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vance-emmeline · 3 years

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ϟ ━ was that EMMELINE VANCE around the leaky cauldron ? SHE disapparated before i could approach them ! what a pity, for they are DETERMINED and LOYAL, but maybe it's best to keep my distance because they are also CLUMSY and FIERY. i remember that they were a RAVENCLAW back in school but have since made a name for themselves as a DAILY PROPHET JOURNALIST. if this alleged war came knocking on their door, it is supposed that they would FIGHT FOR DUMBLEDORE ( cis woman & she/her / zoey deutch / 26 / half-blood).

biography & statistics below the cut

𝒷𝒾𝑜𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓅𝒽𝓎

Emmeline Vance has always been described as ‘capable’. From a young age she was solving puzzles in creative ways and forging a path for herself early in life. Her parents offered Emmeline a safe and happy childhood, although they both worked long, exhausting hours at the ministry meaning that child-care was left to her grandfather who owned Honeydukes sweet shop. As a small child, there was nothing that Emme loved more than suggesting new sweets her grandpa to try and make to try and then helping him make the ideas from her imagination into a reality. When she was six years old, her grandpa gave her her own little apron and nametag for when she was at the store.

Helping out at the store truly shaped Emme as she grew up. All sorts of people stopped by the store in their trips to Hogsmeade - all shapes, all sizes, all races, all blood statuses. Emme naturally became kind and compassionate, willing to help whoever might need it no matter what their background. Her first signs of magic showed in the store - she had to carry 3 tubs of jelly slugs from the cellar to the top of the store, and managed to levitate one in front of her like grandpa did with a degree of concentration after huffing about the fact she couldn’t carry three with her little hands. Certainly, her grandfather was more of a parent than her own parents ever were.

The issue of parenting came to a head just before her ninth birthday, when her parents decided that they were going to move to France to start life afresh. Emme’s father had been offered a job at the French Ministry and they had taken it easily, jumping at the opportunity to start life again in the beauty of France. But Emme’s little heart broke at the idea of not only being taken away from Britain and the promise of Hogwarts, but from the most important person in her young life. A few roaring arguments between her father and grandfather while Emme was supposed to be sleeping (but was really hovering at the top of the stairs trying to listen to what the adults were saying) and the three adults called her downstairs asking her a simple question.

“Would you rather live in Britain with grandpa or move to France with Mummy and Daddy?”

Emme never answered verbally, but instead ran over and clung to her grandpa’s leg, who had been more of a father to her than her own father had. It wasn’t their fault, of course, that they worked long hours and hardly ever saw their daughter - but Emme’s decision was easy. And so it was that within the next few months Emme’s parents prepared to move away and prepared to leave their daughter behind (promising visits, of course). In January, her parents were gone leaving her to live with grandpa and grandma in their small flat above the store. Life passed by peacefully until her eleventh birthday arrived and with it, a letter inviting her to Hogwarts.

On her first day at Hogwarts, Emme learned that not everyone was as kind as her. Her grandfather had pulled her aside at Hogsmeade station before she ran to join the arriving students and said ‘be brave enough to stand up for those who cannot stand up for themselves’. Those pearls of wisdom stuck a chord deep within Emme, who had always considered herself kind but hadn’t had to put herself in any level of discomfort to be kind so far. She had lived a reasonably sheltered upbringing, after all. Cruel thoughts had not been present in either her home or the sweet store (after all, who can find it in their hearts to be cruel when surrounded by that much sugar). With that wisdom fresh in her mind, Emme made her way towards Hogwarts where the sorting hat confidently placed her in Ravenclaw.

From there, Emme excelled at school. She had always loved reading as a child, and she made a name for herself quickly as one who always placed near to the top of her class. She engaged in lots of extra-curriculars including Charms club and Dueling club, and spent most of her evenings buried in magical practice and theory. In fifth year Emme became a prefect.

During her careers meeting, Emme looked at the pamphlets before her and knew there was only one real option for her. She had half considered the aurors programme, but reading and writing had always been her passion. Emmeline applied for a job with the Daily Prophet as a junior journalist. Working hard at her N.E.W.Ts, Emme left Hogwarts with an Outstanding in all subjects and a well-earned place at the Daily Prophet.

Since starting work at the Daily Prophet eight years ago, Emmeline has carved a name for herself as a well-respected journalist. She always works for the truth no matter how uncomfortable or unsettling it might be, and is determined to bring the truth to the public. This has, on occasion, led to Howlers being sent through the post but Emme is not deterred.

Emme is a notorious coffee drinker and can almost always be found with a flask in hand. She also loves to bake, frequently bringing in home made snacks to share around the office - Merlin only knows that their office needs a sprinkling of happy on a semi-regular basis. She gets excited about any and all holidays, and her absolute favourite place to be is the beach - especially when she’s wandering up and down the sand wearing a cosy jumper and bright yellow wellington boots. Despite reporting on some of the atrocities that happen in the wizarding world, Emme still lives with a sense of optimism and an understanding that the world really is full of good people even if it might not seem like it.

Emmeline is committed towards seeking justice both professionally and personally for all. She believes that the way that muggle-borns were treated at school was unjust, and has continued to speak against this in her journalism. When it becomes clearer that Voldemort is truly persecuting muggle-borns, Emmeline will step up to work against him firmly. When Emmeline commits, she throws her whole self behind a cause and can never be called ‘half-hearted’.

𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒾𝒸𝓈

Basics:

FULL NAME : Emmeline Raye Vance MEANING : The name “Emmeline” means gentle and brave. MONIKERS / NICKNAMES : Emme GENDER AND PRONOUNS : Female, she/her DATE OF BIRTH : 13 April 1958 AGE : 26 ORIENTATION : Bisexual OCCUPATION : Daily Prophet Journalist

Background:

LANGUAGES SPOKEN : English, French FAMILY : Samuel Vance (father), Eliza Vance (mother), Ambrosius Flume (grandfather) SPOUSE / SIGNIFICANT OTHER : open & wanted for plotting! CHILDREN ( chronologically ) : n/a

Magical Detail:

BLOOD STATUS : Half-blood ALUMNA OF : Hogwarts, Ravenclaw, 1976 ACADEMIC FEATS ( clubs, organizations, positions, etc ) : duelling club, charms club, prefect O.W.L.s ( subjects taken and the results ) : astronomy, charms, defence against the dark arts, herbology, history of magic, potions, transfiguration, ancient runes, arithmancy. O in all subjects but arithmancy and history of magic which were E’s. N.E.W.T.s ( subjects taken and the results ) : charms, defence against the dark arts, herbology, history of magic, potions, transfiguration, ancient runes. O in all subjects. WAND : Maple, unicorn core, 10 ¾ inches, supple AMORTENTIA : Fresh coffee, baking bread, the smell of seaside air, new books. BOGGART : Werewolves PATRONUS : A swift - a creature with a strong sense of determination and a drive to accomplish things. They are hopeful, positive and energetic and are drawn to live and work in large communities where they find inspiration from the high spirits of others.

Physical:

HAIR : Mousy brown EYES : Brown HEIGHT : 5’3 BUILD : Athletic, slender. MARKINGS ( birthmarks, tattoos, scars, etcs ) : A scar on her left hip from a fall down the shop stairs when she was younger. A small tattoo of an opening speech mark on her left wrist, and a closing speech mark on her right wrist - inspired by her journalism and her love for writing. Not a permanent marking, but Emmeline has a sapphire necklace that was a 17th birthday gift from her mother. It is perhaps the most expensive thing that Emme owns, and she never takes it off.

Personality:

TROPES : Gentleman and a scholar - “He manages to be both a highly intelligent expert in his chosen field and a pleasant, well-adjusted and socially engaging human being, some times even more attuned to the nuances of social etiquette than many less-intellegent Gentleman and a Scholar - “He manages to be both a highly intelligent expert in his chosen field and a pleasant, well-adjusted, and socially engaging human being, sometimes being even more attuned to the nuances of social etiquette than many less-intelligent characters. Frequently, his emphasis is more on the humanities than on the natural sciences.” MBTI : ENFJ-T ENNEAGRAM : Type 2 - The Helper ALIGNMENT : Lawful Good TEMPERAMENT : Phlegmatic ZODIAC : Aries POSITIVE TRAITS : Determined, loyal, resillient NEGATIVE TRAITS : Clumsy, fiery

#principium.intro #principium.task #about #i wish i could use photoshop & create a good looking graphic but alas!!!#excited to get started <3

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ardunkothe · 3 years

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Vhenan as a Companion

What's up folks I have dragon age brain rot again let's GO

(Templates used were made by dextronoms. They can be found here and here.)

Inquisitor Name: Vhenan Lavellan

Alternate Name?: Vhenan; no last name

Race, Class, & Specialization: Elf, Archer/Artificer

Varric’s Nickname for them: Lover boy (undecided)

Default Tarot Card: Two of Wands

How they are recruited: He is found in the Hinterlands, camped behind the waterfall on the Western Road; only available after Templars to the West is completed.

If recruited while the Inquisitor is in Haven, the first time talking to him (found near Varric’s campfire) instigates a cutscene wherein Varric is asking him what he hopes to gain by joining the Inquisition, personally. (Varric: "Come on, lover boy, everyone's got a personal stake in this. Me? I just want to see how this story ends...") Vhen uses the Inquisitor's approach as a distraction to end the interaction with Varric.

If recruited after the Inquisitor has moved to Skyhold, his first interaction cutscene finds him offering his help to Skyhold's new quartermaster.

If the Inquisitor has interrogated the quartermaster about his credentials, Vhen will add: "It isn't that I don't think you're qualified, I just want to help... in the only way I know how."

The Inquisitor can ask him why he’s offering aid to the quartermaster, and Vhen will admit that he was apprenticed to his clan’s craftsman. He had hoped to take their place one day.

Where they are in Skyhold: When the Inquisitor first arrives at Skyhold he is found at the base of the stairs next to the tavern. If the Inquisitor upgrades Skyhold with a training area, he is found leaning on the fence observing (if the Inquisitor does not, he is found in the farthest corner of the courtyard, past the stables).

Things they Generally Approve of: Sympathy for mages and elves; small acts of kindness (such as taking the elven widower's flowers to his wife's grave); humorous replies; attempts to avoid violence through compromise.

Things they Generally Disapprove of: Turning away any companion recruited after his own recruitment; leaving Hawke in the fade; Inquisitors that agree with the claims that they're the Maker's chosen; sentencing mages to tranquility. Attacking the ancient elves causes major disapproval.

Mages, Templars, Other?: Does not seem to have a strong stance in either direction. Moderate approval gained regardless of which side the Inquisitor picks.

If prodded prior to locking in a choice he responds with: "I'm a craftsman, not a Keeper, I don't know the first thing about magic." "Between you and me, Inquisitor, I... Nevermind." "This is a hard choice to make. I'm glad I'm not the one who has to make it." “I’ll stand by whatever decision you make, Inquisitor, just make it soon…”

Friends in the Inquisition: Keeps to himself mostly, but occasionally is found in the company of Dorian in the tower, seeking discussion of a book they’ve read. A missable cutscene wherein he can be found outside Cullen’s office. When spoken to, Vhen will tell the Inquisitor he wants to talk to the knight-captain but expresses belief that Cullen probably hates him and leaves. Asks Solas periodically about his knowledge of elves and the fade. Leaves after Solas expresses interest in his interest. (If Hawke is a rogue) found on the battlements with them, shyly asking them for fighting tips. (If Hawke is not a rogue, he instead asks what the Free Marches are like.)

Once in a while Vhen will “disappear” from Skyhold. If the Inquisitor scours the castle, he will be found in the dusty library beneath the castle, where he gives only distracted responses.

Romanceable?: open to all races/gender. Flirting options available from the start, answered by flustered, dismissive responses. Continuation available as completion of side quest progresses; further availability determined by outcome of second companion quest. Implied to be potentially romanced by other characters.

Small side mission: “Helping Hunters”. Vhen requests the Inquisitor’s help in seeking out lost dalish hunters last seen in the area. (One group in the Hinterlands, one on the Storm Coast, one in Crestwood). Becomes available after Crestwood is unlocked.

Companion quest: “Things Better Left Unsaid”. Becomes available after What Pride Had Wrought, if Helping Hunters has been completed. Vhen has a personal matter he needs to discuss with the Inquisitor in private. Transitions to a cutscene in the hall outside the Inquisitor's quarters. Vhen claims that he has arranged to meet a member of another Dalish clan with news about his own, but would like the Inquisitor’s company. If the Inquisitor presses, he promises he will tell them the details only after they help. He asks them to trust him.

Should the Inquisitor refuse, he clams up and leaves, and the conversation and quest ends. Any prior flags are cleared and he is no longer available to be romanced.

If the Inquisitor was romancing Vhen, he ends the conversation by saying "this isn't going to work. I'm sorry. I… forget it."

If the Inquisitor agrees, but inquires further, Vhen gives evasive answers, again promising to tell them later.

After the quest is completed (a one-time-area visitation and cutscene where Vhen speaks with the aforementioned Dalish before exchanging coins for an unseen item), Vhen admits that this wasn't an update on his clan. He has been hiding his budding magic and has bought an amulet that he believes is going to help.

If Solas is present, he makes a noise of interest, but otherwise does not comment.

If Dorian is present, he lets out an uncomfortable laugh. “Is he serious? He’s, oh…”

If Vivienne is present, she sympathetically remarks "oh you foolish thing."

Option 1: If the Inquisitor responds sympathetically (>Be honest with me: "You don't have to hide who you really are. Least of all from me.") Vhen will promise not to keep it a secret anymore, because the Inquisitor has made him feel like his magic isn't something he should hide anymore (but expresses that he still fears it, and uncertainty that such will ever change). An option becomes available to change his class, and he is more often found in the company of one of the other mages, asking questions. If the Inquisitor was romancing him, it can now be completed.

Option 2: The Inquisitor responds neutrally (>It's your life. "I can't tell you how to live your life. Just promise you know what you're doing with it.") Vhen responds favorably. It's still a relatively new problem for him but he's confident that it'll all be fine. After expressing a fear of his magic and what it might do to him, he puts on the amulet and smiles, assuring the Inquisitor nothing will change. The amulet is equipped and his class/spec do not change. If the Inquisitor was romancing him the romance can now be completed.

Option 3: If the Inquisitor responds disapprovingly (>I don't like secrets: "Anything else I should know? This is huge. Don't lie to me anymore." Vhen will respond defensively, telling the Inquisitor he's afraid of his magic, of what it will do to him, what he could do to others. He swears it won't be a problem, and that nothing will change. The conversation ends. The amulet is equipped by default and there is no option to change his class. Any prior romance flags are cleared and he can no longer be romanced.

If the Inquisitor had begun a romance path with Vhen, it and the cutscene ends with an added remark of: "Not everything, anyway. ...I'm sorry." He will not speak to the Inquisitor again until after The Final PIece is completed. ("Not now Inquisitor... please.") He will now only be found on the battlements beside Cullen’s office or in the library.

Tarot card change

Option 1: Six of Wands (he embraces his magic/the Inquisitor responded neutrally)

Option 2: Eight of Cups (he suppresses his magic/the Inquisitor refused to help)

Option 3: Nine of Cups (Romanced)

Banter:

Cole’s reflection on their thoughts:

(general) "A frown of disapproval, not at him, no, but he feels the weight of it, heavy on his shoulders. He’ll find comfort in dusty books tonight."

(before Things Better Left Unsaid) “He holds it inside himself. His chest aches with the burden of it all. I can’t tell them. I can’t let them know. No one can know." “Cole…?” (if the Inquisitor is a mage) “They would understand. They could help you. “No one can help me…” (if the Inquisitor is not a mage) “They can’t help you if they don’t know.” “No one can know.”

(after personal quest, the Inquisitor disapproved) “It hurts to breathe. He can’t meet their eyes. He shouldn’t be here. Anywhere but here. But there’s nowhere left to go.” “Stop it.”

(after personal quest, the Inquisitor was kind) “He’s so happy he could cry. The burden is no longer his alone to carry.” “(laughing) Who needs a journal when you have Cole?”

(after personal quest, Inquisitor was neutral) "It still hurts, but it's a good hurt. It isn't a secret anymore. He's going to be okay."

(if Vhen is unromanced) “He likes the feel of the wood under his fingertips, the taut pull of a string, the twang of an arrow. He wonders what another hand over his would feel like.”

(if the Inquisitor is romancing him) “Fingers firm around his wrist. Warm breath on his cheek. A laugh in his ear. He’s never been happier.”

(if another character romances Vhen) “Fingers firm around his wrist. Warm breath on his cheek. A laugh in his ear. These moments are stolen, but he’d never give this up.”

