trapped in this house, but no one cared enough to get you out. You didn’t want to cry, but stopping the tears took too much energy that you don’t have. So you stood looking over Dawn, a place that never really was your home.

You moved over to the tiny kitchen, looking through the cupboards and the fridge, finding all the things needed for dinner. Although hunger didn’t make itself known, you needed to pass time. So you ate, listening to the noises of the house, the creaking of the floor, wind blowing against the windows. Bucky and his men were loud, chatting, laughing. Their voices penetrated through the floor. Their presence so close.

Sam, Mrs. Wilson’s son, was the one who woke you up, shaking you from your sleep. Rolling over on your back you saw him staring down at you. “There’s someone at the door for you.”

With a swing of your legs you were out of bed, sprinting down the stairs, through the corridors. You heard Lana before you saw her. She stood in the middle of the entrance, hands nervously folded. Steve leaned on the stairs, a filthy grin playing on his lips staring his prey into the ground.

“Lana.” Your voice cut through Steve’s. Within a few strides you were stood in front of her. “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t call you, you know- because- your house- I mean.” Steve stated laughing and Lana lowered her head and you turned your head glaring at him.

“C’mon.” With an arm around her shoulders you led her up the stairs, to your apartment.

A look inside your duffel bag and you rummaged through the clothes, taking out a pair of underwear and a bra, the image of Bucky going through your clothing in your head and you shuddered.

You opened the closet taking a look inside. A few dresses hung on a rack, but you didn’t recognise any of them. They must’ve been here for a long time, but you examined a yellow sundress, rubbing the material with between your thumb and pointer finger.

Both of you exited your room and walked downstairs, but as you were about to open the door, Bucky’s voice echoed off the walls. “Where are you going?”

Without turning you answered. “Breakfast.” You turned the handle, but a hand grabbed your upper arm, turning you around forcefully. Bucky’s face was dangerously close.

“Ask.”

Your breath quickened, his eyes boring into yours. You didn’t want to, the humiliation alone hindering the words from coming out. His grip on your arm tightened and a look to Lana you knew this was a fight you wouldn’t win. Lana of all people would know. You adverted your gaze downward, unable to look him into the eyes.

“Can I go out for breakfast?” You pushed the words through gritted teeth, more of a whisper than a mumble. Your cheeks heated up, impatient for this to be over.

“With who?” Bucky pushed, feeding off your shame, relishing in the way your body trembled, all your confidence stripped from your bones. He had you right where he wanted you.

“Lana.”

Bucky’s lips curled and embarrassment shook you. You haven’t had to ask for permission for anything in a long, long time. “Sure, darling.” Bucky said, releasing your arm from it’s grip and you ran your other hand along the place he held you tight. A bruise would surely adorn your upper arm, a token from him to remind you of who has the say in this town, a reminder.

The walk to the diner was quiet, neither you or Lana wanted to talk. Your body still shook and it became difficult to look at your best friend. A moment of weakness in front of her destroyed the confidence you’ve shown her over the years.

Upon walking into the diner, the moment the bell above the door chimed, the ringing noise of metal, there was a noticeable change in the atmosphere. As soon as a few people took notice of your presence, more did. Chatter died down slowly, eyes peeking over the menu and coffee cups. Lana walked ahead of you to one of the booths along the window.

Their eyes burned holes in your dress and you felt visibly naked, exposed. But there wasn’t astonishment or admiration, no, their eyes roamed your body in fear. In their eyes they were staring at danger.

Sitting on the red cushion, Lana and you waited and waited, but no one came. A peak over the seat and you found your answer. It seems that the waitresses were arguing, too afraid to come over. You exhaled, ready to leave, but Lana stood, walking over to the counter, startling the three waitresses.

Lana came back, sliding a cup of coffee over to you with a sad smile. A few moments passed with silence from both of you while the diner recovered. The space filled with clatter of coffee cups, chatting. You sipped your coffee trying to scramble for something to say. The silence between you and Lana was uncomfortable and suddenly you felt like the cause of it, the leader of the conversation. A pressure you didn’t need.

You raised your eyes to meet her’s, a plead.

She cleared her throat, wrapping her slim hands around the cup. “How are you?”

How are you?

Truthfully, you felt like you were crumbling. Your exterior peeling away at the seams. Bucky pulling at the strings.

“I’m fine.” You flashed her a rather sad smile, but that’s all you could manage.

“The coffee here tastes like water.” Lana giggles. “I’ve always wanted to go to a Starbucks.”

You turned your head listening to the roar, the screeching on tar. Soon a few leather clothed men sped by. A few weeks ago you wouldn’t have minded. You’ve never seen any of them up close, the danger of the men only a whisper in your ears, tales from other people’s life.

You sneaked back into the house hours and hours later. The many bikes on the porch freezing your blood. The chatter came from out back, you saw the garden lights on through the widows along the hallway. The many men sitting around drinking beer, their women scattered around to the side. The music boomed through the walls, shaking the pictures along the wood.

A quick dinner, tears salting the taste in your mouth. You threw your clothes to the ground, throwing an oversized shirt on, laying in bed. The noises that crept its way in the room occupying your brain, penetrating your thoughts. In times like these, when sleep couldn’t find its way to you, Lana was there for you, staying on the phone until you confirmed that you wanted to sleep.

You got up, slowly approaching the door, listening for any danger, but your ears filled with music booming through the walls from the garden. Opening the door, you set one foot in front of the other, quietly walking through the house until you reached the front door.

Pulling the door open just a crack, confirming that it was indeed open, you took a look behind you before stepping out. The moment you set foot outside, you sprinted across the street to the phone-booth. Cold air bit at your skin and the promise of summer seemed like a lie. The street lights breaking through the fog. You dialled Lana’s number, listening to the beeping, biting the tears away.

“Who’re you calling, baby?”

You jumped, turning around to see Bucky standing in the booth, towering over you. The close proximity of him in this tiny space making you sweat. The smell of his cologne mixed with sweat overwhelming you. Your eyes roamed the outside, two of his men stood by the booth in the darkness.

Bucky tilted his head, a cannibalistic glare in his eyes, reaching out, grabbing your throat. You were stuck with the poisonous animal. Bucky pressed his body to yours, his lips grazing against your ear. “There’s a phone in the house.” Bucky growled, hot breath on your neck. The smell of leather under your nose filled your senses.

“I was calling Lana B-.”

“Bullshit!” Bucky hissed.

Your eyes widened as he pushed his knee between your legs, your thighs rubbing against the rough material of his jeans. Bucky’s hand stayed on your throat, applying light pressure while the other traced along your arm, over the bruise, down to your hip. Bucky pushed the hem of your shirt up, his fingers grazed along your skin, pulling at the band of your underwear.

Bucky removed his leg and you attempted to squeeze your thighs together, but he was quicker than you, pushing his hand between your legs roughly. You swallowed, his cold fingers pushing the material down, a sob escaping your lips. You wanted to close your eyes, but the fear of anyone walking by dominated.

Bucky’s hand ran up your inner thigh and you jolted as he parted your folds with his fingers. “Stop.” You breathed, but he didn’t hear you, tightening his grip on your throat. Bucky inserted two fingers, chucking darkly as you whimpered. “Please, Bucky I-”

“Relax.” He breathed against your ear.

Tears spilled from your eyes as he violated you faster and faster, relentlessly pushing his digits in and out. You couldn’t breathe as he send waves through your body. Grabbing both hands on his wrist around your throat, your body betrayed you and he knew it. You tried not to listen to the sound of your body giving Bucky permission, biting your tongue.

“I own you remember? Remember the heart, that sweet, innocent baby deer I shot just for you?.” Bucky’s voice low, harsh. You felt his bulge against your stomach, a subtle reminder that this is what he wants. “You can call whoever you like, darling, the police, the mayor, hell, even the FBI, but they won’t help you. I own you just like I own this town.”

The sound of your juices filled the small booth as your body trembled under his command. Your eyes widened, a woman walking along the other side of the street. She locked eyes with you as you looked over Bucky’s shoulder, a pleading look, but she quickened her step, walking out of sight.

A gasp pushed through your lips, your mind clouded by pleasure and pain. Bucky knew you were close despite your defiance, he felt it. Your walls clenching around his fingers, pearls of sweat running down your chest, the strangled breaths confirming his victory. The phone-booth filled with your strangled moans that you so desperately tried to hold back, but Bucky didn’t stop as you came. Your thighs shook, hot shiver running through your blood stream right from your core.

Bucky removed his hand and you felt your cum running down your thigh. He loosened his grip on your throat and you let your arms fall limp to the side of you, a devilish smirk on Bucky’s face as he wiped his fingers on your shirt.

“Next time I won’t be so gentle, dollface.” Bucky said, opening the door, and ushering to his men to leave. One last look back to you through the glass, pure evil in his eyes. Nothing but sinister, vile, evil.

The moment you were alone, standing in the phone-booth, you pulled your underwear back up, the fabric scratching your sensitiv skin. Hissing, you looked down, blood mixed with cum drying on your thigh. Tears spilled as you hid your face with your hands in shame.

You prayed to some kind of god for this to end, to have the life your mother had even if it killed her. A life bland and uneventful. You prayed for that and nothing else.

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#bucky barnes #dark!bucky #biker!bucky #dark!bucky barnes #biker!bucky barnes #dark!bucky x you #dark!bucky x y/n #dark!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader fluff #dark!marvel #dark!mcu #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #james bucky barnes #james barnes #clair writes

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lycianthes-art · 3 years

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Echinacea Chapter 2

Now, as for the princess she had taken Wynn, a unicorn, from the stables, and was now outside Kratom, the kingdom of the Serpentes… Though, even for its title, strangely Kratom housed not only Serpentes but any kind if reptilian.

(Hm? Why did she take a unicorn? Well they’re simply the fastest horses, even faster than a Pegasus.)

In trying to remain inconspicuous she, perhaps, made herself more conspicuous. She donned standard riding boots, though perhaps a little too clean for the average person. A sash of deep green fabric tied around her waist and draped over one leg, making it glaringly obvious that she belonged to the human nobility. A white ruffled blouse, once again too clean for the average person and too ostentatious to be owned by a commoner. Not to mention her dark green cloak, embroidered with golden thread and fastened with a sparkling deep green emerald brooch. Like her mother, she was pale and had green eyes. The main point of distinction was her blonde hair. Now blonde hair was relatively rare among humans—at least rare enough to cause a scandal within the human royal family. Let us save such gossip for another time.

In fact, the only population with a significant blonde demographic were the Dwarves, and perhaps some avian races. Although avian hair color presents more sunshine-yellow than blonde, since it’s genetically tied to the color of their plumage.

Ah, but it seems I’m losing myself again—I have yet to even describe Kratom. Kratom is a large, walled city surrounded by forest. Its influence does not extend beyond this local; thus, the nation and municipality called Kratom are one and the same. Each wall encases a particular social class: The royal palace the center, then the upper class in the adjacent ring, and so on. The lowest class however, lives outside the walls, shunned by society. The citizens of Kratom pride themselves on their ability to blend in—rather, to camouflage themselves within any culture. Their city and architecture showing this well, from the stone, fortressed walls of Echinacea, to the ionic pillars of Verbena. The style mimicking is even shown in housing with the symmetry of the elven citadel Ginko and the Wooden siding of Velvet Leaf—the home of the forest elves. In short Kratoman architecture has elements of every culture in the continent of Evel. Though one thing relatively unique to the residents of Kratom is their love of gold—not just the coins, but jewelry and all manner of finery.

Jewelry tends to only be enjoyed by the elite, which brings us to Kratom social hierarchies. It’s rather… discriminatory by human standards—or any other culture’s, for that matter. For Serpentes and Reptilians, it’s a matter of their physical appearance, which manifests immediately when they hatch. The more animalistic their features, the higher their rank. As such, the queen nearly always resembles a giant snake with arms. Reptilians are limited to lower castes; a form that would merit queen-hood in a Serpentes would only allow a Reptilian to rise to knighthood, or maybe baronet, if they’re lucky perhaps even baron. The lowest class is the most human-looking: a face, arms, legs, torso… one could barely tell the difference, if not for the scales. As for clothing, Kratomans wear none, as they don’t have much need for it thanks to their anatomy.

Now that the sociology lesson is over, perhaps we can continue with the story.

“Wynn, wait here. I’ll be fine without you, this city’s not as dangerous as they say.” Noreen spoke more to herself than her companion

She patted the unicorn on the shoulder, pulled up the hood of her cloak and walked from the safe covering of the forest towards the large, foreboding walls of Kratom.

As she approached the city, the anxiety in her stomach grew. The looming walls did nothing to assuage her fears. A human in Kratom is surely to gain attention, something she did well. And yet she noticed none of it, too wrapped in her own mind and thoughts.

She was oblivious to her surroundings until she reached the middle ring. Kratom is traversed rather quickly, considering the entrance gates to each ring are lined up with the last. When the gates to the middle rig swung open, Noreen was blinded by the streets and ornaments of gold. The stone buildings were a tired, dull beige, easily ignored for the streets lined by day stars and paths of sunlight. She found herself distracted by the glitzy surroundings, her anxiety forgotten. She remained oblivious to the stares of the citizens. She paused by the fountain in the center of the circle. Like the walls and buildings, it too was made of stone, with flecks of gold spread throughout it and its water almost artificially blue. She stood there in awe until the unusual silence of the busy street was broken by the sound of falling coins. This was enough to break her out of her trance and refocus her on her mission… at least for now.

However, upon entering the upper ring her attention was once again stolen by her surroundings. Here, even the buildings were made of gold… or perhaps they were merely covered by gold plating. Even the people were covered in gold. The inhabitants of this ring looked quite different than the bipedal creatures Noreen had passed earlier: they had the lower bodies of their respective species, but with a human-esque torso and face (with the exception of the reptilians, who visibly earn their name). An obvious show to the racial inequality of Kratom. The thought of someone being lesser for their appearance was something foreign to most of Evel. With this thought in mind, Noreen made her way to the palace.

The palace of Kratom was the most beautiful part of the city and as such was always open to foreigners. The palace, instead of beige, was a cool grey to more bring out the warm gold that covered most of it. After entering the large gates of the palace instead of being captivated by the large ceilings painted blue, white, and gold, or perhaps the statues carved in marble of previous rulers. Noreen’s attention was instead captured by her target: Sistrine, the ruler of Kratom. She increased her pace. The guards, now on high alert, reached for their weapons. Before they could do anything, she closed the distance to her target and held a knife to the brown snake’s throat, pinning them in place. Her hood fell off and the snake’s hood flared out. The guards made to attack, but Sistrine stopped them by calmly lifting a hand.

“Child princess, you would not hurt your dear sweet mother, would you?”

However, Noreen simply gritted her teeth in rage and pushed the dagger further into their throat.

“Try me”

The snake’s glamour disappeared. “What stops me from alerting the guards or simply crushing you myself?”

“You’ll be dead before you can try. Besides, cobras don’t constrict.”

“All snakes can, my dear. But so be it. Why do you intrude? What do you wish of me?”

“Information. There’s something I desperately need to know.”

“I’m not a mind reader, darling”

Noreen tensed at the pet name.

“What was the role of demons in The Great War?”

Sistrine looked amused. “You of all people should know that… Considering who your mother is.”

Noreen growled and pushed her dagger ever further into the throat of the snake, tears coming to her eyes, before she came to her senses and bolted.

Upon leaving Kratom, Noreen had an eerie feeling she was being watched. It wasn’t until she reached Wynn that the culprit revealed themselves. They were a lower-class Kratoman—Serpentes? Reptilian? It is rather hard to tell with the lower classes. Either way, they were tall, with human-like facial features and green scales. Their manner in approaching Noreen was rather happy, maybe even excited.

“Human!”

Noreen audibly groaned at the delay.

“Yes? I’m rather busy”

“Oh, no worries. This will only take all of your time! Um… That was not a threat—“The reassurance did not do much to placate the princess’s unease as the stranger snatched at Wynn’s reins.

Noreen reached into her cloak to retrieve her dagger. “Speak fast”

“Right! Right! See, I overheard your conversation with the queen, and—“

“I thought your class wasn’t allowed to be in the throne room?”

“Oh, we aren’t. Anyway, it sound like you’re going to be doing a lot of traveling, and I want in.”

“It’s going to be dangerous, can you even protect yourself? Other than that how should I trust a stranger at my back? Let alone a Reptilian?”

“No. You’re going to have a lot of strangers. Also I’m a Serpentes, not a Reptilian. Which probably isn’t any better in your eyes, but I’m harmless, not a venomous species.”

“Right… Since I’m in a hurry and you have my unicorn’s reins, I’m assuming it’s easier to just let you come along, as long as you wear this.”

She handed over her cloak, then mounted the unicorn and slid back a little in an attempt to make room for the stranger.

“Of course! Thank you! But first, human, do you have a name?” The stranger did not move nor let go of the reins.

“Noreen”

“Okay, Nora! Well, I’m Sapa!” Sapa made a move to get on the unicorn.

“It’s Noreen, actually.”

“Nora?”

“Noreen.”

“Nora?”

“You know what? Fine.”

After this brief name exchange, Sapa was on the unicorn and Nora was adjusting them to sit side-saddle, with both of their legs over one side. The seating arrangement was rather uncomfortable, but with a unicorn it would be a rather short ride. Though a stray thought did make its way to Nora’s mind, that Sapa’s scales were surprisingly soft.

A few minutes into the ride, Sapa spoke up.

“So… Where are we going?”

“I’m taking Wynn back to the stables.”

“Then we can just finish your mission right then?”

“No, there’s still a lot of things I still don’t know and it would be a rather large risk I’m not willing to take. If I’m wrong I could end Echinacea.”

“But it takes weeks to get to Echinacea from here, on top of that you’re planning on traveling more?”

Nora leaned forward and grabbed onto Sapa as Wynn jumped a fallen tree, causing Sapa to let out a delighted giggle.

“On a unicorn it should only take a few hours.”

“A few hour!?” Sapa yelled in surprise

Nora gritted her teeth. “Yes, when we get there I want you to keep the cloak wrapped tight.”

“Hate to tell you, but I’m quite taller than you, and my feet look incredibly different. I am assuming, at least—I have not seen your feet, nor do I wish too”

“We’re not getting close to the castle, so it’s only if people see you from afar.”

“Even so, from a distance I’d be able to tell a human from a serpentes. After all, I noticed you among the townspeople earlier… Granted if you were Serpentes, you definitely were not supposed to be where you were.”

“Humor me,” Nora huffed

As stated, a few hours into the ride they saw the corral. Nora once more leaned forward and grabbed Sapa while Wynn jumped the fence and came to an abrupt stop. Nora gently nudged Sapa to dismount, then followed suit.

“What now?” Sapa inquired

“Since I had us Jump near the obstacle corral, first thing we do is move the tack there.” Nora started undoing the saddle buckles. “Preferably, you would take the saddle and I would take the blanket and bridle.”

“Why”

Nora stopped on the question for a while, trying to decipher what it meant. In the end she decided to answer both question she thought could be asked, and handed the saddle to Sapa, who took it.

“So they don’t notice I took Wynn, if they haven’t already. And because the saddle is heavy, and you’re likely stronger than me.”

Having finished taking off the tack, Nora started to walk towards the tack rack, motioning for Sapa to follow. Then Sapa turned to Nora.

“Now what?”

Nora sighed. “Now we jump the fence back into the woods and, since the corral is large, hope no one saw us.”

They started walking towards the outer fence.

“That’s it? No provisions? No nothing?”

“I have survival skills.”

“Have you ever had to use them?”

Nora ignored the question and pulled herself up and over the fence.

“I can tell you right now princess, survival isn’t fun.” Sapa scrambled over the fence to catch up.

“I’m not looking for fun.”

“Okay… Do you at least have an idea on where to go?”

“Ginko, Velvet Leaf, Hyssop, Tulsi, Burdock, and then Mallow.”

“Huh? Mallow’s the closest. Why aren’t we going there first?”

“It would be easier to go back to the other side of Evel and then come back, rather than starting closest, going furthest, and then returning.”

“I see… Next question: You’re human, but none of those are alliance countries. Why not? Would a human not seek aid from them first?”

“The problems I seek pertain to my mother. Should we go to alliance country, they would no doubt tell, which would put my life in danger.”

“Why would your life be in danger?”

“That’s a rather personal question, I’d rather not speak on it. Speaking of personal questions though, it’s rather hard to determine your… gender.”

“Ahaha—ah well, that’s incredibly personal, and not something Serpentes share freely… unless you’re trying to bed me?”

Nora cringed and cleared her throat.

“Back to the topic of alliance countries… They’re not really a country, but we might have luck with the elementals.”

“The elemental? No one has luck with them. I mean they don’t die and aren’t really involved in the world too much. I think the only reason the joined the alliance was to protect their forest, right? Not even for themselves, but for the animals they live beside.”

“Normally, you’d be correct. However, one of my dear friends is an elemental.”

“You’re friends with an elemental?!”

“Yes…” Nora said gritting her teeth.

“How does that happen?”

“They basically raised me. I do not know their intentions, though.”

“I’m not one to speak on parents, but that’s unusual for humans, yes? I mean being raised by someone other than a parent, much less an elemental.”

‘No, plenty of people have nannies or wet nurses.”

“What of the common people?”

“I do not know, they tend to have large families. I can’t imagine only two are parents. Could we perhaps travel in silence? At least until we get to the tavern?”

“Sure, after one more thing. Tavern?”

“There’s a tavern rather close to Echinacea run by ogres and wood sprites.”

“An interesting combination—oh, wait, I promised silence.”

They reached the tavern around sunset. The tavern itself was a basic wooden building, but huge. And as for the trip, it was mostly in the promised silence. Though not being able to expend energy on talking made Sapa restless. As they walked, they made sure Nora remained in sight. But, needing to occupy themself, they walked all over, looking at things, bouncing in place—then doing a little jog to catch up with Nora. That was how most of the trip went. For Nora, it was almost as bad as putting up with talking. For Sapa, it was torture.

When the two companions made it to the door, Nora turned to Sapa. The sound of her voice after so many hours of silence surprised the Serpentes.

“Just a tip—you’ll have better conversations with the ogres than the sprites.” She suggests in warning knowing Sapa’s over eagerness for conversation.

“Aren’t sprites supposed to be nicer than man-eating ogres?”

“Stereotypically, maybe.”

Sapa thought for a moment. “And yet your views on serpentes—“

“I’ve known many ogres and sprites. I’ve never known a good Serpentes.”

“Have you known any?”

She did not answer. Instead she pushed open the heavy door and walked inside. The tavern interior—much like the outside—was large, spacious. For perspective, the bar was so huge an average sized human could barely get their head over it. Luckily, Nora was rather tall, and the counter came up to her collarbones. Sapa, on the other hand, has no issues seeing over the counter as it only came up to their chest. The oversized furniture, however, fit the oversized proprietors of the tavern. The ogres—burly, and about three heads taller than Nora. The willow sprites—thin willowy, and even taller than the ogres.

“Noreen!” An ogre behind the counter yelled in greeting.

“Dimitrios!” Nora yelled back, flinging her arms out for a hug. The ogre jumped the bar, gaining glares from the sprites behind the bar, and lifted her into a cheerful hug.

“Um, Introductions… perhaps?” Sapa asked shifting their weight.

Nora waved her hand toward Dimitrios.