Comment(s) on Mages:

(after fighting apostates in the Witchwood) “What were they thinking?”

(after visiting Redcliffe) “Desperate people will do desperate things... Can’t say I blame them.”

(after recruiting the Mages) “Fiona seems… I don’t know. Lonely. Do you think I should talk to her? Or do you think that would annoy her?”

(in the future that wasn't) "Inquisitor? Inquisitor! You came back for me! I don't care if you're a demon or a fake. Please. Just get me out of here."

Comment(s) on Templars:

(after being recruited) “There were Templars camped not far from me. They seemed rattled. Are all Templars like that?”

(during champions of the just) “We don’t have Templars among the Dalish… Can you still be a templar without mages to guard?”

(after recruiting the Templars) “I thought Cullen was the good sort. I think it’s actually Barris. He’s nice. He seems sad, though.”

When looking for something:

“Oh! I think I found something.”

“There’s something there…”

“Look here.”

When finding a campsite:

“Good a place as any.”

“Can we make camp here?”

“I miss the Aravels…”

When the Inquisitor Falls:

“Inquisitor!!”

“Man/woman down! Man/woman down!”

“Get up! Please get up!”

When they are low on Health:

“I don’t feel too good.”

“(swears in Elven)”

“Inquisitor, help!”

When they see a Dragon:

“Oh that’s… that’s big.”

“I don’t want to fight that. Tell me we’re not going to fight that.”

(If The Iron Bull is in the party) “(groan) We’re going to fight that, aren’t we?”

When during their small side quest:

“Now I know what you’re thinking. Those silly elves, lost in their forests…”

“We’ve got their trail. Not far now, I reckon.”

“(if the Inquisitor is an elf) Once we’re done here, Inquisitor… I was thinking we could have my friends send word to yours. You know. Just to let them know how you’re doing. Just a thought…”

“(if the Inquisitor is human) You don’t know how much this means to me that you’re helping. Thank you.”

Default saying: (greeting the Inquisitor)

(general) “Oh, hey Inquisitor. I was just thinking… Nevermind. What do you need?”

(if Qunari) “Have you and The Iron Bull compared heights yet? (if Adaar is male) Actually… nevermind.”

(if Dalish) “Do you ever get homesick?”

(if human, approval high) “You’re a lot nicer than most humans I’ve met.”

(if human, approval low) “You’re a terrible example of humans, you know…”

(if approval is very low, any race) “(irritated) What?”

(if romanced) “I was just thinking about you. I’m always thinking about you, actually.”

(if romanced) “(obvious delight) My favorite person.”

(if romanced by someone else): “...don’t even know their favorite color… huh? Hey, Inquisitor.”

Travel Banter with Canon Companions:

Dorian: You should really take me up on my offer. Vhen: I am not letting you dress me up, Dorian. Dorian: At least let me replace that ratty scarf of yours. Vhen: Ratty…? You take that back!

Solas: Are you aware of what your name means? Vhen: Huh? Solas: 'Vhenan'. It is Elven for 'heart' or 'love'. Someone must have loved you to give you such a name." Vhen: Hmm.

(If Sera is present) Vhen: Hey, Solas? Solas: Yes, Vhenan? Sera: (snickers) Solas: (pause)... I see. Sera: Blackwall owes me two silver!

(if romanced by the Inquisitor) Varric: You’re staring again. Vhen: You’re staring too if you noticed. Varric: You won’t even deny it? Vhen: (morosely) I can’t help it! He/She’s right there!

(if romanced by someone other than the inquisitor) Sera: Saw you two kissing again. Vhen: Shut up. Sera: (cackles) You shut up.

(if Vhen chose to repress his magic) Vhen: Stop it. Vivienne: Hm? Stop what? Vhen: Staring at me. Judging me. Stop it. Vivienne: (aloof) I don’t know what you’re talking about. Vhen: (inaudible grumbling)

(if Vhen chose to embrace his magic) Cole: He doesn’t hate you, you know. Vhen: You know that for sure, do you? Cole: You make him nervous. He doesn’t like things that make him nervous. Vhen: Dislike is the opposite of like, and is much closer to hate than you think.

Cassandra: Elf— Vhenan. Tell me. What were you doing alone in the Hinterlands? I thought elves travel in packs. Vhen: Clans. My clan avoids humans as much as possible. The Inquisition is made up of a lot of humans. Cassandra: And so they let you go alone. Vhen: I just want to help. Is that so wrong? Cassandra: No. It is brave.

Leaving the Inquisition: (if approval is very low, and the Inquisitor killed the ancient elves): “I put up with a lot, Inquisitor, but you’ve gone too far. (if the Inquisitor is human) I shouldn’t be surprised though. You really are just a … a shem. (if the Inquisitor is an Elf) They were our people! Centuries may separate us from them but they were still elves. How could you?! (If the Inquisitor is Qunari or a Dwarf) I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand, though.”

#inquisitor as a companion #dragon age #vhenan lavellan

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 4 years

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Octa A-kun’s Heart-Thumping Day!

For the 1200+ follower milestone, here is the next part of the cursed raven’s story!

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l Part 4 l Part 5

Today’s tale involves Octavinelle A-kun in a pinch...?! Fight on, Octa A-kun...! You can do it, Octa A-kun...!!

My name is Kon...! I’m just your average, everyday Octavinelle student. I tend to blend into the background, so a lot of my classmates call me Octa A-kun.

I’d say that my favorite food is salted fish, and I happen to like whatever seems to be popular these days. I have the window seat in my home room. Most of the time, I just go with the flow, but I like to keep my head low and stay out of trouble!

All I really want is a quiet, peaceful life!

...So—you may ask—how, then, did I find myself in this pinch?

An arrow whizzes at Octa A-kun’s head, tearing off his fedora and pinning it to the wall behind him. It just narrowly grazes his hair, ripping off a deep green strand with a sharp jolt. Octa A-kun squeaks in terror and collapses onto his rear end.

“Pardon moi, Monsieur Kelp,” comes the light-hearted chirp of his assailant. A young man in a bob cut steps forth, a bow in his hands and a quiver strapped to his back. The billowy white feather tucked in his hat bounces with each stride. “I was in need of some early morning target practice.”

Third year and Pomefiore vice-dorm leader, Rook Hunt, according to the rumors. Be wary of him--once he fixates on something, he will not relent.

“A-Ahahaha...I-It’s fine, senpai!” Octa A-kun stutters, scrambling back onto his feet. He glances at his poor hat, skewered clean through--he’d have to file a request for a replacement later. Azul would charge a fee for it--with interest.

“Ah, how merciful you are, Monsieur Kelp~” Rook laughs as he approaches, each step in his boots the resounding thump-thump of a predator on the prowl.

Octa A-kun shrinks against the wall. “U-Um...! Do you need something from me, senpai...?!”

“Hohoh. How perceptive of you.” Rook plucks his arrow--and Octa A-kun’s hat--and holds his weapon up in the sunlight, his green eyes focusing on the gleam of the arrow’s dagger-like tip. “I’ve merely come for a query, my friend! No need to make such a frightened face.”

“Just a question i-is fine. But it has to be a quick one...! I have to meet up with my partner for a project...”

“But of course. I will not keep you for long.” He tucks the arrow back into his quiver and replaces Octa A-kun’s hat upon his head. “Be honest with me--that is all that I ask of you.”

Rook maintains the curve to his lips as he brings his face closer to his prey. His smile darkens, and the glimmer in his eyes fades into something far more cruel.

“...You would not happen to have been sent by one Roi de Fort, have you? To, perhaps, spy on a little black bird?”

Octa A-kun pales. Sweat collects on his forehead. A lump forms in his throat.

“I-I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT...!!” he blurts out.

Unconvincingly.

Rook’s eyes narrow. “I have requested for you to speak naught but the truth, have I not?”

He reaches out and takes ahold of Octa A-kun’s collar, pulling him close--so close that the poor boy can make out his own fear-stricken expression in the green of Rook’s eyes.

The hunter still smiles, his teeth a stark, blinding white.

He’s beautiful, Octa A-kun realizes. Beautiful, but deadly.

“Y-You’re being r-really scary, senpai...! P-Please don’t bully me...!”

“La vérité, Monsieur Kelp?”

A drop of sweat races down Octa A-kun’s profile. Pupils dilated, breath hitching, body trembling.

In the distance, a bell tolls--granting him an opportunity to escape.

“Would you look at the time...!! I...I really gotta go now!! M-My project partner’s waiting for me, ahahaha...!! E-Excuse me!” Octa A-kun shouts shaking from Rook’s grip and sidestepping the hunter.

He begins to speed walk away, hands balled into fists and arms swinging stiffly, when Rook calls out to him.

“...Monsieur Kelp.”

Against his better judgement, Octa A-kun dares to glance back.

Rook is staring right at him, his gaze piercing.

“Know this: if you betray her, there will be more for you to worry about than damaged articles of clothing.”

And with that remark, Rook allows his prey to retreat.

But he watches every step of the way.

Until Octa A-kun is nothing more than a dot in the distance.

“Welcome to my roost,” Raven declares with the wave of her hand. “Ignore the mess, and make yourself at home.”

“D-Don’t mind if I do,” Octa A-kun says, carefully ducking into the attic space.

Mess is a bit of an understatement. Raven’s room is piled high with tomes, loose papers scattered on the floor and smears of ink all over.

Tucked away in a corner appears to be a mattress, with a blanket in a nest-like shape, a pillow laid in the center. A bookshelf overflows with volumes on ancient curses, while a strange teardrop shaped seat, decorated with ribbons and wisteria, hangs by a window.

Set upon a large desk is a snuffed out candle, a quill set with a magic gemstone, and several empty bottles and blank labels. A basket spills out its contents--herbs, flowers, and fungi--next to a mortar and pestle.

What really catches Octa A-kun’s attention, however, is the strange collection of glass apparatuses and tubes that line the desk. A small flame dances under the rounded part of a flask, heating up a rose-gold concoction.

“Looks like you keep pretty busy, huh?”

“You could say that. I like to remain productive.”

Octa A-kun offers a timid smile. “Um, if I may ask, what is it that you’ve got brewing at your desk...? I-I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

Raven pauses.

“...Do you know that feeling of rediscovering a part of yourself you thought you had once lost? Or the rose-tinted glasses which clouds one’s vision? The wonderfulness of meeting an old friend? Think of those things, set in the color of dawn, beckoning a new day.”

“E-Eh?” Octa A-kun combs his brain for a response. “Uh...you mean nostalgia?”

“Precisely. This is my latest creation--Nostalgia. It took me two whole weeks to get this new ink color just right, but it shall be lovely to write with.” Raven puffs up a bit with pride. “Oh, but enough about my personal projects. We need to work on that Magic History assignment, yes?”

“Y-Yes. That report on Unique Magic Development...” Octa A-kun’s eyes follow Raven’s hand as it trails over a series of books on a shelf.

Hexes, and How to Break Them. True Love’s Kiss: Panacea or Poison? Ancient Curses: A Collection of Anecdotes. Journal of Magic Medicine, Issue 32: Jinx Edition.

“Ah, here it is.” Raven fishes out a maroon book with a few sticky notes jutting out of it--Unique Magic: Nature & Nurture--and hands it to Octa A-kun, along with a spare quill, an inkwell, and a fresh sheet of paper.

She gestures toward the seat adorned with wisteria. “Have a seat and work on your half of the report. I’ll be working on my half at my desk after I clean up. We can compare our halves and edit as is necessary when both parts are complete.”

He complies, sitting where he is directed and flipping open Unique Magic: Nature & Nurture.

Two sticky notes immediately pop out at him. One sports a list of various unrelated words (Nostalgia, Sorrow, Regret, and an L word that appears to have been blotted out, left illegible).

The other sticky note has a little diagram labelled Unique Magic, a heart in the center with arrows pointing outward. Needs faith, trust, and a little pixie dust, one arrow remarks. Infusion of feelings requires experience, says another. Practice with Nostalgia, a third states.

Octa A-kun slowly lifts his eyes from the page--carefully watching Raven tidying up her desk.

With the flick of her magical pen--or quill, rather--she extinguishes the flame beneath her flask and sets it into a test tube rack to cool. Raven collects her plants into a basket and tucks them under the desk, along with the rest of her glassware. Then she gathers stray papers and pops open her drawer to stow them away--

And that’s when Octa A-kun catches a glimpse of it.

An unopened letter, in a pale blue envelope.

To My Dearest Raven scrawled across it.

“...And that is the g-gist of it,” Octa A-kun concludes his report, “dorm leader.”

“Excellent work, Kon-san. You efforts are greatly appreciated.” From behind his ornate office desk, Azul clasps his hands together and beams. “I suppose there is no longer any need for Floyd to pay your friends in Pomefiore and Scarabia a little visit.”

“Boooo,” Floyd groans from beside him.

“Th-Thank you for your kindness, dorm leader!” Octa A-kun gushes--if only to (poorly) mask his own fears. He wants to sink into the couch cushions and disappear like sea foam. “B-But...But if I can make a request, sir!”

“What is it?” Azul sounds mildly annoyed, but Octa A-kun steels his courage and persists.

“Um...i-if possible, can you assign s-someone else to check on Miss Raven? I-I’m scared of what Rook-senpai will do to me if I make the wrong mo--EEP!!”

Before he has even finished his sentence, Floyd is flying at him like a shark tearing through water.

WHAM!

Octa A-kun screams as Floyd’s foot connects with the couch, boxing him in and nearly knocking the furniture over. Azul’s glasses flash a pure white, and he makes no move to restrain the feral eel.

“What was that, Konbu-chan?” Floyd asks--no, demands--as he leers down at him. Teeth gnashing. “Did I hear you right? Umineko-kun got in the way?”

“E-Eeeep! Ch-Chill out, Floyd-senpai! You’re...you’re scaring me!!” Octa A-kun whimpers, his poor heart pounding out of his chest.

“Speak freely, Kon-san,” Azul prompts, waving a gloved hand to silence Floyd--but his tone is just as icy and cruel as the eel’s eyes. “What is this I hear about...interference?”

“W-Well...h-he seemed to know that you sent me. And he said he might...do things if I make a misstep.” Octa A-kun furiously shakes his head. “I’ll need a replacement hat after th-that encounter...I-I’m sorry, dorm leader, but I r-really don’t want to be involved in this any more than I have to...!”

Azul leans back in his chair, and his face settles into a serious expression.

“Uwaaah, Jade wasn’t kiddin’ when he said Umineko-kun was guarding Black Pearly like a shark on sunken treasure,” Floyd flicks his tongue along his teeth, which gleam dangerously under the lights of the VIP room. “Even the low level lackies get chewed up and spat out, ehehehe~”

“This is not funny, Floyd. This just makes things that much more difficult,” Azul snaps, pushing his glasses up.

“It’s fine, it’s fiiine,” Floyd insists dismissively with a giggle. “I’ll just follow Konbu-chan--and if that creep Umineko-kun gets close, I’ll beat’em bloody~”

“I-Isn’t that a bit extreme?!” Octa A-kun protests, only to earn a withering glare from Floyd.

“Shut your trap, guppy. No one asked for your opinion,” Floyd hisses--then his expression brightens considerably when he addresses his dorm leader. “Ne, ne, Azul! Can I, can I?”

“Absolutely not. We still need to collect more information before taking such drastic action,” Azul says, his voice tinged with irrtation. “Might I remind you, Floyd, that Octavinelle is, once again, in poor standing with the headmaster? It would not do to further tarnish our reputation with another incidence report.”

“Laaaame~” Floyd pouts, backing away from Oct A-kun. “I’m not allowed to do anything fun anymore.”

“As I was saying,” Azul continues, ignoring the eel, “thank you for bringing this to my attention, Kon-san. Your work here is done--you are relieved from your duties until further notice. Dismissed.”

“Y-Yessir!! Th-Thank you so much, sir!” Octa A-kun breathes a massive sigh of relief. He is quick to gather his coat and hat, then bow to his senpais and hurriedly exit.

Azul pinches the bridge of his nose. “...This will become a problem if it persists.”

“I don’t get it, Azul!” Floyd whines loudly, slamming his hands on his dorm leader’s desk. “Why don’t we just kidnap Black Pearly already and make her ‘n Jade ‘fess up? That’d be sooo much easier than dancing around Umineko-kun!”

“That is not how proper reconciliation works, Floyd,” Azul points out. “If we are to fix this mess, then we cannot hope to resolve it overnight.”

He thinks of the details Octa A-kun had divulged--the countless books that litter Raven’s abode, the fixation on work, the strangely named ink, the interest in curses...Surely they must all mean something.

He pauses, before adding, “...I feel as though I am missing a vital piece of the puzzle.”

“Ehhhh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Call it...octopus’s intuition. There is something bigger at play here, something far more powerful than you or I can comprehend.” Azul folds his arms. “And if we intend to bring back Miss Raven into Jade’s arms, then that is one puzzle piece we must find.”

“Hmmm.” Floyd leans down, peering into Azul’s solemn face--then breaks out into a toothy grin. “Ne, ne, you really care a lot about Jade, don’t you?”

“Hmph. Don’t be ridiculous,” Azul snaps, lips pursing into a straight line. “This is merely a case of an employer fretting over the well being of his employee. Jade cannot perform at his best if he is emotionally distressed. I am simply doing my due diligence as his employer to ensure that he is content--it benefits the business.”

“Ehehehe~ In the end, Azul’s heart is juuust as squishy and soft as his octopus form~” The eel wraps his arms around Azul, squeezing the dorm leader against his chest. “That’s sooo cute~”

“FLOYD, DO NOT PRESUME TO KNOW MY INTENTIONS...!! AND UNHAND ME THIS INSTANT!”

“Nope! Don’t wanna~”

Octa A-kun is halfway down the corridor when a hand clamps down--hard--onto his shoulder. The student squeaks in terror as he is whipped around--and comes face-to-face with his smiling vice-dorm leader.

“Good evening, Kon-san,” Jade says nonchalantly, his tone light but his aura dark. “Might I have a moment with you?”

For the third time that day. Octa A-kun’s stomach sinks--but he lacks both the strength and the willpower to resist.

“S-Sure...Wh-What is it?”

Jade cranes his head down, his single golden eye glowing despite his sinister shadow. “I have received word that you have been snooping around campus. Naughty, naughty Kon-san. You should know better.”

Octa A-kun instinctively takes a step back, putting some distance between him and his vice-dorm leader--the information broker of Octavinelle. No secret can evade him, it seems.

“Th-The dorm leader asked me to...!” he confesses, cheeks turning pink in embarrassment.

“Please, be at ease. I do not bite,” Jade says smoothly, chuckling into his glove. “Now then, my sources tell me that you happened upon Miss Raven’s quarters. Is this correct?”

“Y-Yes...”

“Then let me ask this of you--did you, by chance, see a blue envelope?”

“Blue envelope...” Octa A-kun’s eyes light up in realization. “A-Ah, I do seem to recall seeing something like that. She...She keeps it in a drawer. It was unopened.”

“Unopened...?” Jade repeats the word carefully, as though handling a delicate artifact. He brings a hand to his chin in contemplation, his brows furrowing. “It is no wonder why she continues to behave in such a vehement manner,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Um...vice-dorm leader? Is everything alright?” Octa A-kun asks nervously.

“...No. It is nothing, I assure you.” Jade composes himself, smiling once more--this time, without a hint of darkness to it. “Think nothing of it, dear Kon-san. Please, do retire for the night--that was all I wished to know, fufu.”

“O-Of course, vice-dorm leader...”

Jade sees him off with a polite wave.

Octa A-kun waits until Jade is completely out of sight before he collapses into a heap on the ground. He clutches onto his stomach, which twists and knots with fright, and sniffles softly to himself.

Why, oh, why was he not sorted into a normal dorm with normal non-scary students and normal, healthy relationships with their peers? No, instead he’s trapped in the mermaid mafia and witnessing Overblot incidents every single month.

Go to Night Raven College, they said. It’d be fun, they said. You’ll get a great education, they said.

J-Just...Just give me a quiet, peaceful life already...!!

#Floyd Leech #Azul Ashengrotto #twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #Rook Hunt #Jade Leech #Rave. Crowley #angst #this installment was hard to pace #Octavinelle A-kun #Tale of the Cursed Raven #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #enchanted inks

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cdkwrites · 3 years

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fall from grace (6)

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, where civil blood makes civil hands unclean

When Atem from one of the high houses of Hell is discovered dying in the streets of 1920s Paris by a mysteriously kind angel, tensions of this old war spark when she elects to save his life. The devastating fall out of one simple act of kindness is more than enough to shatter the truce. Soon, it maybe be impossible to avoid the resulting war for all species on Earth.

What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend

——-

cw: mentions of blood, self harm (kind of? there’s no scarring involved, it’s more like Allowing Oneself To Starve To Death), suicide idealization (nothing worse than you’d read in canon ygo), some artistic license re: european history espeically re: the french, violence

chapter one. chapter two. chapter three. chapter four. chapter five.

you can read it on ao3 here!

if you enjoy my work, considering supporting me through ko-fi!

From an interview with Katsuya Jonouchi, 1900s “I don’t know what to tell you. I was with Honda when all that happened.”

Dartz was on warpath. Jonouchi almost felt bad for Keket, who was currently the subject of Dartz’s rage. “Seems like Ket let that vampire go again,” Honda said as he joined Jonouchi in Jonouchi’s usual hiding spot. No one knew better than Honda how much Jonouchi disliked Dartz’s moods. “No wonder Dartz is angry.”

“I don’t get it,” Jonouchi said as he examined the terrain below them. High above the clouds, the mortals couldn’t see them but they could see the mortals. Jonouchi could understand why Dartz spent all his time in places like this. Mortal watching could be kind of fun at times. “What spell does that demon have over Keket? She’s normally so smart.”

“Enough about her,” Honda said as he waved off the discussion. Jonouchi turned to him, a brow raised. “How is Shizuka? Isn’t she your responsibility?”

Shizuka was Jonouchi’s latest charge and she was more than a handful. And yet Jonouchi already viewed her as a little sister. “She’s got her own ideas on how to be an angel,” Jonouchi said with an annoyed look on his face. Mortals souls that became angels all seemed to think they had everything figured out. “Unfortunately, guiding her has proven difficult.”

“I imagine so,” Honda said. Honda had already dealt with his own charge a few thousand years ago. He had claimed it had been one of the easiest things to do and that it was so rewarding. It had been part of why Jonouchi had been so willing to take on a charge of his own. “Some mortals who pass have a relatively big head that they take from life into the next form. Why, do you have issues with her?”

Jonouchi shrugged. He knew he should report that Shizuka asked just a little too many questions but he couldn’t bring himself to. He wondered if he had once been mortal, he’d have the same outlook on forever that Shizuka had. Shizuka had been horrified to learn that this was how her afterlife was to be spent and had asked if there were other options. Jonouchi did not know. “No,” he said, squashing the guilt aside from lying to Honda. “There’s no problem.”

He wondered if Honda saw through it.

From the journal of Sumiko Kubota: December 2, 1922, Paris I think my sister is being entirely too difficult. Surely there’s plenty of reason to stick around this shop. And not simply because Duke is utterly fascinating…

Sumiko hadn’t planned on staying in Paris. But Duke fascinated her so much that she had to stay for just a little bit longer. Sure, Kazuko was annoyed the longer they stayed but for once, Sumiko didn’t care. She was learning a lot about the world that her sister stumbled into. Duke spent most of his time either running the store front or in the kitchen.

Today she found him in a new place, however. Sumiko wasn’t sure how to describe the room she’d found herself in. For a minute, anyway. It was like the room was coming into sharp view, as if it had been hidden from her. All the bookcases went right to the ceiling and there was an ornate wooden table in the center of the room. He was humming and Sumiko was struck by how pretty he looked. He seemed relaxed. He looked from the book he’d had open on a podium and grinned. “Why, Sumiko,” Duke said as he gestured towards the chairs around the table. “I see you’ve found the library.”

This was not like any library Sumiko had ever been in. There was this sense that she was not supposed to be in here. And yet Sumiko pressed forward into the room, focusing on Duke. “I didn’t know this place existed.”

“The more time you spend in the supernatural, the more you become in tune with it,” Duke said as he turned to pull a book off the shelf behind him. “Most mortals have an innate sense of magic but spend their whole lives unaware of it. I figured eventually I would see you here.”

“But I was able to see the shop,” Sumiko said as Duke placed the book in front of her. It was in a language she couldn’t read. It was possible it was in French but Sumiko thought the writing looked too different from the signs in the area to be the same language. “Is there a reason for that?”

“Yugi has it set up so people who have had a single strange encounter with the mystical can see the shop,” Duke explained as he took a seat next to Sumiko with a sly grin on his face. Again Sumiko was reminded of a predator who had found its next meal. “However, the shop is so much larger than any mortal who is just dipping their toes into the supernatural can possibly imagine.”

“That reminds me,” Sumiko said, hesitant to ask the one thing she’d been curious about. “Why do you spend all your time here in this shop? Surely a demon such as yourself must get bored of it.”

Duke looked annoyed briefly. “I made a bet with Yugi a few years ago that if I lost a game to him, I’d be friends with him,” Duke said as he leaned back in his chair. “So now here I am, having to honor my end of the bargain. I still don’t know how he managed to win.”

“Powerful demon turned friend by a guy at least a foot shorter than you,” Sumiko remarked, a brow arching up. “How does that happen?”

“Must we talk about it,” Duke said with roll of his eyes. “I’d rather focus on teaching you some of the finer workings of magic.”

“You’re going to teach me magic?” Sumiko narrowed her eyes. “Kaz always says that nothing comes for free. What do you want?”

“That’s how mortals operate,” Duke said, sounding rather dismissive. “I’m not a mortal. I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart.”

“Really?” Sumiko wasn’t sure she believed him. And yet, despite the fact it was a bad idea to make a deal with a demon, she found herself grinning. “I’ll trust you for now. But I’d be careful. My sister is mean and willing to go pretty far to protect me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of hurting you, Sumiko Kubota,” Duke said and Sumiko felt strange realizing she believed him. Trusting a demon with her life seemed like the worst kind of mistake she could make. And yet, with those brilliant emerald like eyes that sparkled with promise, how could Duke be anything but an angel?

From the logs of Rafael, soldier of Destiny, keeper of Justice:1900s Master Dartz seems keenly aware that there is a growing problem with Keket. I am unsure if this is the correct solution, however. Yet I know that asking questions merely leads to more problems….

Rafael wanted to ask Keket if all this was worth it. He never thought she’d lose her mind over some demon. And yet she was. Three times now Keket had failed to kill the vampire. Dartz was pacing the length of the room and the anger radiating off him. “There has to be a way to deal with this,” Dartz muttered, clearly not expecting any answers from Rafael. Rafael glanced towards the multiple views of Earth. One of the views was fixated directly on Keket, who hadn’t moved from her house on Earth since the incident. “She has gotten far too attached to this vampire.”

“Surely we can take him out,” Rafael said, confused as to why Dartz simply wouldn’t just order him to deal with it. Rafael still owed Keket. She’d saved his life in that battle so many eons ago. He recalled how she’d moved with grace through that battlefield. “I can do it. I owe her one.”

“Yes, you do,” Dartz said with a side glance at Rafael. Instantly Rafael felt like he’d made a misstep. Dartz seemed to prize strength and many times, Rafael felt he came up short. Perhaps that was why he was itching to prove he was capable. “But would you even be capable of helping her? Perhaps you might need to start with a smaller target.”

And a file appeared out of nowhere, landing at Rafael’s feet. Rafael hesitated for a moment before picking it up. Instantly, he recognized the demon that Dartz was suggesting. “This is that vampire’s father,” Rafael said, almost stunned. The name had been what Rafael read first - Akhenamkhanen. It would be impossible to forget that name. “How is this a smaller target?”

“I thought you were strong,” Dartz remarked with a strange inflection in his tone. “But if you’re too weak for the task, I’m certain one of the other angels could take care of it.”

Rafael looked at the file again. A demon who was king of his realm, who had been alive for thousands of years. It was a task that even the best of angels would struggle with. He tried to imagine himself actually doing the act. “No,” Rafael said as he passed the file back. “I can do it.”

Still, the rumblings of regret were already starting to build in Rafael’s chest. Doubt coursed through him. But what choice did he have?

From the journals of Anzu Mazaki: Paris, December 23, 1922 Bakura arrived at the theater today. I had been unaware that he even knew where I worked. Curiously, however, I found myself not minding that he had shown up…

The candles were such a dim light to read by, Anzu thought absently. She held the script closer, trying to read the words on the page but not really absorbing them. Her mind was elsewhere. She was focused heavily on remembering the last time Bakura had come around. Her cheeks flushed as she remembered that his hands were sure and the smirk he’d worn. “Miss Gardner,” came a voice like silk from behind her. She glanced up into the mirror, already knowing that she wouldn’t see him reflected back at her. The shadows moved in the mirror, however, and this gave her an idea of where he was. “Shouldn’t you have memorized that already?”

“Maybe I should,” Anzu said, grinning as she turned to face Bakura. White paired so lovely with his skin tone, she thought to herself. She’d never say that out loud to him, though. He had a big enough ego as it was. Then again… “What’s it to you what I have memorized?”

“Why, Anzu,” Bakura said, sounding wounded as he reached out to cup her cheek. His finger rubbed along her lower lip and her lips parted slightly. “You know I deeply care about what goes on in your mundane mortal life.”

“Do you?” She liked the dangerous glint in his eye that he got every time she challenged him. She leaned forward, tilting her head up to give him a hint that she wanted him to kiss her. “Is this why you won’t tell me how to become a vampire? You’d miss my stories of my mortal life?”

“No,” Bakura admitted as he pulled Anzu into a standing position. He yanked her closer to him, his hand wrapped around her wrist. “But because it's a rather scary story.” His grin promised something dark and it thrilled Anzu to her very core. “Can you handle that?”

“I can handle just about anything you throw my way, darling,” she said, unsure where that came from. He was so close and his teeth were so near her neck. Near enough to take a bite out of her. “I want to know everything about you.”

His hand was under her jaw, a finger tracing out her jawline. He yanked her back to him and Anzu let out a soft gasp. Her head tilted, allowing him access. Her arm was pinned behind her back and yet she felt no fear. Being bound by him was thrilling. A veneer of having no choice and yet… Anzu would rather be in no other position. She knew he’d let go if she merely said one word - just one. “Do you?” Bakura asked, his lips pressing to her neck. “I would think you’d be done with talking by now.”

She was tempted to say that of course she was done with talking before reality sat back in. “You promised me a scary story,” Anzu said softly, doing her best to ignore how his strong hands felt so nice on her. “I want to know - how does one become a vampire?”

Bakura stilled. For a moment, Anzu wondered if he would leave her frustrated and in need of release. “It’s not pretty,” he finally said. “You mortals have such romantic notions. I’m trying to protect you, Anzu.”

He so rarely used her name. The last time he used it, he had been warning her that she should go find a mortal boy instead. She’d insisted then she didn’t care about the potential heartbreak they could face. He’d merely smiled and said it was on her own head if she got in that deep. “What if I don’t want to be protected?”

A heartbeat passed and he released her arm. She was almost disappointed until his hand was placed on her hip. His forehead pressed against her shoulder and he let out a weary sigh. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”

“No.”

“Fine,” he said and Anzu couldn’t pin down his tone. “I was turned thousands of years ago. It was a mistake, of course. Akhandin never meant to turn me. I was a poor thief who no one would miss. He stole me and my mother in the dead night from our village.” He sounded far away and Anzu felt a surge of affection. She tried to picture Bakura as human. Then she tried to picture what Bakura’s mother might look like. “The blood was drained from the bodies and stored in jars for later consumption.”

He spun her around, staring deep into her eyes. Anzu wondered if his eyes were always blood red like that. “So does that mean part of becoming a vampire involves being drained of blood?”

“Yes but there’s a particular order,” Bakura said with a sly smirk. “I fought back and got a bit of Akhandin. Turns out, because I got a bit of him… it was enough to start the change.” He leaned forward, a dangerous glint in his eyes. His teeth glinted somehow in the lowlight. “Can you guess what that bit of him it was?”

Anzu raised a brow. “You tell me,” she said, trying her best to not sound breathless. Already she had a hunch and was trying to picture the process. “I’ve just stumbled my way into the supernatural, remember?”

He took her hand in his and pressed a quick kiss to the inside of her wrist. “Blood, my dear,” he said, his tongue pressed against her skin. “I managed to bite him hard enough to take blood. And when that happened, why… him draining me of blood set the wheels of fate in motion. My heart ceased beating and when I awoke, I was filled with thirst.” There was now a manic glint in his eyes. “So thirsty… I drank all the jars he’d stored for later. He hadn’t been expecting to find me there. I fled.”

“What about your mother?” It was, on the surface, an innocent question. However, the pained look on his face told another story. Her stomach dropped. “Bakura?”

“I didn’t know at the time,” he said, as if looking for absolution from her. Anzu had never seen this look on Bakura’s face before. She’d seen so many ways to be looked at but this face… It was almost worshipful. Like a sinner pleading for mercy from a crucifix. “At the time… I was just… so thirsty, Anzu.” He was gripping her hand so tight. “I didn’t know he’d already drained her. And I didn’t… I was a coward.”