“This, as you’ve likely gathered, is Dimitrios. He introduced me to this place.’

He, in turn, put his hand on his hip and waved heartily, His clothes were a mismatch of leather, and he had a fish tattoo on his left shoulder. His skin was pale and sunburnt, his hair was long, thin, and dark. His eyes brown.

She then gestured to the two sprites behind the bar counter. Sprites are creatures made of wood and the magic of the earth. Their bodies made of vines of, in this case, willow wood. On their head grows leaves, once again in this case, willow leaves. Their eyes are, seemingly, balls of light. However, their eyes don’t glow.

“Beata and Dionysia—they got married last spring.” The willow sprites glanced at each other, then waved. Beata kept her leaves braided, and Dionysia had flowers in hers.

She jutted her thumb at the ogre and sprite in the corner. The ogre was sitting, rather reclining in a chair. The sprite was leaning over him, a knife stabbed into the table, seemingly threating the ogre.

“Sybilla and Yannis. Sybilla is Beata and Dionysia’s child. Yannis is Dimitrios’ life partner.”

Sybilla stood taller and glared, her leaves were a lavender color. Yannis looked over his shoulder and waved. Like Dimitrios, he wore a mismatched leather clothing and had sheaves of wheat tattooed on his right shoulder.

Dimitrios brings attention to himself by clapping.

“So, what brings you here? And with such company?”

“We wish to rent to room. I assume this should cover it.” She turned to Sapa and pried the green gem out of its clasp.

“I assume it shall,” called Beata from across the room.

“All rooms are available, here’s the keys to the closest. Rest up well, you look horrible.” Dionysia was all business, as usual.

“Thanks…” Nora walked up to the counter and grabbed the keys.

“Let’s go,” she said to Sapa.

They both walk up the stairs to a large hallway of doors.

“So, these are your so—called survival skills?” Sapa inquired.

“Not the ones I was referring to, but connections are a good survival skill, I think.”

They part at their separate doors.

“Are you going to be okay?” Sapa asked, genuinely worried for the naive princess.

“I’m fine.” She replies on a bit too heavy a breath, “There’s not much to be worried about, I do have a bit of a plan.”

Without elaborating, she walked into her room and lay on the stiff bed. The strength and complexity of her emotions could do all except bring tears to her eyes. The heart-wrenching sorrow, the searing anger, the confusion, and yet she could not cry… was she broken? Eventually, she drifted off, exhausted from travel and thought.

#My writing

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monstersandmaw · 4 years

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Embers - Male dragon shifter x reader, Chapter Twelve (v.light nsfw)

Can you believe that this story is nearing 20k words now in total? It's going to start winding up soon, with only two chapters left. Thank you for the support you’ve shown me for this long-running series - I hope you enjoy what remains of their story.

(Old Trollbridge is based on Cambridge, UK. Also, in the UK, the ‘first floor’ is what Americans call the second floor; I only remembered this difference after my trip to Boston last year, so I thought I’d mention it, haha…)

No warnings, mostly sfw with a bit of very light kissing, and about 1700 or so words.

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven

The night of the fundraiser rolled around eventually and you decided that since Mikaeïl would be helping to set things up beforehand, you would simply meet him there. Old Trollbridge was an ancient city, its history stretching back nearly a thousand years, and the university structure was unlike almost anywhere else, except for perhaps Oxenford or Dunholme, with almost thirty individual colleges where students were based and where some of the learning was based, while the majority of their lectures took place in the larger department and faculty buildings. Mikaeïl’s college - where the dinner was being hosted - sat on the old, sluggish, shallow river which coiled lazily through the buildings of the city which had grown up around it over the centuries.

More than a little outmoded in many ways, and highly intimidating to the uninitiated, the college which had been chosen for the evening was one of the oldest in the university. It was here, in the fellows’ dining room, rather than the communal hall, that the dinner was being hosted in order to raise funds for two charities supported by the Law Faculty, and more specifically, the criminology department.

Despite having worked in Old Trollbridge for the past five years, both as a free-lancer and part-time for the graphic design company, you had never set foot inside one of the colleges. It felt like sacred ground somehow; inaccessible to your profane feet. This one was built of a mix of warm sandstone and weathered brick and flint, and as you stepped into the archway that housed the Porters’ Lodge, a large minotaur wearing a dark green waistcoat with the college insignia exited the office and smiled out you. “Here for the dinner?” he asked, glancing at your smart outfit.

“What gave it away, the nerves or the clothes?”

“Both?” he laughed and raised his hand, pointing at an archway across the grassed court from the lodge. “Head over there. Follow the signs, and you can’t go wrong.”

“Thanks,” you said, swallowing the huge lump in your throat. Your heart raced. This was not your usual environment. At all.

It was Mikaeïl's, however, and somehow it didn’t seem so intimidating then. He made his home within these walls, and had done for over a century apparently. He even had a set of rooms in college, but he rarely used them. You began to look around you more closely then, at the mullioned windows and the Virginia creeper climbing up the drainpipes in the corners of the courtyard, and at the faces of the one or two students who passed you by as you made your way around the paved courtyard.

A gnoll with a chunk missing from one ear gave you a wide, toothy grin and a friendly wag of her tail, and a moment later a naga slithered out from a doorway, looking a little unsteady, with a dryad at his side, laughing loudly. The pair were more than two sheets to the wind, but it was a Friday night and you supposed that they worked hard here; they deserved a night off like everyone else.

A moment later, however, and you were walking through the doorway into the part of the college usually reserved for fellows and lecturers only, and a rather nervous looking young human, again wearing the college colours, stepped forwards to take your ticket from your hands. “It’s on the first floor,” she said, indicating the lift and the staircase which sat side by side. “Can I take your coat?”

“Uh, thanks,” you croaked, shrugging out of it. “Is everyone else here already?”

She shook her head. “A couple more to go,” she smiled, taking your jacket and hanging it on a rack to one side.

Nodding, you headed upstairs.

Pausing in the doorway to the panelled dining room, which was immediately opposite the lift, your breath caught in your throat. Mikaeïl was standing the far side of the room, talking to a handsome, young-looking orc in a manual wheelchair, and both had exquisitely beautiful champagne flutes in their hands. While he looked like a classical statue come to life, Mikaeïl had been right when he’d warned you that he would be almost a different person when you saw him in this context.

His back was ramrod straight, his mouth was set in a hard line, and he looked like he was about to breathe fire all over the poor orc. You recognised the signs now as intense social discomfort, and your heart went out to him. Bless him, for all his two hundred years, socialising had never become something he had learned to enjoy. Perhaps it was because his kind had been hunted almost to extinction by orcs and humans about five hundred years earlier, and shifters like him had learned to keep to themselves.

The moment you entered the room, however, he shot you a quick sidelong glance, reptilian eyes drawn to the movement, and then did a very unsubtle and obvious double-take. His shoulders dropped an inch, and his breath caught in his chest. Well, that was an ego boost for you for sure. Smiling, you made your way around the beautifully laid table and stood shyly beside him.

“Hi,” you murmured, glancing nervously between him and the orc.

“You look incredible,” he murmured, leaning close and kissing your cheek before introducing you as his partner to the orc. “This is Gharak. He’s halfway through a PhD in geophysics.”

“Wow. Nice to meet you,” you blurted, shaking the orc’s enormous hand before sliding your own around Mikaeïl’s waist. He tensed beneath your touch, but then laughed softly.

“I think we’ll be starting soon. Almost everyone is here…”

The murder mystery dinner wasn’t quite what you’d expected, but it was mostly pretty fun. The people who had bought tickets were… astonishingly wealthy. Like… you’d thought that Mikaeïl with his inherited wealth was well off, but most of these people were in a different league. The food was sublime, unlike anything you’d ever tasted even at Kiriavin’s cellar restaurant, and you found it an effort to wrench yourself from your meal to play along with the loose ‘script’ of the evening.

Mikaeïl was seated across from you, beside an older human woman who wouldn’t stop fawning all over him. If it hadn’t been your boyfriend, it might have been funny, but as it was, your heart went out to him. He’d whispered to you during the pre-dinner drinks that she was a major benefactor, not only to the department but to the university itself, and knowing this, you knew he couldn’t rebuff her attentions.

He did his best to weather it, but at one point he caught your eye and the look in his hard, golden gaze was so miserable that you found yourself instantly mouthing the words ‘I love you’ to him across the third course of the dinner.

At that, his cheeks flushed gently, and he mouthed back, ‘thank you’.

When it was finally over, and the mystery - such as it was - had been solved, you bid goodnight to Gharak, who had been sitting next to you and who had been an absolute blast, and crossed to Mikaeïl. He was standing with one hand gripping the back of his chair so hard you could hear it splintering beneath his fingers, and as you placed your own hand over the top of his, the tension washed out of him.

“You alright?” you asked. “I think that went pretty well?”

He nodded. His hair was tied back in a severe bun, with what looked like a solid gold hair pin topped with a dragon holding it in place, and his dinner jacket fitted him to perfection. He looked like the subject of an oil painting, and just as uncomfortable still.

“Mikaeïl?”

He inhaled, his nostrils going wide. And then his hands were on your jaw and he kissed you so hard you saw stars. The room was empty now, and as the two of you kissed, he growled softly in that low-frequency rumble that you could feel in your ribcage. It filled the room and made the glasses rattle and ring on the table. His hands began to shift again, copper claws growing as colour rippled up his forearms beneath the crisp white shirt, talons pricking into the fabric of your own clothes before he could stop himself.

“Mikaeïl?” you murmured again. “Let’s go?”

He nodded.

“You want to come back to mine or…?”

“I don’t care,” he said. “I just want you. I can’t believe how amazing you were tonight.”

“Me?” you asked. “I barely did anything… I just played my role of poor starving artist - hardly imaginative, I might add -” you said with a playful glint in your eye, “And the others solved the mystery themselves…”

“Not that,” he snarled dismissively, his lips rising on one side to show his elongated canines. “You knew…”

“Knew what?” you chuckled affectionately, bringing your fingertips to his slightly pointed ears and tucking a wayward strand of his fiery hair behind it, gently enough to make him shiver visibly.

He swallowed and kissed you again in answer. When he was done, he pulled back and said, “You knew when I got overwhelmed. How?”

You had to laugh at that. “Your body got all tense - well, even more tense than usual - and you looked like you were considering incinerating her where she sat…”

“I wouldn’t want to destroy a Chippendale,” he said flatly and you burst out laughing, tipping your head back. A second later, he raked the very tip of his clawed thumb down your throat and your laugh changed to a groan.

“Let’s get out of here,” you said, and he nodded.

“Your place is nearer…” he added, nipping your thrumming pulse with his teeth as he kissed your neck.

You didn’t argue.

“By the way,” he added as you took his hand and left the college behind you.

Glancing up at him, you smiled. “Mmm?”

“Are you free next weekend? I have a surprise for you…”

Your eyebrows sailed high. “What kind of surprise… You know I’m not wild about surprises…”

“Bring something warm to wear,” he said. “That’s all I’ll say for now.”

Part Thirteen

—

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

For all early releases, character art and bios, upcoming story info, and much, much more, join me over on Patreon! (no new content planned in March (and no charge to existing patrons) but access to everything else is available)

You’ll have access to stories before anyone else, and you’ll get instant access Patreon-only content as well, including polls and an exclusive monthly story for those on the Pixies and Goblins tier or higher!

#exophilia #dragon shifter #dragon x reader #male dragon x reader #male dragon shifter x reader #gender neutral reader #male dragon #embers

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julia--blake · 4 years

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"Jeff Wall’s The Destroyed Room precisely recreates the ravaged atmosphere of La Mort de Sardanapale, presenting the practice of iconoclasm in his artworks. Nonetheless, Jeff Walls has achieved an evolution in the message evoked by the artwork, yet maintaining the original plot. While at first we wonder whether we are being shown the past scene of a robbery or rape, we soon realize that it deals with the idea of the domestication of murderous passion in a era of bourgeois and neurotic private life.

On a comparative look at these two artworks, Wall’s photograph presents the site of a passed violent scene without showing us the presence of any bodies, which, contrarily to the painting of Delacroix, removes the development of the event. In fact, the title of Wall’s piece provides us with such an identification, as the word “Destroyed” implies the past. Hence, unlike Delacroix’s art piece, Wall places a greater importance in the representation of the motionless after the destruction and not on seizing the moment. It acts as proof of what has occurred, the scene only illustrating an aftermath.

However, there are several elements in Wall’s photograph which hint at the relationship between it and the painting. Firstly of all, Wall iterates the general composition of La Mort de Sardanapale. That is to say, the original positions are respected. The broken chair at the right of the photograph mimics the shape of the slave stabbing one of the women in the foreground, the vast wound of the mattress like the bed in the painting, both directing our look towards the upper left corner of the frame. The light is also coming from the same direction, hitting, in the place of the monarch, an ironic statuette of a female dancing figure. This light hence pushes us to identify an association between Sardanapale and the statuette, bringing forth a main question on whether the allegory of the monarch into a feminine figure would have avoided the slaughter. Nonetheless, the overall rhythm established by each artwork is similar, although we move from the dynamic occurrence of the action to the static.

If we analyze the content of each art work more closely, we can see that In La Mort de Sardanapale, there is no sign of blood visible, despite the violence of the scene depicted: only the red bed sheets and different tissues associated to the arms of the male murderers suggest the bloody massacre. In a similar manner, Jeff Wall places the scene in a room with red walls and uses the appearance and position of items to create a bloody atmosphere. Here, the mattress is topple, the walls torn and the clothes ripped on the floor, once more allowing us to foresee some red tissues. The nudity of the tyrant’s female mistresses is suggested, in Wall’s image, by the exposure of female undergarments and the spread of jewelry all over the floor: something which could refer to the violation of their intimacy. There is however a small statue of a female dancer, which is miraculously intact, situated on top of the dresser with completely opened drawers (on the left of the photograph). This could represent the maintenance of the erotic imagery characteristic of Delacroix’s painting. Even more importantly, the differently dispersed shadows of the statuette, as well as its untouched appearance gives it a central character which permits her comparison with the king of Ninive featured in the painting, who is almost enthroned, higher up, in the scene and impassive to the violence.

However, it must be further noted that despite the chaos and destruction of the room, the door situated on the left side of the room is not broken. This reminds the viewer that this version of La Mort de Sardanapale is set in a studio: its is an artificial construction. Yet, albeit it can be argued that Jeff Wall wishes to expose the artifice of his reconstruction, he proposes not only the remembrance of Delacroix’s painting (while destroying it altogether) but its re-inclusion in the present, in the now, by making a visual of the everyday.

The reason why Jeff Wall probably chose to create a more modern version of such an influential artwork is perhaps because he desired to give photography a privileged position within the world of fine arts, regularly using such paintings to get inspired and attribute to his compositions an iconographic dimension. Even more so, I believe that Wall has chosen Delacroix’s La Mort de Sardanapale as the conceptual base for his photograph due to its legendary appearance and essence. This way he can incorporate the epic and symbolic quality of the painting and the banality of the 20th century urban life. This however makes his photographs not accessible to everyone. That is to say, the complex nature of the painting means that Wall’s replica cannot have meaning for viewers unfamiliar of the source image. This can have a potential benefit, which is the breaking of historical connections and continuity, but it brings forth a main question of who is the intended audience of Wall’s The Destroyed Room: The common people or the art critics and academics? While for some, The Destroyed Room might simply be a strange, arty take on domestic clutter, less naïve art-historians will be able to understand it as a rework of historical painting as a modern staged drama. Notwithstanding, directly referring to Jeff Wall’s interviews of 1985 and 1993, the artist clarifies his interest in Eugène Delacroix’s painting by emphasizing its historical and psychological importance to him: ” it shows the eroticized ideal of military glory which characterized the Napoleonic period being turned […] back toward domestic life at the end of that epoch” and “I was particularly interested in violence at that time […] and I got intrigued by that monumental painting [which] wove together themes of war and military glory, on the one hand, and the conflicts of private life, on the other.”

Finally, I do not believe that Wall’s main aim was to change the meaning of the original painting by Eugène Delacroix. Instead, I perceive his incorporation of such a historical work as a means of giving his artwork a richer, more suggestive and more aggressive aura, as well as placing his ideas and feelings in the “historical prism of another work.”

#jeff wall #eugene delacroix #destroyed room #the death of sardanapale

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capnjay21 · 4 years

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A House is Never Still 4/6

Five years ago, Emma Swan disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Killian Jones’ disappearance, well, not so mysterious – given the denizens of Storybrooke all but blamed him for her murder. Drawn back to town by a series of strange events, he soon realises the story of what really happened the night she vanished is beginning to unravel, and what’s more: it isn’t over.

A/N: and here is chapter four! thank you so much for all the support so far, this chapter actually has one of my favourite sequences I’ve written for this fic. but I’m not telling which it is!

again, heaps and piles and many fancy vases full of gratitude for @hollyethecurious for creating this amazing aesthetic, without which this fic would not exist.

Rating: T

Warnings: mentions of suicide, canonical character death, and some Spooky Business™.

starting a tiny taglist since I got a request for one, so I am ~tentatively~ tagging a handful of people I think might want to read this - NO obligation to, and feel free to drop me a message to say hell nah if you would prefer! I won’t be offended in any way, shape or form!

@snowbellewells @carpedzem @kmomof4 @optomisticgirl

AO3 | one | two | three

-/-

4 – an unearthly hand

Present Day

The clouds parted for the first time since Killian’s return to Storybrooke on the day he brought Regina to Brooke House, lifting the feeling of grey that had cast its blanket over the town. For days, it had warmed itself in open doorways, prowled after townsfolk around street corners and crept beneath windowsills, and Killian was relieved to be granted something of a reprieve from the fog of autumn in New England.

The house stood, as it had the day before, in the north woods just a brisk, ten-minute walk away from the well-trodden track of the White Pine trail. He didn’t need the faded pieces of string to guide his path to the house anymore, and it had become so present in his impression of the town that he had forgotten that Brooke House, as it looked at that moment, had not always been there.

Regina had stopped twenty paces from the door, expression unreadable but for her parted lips.

It seemed almost unusual to see it in the sparkling sunlight of the morning, like something had been taken right out of it. Here it was white brick and rotted wood and barren, where at night it positively brimmed with something far more than any one person could comprehend. Even at a shell of its normal, terrible self, Regina had taken a little time to process.

“It really is here,” she had said finally. “How about that.”

She said how about that the same way you would say it if you found out an old classmate had gone on to become a movie star, or you discovered your local grocery store was lifting its embargo on branded products.

Not like a house that was sometimes there, sometimes not there, was today, decidedly, there.

It had been a bit more of a laborious journey than he was used to, but Killian’s Chevelle could only take them so far and he had a lot of equipment to bring with him today, cramming everything he could as delicately as possible into his rucksack. Regina, too, had brought a duffle bag full of materials, and Killian could spot the heavy corner of her book of shadows poking out from within, begging to be noticed. The previous times he had visited Brooke House he hadn’t been properly prepared, but this time around Killian was determined to leave the house with something he could quantify, rather than just the deep, sick dread that had left with him every other night.

He had entered the house ahead of her, the novelty of its return long since worn away, and moved into the living room just to the right of the hallway. It was far brighter in the light of day, the long, Victorian windows allowing a brilliant glow from the outside, and Killian could now even spot a few holes near the top of the front wall where the mortar had crumbled away, as dapples of sunlight trickled directly in from above painting yellow specks on the floorboards. Even still, he was not entirely comfortable being there. He walked twice around the edge of the room, every unexpected creak making his heart lurch uncomfortably into his mouth, and even once whispered Emma’s name out into the dust.

Nothing stirred.

Today it was bricks, and rotted wood, and bare.

He was just setting his camera atop its tripod when Regina finally entered, the heels of her boots clicking loudly on the old wood.

“It’s like walking back into high school,” she commented drily, clearly taking in the discarded scarf, the Apollo chocolate bar wrapper. “Is that my Ouija board?”

She looked almost indignant, as if Brooke House were an old friend who had borrowed a CD and never bothered to return it, but Killian wanted her attention focused elsewhere.

“Here, come and feel this.”

He led her by the hand (amid protests) to the centre of the room, a ring of dust slightly newer than the rest just barely visible on the floor. It was the place he had been standing the night prior, when Emma had dug her nails sharply into the back of his jacket.

“Palms out. Doesn’t it feel colder here than the rest of the room?”

Regina looked unconvinced. “Maybe a little.”

“It is,” Killian insisted. “I’m sure of it. Stay right there.” He darted back to his rucksack and pulled out two identical aluminium rods, bent at a right angle six inches from one of the ends. When he returned, he held them out to Regina so she could hold the shorter end, and although she pursed her lips in displeasure, obligingly she took them. “Hold them loosely, like this.” He adjusted her grip to match.

Regina looked unamused. “And what, in God’s name, are these?” She arched an eyebrow. “I better not get struck by lightning.”

Killian returned to where he had been squatting by the camera, tilting the tripod so it could capture the spot Regina was standing in. On the infrared display, she was a warm scarlet and gold storm.

“They’re dowsing rods.”

“You’re joking.”

“Couldn’t be more serious. Hold them steady – like that.” Regina reluctantly obliged. “Tell me if they move.”

Killian had experienced limited success with dowsing in the past – it had been shown to him by a farmer in Iowa who had used it to find buried metals and ores underneath the ground, and admittedly actually had a lot to show for the results. Killian himself had been sceptical, and given how intermittent his own successes were, there was no way to tell if they could be attributed to any real sense of divination or sheer blind luck. Still, he wanted to throw everything in his arsenal at Brooke House.

“I don’t have to tell you about the ideomotor response, do I?” Regina said flatly. “Unconscious involuntary movement. Dowsing is bullshit.”

“Says the woman brewing potions in her living room,” Killian shot back. “I mean it – even if it’s a little, tell me if they move.”

Satisfied with the positioning of the camera, he plugged in his tablet and left it set to record before returning to his rucksack. After some deliberation, he reached for the electro-magnetic field reader he had tried to cushion in the bag with a thick scarf. It was blocky and old, and looked like something that had been lifted from a 60s Star Trek set, but it had become one his most valued instruments over the years.

Regina had been craning her neck to see what he was holding, and once she realised, she let out a noise of frustration.

“Killian, if you wanted an EMF reader I would’ve brought mine – at least it’s not a hundred years old. And that’s clearly a single axis meter.” Single axis meters were notoriously more difficult to use than a tri-axis, as they required significant coordination in order to measure the information recorded across all three axis ,while also trying to move the instrument to gather more data; a tri-axis allowed for much more detailed data acquisition. You could only point Killian’s meter at one thing at a time, slowly, whereas Regina’s could probably handle something far more intricate.

Even so, Killian had far more faith in his own device.

“Believe me,” he informed her, “this is better.”

He could practically hear her rolling her eyes.

“Where did you get all this stuff anyway?”

“Ebay, mostly.”

She scoffed. “You look like a quack.”

Killian laughed. Quack was probably the most positive way Regina had ever described him. “And you’re listening to a quack,” he pointed out, “so what does that make you?” He glanced over to see her still standing where he had left her, holding the two dowsing rods outstretched. It didn’t look like they had moved. “Let me know if they cross.”

He was just tweaking with the settings on the EMF reader when Regina carried on.

“Where’s David today, anyway?”

She said ‘where’s David today’ as if she were enquiring which films her old school friend had starred in, or when branded products would be making their way onto the shelves at her local supermarket. Mild disinterest and a characteristic neutrality. She didn’t fool Killian for a second.