The pieces clicked together and Anzu stumbled back. She landed in her chair and he was kneeling before her, begging for her to understand. Of course she understood. “It’s not like you meant to,” she said, reaching out to cup his jaw. “Does that mean… when you’re turned…”

“It’s like an animal taking over you,” Bakura said, leaning against her touch. “The pain, too… It’s more than just a desire for blood. It destroys you. Can’t you see now? I want to spare you that pain, Anzu.”

From the journal of Prince Atem, domain of vampires: London, January 1st, 1923 I hate that angel. I wish she’d never entered my life. She’s ruined it forever.

The phone rang twice before Atem answered it. “Hey,” Atem answered as he examined his throat. He was surprised that there wasn’t even a scar. It was like nothing had happened. “This is Atem. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Atem, it’s Mahad,” came the voice from the other end of the line. Atem straightened up. Mahad typically didn’t call unless it was important. “Before you hang up, I promise that I’m not calling to drag you back to the palace.”

“You wound me, brother,” Atem said, distracted by the shattered pieces of mirror still all over the floor. He needed to take care of it but couldn’t bring himself to. He was obsessing. That angel had entered his home and attacked him violently. And he was obsessed, wondering why she’d done it. “I would never hang up on you.”

“You hung up on me last time I called,” Mahad pointed out, sounding weary already. Instantly Atem felt bad. The last time Mahad called, Atem was just a little too frustrated. He wouldn’t have hung up otherwise. “That’s not what I’m calling about though, young prince.”

“Are you trying to get me to hang up on you?”

“Not at all,” Mahad said and Atem could almost hear the smile in Mahad’s voice. “Merely showing respect, young prince.” A beat passed before he hesitantly continued, “However… something has come up that you need to know.”

“Need to know,” Atem remarked as he picked up the bloodied shard of mirror. She’d shoved it deep in his throat and attempted to hack him apart. He’d reacted by draining her blood mindlessly. And her blood had created a surge through him that he hadn’t known was possible. Was that not something he needed to know? “That reminds me, I have something I need to ask.”

“This is more important,” Mahad said and Atem noticed that he was trying too hard to sound gentle. There was no teasing, no ribbing. The last time Mahad had been this gentle, Atem found himself in mourning. He somehow knew what Mahad was going to say before he said it. “Your father is dead, young prince.”

And just like that, Atem’s entire world was tilted on its axis. “Father’s dead?”

#fic: fall from grace

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wordsablaze · 3 years

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12/13 - shared earworms

A Dozen Denials Soulmate-identifiers exist to make things easier unless you’re Jaskier, who’s equally as deep in love as he is in denial. But there’s only so many excuses you can make to avoid the truth… (aka jaskier’s soulmate is definitely a witcher, just not the one he first assumes)

A/N: his last misunderstanding, thank the stars... @alllthequeenshorses @eskel-loves-lilbleater

previous chapter

Oxenfurt is magical.

And no, that isn’t just Jaskier being dramatic, the city truly is far more magical than people give it credit for.

When Jaskier had first arrived, he’d had no idea how some bards could spontaneously burst into a duet with no preparation whatsoever. And he’d had no idea how some students could enter a classroom and start humming the next verse to something another student had started humming several minutes back. For a long time, he’d had no idea how some people could be so in sync with each other.

It hadn’t taken long to work it out.

It wasn’t that every couple in the city somehow happened to be incredibly talented at picking up on body language or anything like that, it was just that they could literally hear each other’s singing. And humming. And composing. And generally most musical thoughts.

“How is everyone doing this?” he’d asked his professor during one lecture or the other.

The professor had laughed and handed him a book from his personal library. “It’s not something that can be learned, boy, it’s magic.”

At that, Jaskier had frowned. “What kind of magic?”

“The oldest kind there is, of course,” his professor had replied, “the magic of destiny.”

Jaskier’s grip on the book had tightened painfully as he’d nodded and politely excused himself back to his room, where he’d thrown the book on his bed and flopped onto the floor with a groan; of course this would be a Destiny thing, just his luck.

The book remained untouched for months.

“The professor must have felt really sorry for you if you have this,” Alfie tells him near the end of the semester, picking up the book that had very quickly moved from the bed to his desk, where it was being used more as a paperweight than anything else.

Jaskier hums. “Why do you say that?”

Alfie raises an eyebrow, chucking the book at Jaskier. “Because everyone knows about soulmates. How don’t you?”

There’s a moment of silence before Jaskier groans inwardly. He’d been avoiding the subject altogether but not having returned the book meant he had to come up with some kind of excuse to get him out of receiving everyone’s pity or judgement.

“I do!” Jaskier argues, “I was merely waiting until I’d finished my ballad on the matter before returning his book.”

“Oh? A secret assignment?” Alfie grins, easily convinced by Jaskier’s lies.

Jaskier nods, glancing between him and the book. “Wouldn’t you like to know? I believe you have your own soulmate you ought to be dancing with though, don’t you?”

At that, Alfie smiles so wide it looks as though his face is in danger of splitting right open. “Lena is as much of a gossip as I am, we both know she’d be delighted if I turned up with news of the infamous Jaskier’s new ballad.”

“Consider yourself fortunate to be so knowledgeable then,” Jaskier says with a smirk that’s filled with none of the confidence he has in this ballad he’s now obliged to compose. “But don’t expect any other hints to be divulged just yet.”

“Alright, keep your secrets!”

And Jaskier does, though he spends the next week pouring over the book until his head feels like it’s filled with clouds. The ballad is exceptional but the strange look his professor gives him is filled with enough concern to keep him away from classes for another two weeks.

Only once does he get to experience it for himself, in the middle of Belleteyn.

He’s sat around a small campfire with a group of other bards, listening to Essi attempt getting through a longer ballad whilst slightly tipsy. He’d been supporting her, of course, prompting her the lyrics when she forgot them through the haze of wine, when he’s abruptly pulled into an old elder poem - it’s sad and beautiful and most importantly, it’s not one that he knows. And yet, he finds himself mumbling the words as they appear in his head, accompanied by what sounds like humming.

“Jaskier? What’s next?” Essi asks, giggling even as she frowns in concentration.

But he waves her off, springing to his feet and stumbling over to where he’d put his bag, starting to write the poem down in his journal as if his life depended on it. To be fair, he’d thought his love life might have at the time. He doesn’t realise how frantically he’s scribbling until the humming abruptly stops and he catches up with himself only to realise his hand is stained grey and his knees are damp from having knelt right on the wet grass.

“No no no, come back,” he mutters to himself, then quietly starts singing the ballad of the lovers who met under the spring arches.

He’s running before he knows it, ignoring the way the others call after him and breathing heavily as he makes his way to the towering arches of ivy in the academy courtyard; everyone who’s been to the city even just once knows of them and he hopes his soulmate takes the hint. But the warmth he’d been feeling fades.

Grateful for the darkness, he sinks to his knees once he’s been through the song three times and there’s still no sight of anyone nearby. Then he curses loudly, feeling foolish to even hope for such a whimsical turn of events; he should have known better than to get his hopes up, especially considering everything else he knows about whoever he has the pleasure of sharing all but his soul with.

He avoids the arches as much as he can.

“Have you ever been to Oxenfurt?” Jaskier asks Geralt as they enter Redania together, years and years later.

Geralt shrugs. “It’s loud. Too many people, not enough monsters.”

“Only you would complain about a lack of life-threatening circumstances, my dear,” Jaskier replies, but he can’t help his disappointment.

There’s no way he can force Geralt to accompany him to Oxenfurt just to test some ancient theory but at least he can be comforted by the knowledge that he must have passed through on at least one occasion if he knows what the city is like - perhaps the elder poem had been a hint at their adventures in Posada, he thinks.

In the end, he decides he doesn’t care. He doesn’t need Oxenfurt’s approval to love Geralt and he certainly has nothing to prove to any professors. Besides, he can’t imagine there would be any point in Geralt hearing him perform both out loud and within his mind at the same time; if anything, that would only make matters worse.

Either way, he never stays in Oxenfurt long enough to dwell on it. And nor does he need to when he has so much else to fall back on if he’s ever in doubt; there’s no point in him chasing more evidence when he’s already found the only conclusion he’ll ever need.

(little did he know his conclusion would inevitably be disproven.)

i really played around with this so ik it’s not the typical earworm trope but please ignore that bc i am tired and just happy for jaskier to stop being an idiot - next up, Destiny metaphorically punching one (1) bard in the face ;)

thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher blog: @itsjaskier | next chapter

#jaskier #geralt of rivia #eskel #the witcher #hurt jaskier #fanfiction #soulmate au #endgame jaskel #angst #i am so ready to unravel jaskier's reality #and we can finally apologise to poor eskel for the chaos #i just have to decide if i'm gonna go about it in an angsty or fluffy way #either way i'll try and make it worth this mess ;)#my writing #add

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fusrodie · 3 years

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friends, meet Sweetroll! (lots of facts about her below the cut)

her name isn’t actually Sweetroll, but she has no idea what her name is, where she came from, or what she used to do; she woke up in an island full of falmer and without a single actual person

she doesn’t know if she lost her memory or if she simply had never seen the outside world, and she can’t figure it out; she feels like she’s learning most things for the first time

she remembers many practical things - how to pull a bowstring, how to wack and hack someone with a waraxe, how to skin a rabbit -, but cannot for the life of her remember anything factual: she did not remember races of men or mer, did not remember the name of most animals and creatures, and only figured out magic was a thing by accident;

she still remembers how to read and write, and becomes obsessed with books after she reads the first one

she can’t tell if she learns fast from books because she is actually a fast learner or if the books trigger her memories

she theorizes she’s a nord, but no one can seem to confirm it because she’s a head shorter than the usual nord but too tall to be an imperial

she had hoped that, once she reached the mainland, she’d be able to tell herself apart from others, and some of her features would help her identify where she’s from or who she is; unfortunately for her, she finds out she’s actually a pretty Generic Woman

develops this obsession for ruins, nordic in particular. she keeps hearing she looks like a nord, so it makes perfect sense that she would be able to find some trace of her family history in one of the tombs

while on the island, she finds and tames a wild horse, and is incredibly happy that she remembers it is called a “horse”. thus, she names it Horse, the horse

she named herself “Sweetroll” after reaching Solitude and hanging out with Blaise, the kid in the stables. he is the first person to whom she admits she cannot remember her name, and he tells her that is actually really cool, because she can pick a name for herself. he tells her if he was in her place, he’d choose a name based on something he really liked, and she really, really likes sweet rolls

she has no idea the absurdity of naming herself Sweetroll, and because of that she takes absolutely no shit from anyone trying to mock her. if anything, she’ll stare at you like you’re the weird one

oh, on the topic of sweet rolls: she has a massive sweet tooth

after reading so many academic and history books in the island, she became quite “scientific” in her note taking. she writes down all of her new experiences and findings

she is terrified of losing her memory again, which is why she keeps her journals on her always. she also does not drink any kind of alcohol, nor does she do any kind of drug, for fear that those were the things that caused her to lose her memory in the first place

she developed early on the bad habit of trying to experiment everything. she bit into septims when she first saw them because she had no idea what they were for, and in true baby fashion, she tried to eat them

the first time she found a bottle of wine, she downed it all in one go and passed out. when she came to, she was butt naked at the top of an ancient dwemer watchtower, with no memory whatsoever of what she had done the night prior

not having learned her lesson, she found a bottle on a dead falmer while exploring dwemer ruins, and also downed it all in one go. it was poison, and put her out of comission for a good few days. she’s still not sure how she survived, considering that she had no knowledge of healing magic and had not yet learned how to brew health potions. since then, she does not drink anything that she didn’t make herself

having to relearn how to use money was pretty difficult, and she doesn’t fully understand it yet. she rarely buys weapons or armor, but will 100% blow all of her cash on books

she accepts all requests for tiny favors, all bounties and all stupid fetch quests. she gets to them in her own time, because really, the whole point of it is to give her a reason to find more places to explore and study

she seems to have a talent for magic, particularly destruction, but prefers to rely on her bow and axe. I might transition her into a pure mage or spellsword further down the line, but for now she’s just a boring sneak archer

in her quest to know... basically all that there is to know, she hoards books, alchemical ingredients and crafting supplies. she loots all equipment she finds, studies it, then melts it all down and studies it some more

she is slowly learning/relearning concepts such as “private property” and the mind-boggling “flirting”. she doesn’t understand flirting in particular, as a breton dude came up to her with massive heart eyes and straight up told her she looked like a corpse. most people who told her that did it out of concern or disgust, but him? whatever it was, it made her very uncomfortable

on the topic of corpses, she is terrified of necromancers and hates undead with a passion. she doesn’t know why, they just give her the creeps

she finds it easier to get along with children, as they don’t usually try to be condescending to her and answer her questions to the best of their abilities

horses are her favorite animal, and if anyone so much as touches Horse, there will be blood

she is a meat eater, but she’s not too fond of eating domesticated animals in general. she’s okay with hunting and eating game, but she feels like raising the animal only to eat it later is a massive backstab. at least wild animals know that life is dangerous and that if they don’t run they’ll eventually be preyed upon by something smarter than them. she’s okay with that, finds it fair

she reads about Hermaeus Mora in a book and becomes very interested in contacting him, so maybe he can restore her memory or give her a clue on where to start looking

#virgil plays skyrim #oc stuff #sweetroll #skyrim #tes v #tes v skyrim #long post //

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sweatersexual · 3 years

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In Gravity Falls, You Abduct the Aliens

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“This,” proclaimed Stan, “is not a house.” He waded through the piles of books, papers, and weird gadgets. “Seriously, who keeps a chalkboard in their living room? This is more like some kind of nerd lair.”

“I prefer to think of it as my own research lab that I have all-hours access to, but the term lair does lend a certain ambience,” said Ford.

Stan picked up a deformed skull that looked like it belonged to some kind of rodent. “This feels like the intro to a horror movie. With a plucky pair of teen heroes to terrorize and giant switches to a zappy doomsday device, you’d be all set.” He started playing with the skull’s jaw hinge.

Ford reclaimed the skull from him. “Well, it’s no doomsday device, but once I get the portal in the basement working, it’ll be plenty ‘zappy,’ as you say.”

Right, the portal. Ford had talked about it a lot on their drive up from Vegas, where the two of them had happened to run into each other and ended up reconciling. Ford seemed preoccupied by how he’d build the thing without his old flame, Fiddleford McGucket. Ford had invited him to join them in Gravity Falls as well, but when the two nerds realized they still had the hots for each other, Fiddleford had decided to do right by his wife and kid and stay in Palo Alto.

Stan, on the other hand, might be no mechanical engineer, but he was smart enough to realize there was more to this portal business than Ford was telling him.

“Man, you really have a one track mind when it comes to that portal, huh? You were even talking about it in your sleep while we were driving up here. ‘So sorry, shouldn’t’ve let my personal feelings get in the way. . . . ‘S only a temporary setback . . . won’t let all our hard work go to waste . . .’ Has somebody else been helping with the portal?”

Ford nervously spun the skull around in his hand. “Really, Stanley, it’s silly to read too much into sleep talk. I could’ve been talking about anything.”

“Come on, Sixer. If you’re gonna lie to me, you gotta try harder than that.”

“Don’t you trust me, Stanley?”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“I do, but . . . I don’t want you to think I’m crazy.”

Stan put a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “Listen, bro. I’ve been all over the world. Whatever it is, I’ll understand.”

Ford sighed. “All right, I’ll try to explain. But first, let me go get something. A visual aid, if you will.”

A few minutes later, he returned, having replaced the deformed skull with a ceramic jar in his now gloved hands. “I was lucky to get my hands on this,” Ford told him. “The Northwests hoard just about all the artifacts they can find. Please avoid touching it, I don’t have any disposable five-fingered gloves to protect it from the oils on your hands.”

He presented the design on the jar to Stan, who was doing his best to show Ford he didn’t think he was crazy. The picture was of a man with an animal pelt on his head talking to a triangle with one eye. “Don’t tell me you got recruited by the Illuminati or something,” said Stan.

“No, I haven’t joined any secret societies,” Ford assured him. “This depicts a man named Modoc from three thousand years ago, seeking wisdom from an ancient being. From time to time, this being presents himself to truly singular minds, giving them divine insight and knowledge. And now this Muse has chosen me.”

“Okay,” said Stan. “So you’ve gotten into some kind of niche religion. It’s not that weird. Just don’t drink the Kool-Aid, all right?”

Ford set the jar down on what little empty space his dining room table had left. “I haven’t joined a cult, Stan. I mean, it is a kind of spiritual experience, talking to my Muse, but there’s no organized religion involved. Ever since I summoned him, he manifests himself in my dreams. I never could’ve gotten this far in my investigations of Gravity Falls without him. And he’s helped me come up with the plans for this portal. I know it sounds strange, but there really is something otherworldly about him. And even if he is somehow all in my imagination, the inspiration has never steered me wrong.”

Stan’s bullshit-o-meter was going off, but not because he thought Ford was lying to him. Stan knew his twin’s tells, and Ford was definitely sincere about this muse thing. He couldn’t take Ford’s words at face value, but he could tell that Ford was really going out on a limb here, being honest about something that could get him called a quack at best or institutionalized at worst. So what if the guy was in his thirties and had an imaginary friend? Let him have his weird triangle dreams if it made him happy.

So Stan simply said, “Hey, whatever floats your boat, poindexter. But now that I’m here, you’re not just some weird hermit living in the woods. We’re a family. And families live in homes, not nerd lairs.”

Ford blinked, seeming surprised that Stan had changed the subject. But he went along with it anyway. “Right. Well, I have been meaning to organize everything for awhile now. My research keeps getting ahead of me. But I’ll probably be able to think better without so much clutter around.”

It didn’t take long for the twins to settle into a routine. Mornings were for cleaning and organization. After lunch, Stan would run errands while Ford struggled building his machine in the basement. Stan never imagined he’d get so excited about yard sale curtains and other furnishings, but after so many years never having a permanent place of his own, he relished the chance to decorate his own living space. Afternoons and evenings were dedicated to finding and studying anomalies, then Stan tried to persuade Ford to go to bed rather than get back to work on the portal again. He was rarely successful.

“I owe it to myself to at least stumble along with the limited mechanical knowledge I have,” said Ford. “And maybe I’ll find someone or something else that can help.”

Stan did try to help, but it took so long for Ford to even explain what he was trying to do, and it was so boring listening to him speak nothing but jargon, and Ford just didn’t think the way Stanley did. Stan would probably have better luck just taking Ford’s plans and trying to decode them himself, either way it would take ages. Instead he simply figured out how to use a welding torch and applied it where Ford told him to.

But Stan’s favorite hours were spent running through the woods with his brother. He had never expected to see a gnome for himself, or play with magic size-altering crystals. About one week into his stay, Ford was over the moon to find a sleeping gremloblin. “I don’t know when I’ll get another chance to study one up close like this!”

Stan helped take samples and measurements (it really was remarkable how heavy a sleeper this gremloblin was), then helped himself to his favorite toffee peanuts while Ford finished scribbling in his journal. Rustling in the bushes behind him turned his head, and before he knew it a red and black creature was running away from him, and the toffee peanuts that had fallen on the ground were gone.

Ford snapped to attention, too. “Did you see what that was?” he asked Stan.

“Something with a duck bill.” Stan held up his snack. “It was trying to get these.”

Ford grimaced. “I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.”

Stan rolled his eyes. Ford was so dramatic about his distaste for Stan’s favorite snack.

“Can I try to lure it back out?” asked Ford, reaching for the toffee peanuts.

“Fine.”

Once they had gotten the creature to reemerge, Ford was back to scribbling in his journal. “So the plaidypus legends are real! Fascinating, fascinating. Is it just me, or do you think it smells like maple syrup and bacon?”

They were able to track the plaidypus back to its burrow on the marshy banks by the creek, where they found a clutch of flannel-patterned eggs. To improve upon their fantastic luck, they had arrived in time to watch the eggs hatch.

“Look at that! They only have the horizontal stripes now, the vertical stripes must come in as they grow - did you get the measurements on that last one, Stanley?”

“Yeah, but what do you think the deal is with that one?” Stan pointed to a blue egg that hadn’t yet hatched.

“I have no idea. I’m not even sure that’s a plaidypus egg.”

Ford turned out to be extremely correct when the blue egg did hatch and a slimy white monster popped out.

“What the hell is that thing?” asked Stan.

Ford replied, “I’ve never seen anything like it,” then gasped when the monster mutated into another baby plaidypus. “It’s a mimic!”

“Wait - which one is it?” asked Stan.

Ford cursed. “I should’ve been paying closer attention.”

The shapeshifter soon revealed itself when instead of latching on to the mother plaidypus’s lactating glands, it sank its teeth into another baby plaidypus. “No!” cried Stan as he picked up the imposter and pried its jaw open. “Bad shapeshifter thing!”

Ford tended the baby plaidypus’s wounds while Stan wrestled the shapeshifter into a containment jar, where it resumed its original pale, slimy form.

The study of this creature quickly set Ford into what Stan liked to call Full Nerd Mode. They hardly seemed to get through a conversation without Ford bringing up how “Shifty”, as he’d nicknamed the thing, changed his DNA when he changed forms, and how the implications from that would revolutionize the field of genetics, or asking for suggestions for safe forms to add to Shifty’s repertoire. Stan had to admit it was nice to see his brother obsess over something other than that portal for once, though if he had his way he could think of several ways for Shifty to aid with some under-the-table schemes.

“Stanley!” Ford had chided him when Stan had joked about the idea. “You have a job with me now. You don’t need to get into more trouble with the law.”

Yeah, that had been weird, getting an actual, legitimate paycheck for once, and with his brother’s signature no less. And it really was quite a lot considering that Stan didn’t need to pay rent or anything. But Stan couldn’t help that niggling doubt in the back of his mind questioning whether he had enough, whether Stan’s luck might still run dry and he’d better get as much as he could while the getting was good -

Stan had simply shrugged at his brother. “A side hustle never hurt anything,” he said. “And with Shifty’s help, we wouldn’t get caught.”

“I’m afraid it’s out of the question,” Ford had insisted. “We wear masks around Shifty for a reason, you know. It’s too dangerous to have him impersonate humans.”

And Stan could see the wisdom in that, but even so, he thought he did a good enough impression of his brother to recognize the second-rate performance Shifty would put on. The little monster couldn’t even talk!

That last assumption was proven wrong one afternoon while they were working on the portal and a high-pitched voice called out, “Beans!”

Ford’s head perked up from his schematics. “Did you say something?” he asked Stan, who shook his head.

Stan pointed to the dog kennel where they kept Shifty. “I think it was -”

“Beans!” the voice repeated, and it was definitely coming from the kennel.

“Remarkable,” said Ford, replacing his mask as he walked over to kneel in front of the kennel, where Shifty could see him. “Are you hungry, Shifty?”

“Beans,” he repeated, “for me.”

“I’ll go get him some,” said Stan. As he climbed the stairs up to the house, he heard Ford ask, “What else can you say, Shifty?”

When Stan returned with the beans Shifty liked so much, the little monster was repeating the brothers’ names. “Stan,” said the little voice. “Ford. Sixer poindexter knucklehead.”

Ford laughed. “Very good, Shifty. Those are some other names we call each other.”

“Who am I?” asked the shapeshifter. Stan felt his mouth drop open. That wasn’t the sort of question a parrot asked . . .

“Why, you’re Shifty,” said Ford without a trace of the trepidation Stan was feeling just then. “Stan has brought you those beans you wanted, Shifty.”

“Beans!”

When he was done eating, Shifty went back to asking questions. “Who am I? Who is Shifty?”

“Speaking in full sentences already,” said Ford. “This is really quite incredible.”

“He’s asking if he’s a person, Ford.”

“Stan, don’t anthropomorphize him. Even parrots can repeat phrases -”

“Parrots don’t ask existential questions like that! And besides, when have we ever said anything like that around him?”

Ford frowned. “I’ll need to collect more data -”

“This isn’t about data, Ford!” Stan gestured to the kennel. “That’s a kid! A weird monster kid, but still a kid. And we’re keeping him in a cage. Take it from someone who’s been to prison.” At that, Ford glanced up at him in surprise, and Stan looked away. “It does things to you.”

Ford stammered, “Stan, I - I didn’t know - you never said -”

“I don’t like to talk about it,” said Stan. “And anyway, this isn’t about me. This is about him.”

Ford nodded. It was a moment before he answered, “Well, I will need to do more tests, and we do need to keep his abilities under control, but -” Stan opened his mouth to argue, but Ford placed his hand on Stan’s shoulder in a calming motion - “but . . . your concerns have merit. Even a parrot would need a more stimulating environment than this. Will you help me whip something up for Shifty?”

Stan grinned. “Of course.”

With Stan’s help, Ford was able to construct a walled-off enclosure in the basement, which Shifty took to happily. When Ford was able to determine that the burrow Shifty made in the corner was a bed and not an escape route, he found he could breathe much easier.

Ford spent an increasing amount of time in the enclosure, testing Shifty’s language and cognitive skills. Soon he had an impressive amount of data confirming the shapeshifter’s intelligence. Shifty was always eager to participate in the “games,” as he referred to them, and responded very well to Ford’s praise. Ford had to admit he also enjoyed designing activities to keep Shifty occupied while Ford was working on other projects. These activities usually took the form of a puzzle or scavenger hunt, with chicken nuggets as prizes.

Shifty was also making great strides in learning to read. Ford had picked up a number of secondhand children’s books, but only ones that contained no illustrations of humans or dangerous animals for Shifty to take the forms of. This still left him with a wide variety of benign anthropomorphic animal characters like Frog and Toad, Frances, and Little Critter, many of whom became common forms for Shifty to take.

Eventually Ford felt comfortable enough for Shifty to have supervised playtime in the house and walks around the yard, but he and Stan always stayed masked and kept Shifty from seeing any people or dangerous animals.

On one such occasion, Stan was keeping an eye on Shifty upstairs while Ford was getting in some work on the portal. A loud thump from the floor above broke Ford’s focus, and a second had him scrambling up the steps, adjusting his mask as he went. The last thing he expected to find in the living room was two elephant seals.

“You didn’t tell me humans can shapeshift too!” said one of the elephant seals.

“What? Shifty? Are you saying Stan turned into this elephant seal right here?”

The other elephant seal groaned, a grumbling, braying sound.

“Elephant seal,” Shifty repeated. His high voice sounded comical coming from such a blubbery monster. “I like being an elephant seal. I’ve never been this big before.”

This was a disaster. Ford had never intended to have Shifty turn into such a volatile creature. “I’m afraid elephant seals are too big to be in the house, Shifty. Would you please turn into something smaller?”

“But how come Stan gets to be an elephant seal?” Shifty complained as he morphed into Arthur Read, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“I don’t want him to be an elephant seal either,” said Ford. “Stan? Can you try to turn back? What were you messing with, you know a lot of the artifacts I keep are cursed.”

Stan made a series of grunting seal noises, none of which were in the least helpful.

Ford sighed aggravatedly. “What happened before he turned into an elephant seal, Shifty?”

“Well, we were gonna build a blanket fort, so we got some blankets out of a trunk, then I put one of the blankets on my head and pretended I was a ghost, and Stan did too, only he used the -”

“The sealskin?” asked Ford. “The heavy one with the decorative beading?”

“I think so. He turned into an elephant seal after he put it on.”

“But that one’s cursed!” said Ford. “This is not good. We need to turn him back soon, or he’ll stay an elephant seal forever.”

Stan let out a series of angry honks and grumbles which, if translated to English, would probably be the kind of language Ford would not want Shifty repeating.

As it was, Shifty shrank into a field mouse, his ears meekly tucked behind his head. “What can we do?” he asked. “How do we change him back?”

“I’ll need to consult my journal,” said Ford. “I think I found a curse breaking spell somewhere . . .”

Ford tried to flip through journal 2 quickly, but had to pause every time Shifty climbed up to his shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of the pages.

“Cut it out, Shifty,” he said, setting Shifty back on the ground for the third time. “You’re slowing me down, and time is of the essence.”

“Why don’t you trust me?” asked Shifty.

“Come now, you know my journals are off limits,” said Ford. “Why don’t you make sure Stan doesn’t wreck the coffee table, hmm?”

A few minutes later, Ford found the page he was looking for. “Vis maleficiis expello. Fundere atque fugare in pacem. Purgare. Purgare. Purgare,” he chanted over Stan’s blubbery form.

Nothing happened.

Ford rechecked the journal entry. “Did I miss something? Let me try that again.”

The second attempt was no better than the first.

“This curse is clearly more malignant than I thought,” said Ford. “A simple spell is simply not up to the task. We’ll need to try something with a little more oomph to it.”

“Can I help?” asked Shifty.

“You can,” said Ford, “by waiting very patiently in your room while I take Stan to meet an acquaintance of mine.”

“But I can do more!” Shifty protested. “I’m sure I can.”

“I’m sorry, Shifty, but I’m afraid the risk is too great.”

“But what if he gets stuck as an elephant seal forever and it’s all my fault?”

“Shifty . . .” Ford was surprised Shifty had developed such an attachment to Stan, and a sense of responsibility. Though as far as Ford was concerned, it was entirely unwarranted. “I don’t blame you for any of this. If Stan had been more careful -” Stan snorted at that - “or if I had clearly labeled which items were cursed,” Ford conceded, “that is to say, this was just an accident. You don’t need to feel guilty.”

Shifty seemed to accept that, “But I still want to help. If you let me go with you, I promise I’ll be good. I’ll do what you tell me, I promise.”

Ford shook his head. “Shifty, it really will be more of a help if I’m not having to watch out for you while we’re undoing the curse. Don’t worry, I’ve dealt with phenomena far more malignant than this. Why don’t I refill your octahedron puzzle, hmm?” It was one of Shifty’s favorites. “By the time you’re done with it, we’ll be back, and Stan will be in his right shape again.”

Once Ford had started a reluctant Shifty on his puzzle, and gathered a few materials he thought might be helpful for curse breaking, Ford and Stan started hiking over to the lake. Well, Ford was hiking. Stan was doing more of a hobble. Ideally they would drive over, but the El Diablo wasn’t built to cart around elephant seals, and Stan wasn’t too keen to try.

“We’re going to summon a siren I’ve had some dealings with,” Ford explained to Stan. At his questioning look, Ford added, “She’s safe, don’t worry. We may have had . . . some miscommunications, at first, but we’re on good terms. Doripea’s been an excellent source of information. I just hope she’s not too busy.”

To their good fortune, she wasn’t. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite gentleman caller,” Doripea greeted Ford. Her angular face and pointed ears add to the mischievousness of her grin, aided in its brightness by the afternoon sun reflecting off her turquoise scales. “Here for another interview date?”

“Ah, sort of?” said Ford.

Stan’s snorts sounded an awful lot like laughter.

“Oh, I figured out Ford was gay pretty quickly,” she told Stan, apparently in response to a comment Ford hadn’t been able to understand. “What I couldn’t figure out was why he kept trying to summon me with a suitor’s call.”

Ford groaned. “The summoning instructions in Eatherena Aquatica didn’t specify -” He was cut off by Stan’s repeated laughter. “Anyway, I was hoping I could get your input, Doripea. You see, we’re in a bit of a pickle.”

“Aside from the shapeshifter stalking you?”

“What?” Ford whirled around, zeroing in on a deer which had frozen in place with a wide-eyed, panicked expression. “Shifty, I told you to stay in your room!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” cried the deer. “I just wanted to make sure Stan was okay! Please don’t hate me.”

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Ford realized he wasn’t wearing a mask, meaning Shifty could now take his form if he wanted. Who knew how many people or dangerous animals Shifty had come across while tailing them to the lake? How could Ford possibly do damage control on this?

“You don’t have to panic,” said Shifty. “I said I’d be good if you let me come. I’ll do what you tell me, just please, I couldn’t just wait around doing nothing.”

“Amazing,” said Doripea. “You tamed it. I didn’t even know their kind could talk.”

Ford turned to her, curiosity suddenly overcoming his concern. “You’ve seen other shapeshifters before?”

She shrugged. “Not in a long time. It’s been, what, a century and a half? I saw it come out of its burrow to feed every now and then, but for the most part it kept to itself, I think.”

“Strange,” said Ford. “Shifty has tested well when it comes to social behaviors. It’s hard to determine such things with only one extant specimen, but I would’ve guessed his kind to be pack hunters.”

“As far as I know, only one of them has existed at a time. Can’t pack hunt without a pack,” said Doripea.

“Hmm.” Ford would have to examine the implications of this later, but for now, “Shifty, you can stay, as long as you keep close to me and stay in deer form unless I tell you otherwise, got it?”

“Okay.”

“Now, Dora, the reason I came to call on you. My brother here mishandled the selkie’s revenge and I was hoping you could help me change him back to human form.”

“How long has he been in seal form?”

“No more than two hours.”

“Oh good, you caught it early. Stan, you don’t feel any strong urges to swim in this lake, do you?”