She carried on. “I was sure we’d be joined by the witless wonder in no time.”

Killian had sent David just one text message last night, a simple I’m sorry. David had read it, and not replied. He had to remind himself it was better off this way.

“He’s… busy.”

Regina looked surprised. “It’s been three days. How have you already fallen out with him?”

Killian tried to make his shrug as blithe as possible. “It’s a gift, I suppose.” He could just add David Nolan to the long list of people in Storybrooke who really didn’t want him to be there. Deciding finally that the dowsing rods weren’t getting anything from the cold spot, or perhaps weren’t getting anything from Regina, he crossed back over to her and swapped them for the EMF reader. This was something Regina was far more familiar with, and immediately began spinning slowly in place even as she wrinkled her nose disdainfully at the antiquated design.

“And, why, exactly, are we here?”

“We’re looking for Emma.”

Help me, Killian. Let me out. Please.

He had thought it over constantly over the last day. Maybe those words hadn’t just been spoken by that dark, terrible spectre of the house. Maybe that had been a little of Emma, their Emma, bleeding through. He had to find out for sure if there was anything but darkness left, and these were the only ways he knew to look for ghosts.

“We’re looking for Emma,” Regina repeated, in a strange tone.

It gave him pause, so he turned to look at her. She looked unfairly doubtful, and it made irritation flare within him. “The house is here, isn’t it? Where it wasn’t before. It stands to reason she could be here too. David saw her. So did Ruby. You said it yourself, something is changing. Why can’t it be her?”

He’d seen her, he wanted to say. But something held him back. Something private and longing and scared beyond his wits.

“Why can’t it be her?” he repeated, a little more forcefully when she didn’t immediately reply.

Regina bit her lip, as if trying to work out how best to proceed. She took a few steps forward, the wood underneath her boots creaking loudly.

“You and I both know… Emma wasn’t the only thing there that night. In the dark.”

Black lightning. Her wrist stained red, angry welts erupting across her forearm. Eyes as dark as obsidian.

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

A wave of nausea rose within him.

“Is it wise for us to start messing with stuff we don’t understand – again?” To her credit she looked like the suggestion made her almost as miserable as it did him, but her nature dictated she give voice to the thoughts that cut everybody to the quick. “I mean, what if this is something else, just taking the shape of Emma? And appealing to those made most vulnerable by the sight of her?”

So good of you to come and see me.

First David, then him. After all, Mary Margaret hadn’t reported any ghostly sightings, and neither had Regina – and she had practically drenched herself in the supernatural.

Killian shook his head, clutching the dowsing rods tightly.

“But what if it is Emma?” he said finally. The crux of the thing was that he could never ignore her, no matter how sensible the suggestion that he do so. He knew he looked weak, that the confidence he had projected toward Regina since returning to town had crumbled and he must look stupid next to her now, seventeen again and blithering and hopeful beside her world-worn pragmatism. “We have to try.”

He begged her, pleaded with her silently to support him.

Regina was quiet for a long moment, and the EMF reader let out a low zinging noise from where she was pointing it. After a while she sighed.

“Alright,” she said briskly, and Killian visibly sagged with relief. “But I’m going to need much more sage.”

-/-

October 24th – Five Years Ago

“Killian, it’s creepy here,” whined Mary Margaret. “When can we go?”

Emma watched as Killian laughed from where he sat across the room, drawing something onto the floorboards in thick, black marker.

“I’m sorry, Mary Margaret. Just indulge me a little longer.”

Brooke House wasn’t nearly as scary the second time Emma had visited it. They had come virtually straight from school, the sky starting to fade from bright blue to soft pink, but while Emma still didn’t exactly relish the idea of being there after dark, it had lost something of its harshness from the last time she’d been there. Somehow, by bringing Regina and Mary Margaret too, expanding their nervous trio out into a confident fivesome, it took power away from the old walls of the house. Regina had laughed when they showed her the spinning wheel, kicking it into an aggressively fast spin while they all gaped and cried for her to stop. Mary Margaret had removed the sheet from one of the armchairs in the sitting room, declared it looked comfortable enough to sleep in and confidently sat herself down – only for a large spider to creep out of the seams of the cushion, and crawl onto the edge of her dress.

Her shriek had nearly brought them all to tears, and Emma hadn’t been able to move or breathe for laughter for at least ten minutes.

Ever since Killian had asked them all to come to the house, and David had taken great pleasure in informing them it was probably haunted, Regina had been saying she would bring something to match the occasion, and she did not disappoint. Currently she, David and Mary Margaret sat on the floor (the latter with her skirts bunched up around her, casting nervous, fearful glances around for anymore creepy crawlies) surrounding what Regina had called a Ouija board. Emma recognised it only as something she’d once seen on television.

It was an old, polished wood surface ornately decorated, with all the letters of the alphabet and the numbers 0-9 beautifully calligraphed across the top. The symbol of the sun had been drawn in one corner, and a crescent moon in the other. The board came with a planchette, a triangular pointer with a glass circle in the centre to allow you to see the characters underneath. The idea, as Regina explained, was that spirits were supposed to speak through the board, by directing the planchette around its surface to spell out words and wishes.

All three held the tip of a finger on the pointer, and Emma watched with mild interest as it inched across the board. It was all bullshit anyway, but it did add to the atmosphere.

“Mary Margaret, you’re moving the pointer,” Regina scowled.

“I am not,” she replied, affronted. “David’s moving it!”

“I’m not! I swear I’m not!”

Regina brushed her hair from her face impatiently. “At least wait until we’ve asked it a question.”

“Where’d you get the creepy board, anyway?” Emma asked.

“My mom was keeping in in the attic, I found it last year when I was looking for Christmas decorations. She was so pissed when I brought it down, made me put it straight back. I always knew she was a bit nuts.” Regina grinned smugly. “So obviously I had to get it out again now the occasion called for it.”

David cleared his throat loudly, drawing their attention back to the board. “Let’s start.” He raised his voice, projecting it around the room and inserting as much grandiose as he could muster. “Are we alone in this house?” The planchette slid across the board, and David sounded out the letters it landed on. “N… O. It said no.”

“David, you’re clearly moving it.”

“I’m not!”

Leaving them to bicker, Emma turned her attention back to Killian. He had finished what he had been drawing on the floor, and was now scattering salt in a circle around it. Completely entranced in his work, his attention flickered between the salt in his hand and a few battered pieces of paper he had lain flat against the floor. Emma recognised one of them as the one etched with doodles and a few scribbles that they had found in Liam’s toolbox. Somehow, that only increased her feeling of unease.

“Hey,” she said, after crossing the room to sit beside him, hugging her knees to her chest. She was careful not to let her trainers disturb the circle he had made. She also wondered if Archie knew where all the salt at the group home had gone. “You okay?”

He had joked around with them while they let the others explore the house, but had soon retreated to his work. Which, Emma now realised, was a five-pointed star drawn on the floorboards in thick black marker, with each tip touching the edge of the salt circle.

“Yeah,” he replied, flashing her a smile. “I’m almost done.”

Emma bit her lip. “Remind me what it is you’re hoping to achieve? Do you really expect to, uh… summon some kind of ghost?” The look he gave her was unimpressed, but Emma shrugged. He hadn’t exactly given them a lot of clues. “What? I was there with Belle, remember? ‘Do you believe in magic?’”

Emma most certainly did not believe in magic.

The five-pointed star and the circle of salt were telling her something else about Killian, though.

“All I want is to understand. To just – get in his head, I don’t know. He was working on this house for weeks, but it looks like all he did was start peeling off the wallpaper. And why did he go and see Belle? Why did he –?”

Drive his car into a ravine? Emma couldn’t count the number of times Killian must have asked himself that.

He shook his head.

“It has to have something to do with this house. And look, these were in his toolbox.” Killian stepped carefully over his handiwork so he could crouch beside her, showing her the piece of paper, curling at the edges. “He drew the pentagram, right there.” He pointed out an image identical to the one Killian had just drawn on the floor. “I was doing a little research into the symbolism, and a lot of Satanic cults use it for, uh, stuff.” He trailed off unconvincingly, and Emma tried not to look the equal parts amused and creeped out that she felt.

“And like he’s done here, I’ll light a candle at each point. The notes he’s actually written are brief so I just had to interpret as best I can – ‘salt circle’ and ‘curvy dagger’. Did you bring your fishing knife like I asked?”

Emma leant forward so she could reach into the back pocket of her jeans to retrieve it. She held it close to her chest for a moment, thinking about all the comfort it had given her back when she was a kid – in a world where she could control so little, she had liked how powerful it made her feel. The first time she had showed it to Killian was when they were fourteen, and his eyes had grown so round that she hadn’t been able to stop herself from giggling.

After a moment of hesitation, she handed it over.

Another of David’s noisy questions out into the room drew their focus.

“Will I become rich and famous one day? Oh – Y… E… S.” He smirked triumphantly. “Well, better start sucking up to me now guys.”

Mary Margaret laughed. “It’s for talking to spirits, stupid, not predicting the future.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Regina purred. “Will David get a smack if he keeps moving the pointer? Yeah?”

There was a loud thump as she swatted him on the arm.

“Looks like it tells the future just fine.”

“Regina!”

They joined in the laughter with the others, the indignant surprise on David’s face just too funny to ignore; he protested loudly at all attempts of maltreatment, and started entreating the spirits in the house to retaliate on his behalf.

“They think this is a joke,” Emma said quietly, careful to keep her voice low so the others wouldn’t hear her. “Please don’t let it get to you when… if this goes nowhere.”

Killian had started wandering down a dangerous rabbit hole – she just didn’t want him to get hurt.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her, as he started placing candles at the five corners of the star. “Summoning an evil spirit? I have my expectations really low.”

“E…M…M… Emma, it’s spelt your name!” Mary Margaret squeaked.

Emma rolled her eyes, growing more tired by the minute of the game Regina had started. “Cut it out.”

“C…O…M…E.”

David narrowed his eyes at Regina suspiciously. “You’re moving it, right?”

Regina glowered back. “No, you are.”

“Guys,” Killian called over, “I’m ready.”

They left the Ouija board where it was, planchette resting atop the E, and came over to join them in the centre of the room. Killian directed each of them to sit at a point on the star, David and Mary Margaret giggling to each other but trying to keep a straight face, before he followed the line of the circle with some matches, lighting each candle. David jokingly blew on his, causing the flame to flicker wildly, and Emma shot him a warning look.

She only wanted them to take it seriously for a few minutes, just for Killian.

“What exactly are we trying to do?” Regina asked, looking bored as she played at dabbing the tip of the flame with her finger.

Emma had been about to bark a rebuke, but Killian beat her do it with an indulgent grin.

“We’re trying to get results.”

“I think I saw this ritual on an episode of Ghost Hunters,” Mary Margaret whispered excitedly. “See, the wife had murdered the husband, but they found a second body buried under the…” She seemed to sense the atmosphere starting to shift to something a little more sombre, and let her sentence trail off.

Killian stepped outside the circle to take his place at the final point of the star, placing the knife carefully in his lap once he was settled. Then they waited.

For a beat, nothing happened at all. The candles flickered in place, they exchanged uncertain looks. The shadows inside the sitting room had grown longer the closer the sun inched behind the trees, and it made the dappled light from the star in front of them look a little more ominous now that daylight was fading.

Regina huffed loudly. “Now what?”

“Erm,” Killian scratched the back of his neck, “I don’t really know.”

“Maybe we should hold hands?” David suggested quickly.

Emma felt that suggestion was probably more to do with the hand he would be holding than wanting to increase their chances of success – and she knew Killian agreed from the amused glance he sent her, but they consented all the same. Mary Margaret blushed as she slipped her hand into David’s.

Killian’s hand in Emma’s was warm, and a little clammy. It didn’t feel like it had the day of her birthday, when he had walked her back to the Nolan house from Granny’s. They had held hands the entire way, continuing to talk with enough forced nonchalance that they both knew the other was also clearly trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal, hiding their smiles with glances out into the road. Then, it had made her feel dizzy with possibility, the gentle move of his thumb on the back of her hand sending her stomach spinning with delight.

This afternoon it didn’t thrill her the same way. She could feel how nervous he was in the slight tremor of his hand, and as she glanced at Regina on his other side she could tell the other girl could feel it too. Whether it was a sense of compassion for him or a desire to just get it over with, Regina slipped smoothly into control.

“We’re talking to the spirit in this house,” Regina said clearly, firmly, looking up into the ceiling. “Are you there?”

They all waited with bated breath.

“Can you hear us?”

All at once Emma was struck by the old, kind face of Belle Gold, wide eyed and fearful.

He found – he found a house, in the woods – and he thought it might make him strong.

Something thumped inside her chest. Like static from a radio, she could hear something crackling at her ear, but every time she turned her head toward the sound it disappeared. Twice she cleared her throat to try and speak but no sound came out. She knew, she knew, but she didn’t know how she knew, and Killian had turned to look at her, concerned, as her hand tightened on his.

“The knife,” she blurted out, and he raised an eyebrow. “It should be in the middle.”

Killian didn’t question her, merely stared at her curiously as he let go of Regina’s hand to slide the knife into the centre of the circle. It clattered against the floorboards before rolling to a stop in the middle.

But it felt – wrong.

“Wrong,” Mary Margaret echoed. Her eyes were closed.

David, too, had shut his eyes, and after Killian had once again completed the circle, Emma did the same. Regina didn’t speak again. Emma sensed she felt the same as she did; they had asked whatever they meant to ask, and it would be cheap to do so again. Only for show. Outside was nothing but stillness, not a sound to drown them out – in fact she had only become conscious of noise in the absence of it, and she now wished she had been playing closer attention to what it was that had stopped dead when they formed the circle.

They had been heard.

“I’m here,” Killian whispered quietly, so quietly Emma couldn’t be sure she hadn’t imagined it. “Find me.”

It had grown colder, gooseflesh beginning to erupt along her arm. Everything began to feel much farther away, as if her ears had popped, and a faint buzzing replaced the quiet that had blanketed them before. Oxygen was taking longer to reach her lungs, like the pressure in the air had changed. She could feel hair rising from the back of her neck and the thought suddenly entered her mind with a shuddering fear that she was about to be struck by lightning.

A rumble sounded from above, the rumble of something trapped beating against impossibly old doors.

The wardrobe.

It was all – wrong.

Come.

Listen.

Static zinged through her grip on Killian’s hand, and they both yelped and broke apart.

“What?” David spoke first, but the other three were all giving them baffled looks. Both Killian and Emma nursed their injured hands with matching grimaces. “What happened?”

“Electric shock,” Killian answered, shaking his hand out. “Bloody hell, ouch.”

“It’s the weather,” Regina offered. “I saw the forecast earlier. It always gets like this right before a storm.” Finally tired of the whole affair, she blew out her candle with an air of finality. “I think we can safely say this house is not haunted.”

Emma was willing her racing pulse to slow, trying to process what the fuck had just happened, but everyone else seemed to be carrying on as if nothing had occurred at all. David was helping Mary Margaret brush cobwebs from her hair while she asked if he wanted to come over to the Blanchard’s for dinner. Regina stood up and began to pack up the Ouija board. Killian stared at the flickering wick of his candle, looking despondent and a little frustrated. All like nothing in the world had taken place.

“Wait,” Emma said, looking around them all at confusion. “Are we really not going to talk about what just happened?”

They all turned to stare at her.

Killian was the first to reply. “What do you mean?”

“The – you know. It went quiet. The, uh, atmosphere.” She realised with frustration that it was amazingly difficult to describe, that breathlessness. The sense of standing on the edge and peering out into the dark. “You said it,” Emma pointed at Mary Margaret, remembering now that the girl had spoken. “You said ‘wrong’.”

Mary Margaret frowned. “No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.” When Mary Margaret again shook her head, Emma grew indignant. “You did!” She hadn’t goddamn imagined it, so why was the other girl bothering to deny it?

“Emma, she didn’t say anything,” David said cautiously. “Nobody said anything until you guys did.”

When she opened her mouth to retort Killian put a hand on her arm. It made her hesitate long enough for them all to brush past the moment.

“This place is creepy,” Mary Margaret declared, “and I’ve got to get home. David, are you coming?”

As Mary Margaret collected her stuff, David looked torn. Emma merely smiled at him weakly, but nodded her head – he should go. She was just… she was overtired. She probably shouldn’t have stayed up so late the night before studying for their calculus test on Monday. And she was letting the feeling of that house, of Killian’s hopefulness in that house get to her, and she’d let herself get carried right along by something else altogether.

They finished helping Regina pack the board away, but Emma stayed behind to help Killian clear up, promising to see the others at school the next day, and David that night once he got back to Ruth’s. The pair of them worked mostly in silence, using the old bucket and sponge Liam had left and a bottle of water to wipe the black marker away from the floorboards. Even amongst the disrepair of the house, it felt dishonest to leave the markings on the floor.

Or perhaps they just didn’t want to leave any permanent evidence of their being there.

“I believe you,” Killian said quietly. “I didn’t hear her, but I believe you. I think these things have to affect all of us differently.”

And by ‘these things’, he meant the supernatural. Ghosts. The movement of the planchette across Regina’s spirit board.

Things Emma definitely, categorically did not believe in.

Right?

She dismissed him. “You only think I heard something because you want me to have heard something.” It wasn’t true belief in her, it wasn’t because he knew her to be honest or trusted her. It was because something else was what he had come here for, and her ramblings had been his only glimpse of it.

Killian’s wanting, longing, was palpable in his every hopeful inhale.

“That’s unfair.”

Emma chose not to reply.

“What else did you feel? In the circle?”

“Killian, stop.” She made sure her voice was firm. “You promised not to let this get to you. We tried, okay? Nothing happened.”

They had been heard.

“But you said –”

“I didn’t hear anything, alright? Just forget it.” She stalked over to the window and picked up her rucksack. If she said it forcefully enough to him, she could make it just as true to herself. “Do you want to grab some dinner somewhere?”

She knew she sounded irritated, and Kilian didn’t respond, just watched her from the centre of the room. He was not impressed with her brushing him off, clearly wanted to continue down that line of questioning, and was waiting until she felt ready to talk about it. Suddenly irritated with his saintly level of patience, Emma huffed.

“Fine. Stay here by yourself. See if I care.”

Without waiting to see if he would reply, Emma barged out of the front door and stomped down the rotted steps without another word.

-/-

But she couldn’t sleep that night.

Every time she shut her eyes, drifted near enough to something dreamless, images so vivid they felt more real than the bed she lay in assaulted her. Killian’s disappointed expression from the centre of the room, expectant, waiting. The scrape of the pointer across the board. The knife, lying still in the middle of their circle. Firelight flickering. Regina blowing out her candle with a whoosh that seemed to extend for minutes at a time.

The nothing she had felt as she sat and breathed in the circle. That terrible, absence of anything.

She had realised too late that she had left her fishing knife in Brooke House. It was altogether likely that Killian had picked it up, and after a quiet dinner with Ruth she considered going around to the group home to retrieve it from him. Instead, a wave of annoyance had risen in her. If Killian had picked it up, he should have brought it round to her. And after the brief spat they’d had before she left the house, she decided, really, he should be the one putting effort in for her. Her resolve had strengthened, and she had announced to Ruth that she would be going to bed early.

She had lain awake for a few hours, ears pricked for any noise downstairs. David had come home a little later than expected, had spoken with Ruth for a long time before retreating to his own room. Ruth had stayed in the living room for a while, likely catching up on a few chapters of the novel she had been reading, before Emma heard the creak of the stair indicating she, too, had gone to bed. Killian had not come round. Still the night wore on, and Emma found herself no closer to sleep.

Downstairs the refrigerator hummed, and the electric heater on the landing rumbled, with the occasional clank she had grown used to. On her first night, all the odd sounds of the Nolan house had unnerved her. Much like tonight she had stayed awake for hours, worried she would never be able to sleep, certain the Nolan’s would want to send her back before too long, missing Killian terribly. The further her anxiety had skyrocketed, the more restless she became.

Tonight the noises included the sliding pointer, the squeak of Killian’s pen on the floorboards, Mary Margaret’s quiet whisper, wrong.

In Brooke House, something clattered in the attic. The wardrobe doors bumped and groaned.

Emma’s eyes flew open.

Something was trying to get out.

Her heart began to thump wildly.

Come.

Listen.

She threw back the duvet and reached for her trainers.

Which was the last thing she could remember before she found herself stood in front of Brooke House.

Emma stumbled backwards, as if she were just now falling back into her own body and her knees felt weak with the strain of it, and dry leaves crunched underfoot. She was wearing her trainers. She was also still wearing her pyjama shirt and shorts, but had thrown a hoodie and a coat on over the top. Her legs were bare, and cold. In one hand she held a torch and the other was clenched into a fist at her side.

Why had she come here?

Something loud crashed inside the house, a shadow darted across the upstairs window.

Yes, Emma remembered now. She had come for her knife.

She always felt safer with that knife.

Climbing the front steps, slowly, her shoes sounded more muffled than usual. Before she had a chance to touch it the front door creaked open, beckoning her to step inside. She felt foggy, all – all lost, and what time was it, anyway? A dazed search of her pockets told her she hadn’t brought her cell phone. Why had she left without it? Why couldn’t she remember?

The by now familiar creak sounded from the landing. Emma was halfway up the staircase before she remembered setting her foot on the first step.

For a moment she felt Killian’s hand resting on the small of her back again, ready to steady her if she lost her balance, and she began to lean backwards into it – before it vanished and she had to jerk herself forward to avoid toppling down the stairs. Her hand was so tight on the banister that her knuckles had turned white. Right, Killian wasn’t there. Killian was at home, asleep.

Emma was in Brooke House.

The second floor was lit with tendrils of moonlight, dirty white and shapeless, crawling up the walls and stretching across the floor. The creak sounded again, and Emma gently opened the door to the room with the spinning wheel. As expected, the spinning wheel lay turning slowly on its axis by the soft press of the pedal underneath, except this time a man sat there, steadily feeding in pieces of straw until they came out as spun gold twine, which then pooled into a basket at the end. His face was obscured by the shadow of the windowsill, but he raised a hand in greeting before returning to his work.

She shook her head to try and confirm what she was seeing, and realised with a start that the door to the spinning wheel room was closed, and her hand was still poised above the handle. Had she opened it at all? She couldn’t remember. The old wood of the spinning wheel groaned behind the door and, firmly this time, Emma swung the door open inwardly. The wheel spun slowly – but on its own. Gone was the man, the spun gold, the straw. Only the empty dark and the dancing moonlight remained.

An odd noise jerked her attention away from the wheel, just as the light from her torch winked out. Now concerned, Emma smacked it against her palm a few times to try and knock the device back into working, but it did not respond. The sound came again, and to her ears it seemed like –

No, there it was again. She was sure.

It was a giggle.

High-pitched and delighted, something was laughing at her.

“Who’s there?” she said. Or did she?

She might have said: “I’m coming.”

Uncertain which she had said and which she had not said, Emma reached the end of the corridor and stood on her tiptoes so she could begin to scrabble with the door to the attic. The metal ring which would allow her to pull it down was just out of reach, but after she asked politely the panel dislodged from the ceiling by itself, and with it came the ladder. She rose one cautious step at a time, up into the black, and tried to remember why she was there.