To Stan’s grunts she replied, “Well, if you get any, resist them. This curse is designed to turn you into an elephant seal in mind as well as body. Swimming in the water will kick start that process. You’ll be drawn to the other elephant seals, and before you know it you’ll be on the wrong side of a territorial beachmaster. You’re lucky we’re so far inland, and that it isn’t mating season.”

“I tried a simple curse breaking spell, and when that didn’t work I thought we would need something more specialized.”

“You got that right, Stanford. Did you bring any material we could use as a taglock?”

Ford nodded and produced some hair he’d removed from Stan’s hairbrush. Doripea listed a few other ingredients, some of which Stanford had on him, and another she could harvest from the bottom of the lake. She sent them off to gather cedar leaves while she retrieved it.

“See, Shifty, you had nothing to worry about,” Ford reassured him as the three of them set off on their short trek through the forest. “With Doripea’s help, Stan will be back to normal in no time. You didn’t need to break out of your room.”

“I guess,” said Shifty. “It’s just that you and Stan never let me go anywhere. And maybe I didn’t have to come, but now that I’m here, it’s not so bad. Why do you think I’m so dangerous?”

Ford hesitated. How wise was it, to let Shifty know how powerful his shapeshifting abilities were? How easily they could be misused? How much of Shifty’s good behavior was due to his innocence?

Before he could start parsing out his answer, something caught his eye. “Look, there! A cedar grove. Shifty, why don’t you change into bird form and help me gather the leaves?”

Shifty was sufficiently distracted by leaf collecting for the time being. But as they made their way back to the lake with their spoils, something seemed off about Stan. He would stop moving periodically, his head cocked to the east. Then he would shake his head and catch up with Ford and Shifty.

The third time Stan stopped, Ford asked, “What is it, Stanley?” but Stan didn’t seem to hear him. Instead he took off in the eastern direction.

“What are you doing?” asked Ford, running alongside him. “That’s not the way back to the lake!”

“He can’t help it!” said Shifty as he glided through the air above them, still in bird form. “Something is drawing him that way!”

“The river,” Ford realized. “It must be closer to this spot than the lake is! We can’t let him get in the water!”

“Can I turn into an elephant seal now?” asked Shifty, and he whooped gleefully when Ford gave his assent. With an extra burst of speed, Shifty flew several feet ahead of them, then dropped to the ground in elephant seal form. The two bull seals collided, and Stan looked even more frenzied as he tried to evade this new obstacle.

“Stan, don’t hurt him!” cried Ford. “You know Shifty, he doesn’t want to hurt you! Stan, look at me, you know you can’t get in the water! Snap out of it!”

Stan paid no attention to this. Clearly the call of the water was too strong. Was Stan hearing the water? Were there lower vibrations from the gallons of rushing water that elephant seals could pick up, but humans couldn’t? Ford could only think of one way to find out.

Grateful he’d thought to bring an infrasonic transducer, Ford quickly set it to the needed specifications. “Shifty, cover your ears!” cried Ford, demonstrating with his hands.

Shifty found a hole in the ground to duck his head into, just in time for Ford to press the button. Ford couldn’t tell by the sound if it worked or not, because it was far too low for human ears to detect. But Stan let out a cry and dropped to the ground, rubbing his head in the dirt.

“I’m sorry, Stan,” Ford said to the writhing elephant seal. “It was the only thing I could think of.”

“He’s mad at you,” said Shifty, pulling his head out of the ground. “But at least he’s not crazy anymore.”

“And what about you? Are you hurt?” Ford asked Shifty.

“I’m okay. It was kind of fun, wrestling like elephant seals.”

Ford sighed, relieved that Stan had snapped out of his frenzy, and that Shifty was unharmed. “You did very well, Shifty, thank you. I suppose it was good you came after all.”

Shifty turned into a dog, the way he always did when he was happy, and moved as if to lick Ford’s hand, but he paused. “Sorry, I didn’t ask if I could change -”

“It’s all right, Shifty,” Ford assured him. “You got excited. It happens.”

For the rest of their hike, Ford kept his infrasonic transducer handy, just in case the sound of the water got to Stan again. Luckily he didn’t need it. Doripea helped him grind all their gathered ingredients into a thick paste, which they applied to Stan’s body. Then, and only then, was Stan allowed to get in the lake. Ford couldn’t think of a time he’d been happier to see Stan’s face as he watched his brother resurface from the lake. He helped Stan wring his wet clothes out and put them on, then hugged him, unconcerned about getting soaked himself.

That evening, the three of them all ate dinner together, something they’d never done before, since Stan and Ford had always worn masks around Shifty. Eating at the dinner table was new for Shifty, but he took to table manners well enough. Ford could tell it would take some doing to cure him of talking with his mouth full, though.

“Why didn’t you want me to see your mouths and your noses?” Shifty asked around a mouthful of beef.

“We were trying to protect our identities,” said Ford.

“What’s an identity?”

“Your identity is, well it’s who you are? How do I explain this . . .”

“Let me show you something,” said Stan. He ducked into his room briefly and came out with a shoebox. He pulled a few driver’s licenses out of it. “These are fake IDs. Basically they tell everyone that I’m someone I’m not. They’re lies. And they’re illegal.”

“What’s ‘illegal?’” asked Shifty.

“Only the fun stuff, kid.” With a look from Ford, Stan added, “Kidding, I’m kidding! Lots of illegal things can hurt people. Like killing, that’s bad. So the government will punish you for doing those things. If I stole someone else’s ID, I could steal their money, or do bad things under their name, so they would get in trouble and not me. It’s called identity fraud, and humans take it very seriously.”

“So that’s why we didn’t want you to see any human faces,” said Ford. “Because stealing someone’s identity like that is wrong. Do you understand?”

Shifty nodded. “You don’t want me to lie and pretend like I’m a human.”

“Exactly,” said Ford. “You’ve seen our faces now, so it can’t be helped. But if you want to meet other humans, we need you to promise you won’t take their forms, all right?”

“Okay, I promise,” said Shifty. “I won’t turn into you, or Stan, or any other humans. I won’t lie.”

Ford realized he had every confidence Shifty would keep his word.

The following week went much more smoothly, now that Stan and Ford didn’t have to wear masks so much and could take Shifty with them on field expeditions and into town. It started to feel like Shifty was a third, junior member of their team.

Shifty made it clear he thought of it differently, when one night he asked Ford, “Are you my dad?”

Surprised, Ford put down the Little Critter book he’d been reading to Shifty. He shifted uncomfortably at the beseeching look from the red eyes of Shifty’s true form, which he always reverted to when tired or sleeping. “Ah, not biologically, no. I assume you’re referring to my social role as your caregiver?”

“Yeah. You tuck me in at night, like Little Critter’s dad. And we play during the day, and you take care of me. We love each other.”

Ford was surprised at Shifty’s word choice. He’d always found Shifty interesting, at least, and Ford couldn’t deny he’d become quite invested in Shifty’s welfare, but love? How did you quantify such a thing? How did Shifty even know what that meant?

“Isn’t that how human families work?” asked Shifty.

“I - yes, I suppose. I’m afraid it’s not my area of expertise. I never expected to make a human family of my own. I’m still just trying to be a better brother to Stanley.” Ford adjusted the cushion he sat on, next to the opening of the den Shifty preferred to sleep in, rather than a more traditional bed. “But you, Shifty, you’re not human. Why would you want a human family?”

“I dunno. I thought it would make me happy. We don’t have to be family if you don’t want to.”

Shifty curled around himself, rolling deeper into his den, and Ford felt his heart sink. “I do want you to be happy,” he told Shifty. And that was when he knew Shifty had become more than an experiment to him. He had more than a scientific interest in helping this creature learn and grow. He had felt that way for a long time. “You can call me Dad if you want.”

“Really?” Shifty scrambled out of his den, morphing into a dog as he went. His paws rested on Ford’s shoulders, and he nuzzled his soft, furry head into Ford’s neck. Ford reflexively hugged him back, stroking his pelt. “Thanks, Dad.”

The enormity of it hit him then. He was a father now. Another being depended on him, loved him. He was Shifty’s whole world. And Shifty was his.

Ford hugged him tighter. “I love you, Son,” he said.

“I love you, too. Dad.” said Shifty.

When Shifty called him Dad the next morning at breakfast, Stan raised his eyebrows. “Shifty’s your kid, now?” he asked Ford.

“Last night, I asked if I could call him Dad, and he said yes,” Shifty informed him.

“Really?”

Ford tugged at his collar. “Well, he is a sapient child whom I have grown to care and take responsibility for, so. It is appropriate.”

“Huh. Well, Shifty, if Ford’s your dad, that makes me your fun uncle!” He clapped Shifty on the back. “It’s Uncle Stan from now on, all right, kid?”

Shifty smiled back with Little Critter’s buck-toothed grin. “Okay, Uncle Stan.”

“Mazeltov, Sixer!” said Bill. He summoned some lavender balloons that read, ‘It’s a shapeshifter!’

“Thank you, Bill.”

“Hey, I’m just grateful you’re able to make time for me now you’re a working parent and all.”

“I’m sorry, Bill. I know between Shifty and not having the mechanical help I need -”

Bill waved off his excuses. “I told you, a solution for that is in the works. I just don’t want you getting lost in the weeds with individual specimens while your Grand Unified Theory goes unpublished!”

“Yes, of course. I’ll try harder.”

“And anyway, once you get the portal up and running, you’ll be able to find the dimension Shifty comes from. Think of how much you could learn about his species then! Things you should probably know if you’re trying to raise one of them.”

Ford hung his head. “You’re right. When it comes to figuring out Shifty, and what he needs . . . I’m stumbling around in the dark. He’d probably be happier if we made contact with some of his own kind . . .”

“Yeah, well, for now he’s stuck with you, isn’t he? With any luck, he won’t end up resenting you the way you do your dad, right?”

“Of course not! I would never treat him the way our dad treated us.” Despite his indignation, Ford was forcefully reminded of the inhumane way he’d treated Shifty all of a few weeks before, and was ashamed.

Bill clapped a reassuring hand on his back. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll do your best, Sixer.”

The deep midnight blue of the mindscape abruptly faded away, and another voice called out to Ford.

“Get out of his head!”

“Shhh, Shifty, let him sleep, he never takes a minute to rest like this . . .”

Ford opened his eyes and found Shifty in the form of a badger, scrambling to get out of Stan’s grasp. “Dad!” he said. “Did you tell the monster to go away?”

“He thinks something was attacking your brain while you were asleep,” Stan explained.

Ford shook himself awake, annoyed at himself for messing up his schedule like this. He’d only meant to sit on the couch for a minute or two . . . “Come here, Shifty,” he said, and extended his arms to Stan, who handed Shifty over.

Ford stroked his pelt and assured him, “I’m fine. Nobody was trying to hurt me. I was simply speaking with my Muse.” Really, it was quite extraordinary that Shifty seemed able to sense Bill’s presence. “Sometimes he enters my dreams and helps with my research. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Shifty looked unconvinced. “He made you feel bad. Bad shame wrong. He’s yucky.”

Ford gave an explanation that was close enough to the truth. “We were just talking about some of the obstacles setting back my project. It’s not his fault. How could you tell what I was feeling when I was asleep, anyway?”

Shifty looked confused. “You . . . smelled? No, not a smell. I just felt the, you know, the little waves, they tell you what the feelings are. I can’t feel them when I’m asleep, but I was awake. You were asleep.”

“You have a psychic sense for other people’s emotions?” asked Ford. Of course he did. Looking back, it was so obvious. Shifty had always been so confident when talking about how people felt. Ford really should have noticed sooner. “And that’s how you could sense my Muse’s presence?”

“Yes? Is that not something humans can do?”

Ford shook his head. “We can read facial expressions and body language, but otherwise, the only way we can tell how someone is feeling is if they tell us.”

“Is that why you didn’t trust me at first? Because you couldn’t tell I didn’t want to hurt you?”

“Well, yes,” Ford admitted. “I didn’t realize you were a sapient being and I didn’t know what your abilities were, or how you wanted to use them. So I kept you locked up. I’m sorry.”

“Oh. I thought I had done something wrong. I tried to be good.”

“Oh, Shifty . . .” Ford hugged him closer. “You are good. You’re a wonderful kid. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it.”

Shifty must have sensed how guilty Ford felt, because he said, “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know. I know you love me now.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t deserve to be mistreated,” Stan cut in. “You don’t have to take care of Ford’s feelings. He’s a grown up. We should take care of yours.”

“You’re right, Stan,” Ford agreed. “I know we’re at a disadvantage, Shifty, when it comes to supporting you emotionally. I’m bad at dealing with feelings, even by human standards. But I’ll do my best for you. Will you tell me your feelings so I can help you?”

“Okay,” said Shifty. “I wish you had always been my dad. I wish you had never been mean.”

“Me too,” said Ford.

“I’m glad you said sorry, though. I still love you, anyway.”

“I love you, too,” Ford assured him.

“And I still don’t like your muse. He’s mean, and he’s sneaky.”

“I’m not sure I like him either,” Stan concurred. “When you first told me about him, I didn’t really take it seriously. I’m sorry, it was just really weird. But if Shifty can sense him, and he’s actually real, well, all that stuff you said, about how he only picks one brilliant mind a century and all that? If I were trying to con you, that’s exactly the angle I’d go for.”

“But he’s not a con,” Ford said reflexively. “I don’t think I did a good job of explaining him. If you met him in person, you’d see, Bill is amazing.”

“No no no no no,” said Shifty. “I don’t want him in my head! Promise me you won’t let him in my head.”

“Okay, I promise,” said Ford, alarmed by how much this agitated Shifty. “He won’t hurt you, he won’t hurt any of us. Ever.”

Shifty was still wary, but he accepted Ford’s comfort. Ford could tell Stan had more to say on the subject, though, and he did, after Ford had put Shifty to bed.

“Ford, I’m just saying, your mind is a powerful thing. Letting some supernatural creature inside it is no small potatoes. Whatever you’re getting out of this arrangement you got, make sure he’s not short changing you.”

“Of course he’s not! Look, Stan, if you want to see the truth for yourself, there’s a simple spell you can use to follow him into my mind, next time he’s there. You’ll see, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“All right,” Stan said tentatively. “I might do that. But just ask yourself this, Ford, what is this Bill guy getting out of this? Why does he want you to build the portal so badly?”

“Well that’s simple, he . . .” Ford realized he’d never asked Bill that question before, and he’d never volunteered the information himself. But clearly that just meant his motives were pure, right? “He’s a being of the mind, Stan. Scientific discovery is its own reward.”

“Are you serious?” asked Stan. “You’ve never questioned anything he’s said, have you? I thought you were smarter than that.”

Anger flared in Ford, quick and intense. “You have no idea what the hell you’re talking about! This is just like you, to barge into things you don’t understand -”

“Hey, don’t try to turn this around on me. I’m just looking out for you, like I’ve been doing since day one.”

“I can think of at least one glaring exception.”

“Seriously, Stanford? Are you going to hold that one mistake over me for the rest of my life?”

“It just shows you have a history of ruining my work right when it’s about to pay off. You never cared about the things that are important to me, you’re only interested in chasing your cheap thrills.”

“I never cared about what was important to you? I thought I was important to you! You think I went to prison in three different countries just for the fun of it? I did what I had to, just to survive. Which I’ve had to do for over ten years, while you never bothered to stick your nose out of a book long enough to check on your brother.”

Ford’s seething response melted away at the thought of Stanley shivering, Stanley hungry, Stanley alone. “Stanley, I - I didn’t mean to imply that I don’t care about you. These past weeks with you have meant the world to me. You’re right. I should’ve tried to reconnect with you sooner, and - and I shouldn’t still be blaming you for something you did in high school.”

Stan’s gaze shifted down to his feet. “It wasn’t that I didn’t care about your perpetual motion machine. I really didn’t mean to break it, and I should’ve owned up to what I did and told you instead of trying to fix it myself. I may not understand everything about this portal, but I really do want to help you. It’s just that this Bill guy seems fishy to me.”

“And I told you, you have a chance to talk to him yourself. Will you at least try to keep an open mind about him until then?”

“I will, if you try to keep your mind open to the idea that he may not be what he seems.”

“I . . . suppose that’s fair.”

“Now will you please get some sleep? Between the kid and the portal you’ve been running yourself ragged.”

“It’s not so bad as all that.” Ford tried to shrug it off. “I think if I change the alignment on the oscillator I might get a better charge on the clux fapacitor -”

“It can wait until tomorrow.”

“It won’t take that long to test out. Anyway, I got a nap in earlier, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, a ‘nap.’ Looked more like you passed out from sheer exhaustion. You definitely need more sleep.”