Her knife, yes. She was coming for her knife. She had been just thirteen when she took it, lifting it from a set of tools a dockworker had left abandoned while he helped unload a seiner, and it had made Emma feel so dangerous to be holding it that she had immediately cradled it with both hands before making her escape. The blade was deadly sharp, far sharper than any knife she had seen in the group home or otherwise, and she had cut her hand while examining it later.

It had reminded her of herself. All along she had been afraid that one day someone might fall on her, and get hurt on all her sharp edges.

Another banner year, right?

What?

We’ve all got ghosts here.

As she reached the top her pulse began to race, and her heart turned her head and waited for her body to catch up. She ignored the desk, the vials, the shattered glass on the floor; like a string had been tied to the centre of her chest, made of hope and sadness and something wild, it propelled her forward to the darkest corner of the room. There, tucked into the downward slant of the roof, stood the wardrobe. It rattled in place, as if someone were stood behind and shaking it back and forth, and she could feel it.

She could feel it wanting, could feel it longing for her, and she longed for it right back. Breathless and exhilarated, she crossed the room in three short steps and knelt before it, hands reaching for the ornate handles on the doors. Darker swirls of colour spun out from the handles and almost seemed to move, curling delicately around her fingers.

Yes, they whispered, come.

Listen.

Emma tugged open the doors.

Which was the last thing she could remember before she found herself in her bed at the Nolan house, blinking against the hazy light of morning.

Once realisation struck Emma bolted upright, glancing wildly about her room. Her trainers were tucked against her dresser, her coat hung on the back of her door. There were leaves in her hair. Once she registered it was morning she scrambled for the clock at her bedside, which read 6.03am. Almost time to wake up for school.

Had she – had she dreamed it? The house?

It was already beginning to turn foggy and fade, the corners curling in on themselves with greater speed the more she tried to remember, like clutching at the tendrils of a dream that was vanishing out of sight. Everything was as it was.

Except for the knife.

Emma blinked, realising her left hand had been curled around the hilt of a very strange, very ornate knife – no. Dagger.

The hilt was black as pitch, and cool to touch, but the blade was what interested her the most. It’s edge was curved, as if it were blurring in and out of sight in the nature of a mirage, and was ornately patterned with twisting black shapes reaching all the way to its desperately sharp point. It was heavy, and unlike anything Emma had ever seen before.

But perhaps what intrigued her the most was the name emblazoned across it, written in an almost medieval cursive.

Weighty in both heft and emotional damage, Emma could scarcely believe it. What did it mean?

For written on it was a name she recognised. One they were all familiar with.

Liam Jones.

-/-

2nd May 2015 – Seven Months Later

David was the last to arrive by a couple of minutes. Although the air that night was cool, the day had been hot, and he was still dressed in the same t-shirt and shorts he had been wearing earlier. Killian couldn’t be more grateful for the drop in temperature – he could remember a time he had been a fan of the immortal summer, of scorching afternoons and ice cold drinks, it made him think of fly fishing in the lake in the middle of Memorial Park or setting off cheap fireworks by the docks that fizzled and burnt with the whole year’s lost potential. Last year he and Emma had borrowed Archie’s car and driven all the way to Portland, just so they could track down a lobster restaurant a traveller stopping in at Granny’s had told them about. They spent the entire afternoon searching until, tired and hungry, they’d picked up a few sandwiches from a convenience store and perched at the edge of the harbour, watching the boats roll in, and roll away again.

The whole day had been a bust. Killian couldn’t remember it being anything but perfect.

As the days stretched and he found himself looking for her amongst the sun-soaked streets of Storybrooke, summer became just one more thing he wanted no part of anymore.

“Is this going to take long?”

Mary Margaret’s voice jogged him back to the present, and Killian quickly jerked his head around to check nobody else was nearby. They had met at their usual spot, just a little ways into the north woods. Far enough that they would go unnoticed by any stray observer near the edge of the forest, but near enough that the distant sound of cars zooming past on the street could still be heard. Most of them were reluctant to venture any farther in now, if it could be avoided. Especially after dark.

Regina scoffed. “Why, are we keeping you from something?”

“My mom doesn’t like me being out late anymore,” Mary Margaret replied defensively. “I had to sneak out my window.”

“Well, our apologies for the inconvenience.” Unsurprisingly, Regina did not sound that sorry at all.

“Would you just stop?” David groused.

“Guys, please,” Killian interjected, wanting to cut them off before they could start getting too snippy. He turned his attention to Regina. “By the way, are you alright? I hear Humbert gave you a hard time yesterday.”

Regina had been collected from the school gates by Sheriff Humbert, in full view of everyone. He liked them to be observed when he decided to bring them in for another interview; it was one of his favourite tactics.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” she shrugged. “It was the same questions as always.”

Why were you out in the woods? When did you see her last?

Is there anything you’re not telling us?

Smooth, long exhale.

Nothing, Sheriff Humbert.

“Good,” Killian answered, nodding slowly. “That’s good. And you, Mary Margaret? Did you get a chance to look for the house this week?”

They had been taking it in turns for the last few months, always making sure that they weren’t spotted together heading down the White Pine Trail, to investigate the place Brooke House had once stood. Ever since the first time they had been caught by Sheriff Humbert there, they had realised the man had started watching their every move in the weeks that followed Emma’s disappearance. Killian, especially, had scarcely been able to get away with taking an unusual route home from school without the sheriff picking up on it. The more time marched forward the less observed they felt, but they still stuck to the same precautions just to be sure.

It had been seven months since Emma had disappeared. Graham Humbert never let him forget it.

And with Emma, Brooke House had also vanished. Nothing stood at the end of the orange string trail Killian had once left anymore, only silence and torment.

Finding it again had to be their best chance at finding her. It was just that these days, finding felt a lot more like waiting.

Mary Margaret hadn’t answered him, so Killian flicked his eyes over. He could see her eyes were averted, jaw clenched. One of her shoes kept stringing up a restless beat on the floor for a few seconds at a time.

“Mary Margaret?”

She let out an almost irritated sigh. “No, Killian, I have not gone looking for the damn house.”

Killian blinked. “And what’s with the tone?”

“I have to study,” she burst, “I have AP tests in two weeks, and if I don’t pass I probably won’t be able to go to college. And instead, I’m disobeying my parents, standing in the middle of the woods and thinking about how much I don’t know about environmental science.”

Regina looked the way Killian felt; completely dumbfounded. “You’re thinking about exams right now?”

“It’s not just exams, Regina,” Mary Margaret insisted. “It’s my life. I want to make something of it one day, and I suggest you do the same.”

Something still had settled between them, as if Mary Margaret had started to lift the lid on something they had sworn to keep closed, and even the night around them was stiffening with anticipation. It was sacred ground on which their harsh words steered them, and it was impossible to discern where the line could be drawn between how to move forward, and how to avoid moving backward. At times they seemed to be the same thing, but somehow it was impossible to think of them the same way.

Emma had wanted to pass her exams too. Desperately, in fact. It had been so important to her that she be able to push off into the rest of her life in better straits than how she had been brought into it, and to that end she had often stayed up long into the night studying at the group home so she could avoid the noise and the steady stream of interruptions that came during the day. It was that which had prompted her to accept Ruth’s offering of a fostering, even after deciding long ago never to hand her heart out again to somebody she was sure would just return it later.

Killian had encouraged her; he had hoped she might find more at the Nolan house than a quiet place to work, and she had. She had found David, and with David came Mary Margaret, and Regina had fallen in as easily with them as she had with Killian and Emma years earlier. They had been a haphazard band, and for a year everything was warm and gold.

That was over now, and they had begun to splinter.

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

He heard her, always. Always, always.

“What about Emma?”

It was David who spoke, and he looked stricken to have even needed to say the words.

What about Emma? Was holding onto this, meeting clandestinely in the middle of the night to yet again swap how little progress they had made in getting her back – was this moving forward? Or was this trying so desperately not to move backward that they couldn’t keep their focus on anything ahead? Brooke House was never there when they looked for it. But Killian didn’t care about school, anyway. He’d had enough credits to graduate at the end of his junior year, before all of this. Every AP class he’d taken he had since dropped. Archie had barely been able to convince him to go to school for much of the year.

It didn’t matter to Killian, not a whisper; but was it okay for this to matter to someone else?

“Emma is gone,” Mary Margaret said, quietly. As if scared that they might hear her and yet desperate for them to. “And it’s…” She sucked in a sharp breath before continuing. “It’s devastating. But it’s – it’s been seven months. We have nothing. And more importantly, the police have nothing.” Killian could tell from a subtle movement in her fist that she was trembling. With fright, anger, sadness. Who could know for sure? “Finding Emma, if she can be found, should be up to them.”

Killian felt as if he’d been slapped. “How can you say that?”

“It’s their job, isn’t it?” she bit back. “And the more I think about that night… the more we feed into that – that hysteria, or – or whatever we thought we saw – the less help we’re being to them. The police, I mean.”

Killian felt his temper rising. He knew what he had seen – they had all seen it, although for reasons Killian couldn’t fathom, it had become a matter of spirited debate between Mary Margaret and David, and he and Regina.

“We never should have lied,” Mary Margaret continued firmly. “We should have told them everything from the start, about the house, about all of it.”

“They would have told us we were crazy,” Regina pointed out. “Hell, I would have called you crazy if I hadn’t seen it myself.”

“But at least I wouldn’t feel like this!” Mary Margaret’s voice cracked on the last syllable, and the bite in her expression had crumpled. She was all melancholy, draped in it like an old cloak, where in their group she had always been warmth. Everything was twisted now, like none of it could ever be light again. “Like I have this weight, poised above my head, and I’m just waiting for it to – to fall and crush me. And it hurts.” She clutched at her throat, eyes wide and sad. “And I’m breathless, and scared. All the time. And sometimes – sometimes I don’t realise I’ve forgotten that it’s there, but then I look up –”

David had taken a few steps closer to her, and put his arm around her shoulders. She curled into it and buried her face into his chest for a few moments, shaking, while he murmured something neither Killian nor Regina could hear. They couldn’t find the words to interject.

After a few long moments she gathered herself, her fist clenching into David’s shirt.

“It’s this lie,” she said fiercely, speaking into the solidness of David’s form, sounding as wretched as she looked. “And this feeling that if – if we’d just told the truth then they would have found something, and they would have found her.”

The accusation was softly cushioned, and gently aimed, but Killian felt it with the keen force of any blow.

“They wouldn’t have found her,” he answered evenly. They couldn’t. “It’s up to us.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Of course you would say that.”

Killian’s temper flared. “Excuse me?”

“It clearly doesn’t bother you, Killian, but I’m just saying – if I could do this again I wouldn’t lie.”

I wouldn’t tell the lie you told me to tell.

The lie he had told them tell to protect them.

Humbert’s hard expression flashed in front of him.

Your friends say she was with you when she went missing. That you were the last one to see her.

“I wouldn’t either,” David added quietly.

Disbelief marred everything, it made everything black as tar – was this really what it was all coming to? Rounding on him?

“And what would you have told them?” Killian shot back. When David grimaced he pressed on. “No, really, I’m interested to know what you would have told the sheriff about the haunted house and the magic dagger.”

“Stop that,” Mary Margaret snapped, “it’s not magic.”

“Then how the bloody hell do you explain it? Explain this?”

With intent, Killian reached into his jacket and pulled out the dagger. Its curving edges glittered dangerously in the dim light, and in a movement so quick he might have imagined it he thought he saw Regina reach out a hand to take it, before snatching it back. The intricate pattern engraved onto the blade was one he had memorised from long nights spent staring at its edges, begging for it to reveal its secrets. The inky black writing crafted beautifully on top spoke of everything they had lost – the truth they all knew, and the only tangible proof that forces greater than themselves were at work.

The name carved across it was clear: Emma Swan.

Like a spell, it brought with it an almost supernatural quiet. Mary Margaret had begun to weep silently, and she shrugged away from David’s touch this time. Regina watched but did not speak. David couldn’t bear to do more than glance at the dagger, a pained expression on his face clear before he turned to look out into the forest.

“This is how we know she’s still out there,” Killian insisted fiercely. “We can’t give up now. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

For a little while, the only noise was Mary Margaret, trying to suppress a gasp or wiping her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. After some time, she sank down to perch on a nearby log and Regina joined her, threading their fingers together tightly. In the distance Killian could hear the rumble of the road, the sound of an engine increasing in volume before skittering away. Although reluctantly, he slipped the dagger back into the inside pocket of his jacket, and the blade was cool against his chest even through the fabric of his shirt. A cold comfort, but a comfort all the same.

“The truth is,” Mary Margaret began quietly, staring at the mossy ground at their feet. “I want to grieve. I loved Emma. I want to treasure her memory… I want the chance to miss her.” She lifted misty eyes and looked at each of them in turn. “But it’s impossible around all of you. For you she’s still here. But I want to keep moving forward.” She brushed a hand across a tear-stained cheek. “Will you – will you let me do that?”

With quiet strength, she dug the stake into the earth. Beneath it, they cracked.

She stood. There wasn’t anything else to say.

She looked impossibly guilty, and Killian searched for something to say that would deliver her from that, but all of it felt brittle and fake. The honest truth was that he loved her and wanted nothing but her happiness, but he might never forgive her if she walked out of that clearing now.

Mary Margaret looked to all of them, but it was Killian’s gaze she sought most eagerly. He couldn’t give it, staring stonily at the ground instead.

“I’ll… I’ll see you.”

She didn’t say at school, since he wouldn’t be going anyway and they both knew it. Recklessly, he thought that without it there might not be another excuse for their paths to cross. If she wanted to keep moving forward and leave all this in the past, then Killian would not be going with her. Dry leaves crunched as she departed, slowly receding until the only sound was the breeze whistling by.

“I’m not giving up. No way.”

It was Regina who had spoken, and Killian felt a wave of unreserved tenderness for her.

Her face softened, and she stepped over to lay a gentle hand on his arm.

“She’ll come around.”

She wouldn’t, but it was easier to pretend.

After Regina had gone Killian sat on the damp earth underneath him, leaning his head back to stare through the canopy. The trees had clustered together here, dark shapes towering over through which he could spot the stars winking in and out.

David shifted from where he stood. “Are you okay?”

Killian let out a long breath, one that he felt like he had been holding onto for a number of days. His chest felt tight, and he could feel a familiar tugging sensation behind his nose as the stars started to swim before him.

“Belle died. Yesterday.”

David let out a soft expletive. “I’m so sorry, Killian.”

“It was peaceful,” he nodded to himself, like it made everything fine. “In her sleep.”

Belle had been a great source of comfort for him. She talked in circles and remembered very little, but she remembered Liam and often asked after Emma, and had lived a deep and fulfilling life she loved to tell him about. It did her good to talk, the nuns had said, which was why they let him come. Every character in all of her stories was long gone now, but it didn’t cause her any pain. She spoke only of the joy in having known them and the colours with which they had brushed her soul. It didn’t matter how lonely it looked now, or how sad everyone else thought she must be to be alone; she had assured him many times that she was lucky, and wanted for little else.

He wanted desperately to feel like that, even if only for a heartbeat.

Sometimes, she had said with a smile, the best books have the dustiest jackets.

“It just feels like everything is slipping away.”

Mary Margaret, Belle. Liam. Emma. Everything he touched was dust.

Don’t tell me – it’s hot cocoa, with cinnamon, and you’re about to hand it over.

A hot tear spilled down his cheek and he angrily swiped it away.

He cleared his throat loudly, mostly to try and cover the sudden rush of emotion, but he knew that David had seen it. “Sometimes I can’t help but think… maybe it’s all in my head, you know? The more I think about that night the hazier it gets.” Like trying to remember a dream after you’d woken from it, every single day more details faded into nothing. “I just hear her.” That final, startled scream. It would never leave him, he just knew it. “All I can hear is her.”

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

“Me too,” David admitted quietly. “I hear it too.”

“I’m leaving,” he said suddenly, and with the confession came a twinge of relief, and he forgave himself a little more for it. “Right after graduation. I have to find an answer, and there isn’t one here.”

He’d go as far as needed, for as long as it took. He’d walk the stretch of the Earth if he had to.

For a moment David looked crestfallen, but he mastered it quickly. “I understand,” he said. And he might think he did – but David would never be looked at the way Storybrooke looked at Killian. In their eyes he would never be blameless, not the way the David Nolan was. Emma was his sister; she was just Killian’s victim.

“I’d go too,” David continued, “but my mom… it’s just hard, you know? I feel like there’s so much she doesn’t know. And I couldn’t…”

“I know,” Killian assured him, “it’s alright. I wouldn’t ask you to come.” It was something he would rather do alone.

A few moments of stillness passed, before David let out a low whistle.

“So. Right after graduation, huh?”

Killian nodded. June twenty-third, 18:00.

There was a bus to Augusta that he had promised he would not miss.

-/-

Present Day

As night fell, Killian again returned to Brooke House.

He had already spent much of the day there with Regina, taking readings, burning herbs and mumbling variations on familiar incantations from her book of shadows. There were a few key vocabularic differences, but the intention behind a few spells seemed similar to some he had seen from the coven in Pennsylvania. Just once they had let him sit in on a cleansing ceremony, a practice of healing for the soul, and he could recognise some of the actions as Regina guided him through a ritual for cleansing the air in the house. Smudging, she called it. But by the time they had departed in late afternoon, visibly nothing had changed within the house.

After grabbing a quick bite at Granny’s Killian had spent the remainder of early evening categorically working through all the other data he had been able to gather over the course of the day; and not one instrument had indicated anything outside of the realms of a normal abandoned house. In fact, most of the anomalous readings one could expect from a long period of constant use (a sudden spike in electromagnetic radiation, a noise in static on a recorder where there had been none aloud) were completely non-existent. Brooke House was as silent as the dead other than the sounds he and Regina made. It were as if they were measuring nothing at all.

No doubt, that was its intention.

He expected much to be different in the dark.

Again, he left the dagger rolled up in his scarf in his car, not wanting to bring it any closer to Emma – or to whatever Emma was. They were clearly linked, the spectre of the house and the dagger, and he had to believe that somewhere buried in there was his Emma. She retained the same memories, even if she warped them for her use. She recognised him. It was her name on the dagger.

He had taken the dagger to three different psychometrists over the years, seeking insight. Each one had only been able to tell him that its origin was evil, that its master was lost.

Even Killian could have surmised that much.

“Emma?” he called, as he stepped over the threshold. Only creaks of old wood answered back.

He lingered briefly in the sitting room, checking his old tape recorder that he had left running, tucked under the sheet of one of the armchairs as gently as possible. He wanted to avoid the possibility of muffling any sound while also trying to prevent its detection from any nefarious spirits that chose not to make a sound while he and Regina were there. All he needed was some kind of proof that something in the house moved when it was left to its own devices. In the morning he would return for it and listen for any erroneous sound.

As if reading his thoughts, an audible thump came from above him. He headed back out into the hall. For now, Killian decided to pocket the recorder and return it after he’d come to say what he meant to.

Again Killian called Emma’s name, mounting the stairs slowly. Once he reached the top he spotted the flash of white fabric trailing along the floor, disappearing into one of the rooms on the landing. Aside from the room with the spinning wheel that never faltered, Killian hadn’t spent much time in the other two rooms. One was a bedroom and the other a study, boasting only a desk and a wall lined with ancient, brittle bookcases, the tomes atop them turned grey with age with faded and illegible titles. It was into the study that he had seen her go, so Killian opened the door cautiously so as not to startle her away.

The bottom shelf of the bookcase nearest the door had collapsed, the books falling into a haphazard clump onto the floor. A dust cloud still lingered so he imagined it couldn’t have happened too long ago; he wondered if that was the noise he had heard from downstairs.

Emma stood with her back to him, the rustle of pages the only indication that she was moving. Then, without warning, she swung her right arm back and hurtled the book against the wall. The binding tore with a snap, and in pieces it clattered down onto the ground. Killian, reluctant to become a target for one of those heavy missiles, cleared his throat to announce himself, but quickly tucked the tape recorder subtly into one of the bookcases as he did so. He didn’t want her to catch it on him.

Emma turned, her jade eyes sharp in the gloom. As always, they cut right through him.

“Have you decided?” she said, her voice as heavy as stone.

Killian didn’t answer immediately, but tried to look at her more critically. What was he seeing? Just what he wanted to see, or something more?

Regina’s warning repeated itself over and over. What if this is something else, just taking the shape of Emma? And appealing to those made most vulnerable by the sight of her?

“Why didn’t you show yourself to Regina?”

They had been at Brooke House all day, there was ample opportunity. Not a creature had stirred out of place, as if the house had been holding its breath and waiting for them to leave. That meant one of two things – Emma did not think Regina could help with what she wanted, or there was nothing of Emma to show.

Emma lifted a shoulder in a half shrug and turned back to the bookcase. She picked up another book, and began lazily flipping through its contents.

That, too, found itself tossed to the edge of the room.

“I didn’t feel like it.” She reached for another.

“Come here,” he said, before he felt he’d truly made the decision. “Let me look at you.”

She turned slowly to stare at him; it was clear in her expression that she was unaccustomed to receiving orders, and was flirting with the idea of being furious, or going along with it. Keeping her eyes locked on his she discarded her final book, letting it flutter onto the floor, and started to walk towards him. It felt distinctly like being stalked by a predator, and he resisted the urge to step back when she came to a stop in front of him, looking up.

Instead he steeled his resolve, and lifted his thumb and forefinger to her chin. Her skin was glacial to the touch, pale and smooth. Like marble.

Applying a little pressure, Killian turned her head first to one side, then to the other. She allowed him, her eyes continuing to follow him intently. Up close, she looked human. With a little more colour in her cheeks she would look just like he remembered her. Would it even be possible, he wondered, for him to conjure up something so near to perfection? Was he capable? Could he really have imagined this?

“I’m so sorry,” he sighed sadly, brushing his fingers along her jaw, stilling them when they reached the tip of her neck.

Emma tensed underneath him. “What for?”

The list was unending.

“All of it.”

Something flickered across her expression, but it had moved too quickly for him to notice it. A blackened petal dropped from the circlet around her head, and became tangled in her hair. Without thinking, Killian gently tugged it loose.

“You don’t need to be sorry.”

A cold hand came to rest over his. Then, to his surprise, she lifted herself onto her tiptoes and leaned forward. Too shocked to move, Killian froze in place as she reached him. Like the rest of her, her lips were icy to touch, and moved gently against his like the purl of the ocean against the sand. His eyes stayed open but he could see hers had fluttered closed – she looked unarmed. Gentle. Like a girl.

She pulled back because he did not know how to keep her, and he could feel now that he was trembling. He was cold, his heart ached with grief, and he was furious.

That was a kiss that he had been saving, and she had taken it.

He opened his mouth to rattle off a rebuke, but something in her manner had changed. Her brows had knitted a little closer together, her lips parted – even her eyes looked as if they might have dulled from their usual startling shade.

Recognition fluttered across her features. She blinked slowly. “Killian?”

Killian’s heart began to hammer against his ribcage. Hope stuttered to life with every beat, but he tried to remain cautious. Something was different, he was sure of it, and now he wished he had been paying closer attention to her before so he might able to more clearly see now what had changed.

He watched her warily. “Emma?”

It happened in painfully slow motion. Her eyes glazed over, she turned herself away, something that had been out of alignment clicked back into place. In an almost unnatural way her head tilted, and began to stare at him with those new, wide eyes.