“I can sleep when I’ve published my Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness.” And with that, Ford escaped to the basement before Stan could respond.

Ford didn’t want to admit it, but this whole business unsettled him. Stan was the one person he trusted best in all the world, but Bill was his Muse, the one who not only saw what Ford could be, but gave him the tools to achieve it. Now the two seemed to be setting themselves against each other. Ford didn’t want to think of what the outcome would be, should he be forced to choose between them. He could only hope it wouldn’t come to that.

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#stanford pines #stanley pines #gravity falls #found family #fanfic #7500 words #do not tag as stancest

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doodleimprovement · 3 years

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A Hat in Time :: The Nutcracker AU :: 1st Climax and 2nd Rising Action

Wooo, after this, there’s only one more update!

Maybe I’ll get this done before the holiday, who knows :3c

Enjoy Clara’s senseless bravery, and Francesca’s ceaseless desire to help!

1st Climax:

Clara:

Clara watches as the Queen of the Cats tells the Nutcracker how excited she is to finally beat him, and how the Kingdoms of Snow and Sweets will finally be hers. The Nutcracker is knocked back, working on getting up with the Queen brandishing her claws. Just as she’s about to swipe down at him, a small slipper nails her straight in the face with enough force to knock her back, and her attention is drawn to the little girl staring at her with all the misguided bravery and conviction an 8 year old can muster.

Clara immediately regrets her decision when the Queen’s claws turn towards her, but the Queen is stopped by a sword - the Nutcracker getting in her way, and said soldier tells Clara to run - calling her by name and she does as she’s told, but sees something that might help and heads towards it.

Getting the help of one of the toy soldiers - joined by a few more, the group uses a book up on the table next to the tree to push it down and damage the Queen’s “artillery”, and the destruction distracts her, and it's just enough for the Nutcracker to take the upper hand, stabbing his sword clean through her - defeating her and causing the other cats to retreat in fear.

The soldiers and Clara cheer in victory, before Clara jumps down onto the chair she used to climb to the table, and then, while making eye contact with the nutcracker, jumps down to him. He manages to catch her, but scolds her for doing that and seems a bit high strung after everything that occurred. She asks how he knows her name and he retorts that he was aware and conscious the entire time that she was playing with him - only just now realizing that this nutcracker is in fact “The Snatcher”

Francesca:

Francesca, meanwhile, sees that Vanessa and Ludwig have been in correspondence, with Ludwig saying that he was searching for his missing brother, and also seeing his notes on curse breaking, putting things together pretty simply. Her eyes scanned over his notes about his brother’s curse - written in a weird, “if you know then i don’t need to explain it” kind of way, but she starts to put together that Vanessa definitely knows something, talking about Lukas as if she knows where he is, and that she hopes he’s not “toying around”, which Ludwig takes much umbridge with as his brother “has never been like that”, with her responding that he’d “be surprised.”

Ludwig finds her in his office, and in a slightly frazzled state asks her what she’s doing, and she doesn’t bother explaining herself, immediately telling him that Vanessa’s letters are suspicious - pointing out perhaps the most damning detail - that she knows that Lukas disappeared at night, something that no one else knows but Ludwig, because he was there to help his brother (something she read in the man’s journal). Not to mention that Lukas wasn’t pronounced missing until two days later, and, perhaps most damningly to Vanessa, she claimed that she’d left their home the night Lukas went missing, so there was absolutely no way that she could have known when he went missing unless…

Ludwig, in a sudden burst of alarm, picks up Francesca out of his chair and puts her on the desk, looking back through the documents and seeing the other red flags, as well as her accusatory language. He seems disbelieving still, but he grabs a book off the shelf that he’d gotten from his family's library, and opens it to a frayed page, written in an old, dead language, but recognizing handwriting in the margins with the translation of the spell. It was Vanessa’s. The looping of her As and the crossing of her Ts gave her away.

Ludwig sits back in his chair, disbelieving and bewildered that he hadn’t put it together before this..

Second Rising Action:

Clara:

The Nutcracker stated that he has to return to the Land of Sweets, to report to the Sugar Plum Fairy. Clara asked if she could join him, and he snapped at her that of course he’s taking her with him. She wasn’t supposed to be here, or shrunken down in the first place! Clara pouted at him and scolded him for yelling, leaving him sheepish as he led his army of toy soldiers under the chair, where there was a “portal” into the Snow Kingdom.

Clara jumped out of the Nutcracker’s arms, and ran forward into the land, fascinated and excited at the beauty and magic of it all, the Nutcracker freaking out when she slips on the ice and he catches her just in time, scolding her, but much softer this time - seemingly learning from his last scolding of her already. She still rolls her eyes though, and starts rushing ahead again. Exasperated, he chased after her right up until they got to the gates of the snow castle. She starts talking to the snow guards before he catches up and tells them to let the king know that the Queen of the Cats is dead.

They are called into the castle, where the king greets them with much joy and excitement. He thanks the nutcracker, and Clara buts in and says that she helped and the king - a man with children of his own, also congratulates her, offering the two of them sweets and to stay for a little while - stating that his children were happy and willing to perform a celebration “ceremony”. Clara excitedly says yes, and - when it looks like the nutcracker might say no, she gives him a very adorable pouty face and he caves.

The prince and princess appear, with the princess showing off her annoyed attitude and the prince looking super excited to perform. Clara banters with them a bit before taking a seat next to the Nutcracker and they watch the prince and princess put on a spectacular ice magic show - think the ballet but with Elsa’s ice powers. The Nutcracker takes some moments to explain how the magic works and some of the visual tricks, and is pleased when Clara seems interested and talks about how amazing all of it is.

The performance ends, and Clara excitedly claps and compliments them endlessly, while the Nutcracker speaks with the king, who gives him a cape for Clara to wear, since it is “awfully cold, don’t you think?” The Nutcracker - literally a wooden toy- hadn’t even thought of that. He calls Clara over, and drapes the cloak over her to keep her warm, telling her they have to go on their way to the Land of Sweets. Clara excitedly wonders if she’ll be able to eat everything there as the Nutcracker leads her out, and they make their way to the open road, where they head off to the Sugar Plum Fairy’s domain.

Francesca:

Francesca watches Ludwig try to collect himself, and she asks, as gently as she can manage, what happened. Ludwig explains to her that his brother was cursed, and that he had spent the last two years looking for a way to break it, but he never knew who did it, or now, and with Francesca’s insight, he realized that it had been his brother’s finance - one of the few people he trusted while on his journey. They had been in constant correspondence for those two years and he’s only realizing through rereading just how thoroughly he’d been tricked by her. (There is a lot of dialog here as well as a few flashbacks, so it's like, just as long as the previous section, but I’m just summing it up here)

Frannie tries to comfort him, asking if now that he knows who did it, if that helps him at all, and he tells her yes, that knowing that Vanessa did this to his brother helps immensely, explaining that now he can look specifically for the curse that she translated and its various permutations for a curse breaker. The little girl than asks how she can help, and he looks at her, feeling her burning desire to help him right in his chest. He gets up and grabs a book, telling her that she needs to help him look for similar curses with similar ancient symbols.

She nods and the two of them begin to look…

#ahit #a hat in time #ahit au #a hat in time au #ahit hat kid #bow kid #moonjumper #snatcher #hat kid #ahit bow kid #ahit moonjumper #ahit snatcher #nutcracker au #ahit nutcracker au #antonia writes #antonias fandoms

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rhetoricandlogic · 3 years

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Gary K. Wolfe Reviews

The Once and Future Witches by Alix E. Harrow

November 23, 2020

Gary K. Wolfe

Despite its vampires, assassins, and a viciously conspiratorial patriarchy, the main sensibility I took away from Alix E. Harrow’s spectacular debut, The Ten Thousand Doors of January, was one of celebration – a celebration of portal fantasies, of secret histories, of favorite books and tales, most of all of the protagonists’ capacity to find and claim their own stories. Much the same might be said of her new novel The Once and Future Witches. To be sure, the plot, the late 19th-century setting, and the characters are entirely different, but her sometimes playful fascination with history, her not entirely original conviction that outsider groups can gain power from unity, and her celebration of women’s magic will seem familiar. For all this, the novel seems entirely new, including Harrow’s manner of telling the tale, as inventive in its own way as was Ten Thousand Doors. Sometimes she uses folksong-like repetition or anaphora to introduce characters in an intentionally formulaic way; she interpolates cleverly gender-reimagined versions of classic fairy tales and nursery rhymes; she sets the whole thing in a kind of gender-flipped alternate history (the classic fairy tale collectors were the Sisters Grimm, Charlotte Perrault, and Andrea Lang; Homer was translated by Alexandra Pope; a popular detective writer is Miss Doyle). An African-American character tells a story that converts Anansi to Aunt Nancy. Even historical events are subtly shifted, as when the notorious Triangle Shirtwaist fire becomes the “Square Shirtwaist fire,” Sometimes the narration takes on such an anthem-like voiceover tone that you can almost hear the music swelling:

The rest of the Sisters of Avalon are just maids or mill-workers, dancers or fortune-tellers, mothers or daughters. Everyday sorts of women with everyday sorts of problems, not worth mentioning in any story worth telling.

But tonight, beneath the Rose Moon of June, they are witches. They are crones and maidens, villains and temptresses, and all the stories belong to them.

Tone is crucial in any stories about stories, and pretty soon we’re enjoying this sort of thing as much as Harrow seems to enjoy writing it.

In Harrow’s version of history, the Salem witch trials involved real witches, eventually leading to the destruction of the town – hence the setting of New Salem (which probably has little to do with real villages with that name). The central characters are the three Eastwood sisters who have, separately, escaped an abusive father and who meet up again years later in New Salem, just as the women’s suffrage movement is taking hold in 1893. Harrow initially introduces them with a classic fairy-tale formula, focusing on their appearance: James Juniper is “the youngest, with hair as ragged and black as crow feathers”; Agnes is “the middle sister, with hair as shining and black as a hawk’s eye”; Beatrice is “the oldest sister, with hair like owl feathers: soft and dark, and streaked with early gray.” But, like a good teller of oral tradition, Harrow introduces them again from time to time, varying the formula to reflect the women’s growing self-determination and agency. Later in the novel, in a flurry of alliteration, we’re told that James is “the wild sister, fearless as a fox and curious as a crow”; Agnes is “the strong sister, steady as a stone and twice as hard”; Beatrice is “the wise sister, quiet and clever as an owl in the rafters.” How the sisters transform from archetypes into characters makes up a good part of what the first half of the novel is about.

As the story opens, middle sister Agnes is working in a textile-mill sweatshop, the older sister Beatrice is a college librarian, and James Juniper has just arrived in New Salem, penniless and homeless and wanted for the murder of her nightmare of a father. She is furious with her older sisters for having abandoned her to his abuse years earlier, and she has no intention of rejoining them until they accidentally meet when the “splitting open of the world” briefly reveals a massive black tower in the town square. The tower eventually becomes the focus of an increasingly apocalyptic confrontation. On one side are the sisters, who form a loose organization of witchy immigrants and factory workers called the Sisters of Avalon (including a delightful Russian woman who offers a revisionist Baba Yaga tale), and who find allies in the Daughters of Tituba, led by the African-American journalist Cleopatra Polaris Quinn, editor of the New Salem Defender. But the local suffragist group, the New Salem Women’s Association, is leery of having their political goals derailed by association with witches. They aren’t the real problem, though; that would be an ambitious, hate-mongering local politician named Gideon Hill, who has some ancient supernatural resources of his own, as well as a secret identity we learn of late in the novel. (Witchery, it seems, was never confined to women – they just got blamed for it.) As the stakes grow more dire, the novel takes on a more densely textured, almost epic dimension, raising the question of what sacrifices the sisters may need to make in order for their story – and the world – to survive. Even though the more mundane question of women’s suffrage may be a bit overshadowed by time we reach the spectacular conclusion, The Once and Future Witches, with its adroit balance of narrative playfulness and imminent tragedy, is as fully original and impressive as its predecessor, and is just a hoot to read.

#Alix E. Harrow #The Once and Future Witches #mahreviews #long post

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fantastic-bby · 3 years

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Books & Poems I love

Hello, I am just dumping my favourite books and poems here because I like them and I want people to read them too bcs they're cool. Disclaimer: I haven't read some of these books in a REALLY long time, so the explanations might be a bit off since this is mostly what I remember from when I had read them. All will be under the cut and I hope someone out there finds these as enjoyable as I do!

Books

1. Huntress by Malinda Lo

Nature is out of balance in the human world. The sun hasn’t shone in years, and crops are failing. Worse yet, strange and hostile creatures have begun to appear. The people’s survival hangs in the balance.

To solve the crisis, the oracle stones are cast, and Kaede and Taisin, two seventeen-year-old girls, are picked to go on a dangerous and unheard-of journey to Tanlili, the city of the Fairy Queen. Taisin is a sage, thrumming with magic, and Kaede is of the earth, without a speck of the otherworldly. And yet the two girls’ destinies are drawn together during the mission. As members of their party succumb to unearthly attacks and fairy tricks, the two come to rely on each other and even begin to fall in love. But the Kingdom needs only one huntress to save it, and what it takes could tear Kaede and Taisin apart forever.

I cannot express how much I adore this book. It's so well-written and the entire book feels like such an adventure to read. I have to warn everyone who will read this that it is quite violent. I also love the WLW inclusion which is carried throughout the story. It's also mentioned in the beginning that Kaede does not want to marry a prince because she could never marry a man. It's filled with lots of romance and it's fantasy because I'm a sucker for fantasy reads.

My sister had bought this book for me after I had lost my first copy and my cat peed on my second copy. The first time, I had bought it from a Big Bad Wolf sale in about 2014. The second, I ordered it through Kinokuniya, but I'm pretty sure you can get it off of Amazon as well.

2. Teardrop by Lauren Kate

Never, ever cry . . .

Seventeen-year-old Eureka won't let anyone close enough to feel her pain. After her mother was killed in a freak accident, the things she used to love hold no meaning. She wants to escape, but one thing holds her back: Ander, the boy who is everywhere she goes, whose turquoise eyes are like the ocean.

And then Eureka uncovers an ancient tale of romance and heartbreak, about a girl who cried an entire continent into the sea. Suddenly her mother's death and Ander's appearance seem connected, and her life takes on dark undercurrents that don't make sense.

Can everything you love be washed away?

This is also a book that I've read multiple times. I've even read the sequel, Waterfall, but I don't think I actually got around to finishing it since I bought it right before my exams. Another love and fantasy novel, it covers a lot of grieving and pain that Eureka goes through after losing her mother and at one point, she actually wishes it was her that had died during the accident.

Her relationship with Ander is quite sudden since he just shows up out of nowhere and just happens to know practically everything about her. I, personally, enjoy this book out of the amount of angst that it's filled with. It's very well-written and I still have the first copy that I bought at the same Big Bad Wolf sale that I had gotten Huntress. I think I had gotten the sequal at Kinokuniya as well (?), but I'm not entirely sure because it's been a really long time.

3. Shatter Me by Tahereh Mafi

No one knows why Juliette's touch is fatal, but The Reestablishment has plans for her. Plans to use her as a weapon. But Juliette has plans of her own. After a lifetime without freedom, she's finally discovering a strength to fight back for the very first time--and to find a future with the one boy she thought she's lost forever.

Another very angsty book. It centres around Juliette, a girl who, for some reason, kills everyone she touches. It's also written in First POV and in the format of a journal. It feels more personal because some of the lines are striked through to show a thought that Juliette had in the moment of writing that she decided to replace with a different approach instead.

The beginning is basically Juliette being locked away in some sort of a prison because of her 'gift' and she writes to keep herself from going crazy, but then one day some guy is put into the same cell as her. It's another romance novel and also a kind of superhero novel It also gets pretty... ahem... seggsy... at one point, but it's a good read.

I've read the entire series aside from Restore Me. I have it, but I haven't gotten around to reading it yet. Shatter Me is also from the same Big Bad Wolf sale as the other two lol. Juliette is also trapped in a love triangle at one point, but I won't get into it. It also gets a bit violent, but slightly less graphic than Huntress is and is also another 'self-discover' kinda book. (can you see a theme here that I read lol)

4. Winter's End by Jean-Claude Mourlevat

Four teenagers escape from their prison-like boarding schools to take up the fight against the tyrannical government that murdered their parents fifteen years earlier. But only three of the friends make it safely to Jahn's restaurant, the headquarters of a secret resistance movement, where they discover the astonishing power that one voice can have in the fight for freedom.

As the battle rages, the three friends are in a race against time to save their companion, who has been forced to participate in a deadly, ancient game for the amusement of his captors. Will this new generation prevail, or are they destined to meet the same grisly fate as their parents?

This is also extremely angsty. It's also pretty violent as well, so that's a warning for whoever will read this. Once again, well-written, nice flow to the story and I just really like this book. There's a lot of uncovering in the book that makes you go HUH because the four students end up uncovering a lot about their government and the secrets that involve the four of them.

It has a very heavy dark tone to it, which I really enjoy. It's a bit different from the other three which is less fantasy and more of a dystopian book. It's a very heroic, determination feeling that follows the students as they journey throughout the book. Also something that follows the students are a group of dog-men... things... that I'm pretty sure I actually had small nightmares imagining when I had read this in around 2013 or 2014.

Poems

Disclaimer: Half of these were poems I did essays on in high school aside from L. These are my illustrations of it and they're the ones that stood out to me when I had first read them.

1. Daffodils by William Wordsworth

I read this in high school when I was taking English Literature. It's a poem that Wordsworth wrote after his wife had passed away. I love the way it's written and William Wordsworth is one of my favourite poets. It's filled with the feeling of being lost and rediscovering the joys of the small things in life. There's a lot of imagery that refers to the flower, daffodil, and overall, it's just a a very soft themed poem.

I think the reason this poem stood out to me was because I was feeling a bit lost at the time I read it (the end of highschool) and I was desperately trying to find something I could relate to in some way.

2. Winter by Andrew Young

Another one that contains a lot of imagery. It's a poem about the beauty of Winter and how, while it's seen as a dark and gloomy season, it has hidden beauties that you can see if you're able to look past the initial image of it.

This poem in particular, I'm pretty sure I have a soft spot for in my heart mainly because of the soft spot I have for Winter in general.

3. London by William Blake

This is a more dark toned poem. It covers what old London used to be like with the raging poverty at the time. A lot of child labour and sex workers that would struggle with making money when they would accidentally get pregnant.

It's quite a depressing poem that I like because of the dark undertone and I, personally, really enjoy William Blake's works.

4. L by Bernice Chauly

L is a poem about how her daughter had cut her hair right after going to the hairdressers. While Chauly's daughter is crying when she yells at her, Chauly is reminded of when she had done something similar when she had just turned five years old. She thinks back to it and remembers that, at the time, all she wanted was to see her late father.

This is also more heavy set and it makes me think of the way children must feel when they lose their parents at such young ages.

#books #poems #literature #reading material

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thestarkerisobvious · 3 years

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The Thing That Lives Under The Bed -- The Conclusion

art by @starker-sorbet

a snugglefic for @mrstarksbaby

This it the Coda for The Thing That Lives Under The Bed.

Did you wonder what Peter and his friends did once they got their hands on ALL those spellbooks? Did you wonder what would happen to those spirits trapped in the books, calling for Peter to set them free? Maybe you were curious what would happen if Peter performed the spell of the Kings of the East and the King of the West, splitting Tony in two?

I will be posting one chapter a day #OnHere, in honor of the place where the story began.

-------------------------------------------------------

Adulthood

Angel In The Darkness

In addition to realizing that he is in love with the thing that lives under his bed, Peter Parker and his friends have also discovered an underground library full of spellbooks, spirits calling out to be freed and the promise of any number of superpowers.

You may be wondering what they did next.

This is not the answer to that question.

The drumming had begun, which meant the Disciples would begin the dance of Evorá, or at least, a modified version of it. Rumor was the whole ceremony was going to be shortened considerably, due to the fact that the High-High Priest had other engagements tonight. Multiple engagements. That was a problem, because it meant Angel had no idea how much time he had. When the Evorá dance began, it should have given him seven minutes, minimum. He was certain he could cover a lot of ground in seven minutes. He was determined.

Slipping into the forest that surrounded the ceremony field was easy. Far too involved in their complicated ritual, walking and chanting and lighting the torches in the interlocking triangles (cleverly paved with expensive mosaic stones, a gift from one of the many wealthy practitioners of the Lavern Post Healing Center) no one was likely to notice if one of the audience members slipped into the darkness. Especially one skinny, ragged barefoot kid. Angel might not have enough time, but he had some time.

He ran.

It was with some sadness that Angel fled from the Post Compound – it wasn’t exactly a bad place. It had been his home for so long, for longer than he could remember, really. Once upon a time he had said he never wanted to leave there, and Peter Parker, the founder of the entire kit and kaboodle, the High-High Priest himself, had assured Angel that he never had to leave. Not like the other practitioners, the pilgrims from Santa Barbara and Palm Beach and Manhattan. All of them said they wanted to live at their Winter retreat (or their Spring retreat (or their Autumn retreat, depending on why they came, what kind of healing they needed) but Peter Parker had said that Angel was different. That Angel could stay.

And there were so many people at the Post Compound that Angel cared for. Loved, really. Not High Priest Matthew, of course, who scared Angel badly and was constantly trying to control how much he ate, and not Dr. Wickham who shooed him away whenever he entered the room and never let him help. Certainly not Anton, who never spoke to him and always warded him off with a jealous glare.

But Mark and John were always good to him, most of the time (Mark and John were really Sarah D. and Monica. But all the Disciples had two names.) Laura Foster was also sweet to him, always had a kind word or two for him, even if she was kindly telling him he couldn’t eat.

Yes, those that would talk to Angel were sweet to Angel. Not like Anton. No one was sweet to Anton. Anton, who never seemed to stop arguing, who only existed to play devil’s advocate. Angel was everybody’s angel. And Angel loved them all.

And there were so many places within the compound that he hated to leave behind. The rows of tiny cabins filled with wealthy clientele cheerfully “roughing it” in efficiency rooms with minifridges. The underground Chapel of St. Cyprian where jaded New Yorkers found themselves weeping with joy and never knowing why. The secret libraries where only the first- and second-circles were allowed to go, but he was allowed to pour over the magic books for as long as he wanted. He loved those ancient books, loved to brag that he could read them all (and had read them all) Loved to be sent to look up some obscure spell or journal entry when one of the Disciples, and sometimes one of the second-circle magicians, remembered to ask him.

Angel loved being helpful.

He wasn’t being helpful now. His absence was going to be noticed at some point, and that was going to disrupt the ceremony. He didn’t allow himself to look up into the sky to see if the fairy-lights had started. If they had, that meant the joining had begun, and then… oh High Priest Matthew was going to be so angry when he found out. Angel shuttered at the thought of it. The High Priest had a terrible temper (that’s why his OTHER name in the compound was The Hulk.) Matthew’s servant, Firedrake, was even scarier. Angel couldn’t stand the idea of facing either one of them.

But there was nothing to be done about it now, so he ran faster.

The drums were ending behind him – that meant that the reading of the prayers had begun. That meant he might have another half-hour, if all the prayers were read. Puck and Oberon would step into the circle first. But when evil-eyed Anton stepped into the middle of the circle… that’s when they would notice Angel was missing. Another half-hour. Even if they read the prayers very quickly. Some parts of the ceremony couldn’t be skipped over. Angel knew. Angel had read all the books.

He was whispering the prayers even now as his swift feet took him out of the woods and straight into a moonlit patch of ferns. He moaned in relief as he ran…

…only to cry out loud in despair as his feet took him just as quickly past the ferns and into a field of ragweed.

No, no, no ! Angel fled the ragweed to the first clear patch of grass that he could see – ragweed was deadly to anyone trying to avoid detection from the Disciples – but that just took him to a patch of moonlit sand. He moaned in despair as his bare feet sank into it. He covered his mouth with both hands in a vain effort to hide the sound.

He had fucked up.

He was trying to bear north. The ferns should have given way to the ditch which would have given way to Witch Road. From there, if he could have stayed on the pavement, he might have avoided detection and headed straight north. He could have been well past the border of the Parker land before they even knew where to start looking for him…

But instead he drifted too far south. He wasn’t on his way out of the Parker property. He had stumbled right into the edge of Lovesick Lake.

In the near-full moonlight he saw all of it, those peaceful, serene knolls and gentle hills and berms that the Lavern Center patrons loved to stroll upon on pleasant nights in autumn and in Spring. Not as many in the summer. (Dr. Cyprian didn’t do his healing work in the summer.) And there weren’t many visitors on winter nights. Everyone staying at the Lavern Post Healing Center knew to avoid the woods on winter nights, if they didn’t want to run into the ghost of Evan Post. Everyone staying at the Lavern Post Healing Center knew that the Post property was haunted. It was the first thing they told you in the shuttle when they brought you here. It was on the brochure.)

There was a man standing a few yards away from him now, a young man Angel’s age (although certainly dressed better than Angel was.) He stood, unsure, upon a steep knoll, looking helplessly over the lake, clearly lost. Angel turned automatically to back the way he had come to hide himself. He didn’t like talking to the guests at the Healing Center when they got confused -- wasn’t supposed to talk to them, anyway. All Confused-Guests were supposed to be gently directed to Laura Foster or to her servant, who would explain to them, calmly, that they had come to the Center to participate in Dr. Cyprian’s legendary “Memory Therapy,” and direct them to the notes they had written to themselves in case they had forgotten that fact. 80% of the patients that participated in the “Memory Therapy” chose to keep some if not the entirety of their memories, choosing, after much self-examination, to hold onto the painful past in order to also retain the strength and compassion those painful life-lessons those memories were tied to. But as for that other 20%, well, Laura Foster was best and handling those.

But Angel couldn’t disappear into the brush the way he had come. He turned back to face the lost guest… only to realize there had been no one there. Angel dashed up to the knoll in confusion, but the young man was gone.

Instead he saw, stretching out all around him, the beautiful grassy banks known as the Moonlight HIlls. This was the romantic place where more than a few visitors to the center had enjoyed in the wee hours of the morning, to hook up with other visitors, or to mope over the hookups that never happened. This was Lovesick Lake, the place where you were SUPPOSED to come and sit on a green hill and look out over the water by moonlight to moon over that special person you couldn’t have. Although Peter Parker only called it “Virgin Lake.” Because, he joked, more than a few male individuals had lost a specific type of virginity to other male individuals on its moonlight shores.

There were two male individuals right now, Angel saw, holding each other and kissing in the darkness. Angel dashed silently back toward the water to avoid them… only to look up and see he had been mistaken again. There was no one there. Only shadows in the moonlight. He groaned. He was completely alone.

He groaned again when he saw where he was standing. Of course. The exact place where Peter Parker had famously made Matty the first Disciple. He had accidentally ran straight to the very first place they would come look for him the moment they noticed he was missing. This was Lovesick Lake. This was the Moonlight Hills. This was where everyone came to mope when they were heartsick. Of course this is where he would be.

He turned around and started to hurry away from the lake. Before him lay the dark road through the forest, the path that would lead directly back to the ceremony fields where Peter Parker and his Disciples were praying.

Angel thought he heard a rustling through the trees. In a panic he turned and ran pell-mell back to the water. Dammit, he could WADE half way through the lake, certainly it was shallow enough, and when he got to where the lake began in earnest he would swim across. He could make it to the other side.

Couldn’t he?

He groaned in frustration. He didn’t feel like swimming in the middle of the night, of course he didn’t. He was shaky and hungry and scared . But if he didn’t keep moving they would catch him and take him back to the ceremony. He had to escape.

He could swim all the way across the lake, he was sure of it. Panic and adrenaline would carry him all the way. He was skinny, but he was strong. And he was determined. He took three bold steps forward…

…and pulled up short the moment his bare feet touched the water.

The summer night was still, and yet the water was lapping loudly at the shore. Was that normal for a still night? Didn’t the wind need to be up for the water to be lapping that quickly? In despair Angel searched his memory… god knew he had been sitting on these banks, night after night, mooning over the man he missed so badly… weren’t the waves lapping then?

He didn’t know. He couldn’t remember. His thoughts raced as he desperately tried to think, but when he reached out for information, it simply wasn’t there. He had sat here on lonely nights, he was sure of it. But suddenly he couldn’t remember where he had sat, or how he had even gotten here, or how he had gotten back. The only thing that came to mind was the picture of the two men kissing in the darkness, the men he had seen before. The older man strong and confident, the younger man, almost a boy, moaning and clinging desperately to his lover with bony arms. He had only seen it for a second, but he had seen it so clearly. He couldn’t remember who the men were, or why the memory was important.

He only knew that, in the silence of the moonlight now, the lapping of the water sounded far too loud in his ears. Something must be moving underneath it. He thought the water would be safe, if they hadn’t noticed he was missing. But if they did notice, and if Monica had sent Liard after him… wouldn’t jumping into the water be the worst possible thing to do?

The men kissing on the hillside, he spun around to ask them for help, but they disappeared the moment he looked for them. They weren’t there… they were just dreams, or the ghost of dreams. Turning around in helpless circles, he realized what a terrible mistake he had made.

Dammit why, why, why hadn’t he just chosen to hide among the tiny cabins? They were all empty now, the wealthy clientele who had insisted on staying into the summer (and had paid too much to be denied) had all moved out for the two days needed for the ceremonies. Angel could have stayed hidden in those dark alleys between the rows, escaping detection until morning. They wouldn’t have thought to look for him there. Even Anton might have failed to look for him there. Instead he had come here, and now…

…and now there was nowhere left to go.

He looked at the troubled lake, then looked to his left. There the famous dead oak loomed menacingly against the black sky. He certainly couldn’t go that way – it was lit up by a row of tiki torches that marked the border. The few guests that were left at the Lavern Center had moved to the South House, partying the night away in their tents and pavilions as they waited for Peter and The Disciples to finish their summer rituals. They had been allowed to stay because they had promised to stay beyond that row of torches.

Vainly, Angel fought the panic.

It wasn’t working. He was trapped.

He had hoped that the distraction of the complicated ceremony – the Meeting of the Four Kings was an extremely complicated spell, written by Dr. Wickham himself – would give Angel the time he needed to slip away. But what was he thinking? All four Disciples were here tonight, as well as Peter Parker himself. They had all come home, and now? Along with Laura Foster that made six powerful magicians, each with multiple spirit-servants. Not to mention the lower, second-circle magicians that might have decided tonight was the night to start showing off what they had learned.

And in a few moments, they would all notice that Angel was missing.

Angel might have been safe from Firedrake in the darkness – but dammit the spirit could easily travel through the lamplight that glowed on Dead Oak Hill. He could avoid Firedrake as long as he didn’t try to circle around the lake to the south, but he could never go back north. The ragweed was Sarah D’s favorite plant, and it would whisper his location to her immediately. Plucky, her servant, could move among plants of every kind, but ragweed was its favorite. Then there was the little matter of the high weeds that could easily turn into arms to wrap around Angel and pull him down to the ground until he was caught. (Peter had forbidden anyone from saying it out loud, but everyone knew. Sarah D had become an expert at tying a man down when he didn’t want to be there.)

Firedrake could move through the lamplight. Plucky could move through the weeds. Liard could move through the water. He could avoid the high weeds and he could avoid the lamplight, but how the hell would he avoid Dr. Wickham’s servant Robin?

How did you run away from air?

Dammit he had to be safe in the water… didn’t he? Surely Monica was far too busy using Liard to help her with the complicated ceremony, surely she wouldn’t send her spirit away from her on such an important day. It had to be the water. He had no other way to go…

…but when he turned toward the lake again he saw Matthew’s Rock waiting for him and it filled him full of horror and dread. He could only see the tip in the lapping water but he knew… he knew what was underneath.

Tears were streaming down his face as he fought to catch his breath. He wasn’t trying to fight the panic anymore. The panic was winning. His breath came in desperate gasps and hitches. His chest ached. His knees were buckling underneath him. It was all he could do to keep standing.

And then he heard the trees shaking behind him.

They had sent someone. Not a spirit, a person. Angel could hear them leaping from tree to tree.

Angel closed his eyes tight and prayed to St. Cyprian. He prayed it wasn’t High Priest Matthew. Or worse, quarrelsome, sharp-eyed Anton. Maybe it was someone gentle like Monica or Laura-Bee. He prayed it was Laura. Laura had a ghostly spirit named Moonlight, and while Moonlight could make you walk through fire if it told you too, Laura could make you feel perfectly content while you did it.

The last tree shuddered and bent as the magician jumped into it, then jumped from it. It was one of the men. He hung from a bent branch for just a moment, before somersaulting into the air spectacularly, landing in a perfect superhero pose in the sand.

All five of the original magicians could run as fast as any vehicle. Each had clocked in at 70 miles per hour. Sometimes they had races for the amusement of the second circle. But there was only one of them who insisted on traveling by jumping from tree to tree.

In the pale moonlight, Peter Parker rose to his feet. He was alone.

Angel burst into tears.

#The Thing That Lives Under The Bed #Demon!Tony #TheWitchwayWritesStuff #Starker #Tony Stark/Peter Parker #Peter Parker/Tony Stark

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