Her lips curled in a snarl. “That’s enough of that.”

A rush of air blew past him and she was gone, but Killian, exhilarated and almost breathless, couldn’t let her go.

“Wait, I –” He caught her in the hallway, her hand resting on the door to the spinning wheel room. She whirled around to face him expectantly, eyes ablaze. “I’ll do it. I’ll help you.”

The corner of her mouth curved upwards, a smirk rising into place.

Killian swallowed. He’d been at her mercy since the moment he laid eyes on her.

“Just… tell me what you need me to do.”

#jay writes #a house is never still #cs role reversal #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #cs au #cs halloweek #gonna go ahead and still tag those #killian jones #emma swan #I hope you guys like this!#also those on the taglist must feel free to tell me to jog on #hahaha

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kettle-on · 4 years

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George Harrison x gardener!reader

Chapter 2

At last!! The joining chapter!

George is here!

This ended up much longer than I meant it to be, but... c’est comme ca la vie!

Read on :)

*this picture is from a map made of Friar Park by Alan Tabor in 1914

_______________________

A three-day stretch of sunshine and warm weather is rare for this time of year, but I’m grateful for it as I sit with my cup of tea and perched on a stool in the garden kitchen. It’s become my designated spot to spend my lunch break - when not drinking in the view from the window, I can keep my head down in here quietly and out of anyone’s way.

It’s Wednesday, and I’ve managed to get through the past two days on mostly tea and biscuits. It’s been fairly straightforward so far, and I’ve observed progress on one or two large plinth displays, been shown around an expanse of pine trees, almost got to investigate the alpine garden and mini Matterhorn but not quite yet, and have finally been able to lay my hands on a dogwood bush in an area I’m told was once called “The Paddock.”

I am glad for the easing-in process. What a nightmare it would be to screw up somewhere prominent at a place like this; so large and visible, and so well-loved and historic.

I take a grateful swig of my brew as a shout comes from the doorway to the hall,

“A-ha!”

Bravely, I sneak a glance up to the source of the voice and am instantly breathless.

He looks softer and greyer than I’d imagined, but I’d still know those eyes anywhere: the man of the house, George Harrison himself.

“They said you’d arrived, but I was beginning to think I was being swindled,” he reveals a toothy grin. “George.”

I appreciate that he not only still bothers to introduce himself, but he already knows my name, too.

For all I’d learned about him being the quiet, mysterious Beatle, and the moody dark horse, he is all lightness and giving. With his arms wide, he leans attentively onto the island counter across from me, and I feel as if I could unravel right there before him.

He scans my face with eagerness and I realize I have yet to say a single word.

“Well, I’ve…” Breathe. Keep your cool. “I’ve only been here since Monday, so...” I manage to offer, my eyes dancing across the surface in front of me and settling on my almost empty mug of tea, “It’s a big lot. Plenty of space to hide.”

He’s quiet but he hasn’t moved. I dare myself to return my gaze to his face, and it’s only now that I notice the sparkle in his eyes. How is he still this handsome? The deep lines across his famous dark brows remind me of tree bark, and I wonder how many years of scowling they took to develop. Then I make the mistake of letting my eyes drift to his mouth, now in a crooked and thoughtful closed smile.

“What do you make of it so far? Gettin’ on all right?” he asks, quickly peering into my almost empty mug before heading over to the kettle. He fills it with water up to the top line, and it looks like we’ll be here a while.

“It’s beautiful. Olivia started to give me a tour when I arrived, but we had to cut it short. From what I’ve seen so far, I can see how you’d never want to leave.”

He opens a cupboard to take out a mug for himself, but even with his back facing me he makes sure to look over his shoulder, listening intently.

I continue, “I’m glad to be starting small, to be honest. I’ve been sorting out those bushes by the pool.”

“I see. Shoved you ‘round the back, did they?” There’s the grin again, and the unmistakable smile lines I recognize from various old video clips I’d seen floating around the internet.

“Yeah,” I manage, narrowly avoiding a giddy sigh.

“Well, I’ve been working on the garden for, oh, fifty years, is it? You should have seen it then, all buried in rubbish and brambles and debris. Horrible. But, as you say, you start with the little things, whatever you can manage, and you start to get an understanding of what you’re working with, you know. It’s easy to be overwhelmed.”

Leaning back against the counter with his arms folded, it’s clear he’s used this plan of operations many times.

“But there’s always a little unhappy area that just needs someone to come along and give it some careful attention.”

The kettle bubbles along, lending a soundtrack to the butterflies I’m trying to subdue in my stomach, and George points to my cup of tea, inquiring if I’d like another. I smile in agreement and quickly gulp down what’s left, and then offer the mug in all its floral print glory back to him,

“Thank you.”

His eyes linger on my face for just a moment before he returns to the counter. I look out the window again, and begin to piece together the circumstances of my current situation. This is George Harrison’s house. This is where I work. I’ve trained for years on my own and on teams in classrooms and greenhouses, learned the Latin names and all about colour theory and garden design. I’ve aggravated a dodgy hip many times over from shoveling dirt in the rain. I’ve earned very little money all the while, but look what it’s come to: I get to come here every day, and soak in the history and whimsy of such a magical place. How lucky am I?

“This wasn’t you, was it?” asks George after it dawns on me that he’d been humming something familiar for the past few minutes.

“Sorry?”

“Nickin’ all my tea bags. I’m sure I filled this up at the weekend,” he states, demonstrating a single tea bag nestled in the pale blue china caddy, ironically labelled ‘tobacco’.

It wasn’t me, and luckily he believes me. A few of the gardeners I hadn’t yet met had been in and out since my lunch break began, but I wouldn’t dare be a snitch and reveal them as the culprits. Nevertheless, George’s efforts to make a brew for himself are thwarted when he finds the usual spot for the box of tea bags empty.

“This is outrageous!” he feigns fury. “Nevermind. Come on, I’ll show you where I keep the good stuff.”

Without a second thought, I follow him out to the vegetable garden where one of the gardeners I haven’t met yet is checking the progress of some turnips.

“All right, Vijay?” calls George. For a man of his age he’s quite speedy, but decades of singing and stress, (and smoking, I recall) have left his voice fairly scratchy when he tries for volume.

Vijay responds with cool pleasantries, and my host takes care of our introductions.

“If you’re after any veg for your table, he’s your man.” George explains, and Vijay’s bashful smile returns him to his notes.

We carry on our trek, past more beds of herbs, vegetables, and if my nose is to be believed, there are blueberries somewhere nearby.

The song George is humming sounds a bit like a Johnny Cash tune, and he builds his production with finger snaps and whistles.

The hedges here seem to go on for miles, and it’s a few minutes before we reach the end of this garden. The path leads down a slope where it meets the service driveway and disappears among some tall trees.

“No, I don’t think I’ll take you into the forest today, but remind me. I think you’ll like it. A nice old fashioned Lovers’ Walk.”

I blink at him, my mouth having fallen open slightly on the journey.

Instead, we cross to the right, to the grand chateau itself.

“I feel like I’m not supposed to be here,” I confess as we near a huge stone doorway like the one I met my first morning.

“You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to. But I think you might want to,” he toys with me, and the lines around his mouth hold back a knowing laugh.

“Yeah, all right, go on then,” I pretend to be cool and casual, and my trickery works.

It’s dark in here. This is a back way after all, but that doesn’t preclude the walls from their own ornaments and paintings. I pass beneath a brass swan seeming to emerge from the woodwork, and follow George over to a room that he almost facetiously calls a pantry.

“Shall we take our tea in the courtyard today?” he asks with all the put-on poshness of a John Cleese character, then returning to his normal manner to inquire,

“Or do you have work to be getting back to?”

Checking the time on my phone, I’m relieved to see my lunch hour isn’t up yet.

“I’ve got twenty minutes, how’s that?”

“All the time in the world!” he roars, shuffling over to a built-in set of shelves that nearly reach the ceiling.

He lets out a cheer when he finds it, and turns to me grinning to proudly display the box of tea we’d come all this way for.

Yorkshire Gold.

#george harrison #george harrison fanfic #george harrison x reader #george harrison x gardener reader #george harrison fluff #gardener fanfic #gardener reader #friar park #friar park fanfic #beatles fluff #beatles fanfic #beatles fanfiction #the beatles

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robin-blogs · 3 years

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25.02.2021 - Thursday Lecture, Environmental Art

This week’s Thursday Art History Lecture was about Environmental Art and how artist’s use this connection with nature by using natural materials along with historical relations to art and the environment to create their pieces. Environmental artists additionally often work with the earth as a medium along with the systems and processes that come along with using this medium. Throughout this lecture I learnt about how to identify the history of the different ways that artists have interacted with the natural landscape as a way to create a strong meaning throughout their art. Along with demonstrating my awareness of artists who are seen as influencers within the area of environmental art. Throughout this lecture I will also be commenting on how I analyse some of the ways environmental art is used as a political statement, including cross-cultural theory and notions of cultural identity.

When listening and writing about this lecture the only thing I could think about was the plants I’ve been growing over lockdown and how they have helped me cope with stress. I’ve been heavily researching into different families and species of house plants to learn more about them and its something that’s been incredibly cathartic for me. I want to further this idea by making some pots for my plants as I have been propagating them// growing new plants from leaf cuttings. Additionally, I have been watching a pottery show which has made me increasingly intrigued by the medium of pottery. On one of the episodes the contestants were encouraged to create Greek-style pottery, which I already felt incredibly exited for as I have always adored the general style of the Greeks, especially when it comes to their pottery. I remember a while back I was in a charity shop when I came across a Greek inspired pot painted with a black background and orange-gold figures around it. At the time I really wanted to buy it and I now regret not doing so as it would’ve made a beautiful pot for a plant such as Ivy for how it would overgrow down the sides of the pot. Although, I did take a picture of it, I want to try and find it again so when I make a pot I can paint it with the same design as a kind of homage to the original pot I wanted to get. Considering I don’t have a pottery wheel or pottery clay with a kiln, I won’t be able to make a pot in the traditional sense. I will instead be using air dry clay by using the ‘coil method’ in which you roll out the clay into a long coil// snake and then layer it on top of itself in a circle to form the shape of the pot, in which you then blend the sides together to make a solid wall. I also have a range of plastic pots which I will be adding to the insides of the pots so when they have the plants inside them, they have correct drainage to prevent them from getting root rot as a result of waterlogged soil. I will be incorporating these pots by coiling the clay around them and allow them to stay there while the clay dries to assure they will still fit once the clay has cured fully. I will then fully seal the clay to prevent it from collapsing and becoming moist as a result of the water and soil from the plants. I will be doing this by testing a range of different materials on cured air-dry clay such as gloss varnish, clear resin and a range of both indoor and outdoor varnishes to see which is best and most cost effective for coating my pots. Overall, I’m incredibly exited for this project and I feel it was heavily inspired by the content of this lecture as it helped me learn more about environmental art and how I could even go into perusing it myself in the future someday.

Spiral Jetty – Robert Smithson – 1970, Utah

The first piece to be shown within the lecture was spiral Jetty by artist Robert Smith in 1970. To create this piece he used rock, earth and algae to form the ground that formed the shape of a spiral within the water as the earth was lifted to be in view above the water. Although, the amount of the piece that would be visible depends on the tides and waters. It was slowly deteriorating from the waters so it was rebuilt with earth for it to be clearer seen for exhibitions. However, to get to this spot to create the piece, Robert had to take a three day walk across the dessert which was a very hostile environment to have to walk through. To him, the walk is much a part of the artwork as the work itself.

Wheatfield: A Confrontation ((1982)) – Agnes Denes

The next piece to be shown within the lecture was a piece called Wheatfield: A Confrontation by artist Agnes Denes in 1982. Denes bought a lot in lower Manhattan and planted golden wheat. She cleaned area in the lot and covered city streets with two truckloads of soil and it took 4 months to grow the wheat. After the wheat was fully grown and harvested, the 1000 pounds of grain was shipped to help towards world hunger. This piece was created to make people rethink their priorities and consider thinking more about the environment and what we can all be doing to help thousands in the world who are staring just by planting something as simple as wheat in empty unused lots. Although when creating this piece there was a limited time frame from having to sustain it as a result of the tarmac below. I personally loved this piece as I have recently started to grow my own foods and herbs as a way of becoming self-sustaining. So far, I have grown chives, parsley, coriander, thyme, rocket and basil all within my own room while being in lockdown. Along with growing my own foods and herbs I have also been growing a wide range of plants, some of which are great for purifying the air which I felt was a very key aspect considering I don’t go outside as a result of lockdown too. I hope to grow more foods and herbs in the future as it gets into spring, summer and autumn. A plant in particular Id love to get is a citrus tree, since they don’t grow to a full size and you can always prune them to keep them small and manageable. This would be a very effective and sustainable way to grow my own fruit that I could use all year round, whether its to make smoothies in summer or some cosy pies in the winter.

Sun Tunnels ((1976)) – Nancy Holt, Utah, USA

The next piece to be talked about was a piece called Sun Tunnels by artist Nancy Holt in 1976. This cultivated experience allowed you to see the earth and landscape through a new lens and enabled you to see things in a new way. This piece featured 18-foot-long tubes that perfectly frame the sunrise and set throughout the summer and winter solstices as they were all placed within a large field in Utah. Throughout each tube there were perforated holes so the constellations could be seen projected inside as shadows. Holt spent days sleeping after work to capture the results of the lights and shadows cast at different parts of day and different times of year.

Marsh Ruins ((1981)) – Beverly Buchanan

The last piece to be shown was a piece called Marsh ruins by artist Beverly Buchanan in 1981. Women of colour were excluded from second world feminism and any traction within the art world. A group of slaves committed suicide to escape the camps they would’ve been put in had they been caught. Buchanan decided to plant a range of foliage as a way of questioning if that area of land could be cleansed of the past atrocities. When hearing about this piece I found it to be incredibly impactful and inspiring. Although my own life experiences aren’t near as devastating as those who had to resort to suicide as a result of fear, I still connect areas of land// certain places to my own experience of trauma and abuse. This made me think of the time before I came out as trans to my mother and I was talking to her in the kitchen about something, and it somehow delved into an argument where the last thing she said was “you’re not my daughter”. The one area of the kitchen reminds me of when she said that and how much it affected me. I think it would be intriguing to create work based around this, whether it’s a series of photography pieces in which I place a group of my plants as a way of attempting to cleanse the land similarly to Buchanan’s work. Although another idea I had was to take a photo of the area and then draw over it as a way of showing how the memory still resides there even when it happened years ago. Perhaps I could take the picture from my perspective at the time as I was smaller, and I wasn’t as tall as I am now. I could also play with this concept by having the perspective pointed upwards, as if I’m looking up at my mum even though she isn’t there to represent the flashbacks I have.

Overall, I found this lecture to be incredibly inspiring and certainly helped me learn much more about an art movement I previously had no real knowledge of, especially considering the artists connected to the movement. Furthermore, this lecture helped me connect the work I am currently doing now with my plants and helped me connect it all to an art movement which I personally found to be fascinating that the small simple things I’ve been doing during lockdown can really start to have a positive impact if I use them in the right way.

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acraftedmistake · 4 years

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A Person Who Has Never Played MCSM Writes A Story About MCSM Chp. 9

YEAAAAAH CHP 9!! 31 PAGES!! I’m weirdly excited over this gjnfbdsfdhfgdgg Hope you guys will like it!!

Today was the big day!

The day everyone had been anticipating for months! Weeks upon weeks of preparation, everybody doing their part, sharing the workload of the decoration, careful planning to make sure everyone could attend, countless nights of reading and rereading the plans for how the day would play out, and now it’s finally arrived!

Everyone was excited, but no one could compete with the exhilaration Radar had!

Radar viewed the sea of people he stood before, making out familiar faces as they all chattered to one another. He remembered being so fearful of crowds, now he feels nothing but enthusiasm. The people were seated in the beautifully embellished nave. Bold, red flowers with their mesmerizing petals were used to make wreaths which hung on the stone walls, along with banners of the same vibrancy as the flowers that hung from the ceiling.

Radar stood proudly on the stage with two others by each side. He had put hours into his appearance, making sure his red suit--a shade he’d always compare to a ruby--was wrinkle free, that his dark yellow tie could be put on without hassle, his black shoes shone, and being extra determined to keep his hair combed back and slick. His hair would always stick up, it was nearly impossible to control, but it seemed merciful for this special day.

He looked at the people next to him, he was placed in between two individuals who he was well acquainted with. On his left was a woman about his age, freckles scattered on her pale face, and long, red hair that stopped midway at her back. Unlike Radar, she was not wearing formal attire of any sort, instead, she had a clean, white towel wrapped around her body which she held together tightly.

Radar could’ve gone unclothed as well, but when he was shown the optional attire, he knew he had to wear it for such an event. He was warned his suit would get ruined today, and to not fret about his appearance, but he wanted to look wonderful regardless.

The man to the right of him was older--though by how many years was unknown--and had been here far longer than Radar. He was extremely pale, which could’ve been because he was nervous, his hair was somewhat frizzy and a light blond. He also wore a suit, it was a dusty brown instead of Radar’s red.

‘Of course his suit is different,’ Radar thought to himself, ‘He is being honored for a different reason.’

Besides them, there was nothing too much on the stage except for a sturdy, spruce chair. However, more people would be stepping on soon.

“Everyone!” Brenner, one of their three leaders spoke as the other two stood aside, “I’d like to thank you all for joining us on this very special day…”

Brenner was no ordinary man. He was a man whose loud, confidence-filled voice would immediately steal your attention, his judgements were law and he’d speak only the truth.

His red robe, sleeves and its end decorated with gold-colored engravings, was loose around his body yet everyone knew it was perfect for him. His white eyes stood out from his dark brown skin and he wore his bold red and pink burn marks with pride. He was blind, but he had no need to see.

There was no flaw in this man.

Brenner continued his speech and Radar wanted to listen, yet he found his attention going elsewhere. On each end of the dark wooden stage were two big, white ceramic pots with shiny blue paint splattered on the tops. Large fires had been set in each pot, and had flowers carefully surrounding each flame, delicately placed to prevent them from being set ablaze.

‘Red dahlias,’ Radar remembered, ‘They’re wonderful.’

Radar, among a few others, had helped Brenner dig up a bundle of these gorgeous flowers. It was that very day when Brenner spoke to him.

“Radar,” Brenner had said, “Your journey, your progression… You are a vastly different man compared to the one I first met nearly a year ago.”

He placed his hand on his shoulder and gifted Radar with a smile, something he hardly ever did, “The next generation of The Awakening has been gifted to receive a future Vision as you, Radar.”

A Vision. Radar. He never thought hearing those three words together was possible. He had only been in The Awakening just shy of a year, compared to the tens of hundreds of other people who had been here--some for over a decade--he thought he still had years to go. But the leaders told him his growth and his leadership skills outshined many others. They told him they needed him.

Who could refuse an honor like that?

A Vision. What a powerful word. What a title.

Radar turned back to the center of the stage. The woman had sat down on the chair, clutching her towel tightly. She was sobbing. Two of the leaders surrounded her as she told her tragic story, how she had lost everything until The Awakening had helped her. Hearing her story and seeing the crowd’s tearful, sympathetic faces as they nodded along to her words brought a weird happiness to Radar. This was a community. A safe place. A home.

The third leader, an older man with a similar attire to Brenner, carefully made his way onto the stage, carrying a deep dish specially made to carry whatever substance was in it. It must’ve been a darker red, but it’s coating began to chip away from years of usage. The old man wore thick gloves.

Once her story had finished, everyone cheered.

Brenner stood behind her and placed his hands where her collar bone was, carefully massaging it to help her relax as he continued his speech.

“Your years of hardships and development are soon to be rewarded. Are you ready to be gifted with The Vision’s gift?”

“I am.” She answered, wiping away her remaining tears.

“Do you love the people you will soon shine for, our history, and wish to make the future brighter for our remaining days on this Earth?”

“I do.”

“Are you ready to become the next, brilliant flame for future generations?”

“I am.”

She glanced up at Brenner, who gave her a small but warming smile, before taking a deep breath. She tilted her head back as far as she could, Brenner held her hair.

The old man approached and the substance began to trickle down before becoming a slow, steady pour.

The liquid was heavier, as it fell onto her face instead of drizzling down smoothly like Radar expected it to. It also had a brilliant glow to it and lit up a portion of the stage; the light made the steam from the substance visible.

A strange smell soon came. Radar couldn’t perfectly describe the smell, an odd clash of sweetness and naustiation, it was becoming stronger by the second. He could practically taste the scent.

He stared at the woman as the liquid kept coming, her skin was becoming red and slowly falling off her face and onto the floor, sizzling. Odd bubbles began to form and Radar swore he saw what used to be her eye melting and mixing along with the liquid.

Lava.

What are they doing?

Radar looked back at the crowd, who still had the happiness from before, and felt his stomach begin to knot up.

Do they see nothing wrong with this?

Why aren’t they doing anything?

What are they doing?

What is he doing?

He stopped breathing. The stench had become overwhelming, he was afraid he’d choke. This isn’t right. This can’t be right.

This can’t be right.

“Radar?” He heard Brenner say, a firm grip on Radar’s shoulder, “Are you alright?”

Radar couldn’t tell if he was shaking his head or if his whole body was trembling tremendously, but seeing Brenner’s concerned--almost worried--expression means he must’ve looked awful.

Radar kept shaking, he shook his head violently to make himself clear as he stepped away.

He kept stepping back and back and back until his body bursted into a full sprint. He held his breath and ran faster than he ever had in his entire life. He ran through the hallway of the shrine until he saw the exit, never looking back. He heard shouts and screams, hollers, voices pleading for him to come back, people calling him ‘quitter’, but he refused to listen.

The moment his foot passed the exit, Radar finally took in a lungful of fresh air and expected to see the lushious field of grass and flowers he was so used to seeing, but there was nothing to greet him.

He stood in nothing. No signs of life. No buildings. Only nothing.

Was he dead?

“Radar.” He heard Brenner’s voice again. The melancholy wrapped around it sunk into Radar’s mind.

He had done wrong.

Something terribly wrong.

Radar tried to keep moving, he found very little energy to run, but he tried to walk. He may as well have been moving with cinder blocks chained to his legs, his feet dragging against the unloving void as he begged his body to move faster.

“You’re so much better than this.”

A hand crept up and held Radar’s hand. He tried to pull away but more locked his arm in place. He couldn’t see the hands, the arms, where they were coming from, but he could feel them. Their tight, unforgiving fingers gripped his clothes, tearing them off and stabbing his skin. More came and wrapped themselves around his bare body, some around his chest and stomach, almost as if hugging him. He wanted to throw up. This was wrong. This was wrong.

He felt fingers caress his face and remove his glasses before forcing his head up and his eyes wide open. Radar could see the dish looming over him crystal clearly. Radar couldn’t move his head, he tried rolling his eyes to the back of his head yet he could still make out the disgusting clumps of lava falling to his face.

“The next generation of The Awakening has been gifted to receive a future Vision as you, Radar.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Maya awoke to Radar’s screaming followed by a stingful slap in the face. She almost didn’t recognize her own room because of how unfocused her vision was. Maya felt the headboard of her bed against her stiff, aching back. Why was she sitting on her bed? Did she fall asleep sitting up? She squeezed her eyes and shook her head, wondering why she received a wake up call like that.

“I’m blind! I’m blind--!” She heard Radar’s high voice cry.

Maya shot her eyes down and jumped. On top of her blue blanket, arms flailing and legs kicking, was Radar with tears streaming down his face. Rays of the sun shot through her windows and into Radar’s eyes.

The aches have been completely forgotten as Maya jumped off her bed, and ran towards the windows as Radar continued to shout about how he couldn’t see. How he was blinded. The way he covered his face with his hands and wailed with his body thrashing about, you’d almost believe someone had tore his eyes out.

Maya hurriedly yanked the curtains over the windows--the thick, blue sheets immediately blocking all light--and she rushed over to her nightstand to grab Radar’s glasses; she had to tape one of the hinges back together after he had fallen asleep.

“No you’re not. No you’re not. No you’re not. ” She said in a quick breath, fumbling with the glasses, trying to open them without accidentally snapping the hinge off.

She held the glasses carefully, trying to figure out how calm Radar down so he could put them back on. His hands dug into his face, he continued to sob. She couldn’t possibly put them on at the moment.

“Hey,” She said loud enough through the man’s sobs. His hands remained firmly on his face but his body settled down when hearing Maya’s voice.

Radar opened his mouth, wanting to talk, but he could hardly get the first letter out. His breathing was loud and unsteady, and his body shook.

Maya carefully reached out, “Can I see your hand?”

She couldn’t tell if he was nodding, but he extended his hand out, searching for her’s.

She made sure to grasp gently as their fingers locked. He was ice cold.

Radar had covered his eyes with his arm. Maya stared at him and slowly breathed in.

“What’s your name?” She asked carefully.

He didn’t respond right away, he took a moment to process the question as his teeth chattered.

“R… Radar.” He answered with an unsteady voice.

Maya nodded and held his hand a little tighter, “Do you know where you are?”

Radar slowly began to uncover his face. His eyes peeked out and he scanned the room. Everything was blurry and dark, but the layout felt familiar to him.

“A h… A house?”

Maya brought the glasses to his face, trying her best to slip them on with one hand. She didn’t want to poke his eyes. Radar helped push the glasses into place.

He wiped away the remaining tears, used his arms to hoist himself up, and looked around the room again.

“Aiden’s home.” He corrected himself.

He heard Maya’s ‘Mhm’ as he continued to observe the room. It was clean. It was barren. There was only an oak nightstand with an old, red alarm clock. Two chests were in between the two windows across the bed, a sword laid on top of one of the chests. Then there was the dresser pushed against the wall to the right side of the room, it was the only thing to be considered ‘messy’. One of its drawers was open, exposing the neatly folded clothes, and on top of the dresser laid two more swords, a pickaxe, and bandage wraps.

He recalled a second bed used to be here, but Aiden had moved it to the guest room.

‘This is Maya’s room.’ Radar remembered.

He was beginning to relax when he heard Maya ask “And The Awakening?”

Radar froze up again, adrenaline rushed through him, his brain begged him to escape, yet he remained still. Flashes of the dream--memories--quickly came and went. He turned his head stiffly to Maya, his shrunken pupils locked onto her face. She looked worried. Was that his fault?

Radar gripped her hand tightly and started with a shaky voice, “The… They…”

He swallowed, “They can’t get here.”

“Right.” Maya nodded, her brows creased, “Because we’d do everything we can to stop them. You’re safe.”

“I’m safe.” Radar repeated. He fell back onto the bed. He was finally able to regain control over his breathing as he took slow, deep breaths.

The two remained in the bed--hands still holding--for several minutes. Maya wanted to give Radar some time to take it easy after such a rough day, but a part of her wanted to converse with him. Maybe he needed someone to talk to. But what could she say? She could never start conversations. She never knew how to.

Maya stared at the wall across her bed for a minute, clenching her jaw

“Bad dream?” She finally asked.

Radar nodded, rubbing his eyes.

“You wanna talk about it? You don’t have to.” She said in her gruff voice. Maya never hated how she sounded, but there were times she wished she could sound a bit more… Emotional? Softer? Her words always sounded far colder than she intended them to.

“I’d love to forget it.” Radar said weakly, squirming in bed trying to get comfortable. He laid on his side, staring at the room’s door, trying to concentrate on anything that wasn’t his dream or what had happened yesterday.

“We were supposed to go to Petra’s today,” He took a deep breath, “Am I holding you back?”

Maya shook her head, “No. Everyone else will be heading to her place, I’m staying here with you.”

She saw Radar’s head sink into the pillow, visibly disappointed. She pressed her lips together.

“You wouldn’t like it there.” She said.

“Oh?”

“Petra’s place. It’s…” She thought about her next words carefully, “Sorta creepy.”

Radar could only respond with a weak nod. He turned on his other side so he could face Maya again. Everything was beginning to slow down. His blinking, his breathing, his heart beat.

“Did I hurt you?” Radar avoided looking at her face. He forced his eyes to stare at his free hand.

“It was an accident.” She acknowledged, “Don’t worry about it.”

He mumbled a barely audible apology and dug his face deeper into the pillow. He kept staring at his hand. It was shaking. He was still shaking.

He inhaled sharply tore away from Maya’s hand and tightly gripped his wrist, determined to cease his trembling. The more he kept staring the more frustrated he got. This is pathetic. This is pathetic. This is pathetic. Why is this still happening?

“How can I be expected to do anything properly if I can’t even stop my own hand from shaking!” He grinded his teeth and kept crushing his wrist.

Maya was about to stop him when Radar suddenly sat up, threw both hands onto his head, and dug into his hair.

“I promised--I promised Olivia and--and him a tour of the town.”

There’s no way he’d be able to do it today nor tomorrow. Maybe not even for the rest of the week. He’s not sure how well he’d handle being on the empty streets of Obsidian Town... In the middle of the day… Seeing him… Hearing his voice… Being close to him.

Olivia would be there, but would she make any difference?

“They’re good people. They’ll understand.” Maya assured him.

She placed her hand on his shoulder, “It’s okay you can’t do it. Doesn’t make you a failure.”

“I know.” Radar’s hands steadily slipped off his head as he rested against the headboard of the bed.

He felt his body leaning closer and closer to Maya till he found his head resting on her shoulder.

“Maya?”

“Hm?”

“I want to… Wanted to thank you for all that you did last night.” Radar felt his eyelids getting heavy.

“Yeah,” Maya glanced at him, “Yeah, don’t mention it.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jesse cracked his eyes open ever so slightly and was met with an intense brightness. The window’s blinds were wide open, allowing sunlight to spew in and take over his bedroom. Jesse squeezed his eyes shut and shifted around in the bed, his head was pounding, he wanted a few extra minutes of sleep. Just a few. But he was finding the task rather difficult. Was his bed always this uncomfortable? Hard? How did he manage to fall asleep in the first place?

‘This isn’t your bed.’ A thought echoed in his head.

His eyes shot open. Oh no. It wasn’t a fever dream.

Jesse instantly sat up and scanned the room, ‘Guest room.’ He reminded himself. Where was Olivia? The place was rather empty, if she was in here, he would’ve spotted her already. Is she okay? Did something happen last night?

Jesse threw the covers off, slipped on his shoes beside the bed, and tried to recall what happened.

“Okay, you found out you’re in a different world--in a different universe, filled with different-familiar people, what else? What else?” Talking outloud tends to help refresh his memory, “Radar got attacked by Other Jesse--oh, I hope he’s okay!”

Jesse ran to the door, swung it open and… Was greeted with a surprised Stella.

“Oh, you’re up!” Stella’s fist was raised, she must’ve been a moment away from knocking. She was wearing a soft, striped, lavender-colored, short sleeved pajama top with a pair of dark purple flannel pants. She also wore fuzzy slippers that were the same shade as her shirt.

Jesse stopped in his tracks and dug his fingers into the doorway, bouncing his leg rapidly. He needed to know if his friend was safe, or--at the very least--still in this house.

“Yep, woke up a second ago. Have you seen Olivia?”

Stella blinked, “Yes, she asked if she could read in the living room.”

Jesse’s body loosened, his hands melted off the door’s frame as he sighed with relief. He peeked back at Stella, who looked like she wanted to say something.

“What about you? Why are you up so early?” Jesse had no idea what time it was. He knew the sun was out, so he assumed it was morning.

“I… Couldn’t sleep.” She clasped her hands together, “Jesse I--I owe you an apology.”

Jesse tilted his head, last night was overwhelming. So many moments merged together into one, chaotic nightmare.

Stella breathed in, “The way I treated you last night, I think it’s fair to say I wasn’t the nicest. I genuinely thought you were our Jesse, I’m very sorry.”

“Oh, hey!” Jesse leaned against the door, “After what happened to Radar, I totally understand. Better safe than sorry.”

“But still,” Stella tucked her hair behind her ear, “You didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

“It’s all good.” Jesse assured her with a smile. Stella smiled back.

She stretched her arms high, “Well, there’s a few more hours of the day left, I’m going to try to get as much sleep as I can. You and Olivia should too.”

Stella waved and began walking off, leaving Jesse to think to himself. He wasn’t too tired, he wouldn’t be able to sleep again. Sleep. Sleep? What time is it? Wait a minute--

“Hold on, Stella!” Jesse whisper-shouted to her before she went any further. She spun around, strands of hair flying into her face.

“When do--What time do you usually go to bed?”

Stella answered, “10:30 sharp. I go to bed the earliest out of everyone else.”

Jesse inhaled, “... AM or PM?”

“... AM?” She replied, raising a brow.

‘Oh no.’ Jesse thought to himself as he held his breath.

“What time do you wake up?”

“8 PM--Why are you asking me this?” Stella asked.

‘Oh no. There’s a time difference.’ A major one at that.

He glanced back up at the confused woman and finally exhaled, “You see, in our universe, we fall asleep when it’s dark out. Polar opposite to your’s.”

Stella stared for a moment longer before her eyes widened. She let her mouth hang as she tried to figure out how to approach the situation.

“Oh dear, that possibility didn’t even come to mind! Are you two going to be okay? Aiden will probably be waking us up at 6--6 PM--you’re going to be waiting for a while.”

“Don’t worry,” He waved his hand, “We’ll find a way to kill time.”

Stella tapped her foot, thinking of what him and Olivia could do for the next several hours. She wanted to suggest they rest so they wouldn’t tire out too soon during their trip to Petra’s, but if they’re used to being up at this time, it’ll certainly be difficult for them. Plus they’d have to tire themselves out to want to rest.

“Alright,” Stella started, “There are plenty of books downstairs for you to read, if you get hungry, help yourself to whatever. If you see a container of butter cookies, don’t eat those, those are Cassie’s…”

Jesse nodded along to Stella’s list.

“And don’t--!” She raised her worried voice but immediately stopped herself. She continued on in a whisper, “Don’t go outside. At all.”

“I won’t! Pinky promise.” Jesse held his pinky up high.

“ ‘Pinky promise’ ?” Stella repeated with a laugh, “That’s adorable. I need to go back to bed, I’m trusting the two of you to be safe.”

She began walking back to her room, her fuzzy slippers making flip-flop sounds with each step she took.

“Alright, goodn--Sleep well!” Jesse corrected himself.

He made his way to the stairs, could he say ‘Goodnight’? Or did he have to say ‘Good morning’ instead? ‘Good day’? Do phrases change with such a major time difference? He could only assume so.

Jesse would carefully place one foot on each step, trying to be as quiet as he could to not wake anyone, but the pressure he’d put on the stair would release one loud groan after another, making him cringe. Everything he did always seemed louder whenever he was trying to be quiet. Maybe it was his brain being overdramatic or maybe he was plain bad at being quiet.

He tried to take another step, carefully pressing down onto the wooden planks, but an exceptionally loud creak pierced his ears and stopped him in his tracks. He gritted his teeth. How hard was it to walk silently down steps?

“Is someone there?” He heard a familiar voice ask. Jesse perked up and leaped down the remaining stairs, completely forgetting the concept of ‘quiet’, slipping off the last step, and nearly breaking his legs.

He gripped onto the railings and caught himself before he could land on the floor face first.

“Oh my gosh!” Olivia leapt off the couch and hurried towards the moron, “Are you okay?!”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh.” He repeated, his heart racing with the surprise adrenaline rush. Olivia grabbed Jesse’s hand and hoisted him back to his feet.

“Do you know how much easier it would’ve been to just say ‘It’s me, Jesse’, instead of throwing yourself off a flight of stairs?” Olivia asked.

Jesse brushed himself off, “Sorry, sorry, I got excited. I woke up, you were missing, I was gonna find you but Stella stopped me--already a real wild morning.”

“Afternoon.” Olivia corrected.

“Hm?”

“It’s 1 PM, Jesse.”

“What?!” Jesse sputtered. Had he really been asleep for that long?

Olivia went back to the green couch and picked up a small book--the one she got from the library--laying on one of the cushions, “After we were told to go back to the guest room, you sat on the bed for a while. You were… Pretty quiet. You looked shaken up, so I wanted to give you space.”

She began flipping through the book, trying to find her place, “I read for a bit, then when I turned back around, you were asleep again. I was going to stay in bed and keep reading, but you kept moving around and taking up a lot of space.”

Olivia chuckled at the recollection.

‘Oh jeez, do I really do that?’ He had always slept alone, never shared a bed before. He hoped he wasn’t too much of a nuisance to her at night.

“Don’t worry about sleeping in though,” Olivia spoke up, she scooched to the side of the couch and patted the cushion beside her, inviting Jesse over, “you needed the rest.”

As Jesse walked over, Olivia looked around the living room.

“Nobody else seems to be up besides Stella.”

“Oh, speaking of which--” Jesse plopped down, his body bounced from the cushion, “There might be an itty bitty, teeny tiny little time difference. These guys apparently sleep in the morning and most of the afternoon.”

Olivia clicked her tongue, “I thought so.”

She had her suspicions earlier today when Aiden had told them to go back to bed, along with everyone’s odd amount of energy from last night. Having her speculations confirmed, she felt more at ease and wanted to use the time they had to continue reading her book and--hopefully--get more comfortable in their temporary world.

Jesse was watching Olivia hunt down the page she had stopped at--visibly annoyed--and decided to ask her on what she’s read so far. Olivia’s face brightened as she began describing what she'd learned.

She started with the story of a man who had done it all, someone who had defeated monsters of all kinds, traveled thousands of miles across a variety of biomes meeting new companions along the way, taking on beasts in the Nether--and other dimensions--and inspiring many people. He was referred to as “The Impossible Man”. The next two sections were shorter, the first discussing the rising creation of shrines made for gatherings and offerings, each shrine having their own unique origin story.

The second section was the vaguest of the bunch, briefly talking about a period of time where everyone believed the world was falling apart, horrid quakes would tear the floor open, storms would come and flood towns, and while there weren’t too many details, it seemed to be the darkest time of this world. Finally, there was the chapter she was currently reading: Tearing down the Nether. Years and years ago, hundreds of people began creating their own portals to the Nether in an attempt to find something. Trying to find Obsidian was risky enough, but people would go to the extremes when trying to find iron, flint, or obsidian to the point where people were killing each other over it. Portals would deteriorate and destroy anything surrounding them because of how poorly constructed they were.

Olivia scrunched her nose and flipped through a few pages as she continued talking, “That’s the most I’ve read. I’m struggling to piece certain parts together because someone took their time carefully removing specific pages. Who does that?”

The missing pages did explain why the book was on the thinner side.

“Can I take a peek?” Jesse asked, holding his hand out. Olivia passed him the dark blue book.

He began flipping through and, sure enough, pages were missing. Some sections were only missing a few, while others had tens of them gone. Whoever took these pages out did so with precision, the only evidence of the pages ever existing were the small, barely noticeable torn paper in the gutter of the book.

“Hm.” He handed it back, “Maybe someone’s trying to hide something. We might have to wait for everyone else to wake up so we can ask.”

Jesse slumped over the couch’s armrest and let his arms dangle as his hair hung in his face. They’ll have to wait five hours for anyone to wake up, and hope Aiden and the others were energized enough to want to explain. Five hours. Five long, agonizing hours in this house with windows taunting the outside world to him.

Jesse blew the hair out of his face and turned his head to the right. His eyes fell onto the wall across the couch, specifically the large portion of the wall with thick, long, oak shelves covering most of the area. The shelves carried a variety of items, from a worn down, iron helmet, pickaxes dangerously close to edges, carefully rolled maps and… Books!

Jesse’s face lit up and he lifted himself off the couch, “Hey, tell you what!”

He walked over to the shelves, “I’ll take a peek at some of these suckers,” he took out a random book, “and maybe they’ll help fill in any missing chunks!”

Olivia smiled, “Sounds great. Good way to pass some time.”

As Olivia continued on with her book, Jesse opened his and saw it was a recipe book. ‘Not gonna help unless we suddenly crave honey pie.’ He chuckled to himself and placed the book back. There were a number of books waiting to be checked out, he was sure to find something useful.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A few hours had passed, Jesse wasn’t sure how many, but he was absolutely bored out of his mind. Most of the books shelves were recipe books, fictional, and a few autobiographies of people he didn’t know. He had also found a photo album but decided against looking through it, he felt it’d be an invasion of privacy. Jesse had rummaged through the few chests in the room and saw Aiden and his friends were loaded with weapons and armor, all which were kept in fine condition. He surprisingly wasn’t too hungry, but took a granola bar from one of the kitchen cabinets to fill him up just in case.

Olivia still had her face buried in the small book, she remained quiet for the most part except for the occasional page flipping when she’d get stumped.

Jesse pressed his face against one of the long windows by the front door, looking out on the few small businesses across the street who mocked him. The two-storied black smith with a dark wooden overhang that shielded the furnaces and hanging tools from the sun, the cute little general store with flower pots hanging off the roof, and the worst one, the public library. It was the biggest building of the bunch, it was two stories, made up of primarily dark oak and cobblestone, and had large, white tinted windows that exposed bookshelves filled to the brim. Their two front doors had a sign hanging in the middle reading “Closed”.

Jesse squeezed his face against the window harder. Oh, how he’d love to dash outside, run into the library, and nab a book.

As much as Jesse didn’t want to, he started wondering about this universe’s Jesse. He originally had a theory that the roles had been reversed in this universe. Good guys were bad, and bad guys were good. But when he remembered Aiden being friends with the other Olivia, and there’s the fact the other Jesse used to be friends with them, caused his theory to crumble. Along with hearing bits of the world’s history, it was obvious this universe wouldn’t follow the “role reversal” formula.

‘This is a different universe,’ Jesse thought to himself, ‘Things are different. Things have changed. And there’s nothing I can do about it.’

Jesse sat on the couch and sunk into the cushion. Hopefully an idea to keep himself occupied would pop into his mind, but for now, there is nothing he can do.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Jesse?” He heard Olivia’s voice, “Come on, sleeping beauty.” She shook Jesse harder.

Jesse shot up from the couch, had he dozed off? Was he that tired? Bored? He did feel more energetic than before, so maybe he needed the nap.

“What’s up?” Jesse asked with a yawn as he pushed the hair out of his eyes. He glanced out the window, the skies were still blue and the Sun was still up, but it had lowered notably.

Olivia was about to answer when they heard thumping from above them. Several footsteps could be heard on the second floor, slowly approaching the stairs, along with an array of mumbled voices. Jesse hopped off the couch and bounced in place, eagerly eyeing the stairs as the footsteps got louder and louder.

Finally Aiden came down.

“Woah.” Aiden blinked, “You two are up early.” He rubbed his face. He was wearing an oversized, long sleeved, green shirt as opposed to his usual, buttoned up green top Jesse was used to seeing. His pants looked the same as last night’s, a black pair of jeans. Did he sleep in them? That couldn’t have been comfortable.

“Yes, we found out there’s a time difference.” Said Stella, who followed behind. Unlike her drowsy friends, she appeared wide awake and prepared for the day, already dressed in her purple, thin striped suit top with long, striped pants to match. She had already put her makeup on as well, her face glowed.

“Uh-huh, Good morning!” Jesse paused to think, “... Afternoon? Uh… Good wake-up-ning!”

Jesse had never been more excited to see this particular group of people in his entire life. He had no idea what they planned out for today, but he was hoping it’d involve going outside. Even if it was a quick pit stop to the general store, anything was better than nothing.

Everyone scavenged the kitchen for a quick breakfast, most getting a granola bar and whatever fruit their eyes landed on; Aiden was brewing coffee. Cassie was hoarding the tupperware of butter cookies and shoving a few in her mouth, her eyes barely open.

“Don’t you think you should eat something more… Filling?” Jesse asked, watching Cassie with concern.

“My energy is sustained on Gill’s butter cookies at this point, you don’t get to criticize me.” Cassie grumbled angrily, pointing at Jesse with a cookie in her hand.

“Where’s Maya?” Asked Gill, taking a bite out of his bar as he looked around the room.

“She won’t be coming with us, her and Radar are staying here.”

“Oh no, Radar can’t come with us. Bummer.” You could practically feel the sarcasm in Cassie’s tone.

“What? What happened?” Gill looked at both Aiden and Stella.

Aiden went on to explain what took place early in the morning, how he was reading the journal from Hadrian’s and heard their door slammed open. When he--and Stella--had found Maya missing, they were about to search for her when she came rushing back in with a beaten Radar. That’s when they discovered that their Jesse was close.

Aiden also mentioned he found old crafting recipes in the journal, recipes for alternatives of flint and steel which must’ve been used to activate different portals. The main items they’d need would be iron, flint, netherrack, red stone, and gold. While he wasn’t certain either of these activators were used on the portal in the Shrine of Eyes, it’d be good to try.

Aiden carried on, “... It’d be hard to find these things on our own, so we’re going to Petra’s. If anyone would have weird items, it’d be her.”

“YES!” Jesse shot his arms up and surprised everyone with his unrestrained excitement. They were going out. HE was going out. Not only that, but he’d see the Petra in this universe!

“Jesse, I’m sorry, you can’t come with us. Neither can Olivia.” Stella told him, her brows creased.

Jesse’s arms fell back down, his smile dropped, and his head hung. Was his reaction a little overdramatic? Perhaps. He understood why he couldn’t be let out, the main concerns were him being mistaken for the other Jesse or running INTO the other Jesse. Neither would end well if they were to happen, but he was allowed to feel let down. Olivia came over to pat him on the back.

“Stella’s right, we can’t let you outside…” Aiden stared down at the moping Jesse. He breathed in, “... Without a disguise!”

Cassie Rose, Gill, Stella, Jesse, and Olivia all turned to him and, in unison, exclaimed “What?!”

“We have some spare clothes upstairs, you just need to hide your faces until we’re far enough from town, it’ll be like last night.” Aiden said.

Olivia looked baffled while Jesse was beaming. He bounced about, “Yes! Yes! Thank you! This is the BEST!”

“Maya and Radar are sleeping!” Stella shushed Jesse.

“Right, right, sorry!” Jesse responded back in a whisper.

Jesse didn’t know why he was so excited to be going out, maybe it’s because the sense of adventure--no matter how small--always felt thrilling, maybe his body yearned to move around without restrictions, who knows! Who cares! He’s going out!

He ran to the stairs with Olivia following behind, “I’ll meet you guys!”

Aiden was about to leave the kitchen when he was stopped by Stella, who pulled him back by the sleeve of his shirt. He turned around and faced her, Rose, and Gill.

“What are you thinking?” Stella asked, staggered by what she had witnessed.

“Yeah, you sure bout this?” Gill tilted his head.

“Yeah--Don’t worry, it’ll be alright. Just wanted to do something nice.” Aiden attempted to move past their concerns.

“That’s great and all, but be realistic.” Cassie said, pushing her glasses aside to rub her eyes.

“Exactly, what if a member from The Awakening sees us? Or our Jesse?” Stella said.

“That’s why they’re gonna wear disguises,” Aiden said, walking to the stairs, “and it’s early. Even if we did run into someone, there’d be six of us and one of them. Let’s get ready.”

The three went upstairs to get dressed, select a weapon for the road, and--no matter how unhappy they were with Aiden’s decision--helped Jesse and Olivia with hiding their identities.

Stella had an array of coats and jackets for a variety of occasions in her closet. For Olivia, she had selected an oversized, olive green jacket to hide the shape of her body. For her face, Cassie lent Olivia a dark gray hoodie to wear underneath the jacket. Olivia had to put her hair into a ponytail to allow the hood to cover her head completely.

For Jesse, they mostly needed to hide his top--specifically his red suspenders--and his hair. Aiden had fished out a black leather jacket with a silver zipper chain that popped out, and had managed to convince Rose to lend one of her beanies to them. Jesse took the time to carefully tuck the curls of his hair under the beanie to the best of his ability, though there were always a few strands that’d stick out no matter what he did.

He knew the beanie looked ridiculous on him, but the jacket made up for it. He thought he looked great in it. Jesse would occasionally imagine himself in a leather jacket, thinking he’d look good, and always seeing Lukas in his jacket made Jesse consider getting one of his own.

Lukas.

‘I wonder how he and the others are doing. We’ve been gone for over a day now, I wonder if they’ve noticed.’ Jesse thought to himself, staring at the floor.

“Hey, you ready?” Aiden asked, grabbing Jesse’s attention.

“Uh-huh!” Jesse nodded. He followed Aiden out the room and back downstairs where the others had gathered.

After everyone had quickly shared what they were taking along, Stella bringing her bow, Cassie had her axes, Gill was equipped with a sword and a few torches in case it got dark out, and Aiden was bringing a sword of his own, along with the journal so he wouldn’t forget the items.

Aiden opened the door and tilted his head outside, “Alright, let’s go.”

The walk through Obsidian Town was similar to Jesse and Olivia’s first experience, head down no matter what and moving at a fast pace. However, no one held Jesse’s hands together tightly or forced his head to stare at the floor, he felt more freedom than he did yesterday. And despite this being the time when everyone was asleep, Aiden, Gill, and the others stayed alert for any citizens who could be roaming around.

Aiden told the two of them when they’re far enough from the watchtowers of the town, Olivia and Jesse could look up and roam around. To get to Petra’s place, they’d have to walk through a forest which was located past the town, far right. Gill said the walk wouldn’t be too long.

Jesse watched the ground below him transition from the concrete road, to the creaking, wooden bridge, then finally, to the dirt path. Jesse felt someone grab onto his shoulders without warning and steer him into the right direction; he nearly tripped over the uneven path.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of walking, Aiden said “Coast is clear.”

Jesse lifted the beanie--which kept sliding down his face throughout the walk--and looked around. They were in the same field from yesterday, but this was his first time seeing it under the blue sky. The green of the tall blades of grass were far more brilliant compared to the evening’s, and the array of bold colored flowers could be spotted through the grass, miles and miles away.

Jesse turned to face Obsidian Town as they continued walking farther and farther from the main road, it appeared all the more dreary compared to its surroundings. It’s dark, obsidian border acted as a shield for the town and the people against the colorful, outside world. Who would want to stay cooped up in a town when the outside world is like this?

Olivia took her hood off--her hair flying about thanks to the static--and saw what laid ahead of them: A thick, vibrant forest with a hill behind it. She peered through the trees, the forest was devoid of sunlight. Compared to the rest of their environment, it appeared to have consumed and trapped darkness itself.

Most of the group was quiet, still drowsy from being awoken early.

“So,” Olivia said to no one specifically, “Petra doesn’t live in Obsidian Town but… By it?” She tilted her head.

“Yeah, not a people’s person.” Cassie replied, kicking around a small stone as she walked.

“Petra has a variety of items one would consider… Illegal. Items which she gets in… Illegal ways.” Stella added on, her nose scrunched. “Not that I mind! She’s not hurting anyone, but I’ve never been fond of her place. It’s so messy.”

Gill commented as well, “If she lived in town and kept doin’ her trades, she’d prolly get her stuff taken away. Or arrested. I think.”

“Oh!” Gill turned his head to Jesse and Olivia, “Do y’have a Petra where you’re from?”

The two of them lit up.

Olivia nodded, “Mm-hm, great friend of ours, actually!”

“Boy, do we have some stories.” Jesse chuckled.

Gill nodded, eager to hear. Cassie seemed interested as well, taking a few steps closer to listen in. Jesse was doing most of the talking, talking about the wither storm, the sickness Petra got, portal hopping, how amazing and loyal she was… Jesse could recall these times as if they happened yesterday, everything was extremely vivid. He could remember the emotions, the intensity, the pain of all those events, all the while Gill listened on in awe, his eyes sparkled as he imagined the events Jesse shared in great detail.

Olivia’s focus wandered elsewhere when she started thinking of Petra. She missed her. She missed her friends. It was unsettling only her and Jesse in this universe, she was so used to traveling in big groups. Yes, her and Jesse weren’t alone, there was Aiden, Cassie Rose, Gill, Maya, Stella… But she couldn’t find herself trusting them. They’re technically strangers. Not to mention the countless times she or Jesse would trust someone, only to be betrayed and find out everything they’ve learned was a lie. Olivia didn’t think Aiden and his friends were awful people, but she wasn’t ready to trust them completely. Not yet.

“Oh!” Jesse spoke up, pulling the beanie back, “Thanks again for letting me use you beanie, Ros--”

“Cassie.” Cassie Rose corrected him.

She shoved her hands into her hoodie’s pockets, “And, uh, no problem.” Despite being exhausted, she managed to give him a small grin.

Once the group reached the forest everyone spreaded out to give each other space as they walked along the wide trench, which was rather damp thanks to the trees shielding it from the sun. The trees--ranging from dark oak, birch, and spruce--had rather thick leaves, only allowing a few rays of the Sun to push its way through and barely illuminating their way. Aiden’s group didn’t worry too much about the barely lit trench, their destination was a straight walk through. The group would jump over any large, torn branches, rocks, or cracks in their way and step onto dead leaves too soaked to be crunched, and twigs too moist to be snapped by their weight.

The forest was a natural, chaotic mess. Trees would clash and twist into each other, vines would hang and create vague, human-like silhouettes, the grass was much longer and untamed compared to the field, the chirping of birds and bugs would blare from all around, and bits of the sky could be seen through the thick, tangled branches.

“Moon’s up early.” Aiden observed, looking up to catch a snippet of the pale, waning gibbous from a small clearing through the branches.

Olivia was grateful for Stella’s jacket, though it was on the thinner side, it protected her from the cold captured in the forest. She’d be cautious around the cracks in the ground, none were as deep or as intimidating as the ravines she saw before, but she didn’t want to tempt fate.

‘I can’t believe we’re out here.’ Olivia thought to herself, ‘What was Aiden thinking?’

Like Jesse, she too wanted to explore the outside world, but with another Jesse out there and a cult, what made him believe taking the two of them along to be a good idea? Her eyes would dart around, mistaking the silhouettes of fallen trees as people or a terrifying monster from the depths of her mind.

While Olivia stayed close to Aiden, Stella, Gill, and Cassie, Jesse was hopping about and picking up whatever rock, stick, or wild berry that caught his attention. He’d observe them in wonder before running to the next eye catching object.

“Are forests not a thing in your universe?” Cassie asked aloud while Jesse continued running about.

“No--I mean--Yes! This whole ‘alternate universe’ thing is finally kicking in!” Jesse said, picking up a stick by a large, dark oak tree and waving it about. The group slowed their walking to not leave Jesse too far behind.

“Look at this! It’s a different universe tree!” Jesse exclaimed, pointing at the old oak with the stick.

“Jesse, it’s still a tree.” Olivia said.

“A tree from another universe.” Jesse smiled playfully, he tossed the stick aside and reached for one of the many smooth stones on the ground, “Do you think I could take one of these back--”

His question was interrupted by a low rumble. The world began shaking. Jesse’s first instinct was to latch onto the tree with all his might. Olivia and Cassie went to nearby trees to grab on to, Aiden stood his ground while Stella held onto Gill’s arm.

‘Another quake?!’ Olivia gripped the thin, birch trunk tightly. The shaking wasn’t nearly as violent as it was last night, but her mind created visions of the cracks on the road opening up and consuming them all.

She squeezed her eyes shut, praying they’d be okay when suddenly… The shaking stopped.

Everyone stood still for a moment, making sure it was truly over.

“Early ‘n quick.” Gill commented. Stella nodded and let go of him.

He, Cassie, Stella, and Aiden continued their walk, talking amongst themselves like nothing had happened. Olivia and Jesse, on the other hand, held onto their trees for seconds longer, exchanging equally freaked out expressions before catching up with the group.

“... I’m telling you, gibbous’ are superior.” Stella was saying, “They may not look the best, but compared to the other phases…”

“Uhm, excuse me?” Olivia peeped, her eyes wide. The group kept talking.

“Dunno why you keep defendin’ that phase,” said Gill, “Quarter’s where it’s at.”

“Yes, but--”

“Excuse me!” Olivia raised her voice. Everyone turned to her as they kept walking.

Her face reddened and she glanced elsewhere, “Sorry--This may sound ridiculous but… Are tremors common here?”

“What?” Stella’s mouth hung open, “Are those not normal for you two?”

Jesse shook his head, “I don’t remember the last time we had an earthquake.”

Cassie rolled her head back, “Ugh, lucky. I’d kill to have a month without a stupid quake.”

“They happen weekly,” Gill said, “Like two or three times a week. They’re usually not too bad, just part of life.”

“Olivia,” Stella spun around to face her, walking backwards, “you remember back at the library with Logan? Him warning us about the full moon?”

“Yes?” Olivia thought back to what happened yesterday, how an intense shake came out of nowhere and--despite Olivia nearly falling--the girls had shrugged it off as if it were nothing.

“Well, quakes are the absolute worst during the Full Moons and New Moons. They’re longer, more violent… Overall unpleasant.” Stella rolled her eyes, annoyed.

Cassie cleared her throat and added onto Stella’s statement, “I think you mean ‘the scary open eye’.”

Stella threw her head back dramatically with the back of her hand on her forehead, “Oh, how uncultured of me! Of course! I can’t disrespect the ‘opened eye’, or the terrifying, ominous ‘closed eye’!”

The two girls laughed.

“HEY.” Gill shouted with a serious tone wearing an equally serious expression, both the girls--even Aiden--turned to him, surprised by his reaction.

“This stuff’s serious…” A grin crept across his face, “The spooky blind man might getcha.”

“You had me for a second.” Cassie let out a sigh before chuckling at Gill’s words. Aiden shook his head and smiled.

Olivia turned to Jesse, relieved to see him as confused as she was. He stared at the three laughing, trying to figure out what to ask and how to word it.

“I’m sorry… Eyes?” Jesse questioned.

Stella’s laughter dwindled and looked back at Jesse, “Oh, right! You… It’s safe to assume you don’t have a cult where you’re from, right?”

Olivia and Jesse shook their heads.

“Well, there’s quite the history behind calling the phases of the moon ‘Eyes’, but I’ll do my best to simplify it. You see, The Hero’s Awakening has been around for many, MANY years, so they’ve made quite an impact on our world. One of these is with the moon.” Stella gazed up to the sky.

“The Awakening worships The Hero, someone who is supposedly capable of committing terrible acts and has no eyes. When the moon is full, it’s referred to as the ‘Opened Eye’, since it… Well, looks similar to The Hero’s eyes. ‘Opened Eye’ means that he is watching us all, and the horrendous quake is his attempt to destroy and wipe us out. A ‘Closed Eye’ is, well, The Hero’s eyes are closed. His wrath is raw and the quake will be even more ferocious.”

Jesse nodded along, absolutely fascinated yet frightened by what he was hearing.

“A few questions: Is The Hero real and do we need to worry about him?”

If this man was real, then he’d be added to the already long list of “Things to be afraid of in this different universe”.

“His true name is ‘Herobrine’,” Stella started, “but he’s called The Hero to fit into The Awakening’s stupid narritive. There are many reasons to doubt his existence. Honestly, the cult itself is a much bigger threat than their imaginary friend.”

Olivia began thinking back to her book and it’s missing pages. She wondered how The Hero had been around, and if he happened to have any influence on the events she had read. While she pondered a variety of theories, Jesse didn’t want to leave the conversation one sided, he wanted to contribute somehow.

“In our universe, we had someone sorta similar to The Hero. He called himself the Admin…”

Cassie Rose watched Jesse share his story for a couple of minutes before catching up with Aiden. She stared at the path ahead of her and could see the wide, manmade entrance of the hill surrounded by jumbled vines, and a lit torch placed beside the ‘doorway’ which illuminated a fraction of the cave-like interior. The exposed stone stood out from most of the hill’s grassy exterior.

“I can’t believe we have two Jesse’s now.” She muttered.

Aiden glanced at her, “We’ll get them home as fast as we can, don’--Shoot!”

“Hey Jesse!” Aiden said. Jesse’s tale came to a halt and he, Olivia, and Stella brought their attention to Aiden.

“I just remembered, we’re gonna have to call you something else. You know, prevent any confusion. How does…” Aiden thought for a moment, “Does ‘Jess’ sound good?”

Jess smiled, “Works for me!”

Their walking started to slow and came to a complete stop when they reached the front of the hill. Besides the torch, Olivia saw no signs of anyone inhabiting the cave she stared into. She looked up and spotted another small entrance on the side of the hill, and-- like the cave in front of them--its shape seemed too… Geometric to have happened naturally.

Aiden’s hand went through the entrance and knocked a few times against the stone wall. The noise started loud, bouncing around the walls before dwindling and fading back to silence.

“Who is it?” A tired but familiar voice asked, also echoing.

He stuck his head in and raised his voice, “Aiden. With friends.”

“Alright. You know where I am.” She replied.

Aiden tilted his head towards the cave, motioning for everyone to follow. Jess was behind Aiden and Gill was behind Jess; Jess wasn’t able to see how far Olivia was from him.

Upon stepping foot into the cave, one thought immediately came to Jess’ head, ‘Man, it is dark in here.’

The only light source, besides what little sunlight managed to make its way in, was a single torch placed on the far opposite end of the entrance, barely providing any help. Jess stuck his hands out, hoping he’d be able to feel around and not run into anything. He could barely make out who or what was in front of him.

He could hear people’s breathing, their steps, the water dripping from the ceiling of the cave, being quiet here was impossible.

Another feature of this cave was how cold it was, even with the leather jacket on he felt chills running throughout his body. He felt his hands make contact with the surprisingly smooth, freezing stone walls, which were closing in on them more as they continued walking--to the point where Jess could hardly extend his arms out anymore--forcing the group to follow a riggidy, zig-zag path. His fingers would occasionally collide with the thin streams of water trickling down, making him shudder.

Olivia was pressed between Stella and Cassie, she had zipped up her jacket to preserve as much warmth as possible. Olivia could feel the discomfort in Cassie’s murmurs about how she wished they had taken the other entrance. Olivia wondered if this ‘other entrance’ had a more spacious walking path than the one they were taking, she wasn’t thrilled about the limited space and borderline blindness this place provided.

Despite the tight squeeze, everyone was moving at a decent pace. As they strayed further and further from the opening, both Jess and Olivia were getting worried Aiden had no idea where he was going, and they’d all get lost or have to turn back

Jess tried his best to peek over Aiden, to see what sort of progress was being made, and his eyes instantly landed on thin rays of golden light coming from the right side of the cave’s wall. He concentrated, staring harder to see what could be the source of said-light, and was soon able to make out an old, mossy, dark brown door with vines hanging in front of it. Had it not been for the light, the door could have been easily missed.

Jess could no longer hear Aiden’s footsteps, he took it as a sign to stop walking. Shortly after Jess stood still, everyone else stopped as well.

Jess heard a clicking sound echo, followed by an ear piercing creak. Suddenly, the golden light flooded in and lit up the entire cave, Jesse squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He’d have to enter the room the door led to soon, he couldn’t keep his eyes closed forever. He cracked one open, adjusting to the brightness, then opened the other. The light honestly wasn’t as intense as he thought it was. The light was a deep, welcoming golden-yellow with flecks glistening in the air.

Aiden pushed aside the vines and squeezed through the door. Everyone followed in, one after another.

Olivia’s eyes widened when she walked into the ‘room’, which was a portion of the hill hollowed out and decorated with all sorts of items. Lanterns hung from the high ceiling by thick ropes, giving the area a golden hue. There were no flames in them, however, but dust. Glowstone dust.

The walls had blocky ledges which held up chests, crafting tables, anvils, and somewhere, a jukebox playing a tune of low chimes with a consistent beat.

Standing tall on the opposite side of the group was a deactivated Nether portal, which sat upon a mossy stone base. On the left side of the portal were cracked nether bricks, and on the right, blocks of diamonds that had seen better days. Both of these were constructed in a shape nearly identical to the Nether Portal. Resting by these structures was a skull too large to be human’s, it had a white coat of paint with little bits chipped off.

Chests were lined up against walls, others could be seen beside staircases, others were on staircases, some were on top of other chests, there was no rhyme nor reason to their placements.

Olivia noticed there were several different--probably equally messy--rooms the area branched off into, each with their own staircases. There were a few rooms built high up into the walls, which were connected to the main stone floor with long, uneven stairs held up by sloppily constructed poles of wood. It was a miracle they hadn’t collapsed yet.

It was amazing how such a spacious place could feel so cluttered.

“Some place…” Jess whispered to Olivia.

“You’re telling me.”

“Could you imagine if Axel was here?” Jess chuckled, “He’d love this.”

“Oh, I ran into Axel at the library!” Olivia remembered.

Jess’ eyes brightened, “Seriously?!”

“Comin’.” Petra’s voice came from one of the higher rooms. She hopped out of the gaping hole and ran down a couple of steps from the dangerous staircase before leaping off the side nonchalantly.

Petra held onto a sleek, diamond pickaxe with one hand while brushing herself off with the other. She pulled her black and gray striped bandana back into place with her other arm, which had a bandage wrapped tightly around it. Another bandaged was seen on her left leg below her torn, dark gray shorts as she headed towards the group. Her boots were worn down, gray, and had two straps securing their place.

“Hey guys,” Petra glanced up, “Hey Rose. What do you ne-- Woah.” Her eyes locked onto Olivia and widened.

She pointed at Olivia with her pickaxe, “Aren’t you… Supposed to be dead?”

“She was--she is! It’s…” Aiden paused, “We need your help.”

Aiden, with the help of Cassie Rose, Stella, and Gill, and with the confirmations from Jess and Olivia, caught Petra up on what had happened. Petra listened carefully, resting her arm on the head of her pickaxe as she nodded along.

“So lemme get this straight…” She started, straightening herself up and adjusting her black vest with dark yellow lining at its end and collar. She wore a blue and light gray striped shirt underneath.

“Some crazy portal to another universe opens up,” She pointed at Jess and Olivia, “These two pop out… And your first conclusion is that I’m somehow responsible for it.”

“No, no, no! Not at all! We needed to see if you had any specific items.” Stella assured her. Petra still didn’t seem convinced.

“Petra, we’re not accusing you of taking part of this.” Aiden said, “Maybe you sold materials to someone who ended up activating the portal. I know you’ve had to deal with creeps before.”

Petra glared at Jess, “How do we know he’s telling the truth?”

Aiden pushed Jess in front of her, “Say whatever’s on your mind, Jess.”

Jess turned to Aiden then back to Petra. He cleared his throat.

“Hi, I’m Jesse--Jess--and, uh… It’s real great to meet an alternate Petra…” He wasn’t good at forcing a conversation out. He glanced around the cave to spark an idea of what to talk about.

“I am absolutely loving this place, the hanging bottles, the chests everywhere... “ Something inside of him clicked and got the ball rolling, “Do you like treasure hunting? Our Petra LOVES treasure hunting, everytime we’re adventuring she’s all excited for what we’ll find! Oh, like this one time, we entered a--”

“Stop.” Petra put her finger in front of his face, silencing him. “You’re too cheerful. I’ll believe you if… You tell me what Stella’s like in your universe.”

“Stella?” Jess glanced at the woman in question, who wore a puzzled expression as well. “Well, we aren’t too close… She ran Champion City, mostly acts real high and mighty, always wants to be in charge, that’s the most that comes to mind.”

“Oh, so nothing’s changed?” Petra said with a straight face.

Cassie failed at holding back her laughter as she hunched over with her hands covering her mouth. Aiden and Gill did a far better job at hiding their smirks from their friend. Petra grinned at Cassie Rose’s reaction.

“Excuse me!?” Stella’s face reddened. She whipped her head over to Cassie, “Do you really think I’m like that?!”

“No--no, it’s just--” Cassie kept covering her face, “Just the way she said it--I love you Stella, I swear, I swear I’m just--” She said through chuckles.

“Okay, jokes aside…” Aiden said, wanting to get back on topic, “Did you deal with anyone who looked even a little suspicious? We need to get these two home.”

Petra stared for a moment longer before glancing at Jess and Olivia. She sucked in air through her teeth and folded her arms, “There was… One guy who kinda weirded me out.”

“I’ve never seen him before, but he told me a friend had sent him. He was a big guy, looked harmless enough. He was rreeealll antsy about getting his hands on some redstone and gold.” Petra began making her way to one of the many chests lined up against the wall, her pickaxe over her shoulder.

Aiden cursed to himself as he took out the journal, flipping through the pages to find the crafting recipes. Those were a part of the materials they needed.

“Do you have any left?” Gill asked as Aiden continued searching.

Petra opened the chest and dug through it, “Nope. They took the whole stock. He sure was loaded…” She mumbled the last part to herself.

Cassie recalled the other items, she stood back up and pushed up her glasses, “What about iron or netherrack? Any of those?”

“Actually--Huh.” Petra pulled out a porkchop from the chest, “I didn’t know that was in there. Anyways...” She shoved it into her mouth. Stella repressed the urge to hurl.

“The guy did take a bunch of iron but I might have a few pieces left.” Petra closed the chest, moved over to the next one, dug around, and when she couldn’t find what she was looking for, moved on to the next. She’d grab nearby jars and used their light to help her search through the chests’ dark insides.

Stella placed her hands on her hips as she watched Petra search, “This place is so chaotic. I need to come over one day and help you reorganize everything, maybe label some chests, rearrange your rooms…”

“No. No way. This is organized chaos. I know where everything is--Found ‘em!” Petra pulled out a few bars of iron along with chunks of netherrack. She tossed them over to Gill, who quickly snatched them from the air and held onto them tightly.

“You better be smart with how you use that netherrack,” Petra said, “I might like the Nether, but it is Hell to deal with. I don’t wanna be jumping in and out of there cause you keep messin’ up your crafting.”

“What about the redstone or gold? How soon could you get those?” Aiden asked, looking up from the journal.

“Oh jeez…” Petra scratched her face and thought, “If I’m really lucky, then maybe a week? Stuff’s not easy to find.”

Aiden let out a sigh, “No--yeah, I understand. Thanks.” He closed the journal, “What do we owe you?”

“Nothin’. Friend discount.” Petra gave them a smile, “When I find the other materials, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The walk back to Obsidian Town was nice, the sky was still blue but the Sun was nearing the horizon. Jess was grateful to see natural light and feel warmth again, while Olivia was thankful she didn’t have to walk through the tight walls of the cave ever again.

Everyone was talking to one another about different topics. Olivia and Jess were excitedly discussing Petra and her home, Stella and Aiden were figuring out what to do about the missing materials, and Cassie and Gill were exchanging past experiences with Petra.

Of course, once they got near the town, Olivia and Jess hid their faces and looked down. More people were up and walking about, so Aiden and the others stayed close to hide the two the best they could.

Once they reached the house, Maya opened the door and gave them a tired ‘Welcome back’.

They all poured into the house, laying on the couches, stretching, or going into the kitchen in search for another breakfast.

“Radar still asleep?” Aiden asked, sitting on one of the stools by the bar.

Maya shook her head, “Took him back to his place. He’ll be okay.”

She was about to ask how everything went with Petra when she suddenly remembered something.

She huffed, “Shoot. Left his board back in my room.”

“Don’t worry.” Aiden scanned around the room, “Hey Jess!” He called.

“Yeah?” Jess was sprawled out on one of the couches.

“Radar left his clipboard in Maya’s room, think you could get it?” Aiden needed to catch Maya up on what had happened, and Jess was the first person his eyes landed on.

“You got it!” Jess stood up and stretched his legs before running to the stairs.

When he reached the second floor, he stopped to think. He didn’t remember which room was Maya’s… But he did remember her room was in the left hallway on the left side.

‘There’s three doors on the left side. Guess I’ll quickly look in each one and see if I spot it.’ Jess approached the first door and opened it. He popped his head into the room and scanned it. A green messy bed, a neatly done red bed, a really cluttered desk and…

‘Hey! Is that…?’ Jess slipped in and walked up to a relatively tidy bookshelf where Olivia’s hat laid.

He picked up the hat, ‘So that’s where you’ve been.’

Jess saw something reflecting the Sun’s light from the corner of his eye, he shifted his head down and saw a pair of thick, bulky, gray goggles which rested atop a brown, leather journal. He placed the hat down and carefully lifted up the goggles. They had a thin layer of dust on them and looked fragile.

The goggles sort of reminded him of Lukas’. Jess started getting curious about the journal and moved it closer, only to reveal a piece of paper underneath it.

Aiden came rushing upstairs and skidded to a halt when he saw Jess.

“I just remembered you have no idea where anything is,” Aiden chuckled, “Sorry about…” His smile faded as he stared at the back of Jess.

“Aiden?” Jess asked, “What is this?”

Jess turned around, and in his hands he held a picture of a brightly smiling Lukas with bold words below it reading “MISSING”.

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foruneyti · 4 years

Text

A Curse of Frost and Fear (x) Loki x Reader

“I am afraid to admit that there is no one here but us, yet you have nothing to fear from me. I have no ill intentions in mind. Please, don’t be alarmed – I am aware that the vastness of the empty castle can feel more like a prison than any brick cell, and that being away from home, alone and confused, can feel like torture. It is all that I can offer.” Pairing: LokixReader (reader is unnamed, she/her) Rating: Explicit Tags: Beauty and the Beast AU, slow burn, castle life Warnings: Blood, more tags will be added

Chapter 2: Awoken

The dreamless sleep faded, and a headache took its place together with confusion. Was she… was she still alive? Was this what was Beyond? Then the ache began to spread, down her face and neck, to her arms and chest and down her legs to the very tips of her toes - but the worst came when she tried to move: searing hot pain shot through her abdomen and her thigh, where the sword had sliced through her flesh, and she cried out in agony. Everything hurt, but it felt… better, somehow. Not as bad as it had been. And she no longer felt deeply exhausted either – tired, still, but not exhausted. She tried to open her eyes. They were swollen, and her sight was a little blurry at first, with tears gathering in the corners and slipping down her cheeks; yet slowly her vision sharpened and her confusion only grew. Rich green fabric. To the side an ornately carved post, connected to the headboard that was made from the same dark wood. A… canopy bed? Her body then began to make sense of the sensations above and below: thick, warm sheets, a big pillow, and a mattress that was neither too soft nor too rigid. Biting through the pain she slowly pushed herself up on her elbows. Where the fuck was she? And who had brought her here? Why had they saved her, if this wasn’t what Death entailed? It was almost absurd how abundant the room was in every sense. There were pelts at the foot-end of the bed, visibly of fine quality. The night stands had dizzying details carved into the wood, the knobs of the drawers were made of some kind of ivory or bone, and she couldn’t even start to describe the fine craftsmanship in the wooden panelling that covered the bottom part of the walls; leaving the top part for beautiful wallpaper that was occasionally hidden behind masterful paintings and gorgeous tapestries depicting all kinds of sceneries. A rug covered part of the wooden floor, and flames danced in the stone fireplace on which all kinds of expensive-looking trinkets were displayed. She moved with a groan and positioned herself in such a way that her back could lean against the headboard, granting her a better view of the room. Curtains were drawn in front of the windows, but she could tell they must be massive. There was a big writing desk placed against the wall, between two bookcases that stood far taller than she would ever be able to reach, and there were three doors – all closed – of which the double one in the centre of the wall across the bed must be the main entrance to the room. She guessed one of the other two would lead to an ensuite bathroom. She would need to relieve herself soon, if she managed to get herself out of the bed, and she would need to find something to eat, too; her stomach was growling like she hadn’t eaten in days. As she let her eyes wander more she noticed a tray on the low table that stood close to the fireplace, and her eyes widened. It was as if her needs had shaped reality. Fruit – all sorts of them – and bread with seeds and two elegant glass pitchers, one with water and the other with some kind of juice, and next to them a ceramic pot with a lid on it. Would it be soup? Or stew? She didn’t care what it was, as long as it was edible. There were more small containers but her mouth was watering and she could no longer wait. As careful as she could be she pushed her legs off the bed, threw the blanket aside, turned to sit on the edge, and tested the ground beneath her feet. It was then that she noticed she was wearing a nightgown, and her wounds had been bandaged. There was no red staining the quality linen. Surely she had still been bleeding? Then the linen must have been changed... How long had she been unconscious? And who had done all of this? It was a relief to notice that she was still wearing her own underthings; whomever had taken care of her had not invaded her privacy more than necessary. Gods, it must have been quite the work… Well, whomever it was, she would probably meet them soon, and she would thank them for their generosity – but first she would eat, relieve herself, and then clean herself up if she could find water somewhere. Maybe she should save the water from the pitcher. With one hand on the headboard for support and the other on the edge of the mattress she pulled and pushed herself up onto her feet, and though the pain that shot through her body made her see stars, she was determined to get to either the comfortable looking armchair left of the table, or the divan in front of it. Or maybe just the floor, that would be fine too, as long as she could reach the tray. Careful. One step, then another, hand moving to the nightstand, then letting go and standing without support. With her arms slightly spread for balance she made her way over to the low table and sat herself down as slowly as she could so as not to affect the wounds. It wasn’t comfortable, but the food was distraction enough. It almost made her laugh in giddy disbelief when she found out the little tub she had seen contained a beautiful whitish-yellow butter, and the other some kind of fruity preserve. This luxury was beyond anything she had ever seen in her entire life! She barely thought about whether the food might be poisoned or drugged and dug in without restraint. It wouldn’t make sense anyway. Why would they save her only to mess her up again? Unless it was some kind of weird game; you never knew what kind of people were out in the woods. The woods. The people who had been waiting for her. Were they still there? Had they been found, taken captive, killed? Had they continued travelling without her when she hadn’t shown up? Had they been granted the same luxury as her? Were they here, too, but in different rooms? She forced herself to push those questions away. First things first. So once most of the food had been devoured she stood up again and gave the tray one last look. She had left a few things for later. Should she hide it, or take it with her in some kind of makeshift bag? What if someone took it away when she was in the bathroom? She wasn’t willing to risk these priceless gifts vanishing the moment she looked away, like it was magic instead of truly there, and she knew she would probably be hungry again soon. Her body would need a lot to fully heal. After a few more seconds of running through her options she decided to leave the leftovers where they were. Surely her saviours would provide her with more? It was a baseless assumption – for all she knew they could send her on her way the moment she stepped out of this room and consider their hospitality overstayed. She didn’t know how long they had been taking care of her already, after all. Then it was time to decide which door she should go for. The doors were both on the same side of the room, in the wall opposite from the fireplace. They weren’t far apart, with only a dark wooden console table with above it mirror parting them, so opening the wrong one wouldn’t be much of a detour; but it would suck nonetheless. She had drank almost half of the pitcher filled with juice, and her bladder was begging her to be quick. The right one, then. And she was lucky: as she opened the door, white marble flooring greeted her. In the centre of the room stood a bath bigger than she had ever seen one. It was made from the same material, which made it look as if the floor and the bath had been cut from the same piece; and the countertops of the wooden cabinets matched. The bath was full, too, and the water was still warm! When she walked over she found out – rather clumsily – that the thin, three tiered table standing beside the marble tub actually stood on little wheels and could be moved, and if she had put too much pressure on it the colourful glass vials on top would have toppled over at the sudden movement and shattered on the floor. There were bars of soap as well, and a glass jar with some kind of crystals in it. Was she allowed to use all of this? She continued to her destination on the other side of the room first, not bothering to close the curtains to the ceiling-high window on her way there, and sighed in relief when she reached it. The window didn’t offer much of a view anyway because of the weather. She doubted anyone would be able to see her. She stared outside as she answered nature’s call, but the white, thick fog and the icy patterns on the framed glass only told her what she already knew: outside it was yet another cold winter’s day. After cleaning herself carefully yet thoroughly beside the bath – trying to get in had proven to be far too painful - and even taking the liberty of spraying on some perfume it was time to find something proper to wear. Had her caretakers thought of that too? She made her way out of the bathroom and glanced around, but found no sign of any garments having been prepared. Leaving in just her nightgown wasn’t really an option, though… Yet exhaustion then washed over her, and the ache returned. Perhaps it was best if she rested some more before she went exploring in the hopes of finding her saviours. Yeah… resting sounded good. The canopy bed looked beyond alluring and the moment she crawled under its sheets she felt how gravity pulled on her, how the crackling of the fire sung like a lullaby, and how the soft pillows shushed her to sleep.

Read this fic on AO3 and please leave a comment if you liked it! (x)

#a curse of frost and fear #lokixreader #loki/reader #beauty and the beast au #loki fanfiction #chapter 2

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katherinewilliams221b · 4 years

Text

For A Greater Good 2/18

Gif not mine just the text

Summary: Kate Williams, young healer and member of the Order, joins Durmstrang's staff at Dumbledore's request. Her mission? Find a Death Eater and survive long enough to tell the story. Set in 1996.

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x ofc

Masterlist

[Part 1]

Dear Charlie, 7 Jan ‘96

I arrived yesterday in one piece. I wanted to write just as soon as I got here, but you can’t owl anytime you want. They have a strict and very controlled system, and they are very protective of their owls. You can use the owlery as many times as you want during Sundays.

The headmistress considered giving me a little more freedom in that regard, but I don’t want to tempt luck and make people ask why I have privileges.

I will stick to their rules and only send letters on Sundays, and with their owls. Please do NOT send Whiskey here, and warn your family not to use Errol either, I don’t think they could survive the weather here and Durmstrang won’t like my using foreign owls.

She assured me that the letters arrive within the day, so that’s good. They have a training program for the owls, but I saw them, and they are bigger than usual. Maybe a cross-species with a magical creature?

I am trying to convince the headmaster to let me use her fireplace from time to time to talk to you. I was told that this school uses spells to keep the place warm and protected from the snow, and they don’t use the fireplaces. Ever. I will have to be very careful, and I’m still trying to figure out how to be discreet.

They obliviate you when you arrive. They say it’s because they don’t want the school to be found, so I expect to be obliviated after my return.

They gave me a language potion! I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that I will be able to talk to anyone. Can you imagine that? The possibilities? I would investigate how that magic works right now if I had time. Can you do me a favour? In the tower next to our house, where I work, I have a small blackboard with some notes. Can you write something in the lines of “translator charms” or similar? Just so I remember.

Tomorrow I will start as a healer. You wouldn’t believe how big is the hospital wing! The headmistress, professor Rhode, told me it is common that students experiment by themselves and they have this room fully equipped for patients. Not even St Mungo’s have this quality. I wish I wasn’t in these circumstances, so I could explore the place with more detail.

I know what I have to do if you know what I mean, but I still have to put everything in order and figure out how exactly I’m going to face the task. I have no idea where to start, and I will be anchored in the hospital wing, so I won’t have much freedom.

Oh! I have a bedroom to myself on the top floor of the castle, and the views are breath-taking. You would love this place: the grounds, the mountains, the forest, and the lakes! I can see a ship from here, the one you told me they used to get to the Three Wizard Tournament last year, I believe.

Things are going to be calm for now, classes start again in less than a week so there’s not going to be not much to tell the next days.

I’m going to have lunch now and then get a map of the castle to be able to move around here.

Love,

With a kiss to the envelope, she handed the letter to the owl that hopped in circles in front of her. He chirped with excitement at his new quest and accepted the message before lifting into the air.

Kate leaned on the rail at the top of the owlery and admired the mountains. Her uniform was suited to the cold weather and let her enjoy the views.

The owl flapped its wings and disappeared through the low clouds that painted the horizon. She remembered Hogwarts and its owlery; how she used to spend many afternoons watching the sunset while the owls were still asleep. Even the not so pleasant smell of it had become something so familiar that she missed it when it wasn’t there. Kate’s smile vanished at the thought. There were too many things she wished that were there, but weren’t.

The whistling of an eagle caught her attention. She tried to focus on the bird, but it was flying in circles above the forest. She turned around and looked for an owl that wasn’t sleeping; she didn’t want to scare the poor thing.

She chose a horned owl that seemed curious about her movements and placed her hand in front of its beak to let it recognise her.

“Thank you, Professor McGonagall,” She drew her wand out and murmured “Strigiforma.”

A pair of opera glasses appeared in the owl’s place and she hurried to catch them before returning to the rail.

It wasn’t an eagle; it was a hawk. Kate didn’t know much about birds or their behaviour, but flying in circles above a certain spot didn’t seem very usual. Perhaps there was a prey in the forest, for it seemed riveted by the trees.

On its way back towards the owlery, the hawk seemed to advert Kate’s presence in the tower.

Faster than her eyes could register, the bird flew straight into Kate’s direction, only to change its course in the last second, passing over the roof.

Still confused with the events, Kate set the glasses on a nest nearby and turned them into its original form.

The owl scoffed indignantly and turned around to avoid her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” She rounded the nest and offered her hand as a peace offer. The owl looked at it and then away, keeping its head as high as possible.

“I will bring you some treats as compensation, I promise.”

Durmstrang Castle looked no smaller than Hogwarts from the inside. Kate managed to get to the library with great difficulty and had to suffer the taunts of some students when she asked for directions.

The library was a circular room, one of the towers, and was probably four stories high. Long tables occupied the centre of the room and each floor, visible from below, had small study areas.

Elegant chandeliers illuminated the place, but judging by the size of the windows, it would not receive much natural light throughout the day. This did not seem to bother the few people who were there. Perhaps they were used to the shadows, Kate thought.

Her attention was drawn to the golden, well-kept staircase upholstered with a red carpet that went up to the different floors with it. Just behind it, partially hidden behind black curtains, an empty table held the weight of more books than it should. It looks like my desk; she thought with a half a smile.

As she approached, she read the plaque propped up on one tower of books.

“If that book is not your thing, try to give the bell a ring.”

She scanned the place until she found a tiny bell hanging from the edge of the desk. With her index finger and thumb, she caught the string and hit it against the metal. Not hearing any noise, she tried again.

From the top of the tower, a bat hanging from one of the giant chandeliers broke loose from its resting place and plummeted to where Kate was standing. Flapping a couple more times, it flew over her head, causing her to jump. As it reached the desk, the bat changed shape, and a man dressed in an elegant black robe appeared.

“I heard you the first time.” He said with smiling eyes. “You don’t look like a student.”

“I am a new healer. Maybe you can help me, I’m looking for a map of the castle.” Kate looked at his face and could not help but feel a little envious; his skin seemed to glow, he had not a single wrinkle and his features were refined, almost translucent, as if made of glass. At first glance, it seemed that he was much older than Kate, but on closer examination of his features, it might have not been the case.

“Of course, I can help you. It’s my job.” A cloud of black dust appeared before her, and again the bat shot up. Kate followed its path up the first floor until it was out of sight.

After a minute, in which Kate shifted in her place several times, the sound of chains alerted her. She turned to the desk to find the librarian looking at her again. Her surprise must have been palpable, because the man snorted with amusement.

“Castles are particularly good at hiding secrets. Here, that’s for you.”

With a bow, he extended his arm and offered her a scroll. Kate went to accept it but held back before doing so.

“Am I allowed to borrow material?”

“I trust you will return it.” Kate nodded and accepted the scroll.

“I will. And thank you...”

“Corentin. At your service.” He said in a French accent before he turned into a bat one last time and flew to the lamp.

Kate went around every corner, every corridor and every room she could. She was able to recognise many of the places Astrid Rhode had shown her, and she discovered many more.

After a while, she entered what appeared to be a trophy room. Multiple shelves of medals and cups adorned the walls. Quidditch, duelling, and arts. It was clear that Durmstrang had taught many powerful and skilled wizards and witches.

At the end of the hall, a gigantic painting that occupied practically the entire wall showed a portrait of a woman. It stood still, unlike many of the paintings that decorated the corridors. Still, Kate felt as if her eyes followed every movement.

“Nerida Vulchanova.” She read on the plaque “Architect and founder of the Durmstrang Institute.”

“Remarkable woman, Vulchanova,” said a voice behind her back.

A woman with a complexion as dark as her robes and a shaved head observed her from an armchair in the shadows. When she stood up, Kate recognised her from the documents Astrid Rhode had given her.

“Mer Yankelevich. You may call me Mer.” She reached out her hand and Kate accepted it, trying her best to pretend she didn’t know her. “I teach charms. Haven’t seen you around here before...”

“Kate. I’m a new healer.”

She didn’t seem to care what Kate could say to her. She immediately turned her gaze to Nerida’s painting.

“Did you know that this castle could not stand without magic?” She made a dramatic pause that Kate found extremely unnecessary. She focused on the teacher’s mind and found arrogance and a strong feeling of superiority. She was gloating over her knowledge.

“The castle was built in the 13th century, and you can tell by its style and the size of its walls However, it has a peculiarity that no other building has. It can be seen right here in this room. Can you guess what it is?”

Kate watched as the long earrings Yankelevich was wearing seemed to wriggle with the question and a strange feeling invaded her body. She turned around, inspecting the room more closely.

Before she could make any comment, the teacher decided to speed up the conversation.

“Sometimes the things we are looking for are right in front of our eyes.” She went to the large windows behind Kate and leaned against the sill.

“When a wall is thick and low, it’s harder to knock down than a tall, thin one. Durmstrang Castle is only four stories high, and the walls are extremely thick, as you may have noticed. Their task is to support the castle.”

She touched the glass a couple of times with her razor-sharp long nails and smirked at Kate’s expression at the sound.

“It looks like it’s made of water.”

“That’s because none of the castle windows are made of glass. Nerida Vulchanova knew perfectly well that you can’t put windows in walls that support the entire weight of the vaults.”

Kate’s stomach jumped at the words. While she knew that her brother’s memories will always accompany her until the day she died, sometimes a word or a person could trigger the darkest parts of her mind. She had learnt to control it, and slowly but surely those memories hurt less than the day before.

Yankelevich reached for the handle and opened the window, letting in the cold wind of January.

“If these windows were made of glass and not magic, all the walls and ceilings would fall down. Fascinating, isn’t it? They are also soundproof.”

“Incredible, yes. Are you interested in architecture?”

“More than teaching, perhaps. I’m passionate about finding hidden places.”

“I’m sure Durmstrang is full of them.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?” The teacher walked to Kate again, her back to the portrait. “I mean, here, in the trophy room.”

Kate raised the map and was about to explain how she explored the castle afternoon, when sounds of a fight alerted them. They looked at each other and hurried to the door.

“Say that again! Say that again!” a boy, probably in his third or fourth year, shouted while he pushed another student backwards.

“Your Dad deserved it! You are just a bunch of blood traitors! You and your stupid family!”

Everything happened so fast, it looked like someone had pressed a switch and from one second to another, both students were on the floor trying to punch and kick each other.

Kate’s eyes widened at the sentence. She was left frozen in place, unable to react fast enough to the situation.

She saw how they managed to get up, but they were still fighting. Some other students came to enjoy the show and the corridor rapidly filled itself with deafening screams of encouragement.

Kate stumbled as she was being pushed further away from the wrestling.

The map slipped from her hand in the commotion and she struggled to get on her knees to find it. From the corner of her eye, she saw how something fled from somewhere among the crowd. A book?

“What the...” Kate murmured when huge black clouds covered the ceiling of the hallway.

Sounds of a storm right above their heads made everyone stay motionless in their spots.

“What, in Vulchanov’s name, is happening here?” Headmaster Rhode’s voice sounded as if she was holding a megaphone. However, her hands were raised, controlling the rumble and lightning of the storm.

With a wave, the clouds dissipated as well as the students that opened a path for her to walk.

Kate noticed the blood in one of the boys’ nose and tried to reach them, pushing aside the curious souls that didn’t want to miss Astrid Rhode’s fury.

“What do you think you are doing? Fighting like a pair of water demons instead of duelling like civilised young wizards. I’ll throw you myself in the lake if that’s what you want?”

A pair of ‘No, professor.’ bounced against the walls and echoed in the tense stillness of the place.

“Let me see the nose,” Kate ordered. After a quick examination, she drew her wand out before saying “Episkey”

The cracking noise made more than one student hiss.

“Now everyone out of here. I don’t want to see you. Prepare everything for the new term that’s starting in a few days. Go.”

The corridor cleared, and Kate noticed the book that rested on the floor. Before she could grab it, Mer Yankelevich bent down and took hold of it.

“Advanced guide for curse-breaking.” she read “Someone’s been inquisitive these holidays. I’m going to return this to Corentin, now.” she added, laughing.

Astrid nodded first at the teacher and then at Kate, adding a hidden meaning unknown for Yankelevich.

She couldn’t identify what Rhode was trying to tell her until the headmaster’s gaze shifted almost imperceptibly towards Mer Yankelevich’s back. Kate inhaled and crouched, pretending to tie more securely the shoelaces of her boots.

When the charms teacher rounded the corner, Kate darted after her, trying to jog, avoiding touching the heel to the ground.

She pressed her back against the wall, turned her head slightly to spy to the other side and observed how Yankelevich opened a door to another corridor instead of heading to the library’s direction.

Kate spent the rest of the afternoon considering Mer Yankelevich a procrastinator or a liar, inclining herself for the latter.

[Part 3]

#charlie weasley #charlie weasley x mc #charlie weasley x ofc #durmstrang #hphm #kate williams #order of the phoenix #i dont know if i will be able to keep up with 1 chapter/week #it's going to be a surprise for all of us lol

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